Chapter Text
It started after his win in Jeddah. Well, it probably started way before that if Oscar was honest with himself. Oscar was cool, calm and collected.
Ok maybe not cool since it was currently 27 degrees out and he had not stopped sweating since they arrived in Saudi Arabia, but he was calm and collected, for the most part.
And also in love with his teammate, which does not help with the calm part of this equation.
It’s been two years since he joined the F1 McLaren team, and he had been expecting a career, a dream come true, maybe even a world championship someday.
He was not expecting Lando Norris. Coming into the team as a rookie, he knew there were a lot of expectations. But he also knew that Lando had been close with both his past teammates, a seat that Oscar now sat in.
He had walked in on the first day ready to be intimidated by Norris, a victim of rookie hazing, desperate to prove himself as a driver and as a teammate. He had expected the wary glances as he sat across the table from Lando in the first meeting.
He, like many other F2 and F3 drivers, looked up to those in Formula 1. Of course there was typical hero-worship and role models, but Oscar had been one of the few that also happened to appreciate the male drivers in their prime in a different way. And Oscar had eyes; he knew what his teammate looked like. He knew he still had a silly, childish crush going into this, but he hoped it would fade as he got to know Lando as a person.
And that was what he hadn’t expected. It hadn’t gone away.
There had been a lot of ups and downs over the past year, and despite the rough patches, sometimes he felt like he was barely keeping a lid on his feelings, fondness spilling out of every pore.
Lando had immediately welcomed him into the team, and it was unlike anything he had ever experienced. They hung out both in front of and behind cameras, Lando calling him the calm to balance his chaos. It had been the opposite of what he had anticipated, preparing for a distant or closed off approach. Lando had not been that.
Which led them to today, where Oscar felt like he was about to explode into a million tiny pieces.
It wasn’t an uncommon thing to manifest some sort of magical trait at puberty, especially in families with magical heritage. Some had a latent gene that only manifested something when there was a major change in the person’s life.
This typically meant either someone who went through a major tragedy or someone who was in constant stress finally feeling safe or at home. The switch up of body chemistry could sometimes be enough to trigger something is those with the latent gene.
There were a handful of those on the grid who had either developed something during puberty or had shown up later. Charles had developed a form of touch-telepathy after the death of his godfather, being one of the few to have the latent gene be triggered before retirement from the sport.
Most of the time, abilities were unobtrusive, and there were rules in place not allowing them to be used in the sport to gain advantage. Esteban, for example, could turn invisible for short periods of time; thus he was mandated to wear both a race suit and kit that was specially made to ensure visibility whenever he was on track.
Physical changes were a little more difficult to accommodate, but it was possible. Oscar knew that Kimi Antonelli had extra padding built into his helmet for the small horns that poked out of his curls.
Oscar, like the rest of his family, had been surprised when he did not manifest anything in his teen years. Both his parents had powerful element manipulation and his sisters all had varying degrees of physical and non physical traits present as they were growing up. Oscar, being the oldest, had been expected to present some sort of magical trait first.
As time went on, he tried not to think about it too much. He needed to put all his focus into racing anyway. So what if he was the only one in his family to be non-magic? When Oscar turned 20, he gave up on the idea anything would be triggered. He tried not to be disappointed, pivoted all his focus into his career, and, eventually, it became a sort of relief.
Joining Mclaren had been an incredible experience so far, but even then the amount of paperwork was staggering. He was glad that he did not have to go over the several binders worth of papers that dealt with abilities, wincing when he saw the stacks given to his teammate.
He knew Lando was one of the few that had manifested in his teen years, but whatever his ability, he hadn’t told Oscar. He wondered from time to time if it was something he was ashamed of, or just that he was private about it. He contemplated asking about it, but he figured if Lando wanted him to know, he would eventually tell him. Despite getting a lot closer over the past two years, traits were something that they never discussed.
After getting to know the other drivers on the grid, Oscar had a rough idea of who was magical and who wasn't. He learned Pierre had found out he could sense where other people were by heartbeat at the same time as Esteban found himself invisible during what had been a monumental falling out between them during carting.
Logan had lamented to him how Alex always accidentally drained batteries of his phone, headphones, computers, even causing the lights to short out briefly in the Williams garage. Logan hand found out on his 11th birthday he could levitate both himself and other objects. When they were growing up, Logan had found tremendous joy in placing all of Oscar’s furniture and belongings on the ceiling. Nico, one of the few with a physical trait, had almost iridescent scales covering the majority of his body, and had a special suit to help with temperature regulation.
The rookies were mostly all still wildcards. Oscar knew about Antonelli’s horns as he was asked about them in almost every interview. Most drivers with physical traits were. Oscar was also pretty sure Isack had some sort of projection magic, as he was sure he saw Isack playing padel with himself the other day.
He knew most of the rookies this year had some sort of trait as it had been the topic of many interviews and conferences. Gabriel Bortoleto seemed to be the only one without a trait, making the total count twelve of the current drivers having some sort of magic. This was the first time in years more than half the grid was magical.
He was burning.
He stood on the podium, sweating through his race suit, a restlessness in his limbs causing him to twitch. Being from such a magical family, Oscar should have expected this. Even then, he was still doubtful anything was happening. His smile had morphed into something closer to a grimace as the restlessness turned into a relentless itch in the center of his back.
He was counting the seconds left of the podium, the joy of winning being ruthlessly squashed by discomfort. Ducking as he was doused in champagne, Oscar winced as something pulled against the skin of his back.
All of a sudden a sharp pain ran through his core, reminiscent of when he had fractured a rib. Hiding behind a thin lipped smile, he made a break for it, looking to get away from the cameras as quickly as possible.
He didn’t notice the concerned glances Max and Charles shared as he left.
Oscar had made it to the thankfully untelevised hallway behind the podium and was trying to walk quickly but casually towards his room to get his stuff. He tried not to look like he was fleeing. He was unsuccessful.
“Hey mate, that was a great win!”
Oscar almost felt the slap before it happened, Lando’s hand landing on his shoulder. It sent a wave of pain radiating down his spine, a burning sensation spreading under the skin of his back.
Something was definitely not right.
Oscar was unable to stop the gasp of surprise from escaping, which Lando had definitely caught onto. He looked at Oscar, no longer smiling, but with something in between worry and panic.
“Are you alright? Do you want me to get someone? It’s not another rib is it?” He asked frantically, tone low to keep anyone from overhearing.
“No mate, I think I just need to sleep.” Oscar chuckled awkwardly, still obviously holding himself gingerly. Lando looked unimpressed.
“Alright…If you say so.” They started walking again, turning towards the driver rooms. “Just call me if you need anything alright?”
They stopped in front of Oscar’s room.
“I mean it, anything.”
There was an odd emphasis to the last word that had Oscar’s ears turning pink.
Lando raised a hand as if to pat his shoulder again but then thought against it as the hand awkwardly swung back down. He then hurried to his own room to gather his things.
“See you at the hotel!” He heard Lando call from down the hall.
~~~
The itching had morphed into excruciating pain. He almost hadn’t made it to his room, he had all but collapsed against the cool wall of the elevator.
He had dragged himself to his room, using the wall as a crutch. Stabbing the key card haphazardly at the sensor until it beeped, and he banged into the room allowing the door to swing shut behind him.
He had removed his shirt and jeans, now only clad in boxers, he flopped onto the bed. Still sweating despite the cooler temperature of the room, he felt his death was imminent.
Oscar had no idea how long he had been curled on the hotel bed, the sheets and pillows scattered in a tangle around him. His back was on fire, skin stretching in odd places, tight and inflamed. He felt like he had the mother of all carpet burns on the inside of his skin.
Oscar was covered in a sheen of sweat, panting as if he had just run a marathon. There was something about this whole scenario that just felt fundamentally wrong.
His instincts were screaming at him to do something but for the life of him he couldn't put together a coherent thought as to what it could be.
Spontaneous human combustion suddenly seemed like a real threat.
All of a sudden he felt a wave of nausea and knew that somehow this was it. He was going to die.
His back seared with pain, skin ripping with a horrific sound like tearing fabric.
Oscar's vision went white with pain and his limbs felt like they were burning. He didn’t know if he screamed, but he must have.
Something in his brain finally clicked and he had one thought before passing out,
I wish I wasn’t alone
~~~~~~
Lando honestly didn’t feel like celebrating. He hadn’t gotten a podium. Even though P4 was still good, it wasn’t as good as he could have done. And the other thing nagging at him, there was something wrong with Osc.
He noticed right after they had arrived for media day, actually. There had been so many interviews and activities that they had only a brief time to talk, but he had just seemed…off. It could have been nerves, or tiredness, or who knows, a million other things!
But then after the race, he saw Oscar wince.
That wasn’t nothing.
He wasn’t even sure how he got dragged to this dinner in the first place, Alex and George roping him into going to some restaurant near the track.
Usually Lando preferred to celebrate after Monaco or Miami regardless of track position, but tonight was a little out of place. He had a feeling Alex and George were really using him as a third wheel, (even if neither of them would ever admit it) a buffer for the unfriendliness of queer couples in Saudi Arabia. They were arguing playfully about something, the thread of the conversation being long lost to Lando. His leg bounced under the table as he looked at his phone sitting face up on the table next to the salad he had been picking at.
Screen dark, no new messages.
No calls.
The anxiety was just eating at him. What if Oscar had actually gotten hurt during the race and decided not to tell anyone again? What if Lando had fucked something up by accident at some point and now he was mad?
Osc had won! He should be the one out at dinner, not Lando! Making up his mind, he mumbled something at the other two before abandoning the dinner.
Thankfully the restaurant was walking distance to the hotel Mclaren had set them up in so Lando didn’t have to bother trying to call a car. Despite it being well into the night, the heat of the day had not let up, causing Lando to break out in a sweat as he ran walked. He definitely walked back to the hotel.
Phone in hand, he refreshed his last conversation with Oscar.
Nothing new, only a single message,
“Have a good race :)”
Sent right before they had gotten into the paddock.
He had no reason to believe anything had gone wrong, Oscar was tired after the race; he was probably sleeping it off! Right?
Right.
Lando drummed his fingers nervously as he waited for the elevator to get to the right floor. He toyed with the key card that belonged to Oscar's room. They were always given two when they arrived at various hotels so they traded cards.
Just in case.
If Osc was asleep, he would just leave, go down to his own room at the end of the hall. He was checking on his…friend, teammate, …coworker? Lando knew what term he would prefer to describe their relationship, but was he being optimistic?
It was hard to tell what was genuine and what was Oscar just being polite, but he would like to say they were friends. And if Lando had stared a little too long, hands lingering at every touch, that was his own problem.
He shook himself out of his thoughts. No, he wasn’t going to make this weird, he was just going to do a quick in and out, just make sure he wasn’t hiding another broken bone or something.
Face flushed—not just from the outside heat—Lando slid the key into the lock and pushed open the door to the dark hotel room.
The only light on was coming from the bathroom, a yellow rectangle of light spilling across the ground. So Oscar probably was just asleep.
Lando stepped further into the room, looking at the lump of his teammate on the bed. Now the thing with hotels was that the bedspread, comforter, sheets —literally everything— was almost always white. It was clean looking and cheap.
Lando stopped dead. The problem was that Oscar’s comforter was a dark, maroon black color that even in the dim light of the room was wrong. Wrong.
Blood.
There was blood.
Everywhere.