Grandstand

~All I own is this plot, and Benny(who you will all meet later)- Cars and its various characters belong to Pixar~

A/N: Thank you for all of the awesome reviews! You guys are all amazing :D

There are a few allusions to the first and second movie, so look out for them :T

~The Museum of Science and Industry, Jackson Park, Chicago, 0130 Hours—Six Years Prior~

"They never do give us a day's rest, do they, Mater?"

The light blue tow truck shrugged, gently closing the museum door behind them. "Ah reckon they jist wanna test us in tha' field before we graduate," he murmured back, turning to look at the Chevrolet El Camino. She was smirking at his great care to enter unnoticed.

The burgundy truck's smile grew slightly. "You're becoming as paranoid as Lightning now. What would Sally think?"

Mater huffed, activating his headlights. "She would lecture us on bein' a bunch a' pansies."

"Exactly."

The officer-in-training frowned, nudging the pretty Chevrolet in a reminding fashion. "'Member, we're here ta' investigate a break-in, Doreen."

Doreen beamed widely despite the tow truck's warning. "It's not like you to be so serious, Mater."

The tow truck shrugged, shuffling his tires as he attempted to look anywhere but at the burgundy car. "Well…Ah worry 'bout ya'," he finally admitted, if somewhat sheepishly.

"Aww..." Doreen smiled, planting a small kiss on her fiancé's fender. "Thanks, you big lug,"

Mater became hot under the hood for a moment, scuffing a tire into the linoleum in embarrassment. "Yer welcome…" he mumbled, though a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The Chevrolet gave him a reminding nudge.

"We're at a crime scene, remember?" she chastised, though in good humor. Doreen nudged his fender again, smiling. "I'm on point. See any trouble…"

"And jist radio ya'," Mater recited, grinning. "Ah think Ah remember."

"Good. See you soon then." The smaller truck paused for a moment, before adding with a smile. "And try not to crash into me again—you have the radio to get my attention."

The tow truck chuckled, reminded of their initial meeting all those months ago, and watched his fiancée drive off for a moment, the light from his headlights casting a ghostly halo along her paint as she disappeared into the shadows. He gave a lovelorn sigh before shaking his front end—they were there for a reason, not for him to moon over the Chevrolet.

Setting his gaze, Mater began driving further into the museum. They hadn't found any evidence in the building's entrance that would've led to burglary—a 211, he reprimanded himself brashly. The edifice had been as silent as a grave, the various exhibits and sculptures casting enormous shadows by the moon's light, positively fraying the tow truck's nerves. He paused before a vast window, at least thirty feet tall, and curved at the top, allowing luminescent moonlight to spill in. He idled for a moment before allowing his engine to die. The iridescent orb's glow fell across his blue paint, making it a blinding white. His gaze flickered across his hood for a moment, before falling on the looming displays around him. He spotted a model of the captured U-505, the German submarine, on a raised platform a few dozen feet away, along with several other ancient and historical relics, but Mater couldn't make himself feel interested in them. Antiques were always up Sally's alley, the Porsche having a definite interest in old ruins for whatever reason, and knew that she would be as content, or perhaps even more so, as a kid in a candy store in this museum. Perhaps he'd tell Lightning to bring her once this whole robbery (once again, a 211) was over with, and he'd gotten down to the mystery of how the silent burglar alarm (211S, he chided himself) had gone off when there was surely no one on the premises….

Mater's wandering thoughts fell silent once he heard a distinctive crunch beneath his tires.

The tow truck quickly rolled backwards, the moonbeams from the colossal windows giving him enough light to see whatever he had run over. Ice swallowed his inside once he recognized shards of glass catching the light.

His hazel eyes following the trail upwards, they came to rest on a window adjacent to the one he had stood before, a large, gaping hole in the beautiful, yet delicate framework. Horror struck at the same time realization did—this was a 211, and there was someone else in this building. Doreen…

Mater activated his radio in the next instant, speeding over to where he had seen his fiancée last. There was the familiar buzz of static in his cab for several seconds, and the tow truck bit his lip in worry, panic beginning to settle. All of his academy training was thrown out the window, and his engine thrummed in fear, going faster than he could ever recollect having gone before. Finally, mercifully, her voice broke through the static.

"Miss me already, hun?"

"Doreen!" Mater practically shouted out of relief. "Thank Chrysler. Alright, hun', there's someone else in 'ere—there's a broken window, an' Ah dun't know if they're armed!"

The Chevrolet seemed to scoff on the other end. "C'mon, Mater, this is a simple burglar we're talkin' 'bout!" Her own southern accent grew more pronounced as she assured him. "I think I can handle 'im on my own, and besides—," She gasped sharply, before the muffled staccato of gunshots was heard. Mater braked, horrorstruck. He could hear them even without the radio link…just around the corner. Blinking, the tow truck spoke into his radio again, frantic.

"Doreen! Doreen, kin ya' here me!" Numbing, grim silence was all that answered him. Exhaling softly, petrified, Mater started his engine again. He could hear the sound of another set of tires squealing against the linoleum in the distance, but he paid them no thought. His attention was solely focused on his fiancée, and he began to gradually pick up speed, hopelessly praying to all of the otherworldly powers he could think off, that he wouldn't be met with the grisly sight he was sure to find around the corner.

~Somewhere past the Midwest, 1700 Hours~

"Mater? Mater, are you alright?"

The tow truck's eyes snapped open, met with the same black and white world he awoke to every morning. Only this time a pretty Jaguar was peering up at him in concern. The private eye shook his cab, sitting up straighter in his seat. "Ah'm fine, Miss Shiftwell," he assured hollowly, and the British car's brow furrowed before another accent similar to her own spoke from overhead.

"I do hope you're not becoming airsick, Mr. Mater," Siddeley said, though it was in a rather cheerful manner. "I'll have you know that my piloting expertise surpasses most—serving in a World War will usually do that for a chap."

Finn chuckled from the other side of the bomber's cabin. "Siddeley Hawker is the only pilot I know who's barmy enough to fly us to our current destination. He's a topnotch aviator I assure you."

"Top of my class," the aircraft declared smugly.

The Aston Martin rolled his eyes. "Yes, but I believe that you can save your boasting until after the mission?"

"I don't see how that would be as much fun."

As the pair fell into a long practiced banter, Holley turned back towards the tow truck; eyelid's furrowed in concern once more. "Are you sure you're alright?" she inquired softly, and Mater momentarily wondered when she began being so kind to him.

He rolled his tires before nodding. His old demons were nothing to blab about—he was just surprised that the nightmare had come back after so long of not having it; nearly a year now. "Nutin' ta' worry about, Miss Shiftwell." The Jaguar frowned at his etiquette again—even after several reminders to call her simply by her first name, Mater had refused. It was safer that way, he deduced. The elder spy car's voice tore them from their small stare down.

"Now, Mater, do tell me—have you any experience in the field?"

Something flashed before the tow truck's eyes—a mix of pain, anger, and misery, before it disappeared again. If Holley noticed, she didn't voice it. The private eye nodded wordlessly.

Finn grinned. "Perfect! Although, I couldn't' help but notice that you were a little low on weapons…"

Siddeley gave a chuckle as the walls on the interior of his cabin flipped, and a gaping Mater was met with rows upon rows of every ammunition and firearm one could possibly imagine. The Aston Martin' beamed even wider.

"Take your pick, Mr. Tow Mater."

~Union Station, Chicago, 1540 Hours~

"Alright, why in the world are you helping me, Francesco?"

The silver and black Formula One turned back towards the police cruiser, aghast. "Why, can't I help a fellow officer, McQueen?"

Lightning's brow furrowed. "Because you're you, and you usually have an ulterior motive."

Francesco gasped, mock hurt written across his features. "I would-a never do such a thing! Whatever gave you the idea?"

The lieutenant drove around a large group of Mitsubishis exiting through an open train carriage. "Um, when you tried to flirt with my fiancée? Or how about all the times you tried to upstage me?"

"Peh," the Italian car scoffed, weaving easily through the crowded and raucous station, while Lightning was left to his own devices and had to find his own way around. "Petty squabbles, and nothing more." Francesco paused in order to wait for the cruiser to catch up. "I know that things can-a be difficult for you and I—being far from home is-a not easy. Even now I miss my mamma, just like you miss your tow truck amico."

Lightning blinked, engine sputtering to a stop. "Wow, Francesco, I guess I never really—wait, you're mom isn't here, is she?"

Francesco chortled, nudging the cruiser with a tire. "No, McQueen. My beloved mamma is back in-a Italy, awaiting her loving son's return." The lieutenant rolled his eyes as the Formula One continued. "And so, is response to your question, or assumption really, I help-a you out of the goodness of my heart."

"Alright, I'll buy that for now. But why are we at a train station?"

The F1 sighed, glancing heavenward for a moment. "I often-a question how you were assigned your current position." Before Lightning could retort, Francesco continued. "And anyway, let us just say that I have….my ways of getting you to your destination." The cruiser raised an eye ridge at the cryptic explanation, before the Italian car led him to a more secluded part of the train station. He gestured towards the lone train stationed there with a fender-less tire. "Your carriage awaits, lieutenant."

Lightning cautiously approached the open train car, when a deep and unfamiliar baritone spoke up from the front. "Don't worry, Lieutenant McQueen. I won't bite."

The cruiser quickly rolled back to face the train. Upon closer inspection, the warm brown and black painted locomotive was hardly a passenger train. He was a cargo train. He turned back to face the sergeant. "What kind of joke is this, Francesco?"

The train answered instead, his rumbling chuckle making Lightning jump. "No joke, Lieutenant. Francesco told me that you needed a surreptitious way to get out of the city, and I'm your best bet."

Lightning cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah, I'm sure. What's your name?"

The locomotive puffed up in pride. "BNSF GE C44-9W—but you can call me Benny."

"A-Alright, Benny," the cruiser began, rolling forward. "And you're sure that you can get me to the West Coast in less than twenty-four hours?"

"Does a ten wheeler have a 4-6-0 wheel arrangement?"

"Umm…"

"For your sake, yes, yes it does."

Francesco grinned, driving up next to the lieutenant. "Perfetto, then! I wish you the safest of journeys, McQueen!"

Lightning sent the sergeant a glower, but rolled into one of the freight train's three carriages. Once he was comfortable, he started down his lower-ranking officer. "Okay, Francesco, I've kept quiet for long enough—why are you really helping me? Sheriff blatantly prohibited any further work on this case."

The Formula One spun a tire absentmindedly. "Did I ever tell you that my mamma did-a not want-a me to come to America?"

Lightning blinked. "…W-what?"

Francesco only sighed, nodding sympathetically. "Sí, it's-a true—if things had turned out differently, I would not be-a here, but back home in Italy, surrounded by family and friends."

"So why did you come?" the lieutenant questioned skeptically.

The Italian car grinned. "Because it was the correct-a thing to do. There was nowhere for me to find-a work back home, short of joining the racing circuit, so I journeyed to America, despite my mamma's wishes. It was-a my choice."

"And…what does that have to do with anything?"

Francesco's brow furrowed. "What would you want Mater to do if he were in your treads?" The cruiser blinked, sufficiently startled.

"Um...well…" Lightning shuffled his tires. "Honestly, I wouldn't want him to get involved. I'd say it was….too dangerous."

"And would he listen to you?"

The lieutenant snorted. "He'd sooner sprout wings."

"Mhmm..." Francesco nodded contemplatively. "You know, Lightning, sometimes you need to break a few rules in order to do what is-a right. You agree, no?"

Lightning startled more at the use of his first name than the Italian car's words of wisdom. "Yeah...I guess so."

"Well then, full speed ahead, mio amico!" The Formula One prompted the freight train, and Benny grinned.

"See ya' later, Franny!" Benny called back, starting his engines. As the locomotive began chugging along, Francesco easily kept pace with it, his foreign engines revving sporadically and shrilly as usual.

"Ciao, McQueen!" he shouted before the train gained full speed, and left the station.

Before he closed the car door altogether, Lightning glanced out one final time, seeing the Italian car waving impishly at him from his position back at the station. The cruiser sighed as he was finally met the darkness of the carriage. "What have I gotten myself into?"