Chapter Text
One of the scariest sights for any driver in a race was the red flag, not only because it could single-handedly destroy your race but because it also signalled a bad crash. They may be enemies on the track but a lot of the drivers were friends off the track and none of them wanted to see one of their own injured during a race. He had heard already on the radio that the accident had happened at turn two on lap nine and all the drivers had been advised to head back to the pit lane. Lando was the first McLaren car to arrive back and the second he saw the mechanics he just knew the other car wasn’t making it back in one piece. As the nausea coiled in his stomach he felt the bile rise in the back of his throat at the last words he had said to Oscar. It had been a joke. Honestly it had.
-
3 hours earlier:
Another day another race. Except today wasn’t just another race at all. It was his home race. It was no secret that Silverstone wasn’t actually his favourite track, he had never tried to hide that fact, but the race was in his home country, with his home fans, and his rubbish home weather, making it the most special race of the year. Yesterday he had finished in pole position, closely followed by George Russell in second and Charles in third. Nothing was going to keep the smile off Lando’s face today.
As he shimmied his way into his fireproofs, Taylor Swift blaring from his speakers, he felt the familiar excitement bubbling in his stomach. He was going to win today, he could feel it. The celebration tonight was going to be immense. He was never one to get ahead of himself, never one to declare himself a winner until the chequered flack had been waved and he was being told which number to pull up behind, but everything had gone right this weekend and as long as he kept a cool head there was no way he wasn’t finishing first. The car was fast enough, he was fast enough, and today he was going to show everyone what Lando Norris was really made of.
As he stared at his reflection in the mirror his train of thought was interrupted by a knock and a familiar, “Lando? You in there mate?”
Crossing the small drivers room to the door he pulled it open and came face to face with Oscar. The younger boy, who was also clad in his fireproofs with his race suit hanging low on his hips and the arms tried around his waist, had a frown on his face. “Hey Osc.” He offered a bright smile.
“Do you have to play that so loud?” The exasperation in Oscar’s voice was something that by now Lando was just used to. Honestly he would be more worried at this point in their friendship if they managed to go a full day without him hearing that tone from the other racer.
“What?” Lando quirked an eyebrow, irritating Oscar was quickly becoming one of his favourite pastimes. “I can’t hear you over the music.”
“That’s…” Sighing, Oscar forced himself to take a deep breath. “I’m trying to meditate before the race.”
“Nah mate, you need to vibe before the race. Get hyped up.” He rolled his eyes like his tip was the most obvious thing in the word and Oscar was the one being wholly unreasonable here.
“Yeah nah, I’m not doing that. I need to chill out, relax and…”
“Get your zen on, I know. We have this conversation before every race.”
“Exactly. So can you turn it down a bit?” He didn’t think it was an unreasonable request and when Lando walked over to the speaker he believed, for one stupid moment, that the older boy was going to oblige. Instead Lando turned the music up and Oscar groaned. “You’re a dick, you know that?” If looks could kill Lando would have dropped dead on the spot but the dark-haired boy was far too ‘un-bothered’, the latest in a long line of words Oscar had invented to describe Lando, by it.
“Better?” He turned and offered him another ridiculously bright smile, one that was making it almost impossible for Oscar to be mad at him. Almost.
“For fuck’s sake Lando.” Stomping into the room Oscar unplugged the speaker. “Come on man, I don’t want to argue with you. I’m not in the mood”
Any anger Lando had at Oscar turning off the music died there and then and instead it was replaced with concern. It was common place for them to bicker before a race, that was how their banter worked, sarcastic jabs at one another before racing their hearts out and then hugging once the cars came to a stop. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” His refusal to meet Lando’s eyes was the first give away that he was anything but.
“Bullshit.” Crossing his arms over his chest he shook his head. “I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s going on.”
“You can’t help me anyway.” The resignation and sadness tore Lando’s heart in two.
“I can try.” Hopeful as ever, because there would never be a day he wouldn’t try for Oscar.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” As Oscar chanced a glance at Lando he wished he hadn’t. The expression on his face was one of a lost puppy who had had its favourite toy confiscated. “I need to focus on the race. I’ll tell you later.” He probably wouldn’t but he needed Lando to not be looking at him like that right now. This was his home race. He was meant to be sunshine and rainbows. In fact, as much as it pissed him off, Lando’s sunny disposition was the one thing Oscar depended on most of the time.
“Okay.” Lando forced a small smile onto his lips, more for Oscar’s sake than his own. “I’ll uh, I’ll leave the music off.”
“Thank you.” Oscar too plastered on a smile, it was forced and weak but hopefully Lando wouldn’t notice too much. If he did he chose to let it go.
“You’re welcome. Good luck out there. I hope you crash.” The words held absolutely zero conviction, a teasing twinkle in his eyes which actually brightened Oscar’s mood somewhat.
“Whatever. Good luck mate, you’ve got this.” With that Oscar headed back to his own room to prepare.
-
I hope you crash. Why the fuck had he said that? It had been meant as a joke. I hope you crash. It had been code for ‘go out there and finish second so we can drench each other in champagne’. I hope you crash. It had meant ‘be careful out there and finish safe’. I hope you crash. I hope you crash. I hope you crash. The words swirled around his head. How bad was the crash? It had to be bad, right? They didn’t red flag a race for a little bump. Was the car in one piece? Fuck the car. Was Oscar in one piece? Had he got out and walked away? He didn’t know how long he sat there, unable to move, unable to hear the commotion around him partly because of his helmet but mostly because of the blood whooshing through his head creating an unsettling form of white noise. I hope you crash. He wanted to get out of the car, rip off his helmet and go and damn well find out what was going on but he couldn’t. I hope you crash. He was struggling to breathe, one dangerously close step away from a panic attack, when they announced the race would be re-starting and the drivers had to line up. He didn’t want to line up. He wanted to go and find Oscar. As his car was ushered out first, resuming the place he had been revelling in not so long ago, he numbly acted on autopilot.
The first lap after the re-start was surprisingly successful, still holding first position, but on the second he was overtaken by George Russell. I hope you crash. His own voice was screaming at the back of his mind that none of this would have happened if he had just wished Oscar luck like a normal team mate, like the way Oscar always did for him.
NORRIS RADIO:
Okay Lando, we need you to close that gap. Don’t let George get too far ahead. Stay in DRS.
Okay, copy.
The static from the radio was a stark reminder that he needed to focus. One false move could cause another accident. I hope you crash. I hope you crash. Fuck, he needed to know what was going on.
NORRIS RADIO:
How is Oscar?
The small, scared voice that carried across the radio didn’t sound like his. He had always been told not to show fear on the track because the other drivers would pick up on it. They all had access to each other’s radios and knowing Lando was freaking out would give them the push they needed. Like it mattered. Realistically everyone on the grid knew that Oscar was Lando’s weak spot.
NORRIS RADIO:
He’s been taken to the hospital.
Is he okay?
He’s being checked over.
But is he okay?
The team’s refusal to answer that question told Lando everything he needed to know and he once again felt the bile rising up his throat, a burning reminder of what was at stake. He had been fighting for first at the start of the race but now he was fighting for Oscar.
NORRIS RADIO:
We need you to focus Lando. Let us worry about Oscar.
Did he get out of the car and walk away?
You’re in DRS, close up that gap.
Is he…?
The question died on his lips. He couldn’t ask that. What if he didn’t like the answer?
NORRIS RADIO:
You’re losing time Lando, focus.
I’ll focus when you tell me how Oscar is.
We don’t know, we’re waiting for an update. We’ll tell you as soon as we know.
Okay good, that meant he had left the track alive. Trying to focus on the car in front he found himself replaying the conversation over and over in his mind. I hope you crash. What kind of friend said that before a race? Oscar was right, he was a dick. Oscar deserved better. But Lando could be better. All he needed was the chance. Please. He’d give up the rest of the year’s races. Hell he’d give up the rest of his career’s races if it meant his best friend was okay.
NORRIS RADIO:
You’re out of DRS Lando.
The sigh on the radio was undisguised. He knew his team were getting pissed off with him, and why shouldn’t they? He wasn’t exactly following instructions.
NORRIS RADIO:
Box box.
Not yet Lando. Unless there is something wrong with the car there will be no pit.
I said box box.
Not yet. This is your home race Lando, you’ve got this.
Box fucking box, I am retiring this car.
After that he stopped listening to the radio, he just needed to finish this lap and get back to the pit. Fuck his home race. If Oscar wasn’t there then he didn’t want to be either. He wasn’t going to stand on a podium celebrating while his best friend was in hospital. As he pulled into the pit he jumped out of the car and removed his helmet. Zak was already waiting for him, a surprising look of understanding on his face. Placing his helmet back into the car Lando stared at Zak through eyes that were already filling with tears. “I’m sorry. I just want to…” He trailed off with a broken sob and the older man pulled him into an awkward hug.
“I know kid. I know.” Zak sighed as he rubbed circles on Lando’s back. He had a lot of respect for both of his drivers and he had known the second he had heard that Oscar had crashed that Lando wouldn’t be finishing this race.
“I want to see him.”
Lando would have to explain to the media quite what he was doing pulling out of the race but Zak knew that realistically the younger boy was in no fit state right now. “Okay, I’ll get someone to take you to the hospital.”
“Thank you. Did…did he…?” He hoped Zak could work out what he was asking because words were failing him in spectacular fashion.
“No. He was taken away on a stretcher.”
Lando’s world was slowly falling apart in front him. I hope you crash. I hope you crash. I hope you crash. He didn’t really register the rest of the team picking up the pieces around him, ushering him away from the pit and into a waiting car. All he could register was the new thought running through his mind as he was driven to the hospital. Please don’t die. Please don’t die. Please don’t die. If he willed it enough it would come true. It had to.