It was over before it had really even started.

When September had rolled around, they made one last race before they had to take Tommy to the closest airport to get home. Still being in high school, his parents had wanted him home at least a week before his first day of classes. Billy and Hershel had somehow convinced their parents that they would begin classes in the spring, giving them the rest of the Piston Cup season to enjoy. Will hadn't made a final decision on where he intended to go and wouldn't begin working for an extended family member until after the holidays. No one knew what Dean's plans were, whenever he was asked, he'd shrug a shoulder with a comment of who knows before changing the subject.

It was coming to an end. While they still had a few weeks to enjoy, and while Tommy hadn't necessarily been the most lively of their bunch, his sudden absence accentuated the fact that their time together was drawing to a close. They wouldn't see each other every day, they wouldn't be able to meet up on a Friday night to go cruising through town or catch a movie. They would be in different parts of the country come spring time and there wasn't anything anyone could do to stop the clock.

They never addressed it. The knowledge of their parting hung over them like the fine dust of the track and they clamored through it in attempt to enjoy what time was left.

Maybe if they saved their money, or made a large enough wager, they'd be able to buy their way in to the 1953 Piston Cup banquet, that would certainly be the way to end their summer together.

Will had come up with the idea mid September, but no one had taken him up on the offer until weeks later. They all stood in line at the betting counter as Dean counted and recounted the money he'd been handed by the others. With a large enough bet, they could use the money to reserve tickets in advance. If they already had tickets in hand, their parents couldn't tell them no.

The windows hadn't even opened to place bets yet but lines had already formed, despite the fact that spectators knew they would remain open until the race started. They all wanted to be sure they were there and had their slip in hand before they made it to their seats.

"How many races are even left anyway?" Will asked, eyeing the money in Dean's hand as he counted yet one more time. If they didn't make enough with this race, they could always attempt to do so in the following weeks.

"Less than six weeks to the season, maybe only four or five." Hershel replied distractedly as he watched the workers behind the counters. The barred petitions were still down, but he could see them getting their areas in order for the incredible amount of transactions they would be handling in the next three hours.

"You have to put it on Hudson."

"Well who else would he put it on."

"He's been betting on Heming all season."

Dean rolled his eyes, and as much as he hated to admit it, he nodded. "Yeah, I'm putting it on Hudson."

Billy patted the back of his shoulder roughly, the payout might not be as high as some of the other drivers but with the amount they were putting down it would be enough. Hudson was the safest bet.

One of the workers at a nearby counter must have heard their conversation and glanced up over their shoulder at the line up on the wall. "Steve, we forgot to change that."

Billy had heard the comment, and his expression fell when he saw someone pull out the step ladder. He glanced about at other patrons who were waiting to make their wagers and saw his own look of confusion mirrored on multiple faces as the number was removed from the top of the list.

"They took #51 off the line up."

"Who do we bet on now?"

"The next safest one I'd think. It should still be enough, and even if it isn't, we'll bet again next week."

Being part of the betting process didn't seem nearly as interesting upon realizing they wouldn't be putting the money on his favorite driver, and Billy stepped to the side away from the line. When he mentioned that he was going to go find their seats, the others agreed and Dean replied that he'd meet them after getting their slip.

The three hesitated, still a little surprised that their plan had backfired the way it did. With a disappointed huff Hershel turned to leave the line, the others following suit but they all paused when they heard a man at the last window.

"Hudson withdrew?"

"Afraid so. Team #51 won't be out there today."

"Awfully short notice, unless someone forgot their job with the boards."

"No. We just received word from officials this morning. #51 won't be in the line up for a while."

At the man's look of confusion the bookmaker only shrugged.

Dean had caught up to them, sooner than they anticipated, and must have heard a similar conversation.

"Won't be placing any bets now Billy."

"I hadn't been betting anyway."

Team #51 returned at the end of the season for two races. Having missed three in a row, Hudson had started in the middle of the pack upon returning. It hadn't mattered, though, both of the final races he'd taken first.

Billy couldn't tell if his sudden aversion to staying after races was his own or if there was something that had changed on the track. He couldn't quite place it. Maybe it had to do with the fact that their summer was over, he was no longer hoping for a chance to see these drivers after a race. Maybe it was the change in the air, and whether that had to do with the season changing or an actual shift in the attitude of the sport, he didn't know. Maybe he wasn't the starstruck kid he'd been back in May, maybe he'd done some growing up on the road and had only just realized it.

He didn't mention it to the others, but could tell they felt the same. At the very last race of the season, they stood against the rail of the outside while Dean finally had his chance to speak to his favorite driver. Looking between Will and Hershel (Hershey, because somehow the name had stuck after Talladega even though they couldn't remember which driver actually had started it) he only received knowing looks in response before Will cleared his throat and looked down at his shoes, kicking at the dust they'd all finally become comfortable with.

They had enough money to get their tickets to the banquet, even enough to include Tommy and maybe that would give them the closure to the 1953 Piston Cup season they needed.

Hudson would get the Cup that year, that much was obvious, and Billy was surprised to look past Hershel's shoulder to see the #51 team was still in their space. The immediately recognizable Hornet had been loaded on a trailer and the two they'd met earlier that season sat together on the back of the trailer, speaking to someone who appeared to be pretty important to the sport if the dress suit was anything to go by.

"Who's that?" Will asked, inclining his head in that direction.

"Beats me." Billy muttered.

"Probably a pencil pusher of some kind." Hershel added, watching as the man crossed the track and ducked under the rail to go to the press boxes.

The group watched in silence as Jesse Hudson hopped off the trailer. He was halfway to Heming when the other driver ended his conversation with Dean.

"Joe shuttin' down the track?"

"Yeah. Five minutes before we're charged with a late fee."

The four assumed it was a joke, but then again they didn't know much of the inner workings...

They all acknowledged Hudson when he offered a polite wave before turning to walk back to the cars with Heming. It was strange to see competitors together, on a track without the intensity of a race. The only thing that set the two apart in that moment was the colors of their jackets.

They weren't trying to listen in on the conversation, but these were the only few moments they had left of their summer in Piston Cup. They wouldn't be doing this next year, or maybe ever again, and it didn't matter which drivers it could have been walking across the track together. They just happened to have lucked out in the fact that it was the two they'd followed all year, standing between their teams with their backs to the boys as the dust settled in the orange haze of evening.

Will was the first to turn away, followed by Dean. Hershel turned away from the scene of racers ending a season together and looked briefly at Billy before going to follow the others.

Billy had the hardest time of all of them. He'd waited months for that summer. It was over. Their traveling was over, their quareling over drivers was over. Getting a chance like that would never come again. He'd never be this age, in this moment, ever again. He didn't want to walk away.

He'd dreamed of going out there and being one of them, and while he'd been enthralled with the sport all season, he knew he wasn't cut out for it. Those drivers had more grit than he could ever hope for. Their hearts were made for the deafening roar of engines, the smell of rubber and gasoline. He could appreciate it, but he'd never have what it took.

One last long look at the track before he left. The dirt, the rails, the track maintenance workers that suddenly appeared from nowhere to groom the track. The two teams who still hadn't left the track standing in a half circle across from them. He couldn't hear what was being said but he did see Hudson nod his head and could tell he had said thanks, to what he didn't know.

It didn't really matter.

"Billy let's go."

He finally turned from the scene and looked back to see the three waiting for him near the gate.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm coming."

The banquet had been everything they expected, and they'd tried hard to get a chance to mingle with their favorite drivers again, but a function filled with photographers, rowdy Piston Cup drivers blowing off steam at the end of the year and businessmen trying to prepare for the next year wasn't exactly the setting to accomplish such.

They did get a chance to see the 1953 Piston Cup up close and personal, though. Once it had been awarded, and Jesse Hudson made his remarks, the trophy had been put on display in one of the front corners of the room, at the end of a long table filled with awards, articles and large photographs highlighting the season.

It was hard to recognize drivers in suits, or anything other than their racing jackets really, but they'd been looking over different photos on the wall as well as the table, pointing out moments they remembered from their summer when Hershel glanced up to see the Cup being placed on the far end. Hudson, his crew chief and a few official looking people had their photos taken before parting ways again, but before stepping away from the table completely the #51 driver had set what looked like a white placement card on the ornate looking pedestal the trophy was attached to.

Without mentioning it to the others, he waited his turn as they followed the line of people looking over the items on the table until finally getting a chance to see the trophy up close.

They weren't anything to scoff at. The Piston Cup trophy looked heavy, with fine details and craftsmanship. There was no cutting corners on the quality, and even the name engraving appeared to have been painstakingly done.

It was better than any of his little awards sitting at home. The cost of materials alone had to be impressive...

He glanced down quickly, remembering he had wanted to see what it was Hudson had placed with his award.

It was a place setting card, like he had assumed. They had all kept their own as a keepsake. He read the gold calligraphy in silence, noting the card had been placed just beside the engraving of the name plate on Hudson's trophy.

Ruth Hudson.

Will seemed to have finally noticed it and commented lowly behind him. "Was that the-"

"Yeah." He looked up, spotting the driver in question not far from where they stood, in the middle of a conversation with his crew chief. He grinned at whatever was said before taking a drink from the glass in his hand.

He wouldn't put it past that group to smuggle their own moonshine in.