July, 2006.
Thirty-Five Years Later.

Flo's radio was playing that damn song again. It seemed that every day, it was the same damn song. My lips could tell a lie, but my heart would know… What kind of mushy-gushy person wrote that? Horrible. Sarge scratched his head in annoyance, and glanced out the window once again. Nothing. Not a wink from the outside world.

Fillmore was staring out the window, too, though his eyes were fixed on the streetlight. It blinked yellow, on and off, again and again and again. "I'm tellin' ya, man." He said, unblinking. "Every third blink is slower."

Sarge turned away from the window and looked at him, still annoyed. Fillmore looked exhausted, staring out the window with a half-closed stare. Strands of grayish-brown hair fell around his face, the rest of it pulled back behind his head. Something in the back of Sarge's mind nagged him… maybe Fillmore had gone apeshit insane in the last few years.

"The sixties weren't good to you, were they?" He asked.

Gunfire. Sarge sat straight up, listening. Crack! There it was again. Fillmore must have heard it this time; their eyes met briefly as a few more shots were fired.

In near-unison, they stood and made their way out of the diner. Ramone followed closely on their tail, eager to see what the commotion was. They three peered down the road, eyebrows raised. Confusion quickly turned to alarm as they saw a dark shape outlined by Sheriff's red and blue lights. It disappeared behind the Cozy Cone, but the roar of the engine was still loud and clear behind the buildings.

"I'm not the only one seeing this, right?"

Sarge and Ramone both turned to glance at Fillmore, but in the process took notice of the stock car barreling towards them, a portion of a fence stuck on the front of it.

Sarge grabbed hold of Fillmore's arm and yanked him out of the way as he stumbled backwards and yelled something that sounded like "Incoming!" It seemed that Ramone hadn't been so lucky; he shot backwards so quickly that he'd fallen over and grazed his arm on the pavement. Sarge rushed to help him up, but he'd already pulled himself to his feet and dusted himself off by the time he got there.

Down the street, the stock car barreled through the display at Luigi's and almost hit Red before looping around the bust of Stanley. The engine revved as the car was thrown violently into reverse, thus ripping the bust from the pedestal and anchoring it in the road. There was a loud scream, and the engine revved again. Then, the car somehow turned around and sped down the road, dragging the spike of the bust through the pavement and tearing it to shreds.

Sarge watched in strange, outraged awe as the bust got stuck on the powerlines and was subsequently launched back at the courthouse. Because of the situation he'd just witnessed, he thought he imagined Fillmore yelling at the bust: "Fly away, Stanley! Be free!" By some stroke of luck, it landed perfectly back on the pedestal.

Meanwhile, it seemed the stock car had finally stopped the rampage. It sat, battered and smoking, looking somewhat hopeless. He watched Sheriff scramble out of his police cruiser and approach the car, completely red in the face from his rage. He said something that Sarge couldn't hear, and a young red-headed man got out, looking completely out of his mind. Sheriff cuffed him, and led him to the courthouse. Sarge, Fillmore, and Ramone were all dead silent as he passed, watching in awe as the madman passed. None of them spoke a word until the door of the courthouse banged shut behind him.

"What the fuck?" Ramone exclaimed, "Is he fucking insane?!"

"Bad trip, man," Fillmore sighed, kicking a piece of the road. He flinched afterwards, as though he didn't expect the rubble to be real.

Sheriff emerged from the courthouse after a few minutes, wringing his hands anxiously. "He's crazy," he explained, "Thinks he's some kind of famous person."

"Is he?" Sarge asked.

Sheriff shrugged, "I don't know. Either way, it doesn't give him the right to come tearing up our road."

" Sheriff!" Doc was charging down the street in his house slippers, with Sally in close pursuit, "Would you like to tell me what the hell just happened?"

"Some kid came through, messed up the road."

"Oh, really?" Doc said, sarcastically, "I thought the next atom bomb was dropped on our little town."

"Now, there's no need for that," Sheriff retorted, "It's not my fault some beatnik came and cost us a million in damages."

Doc pinched his nose and sighed loudly, "I'll have his head, I swear."

"That might be a little extreme," Sheriff said, patiently, "Don't you think we could just have him pay for it? Or, I don't know, keep him in the cell for a few months?"

"No! We have to do more!"

"Sally!" Sheriff exclaimed, turning on her, "You're a lawyer! You should know something."

She stammered for a moment, unprepared, "He needs a fair trial, we can't just seal his fate right here."

Doc sighed, "Yes, you're right. But we aren't gonna let him off easy, that's what I'm saying."

"I never said we were going to let him off easy," Sheriff replied, exasperated, "I just said not to jump to any extremes."

Doc opened his mouth to reply, but Sally cut him off: "And you're right about that!" She said, sounding anxious, "We all need to calm down and approach this with a level head."

Doc began, "Yes, but-"

"I'm putting my foot down, Doc. We'll come back to it in the morning," Sally said. With that, she turned on her heel and started home, nearly tripping on a piece of rubble.

"You heard the woman, Doc," Sheriff agreed, wide-eyed. "I would think you'd agree with her, as a lawyer yourself."

Doc groaned, looking like he was about to argue. Surprisingly, he didn't: "Fine," he said, "You best believe I won't be any happier about it tomorrow morning, though." He stormed back down the road, still fuming about the situation.

"No one said you would be," Sheriff replied after him. He then turned to the rest of them, who had been silently watching the exchange. "Nothing to see here anymore, folks. Go home, or something."

Sheriff retreated back to the courthouse after that, presumably to fill out that mountain of paperwork he always spoke about whenever anything went wrong.

Sarge and Fillmore exchanged glances, wide eyed. Neither of them spoke as they returned to their designated booth, filing back into the diner like nothing had happened. They were there for the rest of the night, staring at the shiny plasticine finish on the tables. Flo and Ramone talked quietly at the bar, both nursing something a little stronger than the wine they had been drinking earlier. The radio had continued to play, and had now moved on to something a little more tolerable than Hank Williams.

"You think that conman is gonna walk free?" Fillmore asked as he examined his fingers. His high from earlier had worn off, it seemed.

"Hell no," Sarge replied, "Doc's going to do his damndest to keep him here."

Fillmore giggled a little, "You think he got a speeding ticket?"

His humor in such a time was endearing, and Sarge smiled. "I wouldn't doubt it."

Fillmore was quiet for a moment, before saying, "Man, this definitely wasn't on the list of stuff I thought was going to happen tonight."

Sarge didn't reply, as he had nothing to say. They sat there in quiet contemplation for a while, occasionally exchanging short remarks about what had happened. Silently, Sarge's mind began to wander as he sipped at his now room temperature coffee.

He supposed Sally was right in refusing to talk about it until everyone had calmed down; Doc cared about the town more than anyone else, and it was likely difficult for him to wake up to this. Except for Sally herself, maybe. She'd been living there for a good three years, and had done more for the town than anyone had in decades. Sarge didn't understand why, exactly, she would want to stay in a run-down place like this… but, to each their own. At the very least, she had somewhat reinvigorated the town. Fillmore had talked about leaving again, a year or so back, and she had convinced him to stay.

Sarge frowned into his coffee, remembering the dozens of other times Fillmore had talked about leaving. Vaguely, he wondered why he never did; Fillmore had never really been a quiet person, Sarge had always thought he would pack up and leave eventually. He never did, for whatever reason. What did he know, though? It's not like they had been close at all, in the thirty years it had taken them to somewhat patch things up. Fillmore flat out refused to speak to him the first couple months, and it took quite a bit of time until they were something like friends again.

"What the hell's got you so worked up?" Fillmore asked suddenly, tapping at the table.

"Huh?" Sarge asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Your face is all red."

Sarge stammered. "Oh, you know… The road, and all that," He lied.

"Mm-hm," Fillmore hummed, disbelieving.

Sarge did not want to speak about it. It didn't concern him anymore. He looked out the window for a moment, surprised to see that it was nearly dawn. "It's almost morning," he said, changing the subject. Had they really been sitting here for three hours? It had been nearly one when the whole ordeal with the road started. "Time flies."

"Sure does, man," Fillmore replied, "It's already 2006, can you believe that?"

"That's not what I meant, but now that you mention it…" God, he was getting old. Next thing he knew, it would be 2010. The years had only gotten faster as he aged, unfortunately.

There was a loud clammer as Doc entered the diner a few hours later. He was wearing his Sunday best- a tailored blue suit that looked about forty years old- and walking with confidence that he hadn't exhibited in years. "You're all on jury duty," he announced, to Sarge's bewilderment, "Get to the courthouse, ASAP."

"Gah, you coulda given us a heads up, man," Ramone said, frowning, "I almost got run over last night. You coulda given us the time to clean up a little"

"The town got run over last night, and we're gonna make that sonofagun pay for it."

Fillmore seemed to laugh a little. "Sounds like he's going to the guillotine."

"With any luck." Doc said. He turned on his heel and walked out, muttering.

The diner was silent for a moment, before Ramone spoke up, "Man, why'd we make him the judge?"

"He went to law school, honey." Flo answered, sighing. "He was the only one qualified."

In a church-like procession, the group made their way to the courthouse. It seemed that the entire town had been assembled; the room was filled with quiet, excited chatter from the population of Radiator Springs. Sheriff stood at the front of the room, arms crossed. His patience from the night prior seemed to have dissipated: his face was beet red, his mouth curled into a tight frown. Every few minutes, he checked his watch.

"Doc was right about the guillotine thing, man," Ramone said righteously, "He's gotta pay."

"Hey, man, that's a little extreme," Fillmore replied, "You know, they're trying to get rid of the death penalty."

Sarge snorted, "Like hell."

"Come on, man, you do not want to gas this guy."

"No, but he certainly needs to do something about it!" Sarge replied, "I say jail time."

"Yeah?" Ramone said, "And who's gonna fix the road?"

"I don't know!"

"He could always pay for it," Flo suggested, "Judging by the car he was driving, he definitely has the money for it."

"Yeah, right. That's his parents' money."

Sheriff spoke above the crowd, "The Radiator Springs traffic court will come to order!"

The double doors burst open, and the room exploded. Mater led the perpetrator in by his shoulder, pushing him through the crowds of shouting people. It simmered down somewhat as he reached the defendant's stand, and he spoke above the crowd: "Officer, talk to me babe, how long is this gonna take? I need to get to California, pronto ."

Sheriff ignored him, and demanded, "Where's your lawyer?!"

The kid laughed a little, dismissive, "I dunno, Tahiti, maybe? He's got a timeshare there."

Sarge couldn't help but laugh. Was this kid on drugs? Was he drunk? Or, maybe- and, most likely- he was just plain stupid.

"If a defendant has no lawyer, the court will assign one to him," the Sheriff recited, before turning his attention to the jury, "Hey! Anyone wanna be his lawyer?"

The court fell completely silent, and everyone averted their eyes. Mater, who had been examining his fingernails, suddenly seemed to realize that the attention was on him. "Aw, shoot, I'll do it, Sheriff!" He said cheerily, bounding forward.

Sheriff sighed, then continued, "All rise… the honorable Doc Hudson presiding." He then turned to the defendant, and muttered something that Sarge couldn't hear. From the way the kid shrank back, he assumed it was a threat.

The double doors slammed open once again, and in came Doc. "All right!" he stalked down the hallway, brushing off his pristine suit, "I wanna know who's responsible for wrecking my town, Sheriff. I want his head on a platter."

He kept muttering as he took his seat behind the Judge's stand, and only seemed to realize who stood before him as he put on his aviator-style glasses. He studied the defendant for a while, mouth slightly agape, pen poised above a sheet of paper.

"Throw him outta here, Sheriff," he said suddenly, "I want him out of my courtroom, and I want him out of our town! Case dismissed." The room erupted in outrage once again as he moved to stand. The defendant seemed to deflate, and moved to walk back towards the door.

"Sorry I'm late your honor!"

Dramatically, Sally burst into the courtroom. She looked more like a lawyer than Doc did, wearing an elegant pencil skirt and a pen tucked behind her ear. She ushered herself down the aisle, her low heels clicking on the polished wood floor. Admittedly, it was jarring to see her as such a professional.

"Hey," The defendant said, voice smooth, "Thanks for coming, but he's letting me go."

"He's letting you go? "

"Yeah, your job's pretty easy today. All you have to do is just stand there and let me look at'cha."

Sarge suddenly felt the urge to vomit. He exchanged glances with Fillmore, which told him it was really as disgusting as it seemed. He was most surprised about the fact that Sally was just letting it happen, like nothing was wrong. Sure, she looked uncomfortable and resisted it somewhat, but Sarge figured that she would have done something about it.

Her plan became apparent when she turned to Mater, greeting him and ignoring the kid's swagger. She then turned fully to the courtroom, still smiling innocently, "Hi folks!"

In near unison, the courtroom greeted her in return. Her con seemed to be a private understanding among everyone, as it went unacknowledged. In an instant, the playboy grin fell from the cheeks of the perpetrator.

"What do you want, Sally?" Doc said, turning on her.

"Oh, come on. Make this guy fix the road- the town needs this!"

"No!" Doc argued. "I know his type: racer. He's the last thing this town needs."

Sally muttered something in return, before turning back to the jury. "Fellow citizens! You're all aware of our town's proud history." She spoke loudly and passionately, with the persuasive voice of a law-woman. On the podium, Doc rolled his eyes and placed his head in one hand.

"Radiator Springs: the glorious jewel on the necklace of Route 66. The Mother Road!" She started to pace around the front of the courtroom, "It is our job and our pleasure to take care of the travelers on our stretch of road."

Sarge scowled, somewhat offended, "Travelers? What travelers?!"

"Ignore him," Fillmore sighed in return.

Sarge turned to glare at him, but he only offered a smirk.

"But how, I ask you, are we to care for those travelers if there is no road for them to drive on?" She stopped suddenly, and stood imposingly over Guido and Luigi, "Luigi, what do you have at your store?"

"Premium leather shoes!" Luigi replied proudly.

"And if no one can get to you?"

"I won't sell any…." He trailed off, a look of desperation coming across his face, "I'll lose everything!"

"And Flo, what do you have at your store?"

"Best food in Carburetor County!" Flo replied, "And gas, lots of gas!"

Across the room, Ramone and Mater doubled over with laughter.

"Okay boys, stay with me," Sally said, momentarily exasperated. "And what'll happen if no one can come to your station to buy that stuff?"

"I'll go out of business, and… We'll have to leave town."

"And what's gonna happen to all of us if Flo leaves town and closes her station?"

Sarge, who had been staring off into space, was suddenly hit with the realization. Flo was the anchor for the rest of the town; if no travelers bought from her drive-in, then the rest of them would go out of business as well! In synchronicity to everyone else, he said, "Without gas, we're done for!"

"So don't you think the guy responsible for all of this should fix the road?"

The courtroom murmured, exchanging glances with one another. A few people nodded, Fillmore included. Sarge didn't exactly think it was a good idea… How the hell was this guy supposed to fix it? It's not like they had a bulldozer lying around or anything.

"So, what do we want him to do, folks?" Sally addressed them, voice filled with conviction.

"Fix the road!" The decision came unanimously.

"Because we are a town worth fixing!" She added, grinning.

The courtroom erupted into cheers, and Doc banged his gavel on his block. "Order in the court!" He yelled over the cheers, looking grumpy. "Seems like my mind has been changed for me." Everyone cheered again at the sentence. Next to him, Fillmore excitedly said, "Nice ruling!"

People began to exit the courtroom, chatting excitedly about the prospect of a new road. Admittedly, it did sound nice… Perhaps if there was a new road, the town wouldn't be so unattractive. Although, Sarge didn't know where the hell they were going to get the materials for such a performance.

Evidently, the town did have a bulldozer. "Her name's Bessie!" Mater called from the window of his tow truck as he hauled it down the street, not five minutes later. "A beauty, ain't she?"

Sarge watched as he dropped it off by the courthouse, listening to him cackle about a new road. He sighed, exhausted, and headed down the street. It was a lot to take in for one day.

"Hey, Sarge," Fillmore said, catching up to him, "Want to hang around Flo's with me and get some coffee?" He attempted to throw his arm around Sarge's shoulders, but he stepped away too soon.

Sarge scrubbed his face, remembering that he had been awake for over twenty-four hours. "Fine," he said, sighing, "I won't stay for too long, though."

"That's cool, man," Fillmore replied, "So, whaddya think about all of this?"

"I think I need a goddamn nap," Sarge replied, huffing.

"Me too, man, but that's not what I meant," Fillmore said, "Like, what do you think about the trial?"

"He could've gotten a better sentence. I don't think it was harsh enough."

Fillmore hummed, opening and holding the door to Flo's diner. "Well, I thought it was perfectly fine. Good riddance, and all that."

They entered and resumed their places in their designated booth. "I don't know, I think he should've had to pay a fine as well," Sarge said, "I mean, he clearly has the money for it."

"That's no reason for him to pay a fine, man."

"You two talking about that whole ordeal back at the courthouse?" Flo asked, bringing two steaming cups of coffee.

"Yes ma'am," Sarge replied, smiling up at her.

"Crazy, right?" She said, "It's a shame we can't just take the day off."

"Who said you can't?" Fillmore asked.

"The two of you, who come in here and loiter every day," Flo deadpanned. After a moment, she laughed, "I'm kidding, don't look so scared."

She left them with their coffee, strolling back across the diner and joining her husband at the bar.

Fillmore stared for a moment, before turning back to Sarge. "You think she really doesn't want us here?"

"She said she was kidding," Sarge said, indifferently. As long as Flo's was open, he would continue his patronage. She had the best damn coffee in all of Carburetor County, after all.

Fillmore didn't reply, now absorbed into the traffic light outside. Sarge glanced at it for a moment, frowning. On, off… On, off… On, off. Fillmore was crazy if he really cared enough to watch it like that. Vaguely, Sarge wondered if he really had gone apeshit in the last couple of years; he had only started this nonsense with the traffic light recently. Not that it mattered, anyway… Who was he to care about something like that?

Outside, the kid was busy throwing a tantrum about fixing the road. If Sarge listened hard enough, he could almost hear what he was saying… "I don't fix things! I'm a celebrity!" Fillmore was certainly right about that one: good riddance, indeed. And that was that, he supposed. Lightning McQueen would fix the road, and everything would go back to normal. Like nothing had ever happened.

Except… It didn't. Not two hours after Sarge had settled in at Flo's, the first two travelers of the quarter decided to pass through town. Normally, he wouldn't have done anything about it- people rarely wanted to purchase surplus, these days- but since Sally had enacted a new protocol with sales pitches a few months ago, and he was more or less required to work one his that he minded, of course. It gave him something to do.

As he and Fillmore rushed to the edge of town, a green minivan was fast approaching from up the road. Sarge perched himself at the edge of his perfectly-manicured yard, standing straight as Fillmore leaned against the fence next to him. Sally stood a few hundred yards down the road in front of the old abandoned motel, grinning in a neighborly way.

Sarge heard her start with her spiel, and exchanged glances with Fillmore. From the way Sally's tone changed throughout her speech, it seemed like yet another lost cause. The minivan continued down the road, and Sally deflated. It passed around the bulldozer and out of town, meeting every single expectation Sarge had for it.

"Great show, everyone," He muttered sarcastically.

"I think you owe me twenty bucks, man," Fillmore said.

"Huh? Why?" Sarge asked. "When did we make a bet?"

"You said we wouldn't get any travelers this month," He replied, "It's still June, isn't it?"

"It's July 2nd, Fillmore."

"Fuck you, no it's not."

"Check your damn calendar next time," Sarge shrugged, and returned inside his shop.

He sighed heavily as soon as the door closed behind him. It was dim and dusty in his surplus shop; he hadn't really cleaned anything in a while, he didn't see the point anymore. He hadn't even bothered to open a cash drawer recently, as he saw no purpose in putting in more effort than necessary. Work smarter, not harder… Sarge grumbled, stalking up and down the rows of butterfly knives and backpacks and boots. Everything on his shelves was aged and dusty. He hadn't sold much of anything since the 60s, not since Stanley (God rest his soul) had told them all to purchase double their shipments… He pushed the thought from his head. He didn't like to think about the past, no sir, and he wasn't about to for the sake of some old backpacks.

Though, come to think of it… He could probably get a good sum of money selling his stock to a museum. It was all old enough, wasn't it? Wait, no it wasn't. Besides, museums all wanted equipment that was used in combat. Not pristine civilian copies. Maybe he could sell his medals… Sarge internally smacked himself. He would never resort to that. He had earned them in war , Christ's sake. He wasn't going to sell them for a quick buck.

He stalked back up to the register, huffing a little bit. His knees were killing him… maybe he should have Doc check it out. All a part of being old, he supposed. Sarge looked through his stuff for a moment, desperately searching for something to do. It had been so, terribly boring since the road got bypassed… all he really did anymore was sit around and sulk. An idea hit him- He should fix his neons! They had gone out around ten years prior, it was about time he did that, anyways.

So, he got out his ladder and light bulbs, and went out front to fix up his lights. It was long and grueling work- he never did figure out how to do it correctly- but it was calming in a way. Maybe he just needed to get off his ass and do something, for once.

"Hey, neighbor," Fillmore said, startling him, "Need some help?"

"Oh, no thank you," Sarge replied offhandedly, casting him a glance, "I've got it covered."

"You sure, man?" Fillmore grinned. He was leaning on his fence again, a coffee cup in his hand, "How old are you now, eighty-five? You could fall and die, or something."

"I bet that would make you happy," Sarge grumbled, "And no, I'm sixty-two, thank you."

"Wow, man, coulda sworn you were older," Fillmore said, turning to leave. "Just lemme know when you need me to bandage your hands again, okay?"

"Go bother someone else for once," Sarge said, watching him go.

That last comment had left a sour taste in Sarge's mouth. He had forgotten… these stupid lightbulbs had always been a pain, hadn't they? He still had a scar on his palm from where it had cut him open…

It continued to nag at him as he finished fixing his neons. He and Fillmore… it had been over for years, to say the last. There were a few times when they attempted to reconcile, though all of them resulted in the same, sad conclusion. There was never anything left to salvage, at the end of the day. He supposed it was always flawed; they never really made a good match together, not even at the start. They had only started being friends again out of boredom. There wasn't much to do around town anymore.

He climbed down from the ladder and looked at his handiwork. Twenty-five brand new light bulbs, glowing as bright as the day he bought the sign. It really brightened up the place, didn't it? Sarge collected his things and made for his shed, replacing all of his tools and materials for the next time he would need them. He desperately needed to clean, but he decided that would be put off for another day.

As he moved to re-enter his shop, he happened to glance to his right. There, tending to his plants, was Fillmore. His shirt was unbuttoned, and his hair was tied back and covered by a big, floppy sun hat that Sarge always thought suited him. He could somewhat hear the crackling of an old, dusty record in the distance; it would jump every few seconds, making it hard for him to decipher the music.

Fillmore took notice of him, and raised a hand in greeting. Sarge gave a little halfhearted wave back, before entering his shop. Like a sucker punch, memories came flooding back all at once: "You're very strange to me, Sergeant. You're unlike anyone I've ever met." Fillmore had said, their first night together, Sarge snapped out of it a moment later, shocked with himself. Why was this all coming back now, of all times? That all happened decades ago! He briefly looked outside to find Fillmore where he had left him, still gardening and humming away.

Sarge shook his head, ushering the thoughts out of his mind. He wasn't going to think about that, no thank you. He had things to do, and none of them concerned reminiscing about that . After all, he had spent a long time trying to make himself forget about it. What's the use in bringing it back up now? He went behind the register and dropped himself in his seat, sighing hopelessly. He was stressed and overtired, that's all. He needed a long shower and a nap, after all that. He could only hope that all of this would pass and he could get some peace of mind, for once.