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Chapter Text

Carlos Sainz Jr. is a wreck . 

His eyes are bloodshot, typically Disney Prince-esque hair sticking up wildly, from the thousands of times he’d run his fingers through his locks anxiously, a sickly pallor to his cheeks. 

There is a certain frenzy to each step he takes as he paces the hospital room, anxiety radiating from every inch of his being. 

Carlos had always been a passionate man, one who thrived in the heat of emotion. He loved to feel- he reveled in each and every victory he managed to fight for on track. He adored basking in the laughter and warmth of a family that was Spanish by every stereotypical meaning of the term- expressive, affectionate. 

As he looks at the love of his life, unconscious and listless on the bed, various tubes and wires connected to more extremities than Carlos can be bothered to count, he feels absolute numbness settle in, his anxiety simmering down to nothing as he is faced with the realization that there is nothing he can do. 

The sound of the hospital door room opening snaps Carlos out of his morbid train of thought. The Spaniard turns to greet the newcomer, who turns out to be an extremely exhausted looking Logan Sargeant. 

Logan is in a sweatshirt and pajama shorts, his usually pristinely styled hair looking as if he’d just gotten out of bed- and he probably had , considering the fact that it was 3:07 AM. In one of his hands, he’s fisting a bag of McDonalds, the other hand holding a Coke Float (or a similar sugary abomination of a drink)- both of which are shortly thrust into Carlos’ own hands. 

“Grabbed this for you on the drive here,” Logan says kindly, giving Carlos a smile that attempts to be comforting. “Wouldn’t want him reaming me out when he wakes up because you hadn’t eaten since the accident, dude.”

“ Gracias ,” Carlos mumbles, gratefully accepting what turns out to be chicken nuggets and french fries. 

His trainer would probably kill him for the absolute garbage that he was shoveling into his mouth ungracefully, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. 

“He’ll be fine,” Logan says softly, a gentle smile on his lips. “I heard what the doctors said on the phone, mate. I also saw the crash, it wasn’t as bad as you think it is. Remember Grosjean? He had an insane accident, but look at him- still racing.” 

Guilt seeps through the numbness that had taken over Carlos in the hours that he’d spent in the drab and depressing room, with only an unconscious man for company. 

In the last few years, Logan and Carlos had built something of a kinship- Carlos wouldn’t exactly count the American IndyCar driver amongst his closest friends, but they had a shared interest. They both cared about the man in the bed immensely deeply. 

Despite this, Carlos finds it hard to accept comfort from Logan Sargeant. There are two reasons that come to mind; the first of which being the awkward situation back in 2024 when Carlos had taken the blond’s Formula 1 seat. 

The Spaniard likes to think he handled the seat-stealing situation in the best way he possibly could’ve- he’d taken Logan aside before the announcement to apologize for how things had turned out, and to give him fair warning. That had been an… odd conversation, to say the least, from Carlos’ point of view. 

As young as Logan had been, Carlos had to admit that Logan had taken the news with grace, even going so far as to express gratitude for the warning (a warning that James Vowles, the utter prick , had not given Logan the courtesy of). 

Even if four years had passed since then, and Carlos wasn’t even with Williams anymore, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness on the American’s behalf with regards to how things had gone down- he, more than anyone else, could understand being blindsided to the fact that he was losing his racing seat. 

The only reprieve that Carlos has from the whole Logan Sargeant situation is the fact that Williams had approached him , so the truth was that the blame did not lie with him. 

Which brings Carlos to the second reason it’s so difficult to accept the blond man’s kindness. 

While Williams had not been Carlos’ fault, the crash that had resulted in all three men in a hospital room at ungodly hours in the morning had been his fault.

“Mate, you have Leclerc up ahead of you with a 0.4 second gap. Ferrari is reporting some power issues- you have a DRS zone approaching, you should be able to pass him on the straight quite easily.” 

A grin spreads across Carlos’ face under his helmet, as much as he can grin while driving 300 kilometers per hour, and he puts his foot to the floor, easily passing his former teammate on the straight, just as predicted. 

“Nicely done.”

Carlos lets out a whoop of elation, the Mercedes underneath him coming to life as he speeds around the next corner. “ Vamos! Who’s next?” 

“You have Piastri around the next corner, Piastri,” Carlos’ race engineer informs him. “That car is a speed demon this year, but you’re on newer tires.”

“What is the delta?” Carlos asks, excitement bubbling in him when he sees the blur of a rear wing up in front of him, determination flooding every inch of his being. “Let’s get him.” 

“He’s 1.6 seconds ahead but losing time per lap- he’s gonna have to pit soon. We can get him then.” 

The Spaniard almost wants to pout at the thought of a strategy play. He usually loved outsmarting the competition- but Oscar was different. 

Ever since Carlos had first had contact with the Aussie on track, he’d felt a need to beat him the old-fashioned way.

Translation: Good, hard racing.

It took a while for Carlos to understand what exactly about the new Ice King of Formula 1 got under his skin so much, bringing out the most aggressive and reckless version of the Spaniard on track. It wasn’t like Oscar had even been trying to rile him up, the younger driver’s comments on the radio and to the media snarky at the worst. 

Funnily enough, it had been Charles , of all people, who had put the pieces together in 2024 and spelt it out for him. 

A parting gift from his former teammate, Carlos thinks to himself with a fond chuckle as he accelerates in pursuit of Oscar around tight corners

Charles had told him to put the recklessness Carlos liked to shove Oscar around on track with to better use. Off track. 

Being reckless off-track had proven to be sound advice. In Hungary, Carlos had decided to throw all caution to the wind- resulting in a loving relationship that was now four years and counting, still going strong. 

That didn’t mean that Carlos went any easier on his boyfriend when they were on track, though. Quite the opposite- real love, in Carlos’ opinion, is feeling no fear. He doesn’t have to pretend with Oscar- he doesn’t have to tone down his passion for anything, least of all, racing- which is why he attempts to barge his way past Oscar on the next turn with an aggressive overtake that would force Oscar to brake earlier to avoid contact, missing the apex and giving Carlos the racing line-

He sees Oscar’s car fly into the air before he registers the sickening crunch .

Chapter Text

Oscar doesn’t particularly enjoy it when his sleep is interrupted. In fact, he absolutely abhors it. Waking up is his least favorite thing to do- which is why he is in no rush to open his eyes when consciousness starts to seep in. 

His displeasure at waking up at what he assumes is an ungodly hour, given how his head is pounding , is only exacerbated by how cold he feels. He can sense a paper-thin sheet covering his body- he can’t seem to recall where he’d fallen asleep, but he’s absolutely certain that he is neither in his bed at home, nor in any of the usual hotels he resided in during race weeks. 

There is some sort of annoying but quiet beeping in the background, and Oscar wonders when he’d set his alarm to something so subtle. That infernal beep, as annoying as it was to his sleepy ears, was never going to rouse him out of slumber. It was way too soft. 

Right now, however, Oscar is groggy, cold, and exhausted- all he wants to do is ignore the stupid beeping, burrow deeper into the too-firm mattress underneath him and fall back asleep, which is exactly what he attempts to do. 

He tries to shift to his side, but the slightest motion he makes sends pain shooting through his entire body-

“ Ugh ,” he groans out, eyes fluttering open in surprise, and he’s momentarily blinded by the bright lights that flood his vision. 

He lifts his hand up to his face, to shield his eyes from the lights, but freezes when he notices the intravenous line that’s embedded in the back of his hand. 

“ Holy shit , Oscar!” 

“Turn the light off, it burns ,” Oscar rasps out, his vocal chords feeling particularly chafed. “I want to go back to sleep, Lo.” 

Oscar hears movement, hurried footsteps walking somewhere- then the light behind his eyelids goes dim. Thank god . He could return to his nap in peace. 

Belatedly, Oscar realizes that it is not an American accent that had spoken his name. 

“Don’t go back to sleep, dude, what the fuck- you’ve been asleep for two weeks!” 

Those words were spoken with an American accent. 

What those words mean click in Oscar’s mind a few seconds later. 

The Aussie blinks the drowsiness from his eyes, long lashes fluttering as he opens his lids fully, a sigh of relief escaping him when he realizes that the lights are now off. 

It takes a few moments for his eyes to come into focus fully- at first, all he sees are two blurry figures standing over him, one of which has to be Logan. 

“Good to see you awake, amor ,” the second figure says softly, reaching over Oscar’s body to press a button. 

Amor?

When Oscar’s eyes finally start functioning normally, he suddenly wishes they weren’t. 

If his eyes weren’t working, he wouldn’t have to see Carlos goddamn Sainz’s face way too close to his. Oscar is accustomed to those big brown eyes being narrowed at him in irritated slits- but instead, chocolate irises are filled with concern as they study Oscar’s face, the tan skin around Carlos’ eyes crinkling as they seem to devour the sight of Oscar. 

Before Oscar’s mind can catch up to why he’s in the hospital, and more importantly, why the bane of his Formula 1 existence is in the hospital room with him, looking at him like that , he hears a door open.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Oscar. My name is Carmen Gaunt. I’ve been your attending physician since they brought you in. How are you feeling?” 

“Like shit,” Oscar rasps out, coughing from using his vocal chords so much in a few minutes, after weeks of dormancy. He struggles to sit up in bed, his muscles protesting his motions- 

“Please don’t try to move too much for the time being,” Dr. Gaunt says gently, interrupting Oscar’s train of thought.. “Mr. Sargeant, would you be so kind as to get Oscar a glass of water?” 

From the corner of Oscar’s eye, he sees Logan quickly moving towards the water dispenser. 

“Feeling like shit ,” Dr. Gaunt repeats the term Oscar had used wryly, a small smile curving her lips upward. “Is to be expected, after what you’ve been through. I have a few questions I need you to answer, then my team will do some routine checks on you. This is not typical operating procedure, but we have been monitoring your condition very closely in the last fourteen days, and you’ve been recovering quite well physically. I think it’s more important to assess your mental state.” 

Once Logan returns with the water Dr. Gaunt had requested, Dr. Gaunt presses a button on the side of Oscar’s hospital bed that inclines the mattress forward, moving him into a sitting position gradually. 

“Thanks, mate.” Oscar manages to croak out when he spots the water, thirst quickly taking over his senses- he hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until he’d seen the cup that Logan is handing to Carlos- what?

It only heightens Oscar’s confusion when Carlos moves even closer to Oscar and raises the glass to his lips. 

If Oscar had been less parched, he would’ve choked on the water out of sheer confusion. Not to mention the aversion to Carlos goddamn Sainz, of all people, practically feeding him. 

Alas, Oscar’s thirst wins out over his confusion, so he greedily gulps the hydration down, weakly shoving the glass away once he’s had enough. 

He clears his throat before responding to Dr. Gaunt. 

“I have one question before you ask yours,” the Aussie says bluntly, pausing to take in exactly where he is.

It’s a luxurious hospital room, probably the presidential suite or something like that. There is a television behind Dr. Gaunt, which is turned off- probably not to overwhelm Oscar’s senses more than they already are. He also sees quite a few machines surrounding him, which is when he realizes that there are a lot of wires connected to his body through various means. 

He brings himself to then look at his companions. 

Logan was not a surprise in the slightest. A wash of relief runs over Oscar at the familiar blue eyes- of course, if he was going to end up in the hospital, Logan would show up.

The fact that Oscar is in the hospital doesn’t confuse him that much either- the possibility of getting into an accident had always been an occupational hazard, after all. 

What absolutely  puzzles Oscar, to an inordinate amount, is the third person in the room.

Oscar had never really given much thought to who would be in the hospital with him if he was to end up in this current situation, but there were a hundred other people he would’ve expected (his parents, his sisters, his teammate - where was Lando, anyway- Andrea Stella- the list goes on and on) to keep him company before Carlos Sainz Jr. would have even become an option, and a grudging one at that. 

Before today, Oscar had been a thousand percent sure that Carlos Sainz Jr. would not have been caught dead saying a single nice thing about him to the media, let alone hanging out with Oscar’s unconscious body in a hospital room. 

It seems that Oscar didn’t know quite a few things as well as he thought he did, or at all, really- including why he was in the hospital. The last thing he can recall is driving down Spa-Francorchamps during qualifying. He doesn’t even recall getting out of the car. Thousands of questions bloom in his mind with this realization, the most burning question being; “What is he doing here?”

Chapter Text

When Logan hears the question from Oscar’s lips, his first instinct is to clap back in the most unhinged way ever. 

“Don’t be a dick, Oscar.” Logan quips jokingly, his eyes rolling so hard that he starts to see spots for a split-second. “I got on the first flight I could find when I found out you had gotten yourself in the hospital.”

“You did not need to get on a flight.” Oscar responds, neutral as ever, though there is a hint of mischief in the tired brown eyes. 

The tension that had been occupying Logan’s every muscle from the last few weeks drains out of his system. During the first few weeks, the medical team had expressed worrying amounts of concern regarding the effect Oscar’s head trauma might have on his ability to be a functioning human being. 

“Sure, because the United States is only a few blocks away from Europe, man.” Logan banters back with a grin. “I know you’re a bit disoriented, but you should know that, at least.” 

Logan’s grin starts to slip when he notices that Oscar’s attention is not focused on him. Despite the conversation that the two younger men are having, Oscar’s eyes are zoned in on Carlos. 

Something that most people don’t know about Oscar is how expressive his eyes are. Even when the rest of Oscar’s expression is stone cold, it is his eyes that always give him away. The Aussie’s gaze had always been more revealing than most people realized- though Oscar’s fans had been quick to pick up on the heart-eyes he’d given Lando during their first few years together in McLaren. Hero worship at its finest. 

Even when it came to Carlos, it had been Oscar’s eyes that had given him away. Any time Oscar and Carlos had a kerfuffle on track, Oscar’s brown irises would come alight, as if there was an inferno lit behind his eyes. Annoyance, Logan had presumed correctly at the time- though he’d found it interesting that nobody seemed to get under Oscar’s skin like the former Ferrari driver. 

Eventually, the burning, baleful looks that would cross Oscar’s face whenever Carlos was even mentioned would transform into a different kind of heat. Those kind of looks, the ones that Logan would describe as Oscar undressing Carlos with his eyes, he would continue to pretend that he never noticed. 

Right now, however, in the drab and dreary hospital room, with only the sounds of breathing, beeping machines, and trickling IVs breaking the silence, Logan finds himself thinking he’d prefer to see that look in his best friend’s eyes once more, rather than the stone cold disdain that is being directed at the Spaniard. 

“I was talking to him .”

“Why wouldn’t I be here? How could you even ask me that-” 

The words spill out of Carlos’ mouth before he can stop them, colored with equal parts indignation and hurt.

Thankfully, Dr. Gaunt is quick to seize control of the situation- because Carlos was definitely not going to get himself under control otherwise. 

“I think let’s start with the basics,” Dr. Gaunt says gently, offering everyone in the room a close-lipped smile before turning her focus to Oscar. “I’d like to ask you to state your full name and date of birth.”

It is the simplicity of the question the doctor asks that has Carlos’ offendedness fading back into anxiety and concern for his partner. He slumps back onto the couch of the hospital room, his watchful gaze never leaving Oscar. 

“Oscar Jack Piastri, April 6, 2001.” 

“Where are you?”

“In a hospital.” 

The answer is so deadpan, yet so snarky- so typically Oscar . A small snort escapes Carlos, his lips curling up ever so slightly in amusement. 

“Where?”

Unlike the first two questions, Oscar’s response is not immediate. His tired, pale face contorts into an odd expression- one that is unfamiliar to Carlos, despite the years they’ve spent together. It takes Carlos a few moments to understand what the look on Oscar’s face is.

Once Carlos is able to identify the emotion that is making itself known in the slight furrow of Oscar’s brows, the tension in his cheek muscles, and the almost wild way Oscar’s eyes are narrowed, he feels a pang of fear go through him. 

Uncertainty .

As the Spaniard waits for Oscar to answer, anxiety starts to rear its ugly head once more. Unconsciously, his knee starts shaking whilst he stares at the other man lying on the bed. 

The silence is drawn out- or that might be the sound of rushing blood that floods Carlos’ ears. He can’t even tell if Oscar is really taking so long to respond, or if time is just slowing down in his own mind. 

Oscar’s eyes slowly roam the room with a look much like an engineer trying to analyze complex data sets. Carlos supposes that the Aussie finds nothing of interest from the bare walls, or the various hospital equipment that would offer him any insight as to where he is. 

What does capture Oscar’s attention for longer than a quick gaze is the American driver who is standing near the foot of the hospital bed. Brown eyes lock in on Logan intensely, flitting across the oddest things; first the corners of Logan’s eyes. Then the American’s hair. Then the corners of his lips. Finally, Oscar’s gaze trails down to the rest of Logan’s body.

If this had been any other situation, Carlos might have felt sick to his stomach at seeing how Oscar seems to drink in the other man. 

This is not any other situation however. 

There is also the fact that Oscar’s face seems to grow more restless with confusion the longer he looks at Logan. 

Logan is practically squirming under the gravity of the look Oscar is leveling at him. 

Finally, Oscar’s eyes meet Carlos’ own- brown looking straight into brown. 

Oscar’s brown irises had always been one of Carlos’ favorite sights- he had always loved the little microexpressions that only showed themselves through Oscar’s eyes. For the last four years, Carlos had been the enthusiastic recipient of what the internet had dubbed ‘Piastri heart-eyes’. He’d also grown to be familiar with Oscar’s smallest tells; the slight crinkle at the corners of Oscar’s eyes when he was amused, the difference between the sparkle of arousal versus heated glimmers of ire in the amber gaze. 

For the first time in years , Carlos sees the latter. 

Something is very, very wrong.

Surprise colors Oscar’s features when he realizes that Carlos is looking at him with the same level of intensity. 

The Aussie coughs, breaking their stare-off, then schools his face back into absolute blankness.

“Belgium.”

It’s the correct answer. 

Carlos is still uneasy.

“And the year?” 

“2023- I’ve only been out for two weeks, right?”

Did all the windows in the room explode, Carlos wonders, or is it just him that is shattering into a million broken pieces? 

He hears a strangled noise resonate within the four walls of the hospital room.

A few moments later, Carlos realizes that the pained sound had emerged from his own throat.

Chapter Text

“Carlos, mate- do you think you could get me on the first flight to Belgium?”

When Nicole Piastri asks Carlos this, shame and helplessness go through him at what feels like 75Gs.

“I think you both need someone there for you.” Nicole continues on to say, seemingly oblivious to Carlos’ turmoil. Her voice is as light and warm as ever, but Carlos isn’t fooled- he can see the worried wrinkle between her brows even through his phone’s screen. “I’m sure the news isn’t easy on you either.” 

The Spaniard’s face crumples at the reminder of what the doctors had said. 

Since Oscar’s family was in Australia, Carlos had been part of the medical conference discussing Oscar’s current condition. Mainly as a tripod to hold up the FaceTime call with Oscar’s parents to the medical team. 

That meant Carlos heard everything . 

The first thing the doctors had said was that Oscar was physically fine- albeit a bit weak, coming from the medically-induced coma he’d been in for the last two weeks. As soon as Oscar had recuperated enough energy to stay awake for more than 30 minutes at a time, he had been subjected to a battery of intense physical and mental tests in order to fully understand his current state. 

Physically, Oscar would be in fit condition to race in a month, maybe two at most, one of the specialists had been quick to say. 

The worst of Oscar’s injuries had actually been the trauma to his head when his car had flipped into the wall. When Carlos had pulled him out of the car, he’d gone cold with fear at the sight of crimson red leaking through Oscar’s helmet. Gash on the head requiring stitches, serious concussion, swelling in the brain , the Emergency Room’s consensus had been.

Brain scans after Oscar’s awakening had been quick to determine that it had been the right decision. The swelling had been almost completely gone by day 11, after all, and Oscar’s head wound had healed up quite nicely, the stitches being taken out before then, significantly earlier than the 13-day estimate the doctors had originally given.

Every day since then had just been the agonizing wait for Oscar to wake up after they’d stopped sedating him.

Mentally, however? 

Another story entirely.

Oscar’s brain functions were determined to be mostly up to standard. He’d been quizzed on everything from Australian history down to Formula 1 race winners, hooked up to countless machines evaluating brain activity- there was only a single finding that was a cause for concern.

Retrograde amnesia. 

Yes, the melodramatic soap opera plot device. 

When Carlos first heard the phrase come out of Dr. Gaunt’s mouth, he had been way too close to bursting into hysterical laughter. The medical team would’ve had him committed next, for sure. 

The Spaniard’s hysteria only got worse as the explanations kept coming.

Behavioral changes are to be expected- Oscar may not be able to recognize people or places that he typically should. Personality shifts and interests might shift. Mood swings and frustration are to be expected.

Oscar Piastri is back in 2023. 

Carlos forces himself to return to the present moment. 

“I can fly Tim and the girls here too,” Carlos responds to Nicole, nodding. “I think Oscar needs his family, especially if he can only remember-”

Carlos’ words get cut off with a choke. 

Nicole seems to tremble on screen. 

The Spaniard belatedly realizes that it’s his hands that are shaking.

Oscar perks up when the door opens. 

Was there a hospital-appropriate term for cabin fever? If it didn’t exist yet, he would have to invent one at this point. 

The four white walls of the hospital room he now called home were driving him absolutely insane. 

Oscar knows better than to complain, the almost constant  throbbing in his head reminding him why he’s currently residing in the still too firm hospital bed. He just wishes that he could have something, anything , to do. The doctors had been quick to disallow Carlos from returning his cell phone to him- why did Carlos even have his phone in the first place?

The television had also been banned pretty quickly. 

LED screens were not recommended for people recovering from head trauma. 

Even the newspaper crossword wasn’t an option. 

You’re missing four years of your life, Oscar had been told. Some of the things on the front page might come to you as a bit of a shock. You have to ease back into your life slowly , his psychologist had explained gently, but firmly. 

Funnily enough, the Aussie didn’t feel any different. 

Finding out that he was now 27 years old should have been more of a shock, Oscar supposed, after giving his current predicament some thought. The truth though, was that the gap in his memories was more annoying, rather than anything else.

Upon being told that he'd gotten the question about the current year wrong, Oscar hadn’t been surprised in the slightest.

It made sense. 

It certainly explained the difference in Logan’s appearance. The American still looked the same, mostly- but Oscar had known something was different the moment he’d laid eyes on his oldest friend when he’d woken up. 

Oscar’s a man of logic, after all. 

What Oscar couldn’t fathom in the slightest, no matter what mental Olympic-level gymnastics he tried to perform, was the continued presence of the man who proceeds to enter his hospital room, then settle into a chair at his bedside. As soon as he realizes who his visitor is, any excitement he’d previously had dissolves into unease. 

He refuses to look at Carlos.

That doesn’t stop Carlos from speaking to him. 

“The doctors have given me permission to answer a few questions. Nothing too much. I am under strict orders not to overwhelm you, after all.”  The gentleness with which the words are spoken is so foreign to Oscar, despite how familiar the rough, Spanish accented voice is. “So ask away, and I will do my best to answer.” 

Ignoring the older man out of spite is an appealing option.

Oscar likes it when things make sense. He’s always been a nerd, in that way. Talking to Carlos? Doesn’t make sense in the slightest. Especially not in this context. 

For things to make sense, however, Oscar has to know things. 

Curiosity wins over spite. 

The Aussie reluctantly turns to face his companion, letting out a small sigh of relief when his body doesn’t strain against his movements as much as it did when he’d first awoken. 

He soon wishes he hadn’t. 

He’s well aware that Carlos is handsome. 

The glowing, golden brown of the Spaniard’s skin, the firm lines of his body, the constantly perfect hair, the big brown eyes and strong nose had millions of people waxing poetic about the Ferrari driver on the daily.

Oscar is a Gen Z-er, after all. He knows what the Twitter girls say- he knows how to read, thank you very much. 

Oscar isn’t blind either. He can appreciate eye candy when he sees it. His frequent visits to (supposedly) Arthur at the Leclerc household back in his time at Prema had been more than enough evidence of that. 

If he’d been back in Formula 3, Oscar is pretty sure he’d be swooning at having such an attractive man at his bedside, looking at him with such unrestrained affection. 

Now? 

He probably still would have been, if it hadn’t been this attractive man. 

In Formula 1, Oscar had been quick to decide that Carlos was hot only until he opened his mouth . 

Once the older man spoke, any attraction Oscar felt (objective or otherwise), would be replaced by sheer irritation. Nothing got under Oscar’s skin quite like Carlos talking shit about him on the radio, or to the media, admittedly.

The Aussie doesn’t even know why his mind went to Carlos’ handsomeness- he’d never really thought about Carlos as attractive in so much detail before. 

Not that he can remember. 

Oscar would not describe himself as an impatient man- few people would, close to none, really- but he cuts to the chase, needing to know something, anything more, that would help him make sense of the year he’d woken up in. 

“What are you doing here? I don’t have a car for you to crash into this time, unfortunately.” 

Oscar watches as Carlos takes a deep breath, the movement of his chest as his lungs fill with air catching his attention. The older man is quite obvious as he attempts to compose himself before answering. 

The soft look never leaves the big brown eyes. 

“Why would I not be here?” 

“That’s a horrible answer.” Oscar finds himself replying dryly, narrowing his gaze at Carlos. “We’re not friends.” 

Oscar’s response seems to take Carlos aback, the latter’s thick lips curling downwards into a frown. 

“We’re n-” Carlos cuts himself off, visibly stopping himself from continuing. He starts to chew on his lip nervously for a few moments, before speaking once more. “We weren’t friends in 2023. That is correct.” 

“I remember that much.” 

“Well, that was in 2023.” Carlos reiterates firmly, a breathy, tired laugh following his words. “We are in 2028. Things change.”

Oscar’s next words are blunt.

“You’re still not who I would have expected to be here, no offense. Uh, where is my mom?”

“She’s with your sisters in Australia- Tim’s been at his cousin’s, watching over his nephews.” Carlos answers easily, shrugging. “I offered her the first flight here, but the doctors said it might help with your memories more if you went back home instead. Familiar places and faces, and all that.

At the mention of his sisters, Oscar feels a pang of worry. He can’t bring himself to ask if they’d seen his crash, though he doubts that Carlos would have the answer to that. For the time being, he shoves his concern down, knowing that he’d have to wait a bit longer to find out if his worry was unfounded. 

Oscar realizes that Carlos hadn’t really answered his first question, about why Carlos was here. Even knowing that his mom was with his younger sisters, which was a completely reasonable thing to expect, still did not explain the fact that Carlos was his bedside buddy, he thinks to himself. 

He tells Carlos as such.

The man sitting in front of Oscar shrugs helplessly, averting his gaze. “I was the one who got you out of the car.” 

“I suppose I should thank you, then.” 

This, at least, makes sense. In a manner of speaking. If he forces it to.

Motorsport accidents could be traumatizing, after all, and not only for those involved in the accident itself. Oscar had heard more than enough depressing anecdotes from drivers and even FIA employees about how shaking it could be to see someone in that state. Not to mention the dozens of interviews he’d watched as a Prema kid, with Charles talking about Jules Bianchi.

Oscar decides to let it go for the time being. 

“I mean, I’m awake now. So you can… go. The doctors said I’m okay.” 

The sentence comes out more rude than Oscar had intended it to be. 

He coughs awkwardly before speaking once more. 

“Uh, I mean- thanks for saving me? Or whatever. Don’t you have races to, uh. Race? That might explain why my teammate isn’t here to visit.” Oscar tries to inject his last few words with a bit of humor. 

He’s baiting Carlos. It’s on purpose. Why the hell hadn’t Oscar seen hide nor hair of Lando when Logan had been able to visit, and it seemed that Carlos was spending inordinate amounts of time on the uncomfortable looking couch to Oscar’s right. 

“Max will be here later, he should be on his plane now,” the Spaniard informs Oscar matter-of-factly. “He’s been putting in extra hours in the sim, trying to figure out what went wrong with your car before you get back into it.”

Typical Carlos, Oscar thinks to himself as soon as Max is mentioned. Unhelpful as ever , because what did Max have to do with Lando? 

Oscar’s mind catches up to the rest of Carlos’ words a few seconds later, causing him to shoot up in bed at a speed that has him seeing spots. 

“Max. Verstappen ?”

When Carlos’ face dissolves into a look of absolute panic at Oscar’s reaction, Oscar almost wants to laugh at how comical the Spaniard’s expression is.

Chapter Text

Carlos loved getting up early. 

The tranquility of being able to watch the sun emerge over the horizon in complete silence, with only the chirping of birds and the rustle of the breeze for company- quiet is a rare luxury for anyone with the fame and infamy that came with being a Formula 1 driver, and the Spaniard took each and every opportunity to steal even the smallest pockets of time for a moment of peace. 

Carlos’ preferred way of experiencing mornings, for the longest time, was morning runs. He liked to feel the breeze against his skin in full force, fully immerse himself in the outdoors without the distraction of paparazzi, work emails, or even the general company of other people. Most of the time, Carlos would call himself an extrovert- but the few moments he gets completely to himself, he cherishes with every fiber of his being. 

Nothing got in the way of his daily morning runs, Carlos thought- illness, fatigue, even hangovers, could fuck right off. 

Carlos’ love for his morning runs, however, is absolutely nothing in comparison to waking up next to Oscar Jack Piastri. 

The first time Carlos spends the night with Oscar is two months after they start dating. 

When the Spaniard wakes up at 10:47 AM, he’s in a foul mood, despite having had the best night of sleep he’s ever experienced in his life. He can see the sunlight streaming in through the windows, and he wants to sulk at the realization that he doesn’t get his usual moments of solitute with the sunrise. This was going to be an absolutely horrible day- how did he even sleep in this much? 

He attempts to sit up in bed, but the arms wrapped around his bicep make his efforts futile. 

Arms? Oh, right. 

Carlos’ head tilts to his left, where Oscar’s clinging on to his bicep like a koala to bamboo ( hah, Australian things). 

Oscar’s cheek is pressed to the arm he’s wrapped around, his mouth slightly open, slightly drooling. His hair is all over the place, his fringe falling over his eyes- which are still closed, from what Carlos can see through the aforementioned fringe. One of Oscar’s legs is strewn over Carlos’ thighs. 

The Aussie looks like an absolute idiot- and it’s the most beautiful sight Carlos has ever seen. 

Carlos wants to freeze this moment and stay in it for the rest of eternity. He could spend centuries looking at how Oscar’s brown hair almost seems to glow in the sunlight that seeps in through the gaps in the curtains, or how Oscar’s chest slowly rises and falls with each deep breath he takes. 

Apparently there’s one thing that trumps early morning solitude. 

Carlos can’t bear to disturb Oscar’s sleep- especially with how peaceful the Aussie looks clinging to Carlos’ arm. The warm, fuzzy feelings that looking at the younger man fills Carlos with tranquility that he’s never had the pleasure of before, lulling him towards dozing off, akin to a warm, weighted blanket. 

The couple ends up getting out of bed at 1 PM, when Oscar finally wakes up.

As the days, weeks, and months pass, Carlos finds out that he’s extremely protective of his boyfriend when he is asleep. 

That is why, when Hattie barges into Oscar’s bedroom at 7:55 AM on Christmas morning, 2024, Carlos immediately decides that she is his least favorite out of Oscar’s three sisters. 

“Oscar’s still asleep,” Carlos mutters to the young girl with a sharp glare. “Don’t wake him, you know how he is.” 

Hattie puts her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes at the Spaniard, who is currently serving as Oscar’s pillow. “Please, nothing wakes that man, we both know that. Oscar would sleep through armageddon.” 

“ Ay, sí,” Carlos acqcuiesces with a small smirk as he quickly glances over at the sleeping man. 

“I just wanted to check- do you know what time Mark’s dropping by? If you don’t, I could just check Oscar’s phone, I guess. His passcode is your birthday, by the way. So much for cybersecurity, you’re on Google-” 

“Mark?” Carlos cuts Hattie off with a question and a quirked eyebrow. 

The way Hattie had spoken the name Mark, with so much familiarity,  had warning bells going off in the Spaniard’s mind- and so did the sly smirk painting her features. He takes a moment to go through the mental notes he’d taken over the two weeks he’d been staying with the Piastris for any mentions of a Mark. 

Did Oscar have a previous boyfriend with the name Mark? A childhood crush? 

Part of Carlos feels like he should be ashamed that his first reaction to an unknown man’s name in relation to Oscar is jealousy, like some caveman-

A few moments later, realization strikes. There was only one Mark that had been mentioned in the time Carlos had been staying with the Piastris.

A horrified look spreads across the Spaniard’s features. 

“Yup,” Hattie says smugly, popping the ‘p’, when she sees that Carlos had put the pieces together. “It was nice knowing you, Carlos.”

Mark Alan Webber makes Carlos wish he was Scott Pilgrim. 

Defeating Oscar’s non-existent seven evil exes (Oscar only had one ex- and Lily’s an absolute saint of a woman, who had even gone so far as to send Carlos a list of date places near Oscar’s place in Britain) definitely would be easier than getting the elder Aussie’s approval. 

“You know, this is your own fault, Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro, ” Hattie says unsympathetically, laughter underlying her words, as she watches Carlos pace the bedroom room anxiously. The absolute fear emanating from the Spaniard is exceptionally amusing when juxtaposed with Oscar on the bed, still blissfully frolicking dreamland. “Did you really think that dissing Oscar on international television, then boning aforementioned older brother of mine- ew, by the way- was going to do you any favors with his manager?” 

The young girl’s words have Carlos freezing mid-step. 

Here lies Carlos Sainz Jr., beloved son, boyfriend, friend, and Formula 1 driver, the Spaniard wants his tombstone to read. 

He tells Hattie as such. 

“Bold of you to assume that you’ll have a body left for us to bury.” Hattie responds nonchalantly, her neutral expression rivaling her older brother’s.  The resemblance is uncanny. 

Carlos would’ve found it endearing, if Hattie hadn’t been speaking about his impending demise. 

The fear of god (Webber) has Carlos grabbing Oscar’s phone from the nightstand, and typing in his own birthday when prompted for a passcode. Carlos never checks his partners’ phones, but he supposes that Oscar will forgive him for this one violation of privacy, he thinks as he scrolls through Oscar’s message thread with Mark. 

Carlos’ search for his time of death proves to be futile, as Mark had only told Oscar that he would be dropping by after lunch. 

Most public executions happened on a schedule, he thinks with a pout. 

When the doorbell to the Piastri household rings, a shiver goes down Carlos’ spine.

How apt, Carlos thinks- 3PM, Jesus Christ’s time of death on the cross. Carlos isn’t Jesus though- he does not have the benefit of resurrecting three days after death. 

Carlos resumes his pacing in the living room after brunch. 

“Cut that out.” Oscar eventually says from where he’s lazing on the couch, limbs strewn over the back and arm rests. Dark eyes gleam with amusement, thin lips slightly curled at the corners into a small smirk. “He doesn’t even know we’re dating, Carlos- it’ll be totally fine. I’ve got you, yeah?” 

“He doesn’t WHAT ?” Carlos practically screeches, his palm smacking his forehead. “ Amor, please tell me you’re joking.” 

“Nah.” 

The room explodes into chaos at Oscar’s confirmation that Mark actually does not know that Carlos and Oscar are together.

“Oh no. Oh no. He’s going to have a stroke,” Nicole mutters in disbelief, shaking her head. “I told you to tell him. What the hell, Oscar, mate.” 

Tim, Nicole’s partner, just holds his hand out to Nicole with a chuckle. “Pay up, woman. I told you Oscar would leave it until the last possible moment- don’t worry Carlos, our boy isn’t ashamed or anything. He just really isn’t the type, you know?” 

Nicole rolls her eyes playfully, handing over a hundred dollar bill. 

In the background, Carlos can hear Oscar’s sisters expressing their own amusement and/or exasperation at the bomb that Carlos’ boyfriend had just dropped. 

As the sand in the metaphorical hourglass trickle down towards Carlos’ imminent doom, he doesn’t really know what to say- and he ends up speaking the first thing that comes to mind.

“I understand that, without my agreement, my boyfriend has sentenced me to die-” 

Oscar throws a pillow at his head.

By the time December 25th turns into December 26th, Carlos is still (thankfully) alive, and still Oscar’s boyfriend. 

Mark was never going to meddle with Oscar’s personal relationships, Oscar tells him reassuringly. Especially not after he’d shown up with Sebastian Vettel’s arm around his shoulders. 

It would’ve been hypocrisy to split Carlos and Oscar up given Mark’s own choice of partner, Oscar expounds, laughing slightly. Of course he’d known about Seb and Mark- no wonder he hadn’t been concerned in the slightest. 

That didn’t mean Mark approved- and he’d been quick to make that crystal clear to all the Piastris (and the Piastris’ neighbors).

By the year 2026, Carlos had fully given up on getting Mark to like him. 

He wanted to attribute his passiveness towards Mark Webber’s hatred of him to being with Oscar for two years. 

When Oscar asks Carlos to accompany him to a meeting with Mark, Carlos is proud to say that he doesn’t even flinch anymore. 

“I can’t tell you what it’s about,” Oscar says apologetically as the couple make their way to a private function room in one of Britain’s high-end restaurants, his dark chocolate eyes serious as he makes eye contact with Carlos. There’s an odd hint of nervousness to his voice, and the grip Oscar has on Carlos’ hand is the tightest it’s ever been. “But I need you there. I just— you don’t even need to sign an NDA or anything. I trust you, tesoro.”

The Spanish term of endearment sounds odd wrapped in Oscar’s accent, but a rush of affection warms Carlos’ every fiber. 

“As long as you need me. I will be here.” Is all Carlos manages to say in response, his mind short-circuiting at Oscar’s rare use of his mother tongue. “Always.”

It seems to be the right thing to say, though, when Oscar lets out a heavy exhale. The younger man disentangles himself from Carlos, smoothing down the front of his shirt, before sending a furtive glance towards the door that they were about to enter. Another deep breath, then Oscar speaks. 

“Let’s get this fucking over with.”

When Oscar enters the restaurant’s private room and sees Mark already occupying one of the dining chairs, he’s quick to get the first word in. 

“Carlos is staying.” 

There’s no room for discussion in Oscar’s tone- it’s one that Mark has only once before in the years that he’s worked with his young protege. The first time Mark had ever heard such vehemence from Oscar, who was usually significantly more conservative with expressing his feelings, was when the Alpine/McLaren debacle had been going on. Oscar had been stone cold firm about making Alpine pay for releasing the statement after they’d been informed of Oscar’s signing with McLaren. 

Oscar’s not joking around. 

The elder Aussie’s attention flits to Carlos for a second, who’s hovering in the doorframe, an awkward look on his features. Brown eyes are locked on Mark, and there’s resolve in those irises. 

Mark had never been fond of Carlos- not when Oscar was a rookie in Formula 1 and Carlos was yapping to the press about stupid driving or whatever he’d said, not when Oscar had decided to give Mark a jumpscare and follow in Mark’s own footsteps and date a gridmate he shared a tenuous history with, not after witnessing Carlos dote on Oscar, who never really let anyone take care of him, for years. 

Even Carlos’ obvious fear of Mark’s disapproval had done absolutely nothing to endear the Spaniard to him. Carlos Sainz Jr. was mouthy, insolent, and too damn handsome for his own good. 

Mark still doesn’t like Carlos. Yet the steely resolve in Carlos’ eyes as he waits for Mark to dismiss him earns the Spaniard grudging respect (which is still not like ), from the elder Aussie. 

“Close the door and take a seat, Sainz.” Mark ends up saying, and as Carlos does so, he turns his focus back to his young client. “Now spill. This is big- given that your boyfriend is agreeing to be in a room with me.” 

The joke doesn’t even get a chuckle out of Oscar, who is almost agitated , his brows set in a furrow that Mark worries is going to become permanent. Oscar’s jaw is tense, and Mark can practically hear his teeth grinding from where he’s seated across the table. 

“I’m just going to spit it out. Max called me.” Oscar spits through gritted teeth, brown eyes darting between Mark and Carlos for a reaction- any reaction. “He wants me as his teammate in 2026. He’s finalizing his deal with Aston Martin. . Heard that they’re looking at equal status with Max for me. Adrian Newey’s also already there- so-.”

Well. This is a surprise. 

“I think you should take it.” Carlos says immediately to his boyfriend, his tone serious. There’s a calculating gleam in Carlos’ eye at the prospect of Oscar leaving McLaren. “Zak is not going to prioritize you, look at the past season. He wants you to be Bottas, but Landito, as much as he is my friend, is not Hamilton, no?” 

“Max is Max though.” Oscar says flatly, placing his arms down on the table and nestling his head on it. When he continues to speak, his voice is muffled. 

“But Lawrence Stroll is not Zak, kid.” Mark finally says, surprised to find himself agreeing with his least favorite of Oscar’s romantic interests (there had only been two). 

“You don’t know that.” 

Mark opens his mouth to disagree, but Carlos beats him to the punch. 

“ I do,” the Spaniard declares, shoving Oscar playfully on the shoulder, only getting a groan in response. “Get your face up, Oscar- but Lawrence didn’t prioritize his own son over Nando. It’s all about performance with that guy. Even if he looks like a Disney villain. Besides, Oscar, you have a menace of a manager. I was on the grid for your debut announcement and for your almost multi 21 incident- Caco couldn’t have dealt with that any better.” 

It’s interesting to see Carlos being so intelligent- Mark had only seen it on track, when he’d tell Ferrari to go fuck themselves with their shitty strategies, but this is different. 

“Aren’t you worried he’ll beat you in a Newey car?” Mark can’t help but snark at Carlos, because he can’t just agree with the Spaniard. Oscar would never let him live it down. “He’s already been beating you in the McLaren.” 

“Mark-”

“Yes, I am.” Carlos admits, shooting Oscar an apologetic look for interrupting what was probably a defense on his behalf. “But if I am going to beat anyone on track, especially my boyfriend, I will do it with my own talent. Not because I stopped him from making the right decision for his career.” 

The funny thing is, Mark finds himself believing Carlos 100%. 

“He’s right.” Mark finally settles on telling Oscar. 

He barks out a laugh when Oscar shoots up in his seat, eyes wide as saucers.

“Can’t believe I got you guys agreeing to something before GTA 6.” Oscar deadpans, though his expression is still as shocked as Mark has ever seen it. He can’t blame Oscar for his surprise- Mark still firmly believes that no one is more shocked than him that he’s agreeing with Carlos on something. “I’ll give Max your number then, to pass onto Stroll.” 

As Oscar pulls out his  phone to presumably forward Mark’s number to Max, Mark ends up meeting Carlos’ eyes. 

There is pride there.

Maybe Carlos Sainz Jr. wasn’t a complete fuckwad after all, Mark acquiesces to himself silently, giving the Spaniard a short nod. He was definitely smart. 

Smart or not, proud boyfriend or not, though- if Carlos hurt Oscar, Mark would lather his dick in honey and lock him in a tank with a thousand fire ants.

Chapter Text

It does not surprise Carlos in the slightest when Max does not arrive at the hospital alone. 

A soft, worried Monegasque accent speaks his name. 

“Carlos.”

Carlos doesn’t even know who moves first- but the next thing he knows, he’s melting into Charles’ warm embrace, Charles’ warm hands rubbing circles into his back comfortingly. There are no tears that fall from Carlos’ eyes, no sobs that emerge from his lips as he relishes in the first hug he’s had since this entire thing happened. 

Behind Charles, Max is standing with a few paper bags in his hands, a serious look on his angled features as he observes the scene unfolding in front of him. Blue eyes are locked on Carlos searchingly. Carlos doesn’t know what Max is looking for, but when Charles releases him, Carlos finds himself pulled into another hug by the Dutchman himself. 

Max’s embrace is entirely different from Charles’, Carlos finds.  

Charles, despite the firm muscle that lines his body, is soft . Hugging Charles gives Carlos the sensation of soaking in comfort. Max, on the other hand, is a wall- firm, stable, but comforting- Carlos sags into Max’s unexpected yet welcome hug. 

Max doesn’t pull out of the hug first. 

When Carlos finally composes himself enough to step back, he feels calmer. Max’s arm remains casually strung around Carlos’ shoulders. He makes no move to extricate himself from the Dutchman’s grasp. 

“How is Oscar?” Charles asks, frowning at his former teammate. “All you said was that he’s woken up.”

“Please tell me he’ll be cleared to race soon,” Max says half-jokingly. “I miss having proper competition.” 

“ Excuse me? ” Charles demands, his hands flying to his hips, teasing outrage in his voice directed at his partner, though his green eyes are fond as they look at the Dutchman. “Take that back, Max Emilian, or else you will be sleeping on the couch-“ 

As Max and Charles continue their joking bickering, Max’s arm still slung around Carlos’ shoulders, he feels an ugly emotion settle over him. 

Jealousy.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s zoned out of the conversation, pondering how these simple moments of intimacy are now lost to him and Oscar, a small frown appearing on his face, until Charles mentions his name. 

“ Cherie , look what you fucking did. You made Carlos sad.” Charles chides Max, a frown on his handsome features. “Why are you sad, Carlos?” 

Max disentangles his arm from Carlos, stepping back slightly to take a proper look at Carlos’ face. Blue eyes seem to search for something. The longer that blue eyes remain on Carlos’ face, the more the amused expression that had been on Max’s features seems to drop, completely disappearing after a few seconds. 

“Carlos? I thought you said Oscar woke up?” Max bluntly states, whatever he’s found on Carlos’ face coloring his words with worry. “What is wrong? Is he not okay?” 

Deep breaths.

Even though Carlos had known what was wrong with Oscar for a few days, he had never actually said it out loud. Logan had been with him when he had received the news. The doctors had also tackled Oscar’s memory loss in the medical conference with Oscar’s parents. Even when Carlos had informed his own family, it had been via text message. Both Carlos Sr. and Reyes had bombarded him with worried calls, calls that Carlos could not bring himself to answer in the fear that he’d break down right in front of Oscar. 

He didn’t know if he could bring himself to say Oscar has amnesia. He does not remember anything after 2023.

Carlos would rather the ground swallow him whole. 

Saying it out loud made it even more real- and it was real enough, with the detached, analytical way that Oscar would observe Carlos whenever they spoke, as if Carlos was a particularly annoying slide underneath the microscope that Oscar had to figure out for science class. A far cry from the honeyed heart-eyed looks that had become the norm for the past four years. 

From a more rational perspective, he knows he has to explain before the two men in front of him see Oscar. 

Sunkissed hands start to tremble. 

“Oscar is-” Carlos pauses, trying to find a way, any way to tell his two fellow pilots what is going on without actually saying Oscar doesn’t remember the last four years out loud. “He is in McLaren, in his mind.” 

“Eh?” Max blurts out, his worry turning into surprise. His brows raise in confusion, not understanding what he’s being told. “No, Oscar is in Aston Martin. He definitely wouldn’t be fighting for the championship, even after missing a race or two, if he was still with McLaren.” 

Charles laughs at Max’s not-so-subtle papaya diss before voicing his own lack of understanding. “I do not understand, Carlos. Oscar left McLaren in 2026-”

“Yes.”

Carlos can pinpoint the exact moment realization strikes the two visitors. 

Max’s face immediately crumples, the furrow in his brows getting deeper, his lips pursing unhappily. His entire body seems to go rigid at the news. 

Beside him, Charles’ green eyes are wide with shock, glassy with unshed tears. His mouth drops into an ‘o’. The Monegasque’s posture suddenly seems more tired, and he shortly slumps into one of the waiting chairs nearby, burying his head in his hands. 

Envy strikes Carlos once more, but for a different reason than a few moments ago. 

Since Oscar had woken up, Carlos hadn’t been able to get a moment to himself to process things properly, to break down like he so wanted to, to cry and scream and hit something, whether it be a punching bag or a golf ball with a club- okay, he very well could have stolen a few moments for himself, since Oscar did not seem particularly keen on having him around, but he couldn’t leave his injured, vulnerable boyfriend (if Carlos was even still allowed to call Oscar his boyfriend, given that Oscar did not remember a single moment of their relationship ) to fend for himself. 

Oscar had enough negative memories of Carlos, from what Carlos had been able to gather. Especially right now, when none of the good times remained. 

Even if it meant Carlos internally imploding, he refused to leave the Aussie’s side for a millisecond longer than necessary. He needed to be there for Oscar. He wouldn’t know how he would live with himself when (not if , Carlos refused to think if ) Oscar’s memories returned, knowing that he had not been present when Oscar needed him most. 

He could dissolve later. 

For now, the Spaniard delves into briefing Max and Charles about what they can and cannot say once they come face to face with Oscar, only pausing when Charles opens the paper bag Max had been carrying earlier, to hand Carlos a bottle of water, which he gulps down greedily. 

After he’s done, Max and Charles exchange a quick look that Carlos can’t read, shortly followed by a nod from Charles. 

“I will stay with you, Carlos. Why don’t we grab a bite, hm?” Charles says pleasantly, giving Carlos a smile that seems almost threatening, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Maxie will go bring Oscar these double coated TimTams, yes? He is here to visit his teammate after all.” 

Carlos opens his mouth to protest- he needs to be there for Oscar, needs to make sure that everything is okay, needs to see for himself that Oscar is still conscious and speaking, relatively normal given everything that’s going on- but Charles is already pulling him away, a cheerful “see you later, mon chou1” thrown in Max’s direction as Carlos is hauled farther and farther from Oscar’s hospital room, towards Max’s Aston Martin, then unceremoniously shoved into the passenger’s seat.

Oscar is half-asleep when he hears the door to his hospital room open once more. 

Assuming that it is Carlos once more, who has barely left his side since he’d woken up (or much longer than that, if Logan’s side comments were to be believed), he deigns to shift in his bed, keeping his eyes closed. 

“I know you’re not asleep,” a Dutch accent suddenly speaks, faintly underlined with amusement. “When you decide to stop faking it, you get TimTams.” 

Right , Carlos had mentioned that Max was visiting. Max, who is apparently Oscar’s teammate . 

“Double coated?” Oscar can’t help but ask, perking up when he realizes that Max had mentioned his favorite cheat treat. TimTams were the first priority, the oddness of the person bringing him the TimTams be damned . 

As Oscar shifts himself into an upright position, he ponders how his past self had thought signing on as Max goddamn Verstappen’s teammate was a good idea in any sense. 

It was not anything against the Dutchman, really, Oscar thinks as he takes in the sight of the two (probably three now, given how the 2023 season had been going) time World Champion. Max had always been pleasant enough off-track, even going so far as to praise Oscar for his rookie performance. He just couldn’t see himself leaving McLaren, leaving Lando , whom he had built a good relationship with, just to go to another team and play second fiddle yet again. 

Absently, he registers that Max looked a bit different- older , with a little more smile lines around his eyes- somewhat like Logan. 

There went his World Championship dreams, Oscar thinks to himself. 

“That’s only if you miss the next few races.” Max states matter-of-factly, causing Oscar to realize that he had spoken out loud. Max plops himself down into the seat near Oscar’s head. “You’re giving me a fucking run for my money, mate.”

“And yes, double coated. I’m your teammate- I travel with at least six of these in my luggage.” Max adds on with a fond laugh, remembering Oscar’s question about the TimTams. “I know it might surprise you, but we get on quite well.” 

Carlos had told Oscar as such, that him and Max actually had quite good rapport with each other- Carlos even calling Max a very good friend , but it was still surprising to Oscar that A , Max seemed to like Oscar more than just regular teammate camaraderie, even going so far as to keep a stash of Oscar’s favorite snack in his suitcase at all times, and B , that Carlos was right . 

Max’s presence, which had proven Carlos right, just brought in even more suspicion as to why the Spaniard was acting as his personal nurse. If Carlos was just feeling guilty about the crash, why would he know so much about Oscar’s life- his family, his friends, hell , even the way Carlos’ presence seemed absolutely normal to Logan was suspicious. 

Oscar makes a note to himself to try and pry more information out of Logan when Logan returns from the commercial shoot that had forced him away from Oscar’s bedside. 

In the meantime, the Aussie fixes his chocolate eyes on Max, who seems unperturbed by the current scene he and Oscar are in- perhaps he could get more information out of someone else in the meantime. 

Then Max’s last statement registers in Oscar’s ears. 

“What do you mean, ’m still in the fight for the championship?”