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He doesn't have any painkillers left; the race had made him use the last of the stock he brought. Maybe this is karma for something he did.

He knows he can't possibly make it through the night like this. Honestly, Fermín would rather sleep at the hospital than in such tremendous pain. Neither options are very appealing to him, though.

There's someone he could call, someone who has painkiller probably stronger than the one Fermín uses. Someone who could help but, but...

(Fermín is scared of calling Marc. They're not that close anymore, the older man having distanced himself after the 2025 season. He doesn't know what he would do if he called and Marc just...didn't care.)

But he's desperate and it hurts hurts hurts so fucking much. It's so late, Marc is probably sleeping too, but in his mind it's worth a try.

One hour of agonizing hesitance later, he finally calls, giving up on his pride and his self-respect. He just needs something to qualm the pain. Anything.

"Hello?"

"Marc," he gasps, his voice tortured by the small tremors going through his leg.

There's a short silence at the other end of the line. Short, but long enough for Fermín to be unable to supress a heartbroken whine.

And then—

"Are you alright, Fermín? What do you need?" Marc all but orders, his voice firm and leaving no place for arguing. Not that Fermín has the stomach to do any of that right no.

"I—I'm not," he whimpers. "Painkiller. Marc. Please."

"Hang in there, I'll be at your door in five minutes."

He can hear some hurried shuffling on the other side of the line, and he uses the noise to ground himself to reality. His mind already feels hazy, and he starts fearing he's going to pass out.

At one point, the call disconnects, and Fermín can do nothing but close his eyes and swallow the drool that pools in his mouth with difficulty. He doesn't even react when he hears knocking at his door, too busy breathing in and out as calmly as he can.

"Hey, Fermín."

He can only give a pathetic whine in answer.

Fingers caress his jaw, prying his mouth open gently and dropping a small pill on his tongue. Fermín chokes as he's made to drink water, but he knows that this is necessary.

Marc is here. Marc is here, and he gave him painkillers.

He's still shaking from the pain, and he honestly expects Marc to leave him be after he's completed his delivery, but the older man doesn't budges from his side.

A hand quickly checks for his temperature on his forehead, and he thinks he hears Marc say something about waiting to see if they need a doctor. Fermín simply shakes his head and breathes out as pain starts to subside. He can feel his limb start to feel lighter, and he almost cries from the relief.

Still, Marc doesn't leave. Instead, he cards his fingers through Fermín's sweaty hair, petting him gently and with far too much care for Fermín to handle.

He just....he asked for help. He wasn't supposed to get...all of that. His mind screams at him, and maybe that's why he feels the need to speak up after all of this time.

"Just...don't. Please, Marc," he manages to croak out, his voice destroyed. He'd feel embarrassed about it if he had any strength left.

The fingers in his hair still.

"What?" Marc asks in confusion.

"Please don't. Thank you for the pills, but please treat me nicely only to stop being my friend again tomorrow," he lets put, his bottom lip wobbling dangerously. He kinds of wants to cry at this very moment. It's pathetic.

But he...he's tired. It's been hell with Pedro, although the man has stopped making it harder these past few months for some reason, but Marc isn't any better. He left Fermín. He befriended him, then left like he meant fucking nothing.

(He wonders if he's the problem in the story. Maybe it's the VR46 contract, or maybe he's just dislikeable)

So he can't deal with this. He can't be given something he craves so terribly only to have it ripped away from him the next day. He's done torturing himself.

Marc doesn't answer immediately, only staring with wide, guilty eyes, and Fermín immediately feels bad. Fuck, the old man has enough problems as it is, he shouldn't be adding on to that pile.

Fermín needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.

He doesn't get to say anything, his eyes closing and his body collapsing under the stress, finally falling asleep at two in the morning. If Marc said anything, he never hears it.

(And Marc? He's staring in abject horror. Only now is he realizing he accidentally did the exact same thing he berated Pedro for back then. It feels like failure in his chest.)

((He's not going to make that mistake again.))

*

The next time he sees Marc, it's the next day at the airport. He's almost scared to face the older man, but he has too.

Fermín has no idea when Marc left his motorhome, but he's grateful for everything the man did. He can't just ignore it.

"Marc!" He calls out. The Catalan turns to look at him in surprise and relief.

Fermín worries his lip between his teeth.

"Thank you so much for last night! I'm sorry if I woke you up, by the way." He takes a deep breath. "And I'm also sorry for what I said. It was uncalled for."

And it was. Marc, although not as friendly as before, is still very nice to him. He shouldn't be complaining about things like these.

But Marc starts to shake his head.

"No, no. I'm the one who's sorry. I never meant to make you feel like I didn't care," the older man explains, looking regretful.

"It's fine! I swear it's—"

"It's not," Marc cuts in. "I'll make it up to you."

And Fermín can only gape in bafflement as the older man envelopes him in a hug before leaving for his plane.

This is...more than he ever expected.

(Still, he can't help but give a giddy smile. Fuck, he's happy. He's really happy.)

*

"So, how do you feel about playing wingman?" Marc asks Álex around a month later.

His brother raises an eyebrow. "You can't wingman to save your own life, which poor soul are you going to torture with this...talent of yours?"

Marc doesn't blink at the backhanded compliment.

"Fermín and Pedro, of course!"

Álex blinks.

Marc only grins wider.

Thing have been getting better with Fermín these past few weeks, and Marc is glad for it. However, it's truly painful to watch the two young Spaniard look at each other from afar. To be honest, Marc was starting to get fed up with their pining.

"This is going to end terribly, you know that right?"

"Of course not! Because you're going to help me!"

"The hell I am! Leave me out of this!"

"So you don't care about your own teammate? How heartless, hermano..."

"I'm on injury recovery leave! I don't have time to play wingman for two idiots!"

"So am I!"

Álex rolls his eyes so hard Marc is scared they'll get stucked at the back of his head.

"Fine. But I'm only supervising."

Marc pumps his arms in victory. He was glad his idea got approved.