Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They were sitting in a private plane, one of those new jets McLaren occasionally ordered when schedules grew too messy for commercial flights. Originally, it was only meant for the drivers. But Oscar had a soft spot for Esteban and Jack - leftovers from his Alpine days - and the invitation extended easily. The fact that it was Esteban’s birthday made it impossible for Lando to argue, and really, no one was surprised when Esteban asked if Ollie could come too.

He was glued to the kid, protective in a way that bordered on paternal. Esteban had said once - half joking - that Ollie felt like the little brother he never got to have. The way he stayed close, the way he fussed over him, it was hard to disagree.

“Proper grid dad,” Lando had teased, grinning as he leaned over the seat to watch Jack and Oscar play Mario Kart. - Standing in the aisle to get a better view. - “You’re turning into Sebastian.”

It should have been an insult, but Esteban only smiled, pride flashing briefly across his face like a badge of honor.

The cake had been small, just a slab of chocolate with a single candle stuck in the center. They’d passed it around, laughing, snapping blurry photos that wouldn’t see the light of social media. Esteban had blown the candle out hours ago, his half eaten slice still sat in front of him, forgotten.

That was the last moment of peace.

The drop came without warning.

One second, the jet hummed smoothly, conversations blending with the muffled roar of the engines. The next, the world pitched downward, violently enough that Esteban felt his stomach slam into his throat.

The cabin erupted. Shouts, curses, a half choked scream from the aisle. Esteban heard the unmistakable thump of a body hitting the floor, followed by a sharp cry.

The seatbelt bit into his chest as the plane shuddered, forcing him back into his seat. His hands gripped the armrests until his knuckles whitened.

He turned his head - Ollie’s wide eyes stared back at him, pale with terror, both hands clawing at the belt across his torso. Somewhere next to them, Jack shouted Oscar’s name.

The plane didn’t even out.

The crash was sudden, merciless.

The world folded in on itself with a sound Esteban couldn’t describe - metal shrieking, glass exploding, the thunder of impact vibrating through his bones. His ears felt like they’d burst under the pressure, searing pain so sharp he nearly blacked out. And in the haze of it, a detached, almost absurd thought flickered through him.

>>How am I not bleeding from my ears.<<

He wanted to move, to look for Ollie, to reassure him, but the force pinned him down, crushing, suffocating. The air filled with smoke and the tang of burning fuel. His head rang with silence and screaming all at once, and his chest seized with the impossible realization-

This wasn’t turbulence. This wasn’t going to stop.

When the plane finally stilled, Esteban let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His whole body was vibrating, ears still ringing from the impact, the faint taste of blood metallic at the back of his throat.

He turned to the right, where Jack and Oscar had been moments before, hunched shoulder to shoulder over a Nintendo Switch. The console was gone now - thrown God knows where in the wreck - and the two drivers sat dazed in their seats. Before Esteban could even ask if they were okay, Oscar unbuckled in a blur and bolted.

He stumbled hard, catching himself against a seat before barreling down the narrow aisle, urgency in every step.

Esteban’s stomach dropped.

The thump he’d heard during the crash. The scream. The missing body in their group.

Lando.

His seatbelt came undone with a snap, his hands fumbling against the buckle, and he forced himself upright. The aisle tilted unnaturally beneath his shoes, every step a fight for balance, debris sliding past his ankles. Jack was right behind him, his face pale, eyes sharp with a fear Esteban knew mirrored his own.

They would regret this later. Both of them.

When they reached the front of the cabin, Oscar was already on the floor. Kneeling. Cradling Lando. His arms wrapped around him with a desperate sort of care, his voice breaking in low, frantic words Esteban couldn’t make out over the ringing in his head.

Lando looked… alive. For someone who had been tossed around like a ragdoll, he didn’t look broken beyond recognition. His curls were plastered to his forehead with sweat and tears, his face blotchy, streaked with snot as he gasped into Oscar’s chest. His fingers twitched weakly against the fabric of Oscar’s shirt, clutching like a child.

But then Esteban’s gaze fell lower.

The leg.

Bent at an angle no human body should allow. Grotesque beneath the short fabric of his trousers. His skin stretched tight over the swell of bone pressing where it shouldn’t, forming bumps along the leg.

Esteban’s gut lurched. Bile surged hot in his throat, and he gagged, wrenching his head away before he vomited on the spot. His hand clamped over his mouth, eyes screwed shut, the image burned into his mind regardless.

The plane answered with a groan - a deep, metallic creak that shuddered through the cabin. The floor tilted again, a warning. Esteban’s heart seized with the realization: this wasn’t over. The wreck hadn’t settled.

Jack cursed sharply under his breath. He was already moving, shoving past Esteban to the emergency exit. His hands worked fast at the lever, and with a harsh metallic scream, the door gave way. Warm air flooded inside, sharp and biting, almost too warm to properly breathe.

The view outside made Esteban’s stomach twist again.

The fuselage had come to rest not on the ground but perched precariously atop a cluster of massive trees. Branches splintered under the weight, the whole plane balanced like a toy on a shelf. Below, the forest floor looked dark and distant. A drop survivable - if controlled. If careful. If luck was on their side.

“Fuck,” Esteban whispered, wiping at his mouth with a trembling hand.

They didn’t have time. The plane could give at any moment, and Lando couldn’t climb out on his own. They had to move him.

The plan formed quickly, desperation guiding it. Oscar would maneuver Lando as close to the opening as possible, lowering him until he was half hanging from the wreckage. Jack would be waiting below to catch him, to absorb the impact before Lando’s ruined leg could take the weight.

It was crude. Dangerous. But it was all they had.

Lando, however, was far from cooperative.

“No- no, no, no, I can’t- I can’t- don’t make me-” His voice cracked, high and panicked, every syllable tangled in sobs. His eyes had locked on the gap, the dizzying drop below, and terror consumed him whole. His chest heaved, breaths shallow and rapid, hyperventilation setting in as his hands clawed desperately at the seats around him.

“Lando, you have to,” Oscar urged, voice raw but firm. He tried to pry Lando’s hands free, his grip rough with urgency. “We don’t have a choice. Jack’s right there. He’ll catch you.”

“I’ll fall- I’ll fall- I’ll fucking fall-” The protest broke into a shriek, his body jerking against Oscar’s grip, kicking weakly with his good leg.

Oscar’s patience snapped. He shifted his weight, dragging Lando bodily toward the open door. His voice dropped lower, harder, words forced through clenched teeth. “Stop fighting me. Do you want to die in here? Is that what you want?”

Lando’s scream tore through the cabin, high and raw, echoing out into the forest below as Oscar forced him closer to the opening. His tears streaked hot down his face, his sobs collapsing into ragged gasps as his body trembled violently.

Esteban’s chest seized. His own hands shook at his sides, useless. He wanted to intervene, to help, to soothe - but the groaning of the wreck reminded him every second that time was bleeding away.

Jack’s voice carried from below, sharp, commanding. “Push him! I’ve got him, Oscar, just do it!”

Oscar’s jaw set. His arms tightened. And slowly, painfully, Lando’s sobbing form edged closer to the drop.

Oscar half dragged, half shoved Lando toward the hatch. The British driver clawed at the frame, sobs ripping through him, his whole body shaking so violently Esteban thought he might fall apart. His good leg kicked weakly, his broken one dragging limply, grotesque in its angle.

“Don’t let me fall, don’t let me fall, don’t let me-” Lando’s voice cracked on every word, collapsing into gasps.

“I won’t,” Oscar muttered, though his tone was strained, his movements anything but gentle. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead as he wrestled Lando's body out the door, his arms burning with the effort. He hooked his own body halfway out of the wreck, bracing one knee against a seat, until he was nearly dangling himself.

Below, Jack was ready - arms outstretched, feet braced wide in the dirt and leaves. His face was set, jaw clenched, eyes locked on Lando with a determination that bordered on desperation.

“Lower him! I’ve got him, Oscar!” he yelled, voice cutting through the creak of the fuselage.

Esteban hovered uselessly behind them, heart hammering so loud it drowned out everything else. The plane groaned again, metal bending under the strain, a warning that time was running out.

“Come on, come on…” Oscar gritted, inching Lando lower, until the man’s torso dangled from the wreckage. Lando thrashed weakly, arms flailing, his face blotchy and wet with tears.

“No! Don’t drop me! Please, I can’t-”

“You’re not going to fall,” Oscar snapped, more forceful now, his voice sharp as steel. “Trust me, Lando. Just let go.”

And then, with a sudden shove, he did it. He released him.

For one suspended second, Lando was weightless - a flailing silhouette against the dark treetops, a broken cry tearing from his throat.

Then Jack caught him.

The impact drove both of them to the ground with a thud, Jack’s arms locking tight around Lando’s torso as they collapsed into the dirt. A grunt ripped from Jack’s chest, his body curling instinctively to shield the younger man. Leaves scattered, branches snapped.

Lando screamed anyway, the sound raw and piercing as his broken leg jarred with the landing. His hands clawed at Jack’s shoulders, his sobs shaking his body.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you-” Jack’s voice was strained, breathless, but steady. He tightened his grip, holding Lando close as the boy buried his face into his neck, sobbing uncontrollably.

Above them Oscar swung himself out the opening, his shoes scraping metal as he lowered his body out of the door. He dropped the last meter with a grunt, landing hard but steady, before straightening and glancing up at Esteban before moving toward where Jack cradled Lando on the forest floor.

Esteban shifted forward, ready to follow, when something tugged at the back of his mind. A missing piece.

Ollie.

He froze.

His head snapped back toward the seats where they’d all started, and sure enough, there he was. Ollie, still strapped in place, small and rigid against the tilted fuselage.

For one horrible second, Esteban thought he was unconscious. That he’d been sitting there broken and silent the whole time, and they’d left him. His pulse spiked as he stumbled down the tilted aisle, debris clattering around his shoes.

But when he reached him, Ollie’s eyes were open. Wide. Bright. Startlingly aware.

Relief hit Esteban so hard his knees nearly buckled. He pressed a hand to the back of the seat for balance, forcing his voice steady. “Ollie. Hey. You have to get up, okay? We need to get you out of here.”

The rookie didn’t move. His gaze darted everywhere but Esteban - the broken windows, the tilted floor, the jagged metal catching in the dim light. His hands clenched tight around the belt across his chest, his knuckles bone white.

Esteban tried again, gentler. He crouched down so they were on eye level, the smell of smoke, metal and something else between them. “Listen to me. It’s safe if we go now. I’ll help you. But we have to move.”

Ollie blinked rapidly, his throat bobbing. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, in the smallest, most timid voice Esteban had ever heard from him, he whispered:

“I… I peed myself.”

The words cracked in the middle, shame bleeding into every syllable.

Esteban’s chest tightened. He almost laughed - not at Ollie, but at the absurdity of it, at the way fear stripped them down to children no matter how grown they thought they were. But he didn’t. He didn’t even let the smile reach his face.

Instead, he reached out, careful not to touch too quickly, and said softly, “Hey. That’s okay. You hear me? That’s not your fault. No one’s going to laugh. Not me, not anyone. You’re scared. We all are.”

Ollie’s lips trembled. His eyes shone, glassy with unshed tears.

“You’re not alone,” Esteban continued, his voice firm but kind. “I’ve got you. All you have to do is let me help.”

Slowly - painfully slowly - Ollie’s grip on the seatbelt loosened. Esteban slid a steady hand beneath his arm and helped him unclip the buckle. His whole body was shaking, legs unsteady as he shifted his weight, but he moved. That was what mattered.

Step by step, Esteban guided him down the aisle, murmuring reassurance every time the wreckage creaked under them. He kept Ollie close, steadying him when his knees buckled, shielding him from the sharp edges of torn metal.

And when they reached the hatch, Esteban looked him in the eye one more time. “We’ll go together. You’re safe with me.”

Ollie nodded - a small, jerky movement - and Esteban tightened his grip before guiding him down.

–

They didn’t stop moving until the groan of the fuselage had faded into the background, swallowed by the wind and the trees. Only when the wreck loomed smaller behind them - a broken shadow balanced on branches that would not hold forever - did they dare to pause.

The group settled in a patch of uneven grass, damp with dew and littered with twigs. Esteban sank down first, his legs folding beneath him like they couldn’t bear his weight any longer. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. The adrenaline was still there, thrumming under his skin, but exhaustion tugged at him harder with every second.

Ollie dropped down beside him. Not just beside - close. Their shoulders brushed, their thighs pressed together, the younger boy leaning just enough for physical comfort but not enough to be obvious. Like he wanted a hug, like he needed it, but couldn’t quite ask. Esteban didn’t move away. He didn’t dare. He let him stay there, small and shaking, seeking quiet comfort in his proximity.

A few paces ahead, Jack stood rigid, arms crossed tight over his chest. His jaw was set, eyes locked on the figure in the grass in front of him.

Lando.

He was propped against a crooked tree root, pale as the moon, sweat shining across his face. His breaths came shallow, whimpering with every exhale. His mangled leg stretched awkwardly in front of him, bent in ways no limb should ever bend. Esteban couldn’t bring himself to look at it for more than a second - the sight still churned his stomach again - but it was impossible to ignore. Every time Lando shifted, every time he cried out, the horror of it carved deeper into them all.

And then there was Oscar.

Usually so calm.

Usually the steady one, the mediator, the quiet voice of reason.

Now he paced back and forth like a caged animal, his thumb between his teeth, gnawing at the nail until it bled. His curls were a mess, sticking to his damp forehead, his chest heaving with every ragged breath. His eyes kept darting back to Lando, then away, then back again, like he couldn’t stand to look at him but couldn’t bring himself not to.

No one spoke. The silence was broken only by the creak of the wreck far behind them and Lando’s muffled, hitched sobs.

Until Jack finally did.

“We need to set it.” His voice was low, rough, but steady. His arms tightened across his chest, like he needed to physically hold himself together. His gaze didn’t waver from the twisted mess of Lando’s leg. “And splint it somehow.”

The words hung heavy in the night.

Oscar stopped pacing. His shoulders stiffened, his back rising and falling with one deep breath, then another. Slowly, deliberately, he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, they shone wet in the dark. His lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. He gave a single nod.

And that was when Lando realized.

His wide, tearful eyes locked onto Oscar’s face, reading the truth there before anyone could soften it with words. The panic hit instantly, violently - his whole body jolting back against the tree root, hands clawing at the dirt as though he could crawl away from what was coming. His breath hitched into wild, frantic gasps.

“No. No, no, no, no- you can’t- don’t touch it, don’t-” His voice cracked, raw with terror, his protests breaking into sobs that tore through the air.

Oscar flinched at the sound but didn’t look away. His jaw trembled. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

Esteban felt Ollie press closer against him, the boy shrinking in on himself at the sound of Lando’s panic.

But the reality was there, undeniable.

If they didn’t set the leg, Lando wouldn’t make it.

Jack’s words sat in the air like a weight none of them could move.

Oscar stood frozen, fists clenched at his sides, Lando’s panic ringing sharp in his ears. He looked at Jack, as though hoping for a solution other than this, but Jack only stared back, steady and unflinching.

“It has to be done,” Jack said again, more firmly this time. His voice carried the authority of someone who had already decided, even if he hated himself for it.

Lando shook his head violently, curls flying, tears spilling fast. “No! No, please- don’t touch me, don’t- fuck, it hurts already, I can’t, I can’t-” His voice broke, high and thin, frantic hands clawing at the ground as though he could crawl away from his own broken body.

Esteban forced himself to tear his gaze from the situation at hand. He turned instead to Ollie, who was pressed tight against his side. The rookie’s face was pale, his eyes wide, fixed on Lando with horrified intensity. His body shook, every tremor betraying the way fear chewed through him.

Esteban leaned closer, murmuring low so only he could hear. “Don’t look. It’ll be okay, Ollie. He’ll be okay.”

Ollie shook his head quickly, his breath ragged, but he didn’t pull away. He stayed pressed against Esteban like an anchor.

Oscar scrubbed a hand down his face, dragging it roughly across his mouth. His composure was cracking, his voice hoarse when he finally spoke. “It should be me. He’ll… I should do it.”

Jack crouched in front of Lando, eyes scanning the mess of his leg with grim calculation. “Then do it. But we need something to bite on. And wood for a split, at least until we can find help.”

Lando whimpered, shaking his head again and again, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. “Please don’t. Please, Oscar. Don’t.”

Oscar’s throat bobbed, his lips pressed tight, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he ripped off his jacket, folding it fast into a thick bundle. “Lando, listen to me. You need to bite this. Otherwise, you’ll break your teeth when we do it.”

The British driver sobbed harder, curling away, but Oscar caught his chin gently, firmly, forcing his gaze back. His voice shook, but his words were steel. “You have to. Or you won’t walk again. Do you understand? You’ll thank me later, but right now you have to trust me.”

For a heartbeat, it looked like Lando would keep fighting. But then his strength gave out. His trembling hands clutched Oscar’s wrist, weak and desperate, before his mouth opened enough to let the balled up jacket slide in.

Jack returned with two rough branches, stripped of smaller twigs. He knelt again, positioning them carefully along the length of Lando’s ruined leg, his movements clinical, detached - as if pretending this was just another pit stop, another problem to solve.

Esteban turned Ollie’s face into his shoulder, shielding him from the sight. He whispered into the boy’s hair, “It’s alright, don’t watch. Just listen to me.” Ollie clung to him tighter, trembling.

Oscar positioned himself, one hand on Lando’s thigh, the other below the break. His knuckles were white, sweat dripping down his temples. His lips moved soundlessly for a moment - a prayer, maybe, or just a count.

Then he looked at Jack. “Hold him.”

Jack’s arms locked around Lando’s shoulders, pinning him against the ground. Lando thrashed weakly, muffled cries spilling against the jacket in his mouth. His eyes were wild, pleading, darting from face to face as if searching for escape.

Oscar shut his own. And pulled.

The snap was sickening. A raw, wet crack that sent Esteban’s stomach lurching, bile rising hot in his throat. Lando screamed into the jacket, a sound so raw it silenced even the forest around them. His body convulsed under Jack’s hold, every muscle straining, his fists pounding uselessly against the ground.

Oscar worked fast, his hands shaking but precise, forcing the bones back into rough alignment before strapping the branches in place with his belt. His breath came in ragged gasps, his jaw clenched tight to keep from sobbing himself.

When it was done, Lando sagged back, his body trembling violently, sweat pouring down his face. His cries had dulled to hoarse whimpers, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain.

Oscar collapsed beside him, one hand still resting on his shin, the other fisted in the dirt. His shoulders shook once, twice, before he forced himself still again.

Jack let out a shaky breath, his face pale and drawn.

Esteban didn’t move. He kept Ollie tucked firmly against him, murmuring over and over into the boy’s hair - not even sure if the words were in English or made sense - just filling the silence with something other than pain.

The night pressed close around them, heavy with the echo of Lando’s scream.

But the leg was set.

And for the first time since the crash, there was a fragile thread of hope.

For a long while, none of them spoke. The only sounds were the rasp of their breathing, the faint groan of the wreck, and Lando’s uneven whimpers as he lay crumpled against the roots.

Esteban stroked a hand down his own face, smearing sweat and grime across his skin. His muscles felt hollow, like they’d been wrung out and left to dry. He shifted slightly, feeling Ollie press in closer, the rookie still trembling against his side. Esteban tightened his arm around him without thinking. The boy needed it. Maybe he needed it too.

Jack stood hunched over, hands braced on his knees, staring at the ground like if he just looked hard enough, it would offer him answers. His chest rose and fell too quickly, but his jaw was tight, holding everything back.

Oscar hadn’t moved from Lando’s side. He had one hand brushing damp curls from Lando’s clammy forehead, the other resting lightly on the splinted leg as if to remind himself it was still there, still whole enough. His lips were pressed thin, his eyes darting across Lando’s face every time the younger man’s breathing hitched.

But Lando was slipping.

His eyelids fluttered, his lashes sticking together with tears, his chest rising shallow and slow. The jacket still hung loose from his mouth, damp with saliva and spit, pushed weakly aside as his lips parted. His skin had lost all color, pale even in the dim light of the forest.

“Stay with me,” Oscar whispered, his voice raw. He cupped Lando’s cheek, thumb brushing across sticky skin. “Don’t close your eyes yet, yeah?”

Lando’s gaze rolled unfocused, a low moan slipping from his throat. Shock was pulling him under, dragging him somewhere far away.

Jack’s eyes snapped up. “If he sleeps-”

“He needs rest,” Esteban cut in softly. His own voice surprised him, how calm it sounded despite the panic clawing his insides. “So do we. All of us. He will make it, he just needs to rest.”

Silence followed. Heavy.

Oscar looked like he might argue, his mouth opening, then closing again. He glanced down at Lando, at his pale face and trembling body, and finally gave a short, sharp nod.

They didn’t have shelter. No fire. No blankets. Just the grass, the trees, and each other. But exhaustion pressed down on them like gravity, pulling them all toward the ground.

Esteban leaned back, dragging Ollie with him until the boy was tucked awkwardly against his chest. Ollie didn’t resist. His thin frame curled into Esteban’s side instantly, his breaths shaky but evening out little by little. Esteban pressed his chin lightly to the top of Ollie’s damp hair, eyes closing.

Jack slid down onto the grass with a grunt, stretching out on his back, one arm flung over his eyes as though that could block out the world. His other hand stayed close, within reach of Oscar and Lando.

Oscar was the last to move. He eased himself into the grass, laying so close to Lando their sides touched, one hand resting protectively over the driver’s chest as to make sure his heart kept beating. His head bowed, fringe shadowing his face, his thumb brushing absent circles against Lando’s sternum.

Lando’s breathing stuttered, shallow, uneven, but steady enough. His eyes slipped closed at last, not in panic this time, but in surrender.

And for the first time since the sky split open and dragged them down, the forest was quiet.
The group lay there in the damp grass, battered, broken, and too exhausted to fight it any longer. Sleep came in fragments - shallow, restless, but enough to keep them alive until morning.

Chapter Text

Ollie flinched awake, his whole body jerking as if it had fallen from a great height and splashed on the ground. For a heartbeat, he was still in the plane - still tumbling, still falling, still waiting for the sickening crunch of metal against branches. His chest heaved, shallow gasps tearing through his throat, until the dream bled away and the quiet of the forest pressed in around him.

It took him a moment to blink the blurriness from his eyes. His lashes were sticky with sleep and sweat, his muscles stiff from where he’d curled against Esteban during the night. The Frenchman wasn’t beside him now.

Neither were the others - except Lando.

What was beside him, though, was a pile of bags. New. Gathered. Someone - maybe all of them - must have gone back into the wreck while he’d been out. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of stepping back inside that broken vessel, of breathing that air again, and he felt faintly guilty that someone else had done it for him.

To his left, Lando was still asleep, his face pale against the dirt, sweat shining faintly across his temples. Even in sleep he looked strained, his breaths shallow, his body twitching every now and then with pain.

Ollie pushed himself upright, rubbing dirt from his face, and shuffled closer to the bags. His heart kicked at the sight of one in particular: a black backpack.

His backpack.

The one he’d stuffed his toothbrush and a handful of other small things into before the flight.

Hope surged.

He dragged it toward him, hands clumsy with urgency as he tore the zipper open and dug through the contents. Clothes, toiletries, a crumpled pack of gum-

Then his fingers brushed the cold, familiar weight of his phone.

“Yes!” The word tumbled out, unfiltered, half a sob and half a laugh.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…” His voice cracked as the screen flickered, as the loading icon spun. And then - miraculously - it came alive. The battery icon glowed at him: 43%.

Enough.

Enough to call.

Enough to send a message.

Enough to be saved.

But the joy drained as quickly as it had arrived.

No bars. No signal. Not even a faint satellite connection. The screen mocked him with its emptiness, the little “No Service” in the corner burning brighter than anything else.

His throat closed. The hope curdled into something sharp, sour. The phone was useless after all. A toy. A cruel reminder of the world they were cut off from.

With a strangled sound, Ollie hurled it back into his backpack. The zip rattled shut with violence. He pressed both palms into his eyes, fighting the sting, willing the tears not to come.

That was when he heard them. Voices.

Low at first, then sharper, rising with the rhythm of argument. Esteban, Oscar, and Jack - coming back through the trees, a first aid kit swinging from Oscar’s hand, another bag slung over Jack’s shoulder. Their clothes were torn, stained, their faces set with exhaustion and frustration.

Ollie stilled, listening.

“I’m telling you again- if they’re looking for us-” Esteban’s voice was tight, sharp with strain.

>>When<<

Ollie corrected silently, the word pressing bitter against his tongue.

>>Not if. When.<<

“-They’ll look for the wreck’s black box. They’ll come here. So we need to stay close!”

Jack shot back immediately, his voice rough but determined. “But they won’t see us in the jungle. If they fly over the island, they’ll spot us a lot easier from the beach!”

“Even if that’s true,” Oscar countered, “Lando can’t make that trip. He can’t even stand right now. And we don’t even know where the ocean is!”

Jack wouldn’t let it go. “What if one of us goes looking? Just in one direction. If we don’t find anything by sundown, we come back. Tomorrow we try a different direction. And so on.”

The group fell quiet as they reached the clearing, the weight of Jack’s suggestion hanging heavy in the air.

Oscar stopped pacing. Stopped biting his nail. His shoulders stiffened. And though he didn’t speak, didn’t nod, didn’t move - the stillness itself was an answer.

Agreement.

Or at least the closest thing they were going to get.

Silence stretched thin in the clearing, the weight of Jack’s suggestion pressing down on all of them.

Then Esteban exhaled, long and shaky. His shoulders sagged as he turned to Jack. “Ok. But no one goes alone. Also no more trips today.”

Jack’s eyes flicked up sharply, meeting his. There was no triumph there, only grim relief.

“But tomorrow, I’ll come with you,” Esteban added. His voice was steady now, though his stomach twisted at the words.

Ollie stiffened instantly. His wide eyes snapped to Esteban, his body pulling back as if the words themselves had shoved him. “Wait- what?” He walked over to them, not caring about the fact that they will knew he listened in on them.

Esteban placed a hand lightly on his shoulder, trying to anchor him. “Ollie, listen. I can’t let Jack go out there by himself. We don’t know what’s in that jungle, and…” His throat bobbed. “That way if something happens, one of us can come back and get help.”

Ollie’s lips parted, but no sound came. His throat worked uselessly, his breath hitching as his gaze darted between Esteban and the trees. Fear flickered across his face raw and unhidden - not for himself, but for Esteban.

Esteban squeezed his shoulder once, firm but gentle. “I’ll come back. I promise.”

Oscar broke the silence then, his voice low, hoarse from disuse. “Then Ollie stays with me. And with Lando.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a fact. A command.

Ollie swallowed hard and nodded, though his small frame trembled. He didn’t like the idea of Esteban leaving one bit.

But the decision settled heavy between them. No cheers of agreement, no relief. Just a fragile plan in a place where plans felt like paper boats against a storm.

Or like a wreckage in the treetops.

Lose and daring to break, and fall, and make it all worse.

From then on they worked quickly. The sun was still low enough to paint the forest in gray light, but none of them wanted to wait until dusk before making fire. Jack gathered the driest wood he could find, his hands and forearms scratched raw by branches. Esteban sorted through the bags, pulling out what he had managed to grab from the cabin before it tilted too far to climb - a few sealed packets of food, some half crushed snacks, two water bottles dented but intact.

Thankfully the first aid kit yielded more than bandages: tucked in the bottom, almost absurd in its simplicity, was a cheap disposable lighter. The sight of it was enough to make Esteban’s breath catch.

“Here,” he murmured, handing it to Oscar.

Oscar crouched low, his long fingers surprisingly steady as he worked the lighter against the bark and twigs Jack had piled. For a moment it was nothing but sparks. Then, with a sharp whoosh, flame caught.

The small firelight painted their faces in orange, softening the hard lines of exhaustion. The air filled with the faint crackle of burning wood, the bitter tang of smoke curling into the air.

Esteban eased down into the grass, Ollie instantly pressing close to his side again. He let the boy lean, let him draw whatever comfort he could from the steady thud of his heartbeat. Across from them, Jack sat stiffly, his arms resting on his knees, staring into the flames like they might reveal the ocean themselves.

Oscar busied himself with the food, balancing packets near the fire to soften them, his movements efficient, controlled - the only sign of calm he had left.

Lando still lay where they’d left him, sweat clinging to his pale skin, lips parted in restless sleep. His breaths rattled, uneven, but they kept coming.

For now, it was enough.

The fire crackled, holding back the chill of the forest. Their stomachs growled at the smell of warm food. And for a fleeting moment - one fragile moment - they looked less like survivors of a crash and more like a group of boys on a terrible camping trip, clinging to normality with ash stained fingers.

Tomorrow, Esteban and Jack would go.

But tonight, they stayed.

And Ollie would make sure to enjoy it while it lasted.

The fire had burned down to a steady glow at some during their dinner. Esteban sat slouched against a tree trunk, Ollie tucked close at his side, his head lolling against Esteban’s arm as sleep threatened to pull him under again. Jack poked idly at the fire with a stick, his expression unreadable, eyes hollowed out by exhaustion.

It was Oscar who finally broke the silence.

He shifted closer to where Lando lay, his movements careful, deliberate. The younger Brit was curled awkwardly against the grass and roots, his face pale, sweat dampening his curls until they stuck to his forehead. His chest rose in shallow, stuttered rhythm, his lips parted around soft whimpers even in sleep.

Oscar crouched, his knees sinking into the dirt. He balanced the small plastic container in one hand, the warmed food inside giving off a faint smell that barely masked the ash and smoke. His free hand reached out, fingers brushing damp curls back from Lando’s temple.

“Lando,” he murmured, voice low, coaxing. “Wake up a little. You need to eat something, yeah?”

Lando stirred with a groan, his lashes fluttering against pale cheeks. His eyes cracked open, unfocused, pupils sluggish.

“Don’t… ’m not hungry,” he mumbled, the words slurred, muffled, as though his lips were too heavy to shape them.

Oscar’s heart clenched at the sound. He smoothed his thumb across Lando’s temple, steady, patient. “I know you don’t feel like it. But you need something in you. Just a tiny bit. Three bites. That’s all I’m asking.”

Lando’s gaze flicked weakly toward him, glassy with exhaustion, and then away again. His head lolled stubbornly against the roots, his jaw set in a tremor that was more weakness than defiance.

“Just three?”

Oscar sighed softly. He slid an arm under Lando’s shoulders, easing him up enough to press the container closer. “Yes Lando, just three. For me. Please.”

For a moment, Lando resisted. His lips pressed shut, his brows furrowed faintly. But then he parted them just enough, and Oscar slipped in the first bite.

It was clumsy - Lando barely chewed, just swallowed with a wince. His face scrunched, and he let out a low, pained groan, but Oscar was already ready with the second.

“Good. That’s good. One more,” Oscar coaxed, his tone so gentle it almost cracked. He fed him again, and then once more.

By the third bite, Lando’s lips pressed closed, his head turning weakly away with a groan of protest. His eyes slipped shut, his lashes damp, his body sagging heavily against Oscar’s arm.

“You said just three,” he rasped, his voice raw, shaking.

Oscar set the container aside, his own lips pressed thin, fighting the urge to push further. He adjusted his hold, lowering Lando back against the ground with care, brushing a hand through his curls once more.

Deep inside he had hoped that Lando would’ve eaten more once he tasted it, but three bites was better than nothing.

Afterall, everything worth doing is worth doing poorly.

“Alright,” he murmured, soft as a whisper. “That’s enough for now. You did good.”

Lando didn’t respond, already half lost again to the haze of sleep and shock. But his body stilled, his breaths settling into shallow rhythm once more, his head tilted faintly toward Oscar’s touch.

Oscar stayed where he was, crouched beside him, watching.

Guarding.

He didn’t dare to sleep that night, not really at least - his eyes always snapping up at thee faintest movement or noise coming from Lando.

Chapter Text

Esteban wasn’t entirely sure what had woken him and for a moment he thought about rolling over, pulling Ollie closer, and sinking back into what little sleep he could steal.

But something pressed at the back of his mind, an unease he couldn’t shake. Against his better judgment, he cracked his eyes open.

That was when he saw it.

Just meters away, a thick coil of scales glistened faintly in the moonlight filtering through the trees. A snake - massive, slow, its body slithering across the ground just meters away from him. It was gliding through camp like it owned the place, silent but undeniable. Esteban’s breath hitched sharp in his throat, and his body jerked before he could stop it.

The movement stirred Ollie beside him. The rookie made a small, irritated noise, rubbing at his eyes with a fist before squinting blearily up at Esteban. His brows pinched. “What?” he whispered, voice hoarse with sleep. Esteban didn’t answer him.

“Guys,” Esteban hissed, whisper shouting toward the others. Panic crawled through his chest like fire. He didn’t want to raise his voice. Didn’t want the thing on the ground to notice him - but he had to get them up.

Nothing.

So he fumbled for the nearest pebble, fingers shaking, and flicked it toward Jack.

The small rock hit its mark. Jack jerked upright instantly, swatting at the air as if he’d been struck. His bleary eyes snapped to Esteban, narrowing. “What the hell?” he whispered, too loud in the stillness.

From the other side of the camp came a groan. “We’re trying to sleep,” Oscar’s voice rasped, gravelly and thick, annoyed more than anything.

Esteban’s pulse spiked. “Snake!” he hissed back, the word cracking under pressure.

That did it.

The shift was instant. Jack froze, eyes darting to the ground. Oscar pushed himself up on an elbow, gaze snapping toward Esteban, Lando doing the same. Ollie tensed against Esteban’s side, his breath catching audibly.

And then they all saw it.

The snake was already in their midst. Its body slid soundlessly across the dirt between them, the scales dull and dark, thick as Oscars’s arm. It didn’t lunge. Didn’t strike. It just slithered through camp with a strange, eerie calm, its tongue flicking out every so often, tasting the air.

They held their breath, every muscle locked.

It passed in the space between Jack and Oscar, the tail brushing against the sand just inches from Oscar’s bare ankle. His whole body went rigid, his jaw clenched so tight it trembled. Lando reached blindly for Oscar’s hand and found it, the boy’s fingers ice cold but clutching his in a death grip.

The snake moved on. Slowly, endlessly, until its body disappeared back into the undergrowth.

The silence it left behind was deafening. None of them dared move for a long time, lungs burning with the effort of shallow breaths.

Eventually, Jack exhaled in one shuddering rush. “Holy fuck.”

But no one laughed. No one even echoed him.

They lay back down eventually, but sleep never came properly. Every rustle in the brush snapped their eyes open again, adrenaline surging, convinced the snake had returned. Some drifted in and out of shallow dozes, others simply stared into the dark.

–

Esteban and Jack had started walking early in the day - or at least what they thought was early. Time had slipped into something shapeless since the crash. Without phones, without clocks, without the constant structure of schedules and debriefs and team meetings, the hours blurred. Morning could have been afternoon, afternoon could have been dusk. The only measure was the sky, and even that seemed too vast, too unknowable to pin down.

“...So,” Jack said eventually, his voice breaking the quiet stretch of their footsteps through the brush. “How’s Haas?”

The question caught Esteban off guard. He glanced sideways at him, eyebrows raised. Of all the things he expected Jack to bring up, in the middle of nowhere, after crawling out of the wreckage of a plane, that wasn’t on the list.

“It’s… good, I guess.” He hesitated, weighing the words like it might break if he said it too easily.

Then, after a pause “Better than Alpine.”

Jack barked out a laugh at that, quick and rough. “Yeah. Unsurprisingly.”

Esteban let the corner of his mouth twitch upward, but the weight of it still hung between them.

“I’m sorry they sacked you,” Esteban said quietly after a moment. The words felt too small, too blunt, but he meant them. He shifted his gaze back to the uneven ground, his voice dropping. “You’re a good driver.”

Jack hummed, the sound low in his throat. Not agreement, not dismissal, instead something in between. “You know,” he said slowly, “if we get out of here… I was thinking about becoming a test driver. Or maybe going to IndyCar.” He let out a breath, sharp through his nose. “It’s just not the same, though. You can’t replace it.”

Esteban bit down lightly on his bottom lip, his chest tight at the words. He knew exactly what Jack meant. He thought of his own time at Mercedes, of missing being behind the wheel of a machine that felt like it had been designed for him. The hollow ache of knowing how far away that part of his life was.

“Anyway,” Jack said after a beat, shaking his head as though to push the heaviness aside. His lips twitched into a smile, faint but there. “Enough about me. You… you seem happier at Haas.”

This time Esteban allowed a real smile to curve across his face. “It might be mostly thanks to Ollie,” he admitted. The name itself felt lighter, warmer, like saying it anchored him to something that wasn’t broken. Like there was no bad blood connected to it. No fights, no arguments, no history.

The rookie was chaotic, impossible at times, but he was also the first real teammate Esteban had had who didn’t feel like he was sharpening a knife behind his back.

Jack nodded. His expression softened, though his smile never reached his eyes. “You’re really protective of him.”

Esteban chuckled at that, the sound rough but genuine. “It’s hard not to be.”

He didn’t add the rest - how Ollie made the days feel easier, how his stubborn optimism had chipped away at walls Esteban hadn’t realized he still carried. How, after everything, it felt like maybe he’d finally found someone in the paddock he didn’t just race alongside, but with.

>>We race as a team.<< The memory of the interview plopping into his head. It wasn’t a lie, not with Ollie at least.

Jack didn’t reply right away. His gaze was fixed ahead, watching the uneven ground, but there was something sharp behind it, something Esteban recognized - the kind of bitterness you tried to hide behind humor until it leaked through anyway.

“You know,” Jack said after a while, “people talk about you two. About how close you are. Some of them don’t get it.”

Esteban’s brow furrowed. “Don’t get what?”

Jack shrugged, his voice light in a way that didn’t quite match his eyes. “That you’d stick your neck out for a rookie like that. They say you don’t usually… attach.”

Esteban exhaled through his nose, slow, controlled. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or bristle. “Maybe they don’t know me as well as they think.”

Jack gave him a sideways glance, lips twitching. “Ollie’s lucky. Not everyone gets someone who fights for them.”

The words landed heavier than they should have. Esteban felt them settle in his chest, pressing against the quiet guilt he carried. He thought of all the teammates he hadn’t been good with, of the walls he’d built over the years.

Maybe Jack was right.

Maybe Ollie was lucky.

Or maybe Esteban was the lucky one - because in Ollie’s clumsy, stubborn way, he’d made it easier for Esteban to be softer. To care.

“You had someone though, right?” Esteban asked before he could stop himself. “At Alpine? Pierre isn’t half as bad as he let’s people believe.”

Jack’s jaw tightened, the line of his mouth flattening. “Not really,” he said after a beat. “People smile, they say the right things, but when the team’s looking at results… you’re just one in a number of rookies. Disposable. You should know that better than anyone.”

The sting in his tone was sharper than Esteban expected, and for a second the air between them felt raw. He wanted to argue, to say that Haas wasn’t like that, that Ollie wasn’t just a number to him. But the words tangled in his throat, because he knew Jack wasn’t wrong. He’d felt it too.

As they walked, they came across another snake. Jack jolted back with a sharp gasp, nearly toppling into the dry dirt. His legs tangled over one another and pain shot through his ankle as it twisted beneath him. Before he could hit the ground, Esteban caught him, steady hands locking around his arm and holding him upright until Jack found his balance again.

“Yeah, thank you.” Jack said, trying to put weight on his ankle. Thankfully it only hurt for the first few steps before it felt alright again.

After that the silence stretched again, heavier this time. The wind moved through the trees, carrying with it the faint creak of branches, the reminder that they were far from anyone who might care what happened to them out here.

Jack’s voice softened then, quieter, almost reluctant. “You don’t let many people in. But you let him in right away. That says something.”

Esteban glanced away, his jaw working. He wanted to deny it, to brush it off with a laugh, but instead he felt the truth of it lodge in his chest.

He didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t sure he could.

By the time Esteban and Jack agreed it was late enough to turn back, the sky had shifted into that strange in between where the sky turned a beautiful pink. The shadows lengthened, the air cooled, and every step seemed heavier than the last.

On the walk back, they busied themselves with gathering what they could - dry sticks, brittle branches, a handful of leaves that might help coax the flame. Jack even spotted a cluster of wild berries tangled in the undergrowth, not enough to fill a stomach, but enough to be something. It was the kind of task that gave their hands purpose, even if their thoughts kept drifting back to the wreckage behind them, to the emptiness of another day spent here.

When they finally stumbled into the makeshift camp, their arms laden with what they have found, the others looked up expectantly. For a moment, Esteban almost wished he could lie - say they’d seen something, anything. But the words caught in his throat. He only shook his head.

“Nothing,” Jack said flatly, dropping the bundle of sticks near the center. “We’ll try again tomorrow. Different direction.”

The air sagged with the weight of disappointment. No one argued. No one asked questions. The silence said enough.

Oscar knelt by the fire pit, movements methodical as he set the dried wood on fire. He opened a few cans - beans, dented from flying around in the plane - and set it near the heat. The smell drifted up, faint but rich, and for a heartbeat it almost felt like comfort.

But Oscar’s face gave him away. Every flicker of flame reflected in the lines etched deeper by worry, his brow furrowed as he stirred. The food was running low. Too low. He tried to hide it, tried to focus on the rhythm of the fire, but the dismay clung to him like a shadow.

When the beans were warm enough, he ladled some onto a makeshift plate and carried it to Lando first. The younger man was still propped in the same position as yesterday, his skin pale but his eyes clearer than they’d been before. Awareness had returned - a small victory. Unfortunately, so had the pain.

Lando hissed as he shifted, the movement tugging at his injured leg. His jaw clenched, the effort of staying upright written all over his face. But when Oscar knelt beside him and offered the food, he managed a faint smile - shaky, but real.

“Thanks,” he murmured, voice hoarse but steadier than before.

Oscar nodded once, quiet. He didn’t say it, but everyone could see the relief in the way his shoulders eased.

Around the fire, the others sat in silence, the warmth soaking into their bones as they ate their portions of beans. The crackle of flame and the hiss of wind through the trees were the only sounds. And though no one dared speak it aloud, the truth sat heavy in all their chests: tomorrow they’d have to go further, try harder. Because the cans wouldn’t last.

They needed to try and fish and distillate the sea water to drink.

The fire crackled low, its light flickering against their faces as night drew in around them. For a while, no one spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable - not exactly - but it was heavy, the kind that came when everyone’s thoughts traveled in the same direction and no one wanted to give them voice.

It was Jack who finally broke it. “Tomorrow we’ll head that direction,” he said, nudging at the fire with a stick as he pointed into the tree wall next to him. “If there’s an ocean out there, it can’t hide forever.”

Esteban gave a small hum of agreement, though his eyes stayed fixed on the flames. “Then tonight we need a plan. If Jack and I go again tomorrow, someone has to keep watch. We shouldn’t all be out cold like last night.”

There were nods around the circle. No one needed convincing. The snake last night had done that for them.

“I’ll take the first shift,” Lando said, his voice stronger than it had been during the day. His posture was still stiff, pain written in every small movement, but there was a sharpness to his eyes again. Determination.

Oscar shook his head immediately. “No.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. “You need rest. Proper rest. You’re still healing. I’ll take your shift and mine.”

Lando opened his mouth to protest, but Oscar cut him off with a look - steady, unyielding, but softened by something gentler underneath. “You’ve done enough. Let me.”

It was Ollie who broke the brief silence after. “Then I’ll do the last one,” he said quickly, glancing around at the others. “I’ll wake Esteban and Jack when it’s time to head out.”
Esteban’s lips curved faintly at that, something like gratitude flickering in his expression, though he didn’t say it aloud. One by one, the others murmured their agreement.

The plan settled over them like a thin blanket - not much, but enough.

Later, when the fire had burned down to embers and the camp had grown quieter, Lando stayed awake longer than he should have. Oscar sat next to him, watchful, poking at the fire to keep it alive. Lando shifted, biting back the wince in his leg, and let his gaze drift toward Oscar.

“You know, I never thanked you” he said softly, voice low so as not to wake the others, “you practically saved my life.”

Oscar glanced at him, startled by the sudden words. For a moment he looked like he might deflect, might brush it off the way he always did. Instead, he let out a slow breath, his features softening. “Of course, Lando.”

The answer was simple, but there was weight behind it. A quiet promise, like he’d never considered another option.

They sat closer after that, the fire’s glow pulling them into the same circle of warmth. The silence between them felt different now - lighter, steadier. Lando’s eyes fluttered once, twice, exhaustion tugging at him harder than he could fight. He tried to stay awake, tried to keep talking, but his words slurred into nothing.

By the time sleep finally claimed him, his head had slipped sideways, coming to rest gently against Oscar’s thighs.

Oscar stilled, glancing down at the weight leaning on him. He hesitated only a second before adjusting slightly, careful not to wake him. Then he sat there, still and steady, keeping watch as the fire crackled low and the others slept, the night stretching endless around them.

His fingers slipped gently through Lando’s hair, a quiet parody of intimacy, almost tender enough to fool himself. If he let his eyes fall shut, he could almost believe they were somewhere else - sprawled on a hotel couch, a movie flickering in the background, Lando dozing against him with none of the weight of survival pressing down on them. No jungle, no broken legs, no hunger gnawing their bones. Just the soft, fragile possibility of what could have been.
The illusion shattered only when it was time to stir Ollie awake for his turn on watch.

Chapter Text

Esteban and Jack had been gone long enough that the camp had grown restless, the silence heavy with waiting. To pass the time, Oscar and Ollie sat by the dwindling supplies, sorting through what little they had left.

Four ration packs. That was it. Oscar lined them up carefully, his brow furrowed as though sheer concentration might make them multiply.

“Sooner or later we’ll need to find something else,” he murmured.

Ollie tried to lighten the mood, his lips quirking into a grin. “When we find the ocean, maybe we can try fishing.”

But Oscar didn’t laugh. His expression stayed tight, fingers worrying at the edge of one packet. Then his eyes slid to the bottles - one empty and the other not even half way full - and his stomach dropped further. He chewed at his fingernail, restless, unable to shake the math running circles in his head. half a bottle between the five of them.

All of them would get one last sip and that’s it.

He didn’t have long to dwell.

“Hey!”

The shout carried through the trees, sharp and bright, and when Oscar and Ollie turned, Esteban and Jack were striding back toward camp, their faces lit with something they hadn’t seen in days. Relief. Excitement. Hope.

“We found the ocean!” Jack called, his voice rough but beaming. “Would’ve been back sooner, but we were looking for a good place to set camp.”

The words landed and the weight lifted. The ocean. It meant water. It meant food - maybe. It meant something beyond the claustrophobic trees.

They didn’t waste time. Everyone began gathering what little they had, rolling up scraps of fabric, bundling together kindling. Oscar crouched beside Lando, shaking him gently awake.

“Come on. Time to move.”

Getting him upright was easier than expected. Lando’s body still trembled with effort, but the F1 training in balance - the constant juggling on one leg - really came in handy right now. He managed to stand on one leg, his face tight with concentration, his hands gripping Oscar’s shoulders. But the real test was moving - the uneven ground underfoot, the tangled roots and stones. That was when Jack and Oscar stepped in, each slipping under an arm, their shoulders braced to take most of his weight.

It was clumsy at first, their steps jerky and mismatched, but after a few tries they found a rhythm - Lando hopping carefully, Oscar and Jack bearing the strain, the three of them moving like a single, awkward creature.

The rhythm broke when they hit sand. The ground shifted underfoot, sliding away with every step. Their boots sank deep, the grains dragging them sideways, throwing off balance. Each hop from Lando jolted their grip, their muscles straining to keep him upright. By the time they reached the shady spot Esteban and Jack had scouted, all three were breathless, sweat slicking their backs.

They lowered him down onto a raised patch of sand and fabric. Lando leaned back with a groan, rubbing at his forehead.

Then, with a faint grin “Do I stink as bad as you two?”

“Worse,” Jack shot back instantly, and the faintest ripple of laughter passed between them.

“Maybe we should all go for a wash,” Jack added after a beat. He glanced toward the rolling surf, blue and endless under the sun. “Ocean’s right there. Might as well.”

No one argued. The salty air clung sticky to their skin, their clothes stiff with sweat and smoke. The thought of even a brief dip was enough to make them move. One by one they stripped down, leaving shirts and trousers in a messy pile until they stood in nothing but boxers.

“Hopefully I won’t get sunburned,” Ollie muttered, tugging at his waistband with a wry smile. “That would really suck right now.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Yeah, I’m sure sunburn’s the worst part of this situation.”

The group chuckled faintly, the sound strained but genuine.

All eyes drifted back to Lando then. He was working his way through his clothes slowly, awkwardly. He managed to tug his shirt off with sharp, controlled movements, the fabric sticking to his skin. Then came the pants - unbuttoned, shuffled down just enough to hang loose at his hips, the effort leaving his face pale and strained.

Frustration was written plain across Lando’s face, his brows pulled tight as his teeth worried at his bottom lip. He tugged and shifted, but no matter how hard he tried, his broken body refused to cooperate - the shorts caught halfway down his thighs, stubborn and immovable. His hands lingered there, tense, before he finally exhaled through his nose.

Reluctantly, quietly, he asked for help.

It was uncomfortable. Awkward. Necessary.

Esteban and Jack stepped forward first, each taking an arm, lifting him carefully into a standing position. Lando clenched his jaw, focusing on keeping himself upright as Oscar crouched in front of him. Without a word, Oscar hooked his fingers into the waistband of the and tugged, dragging the shorts down the rest of the way.

Both Oscar and Lando made a point of looking in any direction that wasn’t each other.

For a moment, no one spoke. The air was filled only with the crash of waves, the sting of salt and the intimacy of survival stripping away whatever dignity they had left.

Then Esteban adjusted his grip, steadying Lando, and together they began the awkward shuffle toward the water.

The sand made every step a battle, their weight dragging unevenly, but eventually the ocean opened up in front of them - wide and endless, the horizon blurred into the sky. The waves broke shallow near the shore, rolling soft and white before retreating again, leaving behind a sheen of wet sand that gleamed like glass in the light.

They waded carefully into the shallows, Esteban and Jack bracing Lando between them, Oscar walking close, ready to steady if needed. The water rushed up over their feet first, cold and startling after so many days of sweat and heat. Ollie yelped quietly at the shock, but the grin spreading across his face betrayed the relief.

For the first time in what felt like forever, they weren’t surrounded by trees, by the claustrophobic press of branches. Here, the world opened up. It smelled of salt and air and possibility. And the tiniest bit like a fish market on a Thursday morning.

“Lower me,” Lando said through clenched teeth, his eyes locked on the surface as if the promise of it was all that kept him steady.

Esteban and Jack exchanged a quick look, then moved together. Slowly, carefully, they eased him down into the shallows until he was half sitting, half leaning back. The ocean foamed around him, tugging gently at his arms, his torso, as though trying to welcome him in. Lando closed his eyes and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The cool water helped ease the pain in his leg and for the first time in days it felt like he could breathe easier.

“God,” he muttered, voice raw, “that’s- better.”

The others didn’t hesitate after that. Ollie plunged forward first, splashing into the surf until the water rose up around his chest. He let himself fall back with a laugh that was almost boyish, floating for a second before the next wave nudged him upright again. Oscar followed slower, easing in until he was waist deep, then ducking under with a sharp inhale as the cold swallowed him whole. When he surfaced, his hair plastered to his face, he actually smiled - small, faint, but real.

Even Esteban allowed himself the luxury of sinking to his knees, letting the water crash over his shoulders. The salt stung his cuts from the crash, sharp and insistent, but the ache of it felt cleaner somehow, as though the ocean were burning away the grime of the wreck and the forest. Jack swore loudly when a wave hit him in the chest, then laughed at himself, shaking water from his hair.

For a few minutes, they were just five boys in the sea. No crash. No dwindling rations. No endless woods pressing in around them. Just water, and salt, and the sound of waves swallowing their laughter before carrying it back to shore.

Lando leaned back on his hands in the shallows, watching the others through half lidded eyes. The pain in his leg hadn’t gone away, not even close, but for the first time since it broke, he wasn’t only aware of it. The water cooled the feverish heat and dulled the constant throb. He looked lighter, free-er, even as the exhaustion still clung to his face.

Oscar sat down in the water next to him while the others went for a proper swim.

“This almost feels normal,” Lando said quietly, almost to himself. “If I close my eyes it’s like I’m at a resort.”

Oscar glanced at him, water dripping down his chin, and nodded. “Almost.”

They let themselves stay like that for a while and just enjoy the moment of peace.

One by one, they pulled themselves out of the water, boxers clinging wet to their skin, hair plastered to their foreheads. Lando had to be carried again, but this time it felt easier - like the weight wasn’t only his.

Ollie stretched himself out on the sand, arms flung wide as though he could soak the sun straight into his skin. The warmth clung to him, heavy and pleasant, drying the salt that still shimmered on his chest. Beside him, Esteban sat cross legged, watching the waves drag themselves up the beach before retreating again. He wasn’t trying to dry faster - not really - but Ollie had a way of drawing him down, of making stillness feel almost natural.

A few meters away, Jack crouched near the shoreline, filling a dented can with seawater. His movements were sharp, focused, the set of his jaw tight with determination. When he returned, he began fussing with the fire, balancing the can above the flames in a way that might coax steam into one of the empty bottles. Crude, desperate, but it was something.

Meanwhile, Oscar and Lando were wrestling with comfort. Lando shifted with a grimace, trying to find a position that didn’t send fire shooting up his leg. Oscar hovered close, adjusting rolled up shirts into makeshift cushions, steadying him with careful hands every time he winced. They agreed quietly that once the fabric of his boxers was dry, they’d dress him again - just like the others.

“Better?” Oscar asked after Lando let out a long, uneven breath.

“A little,” Lando admitted, leaning back into the pile of fabric. His hair stuck damp to his forehead, eyes heavy but alert. He glanced at the others - Esteban still seated by Ollie, Jack bent over the fire, the can of seawater trembling above the flames - and then back at Oscar.

They sat in silence for a while, the fire crackling low in front of them, Lando shifting more than usual. Every movement came with a hiss between his teeth, sharp and frustrated. Oscar watched him out of the corner of his eye until finally he turned fully, one brow raised.

“Is the pain worse?”

Lando shook his head quickly, almost too quickly, his cheeks turning pink. He ducked his gaze, muttering something under his breath. It was too low, too muffled, and Oscar just blinked at him.

“What?”

Another beat of silence. Then, a fraction louder, Lando admitted, “I need to pee.”

“Oh.” The word slipped out before Oscar could stop it. A pause, and then again, softer, as the truth of it landed “Oh.”

Lando couldn’t just limp off into the trees like the rest of them. Not on his splinted leg. Not when balance itself was a battle. Not when he didn’t even manage standing up on his own.

So Oscar stood, brushing the sand from his palms. He reached down without hesitation, pulling Lando carefully to his feet for the third time that day. Together they shuffled into the treeline, every step deliberate, Oscar’s arm firm around Lando’s waist until the Brit finally nodded, deciding this was far enough.

Lando braced himself against a tree trunk, his hand gripping the bark tight. But when it came to the mechanics of it - letting go to fumble with his waistband - reality hit. He hovered his hand a few times, testing, only to immediately clutch the tree again when his balance wavered.

Frustration tightened his jaw. He tried once more, forcing himself to release the bark, and the world tilted beneath him. His body lurched sideways.

But before he could properly fall Oscar’s hands were there. Quick, firm, pressing against his ribcage while his chest pressed against Lando’s back, steadying him before he could fall.

They froze like that, both of them going redder than the sunburn clinging to their skin. Lando stared at the ground, mortified, while Oscar’s grip stayed put, solid and warm against his skin.

“Sorry, I-”

“Thank you-” they blurted at the same time.

The words collided, hanging awkwardly between them. Lando’s face was burning, and Oscar’s hands lingered a second too long against his ribs before he realized and drew them back. The absence of the touch felt louder than the silence that followed.

“I will… leave you to it,” Oscar said finally, his voice quieter than usual, as though speaking too loud might make the humiliation worse. He turned his back, stepping just far enough to give the Brit privacy while staying close in case he slipped.

It took a few seconds before Oscar heard it: the uneven start and stop of Lando’s stream, the sound sharp against the hush of the trees. He kept his eyes fixed stubbornly on the shadows ahead, jaw tight, pretending the noise was nothing. Pretending the spreading puddle in the dirt wasn’t inching dangerously close to their shoes.

A breathy, almost embarrassed, “Okay,” floated from behind him, giving him permission to turn around again.

Oscar nodded wordlessly and stepped in, steadying Lando once more. The trek back was slow, careful - each shift of weight drawing a hiss of pain from Lando’s throat, each falter met with Oscar’s hand at his waist or shoulder, guiding, catching.

“How did you pee before, if you don’t mind me asking?” Oscar said suddenly, the question slipping out before he had time to stop himself. It wasn’t meant to embarrass - just the kind of raw curiosity that came when survival stripped away all the usual filters.

Lando stopped hopping along and just blinked at him, caught off guard, then gave a small shrug. “I don’t know. I just… didn’t need to before, I guess. But I also didn’t really drink a lot. Maybe my body was saving everything it could, until I went into the ocean.”

His voice was quiet, thoughtful in a way that made Oscar study him more closely. There was no joke, no deflection, just honesty.

Oscar huffed out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. “Bodies are weird.”

“Yeah.” Lando’s gaze drifted toward his leg, his expression unreadable. “Weirder when they stop working the way you want them to.”

The words hung between them, as they continued their way back.

By the time they broke back into the glow of the camp, Lando’s face was damp with effort, but he sank gratefully onto his spot near the fire, shoulders sagging.

Jack was already crouched over the flames, stirring the cans of food they’d stretched for days now. He glanced up as the two of them reappeared and wordlessly handed over a can, his expression unreadable. “I didn’t know if you’d share again,” he muttered, a little gruff. “You did the past days, so I just… assumed.”

Oscar nodded once. He took the first few spoonfuls, chewing slow, each bite tasting more of metal than food. His stomach ached for more, but he stopped early, pushing the tin toward Lando without being asked.

The Brit looked at him, hesitation flickering in his tired eyes, but Oscar just raised a brow, silent insistence. Slowly, Lando took the can and finished what was left, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand before licking the sauce from his hand as well.

It wasn’t enough. It hadn’t been enough for days. But it was what they had.

Oscar leaned back, his gaze on the dark horizon while the fire popped between them. His hunger burned, sharp and unforgiving, but he forced it down. Lando needed it more. They all did.

Survival meant sharing. Survival meant choosing someone else’s needs over your own. And Oscar clung to that, even as the gnawing in his stomach reminded him that giving up food didn’t make the hunger disappear.

Chapter Text

By midday the heat pressed heavy against the camp, the kind that made every movement feel slower, heavier. They gathered in the shade, the silence between them louder than words as Oscar set the remaining ration packs on the sand.

Four left. The last of them.

One by one, they divided them. Ollie, Esteban, and Jack each took a pack, their fingers lingering on the plastic like it was something sacred. They opened them carefully, almost reverently, as though tearing into the foil too fast might make the moment disappear. Each bite was slow, drawn out, as if savoring the taste could trick their bodies into believing it was more than it was.

The last real meal.

Oscar took the fourth pack but didn’t keep it for himself. He sat close beside Lando, breaking pieces off and coaxing him gently to eat. Lando took a few bites before shaking his head. “You need some as well.”

Without hesitation, Oscar finished the rest, not quickly, but with the same careful patience as the others. His eyes stayed fixed on Lando the whole time, waiting for him to change his mind and ask for more.

When the food was gone, the silence stretched longer. It settled in their stomachs heavier than the beans, heavier than hunger itself.

Jack was the first to move. He stood abruptly, brushing sand from his hands. “I’ll walk the beach. See if there’s anything.”

No one stopped him.

The sun beat down as he walked, his footprints trailing sharp and deep along the shore. At first he kicked at the sand, frustration churning hot in his chest. But then, further along, he spotted something half buried near a drift of seaweed - a coconut, round and weather worn. Then another, and another, scattered as though the tide had carried them in as an offering. His pulse quickened as he gathered them, tucking them under his arm until his muscles ached.

Near the treeline he found more - not coconuts, but a cluster of berries hanging from low branches. Small, dark, glistening in the sun. He hesitated, unsure if they were safe, but hunger was louder than doubt - they looked just like blueberries afterall. He picked as many as his hands could hold, piling them into the fold of his shirt.

That was when he saw it.

Impressions in the wet sand, leading from the trees down toward the waterline. Not human. Small, long toed, the shapes unmistakable. Monkey prints.

Jack didn’t think much about it. It just convinced him that if a monkey ate those surely they can as well.

When he finally turned back toward camp, his arms full of coconuts and berries, there was something fierce in his grin. Not just triumph. Not just relief. Something sharper.

Everyone’s faces had lit up when Jack came back with food. For the first time in days, there was more than just a single ration packet to pass around. Coconuts. Real food. Hope dressed up in a rough, brown shell.

They decided to save them for dinner, something to look forward to, and set them down near the fire. But Ollie was already crouched over the pile of berries Jack had brought.

“I don’t really like coconut,” he announced with a shrug, popping another handful into his mouth. “One of you can have my portion. I’ll just eat the berries.”

Jack grinned at that, handing them over without hesitation, relief shining in his eyes at someone actually appreciating his find.

While Ollie happily munched away, the others turned their attention to the coconuts. The first crack of shell echoed sharp against the beach, and soon the air smelled faintly sweet as they scooped out the flesh and passed around the milky water inside. Even Lando brightened, managing a small smile as Oscar carefully handed him a piece, the sticky juice dripping down his fingers.

For a while there was the soft sound of chewing, of satisfied hums. It felt almost normal - like they were just boys sharing food after a long day, not stranded, not starving, not waiting for rescue that might never come.

Then Ollie shifted.

He curled up closer to Esteban, knees pulled against his chest. At first it looked playful, like a cat seeking warmth, but when Esteban glanced down at him, the rookie’s face told a different story.

“You okay?” Esteban asked, his voice pitched low, steady.

Ollie pressed his forehead against Esteban’s side, his words muffled. “Tummy aches… and I don’t know… just not feeling very good right now.”

That made Esteban look properly at him. Ollie’s skin, already pale from days without proper food, looked chalkier now. His lips had lost their color, his eyes glassy, too bright in the fading light.

“You don’t look too good, Ollie…” Esteban murmured, frowning. His hand hovered near the boy’s shoulder, torn between pulling him closer and fetching water. He’d just started to shift, to push himself up and grab some, when Ollie lurched suddenly to the side.

The sound of retching tore through the quiet camp. Harsh, wet, violent. Ollie doubled over, arms hugging his stomach, his whole body convulsing with the effort.

Esteban was already with him, hand braced firm against his back, his other hand steadying Ollie’s shoulder, to keep him from falling into his own vomit, as the boy gasped and gagged into the sand. The coconuts lay forgotten. Lando froze, Oscar’s brow creased tight, Jack’s grin gone in an instant.

“Ollie-” Esteban’s voice was sharp with worry, but low, coaxing, steadying. “Easy. Just get it out. I’ve got you. You’ll be alright.”

The others didn’t move at first, caught between fear and shock, until the truth began to sink in.

The berries.

Ollie’s body wouldn’t stop convulsing. Each retch came sharper than the last, tearing up his throat until his gasps turned ragged, strangled. He barely had time to drag in a shaky breath between waves before another surge bent him double again, his hands clawing helplessly at the sand.

Esteban knelt at his side, one arm braced across the boy’s trembling shoulders, the other steady against his back, murmuring soft, urgent words. “Breathe, Ollie, breathe- you’re alright, just let it out- I’ve got you-” But his own heart pounded so hard he could hear nothing else.

“What the fuck were those berries he ate?!” Oscar’s voice cut through the camp, raw with panic. He was on his feet, fists clenched, eyes wide and furious.

“I don’t know!” Jack blurted, his voice breaking, his face ghost-pale. “They looked like blueberries! I thought- God, I thought they were- They had a pink stem! But I thought-”

“They had a pink stem?” Oscar snapped, spittle flying. “A pink stem! Do you know what that means?”

Jack shook his head violently, guilt written all over his features. “I- I don’t-”

“They’re pokeberries!” Oscar roared. His chest heaved, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. “They’re poisonous!”

Lando had gone still, stricken, his wide eyes darting from Jack to Oscar to the boy curled in the sand. His hands twitched uselessly against the floor. He couldn't move, couldn’t help, and it made him feel like a useless failure.

Meanwhile, Esteban held tighter to Ollie as the rookie’s body gave another wrenching heave. His sobs tangled with the retching, a broken sound that made Esteban’s throat close. The boy’s face was ghostly white, his lashes wet with tears, spit and vomit stringing from his lips as his chest shuddered.

“Shhh, Ollie. Everything is ok.” Esteban whispered, pressing his palm firm between the boy’s shoulder blades, grounding him. His own stomach roiled, but he didn’t let go.

Then Oscar was suddenly at their side, dropping hard to his knees in the sand. His eyes burned with urgency, his movements sharp. He grabbed Ollie’s clammy face in one hand - harder than probably needed - , steadying it, and without warning shoved the fingers of his other hand between the rookie’s lips.

Ollie gagged violently, his body recoiling, panicked sounds clawing out of his throat as his eyes went wide. Esteban reacted instantly, yanking Oscar’s wrist back.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

“He has to vomit more!” Oscar snapped back, his voice fierce. He wrenched his hand free, chest heaving. “he needs to vomit it all up. He has to keep going until we see the bread from earlier.”

His voice was stern and emotionless at the same time. His eyes are devoid of any soul.

Esteban stared at him, his arm still wrapped around Ollie’s trembling body, the boy’s sobs softening into exhausted whimpers. Esteban’s own heart felt like it was lodged in his throat.

The camp fell quiet except for Ollie’s shuddering breaths. The world had already blurred into a haze of pain and nausea, his stomach twisting so violently it felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out. Every heave tore fire up his throat, left him gasping, sobbing, clawing at the sand just to anchor himself. He wanted it to stop.

God, he just wanted it to stop.

Then hands were on him again. Hot, rough, holding his face still.

He barely had time to whimper before fingers pushed past his lips, jamming down the back of his throat again.

Ollie gagged instantly, his whole body convulsing in revolt. Panic shot through him, sharp and suffocating. He tried to twist away, tried to shove back, but the grip on his jaw was unrelenting. His own hands enclosed weakly around Oscar’s wrist, slipping uselessly on sweat and sand.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe-

A strangled sound ripped out of him just before another surge wrenched his body forward, bile and half digested berry pulp burning up his throat. His chest spasmed, lungs seizing as vomit spilled hot and sour into the sand.

But the fingers didn’t leave.

Another jab, deeper this time, nails scraping the back of his tongue. It felt like he was all the way down his throat. Ollie’s eyes bulged, tears spilling fast and hot. His body convulsed again, another violent heave ripping through him until more came up, bitter and stinging, choking him as it forced its way out.

His vision spotted black at the edges. His throat burned raw. Each sob tangled with the retches until he couldn’t tell the difference anymore. He just wanted air. He just wanted it to stop.

But still the fingers pressed, insistent, merciless.

Another wave. His ribs ached with the force, his stomach emptying until there was nothing left but sour liquid and dry, painful spasms. His arms gave out beneath him, his weight collapsing into Esteban’s steady hold. His body shook uncontrollably, wracked with sobs, spit and vomit clinging to his lips as he gasped like a drowning man breaking the surface.

Somewhere above him, voices clashed - sharp, panicked, angry. He couldn’t make out the words, not over the ringing in his ears and the pounding of his own heartbeat. All he could feel were the hands on him, the invasion in his mouth, the terror that it wouldn’t end.

Until finally - finally - the fingers pulled free.

Ollie sagged in Esteban’s arms, chest heaving, his throat raw, his body trembling like it might shake apart. His eyes stayed wide, glassy with tears, darting between the faces looming over him. He wanted to speak, to say “please, no more”, but all that came out was a broken, wheezing sob.

Esteban’s arm tightened around Ollie, pulling the trembling boy close against his chest. He murmured in French, soft and steady, uncaring that Ollie didn’t understand him.

“Ça va aller. Respire. Je t’ai, petit. Respire.”

His palm rubbed slow circles against Ollie’s back, grounding him, shielding him from the others’ stares.

Ollie’s sobs shuddered against him, each gasp catching in his raw throat. Esteban bent his head, pressing his cheek briefly to the boy’s damp hair. “It’s over,” he whispered. “No more. I promise.”

Ollie clung weakly to his shirt, the tension in his thin frame finally easing as exhaustion pulled him under.

Across the fire, Oscar had moved.

He dropped heavily beside Lando again, his body stiff, hands still stained, eyes locked unblinking on Esteban and Ollie. The firelight threw shadows across his face, making the hollow under his eyes seem deeper, darker.

Lando leaned closer, his voice hushed, urgent. “You did what you had to. You don’t need to be sorry for saving Ollie.”

Oscar didn’t look at him. His jaw worked once, then he muttered, flat and empty “I’m not sorry for Ollie.” A pause. His gaze flicked to the puddle of vomit soaking into the sand. “I’m sorry for the wasted food.”