Hello YET AGAIN, my naughty cougars (WHIPLASH). I know that I shouldn't be starting another story, not when I haven't finished my mini-series yet, but I can't help it. I'm so very naughty for it, I know, I know, but I really can't help it. It's a very serious disease that I have, unfinish-itis (sorry for what it may sound like in another part of the word, it is not intentional, so please forgive me for it. Thanks :D). Ah, oh well. So HERE it is, and I hope that you enjoy it anyway ;).

I have decided to take a leaf out of one of Evelyn Knight's online books, and recreate one of my newest yet oldest and first ever favorites of the Scooby Movies: Scooby Doo and the Reluctant Werewolf. Only W/O Scrappy or Googie. Now chances are that I shall redo this movie with MANY various endings/plotlines/spinoffs/alternate choices or mishaps, simply because Shaggy is just so cute as a werewolf. Don't you agree? If you don't know what he looks like as one, I suggest that you rent the movie and watch it. THEN you'll agree w/me. Or else (Just kidding. Otherwise who else would review me stories?). ;P

Well, I certainly hope that you will enjoy this fanfic, where I will be making a special guest appearance in later chapters, as well as some of my other friends! Please R&R w/suggestions for new titles, and feedback. Or even just to be nice. You can also flame. So Please Review? Okay. Well, I'll go now. Toodles! Oh, and ONE more itty-bitty thing:

PLEASE REVIEW!!

That is all. Bye!

DISCLAIMER: "Scooby Doo" and other such affiliates belong to Hanna-Barbera and Warner Brothers, as does some of the dialogue used in this fic from "SD & the Reluctant Werewolf". I, however, belong to myself and the CBS network, and the plot twists belong to JUST me, no matter WHAT the squirrels may say about it.

Hope you Enjoy! And see you soon!
Wolfy


Hello, and Welcome to the Prologue

Our story here today begins with many things. The sounds of the roaring crowd echo throughout the stadium as heat waves ripple off the racetrack, and the unholy shrieks of long-forgotten ghosts chill the misty grounds of the graveyard nearby, neither of which are anywhere near each other locationally-wise. But plotwise, they are almost completely fused together; and the fates of several souls are intertwining together as I speak.

But enough about the beginning. I'm stalling too much already for dramatic effect, so let's start things off with the much more interesting story that's happening now along the racetrack, as one car in particular starts to pull ahead in the final ten laps of the Tyler County 500...

?0--0?

Waves of heat rippled across the track as the cars sped by, the checkered flag waving furiously as it signaled the last ten laps of the pretentious Tyler County 500 Road Race, and the cue for the announcers to start up their commentary yet again.

"Helllllllllooooo fans, and welcome back to the Tyler County 500 Road Race, where we have just started on the final ten laps of the competition. It sure is getting hot out here as the tempers and the temperature rises on the track, to a record-breaking 103 degrees. The competitors are getting testy as they jocky for the lead, and for that schmitzy gold-plated first place racing trophy, a fine addition to any personal trophy cabinet."

"That is certainly true. I mean, have you seen that thing Don? It's no wonder that racers from all across the country have entered into this Nascar-esque competition, hoping to win. And the driver of one fast-approaching ruby-red racecar is certainly no exception to this standard."

And as he spoke, this same said car zoomed ahead, taking the curve sharply as it maneuvered swiftly around the competition, the stadium lights bouncing off the smooth and shiny robustly-red paint job, sparkling slightly off of the asleek neon blue-and-purple racing flames, and off of the brilliant black-and-purple-streaked leather seats; on which two people (or rather, one talking dog and one rather skinny young man) were seated, the force of the wind pushing them back into place. Their navy blue helmets glinted as they caught the sun at the curve, shooting ahead of the competition, the rush of speed pounding in their veins. This was what they had been made to do: to go as fast as was humanly (or dog-aly) possible, and to win by any legal means necessary.

As the pair steadily approached the other racers, two other drivers that were up ahead were brutally battling it out, each trying to push the other off the track and into the wall, with only a tiny space between the two giant automobiles. The two in the red flamer looked at each other, if only a brief glance, as they each interpreted the situation at hand; before, finally, turning to each other yet again for another terse nod, braced themselves for what was to come next, blocking out all of the noise that overflowed from the edges of the stadium nearby, and that came from the two really obnoxious and annoying commentators, who blathered on, even though nobody was ever really listening.

"Yes, this talented young driver that's fast approaching these harsh two competitors up ahead in the speedy little hot red hot rod is none other then one of the famous detectives of Mystery Inc., Norville 'Shaggy' Rogers, the son of the esteemed police chief Samuel Chastain Rogers, who is commonly seen racing with his best friend and pet, Scoobert 'Scooby' Doo, another detective and a marvel in himself. Say Frank, have you ever seen another talking dog anywhere else but in Mystery Inc.?"

"Actually Don, Scooby Doo comes from a long line of talking canines. Ever hear of his nephew Scrappy? Or his famous movie star cousin Howdy Doo in the western kid shows?"

"Oh yeah. Real popular. Never really liked Scrappy though. Annoying little runt. But let's get back to the race Frank, cause it looks like somethin's goin' on down there. It looks like there's no way to get between those two Cresdan brothers, even with that little number he calls the FireDog, but this young lad's gonna try. But how is he gonna do it?"

And it was as he said this that the body of the car shot upward, the wheels pulling closer together, still firmly in place on the ground, as they squeezed in between the two monster trucks and sped ahead, soon plummeting back down to the track with a ferocious thud, and skyrocketing past them, jarring the two riders of the road inside the car enough to make their teeth clack; that is, if they weren't wearing any mouthpieces, which they indeed were wearing. The crowd cheered as the two zoomed by their section, chanting their names in a vaguely hypnotic and overenthusiastic manner. By one of these sections was the pit crew and pit stop of the FireDog, who, by far, were cheering the loudest. AKA: the rest of the gang of Mysteries Incorperated.

Fred and Velma cheered the two on as the cowardly pair approached the turn, while Daphne grumbled, slightly annoyed as she pulled out her hairbrush for the umpteenth time that very day. "Uugh," she groaned, tugging the brush through her hair roughly. "Why do they have to go so fast? My hair is a wreck, and I can't fix it without someone zooming by and making it even worse then it already is!"

"Aw, c'mon, Daph, this is really exhilarating! It makes your heart pound and your blood rush like there's no tomorrow!" Fred exclaimed with a loud WHOOP! as the guys sped past them, a red-and-blue blur on the tar-black asphalt. "And who'd've thought that Shag and Scoob would be this good and this creative when it came to racing cars?"

"Well, it does make sense, Fred," Velma commented, adjusting her precription goggles against the glare bouncing off the passing cars. "They've always been guys for speed, so what better way to get it? Besides, they had to learn how to work on cars, so that when the Mystery Machine broke down, we wouldn't go searching for help and run into monsters and ghosts in the process of it!"

"That's certainly true," Daphne grumbled, "I just wish that my hair wasn't a victim of it." And they all laughed, just as the guys pulled in for a quick refresher at the pit stop. The gang rushed forward, tools in hand, as Velma had a really quick word with them.

"You guys okay?"

Shaggy stuck his helmet-covered head out the window, flipping the visor up to reveal a sweaty, but exhilerated face as he spat out his mouthpiece. "Yeah! Like this is one of the best races yet! I can't think of another that could ever top it! Except like if I ever raced in Nascar or somethin'." This entire speech was blurred, as he was still on his speed high.

Scooby poked his head out through the same window, flipping up the visor on his helmet as well, his mouthpiece hanging lazily out of the side of his mouth. "Reah! Rike Rascar or romething," he garbled, as Shaggy pushed him back into his seat, turning his attention back to Velma.

"Look out for Denton, he's got a trunkful of garbage that's most probably spring-loaded to trip you up. Oh, and Haverstein's got something up his sleeve, but we haven't been able to find out what it is so be careful, okay?" This speech, too, was blurred with speed; only the reason for this was out of necessity, not road rush.

"Kay thanks bye!" The stench of burning rubber filled the air as the triple-piston turbo titanium engine roared. A screeching sound was heard as the tires briefly battled the asphalt's friction.

And the two were off on the Final Five laps.

The FireDog rounded the curve, pulling up behind what was rather egotistically called "The Denton-Gator" (a play off of 'The Terminator' if you didn't get that). It was a squat, fat, reptilian-green car, with a sickeningly colored yellow racing stripe that reminded one of rotting garbage. The driver, Gus Denton, was, unsurprisingly, like his car: fat, short, and incredibly smelly. His teeth were rotting out of his head, and so was his brain. The only thing that he was good at was driving in car races, and finding out ways to cheat at them so he'd win. Unsurprisingly, he was from the deep southern bayous of Louisiana. He even had a pet alligator. And he was as slick and oily as Fluffy was after a nice long mud bath on a hot and humid summer afternoon (and yes, the gator's name is Fluffy. Hahaha, what an idiot, hahaha, and so on).

Well, anyway, back to the race. As the hot red hot rod pulled up behind the Gator, it began to swerve wildly across the track, yet still gaining ground. Everytime the two tried to pass him he'd cut them off. The announcers chose this time to cut in, rather annoyingly, yet again.

"Well Don, looks like the favorite of the crowd Shaggy Rogers is stuck behind the driver of that ghastly Gator Gus Denton from the deepest swamps of Lous-iana. Now that is one clever son of a gun I tell ya. There seems to be no way around him, and now what's going on down there?"

Shaggy stuck his head out the window as he pulled up briefly next to the fat smelly slob (A/N: No offense to anyone from Louisiana. It's actually a very nice place. I'm just following stereotypes here, so don't hurt me!). "Hey Denton," he yelled. "Like, why don't you get that bucket of scraps off the tra-AHH-ack!" For the Ghastly Gator had swerved over in front of his path, forcing Shaggy to pull back. "HEY!"

"Ya betta watch who ya talkin' to-a, boy-yeh. Or yall be slime-eed by-ya me, ya stoopid sons-a bitches, YEA-OWA!" The slobbish man shot back, barely heard over the rushing wind; but still heard well enough.

"Rike, rook rhose ralking, rug-breath!" Scooby howled back at him, with a rather resentful tone in his words; even though his mother was technically a--well, a you-know-what--, it was still a really hurtful insult. Besides, Scooby's mother was a perfectly lovely female of a Great Dane, and very sweet. And it was now that one of the announcers came in again:

"Frank it looks like there's some attempt at communication between the two drivers, probably just some smack talk, and what's that coming out of that car's tail--er, trunk--yeeah, whatever, I don't really care anymore, but still, what the hell is that goop coming out of the back?"

For, at that very moment, the trunk-tail had popped open, and spewed literally hundreds of gallons of toxic swampwater sludge and rotting garbage all over the track, while still swerving back and forth violently. Gus Denton looked back, and took a swig of moonshine from his 'water' bottle. "Heh he HAAAH!" he crowed in his thick southern slur. "Let's see ya try ta beat that now, boy-yeow-a! Su-on, yall be da boocket ah scraps, he hah! So lu-ong!"

The ruby red racecar swerved back and forth, desparately trying to avoid the slimy patches of filth that was splayed, almost artistically, across the racetrack. "Riiiiiiiikes!" Scooby yelped, as an old boot bounced off of the windshield. "Raggy! Rhat are re roing ro do?"

The slender beatnik sat and thought for a second, as he continued to dodge the random pieces and patches of trash and filth. "There's no way to get past him, Scoob. Like, there's only a small space on each side of him that would only fit half of the--" And that's when the idea struck him. Through his visor on his helmet, you could tell that he was nervous. But it was a rush that made his heart pound furiously at the very thought of it.

"Okay. I got it. Scoob, like, do you remember what we installed recently? The 'Fred' trigger?"

"Ruh?" Then it hit him like an ill-thrown frisbee. "R'Oh! Reah, reah." He nodded his big floppy (and helmeted) head emphatically.

"Alright then. Like, on my signal--" Shaggy swerved violently to avoid an old gumbo pot that clattered noisily across the road-- "Move to the farthest side of the car, and hold on. Okay?"

"Rokay!"

The FireDog had long since fallen back from the Gator, but now, as Shaggy pressed his foot to the floor, it shot ahead, quickly catching up to the tail-end of the car. The announcers (AGAIN) started to ramble as he caught up, directly behind the ghastly green glob that was said to be a car and a man.

"Now Frank, what is that young kiddo doing?"

"I dunno Don, but it looks as if he's planning on makin' a million-dollar crash today on the track! Close your eyes folks, cause this ain't gonna be pretty."

"What is he doing!?" Fred cried out as the cars sped by him. "He's gonna crash!"

"Oh, I can't watch!" Daphne cried, as she buried herself into Fred's chest. "Tell me when it's over Freddie, please!"

"Jinkies, I can't watch either! Oh no!" Velma buried her face into her hands, allowing two fingers to part so that she could peak at what was happening, no matter how horrible it could turn out to be.

The entire stadium seemed to be doing the same thing, and even old Gator Gus flopped a fat hand over the eye watching the rearview mirror. A hush came over the entire crowd, and all that remained was the roar of the engines, as they waited for the wrenching sound of a hideously deformed car crash to echo throughout the stands. And so the countdown began...

...5...

"Get ready Scoob! Scooch over to the window and like, hold on tight, cause this is gonna be rough!"

"Rokay Raggy!"

...4...

"Oh no! They're gonna crash for sure!" Daphne wailed into Fred's t-shirt.

And I never got to tell Shaggy how I felt about him, Velma thought, her mind numb as she stared on, both helplessly and hopelessly (and unbeknownst to her, cluelessly too.).

...3...

"Awoh, crap!" Gator Gus swore as he downed the rest of the moonshine in one gulp. "This is gonna hurt like hot Satan Hell on a Toos-dee aftearnoon at Grangeen's Bar-Bee-Q!"

The entire crowd gasped. The gang closed their eyes, and Scooby whimpered as he cowered against the passenger-side window, tail quivering like no tomorrow, for which the case could've been true for at that very moment.

...2...

Shaggy just sat there calmly, gathering his concentration, tendril by meek and lonesome tendril, from the depths of his mind. He breathed in deeply, and let it out slowly, as the sound faded from the world. He slowly began to make the final steps for the new feature to be activated upon instantaneous...um...activation. His hand laid gently upon the final gear. This was it. No turning back now.

He let out his breath. Hopefully this would work. If it didn't, well...hopefully the majority of his skin could be replaced or regrown.

...1...

"Hold on folks! This is gonna hurt!" The enitire stadium braced themselves for the screeching sound of metal twisting and colliding as it struck another.

0.

"SPLIT!" The beatnik roared, and he pulled the gearshift back hard, jamming down on the button at the top. The sounds of several levers and gears clicking and pulling back was heard like thunder as his voice echoed throughout stands. And the crowd watched eagerly, wondering what he meant.

They were in for quite a shock. And so they were when the car broke apart into two halves.

Or, for lack of a better phrase, the car "split up". One half with Shaggy, one half with Scooby, each balanced precariously on two wheels as they each maneuvered around one side of the Ghastly Gator, and each smiling and waving at the drunken Louisiananian as they passed him. Gus Denton could just gape at them as they took the lead.

"Wha-what the boggy blue hey-ell isa goin' on heah!?" he finally stammered, his speech slurred by the moonshine now pounding through his system. Scooby stuck his head through the Gator's side window briefly, all the while smiling at the stupid fat man next to him.

"Re're rinning! Re hee he he hee," he giggled, before settling down into his seat yet again, and passing smugly in front of him, still snickering at the old man's expression long after he'd disappeared into the distance behind them.

The two halves were now adjacent to each other on the racetrack, still tilting on one side unsteadily. "SCOOBY DOO!" Shaggy yelled over the roaring sound of the wind rushing by them. "LEAN OVER, WE'RE GONNA JOIN UP THE TWO HALVES, AND IT HAS TO JOIN UP PERFECTLY, OR WE'RE DEAD. GOT IT?!"

"RHEEEAAAH!!" Scooby howled back. " RI ROT IT!!"

"OKAY THEN," Shaggy began to pull at several buttons and levers, and a multitude of loud clicking and shiffting noises were heard coming from his half of the car. "LIKE, ON THE COUNT OF THREE. ONE--"

--Scooby crept towards his edge of the car--

"--TWO--"

--The two modicums of car nudged towards each other--

"--THREE!!" And with an explosion of golden sparks, and a whirring of mechanical levers and gears, the car pulled itself together, swerving furiously for a moment, before maintaining its perfectly connected balance of mechanical equilibrium. The crowd roared with excitement, and the rest of the gang breathed out a sigh of relief. They were safe.

For now, at least.

"So," Fred turned to the two girls standing there with their mouths still hanging open, "any idea when they did that to the car?"

They turned to him with twin melting glares, and he instantly regretted saying anything at all. Luckily for Fred, the two annoying announcers broke in to annoy everyone yet again with more unneccessarily annoying commentary about what everybody already annoyingly knew.

"WOW! May I say, I think that nobody in this stadium has ever seen that happen before today. Have you ever seen anything like this Frank?"

"Actually Don, I have seen something similar, in the 1987 Tyler Cross County Road Race, when Darren "Doggie-Door" Boolicky got his car cut in half by Chuckie "The Chainsaw" Johnson, and drove his half of the car remaining to the finish line that was 60 yards away, before it tilted over and fell on Chuckie's leg. But of course it didn't put itself together again like that."

"...You know Frank, you just ruined that for me. But this is still an amazing feat to remember as the racers begin the final three laps, with young Mr. Rogers in the lead."

"Hey Scooby," Shaggy turned to his friend, whose head was currently hanging out the window, tongue flopping in the wind. "Like, could you hand me the megaphone please?"

"Ruh?" Scooby pulled his head from the window, his light brown fur extremely ruffled. "Roh reah. Rure thing, Rhaggy. " He pulled the solid lime green and brown-striped megaphone from the back and handed it (pawed it?) to his owner.

"Like thanks buddy."

"No roblem, Rhaggy. R-Glad to relp." And here the announcers butted in yet again (God, why do I even have these guys? Oh yeah, to move along the plot of the prologue. Crap. Oh well.) So anyway, these guys had butted in to make comments about what was happening that everyone could see for themselves, when all of a sudden--

"Wait a minute Don, something seems to be going on in the Rogers' hot rod, he seems to be opening a window and sticking his head outside of it while driving. Just what is young Mr. Rogers doing?"

And it was just as the FireDog rounded the corner nearest to the announcers' stand that the car swivelled around, so that it was being driven backwards, and Shaggy turned on the megaphone, to yell out for the two stupid announcer dudes (and probably the rest of the crowd) to hear him say--

"MY NAME IS SHAGGY!! GET THAT INTO YOUR FREAKISHLY TINY BRAINS, YOU CHATTERING BABOONS!!" And the entire stadium roared with laughter and approval as he swung the car around and drove onwards ahead, leaving Don and Frank to stare off at the dust he left in their tracks.

"Well Frank, he sure told us off, now didn't he?"

"Yup, he sure did."

"Have you ever seen any other driver yell at an announcer like that while still driving?"

"Actually Don, I've been yelled at 197 times at 86 different races by 54 separate racers. Some of the same ones were at the other races, actually."

"Just shut up Frank."

And it was now that something began to happen. But let me rewind and describe to you one of the other drivers that Shaggy and Scooby were warned about a little earlier in the story--prologue--chapter--whatever. But anyway, let me describe to you the driver of the small and whiny car called the Carcoon (like Cocoon? Awoh, whatever, you guys don't care), whose name was that of Haverstein. Gaylord Ashley Gilbert Haverstein III. The OverLord of all nerds, geeks, weirdos, freaks, and fanboys.

Gaylord had grown up in a poor home. At the age of 2, his father discovered that he wasn't really Gaylord's father, and ran out on his mother, who'd been forced to become a stripper for money. A lack of attention and a surplus of bullying led Gaylord to turn to comic books, movies, and tv shows such as Star Wars, Star Trek, Batman, and Stargate SG-1 for guidance and comfort. After graduating Harvard at age 16, with a degree in entomology (bugs), he set to work getting revenge on all those who had ever (and still were) bullying or teasing him.

And now, after 17 years of doing exactly that, Gaylord Haverstein was now in search of a girlfriend. And somehow, he'd heard that slutty girls like racecar drivers who win races often (-shifty eyes- muahahaha). So now, his primary purpose in life was to race in races until the slutty girls found him attractive. Not like that would be possible for him. He had the typical "Revenge of the Nerds" type of look, which included a crewcut haircut, pocket protector, khacki pants that were pulled up way too high, almost comically too big glasses, braces on two front beaver-esque buckteeth, and orthepedic shoes. But, as he was an entomologist (dude who studies bugs for a living), all of his clothes were like those that many tourists wear on safaris in Africa: completely khaki and completely tacky.

But anyway, back to the track. Now, for the majority of the race Haverstein had been hanging back around the middle, not really trying to beat anyone, but rather just trying to keep his position. But now, he reared his tacky white-silvery-grey car's engine, and raced ahead of the competition. Including the FireDog.

As the annoyingly bug-like car zipped past the other racers with a buzz not unlike a mosquito's (and just as irritating), both Scooby and Shaggy stuck there heads out the window, flipped up their helmets' visors, and said, simultaneously:

"Ruh?"

As did every other racer on the track. And as did everyone else in the stadium. It was at this point that two announcers finally provided some useful (and funny) commmentary for the race.

"Now what in blue blazes is happening here Don?"

"Well Frank, it appears that Gaylord Ashley Gilbert Haverstein the Third--"

"-Snorts- Gaylord Ashley?? What kind of a name is Gaylord Ashley?? It's just ridiculous! Haha Ha!"

"While you do have a point there on how gay and ridiculously easy it is to make fun of his name, just shut up Frank. Now, apparently Gaylord Haverstein has been hovering around the inbetween area between racers, and for him to just shoot ahead of the competition means that he definitely has something hidden up his--OH MY GOD!!"

"I can say for sure Don, that I have never seen that happen, nor do I ever want to see that happen again."

And so Frank was right, for what had happened was so disgustingly hideous that it was vomit-inducing, to say the least of what everyone was seeing there that day.

But let me rewind a little bit here (again). As the two announcers were making fun of his name, Gaylord Haverstein had finally had enough. And with a flick of a switch, something amazingly disgusting began to happen:

The car began to expand. And as each passing second went by, it grew bigger and bigger, expanding as if to a steady pulse, while a slick and oily substance coated the car with an ever-increasing thickness, until, just when it took up almost the entire width of the track--

It exploded.

Masses of the hideous gooey green slime coated half the stadium, leaving half of the stadium's occupants screaming as the foul-odored vomit-colored green goo descended upon them, and the other half (which included the gang) thankful that they were nowhere in the near vicinity of the ghastly stuff. The drivers were not as lucky. While their own cars did not get slimed, as it were, the track suddenly became slick and greasy, leaving the majority to spin and swerve dangerously into each other or into the wall, and the other few competitors to struggle for control, falling far behind as they did so. And only then, after everyone had gotten the slime out of their eyes, did they scream with terror.

On the track, in place of Haverstein's old silver-grey Carcoon, stood a massive new vehicle, with a shiny brownish-black paint job, and a sickeningly frightful shape: the Car-Croach. And upon the antenna, balanced precariously, stood Gaylord Haverstein the Third, laughing maniacally as the entire stadium screamed with fright at the ghastly giant now glided smugly ahead of the competition, and at a ridiculously slow pace at that.

"That's right!" Haverstein shrieked in his whiny and nasally voice, now half-insane with power (as I so often am, but for a much less disgusting reason and/or method). "Scream for Gaylord, ladies, because I am the new winner of the Tyler County 500!! Hehahee haaaaaah!" And the announcers cut in yet again.

"Well folks, it doesn't look like there's much of a chance for anyone to get past that monstrous thing of a car. It's taking up the entire racetrack, and there's no way past it that I can see. How bout you Frank? You ever see anything like this, or even a way to get by it?"

"Sorry to disappoint you Don, but I've never seen anything like this, that's for sure, although I can say that I have now. Now what this guy's done is pure genius, you know why? It's because he's waited until the Final Lap to activate this particular feature, so that no one, and I mean no one, can drive past him and beat him, which means that he is now the most probable winner of this year's Tyler County 500 Road Race. It seems hopeless for any other racer who was hoping to win today, and I see no possible way for any other car to beat this monstrous cockroach...thing."

And for once, the announcers had a point. There seemed to be nothing that anyone could do to get around this pervy little creep and win the race. But of couse, 'seem' is a rather tricky word for this story. Or have you forgotten our heroes so quickly?

I thought so. But anyway, let's move on then, shall we?

Of course we shall. Now, at this point, Shaggy and Scooby were at a loss for words and ideas altogether. For who could've anticipated some measly little bug geek who'd done nothing to try to advance to the leading position shooting ahead and transforming his car into a giant cockroach which took up almost the entire track? Other then me, of course, no one could've known.

Shaggy breathed in deeply, as he tried to keep the fear in his stomach from bubbling up and over (and maybe out). "H-Hey Scoob?" he squeaked. "Li-Like, d-do you see any openings a-ava-available?"

Scooby stuck his head out the window, grimacing and gagging as the smell hit his nose full on. He looked around, holding a paw to his nose, so as to try to keep the stench from being permanently imprinted in his brain. "R-I ron't see r'anything. R-Except ror that." He pointed to the side wall, along the stands, half covered by a wire fence that went past the finish line, slick with the continuing spray of slime that the Car-Croach emitted.

And it was then that the idea struck the slightly bewildered beatnik. His eyes widened as he made the measurements in his head, quickly calculating the multitude of possibilities of what could (and possiby would) happen to him and Scooby if this did happen to fail, or even if he succeeded. Then, finally, he made his decision.

"Scooby," Shaggy said, in a voice that was much too calm for his normal demeanor, "move to the back, will ya? And when I say so, move as far to my side as you possibly can."

"Rhat?" Scooby scrambled into the surprisingly roomy backseat, and stuck his head back into the front again. "Rhaggy, rhat are rou roing to--" It was then that what Shaggy was about to do hit him, again, like a very badly-thrown frisbee. "RO! Rhaggy, it's rot ronna work! Ron't ro it. Ron't ro r--RAAAAAAAAAHHH!" And he was thrown back into his seat by the G-forces as the car, yet again, shot forward, only now assisted by the sickeningly smelly slime that coated the entire racetrack.

"Well Don, it looks like Shaggy Rogers is gonna try and get past that buggy racer, but I personally don't see how he's gonna do it. Any ideas?"

"Nope, can't say that I see any way for that young hippie kid to get past that behemoth of a beetle. Unless he drives over it or flies, I just don't see any way for him to get past Haverstein. So let's just wait and see what he's gonna do, and pray to God that this works."

"Jinkies, not again," Velma moaned. "I don't know how much more of this I can take. They're gonna get themselves killed."

"Now Velma, you have no reason to worry about them," Fred sat down on a nearby bench, Daphne's arms still around his neck. "They have plenty of tricks up their sleeves. You saw how they got past that Gator car. That was actually pretty cool, by the way, but the point is--," he changed his train of thought when both women glared icily at him, "--they will be fine. They always are. It's just who they are, which is very, very, almost abnormally lucky."

Velma smiled at him, grateful for the reassurance. "Thanks Fred. That really helped. At least, for the moment." She stared off at the track, as everything seemed to slow down a little, and as the car steadily approached the massive beetle.

Meanwhile, Daphne smiled at her boyfriend (and yes, they are a couple. Hope you guys enjoy it ;P). "Oh Fred, that was so sweet of you to comfort her. Now, if you could comfort me a little..." She trailed off, and raised one eyebrow coyly. And luckily for her and him, he got her drift.

"I'm sure that that can be quite easily arranged," he said, causing the redhead to giggle as they each leaned in for a long and loving kiss. Velma groaned.

"Ugh, get a room you two," she muttered, and turned her attention (and ours) away from the kissing couple (which is what most of you want me to focus on, Linky), and towards the track again (which is what I want to focus on, so get used to it).

And so we do indeed turn back to our two heroes, one of which was cowering in the backseat of the little red hot rod, his tail quivering like an arrow shot straight by William Tell, and his fur so on edge that it could cut through any size of cantaloupe that one could ever desire. The other was gritting his teeth as he was forced back into his seat, preparing for what was probably his riskiest move yet; for, if this did fail, then there would be a lot more then just smelly green slime to clean off of the track. He flattened his foot to the floor--

And made his move. Which began like so...

He swerved the car wildly as he took the final curve, the tires skidding and slipping as they struggled for some type of grip on the slick and slithery surface, most of which was gathered alongside the edges of the wall. And it was this key feature that would help him to get past the giant Car-Croach.

"SCOOBY DOO! THROW YOUR WEIGHT AGAINST MY SIDE OF THE CAR! NOW!!" Shaggy yelled, as he threw his own weight (not much, considering his size) against the window. And when Scooby leaped over to the right-side of the car's backseat, the car began to spin wildly as they took the turn; and just as the car was about to hit the wall with a sickening crunch--

--it slid up onto the wall, and continued to drive alongside the wire fence road sideways.

And all that the spectating crowd and nearby racers could do was gape in awe and amazement as the FireDog passed by the monstrous motor vehicle, with barely an inch to spare between the two cars. And as they bypassed the behemothic beetle, the stadium shook with the roars that were heard from the sizable crowd in the stands, and with the howls of many a dog brought there that day for support of the Scooby Doo team; one of which belonged to Scooby himself as the car shot ahead in desperation, in order to stay on the wire road that was the wall.

Meanwhile, while the speed-and-Scooby-Snack-hungry duo sped ahead of the massive mechanical freak of automotive nature, the gang watched nervously as they approached the finish line. Or rather, the wall by the finish line. And they slowly began to despair, for, in order to win the Tyler County 500 Road Race, the car would have to cross the finish line. Not the wall alongside it. And they had just run out of green slime to slide along.

And it seemed that Shaggy and Scooby had realized this too; for, at the end of the wall by the finish line, was a set of giant speakers, which was getting louder and louder as they approached it. They paled considerably, knowing all too well what would have to be done to escape the horrible fates ahead for themselves, and they did not anticipate doing what had to be done. So they swallowed down the lump of fear and dread that had risen in their throats (among other things), and with one last terse nod, and a brief handshake--

--Shaggy twisted the steering wheel as far to the left as it would go--

--Scooby howled and buried his face in his paws--

--Haverstein, who had been previously crying at his defeat, looked up again in hope--

--The gang looked on in fear for their best friends' lives--

--the other racers stared in amazement and prayed that the race wouldn't be won by some bug-loving freak--

--the crowd held their breath, and for once the announcers did too--

--and the car twisted away from the fence in a double-360, landing with a harsh squeal as the tires screeched onto the asphalt again.

And the crowd went wild as the two spun across the finish line, screeching to a halt at the end of a tailspin on the lawn that lay within the racetrack loop, the remains of the tires smoking on the too-green grass, and the racers within the shining red car panting from extreme exhilaration.

It was then that Scooby clamored back into the front seat, took off his helmet and glared angrily at Shaggy as he shook out his ears. "Ron't rou EVER ro that r'again," he scolded, and caused the beatnik to burst out laughing as he took off his own helmet, his face sweaty but triumphant, as he pulled out a box of Scooby Snax from the glove compartment and opened them up, pouring half into his buddy's lap.

"Like yeah. But now that you look at it, like have you ever felt a rush like that?"

"Rell..." Scooby thought for a moment, while munching contently on the tasty treats. "Rheah, rokay, rhat was retty rool." And the two high-fived, as they stepped out of the still-smoking car onto the lawn, waving at the roaring crowd and the flashes of light that were photographers, one of whose name is Carla, and who shall come in again much later in the story.

"Shaggy! Scooby!" The dynamic and hungry duo turned to see the rest of the gang running towards them as they called out their names. The first one to arrive was Velma, who stood there panting as she stared up at them.

"Like, hey guys. How did you li--" SMACK! Velma slapped the beatnik in the face, an angry glare evident in her eyes.

"THAT was for not telling us about the splitting-in-two mechanism." SLAP! "And THAT was for that stupid stunt that you just pulled."

"Like, what do we get for living?" Shaggy asked, a bit dazedly. She leant forward and wrapped her arms around his slender waist in a scared and relieving hug, that was hesitantly returned with one of comfort and guilt.

"This." She said, her voice muffled by the lime green and teal blue Scooby Snax sponsored-racing suits that they wore, as she squeezed him even tighter. "And me not killing you for nearly killing yourselves."

"Rair r'enough." Scooby said, as he panted from the heat and stepped out of his racing suit.

"Velma's right you guys," Daphne said as she put her hands on her hips. "You really should tell us about these things before you do them, so that we AT LEAST know what you're capable of doing in a race!"

"Yeah," Fred commented, earning an approving nod from Daphne. "Although it was pretty cool." The nod was now a harsh glare. "B-But you still should've told us." The nod was back.

"Okay, okay," Shaggy held up his hands in surrender. "Like, for one, we know what we're doing, but I guess we should've told you. And for like, two, that was the only way around that--that THING! We were just lucky."

"Reah, really rucky."

"And we're really sorry for worrying you guys. Like, we'll try not to do it again--the car-fence trick, I mean. And like, we'll keep the Fred mechanism-usage to a minimum. Okay?"

Velma and Daphne stood there silent for a few seconds, before: "Yeah, okay, alright then." Fred however, said something else.

"You named that halving-trick-thingy after me? Wow, thanks." At this, the girls again glared at him.

"Well, like, yeah. It just made sense." Shaggy said, as he pulled off his gloves. "Mainly because you always tell us to split up." And with that, he and Scooby turned to walk to the winner's circle, after pulling the keys out of the ignition of course. "Well, like, are you guys coming or what?"

The gang shook themselves out of their semi-stupor. "You-you mean to the winner's circle?" Velma asked hesitantly. Scooby and Shaggy just stared at them all like they were stupid or something.

"Ro, to rhe rotdog stand. R'Of rourse ro the rircle. Rhen the rotdog stand r'afterwards."

"Like yeah. Without you guys, we couldn't've done anything. Now, like c'mon! They're waiting." And with that, the gang started forward alongside the racing duo, happy to know that the guys still considered them all as a team, even in a pretentious road race such as this, and didn't ignore friendship for glory.

And so the picture that was shown in the paper the next morning all throughout Tyler County and in Coolsville, Ohio, was that of all five of the members of Mystery Inc., centered around the golden First Place winning trophy of the Tyler County 500 Road Race, with Scooby in the middle, one couple on one side, and a soon-to-be couple on the other, all unaware of what would happen to them next.

And as the gang smiled at the surrounding photographers, one of whom was extremely stalkerish and whose name was Carla who would come in later in the the story, the announcers finally wrapped up their commentary on this most prestigious and interesting race, in which many phenomenons had been seen, and probably would never be seen again.

"And so, we leave this fantastic and absolutely amazing race behind us, to be remembered for the rest of racing history as a one-of-a-kind event for other racers to look up at in wonder, and for other more mediocre races to be compared to."

"Well, I think just about every person in this stadium agrees with you there, my friend. For, in all my years of commentating and voice-providing for other such impressive events, I have never seen anything like what I've seen today. So this is Frank Welker--"

"And this is Don Messick, saying to you that if you ever wish to aspire to such a level of fame and friendly nature in your lifetime as this young man and his friends here today--"

"--then keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars."

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OMG!! I am SOOOO happy that I finished my first chapter!! SQUEEEEEALLS LOUDLY Oh, I was so worried about how it should end, so please tell me what you think of it in review form!! PLEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSE!!

Thank you ;D

And for those of you who get the three SD mentions to voices in the last part, please mention them and I may mention you in the story later on!! So Toodles! And PLEASE REVIEW for Scooby-Doo!! See you guys later!

And coming up in the next chapter...a stubborn yet familiar werewolf on temporary retirement, ugly-ass henchmen, and a road race unlike any other, along with the world's crappiest entry gifts. Toodles again, my fine furry friends! See you all soon!
!-Wolfy-!