Chapter Text
Oscar, in retrospect, really should’ve known that something would happen this weekend. It’s been too calm the last few races, no DNF’s and fair racing all around. He is currently tied with his teammate for wins, with a mere 8 points in the championship lead, it’s been smooth sailing. So when a supercharged storm descends on the race track just a few moments before he crosses the line on his record breaking qualifying lap, and plunges Miami into chaos, he can’t recall why he was so surprised. When has Miami ever been normal?
2 minutes before Q3
It was a sunny day, Oscar acknowledged, pleased. Miami is notorious for its dense humidity and suffocating heat, especially during the June months. Today was clear, a nice cool breeze flowing through the paddock and into their cars. He felt comfortable, confident, and very ready to finish Q3. Pole felt so close he could reach out and brush his fingers against it. He already saw himself at the next day's race holding the trophy high above his head beaming down at Lando Norris, the sun hitting the sweat of his face like an oil painting, his intoxicating laugh, both of them high off the celebrations, clasping hands…
Don’t get ahead of yourself, thought Oscar, shaking his head to get rid of the thoughts and focus on the task at hand. His very small infatuation was getting out of hand, he was finding it harder and harder to chalk his thoughts up to pure admiration for his teammate and beginning to spiral about it. Oscar was no stranger to his feelings, he examined each one as it came and sorted them into small boxes to be unpacked and dealt with later, this box however should not be dealt with; it should be shoved into the back of his closet and forgotten about. Haha closet, nice one Oscar, he huffs out a laugh at himself before realizing that the cars ahead of him in the pit lane are beginning to move and Q3 is underway.
Before he knows it, he’s flying, absolutely drunk off the feeling, it’s his second lap in Q3 and every sector is purple, it's pure adrenaline, control, passion, and he’s nearly laughing; cheering himself on as he soars down the straights takes the corners with perfect finesse. He can see the finish line within reach, the qualifying crowd a roaring sea of papaya. In the garage everyone holds their breaths as they witness the record breaking lap, it's absolutely electric. Just when he’s about to do it, Oscar feels static build under his skin around the car, clouds rapidly accumulate above his head covering the sun, and in the blink of an eye a black box appears ahead of him, his eyes widen, he’s slow to react, it’s too late to brake. Before he knows it he’s flying into a pit of darkness, the track falling away from him.
Undisclosed amount of time later, Unknown location
Oscar groans, his entire body feels like it’s been torn to shreds and shoved back together like ill-fitting puzzle pieces. The first thing he notices is that he’s not sitting in his car, instead, he’s leaning haphazardly against a tree, still in his race suit and his helmet suffocatingly squeezed against his skull. He lifts his visor and looks around. The air is wet and thick, he hears a loud buzzing all around, a cacophonous sound of cicadas screaming. The trees are heavy, their branches hanging low, swaying reluctantly as if they carry the weight of the world. It smells too, a deep earthy smell, paired with the rot of still, hot, murky water.
“Ugh. What the hell?” He utters to no one in particular, so far he’s alone out here. He pries his helmet off his head with substantial effort, already dizzy with the loss of pressure. He's past being mildly sweaty, beads of it already trickling down his face and neck, stopping at the joint of his race suit to his skin. Melting, he peels off the top layer of his suit and lets it rest on his hips loosely, his hair feels wet and all of a sudden too thick on his head. He’s tempted to take his suit off all together, but can’t stand the thought of a million mosquito bites covering every inch of exposed skin. “This is not Miami.”
Not knowing what to do he walks forward through the trees. Wonders to himself if he died or something, maybe the whole weekend was a dream and he will wake up in Japan, the night before his next flight. Did I get drugged at an afterparty? This can’t be real. His brain unhelpfully contemplates, as he walks in the muggy summer heat of god knows where. He uses his sparse knowledge of geography to guess that he’s somewhere in the southern United States. He’s starting to panic now, every twist through the trees as unrecognizable as the last. It’s relentless, even as the sun dips closer to the horizon, the peak heat of the day easing, it feels like he’s gotten nowhere, moisture clinging to every crevice of his body, trapped by his thick suit. The ground is soft and wet, he slaps bugs away, nearly trips several times, and fights for every last ounce of his body’s strength to continue. The heat leaves him dazed, everything about this is so far from his cozy millionaire celebrity life he doesn’t know how to deal with it.
He stops, closes his eyes, and begins sorting every feeling, the ache in his legs, the pounding of his heart, the fear, the dehydration, he finds it ironic he can be so dehydrated when all he feels is wet it’s like walking miles in a sauna. He’s so overcome with discomfort he thinks he might die. He opens his eyes again and continues, praying for any relief, hoping he’s going to wake up somewhere he recognizes. Somewhere cold, with water, with people, somewhere where he crosses the finish line, somewhere where Lando smiles at him and they share a bad joke. Just when the thought of it rips a tired sob out of him, he sees a house, its splintered image forming past a line of trees, it’s not in the best shape, but it doesn’t look abandoned. Oscar laughs with joy and runs.
Miami, Lando Universe 1 end of Q3
Lando is out in Q2 due to an unfortunate mechanical failure that plummets his lap times, he is in the garage when everything happens. The tension in the room is almost visible, everyone holds their breaths, and clenches their fists as they wait for Oscar to finish a spectacular lap, Lando included. Of course he feels disappointed that his own times were ruined, but above all is an overwhelming sense of pride, he can feel the euphoria radiating from Oscar as he watches the screen. He remembers the nervous polite rookie from 2023. Never overstepping, always quiet, and waiting for his moment to shine. Well, the moment has come, Lando always wants to win but losing to Oscar has never felt so good. Suddenly, the static in the room increases, hairs lifting off his arms and neck, before he can register what is happening Oscar’s car disappears through a black wall and comes through the other side, past the line but at a standstill. Confused clapping fills the garage and the onlookers of the track. No one knows what they just saw. Lando’s eyes stay glued to the stopped car on screen, he realizes with extreme clarity that he can no longer see the gleam of Oscar’s helmet. He thinks his eyes are deceiving him when he sees nobody in the car. Clearly others have started to make the same observation because it begins to quiet down, people looking at each other for answers.
Everyone watches as a red flag is waived and a few marshalls jog onto the track and to the seemingly abandoned car. Their fears are confirmed when the marshalls look stunned and begin searching around the outside of the car as if they will find Oscar crouching on the other side.
Lando’s heart plummets into his stomach, he is filled with dread, and sorrow. Oscar is gone. Something happened and he disappeared, he doesn’t have a clue how anyone is meant to get him back. He could be gone forever, in the blink of an eye, a champion leaves the race track quiet and stunned. Filled with shock and sadness.
Lando can’t process what he has just seen, a black wall appearing and then disappearing out of nowhere, Oscar vanishing into it. It feels like a punch, Oscar might as well be dead, Lando’s chest restricted and face pale as if he is. He springs up from his chair and runs to the nearest bin to heave up the contents of his stomach, after that he slides down the wall and stares ahead, too numb to deal with any specific emotion, facing a concoction of crushing sadness, fear, and guilt. “Fuck Oscar…” He whispers to himself.