Forgotten Highways: It was by chance that Chick and Lightning ran into each other, and it wasn’t on the racetrack. Didn’t mean they couldn’t race. Problem is, Chick is still trying to figure out if the race was in his favor or not. No pairings.

Rating: Teen

Disclaimer: If only, if only, the plot bunny sings.

XXX

I dare ‘est say

On the highway

I cannot recall a thing

Will things change

For grandeur or pain

Only Fate knows that game

----

Fear comes in all shapes and sizes. It can come in the form of a monster in the closet, or perhaps, something more common like the thought of death with its ever twisting grasp. Yet, there are rarer types of fears in the world, some so well hidden and buried that the holder of these fears barely even notices that it is resting in the bottom of their soul. So, before some even realize it, they are running, racing, and breaking tires in order to try and get away from it.

That was why Chick Hicks raced. He knew he was running from a monster in his own personal mind. It was an all consuming fear, and the only way to keep it at arm’s length was to run that track so hard all he could hear were his tires beating against the pavement. He could no longer hear the whispers of his inner indiscretions then, about his loss, his loneliness, his emptiness, and his failures. None of those things existed on the track, just his freedom, and he’d pull every dirty trick in the book to keep it … even pretend to be something he was not.

That was why he was currently staying towards the end of the pack, his pump jumping in his chassis. It wasn’t that he was exhausted with nearly three-hundred laps passed and gone, but because he felt sick to his tank. He was in thirteenth place. Not because it had been a particularly hard race or even challenging, but because he wanted to keep his sponsors.

Lance - a white Viper with yellow stripes - sighed, his grill pulling down into a frown as he watched the race on the news once again. Chick merely stood at attention, not looking at the screen. He knew what was coming, he had pulled dirty tricks plenty of times before, but pulling one on the King was like a social death sentence. He’d never admit it out loud, but he hadn’t meant to push the old car so hard. He just wanted to slow him down so he could, for once, not be in Strip Weather’s shadow.

The strange thing was … the one time he did manage to win, he was now nearly drowned in the King’s shadow. It was enough to make cruel thoughts cross his mind, something involving and forklift and a rather deep pit.

Lance sighed, clicking off the television, before stating, “Do you know our stock went down after that little stunt? Let’s just say some of our customers considered the move to be in … bad taste.”

Chick swallowed. The stock market wasn’t his thing, but it was his sponsor’s thing. So he did the only thing he could think of, apologize. Apologizing wasn’t in his nature, too much pride, but after that last race he knew it would be hard to get another decent sponsor.

“Sorry, Lance. I’ve pulled that trick dozens of times, viewers like a little mayhem. I didn’t think that it would –”

Lance made a rather threatening glare, shutting the racer up. “That’s exactly it. You didn’t think. Well, its time you did some thinking. Do you want to lose your sponsor and job or do you want to follow what I say down to a ‘T’?”

Chick bit his tongue, his pride swelling with the need to revolt, he merely nodded.

“Good. Now, I like you Chick, I will admit you have the mind of a business man, you play dirty when you must. So I’m going to give you a second chance in respect to that and your brother,” Chick tightened at the mention of his sibling, but said nothing, “so here’s the deal … you will lose.”

A surprised noise escaped the green car before he blinked a few times and asked in disbelief, “W-what?”

“You heard me. This next season, and maybe even the one after that, you are to remain out of the spotlight, give the fans time to cool down, “said Lance a grin slowly erupting on his face. “Besides, the crowd loves the underdog.”

The racer just stared at him, a hurt and horrified expression covering his face, a choking feeling rising in his throat.

Lance sighed, his grin disappearing. He was not a heartless car, a bit power hungry, but not heartless. Chick was a good racer. No Lightening McQueen, by any stretch of the imagination, but he always remained in the top runnings. Slowly, Lance came from behind his desk and gave Chick a gentle nudge.

“Come now. There comes a time when everyone has to play a part. Now is yours. Just pretend to be a good boy, not too much cheating and don’t you dare get anything higher then tenth, you hear me. Just get enough points to get yourself into the top thirty-five so you can get into a fair amount of races. Think of this as a short vacation, alright.”

“And McQueen wins! Look at that. He just barely won by the tip of his tongue, literally. Sorry Junior, maybe the next race will be in your favor,” came an excited voice over the intercom, Chick almost physically wilted on the track, his speed dropping and two more cars passing, both giving him strange looks as they did so. He was aware of the other racers’ strange glances of late. It was as if he was dead on the track. He was sure that many of the rookies were just stocking it up to old age and that it was now their time to shine.

The older cars knew better, though. He still had a few good years left in him, and he was by no means the oldest car on the track. He’d rather take the rookies’ mocking glances when they passed him over the older cars. That was why, when he entered the pits when the race over, he would move faster than he did during the whole race, giving his crew a forlorn look – which was the closest thing he could say to sorry – before rushing over to his driver, Ken. He was gone before the crowd could even stop cheering.

Today was no different. The disgrace was so deeply rung, his pride so shredded, that he actually snuck around other racer’s tents to ignore being seen. It was easy to say that part of him was wondering if it was even worth it. He knew he was getting depressed with his constant, not to mention, planned losses that he couldn’t even bring himself to talk about his job. Crank-shaft, he could barely whisper to his crew-chief that there would be no wins this season. Marv, his crew chief, merely nodded know this game of the job and asked nothing more. Ken had been harder. The guy was soft-hearted for one so large that Chick wondered if he had cried over the news. Good guy, a little soft around the edges; heck, Ken couldn’t even pretend to put on a competitive attitude when confronted with other drivers for rival teams.

… Which was why he wasn’t half way across the state at the moment.

“So, the next thing I know there’s this little Honda chasing after me, yellin’ I side-swiped him, and I needed to pay his body bills,” said a red semi, the Rusties logo on him.

Ken, a Kensworth semi with an almost identical paint job to Chick, looked at the other semi in surprise while the other trucks all laughed. “Did you?”

Mack grinned, stating, “I told him that I didn’t hit him. The little guy just continued to fight with me on the side of the road though. Luckily, McQueen is an impatient fellow sometimes and came out. The Honda nearly had engine failure right there and said he would forget the whole thing if he could take a picture with McQueen. You should have seen it … McQueen was giving me death glares the whole time as the Honda made him take about a dozen pictures.”

The other trucks laughed, some slamming their tires against the pavement in utter amusement. Ken, his eyes still wide, the humor lost to him, asked, “But did you hit him?”

Mack’s smile faded for a minute, but he slowly moved his tire, telling the others to move in closer as if telling a secret. He wasn’t very soft-voiced though, “When I got to the next truck stop, I saw some blue paint on the trailer and scrapped it off … the Honda was blue by the way.”

All the semis pulled away, laughing themselves silly. Ken’s eyes were merely wide, but a silly grin covered his lips soon enough. It wasn’t that he was slow, but people would probably say he was a bit naive. That was why Chick Hicks liked him, personally. The guy didn’t judge, he just accept people as they were; if you weren’t his type of character he just stray from a personal relationship. The racer still didn’t understand why the guy liked him … or when any of his crew liked him. Perhaps they knew something that even Chick didn’t know about himself.

Not that the speedster wanted to dwell on that. He had better things to worry about … like getting Ken’s attention.

“Ken, Ken … hey, Ken,” whispered Chick, his teeth bared themselves in an angry manner, but he dared not pull himself out of the shadow of the nearby tent. Chrysler, he felt as if he was hiding from his father again. Now why did he have to bring that up? Chick rolled his eyes and hissed at Ken again. The trucker was still oblivious to him. Sighing, Chick decided to chance it and started to crawl out to shadows, only to squeak and jump back into his hiding spot.

Tex came into the sight; all the truckers quickly nodded and said warm hellos to the host of Dinoco. Chick merely cursed his luck and drove deeper into the shadows of the tent, praying that the old car was merely coming to thank all the vehicles for their hard work and diligence or something.

“Just wanted to drop by guys and say thanks for a good job. All the racers got here on time and the fans had a good time. So, during the racer’s party which is at five – remind your racers - there will be Dinoco on the house for you guys on a job well done,” said Tex with his classic warm grin which made it look like he had a double grin with the horn upon his hood.

“Awesome,”

“Thanks Tex, sir,”

“That’s great,”

And a collection of other types of thanks fell upon the audios of the older car, who merely nodded to each truck as they departed towards their tents. Chick silently groaned though when the wise old car suddenly put out a tire, stalling Chick’s driver. Ford-Almighty! Why. Why!

“Hello son, are you Chick Hicks driver?” said Tex, that same soft smile on his face.

Ken blinked for a second before he beamed, “Sure am! I got him here early too. First to come, first to leave, like they say.”

“I think its first to come, last to leave,” stated the older being as his grin grew; Ken’s hood blushed with embarrassment. “No matter, I have a better question for you.”

Ken shook his hood and then stated meekly, “S-sure Mr. Tex.”

The soft smile he had been carrying dropped slightly as he spoke in low tones so the departing truckers wouldn’t overhear, “How is Chick doing? He’s seemed a bit down on the track, and he hasn’t been to any of the after-race parties. He was never big for them but at least he use to make an appearance. So … Is he going to make this party? I’d like to talk to him.”

The green truck seemed puzzled by the question, at least to an outside viewer. In truth, he was struggling with himself, wondering how much he should say. Chick talked in his sleep so he knew a few details that Chick hadn’t told their crew-chief about. Things like his pride … Chick was almost too embarrassed to be seen on track or for that matter at a party.

“I-I don’t know, sir. I’ll tell him for yah though,” said Ken.

“Good. I hope to see him later, enjoy the Dinoco,” said the older car before he turned away, heading back to his tent.

Ken just sat there a moment, his tires wilting under him slightly. He hated to get the old car’s hopes up like that. He really seemed to want to talk to Chick, but Ken knew Chick would never go … even if he tried to drag him. The truth was –

Clunk!

“Ouch!” hissed the semi as he was dragged him his thoughts, his eye squinting. H-had someone just thrown something at him? Ken couldn’t help it, his usual calm demur drowned as an angry snarl pulled at his lips, his form turning to see who had done the deed. His anger faltered as he caught sight of a green form falling back behind a nearby tent. The semi sighed and with a roar of his engine made his way over to the tent. Turning the corner, he wasn’t really surprised to see Chick there. He was surprised when the other got into his face.

“What did he say to you? What did he want? I know it wasn’t to offer me the Dinoco deal. Spit it out,” hissed Chicks.

Ken rolled his eyes, use to the car’s recent pick-up of paranoia, “Calm down Chick. He was just asking if you were going to the after-party. He asked me to make sure you got there.”

Chick’s nervousness dripped away as he sighed and shook his frame, grumbling, “Oh, that’s all. Well, I’m not going. Come on, let’s get going.”

The speedster turned around and started forward, only to stall when he realized a heavy engine wasn’t following after. He turned just in time to see the other’s face before he groaned and nearly yelled, “No! Not the puppy pout. Aren’t you a little old for that?”

The lip just continued to wobble.

“Stop it. No. NO! I will not fall for that.”

The wobbling just continued, Ken’s green eyes getting a light sheen.

“Are you a child? Stop being so immature,” grumbled the racer, not in the mood for this game as he turned around and started driving towards his trailer while still under the cover of the many tents.

The hauler shook his head and quickly followed after, lip pulling back in, “I’m not being immature. You are the one that’s hiding behind tents and dodging into shadows as if you are being shot at.”

“I have my reasons. Now get the trailer before someone sees – eek!”

Ken barely had time to think Chick’s sound over when the car suddenly hid behind his hulking form. Ken might have taken time to be insulted if a familiar form didn’t exit from the tent they had just been creeping past.

Doc’s eyes widened as he came out of the back of the tent, his eyes roaming to a shell-stocked semi with a surprised glint. The glint quickly disappeared though and he quickly looked around for a moment before looking back up at the semi, a slight frown forming on his face.

“I’m sorry,” said the Hudson as he pulled out of the tent completely, laughter echoing into the shadows before the tarp fell back down. “Didn’t mean to surprise you … I just thought I heard someone out here I knew. I wanted to talk to him.”

Ken swallowed, his tires threatening to knock, but he somehow managed to swallow his tongue and squeak, “N-no-nope. Just me. Just me all by myself … creeping behind the tents … by myself.”

The Hudson nodded, though his eyes stated he was unconvinced. He drove forward as if looking the semi over for injuries, “You’re Chick’s driver, right?”

Ken was silent for a moment, weighting the pros and cons of saying yes to that question. He could say no, but a part of him just couldn’t do it … besides, what did everyone want with Chick? During the beginning of the season nobody could care less about the racer, but now he was mister popularity … was Chick not telling him something. Ugh, he had to make up an answer really fast though; the Hornet was all but glaring at him now.

“Um … nuh-yes. Yes, I am,” said the trucker, who almost yipped when the car hiding behind him kicked him near his tire.

Doc gave him a wondering look and then stated, “Well, good. I was thinking he had left, but if you are still here then there’s no need to worry. He’s coming to the party right?”

The truck wilted on his tires. What was with that question? Did it somehow hold the answer to the universe behind it? Chrysler. He was starting to agree with Chick, he just wanted to get out of here.

“Don’t know Mr. Hudson Hornet, sir. He’s around,” said the semi, trying to remain curious and not snap with a characteristic he had picked up from Chick.

The blue car titled his hood slightly, frowning as he looked at the semi. Then he nodded, before turning back to the tent where he stalled, ready to open the tent and go back inside. Over his shoulder, he couldn’t help but state, “Not scared of little old me, are you Chick? Hiding behind your semi like that. Hope to see you at the party. My rookie has gotten a little cocky without you around to put him into place.”

Chick merely peaked from around Ken’s grill and said nothing, his engine roaring as he sped away. The Hudson merely chuckled. Maybe Chick wasn’t as depressed as everyone had rumored him to be if he could still have a fit.

XXX

Chick’s engine roared as he came around the corner, he was barely a flash of green before he got to his trailer, the door coming down with a warm hum. He was in before the door was completely on the ground, and then it started to close. The trailer shook, not shortly after, as the semi took a hold of the trailer.

“Let’s get going,” said Chick.

The semi’s engine rumbled, “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the party? It isn’t your birthday or something, is it? I mean everyone and their scooter is looking for you. You know some socializing might be good for you. Besides, the next race will be just as bad. Why don’t you just go and figure out what everyone else wants,” said the semi as he started to pull forward, the trailer shaking.

Hicks merely frowned, “No. I’d rather keep what’s left of my pride. I don’t need that McQueen brat rubbing my losses in my face. And also, once we get to the next town over, you’re getting a different paint job. People keep finding me because of you.”

XXX

Paw07: Poor, poor, Chick. He’s just not taking this very well. Anyway, this is just a prequel. Nothing too complicated, but it is easy to say that this is a Chick fic. XD My jokes are so lame. Anyway, drop me a review if you want me to continue or not. Constructive criticism is always welcome … a beta would be as well. XP