Chapter Text
October 2024
His mouth was beginning to ache from pressing his toothbrush to the side of his mouth. Saliva was pooling as he stared at his phone. Eyes flickering over the statement plastered on McLaren's Instagram. Black text on a white background, the papaya logo shining brightly at the bottom like an official stamp of approval—an approval of his exile from the team.
McLaren Formula One Team is saddened to announce that Oscar Piastri will not be re-signing with the team for the 2025 season.
We are incredibly grateful for Oscar’s assistance in the development of our team back to glory. He will be remembered as a key member of our fight back to the top step of the Constructors' Title. We wish him all the best in his future endeavors.
It didn’t make sense? His hand began to quake as his grip tightened. They had nearly finished up his contract extension before summer break. He thought they would want to announce it before the last triple header of the season? What had changed?
Oscar blinked a few times as his phone began to vibrate with messages rolling in. He swiped out of Instagram, ready to just turn his phone off. An alert popped up at the top banner.
Mark
There was no hesitation as he clicked accept on the FaceTime call without hesitation.
“Don’t look at Instagram.” He stated. Oscar bent his head and spat out his toothpaste.
“Too late,” he muttered, washing his brush.
Mark huffed, looking to the background where Seb likely was. Then back to him. “Did anyone say anything to you?”
He’s shuffling around their living room, most likely, or maybe headed to their office. Oscar’s not sure; he feels like he might throw up.
“No, I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“No, last I knew we were going to finish up in Mexico. Then the announcement in Brazil.” Barely a month until then.
Oscar hummed as he walked to his couch and plopped down. He could barely hear Mark over the sound of his blood pumping. The tightness in his chest was beginning to bloom all over.
“What happened? Why would they just change their minds?” A million thoughts crossed his mind. Hungary looms like a ghost in his mind. They said it was okay; it wasn’t Oscar’s fault, he had earned that win fair and square. He believed them for their word. Trusted they were being honest.
Mark sighed and rubbed his face. “I’m not sure, kiddo. I’ve already reached out to them with at least four emails and tried calling Stella and Zak.”
“But seriously, not saying a word? Who does that?”
It felt like a sick joke. Oscar kept waiting for Zak to call to tell him it was all some shitty American prank. Post on the socials about how they gave him and Stella a grand old laugh. That Oscar wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what; he was their driver.
“Fucking McLaren apparently.”
“Just putting that out, they’re acting like I chose this! Like I fucking died.” Oscar feels his voice waver, his emotions chipping away at his sanity. His legs are bouncing; he leans further into his cheap couch, hoping the shaking gets soaked up by the cushions.
“Clearly they had a plan we weren’t privy to.” Mark moved around his own home, rustling of movement behind him as he sat down. “Listen, okay, we are going to figure this out.”
Oscar nodded; he wasn’t sure how he would sound if he opened his mouth. He could see the tiny version of himself in the corner clamming up. He could feel his mind retreating from his body. Going somewhere far back into himself where he didn’t have to do a thing. He could hide.
“Wait-“ Mark huffed as his phone moved abruptly. Sebastian appeared as he sat down beside him.
“Oscar, hase, Mark will handle it. You focus on racing.” His tone came out softly, like he was talking down a feral cat. He probably looked feral. He didn't even have the chance to fix his hair this morning.
“How can I focus when they clearly don’t want me? Can I even trust them anymore?” Oscar asked. It came out harsh and throaty, filled with far too much emotion than he would have liked.
Seb and Mark frowned softly at him, trying to dissect how to proceed.
His thoughts raced, imagining what the last six races would be like. Silence. Isolation. Spending the entire weekend wondering if they were going to fuck him over. If they would fuck up his strategy or his car. He’d be DNFing every single race for the rest of the season, and then he’d be out of a seat and out of F1.
“We’ll take it day by day.” Mark cuts through his thoughts. “I’m gonna rework my calendar. I'll be there for every race. Especially if we are going to find you a new team.”
“Yeah, that’ll be easy. All that’s left is backmarkers and midfielders.”
He’s going to look like damaged goods. He’s sure they’ll see it like he’s not cut out for this sport, just like Logan.
“You’ve won the F2 championship. You won a sprint your rookie year and a Grand Prix in your second. Better resume than some people.”
“Well, it wasn’t enough for McLaren to re-sign me, now was it?”
He was being petty; he knew that. His anger was bubbling up the longer the news sat in his mind. Dropped from his team without a word.
“There are other teams. We will figure it out. You just focus on racing.”
“Will do.”
When the call ended, he didn’t move from his position on the couch. He placed his phone on Do Not Disturb, knowing he wouldn’t want to see what was happening. Would people be upset? Confused? There must be people pleased too. Excited that he’s no longer in Lando's way.
His head felt too heavy for his neck, and he tilted back, resting it. His eyes lingered on the ceiling. Oscar lost track of time; his day had been open after he finished his usual routine. So he sat there. Every emotion ran through his mind as fast as his car.
Were there signs? When did they decide to drop him? Who suggested it and who supported it? Why string him along? What was he going to do now?
Then the emotions rose from his heart. First, the immediate fear he was without a seat and the season was drawing to a close. They would have to move fast, and there were no guarantees. He’ll have to take whatever he can get. Even if it means driving a tractor.
As time came, the grief settled. At some point, tears popped past his lashes. He made no effort to wipe them as he tried to rationalize. Why did no one say anything? Be honest that they didn’t see this working out? Why did no one warn him? Weren’t they meant to be a family?
As Oscar lingered on the couch, time slipped by; his phone haphazardly buzzed continuously. Messages from his sisters and a missed call from his mum.
Mum: Darling, I am so sorry. Please call me when you’re feeling up for it.
Hattie: saw the news want me to light the factory on fire?
Mea: im sorry they did that mums worried call us when you can
Eddie: they’re idiots to not resign you dont worry theyll regret it
He reread the messages. Anger flickered now. They made a mistake and a massive one at that. Oscar didn’t have the time to grieve this loss, not when his entire career is on the line. He replied halfheartedly to all of them and closed his eyes again.
He scrolled through the rest of them; some came from other drivers.
Alex A.: Saw the news, mate hope you’re doing alright. Let me know if you need anything.
Charles Leclerc: Why didn’t you say anything about leaving McLaren???? Where are you going next year??
Arthur: Dude did you sign with another team? What's going on??
He leaves them on read; he has no social abilities right now for anyone, really. His thumb scrolls and clicks on Lando’s chat.
Lando <3: can we resched dinner? friend asked me to come and visit
Oscar: of course when works for you?
He must be busy. Or maybe hasn’t seen the announcement. It was a free weekend, and there was no world where Lando Norris was looking at his work email willingly on a weekend. A stray tear falls, and he does his best to wipe it quickly.
Six races left. Six races to make McLaren regret their choice. To realize they had massively fucked up. Six races to make himself look good enough to be signed to another team.
Instagram
p1astri: IM SORRY WHAT DO YOU MEAN?
turbotalks: this is a stupid decision who decided this?!
landoscurl: you mean the best decision they've ever made oscars only caused problems for them
teamoscat: where oscar goes WE GO
pitlanethoughts: does this feel out of nowhere to anyone else? Like nothing about this makes sense to me
wasbea: oh wow oscar getting screwed over again who would have thought
landoscarrrr: nobody speak to me they were meant to be teammates for FOREVER
polietcat: mclaren I AM IN YOUR WALLS
lan4do: siri play good news from wicked
land_oscar: gonna put myself on 72 hour hold no one speak to me
carlandolver: i bet oscar threw a massive hissy fit over lando doing better so the team said no thanks
paddocksleuth: my moneys on mark being the cause of this cause he wants oscar as top dog. Try telling that to zak brown aka lando norris’ biggest stan.
It’s not until the middle of the night he calls his mum, knowing it’d be midmorning. His neck aches from a lack of sleep, eyes tearing up from exhaustion. She picks up on the second ring.
“Love, you should be asleep.” Is the first thing Nicole tells him.
“Can’t sleep.”
“My darling, how are you?” He can hear the worry in her voice. Oscar pauses, trying to grab his thoughts.
“Confused… I don’t know what happened. Everything seemed fine.”
“Then it wasn’t?”
“I didn’t have any clue they were dropping me. Not until that announcement.” Nicole lets out a sharp gasp.
“Oscar, you’re joking.”
“No, we thought we were gonna be signing the final contract soon, and they’d announce it before the last triple header. Then this happened.”
Oscar begins to pace around his living room. Glancing out at the taller buildings that surround him in Monaco. They would soon block out the sun and keep him in the dark for a few hours more.
“I am so sorry, love.”
He doesn’t say anything to that. Nothing fits right.
“What happens now? Do you want me to come and visit?” She whispers.
He feels like a little kid again, the frustration of a bad race. His mum there, kneeling to his level, how she’d brush his hair out of his eyes. Telling him he’d get it right on the next go. That next time would be different. How he wishes she’d be right about that this time. How could it possibly be different next time?
Oscar rubs his face and slides his fingers through his greasy strands. “I’m okay. Mark’s coming to the last few races. We’re going to… try to find a team? Ya know, put out feelers.”