Notes: Lightning/Chick themed story. Set post-movie. This is not slash. But with a little imagination...maybe ;)

Disclaimer: Pixar owns everything, except my own characters, which should be mercifully few. :)

a/n: (UPDATE) When I originally wrote this back in 2007 I was mainly driven (pun intended) by three different Bruce Springsteen songs; Thunder Road, Born To Run and Badlands. At the time I never thought to add them to the fic, but now I have given this story a small overhaul I thought I'd add in the bits of lyrics where I think they're appropriate.

Please remember this story is old and probably not how I'd do things now. It's still an old cliched trope about redemption, and I like to believe that a character like Chick Hicks can be believable in that role. I was also spurred on to polish this up a bit because of a Boom! comic, which went into some interesting backstory about Chick and his father.

With that said I'll shut up now. Thanks for reading this little author's note!

Stormy Weather

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It's a town full of losers, I'm pulling out of here to win

~Bruce Springsteen, Thunder Road

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Chapter 1

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Chick hated Lightning McQueen.

He watched as the hotshot rookie, flashy, shiny and new, wheeled around his awestruck admirers. A permanent smirk on his face, a lazy glint in his eye. He oozed cocky, young assurance. He knew he was something special.

Chick didn't like to wonder what had happened in those few days McQueen had disappeared. He could only guess it was something life changing and affiliating. Something big and important. Whatever it was, it only served up more hate in Chick for his racing rival.

Because since his absence, McQueen had become uncannily skilful on the track. Not that he wasn't before. He'd always been good, Chick begrudginly admitted (only to himself, obviously). The amount of times Chick had coaxed a desperate surge in his abused engine just to pull even with the rookie was proof enough for that.

Yes, he knew McQueen was good. But now. Now he was brilliant.

And now he had a certain something about him he didn't have before.

Chick supposed, as he kept a haughty gaze on the other car, that McQueen had suddenly developed a noble and moral side. It was a pretty rare thing in the racing world, that was for sure. The King had it. Actually, a few did. But generally, racing was a ruthless business, and you needed to be a ruthless race car to compete.

Chick was pretty proud of the fact that he was as ruthless as they came.

Kind of comforted by this, he smirked to himself.

"Hey, Thunder. Nice racin' back there. Nice."

Then Chick scowled. McQueen might've gained a few manners since his disappearance, but he was still pretty good at winding the older racer up.

"Keep a lid on it, McQueen." he offered the rookie a nasty glare.

For once, or maybe it was the first time Chick had noticed, McQueen had the good grace to look apologetic. He watched, still scowling, as the hotshot turned away to meet a clutch of adoring fans.

"You gotta slow it down a bit, Chick."

Chick blinked up to see his crew chief looking down at him; face stern and apprehendable.

"What? Whatta you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about, Chick. That near miss with number 62? And then the mash up with McQueen! What were you thinkin'?"

Chick frowned. "Same old, same old. It's never bothered you before."

"Yeah well," the crew chief looked severe. "There's a lot more up and comers out there these days, Chick. Tryin' to prove themselves. You know what it's like,"

"Well, sure."

"An' they're gonna start wisin' up to your tricks, and you'll be getting more than you bargained for. Get me?"

Chick stared at his crew chief. "What?" Never before had his racing been criticised in such a way. And to hear it from his own crew chief was only rubbing salt in the wound.

He narrowed his eyes, "Oh yeah, I get you." he sneered, hoping he looked much more indifferent than he felt.

"Look, Chick, I'm just being concerned, here...I know you wanna win. I know you're determined..."

Chick chose to ignore the worried glint in his crew chief's eye. He had no time for this kind of screwy talk.

"You're telling me this when we got one race to go before the end of the season?" he asked instead, incredulous. "I'm doing great. I'm tying with that hotshot McQueen. And you think I gotta change tactics now?"

"I'm not saying that‑"

"I know what you're saying." Chick glared. "You don't think I can cut it, right?"

"No‑"

Chick didn't care to hear anymore. He rolled away, his face stormy.

As he neared his trailer though, he began to feel his anger dissipate. His crew chief's words took their hold, and Chick found himself replaying them in his head;

You're gonna be gettin' more than you bargained for.

Chick didn't like to think he was afraid; and in any case, he'd suffered his fair share of crashes in the past. None of them had been life threatening. He wasn't sure if he was lucky when it came to stuff like that.

No, it wasn't the idea of a crash that scared him.

He didn't care; when he raced he was far too wound up in the competition to worry about such disasters as that. When he raced he was fearless. To the point of recklessness, some might say.

It gave him an edge, it was what he'd built his reputation on. Any race car that had an ounce of sense would do well to steer clear of Chick Hicks, as most of the commentators warned.

Chick was fine with that, and he couldn't imagine ever changing his ways. He wasn't about to start now anyway.

He turned round and offered his crew chief a scowl. But it was redundant; the chief's back was turned and he was talking to the pit crew.

Feeling a little more vindicated, Chick cursed to himself as he rolled into his trailer. He felt quite tired; his engine was still a little tender with the strain of the race, and remnants of heat prickled against his undercarriage. As he lowered against the trailer, feeling his eyes droop, he watched his pit crew depart.

They always hung out after a race, no matter how successful Chick was that day.

Chick wasn't sure why they bothered. He'd come in his trademarked second place today. Any other car might have been content. Chick wasn't, especially when he came in second to one Lightning McQueen.

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Lightning disliked Chick Hicks quite a bit.

He didn't hate him. Lightning didn't actually hate anyone; but he knew that he at least disliked Chick.

As he sat in the Rust‑Eze camp that evening, occasionally slurping a can with Mac, Mater and Doc, he was reminded of how much he disliked Chick.

Watching a replay vid, he disliked the boxy green car which all too often dug into his side, cut him off, and generally made racing more a death defying stunt than a mere test of speed and endurance. Sometimes he'd wonder where Chick got his iron nerve from; because viewing a race like this was certainly not for the faint hearted.

"Ooh, he nearly gotcha there!" Mater was whooping and cringing, enjoying the play back a bit too much. Lightning wasn't sure if he should be amused or annoyed.

He offered the tow truck a weak chuckle, "Mater, he almost bumped me outta the track,"

"Yeah, he sure did!"

Lightning shook his head and smiled grimly. He'd long since given up trying to explain the potential lethality in NASCAR racing to Mater. He figured that Mater probably knew anyway. Crazy tow truck.

He turned back to the replay vid, recoiling with dread as Chick gave him a particularly nasty bump to the side. It had skewed Lightning off track quite a bit, and although he already knew the outcome of this race, he couldn't help but half‑close his eyes.

"A cheap trick." said Mac.

Lightning grimaced; "Yeah, but a pretty close cheap trick,"

"Let's see it again!" Mater pushed the remote eagerly.

Lightning was forced, with a hardened frown, to watch the scene play out once more. Chick came at him with a reckless veer, almost unbeneficial on the green car's part; he seemed to become just as skewed as Lightning himself.

Mac looked at him; "Eh, I think he just does it to annoy you, Lightning."

Lightning turned uneasily to Doc, who was peering at the replay with a resigned but thoughtful face. He shook his head at Lightning;

"Kid, that Chick's got his tactics, but one of these days they'll work against him. You just keep focussed on the finish line. It's never done you any harm before, has it?"

Lightning smiled, not for the first time incredibly grateful that he had Doc as his crew chief. Of course it helped that Doc was also an ex‑champion. This guy knew what he was talking about.

"Yeah, you're right." he nodded. Then noticed for the first time a dark grazing across his side. "Damn."

"Nothin' a paint job can't fix." Mac grinned.

"But I'm meeting Sally tonight,"

"I'm sure she won't mind," Doc winked, "Girls dig scars."

Inspired, Lightning grinned back.

He rolled out of the Rust-Eze camp, happily relieved that there were no loitering paparazzi about. He did spot a solitary Chick Hicks though. The green car was rolling into his pickup, an irritated look on his face. Not wanting to engage in combative words that evening, Lightning was quiet as he rolled by the rival race car. He saw, through the corner of his eye, a dark graze struck across Chick's side. It perfectly mirrored Lightning's own.

Lightning was mildly satisfied, and a little of Doc's words seemed to hold resonance in his mind in that moment; Chick's got his tactics, but one of these days they'll work against him.

Smiling vaguely, McQueen made toward the stands, where Sally was waiting for him.

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