Chapter Text
“Hey, I don’t think I've ever seen that person before,” Lightning points out from the small table in front of the Dinoco trailer. He’s got one elbow propped on the edge, soda can half-empty beside him. Bobby and Cal are half-focused on their card tower, faces scrunched in identical concentration. But Lightning’s gaze is fixed on the number 03—an apparent rookie standing by his own crew trailer, magenta and purple jumpsuit bright enough to counter headlights.
Normally, his first instinct is pure curiosity and a questionnaire to Doc, but Doc wasn’t here right now. He was Piston Cup knows where with The King and Bobby’s own crew chief doing their own thing, which has become a regular since he’s started hanging out with the two racers.
Bobby doesn’t even look up. He knows exactly who Lightning is talking about, which, in a way, feels really telling. “I’m pretty sure that’s Voltage,” he says, balancing one last card on the top layer, hands firm and steady. He’s focused. “Like, that’s literally his name.”
Lightning raised an eyebrow. Seriously, of all names? But with the color scheme of the brand, it makes sense. "Voltage? Really?"
"Says the guy whose name is literally Lightning."
Ouch. Well, he had a point. "...Touche."
"Anywayyyyy," Cal butts in, hands pulling away slowly from the card tower. He breathes a sigh of relief when it stays upward. "He's a new kid from the Midwest, I think. He won a bunch of smaller circuit races and got sponsored by...uh...” He trails off, trying to squint across the lot.
"Volt Energy, I think." Bobby finishes for him. "An energy drink company. I heard they're kinda sketchy, but you didn’t hear that from us." Meanwhile, the rookie seems to be bouncing on his heels, glancing around like he’s still not convinced this whole thing is real. And Lightning understands; he felt that way before Harv’s influence. Before it felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Before arrogance became second nature.
"I guess that makes sense." Lightning takes another sip of his drink—a Rusteze sticker slapped on top, of course. Can't be seen drinking from other sponsors at a racer, after all. "Y'know what, I think I'll bite. He looks nervous enough to faint, might as well see if I can ease his nerves a bit."
Cal lets out a half hearted laugh. "You and your ability to even spot these rookies..."
"Hey! Someone has to be there for them," Lightning says, already standing up. "Besides, Doc says it's good for me to talk to more people. God knows I barely did any of that *my* rookie year. And it’s how I even know you anyway!"
"Doc also says you're too impulsive for your own good,” Bobby says. He curses slightly as the card tower shakes, but it ultimately stays still, which has him breathing out sharply in thanks.
“Details details,” Lightning calls back, grinning. He walks over, weaving through crew members shouting about tires and missing stock car keys (heaven knows he's been there once). The noise of the pit area swells as he approaches closer. More crew members call over radios, wrenches clatter, and the air carries that electric hum of tension only race day can bring. Something Lightning has come to love. The rookie—Voltage—turns at his approach, eyes wide, mouth parting slightly. Lightning offers his hand with that familiar, practiced charm. Smiling, he introduced himself.
“Hey! I'm Lightning McQueen,” he says easily. “I'm guessing that this must be your debut race? It's wonderful to meet you!”
Voltage blinks, startled for a second before breaking into a grin that’s just a little too eager, Lightning notes. “Oh—uh, thanks! I’m Voltage. I’ve watched some of your races—I was obsessed your rookie season—oh man, this is insane, I can't believe I'm talking to the Lightning McQueen—”
Lightning blushes slightly at the positive attention. Color him stoked, but he's always been bashful about positive attention like this since the three way tie. Yet it makes him enthusiastic.
Lightning decides to laugh numbly. “I—appreciate the excitement. But don't sweat it too much, hey? I think you'll do just fine.”
Voltage nods furiously, shaking his hand. Maybe a little too hard. Lightning finds it slightly suspicious, but he has no genuine reason to suspect anything more, especially since this was what Doc had always encouraged him to do—be friendly. Not everyone is a bad person.
He doubts it this time around.
Behind the rookie, his crew shuffles, murmuring to each other. One guy’s got his hand on a wrench, another’s leaning close to whisper something that makes the first one grin in a way Lightning doesn’t like—but he’s too polite, too practiced at brushing off weird moments, to comment. Besides, what reason does he have to be suspicious? Because he didn’t like the way his crew whispered? That would be bad.
So he keeps quiet.
“Anyway,” Lightning says, stepping back, “good luck out there, alright? Just drive your race. You’ll do great.”
Voltage nods too fast, grin a little too wide. “Y-yeah! You too!”
Lightning waves as he heads back to his own pit, a feeling of unease starting to bubble in his stomach. But he ignores it in favor of cutting him the slack. Off to find Doc.
☆☆☆☆☆
The race starts like any other, feeling as wonderful as it usually does. The roar of the engines vibrates in his chest, and the smell of rubber hits like adrenaline. The crowd’s ecstatic energy crackles like static, and Lightning finds himself smiling widely. He feels alive, and racing has so much meaning now that he has a family to call his own. Now that he has a crew chief and mentor who tolerates him and loves him as if he were his own.
He might as well be at this point, but he stays quiet.
“Speed, I am speed,” he mumbles to himself, getting his head in the game. The 95 hums below him as if it were an old friend, which it might as well be, considering they’ve done three seasons together already... He can hear Doc through the radio, steady as ever, getting ready to guide him through a usually sporadic race. It’s become almost meditative.
The flag waved, and all the racers stormed through the track. Lightning himself was quick to adjust to such a crowd, and by the time it had hit lap 10, he was comfortable in the middle of the pack as they drove the track. But something about the driving felt…off. Every time he fell back slightly, the 95 felt rough. He just couldn't place his finger on it—after all, his team had checked his car the night before. And the day of.
“Kid, you need to keep your line tight through turn four,” Doc says, voice cool but firm. It shakes him out of his thoughts. “You don’t wanna push it too early.” He was right, of course. This race was a 200 lap one; they still had a while to go.
“Copy that,” Lightning replies, grinning as he passes Cal briefly. Although he can’t exactly see his face, he knows the Dinoco racer is probably scheming. “You worry too much, Doc.”
“And I have good reason to, son,” comes the dry response, but Lightning can hear the faint smile under it. And that was the end of their conversation for now.
All is well for a little while. He passes the rookie on lap 24, but the moment he does he catches a glimpse of Voltage looking right at him. It startles him a little.
Then something happens.
It feels subtle at first; a stutter, like the engine forgot how to breathe. It sends a shiver down the racer's body. Then the 95 hiccups once. Then again–harder–seemingly coughing like something’s caught in its throat. Lightning’s brow furrows at this realization. “Doc, I think I’ve got—”
And then the world explodes in sound and heat.
The engine groans, a violent, metallic shriek popping that makes Lightning’s teeth clench. Smoke floods into the air, blocking the windshield and causing him to lose most of his view of the track. Warning signs flare through his body, and his instincts immediately take over—he yanks the wheel, veers out of the current lane to move inward, narrowly missing Bobby’s bumper by inches.
“Lightning!” Doc’s voice cracks through the comms, full of alarm. “Get off the track! Now!”
“I’m trying!” Lightning’s coughing now, eyes stinging from the smoke. At the right time, he veers into the infield, foot slamming the brakes, the tires screaming against the grass and dirt as the 95 shudders to a stop in the middle of the green field. The world goes dark for a second— only the sound of the engine dying and his own heartbeat roaring in his ears. Lightning feels like he’s going to be sick.
He has no time to think about it, though, as he realizes he still needs to exit the vehicle. And it's kind of difficult to do that when you have to remove the HANS device and other harnesses from your person before you can even think about removing the net from the window and leaving the vehicle.
Smoke fills his lungs and he realizes that he has to act fast. Luckily, he and Doc have gone over these devices many times before and how to remove them in a panic. He inhales slowly, before exhaling and coughing. But he uses that moment to remove the HANS device from his person.
Next were the seatbelts.
“Lightning!” He hears Doc yell through the comms. He grunts, but doesn't reply. It takes him a few seconds to get it off, but when he does, he rips the net off and chucks himself out the 95 and onto the infield grass.
He gags as he inhales clean air, not having realized how bad it must have looked on cameras. He shakingly removes his helmet and gloves, running his hands through his hair as he pushes himself up on his bottom to sit properly to process what just happened.
His car is still steaming in front of him, oil leaking from it as the hood emits a burning sensation.
“Lightning!” Doc’s voice again, closer this time, Lightning realizes. When he looks up, he can see his mentor running toward him, headset off and fear rooted into his face. “Kid! Hey, look at me—are you okay?”
Lightning continues to sit, body still shaking from what just occurred. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I think.” His voice sounds hollow, even to him. “She just—gave out. Out of nowhere.”
Doc crouches beside him, shoulders flinching instinctively at the small knee impact. But he chooses to ignore it, instead putting his hand on his shoulder. “You're lucky it didn't blow five seconds earlier—God, you'd have wrecked into the wall if you hadn't stayed in the line.”
Lightning lets out a shaky laugh, breath catching in his chest. “Guess I’m just lucky like that.” Cool. So he just lived through a near death. Awesome. Amazing.
Doc gives him a sharp look. ‘We'll talk about this later’ stays silent at the tip of his tongue, but there's something in his eyes too—fear, relief, something that just feels too complicated to vocalize. As the medical team arrives on site, Doc stays with Lightning the whole time.
☆☆☆☆☆
Lightning ends up getting a DNF, but that's the least of his concerns. Especially when his engine blew out.
Anyway, while he was in the medical tent, Doc himself went to request a…telemetry? Lightning isn't exactly sure what it is. He probably should know though. And hours later, while he and Doc are in the motorhome, a Piston Cup representative knocks at their door, a diagnostic report in his hands.
“Thank you,” his mentor says to the guy. The door shuts, and the telemetry report lands on a table in front of them, printed in black and white. Lightning scans the page, frown deepening with every line as Doc explains what it meant.
It takes a few minutes (mostly because Lightning kept asking questions), but they find it; the tampered calibration, a replaced part that wasn’t from his own crew. Because Ramone would never allow for this to happen.
Doc’s jaw tightens. “Seems like someone swapped it before the race.”
Lightning’s stomach sinks. “You mean—”
“Yeah.” Doc crosses his arms, tone gone cold. “Somebody wanted to make sure you didn’t finish.”
Lightning stares at the paper, disbelief etched into every line of his face. His hands curl into fists, and he knows. Oh, he knows.
Voltage’s handshake flashes through his mind. The eager grin. The over enthusiastic compliments. The whispering crew. His throat feels tight, and he feels sick again.
Instead of speaking out, he sits there in silent frustration. And Doc lets him.
Finally, Doc sighs, softer now. “You’ll get your shot next race. For now, son, just get some rest. We'll write up a report and find who did it.”
Lightning so desperately wants to exclaim it was Voltage. It was him. He planned it.
He stays silent.
Lightning looks out the open window, the burned-out 95 nowhere to be seen. He misses it. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Sure.”
But Doc doesn't leave; he stays with him in the kitchen for the rest of the night, just in case the smoke that was in the air turns back into fire.