#finding nemo

Everything hurt in this distant, muffled way, like your body hadn't quite caught up to what happened. There was a woman crouched by your door, and you were fairly certain that her mouth was moving. You should probably answer.

"M'fine," you managed to get out. Your voice sounded wrong, thin. "I'm okay."

In reality, you weren't sure if that was true. When you looked down at your hands, still braced against the deflating airbag, they were shaking so hard you couldn't make them stop. There was blood on your right hand – not a lot, just some smeared across your knuckles like you'd scraped them against something.

The woman was still talking, it seemed. By now, she appeared to have her phone out too. 

You should focus. You should listen.

"—n’ ambulance is coming, okay? Just stay still. Don't try to move yet."

Ambulance?

That word stuck. You didn't need an ambulance. You were fine. You tried to say so, but when you opened your mouth, nothing came out right. Your tongue suddenly felt thick. The ringing in your ears got louder.

You closed your eyes. 

Just for a second. Just to make the spinning stop.

When you opened them again, there were more people. 

Paramedics? 

One of them was shining a light in your eyes and you flinched back, but there was nowhere to go. Your seatbelt was still on. You hadn't even realized.

"Can you tell me your name?"

You told them. You thought you told them. Everything felt like it was happening underwater.

"Do you know where you are?"

You looked through the windshield. The glass was cracked, spiderwebbing out from a point you didn't remember hitting. 

There was another car. That was why you'd stopped. That was why—

"There was… a car," you slurred, but the words sounded muffled to even your own ears. Your voice cracked when you spoke up again.

"I didn'— I tried to stop. Is everyone—?"

"Everyone's okay," the paramedic replied, cutting her off before you could continue to worry about that. He had kind eyes. You focused on that. 

"You were in a minor collision, miss. You took most of the impact. We're gonna get you out now, alright?"

You nodded. That hurt too.

They eased you out of the car slowly, and the world tilted sideways. Your legs didn't quite hold you. Someone caught your elbow, guided you to the back of an ambulance. You sat. The doors were open and you could see your car from here, crumpled on the passenger side where the other car had hit you.

It didn't look real.

None of this felt real.

The paramedic was asking you questions. Your address, your birthday, if anything hurt. Everything hurt, but you couldn't pinpoint where. It was all just… noise.

"Is there someone we can call?" he tried to ask..

You blinked at him for a moment. Your phone. You should have your phone. You patted your pockets automatically, but one of the paramedics was already holding it out to you. The screen was cracked because of course it was.

"We need an emergency contact," he attempted again, even more gently this time. "Someone who can meet you at the hospital?"

Hospital? 

You were going to the hospital.

No, no, no. That felt like too much. You opened your mouth to argue, but instead you let your head fall back against the inside of the ambulance and closed your eyes – just for a second, just until the world stopped tilting.

Somewhere far away, you thought you might’ve heard someone say your name before it all faded to black.

The hospital lights were way too bright.

You were in a bed now, though somehow, you didn't really remember getting into it. Someone had apparently taken your shoes off for you. Beside you, there was a blood pressure cuff on your arm that kept tightening and releasing, tightening and releasing. It was annoying. You wanted to take it off, but when you tried, your hands simply wouldn't cooperate.

A nurse came in, wearing purple scrubs with little dogs on them. You stared at the dogs while she asked you questions. Most of them were the same ones from before – your name, your birthday, what day it was.

You answered.

Probably.

She seemed satisfied enough.

"Alright, hun, we're gonna do a CT scan, just to be safe, okay?" she told her sweetly. "Looks like you hit your head pretty hard. Any nausea? Vision problems?"

"S’ blurry, a bit," you admitted. "Everything's kind of blurry."

The nurse wrote something down on her clipboard before looking up at her with a kind smile. "That's normal. You're doing fine, sweetheart. Just try to stay awake for me, okay?"

You nodded. Staying awake felt harder than it should.

She left.

You closed your eyes anyway.

Spoon enough, someone else came in – a doctor, maybe. He pressed on your ribs and you sucked in a breath because that actually hurt, sharp and specific. He muttered something about possible bruising, told you to try to breathe normally.

You tried.

That was, of course, followed up by more tests. They wheeled you somewhere for the CT scan and the machine was loud and you had to hold still and you just wanted to go home. You wanted your bed. You wanted to stop feeling like your brain was three steps behind your body.

When they brought you back to the room, there was a different nurse checking something on the monitor by your bed.

"Your contact is on his way," she stated without really looking up. "Should be here soon."

You blinked at her. "Who?" you asked.

She glanced at the chart, flipping a couple pages up before she found what she was looking for. "You file says the person we were successfully able to contact was Oscar Piastri? That's what we have listed."

Oh.

Of course it was Oscar. You'd forgotten he was listed as one of your emergency contacts. You'd meant to update that months ago, add your parents or something, but you'd never gotten around to it. And now he was coming here. He was probably in the middle of something. Training or a meeting or really anything that had to do with having a life of his own.

You should text him, tell him not to come. You fumbled for your phone but it wasn't on the bed, and when you tried to sit up, the room spun.

"Easy," the nurse said. She put a hand on your shoulder and gently guided you back down. "Just rest. He'll be here soon."

You let your head fall back against the pillow. There was a tightness in your chest, you noted. However, you weren't entirely sure if it was a side effect from the accident or the thought of Oscar seeing you like this—banged up and foggy and basically useless.

It didn’t take a genius to know he was going to worry. That was Oscar – you could get a splinter and he would always be worried.

The thought sat heavy in your chest. You closed your eyes and tried to breathe through it, but everything still felt wrong, tilted, like you weren't quite connected to your body. Time did something weird then, making you unsure how long you’d really been laying there. It could have been minutes, could’ve been longer.

It was easy to drift off with the help of the pain medication flowing through your IV until there was a commotion outside your room — not loud, just voices, someone talking fast—and then the door swung open.

Oscar.

He was still in his pajamas, some comfortable looking joggers and a well-loved sweatshirt you could vaguely recall having seen somewhere before. His hair was even more of a mess than usual, like he'd been running his fingers through it in an unsuccessful attempt to tame his bedhead. Your eyes followed the shape of him as he stopped just inside the doorway, and his eyes went wide when he saw you.

When his eyes met yours, you tried to smile, but you had a feeling it wasn’t half as convincing and you’d thought it was.

"Hey," you greeted tentatively, trying to hide the way your voice cracked. Rather than responding, Oscar quickly crossed the room in approximately three strides.

"Hey," you tried again, a bit louder this time because he wasn't saying anything – just staring at you. Perhaps he hadn’t heard you.

He dropped into the chair beside the bed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His mouth was moving but you realized then that the ringing in your ears hadn't fully stopped and you caught maybe half of it.

"— okay? They said—"

You shook your head and tried harder to focus. "Can't, um, can’t hear you that well."

Oscar stilled stopping before he started and tried again – slower, louder this time. "Are you okay?"

"Oh. M’fine." The words came out automatically, unfiltered and unscripted. From where Oscar was standing, you seemed totally at ease, giving his face a lazy once-over before a thought occurred to her. "Wait, what're you doing here?"

His eyebrows pulled together. "What? What d'you mean what am I doing here? The hospital called me."

"They—" You blinked at him. Right now, thinking felt a lot like your brain was moving through mud. "Why would they call you?"

Oscar sighed, though there was no frustration in his expression. In fact, despite the clear tiredness written across his face, he still smiled at you with what looked like an unending well of patience. "...Because I'm your emergency contact?" he tried, still speaking slower so it’d be easier for you to understand.

Emergency contact.

Right. You'd forgotten about that.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," you blurted out, and you weren't sure why that was the thing you landed on, but it was. "Don't you have, uh— wasn't it race week or something?"

"Singapore's done," he answered. "And do you think I'm just gonna sleep when—"

He cut himself off, dragging a hand over his face. When he looked back at you his jaw was tight, but it was the furrow of his brows that gave away his worry.

"What happened?"

"Car accident." Your tongue still felt thick. "Someone ran a light… I think? Sorry, s’kind of blurry."

"Jesus." He ran a hand through his hair once again, exhaling deeply. You briefly wondered how soft his hair was – it certainly looked quite floofy, especially when he’d run his hand through it a couple of times, like now.

"Are you hurt? What'd they say?"

"I dunno yet. CT scan." You tried to gesture vaguely at your head but your arm weighed about a thousand pounds. "A nurse said maybe I hit my head, ‘cuz everything's really loud and really quiet at the same time."

He didn't say anything for a second. Instead, Oscar simply looked at you, and despite all the years you’d known him, there was something in his face you couldn't quite read. Worry, maybe? Or perhaps anger, though it didn’t exactly seem to be directed at you.

"Osc, you didn't have to come. I'm okay."

"Stop saying that."

It came out harder than you expected, and you flinched. He noticed. His expression shifted, softening.

"Sorry. I just— you're obviously not okay. Like, just look at you."

Something about the way he said it made you look down at yourself instead of at him. For the first time, you noticed that there was blood on your shirt. It wasn’t enough to ruin the shirt forever, but there was still enough to make you consider sending it to the cleaners. When you opened your palms and stretched out your fingers, you squinted at the scrapes there too. There was also a bandage on your forearm that you didn't remember getting.

"It's not that bad," you tried.

Oscar made a breathy, smiling sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "You're in a hospital, Y/N."

You blinked. 

"It’s precautionary."

"Right. Precautionary."

Oscar slipped into one of the weird plastic chairs that hospitals always had. He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, silent. When his eyes met yours again, he spoke again, his voice quieter.

"You scared the shit out of me."

"I didn't mean to."

"I know."

He reached out like he was going to touch your hand, then hesitated. His fingers hovered just over yours for a second before he pulled back.

"Did they, uh, say when you could leave?"

"No. Waiting on the scan results." You were so tired. Your eyes kept trying to close. "You don't have to stay."

"I'm staying."

"Oscar—"

"I'm staying," he repeated, firmer this time, and there was no room for argument in it.

Now that you thought about it, you didn't have the energy to argue anyway.

You must've drifted off at some point because when you opened your eyes, Oscar was scrolling through his phone, and the fluorescent lights were giving him a halo you didn't remember being there before.

"You look stupid."

He glanced up, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "What?"

"The lighting. Makes your head look… weird. Thought you should know."

His mouth twitched, almost smiling, almost fond. "Ah, of course. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Already tired of your current position, you tried to shift only for your ribs to protest immediately.

"Ow."

"Don't– Don’t move. Here"

He was out of his chair before you could blink, one hand hovering near your shoulder like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to touch you. It was funny, really, considering the time Oscar literally threw you over his shoulder that one time he’d finally convinced you to join him on his run only for you to complain until he carried you the rest of the way back.

"Hey, hey. Can you tell me what hurts?"

"Everything? Nothing? I dunno."

Even though you really were trying to answer his question, your head was still doing that thing where thoughts took too long to form. It felt more like pulling cotton from a thornbush rather than just answering a simple question.

"Osc?”

“Yeah?” 

“Why're you still here?"

"Uh, because you're still here."

"That's… That’s circular logic."

He couldn’t help but shake his head at that, laughing. "Okay."

Once he was content that you weren’t actively having a heart attack or bleeding to your death or in any form of excruciating pain, Oscar finally sat back down in the seat beside you. Each blink still felt slow, languid, but when you looked up at him you noticed that he was watching you like you might disappear. Before you could really think about it, however, he was already interrupting your thoughts with another gentle question.

"How's your head?"

For a moment, you mulled over the words, conducting a thorough analysis before delivering your eloquent answer. "Fuzzy. Like static."

You paused then, and Oscar opened his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it.

"D'you ever think about how static isn't, like, really a thing anymore? Like, TVs don't do that now. It's just… black."

Oscar blinked at you. Maybe it was the big brown eyes, but in that moment, he looked a lot like an owl when he did.

"I think that you have a concussion."

"Hmm, probably."

"You should go home."

Oscar only rolled his eyes, going back to read whatever nerdy cricket article he’d probably been reading. "Already said I'm not doing that."

You made a face. "You're annoying."

"Mhmm," he acknowledged, leaning back in the chair as he crossed his arms. "You've mentioned that once or twice."

Of course, you’d probably said that a lot more than once or twice, but you couldn’t remember all the details all that clearly at the moment and the truth was that that’s just how Oscar was – nice, funny, easy in a way that made you not think twice about whatever came out of your mouth around him. Maybe he’d always been like that, you thought to yourself. You couldn’t imagine a moment where being around Oscar wasn’t as easy as breathing.

The room went quiet except for the machines beeping. At some point, you found yourself trying to count the beeps, but it was difficult to keep up. You ended up losing track around fourteen.

"I crashed the car," you announced suddenly.

Oscar looked at you, his face the picture of calm. "I know."

"No, I—" 

You tried to get the right words out, but your throat went tight.

"I crashed it, Oscar. It's—the whole side is smashed. I saw it. I don't think it's drivable."

"That's what insurance is for," he soothed, the ghost of a hand coming to rest on the plastic bedframe right beside where your hand was. But all you could focus on was those few seconds, playing over in your mind like flashes, stills in your memory.

"But I—"

You could feel your breath going weird, shallow. It didn’t feel good.

"I wasn't paying attention. Or I was? But, like, not enough, and now the car's wrecked and I have to— Shit, I dunno how I'm getting to work tomorrow. Or– Or how much it's gonna cost. And I just got it serviced last month, and—"

"Hey. Hey."

He leaned forward again, and this time he did touch you, fingers careful around your wrist.

"Breathe."

"I– I am breathing," you replied, a bit dumbly.

He only smiled, ever gentle. "Slower, hm?"

You tried. It didn't really work.

"The car—"

"Is just a car, I promise."

His voice was steady, calm.

"It kept you alive. That's all it needed to do. That car is replaceable, but you are not."

"But—"

"But nothing. You're here. You're okay."

He squeezed your wrist gently. Oddly enough, it helped – like it was somehow a signal to your body to pause, to match the pulse, to give up the panic and just let the thrum of his pulse against yours dictate your heartrate instead.

"The rest is just.. stuff. We'll figure it out."

"We?"

"Yeah. We."

He said it like it was obvious, like there was never another option. His eyes shone with you could only describe as an ocean of sincerity, refracting the lights of the room in a way that reminded you of the open sea – steady and still.

Your eyes were burning. You blinked hard. Even your voice felt more raw, more exposed.

"I don't wanna figure it out. I wanna go home."

"I know."

"M’ tired."

"I know," he said again, softer.

A beat later, you closed your eyes. His hand was still on your wrist, warm and solid, and you focused on that instead of the beeping or the lights or the way your head felt like it was full of cotton.

"Osc?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming."

There was a pause, a sound almost like a faint hitch in his breathing. When he answered, his voice sounded strange, tight.

"F’course. Always."

You believed him.

The waiting was worse than the tests.

As both of you learned over this vast stretch of time, you could not sit still. Every position you tried felt wrong, no matter how creative — lying flat made your head pound, sitting up made you dizzy. You shifted again and Oscar glanced over from where he'd been pretending to read an infographic on flu shots, which would have been convincing had the entire thing not been written in French.

The moment the bed squeaked from you shifting for the umpteenth time, his attention was on you. "Hey, you alright?"

"I just wanna leave," you huffed, but it came out sharper than you meant it to. "How long does a CT scan take to read?"

"I dunno,” he mused, actually thinking about it. “A while, I guess?"

"It's already been a while."

"It's been, like, forty minutes, actually."

You slumped back against the pillow in defeat, and maybe also exhaustion from being so exhausted. Everything ached.

"That’s stupid. Feels longer."

He didn't argue with that.

You closed your eyes then and tried to sleep. You couldn't. So you opened them again. The ceiling tiles had little dots all over them. You started counting those instead, lost track, and even started over.

It was clear you were unhappy about having to wait so long – Oscar couldn’t imagine a mattress made of that much plastic could be too comfortable, especially for someone who wanted nothing more than to just be able to go home and rest in their own bed. If it were up to him, the two of you would have likely been out of here ages ago, but unfortunately, he actually cared about making sure you were well enough to go home. What he could do, however, was make sure you were as comfortable as you could be in the meantime. 

"D'you need anything?" Oscar tried.

"A time machine."

Oscar shook his head, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment. 

"Fresh out, m’afraid."

You turned your head to look at him. He was still in the same position, elbows precariously balanced on the thin bars of metal acting as the arms of the sad hospital chair, his phone set down on his lap. He looked… tired.

You'd done that.

"Sorry," you mumbled, looking genuinely remorseful. You hated inconveniencing him for something minor like this, especially in the middle of the night. 

"Sorry? What? For what?"

"Y’know. Making you sit here."

"You didn't make me do anything," he chuckled, like the mere idea was laughable. He tilted his head at you, the curve of his mouth terribly fond, soft.

"Seriously. What d'you need?"

You opened your mouth to say nothing, but what came out was, "I'm bored. And my head hurts. And I can't stop thinking about the car, and—"

Finally, your brain caught up with your mouth and you cut yourself off.

"Never mind."

"No, no. C’mon, what?"

"It's stupid."

"That’s never stopped you,” he smirked, before his gaze shifted to something gentler. “Tell me anyway."

You hesitated. "D'they have anything to watch? Like on the TV or something?"

Oscar looked around the room. There was no TV. He checked his phone, scrolled for a second.

"Hospital wifi's quite terrible actually, but I've, uh, got some stuff downloaded?” He thought for a moment, before grimacing. “Probably shouldn't though, right? Screen time with a concussion?"

In return, he received a deadpan glare. "I don't care."

You sounded petulant. You were petulant.

"I just need— I can't just sit here."

He studied you for a moment, then seemed to make a decision.

"Fine, alright. But if a nurse yells at us, you're taking the blame."

You grinned, wide and truly happy. "Deal."

He pulled his chair closer to the bed and angled his phone so you could both see it.

"What d'you want?"

"That depends. What've you got?"

He scrolled through his downloads. There were a couple of race replays from well before his time, some documentary thing that was either about tennis or classical European architecture, a few episodes of a show you didn't recognize. And then a familiar title screen whizzed by.

"Wait, wait, wait. Go back, go back up."

Obediently, he scrolled up.

"There!" You pointed, and your chest did something complicated at the same time. "You have Finding Nemo downloaded?"

Oscar’s ears went slightly pink. "Yeah, well... You kept watching it when you had the flu a couple months ago, and then on the plane to Singapore you fell asleep to it, so I just..."

He shrugged, not quite looking at you.

"Figured it was, like, a good background thing to have. Just in case, or whatever."

Something warm unfurled behind your ribs, despite everything.

"Can we watch that?"

"You sure? We don’t have to, we can always watch something else if you—"

"Nope. I want that one."

Oscar sighed, pretending to be annoyed, but still didn't argue. He just hit play and adjusted the angle so you could see without having to strain your neck.

He really did think of everything.

Once the Pixar logo filled the screen, the music started. Every note was familiar, nostalgic, like the comfort of a favorite blanket. 

Oscar too settled back in his chair, his phone propped carefully on the tray table attached to the side your bed, perfectly between the two of you. You let your head sink into the pillow and watched Marlin and Coral on the reef, and for the first time since the accident, something in your chest loosened.

"Can you hear it okay?" Oscar asked quietly, whispering like anything louder would ruin the sanctity of a movie as important as this one. The thought made you giggle.

"Yeah," you murmured, your eyelids already starting to get heavier. “‘S perfect."

He didn't say anything else after that, content to just let the movie play.

You made it through the barracuda attack before your eyes started closing on their own. The last thing you registered was Marlin promising to never let anything happen to his son, and metered rhythm of Oscar's quiet breathing beside you.

You jolted awake just as Nemo was starting his first day of school.

"— I miss anything?"

Your voice was scratchy.

"Nemo just met his classmates," Oscar said without looking away from the screen. "You were out for like three minutes."

"Oh."

You blinked hard, trying to focus.

"Okay. Good."

Oscar’s eyes flicked to hers, noticing the haziness in them.

"Go back to sleep if you need to," he whispered. “I can wake you up in a bit.”

"No. This is important."

He glanced at you, amused. "It's a kids' movie."

"It's not just—"

You struggled to sit up a little. He immediately moved to help, his hand instinctively hovering near your back.

"It's about the ocean. You're Australian. You should be taking this seriously."

"I am taking it seriously!"

"You're smiling!"

"'Cause you're being ridiculous."

"I'm being culturally responsible."

You squinted at the screen, watching as Nemo began to swim toward the boat. As carefully as you could manage, you brought your arm up to nudge his shoulder, but it ended up being more of a weak graze. "Pay attention, Osc. This part's important."

"I am, I am, I'm paying attention."

For a moment, you watched him, just to make sure he really was paying attention before you turned back to the movie. As soon as you were content, your eyes felt heavier again, until you fought to keep them open. You had to, of course – Marlin was freaking out and Nemo wouldn’t listen, too stubborn to know what was coming. Even with your eyes beginning to close, you couldn’t help but mouth along to some of the dialogue from muscle memory.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Oscar noticed it too. He didn't say anything, but his smile got softer. You drifted off again somewhere around Dory's introduction, and woke up to Marlin and Dory in the dark water, the anglerfish looming.

Your hand clenched in the blanket without thinking.

"You good?" Oscar asked quietly.

"Yeah."

But you didn't unclench your hand. On screen, the anglerfish lunged. You flinched. It was stupid, considering you'd seen this movie a hundred times, but everything felt too close right now, too loud. Oscar shifted in his chair.

"Hey. It's alright." His voice dropped lower, gentler. "Dory's got this. She speaks whale, remember?"

"She doesn't speak whale yet," you mumbled.

"Right. That's later." 

He was still using that soft voice, like you were actually scared of a cartoon fish. It should've been embarrassing. It wasn't.

"But they make it outta this part. Promise."

"I know they make it out."

"I know you know. I’m just reminding you."

You let out a breath. On screen, Dory and Marlin escaped and even though Marlin was in the middle of trying to tell Dory that he wanted to continue the rest of his search for Nemo without her, the music shifted to something lighter and your hand relaxed.

"Thanks," you said quietly.

"For what?"

"I dunno. Being weird with me."

He huffed a laugh. "You make it easy."

You tried to stay awake for the moonfish’s game of charades to cheer Dory up — but you faded out somewhere around Dory swimming away to cry and woke up to Dory getting distracted by the small baby jellyfish instead of Marlin’s directions.

"Where are we?" you asked, brows furrowed, still groggy with sleep.

"Jellyfish scene," Oscar answered easily.

"Oh, good. This is the best part."

He smiled, a teasing grin. "Oh yeah? I thought the last part was the best part."

"Every part's the best part," you told him, blinking at him seriously. "Are you even Australian? The ocean's, like, your whole thing."

"Uhh, pretty sure we have other things."

"Name one."

"Vegemite."

Naturally, you made a face. "That does not count."

"Why not?"

"'Cause it's gross, Osc!"

"Oh, c’mon! You've never even tried it."

"I don't have to, genius. I can smell it from here."

You weren't making sense. Hell, you knew you weren't making sense. But Oscar was watching you like you were saying something profound, and on screen, Dory greeted the adorable little   jellyfish with a soft, “Hey, little guy.”

Marlin, of course, was so focused on how excited he was to be on his way to finally be reunited with Nemo that he completely failed to pay attention to what was going on right behind him. Meanwhile, Dory came closer to the baby jellyfish, cooing at it.

“I shall call him Squishy and he shall be mine and he shall be my Squishy. Come here, Squishy. Come here, little Squishy.”

You laughed at that, and in the dark of the room, Oscar turned to look at you, smiling. He’d figured out quite some time ago that even the smallest sliver of your joy had the power to make his heart do funny things in his chest, but he tried not to think about that. Now, however, in the dark of the hospital room and with all your attention directed at the screen, he allowed himself to look at you for just a moment longer than perhaps friends should.

Soon, Marlin had finally managed to resume Dory from where she'd fallen unconscious stuck in the throng of jellyfish, your cheek was squished against the starchy material of your pillow and your eyes were drifting closed again.

"I’m awake," you stated out loud, though it might've been an affirmation for your sake more than Oscar’s, if you were being honest.

"You don't have to," Oscar told you gently,  one hand carefully pushing your hair out of your face so you could see better.

You replied, but most of your words were mushed together, a stream of mumbles more than anything truly coherent. But Oscar didn’t seem to mind it. In fact, he understood you anyway.

"But you need to see– the EAC's coming up. That's the turtles. Hm, you'll like the turtles…"

"I'll wake you up for the turtles," Oscar assured you.

"...Promise?"

"Promise."

It was then, and only then, that you finally let your eyes close.

Just for a minute.