AN: I love writing the Thomasville arc, hope you're all enjoying it. :)


Lightning had decided he wanted to visit Thomasville Speedway during his conversation with Sally. Smokey had hesitated only briefly before telling him he better get to bed then, they'd be leaving early in the morning.

Doc hadn't been keen on the idea of driving back to the hotel at 1 AM, so they'd camped out in the living room. Lightning had claimed the couch, catching bits and pieces of the conversation through the open doorway to the back porch. While the lights in the living room were off, soft light still faded in from the kitchen and occasionally he could tell someone was passing the door frame. He shifted to get more comfortable, opening his eyes blearily to see who it was walking through this time.

He wasn't surprised to see Doc, over the years he'd gotten so used to just the sound of certain family members that he could tell who was moving about. Lightning closed his eyes again, not intentionally listening in but it was hard not to in the silent house. Even the crickets outside seemed miles away.

They must have thought he was asleep, tones low so as not to disturb him. Lightning heard the kitchen faucet turn on and cabinet doors opening and closing.

"Go ahead, make yourself at home."

"Just be glad I remember where to find everything."

The coffee maker beeped and Lightning heard the chairs to the table scuff against the floor.

"So how's it lookin' to get back out there?"

"Like a lot of work."

"Is he-"

"Kid's fine. He's still got it."

Lightning felt a rush of relief flood through him and grinned in the darkened room, arms crossed over his stomach.

"It's these new cars, strategies changing, rules changing..."

Lightning didn't catch what Smokey had said.

"I never made it this far." Doc replied, and Lightning was surprised to hear him reference his own rejection from the sport without malice. "Like the blind leading the blind."

"What about these new kids."

Lightning cracked an eye open, just able to see the two sitting at the kitchen table. Doc only shook his head.

"That bad, huh."

"Unbelievable."

Lightning felt his stomach twist, did he mean talent or...?

"Next time I get a warning, I won't be allowed to leave the pit box for half a season."

"I heard about your penalty."

Lightning suddenly realized what Doc was referencing. Three Sunday races before his accident, Doc had been penalized for leaving their pit space. Tensions had come to blows with the IGNTR crew.

He hadn't seen it obviously, he'd been out of the pits and back on the track, but there'd been a brief clip that made it to YouTube of Doc jumping down from the box and yanking his headset off to rest around his neck as he'd stalked the few spaces down. Audio hadn't picked up the conversation but the two crew chiefs were far from cordial.

Lightning was fairly sure it had something to do with the near sideswipe he'd gotten when Storm had passed him on Pit Row, crowding into his pit space, he'd been forced to stop and wait for another three cars before he could pull out of the pits.

Somehow no one had noticed that part.

"I remember fist fights breaking out and no one would bat an eye."

"Now it's all fines and penalties and point standings..."

"You still enjoy it?" Smokey asked after a moment.

"Every minute."

Lightning grinned wider before finally drifting to sleep.


They piled into the Escalade the next morning, bright and early. Lightning was a little disappointed not to be taking the truck. Smokey had explained, and Lightning was a little concerned in his shift in mood so far.

"Might not have cars like this around here, but a current Piston Champion , and a Piston Legend, in my truck would get a lot more attention."

He'd looked toward Doc for clarification but received none.

He'd nearly had them pull over so he could get a picture of the old wooden sign advertising the track. Aside from the fact that it was The Hornet, it was a neat Americana looking billboard, he figured Sally would like it.

"You got another five days or more, Hot Rod. I'm not stopping now."

He felt ridiculous, like a kid on a field trip, looking out the windows on either side in hopes of being able to see.

Doc had fallen silent, and when they pulled up and parked beside the old metal bleachers, he shut the car off and stared out across the turn for a few moments before getting out and letting the door close on its own behind him.

When Lightning went to follow, Smokey held him back. "Let 'im go, kid."

That's when Lightning realized what he was really looking at.

Morning mist hung low over the dirt track and dew could be seen clinging to long grass pockmarked with spider webs. The old chain link fences were stretched, bent, or completely uprooted in places. Rails from the inner wall had completely rotted away or had fallen in complete disrepair. The painted Piston logo he could see was chipped nearly to oblivion and windows from the press box had been busted out ages ago, from weather and disrespectful kids alike.

Weeds grew up through the lower benches of the bleachers, one of the giant wooden doors leading under the grand stand had fallen off its track. At one point they were likely a brilliant whitewash but now they were a dingy and rotted brown.

He looked away from the landscape to watch Doc, who had made it to the wall at the turn, leaning against it and looking out. Lighting could picture a much younger version from Smokey's story the night before, giddy over the prospect of having a career in Piston Cup.

Lightning watched as he ducked through the wooden rails and walked across the turn, pausing to scuff his foot through the dirt before sizing up the straightaway.

He did that at the Butte too.

Lightning took as much in as he could from his seat in the Escalade, feeling like he was prying when he noticed Doc brushing off a dust covered sign. He looked away and toward Smokey.

"When did they stop using this?" He asked.

"Around '67 I think, give or take a year..."

And no one took care of it? Was a stupid question, so he remained silent.

Seeing Doc make his way back to the car was enough to let him know it was safe to get out. He made sure he had his phone in hand.

He took pictures from just about every angle possible. The signs, the old painted on advertisements, the battered and beaten barn-like doors. He stepped gingerly over a half wall, mindful of his leg, and looked over an overgrown jungle that at one point in time would have been the early version of Pit Row.

He took a panorama of the press box, and stood under the twisted and dented spotlights. There were a few pictures of Doc and Smokey leaning over the wall or sitting on the bleachers he'd even been able to get without their knowledge.

LightningMcQueenOfficial: Stepping back in time.

He hesitated with his thumb over the publish button before shaking his head. He backspaced until the text was gone and he exited out of the app.


"The kid has a real name right?" Smokey asked as they watched him from their place on the bleachers.

Doc had yelled out to him when he'd stepped over that wall. "You bust that knee and I'll bust you."

He'd looked at his brother, having not exactly given him his full attention. "What?"

"Him." Smokey gestured. "That can't be his real name."

Who would name their kid Lightning?

"Oh." Doc shook his head, looking back out across the track. Apparently even the press box was interesting... "No. He just prefers the nickname. He's always used it, I've never heard the media address him differently."

"Hmm."

"Guess he prefers the media's image." He leaned back and braced his hands on the bleacher bench behind them, shrugging. "Something about his mother wanting to name him after his old man, but it's too old a name for his liking."

Smokey waited for the explanation to continue as he watched the kid picking through the tall weeds. As the silence lengthened he grew increasingly uncomfortable. That statement had been pretty open ended. His brows lowered, looking toward his younger brother finally.

Was he saying? No...

Because he'd wondered, however briefly, but that didn't add up either. The kid's debut to the racing scene would have been far different.

"You're not tellin' me-"

He couldn't even finish his question before his brother had hit him on the back roughly. Doc's serious expression evaporated as he started laughing.

"No." Doc shook his head. "I wouldn't know, I've never met the woman."

Smokey groaned. "You're still a little punk-"

He shoved his shoulder, which only brought on more laughter and he was forced to grin finally. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Jesse laugh like that. It had to have been '53?

He'd missed it, he hadn't realized how much he'd missed it.

Lightning had approached, phone in hand but a hesitant and unsure smile across his face.

"Did I miss something?" He'd never seen Doc like that.

"Take 'im back, kid. I can't do it." He shoved his brother again for good measure. "I'd forgotten how nice it was to not have to deal with heart palpitations."

"I'm a medical professional. I can help with that."

"You're the one that causes them!"


By the time mid afternoon rolled around, they were situated in the air conditioned living room. Lightning listened to the two as both Doc and Smokey shared stories they remembered that coincided with photos or clippings that he held up.

Opening one of the larger boxes on the floor, he paused and looked up at Smokey. "These are movies..."

Luckily they were dated, at least by year. How correct they were, Smokey mentioned he wasn't sure. Lightning read over the film reels and passed 1950 across to Smokey before he got up to pull the curtains closed.

The projector ticked quietly until it got a hold of the film, and Lightning watched with interest as the image came in and out of focus.

A young woman stood at the top of the stairs of the back porch, self consciously brushing dark hair behind her ear.

Lightning looked toward Doc, who'd noticed his silent question from the corner of his eye and only nodded subtly, his chin rested on his hand as he sat slouched in the large chair, eyes on the screen.

She gestured awkwardly. "What am I even supposed to say?"

"Whatever you want. We can always get rid of it later." Came from whoever was filming.

"So..." Ruth glanced up as if in deep thought.

The film cut out and suddenly The Hudson Hornet was on screen. They'd obviously spliced film. Lightning was startled by how young Doc was.

"I just got back from Michigan."

"You've ruined this beautiful car." It must have been Smokey behind the camera.

"It is not ruined." A nineteen year old Doc defended.

"You don't need all that lettering-"

"How else is anyone going to see me?"

"Oh, I'm sure they'll see you."

The audio cut briefly and there were clips run together, Lightning felt like there were film crews that got paid a lot of money to edit fake home movies that weren't even this entrancing.

A few moments of video showed all three siblings leaning against the side of The Hornet, oldest to youngest, Ruth was shorter than both her brothers. The colors of the recording were faded out, there was no Photoshop filter that could hold a candle to this. Lightning wished he knew what they were talking about. They looked so happy.

He was afraid to speak, or even look toward the other two.

The scene cut again to the front of the house, a Piston Cup sitting halfway up the steps and a still dirt covered Doc being hounded by his sister. Lightning could at least lip read my little brother as she'd playfully slapped at his shoulders in an attempt to get the dust off the navy blue jacket.

Lightning did glance in Doc's direction briefly to see his eyes still glued on the screen.

The audio came back long enough for an image of Smokey's frustrated look at the camera while in his garage, the hood of The Hornet up.

"What is that?" Doc asked from behind the camera.

"Your air filter." Smokey replied, tipping the part over and dumping sand all over the floor. He scowled on camera at the laughter it prompted.

Lightning bit back a frown when Doc stood up, still watching the screen momentarily before going to leave the room. He got up, much slower, and went to follow him.

"Doc?" His frown turned to concern when he saw that he was filling his travel mug with coffee.

"Just a walk." He answered the unspoken question, grinning tightly. Already knowing how the kid would react, he gestured to the living room. "Go ahead and watch 'em. It's ok."

And it really was. He just needed a break.

Lightning lingered in the kitchen a moment after Doc left before returning to the living room. He stared at the screen, vaguely, taking in the similarities and differences between the three siblings while they were all on camera. Doc and his sister were obviously alike in many ways, Lightning noticed they both had darker hair and smaller builds than their older brother. Smokey was somewhat broader in the shoulders, brawnier.

"I wish I'd known him like that." He muttered, staring at the screen.

Smokey looked up at him, his expression clouded. "Like what?"

"You know..." Lightning turned to look at him and shrugged one shoulder slowly before looking back at the film.

"Happy..."

Smokey raised a brow before reaching out and turning the projector off.

"Come with me." He stood and started for the back door. "You need to see something."

Lightning was surprised to see how low the sun had gotten, dusk had settled in comfortably and he followed Smokey in silence. Looking out toward the main road he could see Doc had made decent ground, his silhouette already over a half mile away.

He waited quietly as Smokey pushed the heavy door open and turned a few lights on. As the old florescent bulbs took a moment to heat up, he was reminded of Doc's garage, only this was larger.

As the lights flickered to life, he wandered past the tool chests and shelves filled with every belt size he could imagine. An old Thomasville Speedway poster was partially hidden behind a metal rack stand. Lightning paused a moment, eyes roaming over the walls until he noticed the cork board. He stopped in his tracks as Smokey came up beside him.

"Got the first letter about six months after you gave up your first Piston Cup, and let me tell you I was fit to be tied. Think I'd collected three before I finally caved."

Lightning glanced at him briefly.

"They're all about you."

He nearly took a step back in surprise before looking more intently at the board.

"Every last one of 'em."

Call him sentimental, soft, whatever, but Lightning felt his chest tighten painfully.

"He loved driving, but I've never seen him as happy as when he's coaching you."

Lightning looked over the photos, articles, and Doc's distinctive handwriting that peeked out from around magazine pages. The last however many years, he didn't feel like counting, flashed by behind his eyes.

Dozens of races, championships, titles, long days at the Butte, long days traveling, criticism, praise, the familiar presence and instructions from the pit box, the steady calm on the mornings of races that counterbalanced his nervousness, bickering and challenging, goading and teasing, sarcasm so dry he wasn't always sure he got it.

From wanting to throw him out of town, to following his ambulance to the hospital, to taking him clear across the country because he'd asked him to.

"Racing wasn't the best part of his life."

Lightning felt his chest tighten further.

"You are."

He was not going to cry in front of Doc's brother.

Lightning stood in stunned silence until finally gesturing helplessly. How to react to that?

Smokey just grinned, patting his shoulder roughly before turning him around. "Thought you might like to know..."

"Thanks." He finally choked out.

"My pleasure, kid."

Lightning took a shuddering breath when they left the building, it was much cooler outside than the stifling air within the garage. He could see Doc just coming back up the drive as Smokey closed up the sliding doors. He was surprised there was no reprimand as he nearly jogged to catch up with him.

Doc had glanced up toward the garage before looking at him. "Alright?"

"Yeah." He nodded.

"Enjoying the trip?"

"Absolutely, thanks for bringing me out here."

"Anytime, Kiddo."

Smokey hadn't heard the conversation, too far behind to catch anything, but he did see Jesse throw an arm over the kid's shoulders as they walked back to the house.