Disclaimer: I do not own Cars, nor do I own any of the characters associated with Cars. The only charrie I own (at least, thus far) is Reny and my portrayal of events. Cars belongs to Pixar; not me!
The weather was just right: Slightly overcast, so that the sun was forced to reflect only off the orange-red rocks that made up the landscape around Radiator Springs, but not ominously and depressingly dark. The clouds provided some relief from the almost constant, often irrepressible heat, though those who'd lived in the little town for years had become used to such a desert quirk.
Business had been slow, with only a few cars making the trek out to the many shops that dotted the ebony strip of asphalt, so Reny had borrowed Ramone's paint sprayer for as long as the thin wall of grey clouds held. With slow, even strokes, the little Mustang spread an even layer of slightly off-white paint over the chipped, permanently-dust-stained old coat of the dwelling. Her grille was set in careful concentration, her hazel eyes never deviating from their course as stripe upon stripe of the fresh blanket was applied. The small, raggedy shell of a garage had improved almost unbelievably, seeing as it'd been in such a decrepit stake before. All the rubbish from within had been removed, and either cleaned for later use or appropriately disposed of with the help of the garbage truck. The interior walls had been scrubbed, and though there was no way to make them perfectly clean, and fresh coat of paint would do wonders for its appearance. Only half of the exterior had been painted, yet already it looked so improved that visitors paused and glanced at it with murmurs of appreciation and admiration. This made Reny straighten herself up with pride to the point where, Lightning noted with a twinge of sadness, she almost looked grown up.
A slit of moist pink betrayed her tongue, which had curled a fraction over her upper lip as her eyes grilled into the walls of the dwelling. Her works at the Butte allowed her to keep a firm and steady tire upon the spray gun, and even Ramone had been impressed with the cut of her strokes. It helped that she'd lost herself completely in the project over the last few weeks: It seemed that the only moments when she wasn't tending to some detail of the garage were when she was at Flo's, filling up on gas or downing can after can after can of oil (somehow her intake had increased even more then before), training at the Butte with stubborn vigor, or sleeping in cone number four with her tires tucked well under her expanding chassis. To most, it was just Reny, using her boundless energy and enthusiasm to work towards what she wanted as she did with her racing dream. Doc, though, wasn't so sure, and even Lightning, who knew her far better than anyone in town, had to admit that even Reny was not so, well, obsessive, not usually. Still, it kept her busy, and while they had their doubts, the two racers kept their suspicions to themselves for the most part.
Shhhh, shhhhh, shhhhhhhhh, shhhhhhh. The paint hissed softly as it was expelled from the sprayer and adhered itself to the desired surface. The blaring of horns, some further down the road, and some only a couple yards from her mirrors did not faze the Mustang, not in her current trance. Her concentration was so great, in fact, that the snorting of an engine that should've been as familiar as her own completely escaped her notice.
Peering around his supercharger, which he'd recently washed to a gleaming mirror shine, the orange 'Cuda snuffled softly and blinked his clear green eyes as he gazed at the grey and silver car. It was just his luck that the breeze was clam today, or the resulting puffs of dust would've sent him into a paroxysm of violent hacking. As it was, a few grains of red-brown dust had worked themselves between the butterfly valves of his supercharger, and the result was no less then predictable: He sneezed, hard, orange and red and yellow flames billowing from his pipes and filling the air with a slightly singed odor.
The whoosh of the sprayer suddenly cut off as the trigger was released, a small drip of paint landing with the most muffle of plops into the dry, gritty earth. Reny tipped her hood to one side, cocking her mirrors as she tried to identify what she'd heard. She knew that sound, from somewhere, but it was only when another sniffle and a soft cough broke from the other car that she wheeled around, ready for a confrontation should be prove to have some sort of sinister intent.
"Snot Rod!"
Reny almost dropped the paint sprayer in her surprise, her eyes lighting up almost instantly at the sight of her old friend. It was when she caught the gleam of sun off graffiti-colored paint and electronics that revealed the pair of tuners who were nearly concealed by Snot Rod's wide, orange frame that her grille bloomed into a huge, utterly exuberant grin. She'd never admitted it, not even to Lightning, but she'd missed them since the moment she'd found out they'd skipped town without saying good-bye, almost to the point of rendering herself immobile; a fate her garage had saved her from.
"What're you guys doing here?"
Snot Rod grinned; before his hood wrinkled and he let out another tremendous sneeze, "We were in the area and thought we'd stop by," he sniffed, his green eyes straining to see around his over-sized blower. Wingo snorted, his brown eyes rolling as he peeped out further from behind the 'Cuda. "Yeah, right!" He glanced around furtively and spoke out in a stage whisper, "Such a casual visit is why we went 60 over the speed limit the whole way into town." DJ nodded, lifting one of his tires and examining it as though grieved. "I think they're worn down all the way to the cords…"
Reny snorted, accenting it with an obvious roll of her eyes; her grin widening as she drove closer to peer down at his tires. "As it just so happens, I can get you a discount at Luigi's easy." She twitched her windshield higher, her hazel eyes glittering in a spark of cheekiness. "That is, if you'll promise not to get into a shouting match the next time you can't agree on what music to play."
DJ shifted his tires in a manner that seemed to be chagrinned, glancing to Wingo who had taken on the appearance of a rather peeved cat. Snot Rod just smothered his smile, his emerald eyes catching Reny's in shared mirth.
Despite this happy reunion, there was one presence that was obviously lacking in the little town. The silver and grey Mustang peered around the trio of boys, and seeing no one else frowned in befuddled contemplation. "Haven't you forgotten someone?"
The three cars glanced at each other, DJ looking somewhat worried, Wingo highly amused, and Snot Rod smirking softly.
"Oh, well, you know Boost."
Snot Rod snickered, and even DJ smiled as though the three of them were in on some private joke- Which, in a way, they were. Reny just rolled her eyes and leaned back on her tires with a soft squeak of shocks and an exasperated sigh. "For the record, I never spent a whole lot of time around him as you'll remember, seeing as he spent most of his time here behind chain link. So, no, I don't know him from anything more then what you guys told me and what little bit I've seen for myself."
Cheshire-type grins were her only answer at first, and Reny couldn't keep herself from laughing hard enough to keep her words from being entirely serious. "Alright, guys, come on, spill it- What'd he do this time?"
Much to Wingo's displeasure, as he would've liked to hold the secret over Reny's hood for a good while longer, Snot Rod found himself no longer able to keep silent. "Oh, not much- He's just gone and gotten himself thrown in jail."
The Mustang blinked, once, then wrinkled her windshield and shot the trio a bemused glance.
"So why is Boost the only one locked away? I thought you guys were a team?"
"Funny story," Wingo huffed. DJ just rolled his eyes. "So, we're in this restaurant, right? Another dinky little town, almost the picture-perfect twin of this one." He gestured with a tire, sweeping it over the buildings, some with cars resting outside them. "Snot Rod and I saw some nice-looking girls, so we went to see if we could charm the hubcaps off 'em." The orange 'Cuda's hood turned a darker shade of orange, and he shuffled his tires nervously.
"Didn't work out," Wingo sighed, frowning lightly. "So, while we're outside epically failing that, Boost started flirting with this waitress- Cute little Suzuki- and her boyfriend didn't take too kindly to that." The purple and green tuner grimaced, and his boxy companion winced at the memory. "So, they started fighting. Thing is, a car of Boost's size is not much of a match for a Hummer. Police pulled 'em apart." The Silvia nodded in the Scion's direction. "DJ was at the counter ordering something from an old Buick who must've been half-blind, so he's okay. But now Boost won't be out for at least a month, and we can only visit him for about an hour a day, so…"
Reny grinned cheekily. "I was your last resort."
Snot Rod sneezed, blowing dust over a horrified Wingo's newly waxed paint. "Actually, no." He'd remained mostly silent throughout the telling of the tale, an occasional sniff or sneeze having been the only sign that he existed at all. This time, it was Wingo's turn to role his own brown eyes. "Figure we might as well," he explained. "Snot Rod's been hanging over everything like a dirty wet mop."
"I have not been hanging!" Snot Rod' voice rose in pitch as he defended himself.
The Silvia snorted and raised a corner of his windshield to eye his orange friend incredulously. "Uh huh. Yeah, sure." He nudged DJ and winked a single gleaming brown eye, causing the Scion to snicker softly and nearly inaudibly.
"You-!" Snot Rod was blushing now, looking more red then orange. His eyes traveled to Reny, but if he was looking for support he found none from her. The little car was shaking, tears welling in her eyes as she tried her darndest not to laugh at the little tiff going on right before her eyes. Looking almost dejected, the 'Cuda took a shaky breath and started in on the purple and green Silvia. "If you're implying something-!"
Seeing as the four cars had been shouting at each other at intervals, it was practically impossible for the reunion to go unnoticed by anyone in the little town. Countless pairs of curious eyes, mostly from the town's original residents, and some from cars that had taken up living in Radiator Springs more recently, peeped at them from inside buildings and driveways where they were parked. Several of them smiled or turned to speak to one another, clearly not bothered by the appearance of the three Delinquent Road Hazards. There were, however, a couple of exceptions. The two-toned police cruiser, who just happened to be at Flo's sipping a quart of oil, glowered at them coldly and huffed repeatedly under his moustache. He'd hoped, though he felt a twinge of guilt for having done so, that the tuners and the muscle car would stay far, far from Radiator Springs. Let them pester some younger cop, one who would find thrill in the chase and not find himself with a blown gasket an hour after pursuing them across the desert.
Doc, who had been observing the eager exchange, scowled and let out an exasperated, "Huh." Lightning, who was parked nearby, shot the older race car a puzzled glance.
"What's wrong Doc? Got a bit of gravel jammed in your wheel well?" He smiled cockily, enjoying his joke.
Doc shot the hot-shot kid a glare, snapping, "This is no joking matter!" The smile oozed off of Lightning's grille, his expression becoming one of concern. "What's up?"
Doc's brooding eyes were trained on the young cars that were laughing and horsing around just across the street.
What was he supposed to tell the young racer? That he'd had some strange, nagging feeling of foreboding creep over him so suddenly that he hadn't seen it coming? That, no matter how hard he tried, he could shake the disturbing feeling out of his subconscious, out of his mind?
"It's nothing you need to worry about, kid."
The red race car bristled at being blown off in such a manner, his blue eyes flashing as he raised his hood in defiance of the older car's words. "Ohhh, I see how it is. You're just worried about those boys, aren't you?"
Doc grunted, a sign that Lightning had touched a nerve. One could see his axles stiffen as he drew his tires in towards himself like a boxer preparing to take a punch. Few would dare to push him further, but Lightning was one of those few who dared to do more than toe the line. His voice was softer now, almost nostalgic, as though he were talking to a child. "Doc, if those boys hadn't run Mack off the road, I wouldn't be here today."
Another grunt. "What's that got to do with anything?"
Trying to calm himself, Lightning inhaled deeply and picked his words with a care the impulsive young race car seldom showed towards anything. "The town might not have changed. I might not have changed. But that's not what I was thinking of." A laugh gave him cause to shift enough to catch a glance of Reny, her chassis shaking from something one of the trio had said. "She's 15, Doc, almost 16, but she still needs cars her own age to hang out with. There's only so much us old fellows can do." He smiled, half-cheekily at the dark blue Hornet, who simply eyed him with an almost impassive expression, were it not for the spark of irritation in his equally blue eyes. "Other cars come through town all the time."
Another sigh. "Not like that, Doc. Most of the time it's older couples, or couples on their honeymoon, or younger couples with screaming children." He winced as though he could feel his cab beginning to ache from the incessant cries. "Honestly, how many teenagers have you actually seen driving down Mainstreet?"
Silence was his only reply, a sign of stubborn defeat for the Hornet, at least on that section of the topic for the moment. "I still don't like it, Lightning. They're years away from her age wise, and to be frank, I don't like the way they tear through town like it's theirs to do with what they so please."
"Reny keeps them in line- Mostly."
Doc nearly growled as Lightning smirked smugly at him. "You know, kid, you can be a real pain in the tailpipe sometimes."
The gleaming red racer chortled, his blue eyes dancing as he turned towards the sound of yet another laugh. "Yeah, but I'm right!
It was about that time when Reny's training picked up.
In his restlessness, Doc had spent a great deal of time attempting to distract himself by puzzling out a regimen for the young car. There was little reason for her to focus most of her workouts on boot camp anymore, save for conditioning her strength. No, no, her problem was speed, and that was a problem the old racer intended to fix. Time would tell if she had any, and though he wouldn't say so out loud, Doc was quite convinced that she could more than keep pace with any field in time. Like most young cars, cars who intended one day to race, her speed needed only to be coaxed from her and the rest would follow with little to no effort on anyone's part. In many ways, though, that was much easier said than done, particularly for the car under scrutiny.
It could be said that the old Hornet had an ulterior motive as well. Despite Lightning's attempts to soothe his feelings, to alleviate the thickly veiled hostility towards them, Doc still felt no better about Reny's now-constant companions. It wasn't just that he lacked respect for the DRH as a whole, being the ruffians that they were. Even with that he might've been able to tolerate the thought of them gallivanting around their town, so long as they remained within the bounds of the law- and he grudgingly had to admit that the young racer had been right on that point. Save for a few minor accidents that were truly, well, accidents, the boys had been marvelously well behaved. Even Sheriff had grumbled over his morning oil that he'd had little to do over the past few weeks besides nap in the shade of the Radiator Springs welcome sign- Not that he really minded. Yet, Doc's paint still prickled whenever he saw the foursome laughing together over some small prank or memory, and only mildly less so when it was just Snot Rod and Reny. He hoped, if perhaps futilely, that if he kept Reny nearly constantly occupied, she'd be more likely to stay out of harm's way, and his too-vivid dreams might, just might not become actuality. So, with those visions of crushed metal, leaking fluid, winking headlights flashing before his eyes, the old racer took it upon himself to begin Reny's real race training in earnest.
The workouts themselves were brutal, so much so that even Lightning seemed to pale upon observing them. It wasn't that they were particularly complex, but over time they took a grueling toll upon one's strength. Of course, in time they would prove to be a great benefit, but until they built up Reny's strength they proved to tax it markedly.
"Again. Again. Again. Again." Rapid-fire, never varied, seemingly never ending. Run the banking high, run the banking low. Breaking starts, where Reny was required to come to a complete stop, then hit the glass and blow off the start/finish line as quickly as possible. Speed trials, where she raced against the clock until she could cont down the seconds almost perfectly without even devoting extra energy to it- not that there was any to spare-, drifts where she had to dig as deeply into the corner as she could without spinning out, something that took a terrible toll on her axles as far as comfort was concerned, and the hundreds upon hundreds of laps she ran every single day for hours on end without fail. The affect on Reny was to be expected of one carrying such a heavy burden. When she wasn't training, she was almost always sleeping, hard, but even then the fatigue from her lessons created raccoon-like circles under her windshield. Her apatite bobbled, and then trailed off almost completely, and progress on her garage came to a complete standstill. So too did her personality warp, perhaps not overly perceptibly, but enough to become more worrying to those who knew her best.
There came a point in time where Lightning, after watching Reny wince her way into Cone Number Four on aching axles after listlessly swallowing only about a half can of oil for lunch, found himself unable to watch in silence any longer. He knew she's have only a few hours before her alarm would go off, and she would totter her way back to Willy's Butte for an afternoon packed with more exercises, more training, more endless circles around the little dirt oval. It was that thought that moved him to take a slow drive down mainstreet to the old shed and nudge one of the old doors open to peer inside. The dimness meant that his eyes took some time to adjust, but when they finally did they rested upon the dark blue car in one corner, nearly invisible save for the sunlight glinting off his chrome accents as he sifted through the contents of an old cardboard box.
"Whatdya want, kid?"
He hadn't had to turn around: He'd seen the line of sunlight lengthen and widen over the floor as the gap of the door increased, and only Lightning would've dared disturb him when he was ensconced in his little sanctum. There was some hesitance from the red race car, but with a deep breath he drove in, letting the door swing back to its original position in his wake.
"Doc, what're you doing?"
The Hornet stiffened, continuing to sort through the box with slow, careful tires. His expression was impassive, as usual, but his deep blue eyes seemed to gleam with a harder light then they had a few moments earlier.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Lightning."
His words were gruff, warning, but instead of cowing the young racer, they only served to inflame him further. His voice rose to a shout, and he rose higher over his tires in righteous indignation. "Don't play that with me old man! I'm talking about Reny!" His teeth snapped together, and his nearly baby-blue eyes flashed as he glowered at the Hornet. "Have you seen what your little training program is doing to her? You're wearing her to death!"
Lightning's tone gave Doc cause to bristle, and his grille hardened into one of furious determination. With a swiftness that caught Lightning off guard, the Hornet wheeled about with a soft screech of tires so that his gaze bored into the youngster with such force that the racer had no choice but to look away. "Kid, if you think you can train her any better than I can, go right ahead. I won't stop you." More than ever the old Hornet sounded exhausted, and Lightning could tell by the dip in his windshield that Doc hadn't been sleeping well as of late. Still, the old car's deep blue eyes held the same calm as usual, the same expectancy, and also the same fire that, though well masked, still burned behind them.
"She's not going to wear out, kid. Her axles aren't going to snap, and her engine isn't going to blow up. It's conditioning, Lightning, something that's got to get harder before it becomes easier."
The red race car glanced to the track, following a line of dust motes as they drifted cealingward, disturbed by Doc's sudden movements. "But…"
"But what?" Doc lifted the front of his chassis, his dark eyes boring into Lightning's paler pair. "We've got to build her strength while she's young or she'll never stand up to training when the time comes for her to race. She might, for a time, but eventually she'll be sidelined with injuries, possibly terminal ones. I'm preventing that, Lightning. I'm making it easier on her, no matter how it appears." He failed, purposefully, to mention that he was probably working Reny harder then he'd have worked any other car her age. The visions from before, screeching tires, snapping metal, fueled him, drove him to take every precaution possible with the precocious youngster. He saw dangers behind every corner, every sign, and every car that looked to her longer then Doc felt comfortable with. Perhaps, he'd reflected, he was becoming paranoid in his old age, but on the other hand he'd never had such frightful associations of potential future doom with any other vehicle before, ever. How could anyone even attempt to ward of something when they had no idea which form it came in? Yes, the DRH, as they so called themselves, made him vaguely uncomfortable, but even he had to admit that she could do much worse than Snot Rod and his friends.
Despite being so unnerved by Doc's uncharacteristically long speech, Lightning refused to hold his tongue or the questions, the accusations that wanted to boil off of it and into actual being. "Then why isn't she getting better, Doc? You can justify her times all you want, but even you know that her time hasn't been improving like it should be. She's getting better, but…" He trailed off, and behind his fiery façade the Hornet could discern true concern: Not for Reny's training, or the fact that he might be harming her, not really. No, the truth was that Lightning was afraid and hadn't known it until now; afraid that Reny wouldn't be able to reach her goal, afraid of seeing how crushed she'd be if all she could ever achieve was below the mandated minimum speed most race tracks employed.
"Lightning…" Doc drooped on his tires, exhausted from the sudden rush of energy that depleted his already low stores. "I never guaranteed anything beyond the best training any potential young race car can have. I can't guarantee that Reny will ever set a tire on a racetrack for so much as an official practice session, or that she'll be any good if she ever gets that far." He paused, his eyes glazing over as he skimmed the artifacts in the garage, and lingered upon the age-stained newspaper on the wall: The paper detailing his accident. "Like you, I can only speculate as to her potential. However, I might be able to explain to you- if your cab's not to thick- why she's yet to show any speed, from a doctor's standpoint at least."
His eyes drifted back to Lightning, this time calm and thoughtful as he mulled over the words he'd use and organized his thoughts. He took some time at this, at last clearing his throat and shifting to a more comfortable position on his tires.
"I admit I've been working Reny hard, but if she's got anything for the racetrack it will be a blessing in disguise. Undoubtedly you ran yourself around so much at your age that you never noticed when your engine suddenly acquired a few dozen horsepower. But Reny hasn't had that opportunity, not until now. Sometimes it takes a period of such an activity before the engine components synch with each other in just the right manner. Reny's recent growth spurt has only served to further complicate matters, because while her chassis in bigger; her engine is still catching up with her. I don't know if you remember you last growth spurt, Lightning, but it calls for a little adjustment on every car's part. Once she makes it through that ungainly stage and everything comes together, she'll be fine, at least for a while."
He paused to catch his breath and allow his words to sink into Lightning's cab. The sun was sitting lower in the sky, as evidenced by the shift in light through the garage windows, and traffic had picked up a fraction, but the older racer paid no mind to the passage of time. The box he'd been searching through so intently earlier say, limp and forgotten behind him as he cleared his throat and picked up on the same strand of conversation as before.
"There's a reason why everyone's not a race car, kid. Besides the obvious desire not to get mixed up in that sort of thing and an incompatible body type, many promising racers can't compete past a certain level because their chassis never sync, or their engines never sync, or for a similar conflict with their internal workings. It never "clicks" for them. They may be perfectly capable of handling the strain of competition from a mental standpoint, but one little physical defect can prevent them from ever being competitive."
Lightning was no longer glaring at Doc, but was instead studying him with a sort of thinly veiled curiosity. Privately Doc chuckled to himself- If only the young racer were so attentive to everything he said. Granted, Lightning had improved, but he still had the tendency to be bull-hooded far past what could be beneficial. They'd won several races together, but there had been more than a couple instances where the red car's stubborn insistence on handling a situation his way had cost them a win, and occasionally a good finish.
"What does that mean for Reny?"
Shaken from his reverie, Doc sighed and shook his hood, not in a sign of denial, but in an attempt to reorganize his scattered thoughts. "The hope is, Lightning, that she'll amount to something. If she can get her chassis shook up to where it's supposed to be, the idea will be to race her in a few races with her horsepower level. Should she reach that point, then we'll go whole hog, so to speak."
Now it was Lightning's turn to take on a contemplative silence, but one grimmer then any of those Doc had indulged in. When he did speak, it was with a hesitant slowness and a twist of his grille that clearly displayed his distaste for the nature of his thoughts.
"An engine transplant."
Doc nodded and settled down lower over his tires. "In my day, kid, racing wasn't regulated half as severely as it is today. The only way she could ever participate at the Piston Cup level is if she goes through a few modifications to meet their specifications- Including her engine. We can tweak on it for a while, but eventually it will be necessary to replace her engine with something that can feed her the horsepower she needs. In doing so, we'll have to update several of her components to match that engine and improve her potential performance." He paused, his expression becoming more pained as though he'd been confronted with something unpleasant. It was Lightning who voiced his thoughts. "But she'll have to start over again…"
Another nod and this time a soft grunt, a sign of displeasure. "The readjustment period can take months, sometimes years. Some race cars never readjust." He twisted his tire against the faded crimson dust broodingly. "You've been fortunate, kid, because you've never had to undergo a transplant. You were lucky enough to be born with a powerful engine in a style that required few tweaks to fall under compliance. I bet you never thought about that, did you?"
Hesitation, and then the red race car closed his eyes and shook his hood. His elder grunted again, this time slightly less severe. "I thought not. You use your brawn more than your brains."
Lightning grimaced, unable to return the accusation with a usual saucy comment. "And if it doesn't work out? If she never re-syncs with the new engine?"
Doc didn't answer: He didn't have to.
Notes:
Yes, I know it's been forever since I've updated this story, and for that I well a truly apologize. A good deal of it was laziness accompanied by writer's block brought on by my having little idea about what to do with this story next. Further, for my junior year in high school I signed up for AP Literature and Composition and AP U.S. History. AP Lit is not bad, but there are times when I can say with complete honesty that I spend every waking moment on APUSH some days. But I digress. I will try, I promise, to update more frequently from now on, but if I don't for a while it's likely not because I'm just twiddling my thumbs. No matter how long that may take, though, I WILL be replying to your reviews from now on- I think it's a sort of courtesy among authors that I was not aware of until months before I completed this chapter, so you can expect me to do so from this point forward.
Happy reading!