Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Oscar’s phone is cracked. A long one that went from the top corner of the screen and ebbed out in a variety of different ways. It was big, it was horrendous. Oscar’s never cracked his phone so badly.

This morning, he hadn’t gotten out of bed after we woke up and threw his phone. Not even when his alarm went off at eight, loud and blaring, he let it ring out. Five minutes later, it did it again, he didn’t get up. Even the third time, the last time it rung, he didn’t get up for it.

At what he guessed was 8:30, someone knocked at the door. Oscar hadn’t gotten up for that either. Not that he was sleeping, he wasn’t, he had been staring at the wall since 7:32. When he did get up, under the crack on his screen, the time read 9:09.

His thumb traced the crack, followed the rigid line all the way down. The screen protector was closer to what Oscar would call shattered. It sickened him. Not the fact it cracked, but the fact he’d thrown it. Frustration from Oscar never amounted to something physical, especially he’s never thrown things. Guilt over it settles low in his gut, glancing at the wall that had a thorough mark. 

On the screen, there were loads of notifications, missed texts and calls from the team. Oscar didn’t open his phone, didn’t answer any of them. He set it on the counter. Oscar stood idle until his stomach growled, and that was what prompted him to move. The small hotel fridge had nothing that seemed remotely appetizing.

In a few strides, Oscar crossed the room, to look at the options for room service breakfast. When he picked up the phone to call, he found his wrist didn’t ache on the flex back. Not like it had yesterday. 

Once it was ordered, Oscar sat at the small table. Two days, have been the same, almost. The same day, where Lando has died. Yesterday, Oscar could’ve been closer to believing the first time really was a dream or vision or premonition or whatever word he could pull out of his ass, but this was the third time. The third day.

At this point, Oscar felt as though he couldn’t ignore the obvious. Couldn’t pretend the first two times weren’t real, because they were. Achingly so. The first time, when all Oscar knew of it was what he saw on the screens. The second where he was in the crash, where he saw it firsthand. 

And god, the hospital. Despite everything he’s seen, that had to be the worst. The bruises, the blood, the cuts. The sterile smell, the impersonal way things were moving. The conversation about how Lando was hurt and how he was dying, even though he was assured Lando was temporarily stable. Until he wasn’t, and through the glass to the trauma bay, Oscar watched as a group of doctors couldn’t save him. 

As blood gushed up from the tube shoved down Lando’s throat. 

It was all so terrible. Part of Oscar thinks he shouldn’t have ran out of the hospital, he should’ve asked what happened. Why Lando’s vitals crashed. Suddenly enough to catch the doctors off guard. But he hadn’t. And he wasn’t going to redo it all just to get that answer. 

There was a knock at the door. On autopilot he got up, feet moving beneath him, motivated only by the thought of pancakes and bacon. Not at all healthy, but he didn’t care. The door swung open with a low, quiet creak.

Lando stood on the other side. Oscar froze. There was no bruises. No blood. No tube. Lando said something but Oscar couldn’t register the words—stuck staring at Lando. Alive, breathing, perfectly healthy. No broken ribs, no internal bleeding, no fractured spine.

“Oscar?” Oscar watched his name on Lando’s lips, the way they moved to form it. Oscar’s eyes crawled up Lando’s face, the scar on his nose, his eyes and how they narrowed in concern, his brows—cut to Lando’s liking and furrowed. The unruly curliness of his hair—like he hadn’t done it yet, which was weird. 

That was normally the first part of Lando’s routine. 

“Hm?” Oscar felt out of his head, managing only to hum in reply. Leaning against the door frame, Oscar slumped, trying to dissect the look on Lando’s face. But he couldn’t, not really. 

The air in the hall was plain, bordering stale, and there wasn’t any natural light. Picking himself up, Oscar stepped aside and opened the door wider, gesturing Lando to come in. Whatever Lando needed to say or came here for didn’t need to be exchanged in a doorway. 

Closing the door felt final, even though nothing had even started. Uneasiness floated through the room, in the way Lando was hesitant to take a seat and Oscar sat hard without a word. 

“You haven’t been answering your phone…?” Lando started uncertainly, barely maintaining steady eye contact with Oscar. Shrugging, Oscar leaned forward on his forearms, looking down at the table. “Well now that’s not a real answer.”

“It’s like. Whatever. Y’know?” Oscar mumbled, thumb nail running along the table, hoping it’d catch somewhere, hoping for something to pick at. It didn’t. Across from him, Lando sighed.

“No, I don’t know. You were supposed to be up and heading towards the paddock an hour ago, except you didn’t answer your phone nor the door when your trainer came knocking.” Oscar supposed Lando had a point, it was a bit rude to shut everybody out. But Oscar just wanted time to think.

“Slept through it.” The lie was weak, bled from his mouth and floated through the air. Oscar knew Lando didn’t believe it, not for a second. Oscar braced for the impact of him calling it out. 

Another knock at the door came, interrupted the already still air. That had to be his pancakes. Oscar was up quick, stomach pulling uncomfortably in hunger, and thanked the hotel staff as he got his plate of food. Oscar shut the door with his foot, took the plate back to the table, and dug in as soon as his ass hit the chair. 

Daring to glance, across from him, Lando’s eyebrows were raised in question—possibly judgement too, for breaking his diet—but he didn’t say a word about the stack of pancakes. They smelled delicious, and it filled the room.

“You don’t sleep through alarms. Not on race days, you set like three.” The fact Lando could recall that, with Oscar guessing he never directly told him, made Oscar quirk a brow. Oscar could sleep through anything, if he wanted to. Race day, normally brought nerves dancing in his stomach, body disciplined to wake up to the alarm when it mattered. 

“Well. I didn’t. And stayed up late last night.” Lando didn’t seem to drop his suspicion, Oscar’s reply wasn’t convincing and he knew it himself. Not looking at Lando in the eyes, or Lando at all, Oscar scarfed down his plate. It was delicious. He leaned back in his chair, hand resting on his stomach, feeling way fuller than he did after any normal meal.

Lando sighed, scratching at the bridge of his nose. On the way down, Oscar noted, Lando’s thumb slightly brushed his scar. Oscar bet the skin there was slightly roughed, slightly indented. Part of him wanted to feel it, run his own thumb over it, just to see if he was right. 

“You eat too fast mate? You’re looking… pale.” Lando said slowly, eyes slightly bigger as they took in the sight of Oscar. God, he probably looked disheveled. Oscar shrugged, gave a halfhearted hum, and let his eyes wander around the room. Particularly, they caught out the window, snagging on a bird when it flew by then sticking to the scenery.

Lando leaned forward, the movement catching Oscar’s gaze. “What is going on then? You’re all out of whack.”

“I’m fine.” His rebuttal wasn’t convincing, not to Lando nor himself. Standing, he tidied up the plates from his meal, taking a moment to think—not that he should need more, he was doing nothing but thinking for an hour and a half this morning. The counter dug into his lower back where he leaned, arms crossed over his abdomen. 

Oscar could feel Lando’s eyes, but Lando didn’t say anything. So, Oscar greedily took the moment to get his thoughts straight. 

The first day, George crashed into Lando after Lando spun. Though, it seemed whoever was in front or behind Lando would be in this crash, but Oscar couldn’t know for sure. Lando’s brakes would fail. That’s where Oscar can start, talking to someone to check Lando’s breaks. It might be tricky with the car in parc ferme, but Oscar will raise hell if need be. 

The first day, Lando’s tires locked up. Oscar didn’t know how he could go about preventing that. Either way, he could start with the break thing. Maybe scare Kimi into forcing George to be careful. 

Oscar’s eyes slide to Lando. Lando, who’s chewing on his lip, fidgeting with his bracelets, already looking at Oscar. Clearly, based on yesterday—yesterday’s today, god Oscar hated this—Lando wouldn’t easily believe Oscar. There was probably a way, but… Oscar didn’t know how to get to that point. Oscar dropped his head, a relenting sigh pushing past his lips.

“Let me get ready. We’ll leave for the paddock in five.” As Oscar spoke, he pushed off the counter, going towards his suitcase. Lando’s shoulders dropped from where they were taut, and he quickly picked up his phone, typing away. Oscar got his stuff together, went through most of his routine getting ready, and slipped on his shoes. It was a little over five minutes, but Lando didn’t seem to mind. 

Lando was actually very happy just to have Oscar moving, and was smiling as they left for the paddock.

-

The paddock was chaotic. Oscar walked fast and navigated through the crowd, getting to their garage as fast as he could. The whole time, he had made sure Lando wasn’t far behind him. When he spotted George and Kimi, he didn’t stray from his path. When they got to the garage, Oscar didn’t even care that people were trying to stop him and probably lecture him, he walked right by. 

Right to Lando’s side of the garage, to his mechanics, well, to the one Oscar knew the best. Oscar was pretty sure his name was Aleksandr—but everyone just called him Alek. They seemed mildly confused by Oscar’s certain interruption—his footfall was firm and head held high which announced himself surprisingly well. 

“You need to check his breaks.” Cut right to the chase, because trying any preamble would be even worse. It would be awkward and crazy sounding. So Oscar didn’t bother, naturally. Just looked the mechanic in the eyes, face set as firm as possible. “They’re gonna fail.”

“What?” Alek asked, and Oscar took a deep breath. No one was good for anything these past few days. If people just listened without questions then everything would be so much simpler. “They’re fine? Why do you say that?”

“Because I do. I know, ok?” Oscar pressed. He looked to the few other mechanics nearby, who he didn’t know as well but they were definitely listening and equally confused, hoping anyone was willing to just check. “They’re going to fail.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” In hindsight, Oscar should’ve asked how Lando’s breaks failed. Though, why would he have thought to do that? When your teammate is dying, you don’t stop to ask how his breaks failed, you go and try to help him. Naturally. “But they will. You have to check.”

“How do you know this? Without proof there’s no reason to make such a hassle—,”

“Please. The hassle would be needing to fix them. Checking won’t be the hard part. And if I’m wrong, nothing happens. If I’m right, you catch the problem early.” Oscar felt desperate and his voice wasn’t hiding it. He didn’t sound like his calm self, but hopefully that will simply help to urge the mechanics to believe him.

Another mechanic—Oscar’s pretty sure his name is Mateo—stepped forward a few paces, offering a sympathetic smile. Oscar looked to him, hopeful, watching as he put his hand on the other mechanics shoulder. “I’ll do the check. This guy can’t complain if I do it, yeah? Let you know if there’s anything.”

Oscar nodded, shoulders sagging in relief, turning away. The heel of his shoe squeaked on the floor and he cringed, shuffling away a bit faster. Behind him, he heard slightly hushed conversation.

“Why do you indulge him?”

“What if he’s right?”

“What’s his proof? He didn’t say! This could be a waste of time!”

“Better safe than sorry, yeah?”

“Whatever. I thought you weren’t superstitious. But you’re acting like it right now.”

“I’m not superstitious. But if someone is swearing something’s wrong, there’s a reason.”

“So you’re a little stitious?”

“That is not a word!”

Oscar rounded a corner and their bickering grew out of earshot. It was amusing enough though to momentarily satiate his running mind, focusing nearly fully on it until he could no longer hear it. The downside of leaving the scene was trying to dodge everyone in the garage.

The multiple PR people, his trainer, his race engineer, and Oscar went the long way to completely avoid the route that had a high chance of Zak Brown or Andrea Stella. Surely he was bound for an earful from both of them. Unfortunately, his drivers room didn’t greet him as an escape. Sort of, but not really.

It was messy again. Such a tiny, insignificant thing was crawling under his skin. Oscar dropped his bag and got to rearranging the mess—not really putting it away but making the room more habitable. It was easier than trying to figure out what he was going to do. 

Right. What was he going to do? How does he stop Lando from crashing, and, ultimately dying? It’s the beginning of the season, the cars are so unpredictable—and there’s variables. It’s not the same death every time, that was disproven yesterday. Rather than tires locking up, his breaks failed, though Oscar supposes that could mean his breaks were always going to fail and the first day his tires happened to lock up first. If the mechanics do find something wrong with the breaks, then he supposes that could be true. If not, then it was nothing more than random, and… would make it a lot harder for Oscar to fix. 

“Nothing to do but wait.” Oscar mumbled, to himself, sitting down. The chair slightly slid with his weight. There was actually a lot of other things he could be doing, but none seemed that important considering the circumstances. Who cares about PR or whatever Zak’s got to say or anything when Lando could be dead in a few hours? It really makes it seem futile, doing anything but trying to save Lando. 

In seconds Oscar’s on his feet, but he isn’t sure what he’s doing or where he’s going. It takes a moment of standing still in his drivers room—somehow managing to be awkward even all alone—for the ache in his chest from this morning to settle back into his chest. The one that stopped him from getting out of bed, the one that allowed him to ignore anything with any bit of importance, the one that had his mind running and empty at the same time. 

If he sits back down, he doesn’t think he’s getting up. But at least he’s made up his mind for his next thing to do. 

As he walks, he doesn’t pick his feet up fully, he just lets them drag all the way to the door. Even once in the hall, he’s trudging, though he finds it ridiculously hard to care. Not just his feet, but his posture slumps, weighing him down further. Part of him thinks he never should’ve gotten out of bed this morning.

Oscar doesn’t knock on the door, just pushes it open, and doesn’t know if he’s relieved or upset he finds the room empty. Where was Lando if not his drivers room? Realistically, he could be at a wide variety of places. Oscar didn’t want to hunt him down, either. He didn’t have the energy. 

Lando’s drivers room mirrored his own, not to his surprise at all, slightly more cluttered than his own but not necessarily disorganized or messy like Oscar’s probably always will be at this point. Oscar wouldn’t be able to find anything in here but Lando probably knew exactly where everything was. It made him not want to disturb anything, especially since he invited himself in, so he ended up sitting on the floor next to the chair with his knees to his chest. 

He buried his nose in his phone, and rewatched Lando’s story more times than he’d like to admit. Just to see the pictures of them at the burger place. Which was technically last night but also three nights ago and Oscar was on the verge of losing his mind. So he set his phone on the floor, and dropped his forehead to his knees. 

Oscar couldn’t say how much time passed until the door creaked open. 

“Oscar?” Picking his head up, he found Lando, just as he was waiting for. “Zak thought you flaked, honestly, I think he’s about to send out the calvary looking for you. Should probably go tell him you’re right—,”

“Let him.” Oscar muttered, cutting Lando off and stopping him from turning right back around to leave the way he came. Momentarily, Lando pursed his lips, but didn’t comment on the matter. Instead he paused, slightly tilted his head, and put on an amused smile.

“Why are you on the floor?” Lando asked, stepping towards Oscar and extending his hand to offer help up. Without immediate reply, Oscar took the hand, really letting Lando pull his weight up and mostly just planting his feet to steady himself. Lando let out a slight whoosh of air but just kept his smile, his other hand finding Oscar’s shoulder to make sure he didn’t fall forward. Oscar almost went forwards anyways. Almost. “Not gonna answer me?”

“Didn’t wanna… disturb anything.” As Oscar spoke, Lando picked up Oscar’s discarded phone, eyes finding the crack that was face down on the floor. Despite a lingering glance at it, Lando kept moving, coming back to Oscar and guiding him to sit down on the small bench.

Lando sat beside him, handing him his phone. As soon as it was in his hand, he slipped it into his pocket, trying to avoid seeing it. Not that it would change the fact that Lando saw it. 

“How’d you crack it that bad?” The question was easy as ever, because it was more common for Lando to have cracks on his phone, so he probably didn’t see it too out of the usual. 

“You normally take such good care of it.” Or maybe he did. Lando’s words were an afterthought to himself, but to Oscar it was acknowledgement to his wrong doings. Not that Lando saw it as wrong, but Lando also didn’t know he whipped his phone at the wall. 

“Uhm, y’know, dropped it.” 

Lando chuckled, knowing it was an understatement, but not pressing into that. He slouched slightly, relaxed as ever, while Oscar was the opposite, stiff and sat forward. When Lando’s hand fell heavy on his shoulder it didn’t ease him like he assumes it was meant to, but he does lean back slightly to angle his body how Lando was guiding it. 

“You ready for the race?”

“I guess, yeah.” Oscar returns, not actually thinking too much about the answer. He wasn’t, wouldn’t ever be, but that was too much to explain. “What about you?”

“What do you mean, what about me? It’s your home race, mate.”

“Yeah. The attention has been on me, more so than normal. It’s not balanced.” Oscar’s more so thinking out loud, trying to make sense of his thoughts, rather than some real thread of reasoning to his words. “Are you ready for the race?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Lando replies with a shrug. That isn’t what Oscar wanted to hear, all through last year Lando would just grin and nod and that’s when he did the best. Oscar was hoping for that. Lando’s fingers slightly picked at a thread on Oscar’s shirt, before he let his hand drop from Oscar’s shoulder all together.

Oscar is swallowed by Lando’s eyes. Briefly he thinks it’s becoming more of a common occurrence, but his thoughts move on fast. Wondering if Lando has any uneasy feeling about the race, any hints of his impending doom. The first day, Oscar had some sort of panic attack over it, for Lando. Did Lando not get that sinking feeling? That unmistakable dread?

If he did, the first day he was probably too focused on Oscar who was freaking out a lot more than to think about expressing his own worry. Lando did often express worry without a mask, but if he was fully focused on Oscar, he could see Lando being able to stomp it all down to help him. Lando was that kind of person, after all. The second day, Oscar was expressing his worry from the morning, so Lando would hide it to the best of his ability around Oscar, to try and ease him—again, the kind of person Lando was. And then Oscar puked his guts out, so. 

Lando definitely wouldn’t express any worry today, either, not after Oscar went radio silent. It was unusual for Oscar, and based on last year, when Oscar was acting weird Lando would bend to adjust it until he got back to normal, and then went back to sharing each and every thought that came to mind. Oscar hates that right now is the first time he consciously thinks about it, Lando has always been there and accommodating for Oscar without making it a thing. He’s never expected anything in return.

Oscar’s only making himself feel like shit. The more he thinks about the differences in the way they treat each other. Finally, Oscar’s rigid frame slumps in exhaustion more than relaxation, but all the same he unwinds. 

“Are you nervous at all?” Oscar asks, eyes shifting to the wall across from him as he leans back, focusing on a small spec. The bench slightly moves beside him, he hears the fabric rustling and some sort of slide, but he doesn’t bring his eyes to look. 

“A bit. I bet you’re worse though.”

“I’ll say.” Oscar mutters, picking up a hand just to run it down his face. The sigh that leaves him is heavy, but probably had been waiting a while to get out. Dropping his arm back down, he lets his head drop back to—his neck protests but he lets it slump anyways, letting his eyes fall shut. 

“That bad?”

“Mm.”

“Home races are nerve wracking.” Lando mumbles, sounding quieter but closer. It confused Oscar’s senses a bit, not knowing how far away he was, but not checking. “I used to get really nervous before Silverstone, like really bad, but the longer I’ve been driving the better it’s gotten.”

“Well, yeah, it’s not even the home race thing anymore.”

“Then what is it?”

Right. Lando doesn’t know he’s going to die, or most likely. If he doesn’t, Oscar probably will cry tears of joy and never let Lando out of his sight again. If he does, he gets to do this all again, until Lando lives. At least he assumes that’s how he gets out of this. If it’s not, then he has to figure that out as well as save Lando’s life. Either way, he has to figure out how to keep Lando from crashing and dying. 

“Just have a bad feeling, is all.” Oscar finally opens his eyes after musing the weak reply, sliding to the side to see Lando. He was closer, leaning slightly on the back of the bench and angled more towards Oscar. Eyes a little wider than Oscar expected—surprised by Oscar’s answer or maybe the honesty in it that bleeds from his tone. 

“Really? You’re not normally the one of the two of us to get bad feelings about things.”

“Well it’s just a bad feeling. Probably won’t result to anything. Even if it does, what can I do?”

“What’s your bad feeling about?” Lando mused, masking any sincerity in the question with a small smile, sounding more so out of curiosity than real worry. Even so, Oscar had his full attention, and if anything he had to use it. Oscar angles himself more towards Lando too, actively keeping his hands still in his lap.

“This terrible feeling that there’ll be a crash.”

“Bad crash?” Lando asks, and it’s more than Oscar got yesterday, if he remembers correctly. Lando had listened yesterday, and comforted Oscar, but that was all. At least this time Oscar wasn’t throwing the word ‘dream’ around. In hindsight it makes it a little less important. 

“Very, very bad crash. Like. Death.”

“Have you heard that thing about Senna?” Abruptly Lando asked, sitting more forward, so close everything in the room was drowned about but him. Before anything, Oscar was confused.

“What thing?”

“He had a terrible feeling all weekend. And he didn’t want to do the race.” Lando was talking quick, he always got in a rush when he was trying to explain a story if he thought it was important. “And earlier the weekend, uhm what’s him name—fuck—another driver died and there’s speculation to the fact that’s why Senna had such a bad feeling. And people said throughout the weekend he was uneasy and distracted and concerned—,”

“Lan, what’s your point?”

“Doesn’t that sound like you? You’ve been off all weekend!” Concern gushed from Lando’s tone and bled all over Oscar. Lando had a point, but this wasn’t like that. Not really. Not at all. “And his last words were something about having no control over certain things and having to do it—even though he didn’t want to and he was freaked out all weekend! And you’re here saying what can I do, which is the same thing as saying you don’t have control over it!”

“Lando—,”

“There’s just a lot of parallels. And everyone knows what happened to Senna. Personally, I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“But the bad feeling isn’t about me crashing. I’m not worried about me. That has to be a pretty big difference between that and this.” Also, ignoring the obvious, which was the fact Oscar was stuck in a time loop. If Oscar had to guess, Senna wasn’t.

“Who?”

“You. Lando.”

For a moment, there wasn’t a reply, just Lando—eyes owlishly wide and mouth stuck slightly open. When the initial shock of what Oscar’s said exhales from Lando’s frame, Lando still doesn’t make any move. Something kicks up in Oscar, worrying maybe he’s truly freaked Lando out, disregarding the fact if he was freaked out it might work in Oscar’s favor to help him. 

“You have a bad feeling I’ll crash?”

“Mhm.” Im his hummed response, he doesn’t tack on the part about Lando dying. Oscar already mentioned death, the outcome of the crash, and it loomed over the room, over their words, without needing to be said. Lando didn’t need a reminder. 

A hand slid into his own. Not interlocking fingers, but just holding. Over the past few days, it’s become more apparent how open Lando is with his touch. Oscar hadn’t thought much of it before, but when he’s living it over again he definitely became more aware. Lando just will hold his hand or embrace him or seemingly anything, really, that Oscar normally is awkward about. But in all instances it’s just been them, and Oscar’s been losing his mind.

Oscar’s never been big on touch, at least initiating it, always awkward and always clunky. Right now, Oscar never wanted to slump into someone more, to tuck his head away, to wrap his arms around Lando’s torso and relax. It catches him off guard, he doesn’t move. Yesterday, he barged in Lando’s hotel and basically demanded a hug. Lando had no recollection of that. Oscar didn’t acknowledge it then, not like he was thinking about this now. Instead of acting on the impulse, Oscar let himself smile softly. Lando eased a bit with it. 

When Oscar heard heavy footfall approaching—quieter than normal, somehow—he pulled his hand back. Before Lando could react at all, Zak Brown opened the door, without knocking or making his presence known. Oscar’s thankful he caught it, even though chances are no one will remember anything tomorrow, even though it doesn’t really matter. The banging of his heart against his ribs begs to differ, at fear of feeling caught. 

“He’s here!” Zak called down the hall, peering slightly out the door before facing forward again. “We’d heard you were in the paddock and then couldn’t find you! I suppose it’s all just a mix up of sorts.”

Oscar stared at Zak, not knowing what to say. Zak’s smile only slightly faltered, in confusion probably, but it didn’t take long for him to pick it back up. Oscar blinks and Zak’s rambling—on and on about the race and the car and Oscar and what his performance will be like and how he’s having doubts based on how Oscar’s acting, that part is brushed over but the way Zak said it even made Lando make a face. Everything he says goes in one ear and out the other. 

Oscar stands up before Zak finished talking. He’s just realized he doesn’t have to listen to Zak. Luckily, standing up and walking around Zak to the door does make him stop talking. Oscar does glance back when Zak calls his name, but doesn’t stop when he sees Zak just going to open his mouth again. Briefly, his eyes linger on Lando, looking thoroughly confused and Oscar thinks he looks a bit hurt, but that just be his imagination.

Heading back to his own drivers room, he walks quickly. If Lando’s hurt, it’s because Oscar left him alone with Zak Brown. Oscar chuckles to himself. If the situation was flipped, Oscar would also be hurt he was left alone with Zak Brown. 

-

Oscar spent the rest of the morning on his phone, not going through any part of his normal pre race routine. Throughout his doomscrolling, Lando had sent him two things. A youtube video titled ‘Senna’s last 24 hours’ and a message that read ‘don’t ever leave me alone with Zak again i can’t unhear things’.

When Oscar replied he’d do it again, he got sent a picture of a of a baby chicken with an old timey hat that read ‘don’t even joke lad’. It left a smile on Oscar’s face.

When he finally emerged from his drivers room to eat something for lunch, it felt like everyone was looking at him. Even if they weren’t. But some people definitely were. The whole time he was in hospitality he kept his hand down and ate his food—a salad he didn’t really want but he wouldn’t be able to get away with something not trainer approved with his trainer right there. 

Rather excited to get back to his drivers room and confine himself from everyone, Oscar had been moving quickly to clean up his dishes. He hadn’t made it out of the hospitality uninterrupted though.

“Oscar!” Oscar’s head snapped up. In front of him was Mateo, who looked just slightly out of breath. “I’ve been looking for you, someone said your drivers room—but that’s not the matter.” He was talking quickly, letting the words fall from his mouth more than actually say them. 

“Uhm. Then what is the matter?” Oscar asked slowly, and after a deep breath Mateo looked up to him. 

“You were right.”

“About the brakes?” As soon as Oscar asked, Mateo was nodding, and walking away while gesturing Oscar to follow. He knew the path well, they were going back to the actual garage. 

“There’s a problem with the seal. Very small, very hard to see. Which could lead to so many things like leaking or pressure loss or air contamination or just quicker overheating—,”

“So a lot of things. Because of an issue with the seal?”

“Yes. One small thing could’ve caused all sorts of hydraulics problems.” Mateo reaffirms as they get to the garage. Mechanics are bustling around Lando’s car—it looked like they were almost done, putting the thing back together. There were two FIA officials watching everything very closely, both standing with arms crossed. Nothing less than intimidating. 

“I’m glad you found it.” Oscar says a bit quieter, not trying to lure anyones attention. But it seemed silly, because everyone was too focused on what they were doing to pay him any mind. Not one mechanic glanced over and certainly not either of the FIA officials. 

“Yes. Us too. Thank you for urging us. It could’ve ended very badly.” It did. Already. So. Of course, Oscar didn’t say that out loud. “Alek was right, the FIA are a hassle, kept getting in their way—you should’ve heard Alek cursing as them. So, how did you know exactly? That there was something wrong?”

“A feeling. Like I said.” Oscar muttered before patting Mateo on the shoulder and turning away. Oscar doesn’t immediately go back to his drivers room, not like he originally planned, he got out of the garage and didn’t continue mostly because his family was making their way into the paddock. Approaching him, so really he had to stop.

They always got to races a bit early if they came, enjoying the many things to do before the race started and of course, always wishing Oscar good luck. He kind of blew them off yesterday, reasonably so and they didn’t even remember so really there’s no harm—and he thinks he might’ve stopped the first day but can barely remember. So much has happened since then, which he uses as an excuse, but even so it’s only been three days. 

“Osc!” His mom greets cheerfully, opening her arms for a hug. Oscar needs it way more than he would ever admit, and he kind of slumps into his mom’s arms. Heavier than normal which his mom instantly adjusts too, already gently rubbing his back.

What was supposed to be quick and in the matter of greeting him has turned into a real embrace. For all Oscar doesn’t initiate touch, he’s a sucker when he gets it, but he likes to ignore that bit. Surprisingly, it’s not his mom who speaks first, not even him. 

“Oscar are you all right?” Hattie asked from somewhere to his right. He picks himself up from his mom’s arms, rolls his shoulders back in attempt to regain his bearings, to be a bit more composed. Of course it wouldn’t do anything, his family knows him far too well.

By nodding in reply Oscar only makes it worse, because all his sisters are making some sort of face at him now wether its confusion or skepticism or slightly sulky at his silence—while his mom is just radiating concern and worry from her expressions and stance. 

“Really—I’m fine,” Oscar starts, getting his own words in to stop anyone from spiraling. It would be his mom, and then his sisters would follow suit if they thought it to be serious, if not he’d be laughed at in a matter of seconds, and Oscar wanted neither of those things to happen. “Just didn’t sleep too well.”

No one believed him, he could tell by the varying faces, unhelpfully he thinks just like Lando didn’t earlier but that didn’t have shit to do with anything. Thankfully, his sisters didn’t deem it too important and started talking about what they’d be doing first while his mom only kind of listens. Before they go, they make sure to tell him they’ll see him again before the race and they will wish him more luck. Not that they really wished him any luck now, but whatever. 

-

Oscar googles time loops. It’s an hour until the race and he’s scouring google, which only tells him it’s a ‘science fiction plot’ and the plot leads to ‘existential horror and apathy’ because the characters feel everything they do is useless. Really, really good news for him. 

Everything google tells him is pretty obvious.

So, he googles what if it’s real. Google says it would go against physics, that the universe would prevent it with its natural laws, and if it really were to happen it’d operate as a closed timeline curve and something extreme would have to happen, like a black hole. It’s theoretical physics, not real physics. 

Oscar wants to throw his phone again, but he doesn’t. It’s not googles fault that it’s trying to be realistic in the sense if someone was googling it, it’d probably be out of curiosity, not because they are stuck in a time loop. It’s a shame really, Oscar was hoping for more. It was stupid to do so, but he expected it anyways. 

Turning off his phone, and slumping back in the chair he’d been occupying nearly all day, he let his mind fall into itself. Oscar didn’t know enough physics for this. He knew physics, to an extent, what he needed to in order to drive his car, but he didn’t know physics that regarded space. Which google seems to think would be the explanation for a time loop. Which he is calling bullshit on. There was no way a black hole timed itself so perfectly to be the day Lando dies. 

No, this was definitely purposeful.

Or maybe he was thinking too much like the movies. Not that he’d ever watched any of the time loop movies, because how do you make a plot that confines itself to the same thing over and over again interesting? It had to be exhaustive, having constraints like that. Maybe he should start watching time loop movies though. Clearly it was more like the movies than reality. 

More like fiction than physics. Which was insane to even think, that his life was going that way. Maybe all he needed to do was just talk to someone who wasn’t realistic or down to earth and who watched a lot of movies, especially those about time loops. Maybe someone like that would have better insight. Again, an insane thing to say. It was the third day, and Oscar was already pulling at loose threads. But what else was he supposed to do? And who does he know that watches a lot of movies?

-

It was forty five minutes until the race, fifteen until the reconnaissance lap and then everyone was busy until the race so really Oscar only had this fifteen minute gap. To find one of the rookies from last year. Who, a while ago, Oscar heard through the grapevine had movie nights. 

Very loose threads indeed. 

Unfortunately for Oscar, he saw Gabi first. Not that he was a bad option, no, it was unfortunate because he was talking to Nico. Oscar really didn’t want to interrupt that conversation or even remotely hear what it was about—based on past experiences it was always something he didn’t want to hear like gossip or weird flirty things that you couldn’t ever really forget. 

Desperate times means desperate measures, though, or whatever the saying was. So he picked up a light jog, letting his feet land very heavy in hopes of them hearing before he got there, and approached the pair. Despite greeting them both with a smile, probably awkward, he received slightly confused greetings. 

“Gabi—I, uhm, have kind of a few strange questions.” Probably not the best start, considering Nico’s look goes from friendly with slight confusion to full on quizzical with a slightly raised eyebrow. Oscar probably could’ve said it better, but whatever. 

“Uh, yeah shoot.” Gabi didn’t seemed phased at all, unlike Nico seemed to be. Which was somehow relieving for Oscar. Gabi still stood completely relaxed and comfortable, and Oscar shouldn’t be surprised because Gabi probably has and will say weirder things than Oscar ever had. So really, it wasn’t that strange at all, when compared to some of the things that Gabi has said.

But still strange because Oscar never really inquires about things like this and it will be random and very off brand for him. 

“You watch a lot of movies, right?” Gabi, unfazed, nods. Doesn’t offer any immediate follow up, letting Oscar continue on his own time, which he does even if a bit awkwardly so. “I have a question about a sci-fi movie—,”

“Mm. I am not your person, I do not do well with sci-fi. We watch interstellar and my mind go pppppft,” the weird little almost fart noise Gabi made was slightly amusing, but very unhelpful to Oscar. “I like the romcoms,” Gabi added with a very sure node, “you should talk to Ollie! He’s the sci-fi guy. He’s the one who makes us watch interstellar and the martian and all those movies.”

Gabi only listed space movies, but really the loose thread was just getting looser and anything was helpful at this point. The problem was Oscar probably only had eleven minutes and really should be back in his own garage and he had no idea where Ollie was. Probably his garage, which was a long way from where Oscar was. 

“Ollie. Right. How far is his garage?” Gabi leans forward to poke his head past Nico, and makes a slight wince. So far. Oscar could assume without the verbal conformation that followed his pulled facial expression.

“At least a few minutes. If you run you might be able to talk to him for a minute before you’d have to run back.” Gabi muttered with a shrug, glancing back at his own garage behind him that was already in full motion. “If he’s not already in the car by the time you get there. But it’s just a movie question, surely it can wait?”

“Yeah, I suppose so.” Oscar knows he sounds dejected, he doesn’t bother trying to hide it. It doesn’t seem to sit well with Gabi though, because he’s picking his hand up to bite at his nails and he’s glancing to his other side now. 

“If it is that urgent, you could talk to Kimi. Right over there.” Gabi points to the Mercedes garage. Oscar doesn’t want to get yelled at by Toto, and honestly, he could wake up tomorrow and have to live today all over again and he’d certainly have time to talk to Ollie. And if he didn’t, he wouldn’t need to talk to Ollie at all. “He likes the comedies, but he listens to Ollie when he rambles about those movies. So if it’s about a sci-fi movie, Kimi is the next best.”

“Thanks. That’s very helpful, thank you.” Oscar says, bidding a quick goodbye with a brief hand wave and hurrying off. He figures he’s only left them more confused than they already were, but whatever. Chances were they wouldn’t remember this conversation anyways. 

Just passing by George’s side of the Mercedes garage was overwhelming. Eyes followed him but Toto was talking to George, with his back turned to Oscar, so he quickly walked by. When he was outside of Kimi’s side, he had a lot of second guessing go through his head, but Kimi noticed him and waved—which probably was only meant to be friendly and in passing, but Oscar made up his mind and stepped in anyways. 

“Oscar? Did you need something?” Kimi asked, the confusion so very evident in his tone. Oscar glanced around, the mechanics certainly glanced back, and on the other side of the garage Toto and George were still very wrapped up in their own conversation and unaware of Oscar’s presence. 

“Uhm—I have a question about movies. Gabi said Ollie was more into sci-fi but I didn’t have time to go and find him—,”

“Very important if you ask so soon before a race?” Kimi chuckled with his words, and Oscar just smiled as Kimi effectively stopped him from rambling. The group of rookies from last year had picked up on each driver pretty well, even if they weren’t that close, and that was evident enough. They weren’t good kids. “But sure, if it’s quick.”

“Just—movies where they get stuck in a time loop. What do you think about them?” Oscar asked, watching Kimi’s face twist into more confusion. He smiled anyways, scratching the back of his neck.

“I like them.” Kimi answered with a shrug. “Ollie does have much more to say—about the reality of it all. But I think they’re nice because normally they force the person to learn something. Grow. Or something.”

“Really puts them between a rock and a hard place. Huh.” Oscar says dryly and Kimi nods with a smile. “Well—thank you, this was helpful.” Not really. But then again, Kimi wasn’t the first person Oscar should’ve went to. 

“Good luck with the race.” Oscar said and bid Kimi goodbye, who wished him luck in return upon parting. Kimi made a point. They forced the person to learn something. Oscar didn’t know what the universe wanted him to learn by putting him in a fucked up situation like this. Really, the universe made it seem more like it just wanted Oscar to save Lando.

Kimi made another good point. Oscar was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

-

There’s a thrumming in Oscar’s veins throughout the reconnaissance lap. Once he’s out of the car, he’s only slightly ignoring people. Mostly they’re just handing him stuff and he was just taking it. Using muscle memory to go through the preparation for the race.

After the anthem he pukes. He’s really hoping it doesn’t become some sort of daily occurrence, it really hurts his throat. Lando tries to fuss, but Oscar just tries to reassure him, greedily drinking water as soon as it’s offered. The fifth time Oscar swears he’s okay, Lando leaves, still reluctantly though. Oscar was probably as fine as he could be, and that was about none at all.

The formation lap simply is the last remaining calm before the storm. Oscar watched the lights, when they’re off his foot goes down, and he’s driving. Really, he tries not to think about it. George was behind him, he didn’t fumble the start like yesterday, but the first time George tried to overtake he got past, and honestly Oscar didn’t defend as hard as he could’ve. 

That was lap three. Over the radio, he kept getting told he needed to push, that he needed more pace. Oscar didn’t really reply, and the fifth lap Lando went past him. Oscar wasn’t sure how to go about it. The first day, he kept his lead. Yesterday, only George was ahead. 

Now, both Lando and George are ahead. Oscar isn’t bothered by this. Tom is. He isn’t. Max, running right behind him, is. And Max is always one to do something about it. When Max goes past, Oscar isn’t surprised. He gets yelled at over the radio, and isn’t surprised by that either. 

The sixth lap went by, no issue. Lap twenty passes with no issue either. Oscar is hopeful and dreadful and mostly just trying to keep his car on the line. When they’re on lap twenty five, Oscar’s back in his body—in the car. He’d managed to not get overtaken anymore, and now, he was pushing.

Miraculously, at a pace Tom was calling leisurely, he wasn’t sitting far behind George, who was now in third. Lando was second, Max first. Oscar didn’t really like the idea of George being behind Lando, not after the first day, and he couldn’t give a shit that Max was out front. 

By lap twenty nine he’s caught up, George right in front of him, Lando right in front of George. Apparently they’d been in a never ending cycle of overtaking each other, which slowed their pace, which really helped Oscar catch up.

Once Oscar’s joined them though, there isn’t any more back and forth overtaking. It’s lap thirty one and things are steady, and Oscar forgets about it. Not fully, not entirely, but it isn’t at the forefront of his mind anymore. His mind is focused on the car, on the breaking, on an opening past George. 

It was fine. Lap thirty two. Lando had gained a bit of a lead on George and Oscar, which was probably for the better. They’re going through the corners. Oscar misses an opportunity to lunge for it. George had clearly been prepared for if he had. They approached turn five, and Oscar swore he saw something reflect light further ahead. Just a glint, closer to where Lando was. 

Lando. Turn six. Oscar focused on the approaching turn. On the back of George’s car. On breaking. It wasn’t even a full second, if he had to guess. 

He heard the bang, then another, then he was thrown forward and then back by his seatbelt—hands jumped away from the wheel. His ears were ringing, a bit. Whatever was being said to him on the radio didn’t make it through his head clearly. It was hot. Far too hot. And fuck if it wasn’t bright.

Oscar undid himself from the seat, standing up. Fire engulfed the scene in front of him. High flames, billowing smoke. Oscar was a car away and he could feel the heat. Eyes catching movement, Oscar locked into George. Stumbling out of his own car, that was sandwiched between the two McLarens, fire threatening it. Oscar didn’t see Lando. It really only meant one thing.

Lando’s car was on fire. Lando was in the fire.

Oscar’s stomach dropped. Climbing out of the car, on track and other cars passing by slowly, he climbed out opposite the side they were going around. Oscar was a bit wobbly, but he went towards the flames. Oscar could barely make anything out, through the orange and grey. But inside the car he saw Lando. Completely unmoving, engulfed in the flames. 

Lando’s suit would only really protect him from the fire for about eleven seconds. How long had it been? It didn’t matter. Oscar was moving forward, arm uselessly trying to shield himself, the heat crawling along him anyways. 

Oscar tried to reach through, to the clasp keeping Lando in. He couldn’t undo it in the short time before his arm felt as though it was burning. Pulling back, his sleeve was charred. The flames roared higher. Didn’t the car have an extinguishing system? Why wasn’t it in effect? 

Gravel kicked up at his feet. George was beside him, fire reflecting in the visor of his helmet. His lungs seized, the air too hot and the smoke getting in, even if the majority of it was quickly rising to the air. Turning away a moment, and getting a breath, Oscar could only do one thing. Because if Oscar couldn’t breathe, then Lando certainly couldn’t. 

So, again Oscar reached. Arms under the halo, arms immediately burning, hands fumbling with the clasp. It came open with a snap and fuck his arms hurt and hands were on his shoulders making him step back. His sleeves were on fire, George patted it down. Marshalls finally arrived, fire extinguishers in hand and spraying, trying to fight the flames. 

While it seemed to help, it really didn’t, not for a long period of time. The metal of his car was melting. There was yelling and shouting and then two Marshalls were spraying one area, and there was an opening. Oscar was climbing before thinking, and like yesterday, his hands went under Lando’s arms and tugged. Lando was deadweight. George helped get him down, closer to the flames than Oscar was at this point. 

Once he was out, paramedics were rushing to Lando, definitely the priority. Oscar took off his helmet, coughing a bit. His helmet dropped to the ground, he couldn’t hold it, his hands were shaking too badly. George took off his helmet, glancing to the paramedics. It was a horrible sight.

Lando on the ground, CPR being done, tearing Lando’s helmet off and trying to give him oxygen. Lando’s suit was charred. They cut through some of it. His skin was burned and bloody. Oscar tore his gaze away. When George hadn’t, still staring in shock, Oscar felt more uneasy. 

“It’s best not to watch.” He muttered to George, sounding like the paramedic from yesterday, who told him he’s seen too much. George looked to Oscar. Behind them, the fire was still raging. It was still to warm where they stood. 

Oscar gestured George to follow him, taking a few steps away. He didn’t turn to look when he heard the helicopter, but George did. More medics were coming, Oscar could hear the sirens, the ones already here very busy. Oscar sat down, when they reached a spot where they couldn’t feel the fire. George sat beside him. Only now realizing George brought Oscar helmet, he tried to mumble a thank you.

What came out instead was eerily dark vomit, that had him hunching over his side. Fucking disgusting. His throat hurt and vaguely tasted charred. George winced from where he sat, and when Oscar wiped his chin with the sleeve of his racing suit, it came back gray. And the motion hurt his arm terribly. 

Oscar rolled up his sleeve. It was red, but not bloody or torn open like Lando’s burns were. It seemed burned nonetheless. George winced at this too. 

“Hurt?” George asked, looking more like he was trying to find something to say. To distract himself. Oscar understood the feeling. Oscar nodded. The other medics arrived, and they took care of Oscar and George, getting them to the ambulance—that was surely headed back to medical.

-

Medical was worse than yesterday. They probably saw, but George had told them anyway that Oscar had thrown up and it was grey like the smoke—which had Oscar in medical much longer than he would’ve like because then they stuck a camera down his throat to check his airways. 

They were a bit fucked. Oscar assumed it wouldn’t matter tomorrow. They wrapped Oscar’s burns, which was the majority of his forearms. George had some burns too, not as bad, but on his hands. Oscar doesn’t know when he got those. 

George was dismissed from medical before Oscar. When Oscar walked out, George was waiting for him, awkwardly leaning against the opposite wall.

“You alright?”

“Sure, we can go with that.” George did not like that answer. He frowned, eyebrows pinching, but he didn’t push Oscar on it. Oscar wouldn’t have given him anything anyways, and he has a feeling George knows that. “You waited?”

“I’m gonna go to the hospital. Are you going? Would you want to?” George asked, expression shifting immediately from his previous displeasure to this questioning look. Oscar would almost call it hopeful. But he doubted that. 

Oscar really didn’t want to go. He saw the hospital yesterday. No good things could come out of it. Only a tube down Lando’s throat and blood coming up it. Only machines beeping and whirring all to be cut off in failure. Only a sterile smell that might make him more sick. Only a doctor who knew Lando’s name but didn’t say it. 

“I get if you don’t want to. Honestly, I don’t want to because I’m scared of what condition he’s in. Which is really why I waited—I’m unsure if I’ll go if I have to go alone.” Honestly, Oscar didn’t blame George. Not even a little. Yesterday it was awful. Maybe if he had someone with him he wouldn’t have ran out of the place. Maybe.

Oscar sighed. “Sure.” 

The hospital was the same. A nurse led them back, to a trauma bay, where Lando was lying. There a tube down his throat. A machine seemingly breathing for him. His body is covered in nasty burns, arms and chest and legs. His face wasn’t too bad, the helmet had done good enough job protecting him, but that wasn’t to say it was unaffected. 

George sucked in a sharp breath at the sight. Oscar mostly maintained his composure, at least on the outside. On the inside, he couldn’t think, his heart was beating too fast, and there was a lump building in his throat he had to desperately fight. 

The doctor walked around the bed. “Are either of you family?”

George and Oscar shared a look. This was just like yesterday. Except Lando was burnt and George was here and Oscar’s throat hurts all the way down. 

“His family is in the UK.” George mumbles, arms folding over his torso, in an act Oscar saw as something trying to keep himself together rather than closing himself off.

“We’re the next closest thing. ‘Cept for maybe his trainer.” Oscar replies, and George slightly nods. Oscar looks to the doctor, who doesn’t seem at all pleased with the news. The doctor looks back to Lando, sighing. 

“Well. His burns are bad. And they’re thick.” The doctor starts, talking somewhat slowly. “He’s hooked up to a machine, helping him breathe. Unfortunately, his airways are burned just like skin. If you don’t know—,”

“We know.” Oscar reassures, stopping the doctor from talking about burnt airways. Oscar knew very well. George chuckled dryly, pretending he had something in his eye and he wasn’t wiling it. 

“Pretty sure he burnt his airway too, not nearly as much.” George murmured, gesturing to Oscar. While it was true, Oscar doesn’t know why, but he strongly feels this doctor didn’t need to know that. The doctor gave him a look, but Oscar kept his face flat, not giving the doctor room to pry and instead only move on. 

“Well. There’s more to his injuries. In the wreck his hurt his spine and neck, which would need surgery. Thankfully, it isn’t severe enough to be immediate surgery. If it was, it’d be impossible with the state he’s in, he’s too fragile with these burns.” The doctor explained, mimicking nearly what he said yesterday, in simpler terms and showcasing the difference of the injury with the burns. “Though he’s stable, there is a high chance of sepsis with this, and many other complications.” 

That makes George still. Oscar was kind of expecting him to say something like that. It doesn’t mean he felt any less sick, but he wasn’t surprised. The doctor moved to talk again, when suddenly there was an alarming beeping. In seconds people rushed in and they were rushed out. Through the glass, Oscar watched. 

There was no blood coming up the tube. But they were cutting deep into Lando’s chest, and on they had, Oscar only realized how much further it rose. And Oscar couldn’t say for certain, but he didn’t think he saw any blood. George stood with his hands over his mouth. The room settled though, no more rushing or bustling. The monitor had a steady beep that was proof of Lando’s heart. 

Lando hadn’t died. Not like he did yesterday when he crashed. While hope burned inside him, he himself squashed it back down. Just because they saved him now, didn’t really mean anything. If this is it, Lando lives, the time loop ends—is it really any way for Lando to live? This would leave him very incapacitated, at best. 

“You think he’ll be alright?” George asked very quietly, eyes still locked on Lando in the trauma bay. Oscar’s eyes followed. They found the cuts in his chest, on the sides and bottom of his pecs, allowing his chest to expand. It looked terrible.

“What if I said no.” Oscars question in reply was even quieter, barely a whisper. George didn’t seemed shocked by it—just mildly disappointed. Slumped shoulders and eyes now downcast. Realism had to be the death of hope. “Uhm, I don’t wanna stay much longer, if you want—,”

“No. No, I don’t wanna stay either. I don’t know if I can bear this.” Cutting Oscar off, and leasing the way out, Oscar followed. As they reached the exit, Oscar heard distant blaring and shouting. George hesitated, foot scuffing the ground in a half halt. Oscar closed his eyes and let out a breath, already shaking his head, and moving by George with a brush of their arms. Oscar didn’t linger, and even if George wanted to, Oscar didn’t think he would stay alone. Even if he won’t remember it, Oscar didn’t want to see Lando die anyways.

-

Oscar goes back to the hotel again. Part of him wants to see his family, part of him doesn’t. He’ll see the, again tomorrow anyways. When Lando’s alive and breathing, when neither of them are burnt, where the flames never went up. Oscar’s excited for morning, for seeing Lando in good condition. He tries not to think about how they’ll have to race again tomorrow. Maybe he’ll try convincing Lando not to race. Really try. Tomorrow, he’ll talk to Ollie. Whatever he has to say about those movies. 

Moving sluggishly through his hotel, leaving the main lights off and going straight to the bathroom, Oscar unwraps his arm. He’d been given bandages to rewrap it. It wasn’t bad, thanks to the fireproofs, but it wasn’t that good either. The skin was angry red and right below his elbow, it seemed to be peeling. Which had Oscar looking away and bandaging it back up as fast as possible. The work was sloppy, bandages not tight enough, but it’d be fine. Tomorrow he’d wake up with no burn. 

On the counter, his phone lit up with a call. Zak Brown. Oscar didn’t answer, knowing what Zak was going to say. As if Oscar hadn’t gone to the hospital, as if he didn’t hear the shouting and see doctors running, as if he didn’t willingly turn away from it all. Oscar knew Lando was dead, he didn’t need to hear Zak talk about it, to say what he already knew and then some. 

It’s a long shot, Oscar knows, but he has an idea. Again, not a good one. Staying up until midnight to see if going to sleep really is the issue, if he stays up he can watch the clock turn to midnight. Except he had a lot of time to kill until midnight.

So he googles time loop movies, unsurprisingly ground hog day pops up first, so he watches that. There’s no science about the loop in that movie, he just has to be selfless. Which isn’t like Oscar’s case at all. Unless he’s supposed to learn that it’s selfish keeping Lando in this loop where he dies everyday just because he isn’t ready for Lando to die—but surely that isn’t it because Lando doesn’t remember anything anyways, and Oscar doesn’t have any control of the loop.

It leads him to decide one movie is enough for tonight, then he goes to instagram. For a long time he’s just scrolling through Lando’s profile and watching his story from yesterday over and over again until it expired. When it did, and Oscar went back to the home page, he just kept seeing news about the crash. Nothing confirmed his death publicly, and honestly if the loop did break and he woke up and tomorrow was Monday, Lando’s family probably wouldn’t announce it so soon anyways. 

Oscar didn’t want to see more of the crash, so he put his phone down. Tried watching tv, which didn’t help, and then even reading one of the few books in the room. All of it took about half an hour and Oscar was loosing his mind. There was no plan when he picked up his keys and slipped on his shoes, though he wasn’t surprised when he ended up at the bay. This worked, unlike everything else. Oscar sat there and watched the water, really he lost track of time. 

When he did check the time, it was 11:54. Standing up, Oscar felt the nerves spike, pacing back and forth. He didn’t check his watch again, Oscar was pretty sure he would know when it happened. And if it didn’t… then it didn’t. Which had him worrying a bit. What if it didn’t work?

What if the clock reached midnight and it was Monday and Lando was dead? What if Oscar was throwing away his chance to save him? If this works, he won’t be able to live with himself, because Lando would be dead when the universe gave him a way to save him. What a waste—

Oscar’s foot slipped, not meeting the sand under his shoe right. At least he thinks. He braced for impact with the ground, eyes squeezing shut, but the hard smack didn’t come. Eyes shooting open, all Oscar saw was black. He was falling, very quick, and everything was dark, and he didn’t know what was happening. 

It looked almost misty. Through it all, Oscar swore he saw Lando. Far away and blurry but there. Oscar reached out for him, but everything was moving to quickly. When he landed, it was soft, it didn’t hurt, which was surprising. He didn’t know when his eyes closed but they shot open.

Oscar was in his hotel room. He picked up his phone. Instead of throwing his phone, he threw his pillow, which landed with a soft thud. 7:32 AM, Sunday, March 8th. 

Oscar needed to figure out how to get out of this.