Chapter Text
Vettel-Button -
Jenson Vettel-Button
Sebastian Vettel-Button
Max Vettel-Button (16)
Charles Vettel-Button (14)
Lando Vettel-Button (7)
Oscar Vettel-Button (3)
Hamilton-Rosberg
Lewis Hamilton-Rosberg
Nico Hamilton-Rosberg
Alex Hamilton-Rosberg (15)
George Hamilton-Rosberg (14)
Isack Hamilton-Rosberg (1)
Alonso-Räikkönen
Fernando Alonso-Räikkönen
Kimi Alonso-Räikkönen
Carlos Alonso-Räikkönen (17)
Logan Alonso-Räikkönen (3)
Kimi Jr Alonso-Räikkönen (1)
and starring Danny as the fun uncle
The first sound that reached Lando that morning was the creak of his bedroom door and the steady footsteps that always meant trouble if he didn’t move fast enough.
“Lando. Up.”
Jenson’s voice was clipped and low, but not angry — not yet, anyway. Just businesslike, the way it always was at the start of the day. He crossed the room in a few strides and tugged at the edge of the duvet when Lando didn’t answer right away.
“Come on, Lando. Max and Charles left ten minutes ago.”
Lando groaned and squinted against the slant of sunlight spilling through the curtains. His room still smelled faintly of hay from yesterday — he’d been told not to climb the fence near the stables, but somehow bits of straw still found their way inside.
“I’m up,” he mumbled, which wasn’t exactly true.
Jenson sighed, straightened up, and folded his arms. “You’ve got five minutes. If you’re not downstairs by then, you’ll be running to Danny’s, not walking.”
That got Lando moving. He rolled out of bed, stumbled into his uniform, and half-heartedly dragged a brush through his curls. By the time he thudded down the stairs, one shoe untied, Jenson was at the table with a mug of coffee and the morning notes from the farm.
The kitchen was already alive. The smell of toast and eggs, the soft hum of the fridge, Sebastian’s voice — calm, measured — drifting through from the counter where he was packing lunches. Oscar was balanced on one hip, chubby fingers clutching at Sebastian’s collar, babbling softly.
“There’s my sleepyhead,” Seb said with a small smile, sliding a lunchbox onto the table. “Good morning, schatz.”
Lando grinned faintly. He liked when Seb called him that, even if he didn’t really know what it meant. “Morning Papa.”
Jenson, still reading something on his tablet, muttered, “You’re late again.”
Seb glanced over his shoulder. “He’s fine. Danny hasn’t left yet.”
“He should have left ten minutes ago,” Jenson replied, though he didn’t look up.
Seb just hummed, set Oscar in the high chair, and crouched down to zip Lando’s backpack. “Shoes tied?”
Lando looked down at them guiltily. One lace was in a perfect bow — probably tied by Seb last night. The other was a hopeless knot. Seb noticed and smiled faintly, tying it himself.
“There,” he said, patting Lando’s knee. “Now run, before Uncle Danny thinks you’re skipping again.”
“I never skip,” Lando said quickly, shouldering his bag.
Seb chuckled softly. “No? Then hurry so you don’t have to prove it.”
Jenson called out from behind his tablet, “And don’t forget to thank Danny for the lift.”
“I won’t!” Lando shouted back as he pushed open the back door.
The morning air was cool and sweet, full of birdsong and the faint bleat of goats somewhere in the distance. Dew still clung to the grass. He could hear an engine revving down by the sheds — probably one of the tractors starting up for the day — and the smell of damp earth and hay hung thick in the air.
He took off down the dirt track, backpack bouncing against his shoulders, hair flying. Behind him, the farmhouse shrank into the distance, warm light in the kitchen window, the faint outline of Jenson moving past.
Ahead, the compound stretched out like a small, self-contained world — gravel paths and green fields, the shimmer of the go-kart track at the far end, and smoke curling from the chimneys of the other family houses. Somewhere, a dog barked.
If he ran fast enough, maybe Danny wouldn’t even notice he’d been late again.
By the time Lando reached Daniel’s house, his lungs were burning. The sound of car doors slamming made him sprint the last few steps down the drive.
“Wait! Wait for me!” he called, waving one arm wildly.
Daniel turned just as he was about to climb into the driver’s seat. He had his sunglasses on already, a travel mug in one hand and a grin on his face.
“There he is!” Daniel said, laughing. “Knew you’d make it, kiddo. Thought I was gonna have to chase you down the road again.”
Lando skidded to a stop beside the car, breathing hard but smiling. “I wasn’t late!”
“Technically, you weren’t on time either,” Daniel teased, opening the back door for him. “Hop in, little man.”
The car was already loud — full of voices, laughter, and overlapping conversations. Max and Carlos were arguing about who got to pick the music, Charles was scrolling on a confiscated phone, George was laughing at something Alex said from the back row.
As Lando climbed in, Max glanced over his shoulder. “’Bout time. Thought you’d sleep through again.”
“I didn’t,” Lando muttered, clicking his seatbelt.
Daniel slid into the driver’s seat, balancing his coffee between his knees as he started the engine. “Alright, everyone ready? No snacks in the car, no yelling, and if anyone touches the volume, they’re walking home.”
“You say that every morning,” Alex said.
“And I mean it every morning,” Daniel shot back, but he was smiling. He turned the radio on anyway — soft music under the sound of tires crunching gravel as the car rolled down the lane.
Out the window, the compound passed by in flashes of color: Kimi on the tractor, Lewis jogging with his headphones in, Seb waving from the main yard with Oscar on his hip. It was their little world — messy, noisy, but safe.
At the big gate, Daniel leaned out the window to type the code. The gates swung open slowly, revealing the road that led into the village. Lando watched as they left the compound behind — fields giving way to hedgerows and neat stone cottages.
The chatter in the car never stopped. Carlos and Max talked about a tractor job they were helping with that weekend; Charles and George compared homework; Alex sang along to the radio under his breath.
Lando listened but didn’t join in. He liked just hearing them all — the easy rhythm of older boys who never seemed to trip over their own words or say the wrong thing.
When they pulled up outside the secondary school, Daniel parked right in front, ignoring the “Staff Only” sign.
“Right,” he said, clapping his hands once. “Everyone out before I get yelled at by Mrs. Whitmore again.”
The car doors flew open. Backpacks thumped against shoulders, laughter spilling out into the crisp air.
Carlos ruffled Lando’s hair as he passed. “Don’t fall asleep in class, short stuff.”
“I don’t fall asleep!”
Max grinned at him, too — just a little, not unkindly. “We’ll see you later, okay?”
Then they were gone, disappearing into the sea of uniforms. The chatter faded, leaving the sudden quiet of the idling car.
Daniel looked back at Lando in the mirror. “You good, kiddo?”
Lando nodded. “Yeah.”
Daniel smiled, softening. “You know the way, right?”
“Yeah,” Lando said again.
“Alright then. You take care, yeah? And—” Daniel paused, grin returning, “—if anyone asks, I totally walked you up to the gate.”
Lando giggled. “Deal.”
“Go on then, before you make me look like a responsible adult.”
Lando climbed out, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He shut the door carefully, gave a little wave, and started down the pavement toward the primary school — ten minutes away, maybe fifteen if he stopped to watch the ducks at the pond.
Behind him, Daniel’s car pulled away, the sound of the radio fading into the morning.
By the time Lando reached the primary school gates, the bell had already rung.
He slipped inside with his head down, hoping no one would notice. But Mrs. Carter spotted him the moment he pushed the door open.
“Late again, Lando,” she said, not unkindly, just tired. She had the voice of someone who’d said the same thing too many times.
“I ran,” he said quickly. “I was running the whole time.”
Her expression softened a little. “I’m sure you were. Go hang your bag up and sit down, please.”
He nodded, scurrying to his peg at the back of the coat rack. His backpack was smaller than most of the others. It had a keyring Seb had bought him — a tiny wooden tractor carved with his initials — and it swung a little as he hung it up.
Maths first. The numbers blurred together a bit; he wasn’t bad at it, just distracted. He thought about the compound instead — the smell of the barns, the sound of the engines, the big kids joking on the go-kart track. Sometimes, if the windows were open at night, he could hear them laughing from down the hill.
By the time break came, Lando was ready to run. He dashed out into the playground, the air cool and full of chatter. The others had already started a football game.
He jogged up, breathless. “Can I play?”
The boys glanced at him — one of them, Jamie, tilted his head like he was thinking about it, but another shook his head before Lando could even open his mouth again.
“We’ve already got teams,” he said. “Maybe next time.”
“Oh,” Lando said. His cheeks flushed hot, but he tried to shrug like it didn’t matter. “Yeah, okay.”
He sat on the edge of the low brick wall that lined the playground and watched. The ball skidded across the tarmac, shouts echoing, laughter bouncing in the air. He kicked a pebble near his shoe until it rolled under the bench.
When the whistle blew, he followed the others back inside, quiet again.
At lunch, he sat at the end of one of the long tables. He opened his lunchbox and smiled a little — Seb had cut his sandwich into neat squares, and there was a small note folded under his juice box: “Have a good day, schatz. Don’t forget your spelling words. Love, Papa.”
He read it twice before tucking it carefully back into his pocket.
Across the table, a group of kids were trading crisps and laughing about something Lando didn’t catch. He looked down at his sandwich instead, taking slow bites, pretending not to notice.
By the end of the day, he was ready to go home.
He packed up fast, shoving his books into his bag and racing out the door before Mrs. Carter could remind him about homework. The walk back to the secondary school felt longer than in the morning — his legs tired, his socks slipping down, dust sticking to his shoes.
When the tall red-brick building finally came into view, he saw the car already parked out front. The big kids were leaning against it, arms crossed.
“Finally,” Max groaned when he spotted him.
“Sorry,” Lando said, even though he wasn’t sure what for.
They climbed into the car without another word.
The car was already half full of noise when Lando climbed in. The older boys were deep in conversation — Max telling a story about something that had happened in class, George arguing over the ending, Alex laughing so hard he nearly dropped his water bottle.
Daniel just shook his head from the front seat, one arm draped over the wheel. “I’m gonna start charging you lot for entertainment. You’re louder than the goats.”
Carlos leaned forward from the passenger seat, grinning. “You love it.”
“I tolerate it,” Daniel said, but his smile gave him away.
Lando buckled in, quiet in the middle row, hands folded over his backpack. The car smelled faintly of coffee, wet grass, and whatever snack George had spilled under the seat last week.
As they pulled away from the curb, the radio came on — one of the classic rock stations Daniel liked. The older boys started singing along, loud and off-key. Lando smiled a little, mouthing the words.
He liked these rides, even when no one was talking to him. The noise made him feel part of something bigger — a kind of family warmth that didn’t need words.
It was nearly sunset by the time the car turned off the main road and back through the compound gates. The gravel crunched under the tires, familiar again — home. The air smelled of smoke and hay and freshly cut grass.
“Alright, everyone out,” Daniel said as he parked beside his house. “Homework, dinner, whatever your parents yell about first.”
Carlos groaned. “Homework.”
Daniel grinned. “Then it’ll be that.”
The car doors opened. Max and Charles started down the lane toward their house, shoulders bumping as they talked. Lando trailed behind, kicking at the stones.
The Vettel-Button house sat near the edge of the compound, white paint chipped in places, the porch light already on. The windows glowed warm against the dimming sky.
Inside, the smell of stew filled the air — hearty and rich. Lando kicked off his backpack in the hallway, forgetting his shoes entirely as he stepped onto the carpet.
“Lando!”
He froze. Jenson was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, brow furrowed, pointing at the floor. Muddy footprints trailed all the way to the rug.
“Shoes,” Jenson said, voice sharp. “How many times—”
“I forgot,” Lando muttered.
“Clearly.” Jenson handed him a damp cloth from the sink. “Clean it. Properly.”
Lando knelt and started scrubbing. The mud smeared before it lifted. His throat burned with embarrassment.
Sebastian’s voice floated from the stove. “Jen, it’s not the end of the world.”
“It’s the third time this week,” Jenson said, but his tone softened a little.
When Lando finally finished, the others were already at the table. He slipped into his seat next to Oscar’s high chair. The toddler was babbling happily, banging his spoon against the tray.
Sebastian set down plates — stew and bread, steam rising in little curls. “Here you go, Liebling,” he said, smiling as he placed Lando’s plate in front of him.
“Thank you,” Lando said quietly.
He picked at the bread, appetite small. Across the table, Max was talking about helping Carlos with the tractors, and Charles was showing Sebastian a paper from school. The conversation rolled around Lando like a wave — warm, distant.
He was just about to take a bite when Oscar let out a delighted squeal and flung his arm sideways. His little hand caught the edge of Lando’s plate, sending it crashing to the floor.
The stew splattered across the rug and under the table.
Everyone froze for a second.
“I—” Lando started, but Jenson was already on his feet.
“Lando,” he said, tone clipped. “That’s enough for tonight. Go on, upstairs.”
“But it wasn’t—”
“Now.”
Lando’s shoulders slumped. He stood slowly, eyes fixed on the floor. Seb started to say something, but Jenson gave a small shake of his head.
The scrape of his chair sounded too loud as Lando pushed it back. He climbed the stairs in silence, the muffled sounds of dinner resuming below.
His room was dim when he crawled into bed, still in his school clothes. Through the thin wall, he could hear the faint sounds of Oscar laughing again — little bursts of joy that made his chest ache. Why didn’t he feel the same?
After a while, footsteps stopped outside his door. Voices — soft, low.
Sebastian: “Should I go say goodnight?”
Jenson: “No. He’s in trouble. He doesn’t need coddling every time he acts out.”
The hallway light dimmed, and the footsteps faded.
Lando rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket up over his chin. His throat felt tight.
“I didn’t even do it,” he whispered into the quiet.
Outside, the wind moved through the trees, carrying the faint hum of engines from the barn. The compound, their whole world, settled into night — safe and still.
But Lando lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, wondering if anyone would come in after all.