Chapter Text
Carlos Sainz Jr. is a wreck .
His eyes are bloodshot, typically Disney Prince-esque hair sticking up wildly, from the thousands of times he’d run his fingers through his locks anxiously, a sickly pallor to his cheeks.
There is a certain frenzy to each step he takes as he paces the hospital room, anxiety radiating from every inch of his being.
Carlos had always been a passionate man, one who thrived in the heat of emotion. He loved to feel- he reveled in each and every victory he managed to fight for on track. He adored basking in the laughter and warmth of a family that was Spanish by every stereotypical meaning of the term- expressive, affectionate.
As he looks at the love of his life, unconscious and listless on the bed, various tubes and wires connected to more extremities than Carlos can be bothered to count, he feels absolute numbness settle in, his anxiety simmering down to nothing as he is faced with the realization that there is nothing he can do.
The sound of the hospital door room opening snaps Carlos out of his morbid train of thought. The Spaniard turns to greet the newcomer, who turns out to be an extremely exhausted looking Logan Sargeant.
Logan is in a sweatshirt and pajama shorts, his usually pristinely styled hair looking as if he’d just gotten out of bed- and he probably had , considering the fact that it was 3:07 AM. In one of his hands, he’s fisting a bag of McDonalds, the other hand holding a Coke Float (or a similar sugary abomination of a drink)- both of which are shortly thrust into Carlos’ own hands.
“Grabbed this for you on the drive here,” Logan says kindly, giving Carlos a smile that attempts to be comforting. “Wouldn’t want him reaming me out when he wakes up because you hadn’t eaten since the accident, dude.”
“ Gracias ,” Carlos mumbles, gratefully accepting what turns out to be chicken nuggets and french fries.
His trainer would probably kill him for the absolute garbage that he was shoveling into his mouth ungracefully, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care.
“He’ll be fine,” Logan says softly, a gentle smile on his lips. “I heard what the doctors said on the phone, mate. I also saw the crash, it wasn’t as bad as you think it is. Remember Grosjean? He had an insane accident, but look at him- still racing.”
Guilt seeps through the numbness that had taken over Carlos in the hours that he’d spent in the drab and depressing room, with only an unconscious man for company.
In the last few years, Logan and Carlos had built something of a kinship- Carlos wouldn’t exactly count the American IndyCar driver amongst his closest friends, but they had a shared interest. They both cared about the man in the bed immensely deeply.
Despite this, Carlos finds it hard to accept comfort from Logan Sargeant. There are two reasons that come to mind; the first of which being the awkward situation back in 2024 when Carlos had taken the blond’s Formula 1 seat.
The Spaniard likes to think he handled the seat-stealing situation in the best way he possibly could’ve- he’d taken Logan aside before the announcement to apologize for how things had turned out, and to give him fair warning. That had been an… odd conversation, to say the least, from Carlos’ point of view.
As young as Logan had been, Carlos had to admit that Logan had taken the news with grace, even going so far as to express gratitude for the warning (a warning that James Vowles, the utter prick , had not given Logan the courtesy of).
Even if four years had passed since then, and Carlos wasn’t even with Williams anymore, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness on the American’s behalf with regards to how things had gone down- he, more than anyone else, could understand being blindsided to the fact that he was losing his racing seat.
The only reprieve that Carlos has from the whole Logan Sargeant situation is the fact that Williams had approached him , so the truth was that the blame did not lie with him.
Which brings Carlos to the second reason it’s so difficult to accept the blond man’s kindness.
While Williams had not been Carlos’ fault, the crash that had resulted in all three men in a hospital room at ungodly hours in the morning had been his fault.
“Mate, you have Leclerc up ahead of you with a 0.4 second gap. Ferrari is reporting some power issues- you have a DRS zone approaching, you should be able to pass him on the straight quite easily.”
A grin spreads across Carlos’ face under his helmet, as much as he can grin while driving 300 kilometers per hour, and he puts his foot to the floor, easily passing his former teammate on the straight, just as predicted.
“Nicely done.”
Carlos lets out a whoop of elation, the Mercedes underneath him coming to life as he speeds around the next corner. “ Vamos! Who’s next?”
“You have Piastri around the next corner, Piastri,” Carlos’ race engineer informs him. “That car is a speed demon this year, but you’re on newer tires.”
“What is the delta?” Carlos asks, excitement bubbling in him when he sees the blur of a rear wing up in front of him, determination flooding every inch of his being. “Let’s get him.”
“He’s 1.6 seconds ahead but losing time per lap- he’s gonna have to pit soon. We can get him then.”
The Spaniard almost wants to pout at the thought of a strategy play. He usually loved outsmarting the competition- but Oscar was different.
Ever since Carlos had first had contact with the Aussie on track, he’d felt a need to beat him the old-fashioned way.
Translation: Good, hard racing.
It took a while for Carlos to understand what exactly about the new Ice King of Formula 1 got under his skin so much, bringing out the most aggressive and reckless version of the Spaniard on track. It wasn’t like Oscar had even been trying to rile him up, the younger driver’s comments on the radio and to the media snarky at the worst.
Funnily enough, it had been Charles , of all people, who had put the pieces together in 2024 and spelt it out for him.
A parting gift from his former teammate, Carlos thinks to himself with a fond chuckle as he accelerates in pursuit of Oscar around tight corners
Charles had told him to put the recklessness Carlos liked to shove Oscar around on track with to better use. Off track.
Being reckless off-track had proven to be sound advice. In Hungary, Carlos had decided to throw all caution to the wind- resulting in a loving relationship that was now four years and counting, still going strong.
That didn’t mean that Carlos went any easier on his boyfriend when they were on track, though. Quite the opposite- real love, in Carlos’ opinion, is feeling no fear. He doesn’t have to pretend with Oscar- he doesn’t have to tone down his passion for anything, least of all, racing- which is why he attempts to barge his way past Oscar on the next turn with an aggressive overtake that would force Oscar to brake earlier to avoid contact, missing the apex and giving Carlos the racing line-
He sees Oscar’s car fly into the air before he registers the sickening crunch .