Archive of Our Own

To say Logan was not having a good time would be a criminal understatement.

He'd always known his luck was bad, but really, this took the fucking cake.

For a few blissful moments when he was just waking up, he'd forgotten what had happened. It was just like coming up from a bad drop, and well… Logan had handled a lot of drops before Oscar. It wasn't exactly unfamiliar — as awful as Oscar insisted that that is. A full body ache wasn't abnormal even now that he was on the way to being better. The experts that Oscar had taken him to had told him that there was no guarantee that he'd ever get over that.

But he hadn't been able to live in that delusion for long. He hurt too much. This wasn't normal. Not even for him.

What made things even more distressing was that he wasn't just hurt, he was restrained. Obviously someone had found him after— after. There was panic at that — even though he knew as a sub restraints should soothe him, there would always be a part of him now that would panic at the feeling of being so helpless. Nonetheless, he was still a sub, and that came with biological consequences that he couldn't escape no matter how much he wanted otherwise.

The restraints layered a haze over his thoughts making everything fuzzy and distant. Even the panic that built in his chest at the restraints was far away; hard to reach. He knew it was there but it just… hung there. It was unsettling and uncomfortable.

That wasn't the only side effect though. On top of the loss of his arms and the fuzziness and slowness of his thoughts was also a general muscle weakness. It was like someone had attached weights pretty much all over his body. It felt like moving was impossible — even for the limbs that weren't restrained. It was like all his concentration went only to his breathing which felt unnaturally even and calm even when he knew it probably ought not to be.

None of that stopped him from being unwittingly suggestible and obedient. He found that out all too quickly upon actually being able to open his eyes and blink away the blurriness.

It became evident that he was in some kind of medical center once he was able to register people around him. He could hear the sounds of monitors, and once someone noticed he was awake, there was a disorienting stream of people.

They checked over him, moving his body around clinically as they looked over his wounds. They guided him to sit up and then to put on clothing. Before he could even really understand what was happening around him (what with how slow his thoughts were going) he was suddenly standing on his own two feet, albeit a bit wobbly.

He wasn't really registering what anyone was saying, although he knew that people were talking. They weren't really talking to him anyways, just around him. He blinked like that would make it better. It didn't.

What surprised him was that he was released into the custody of Nico Hulkenberg of all people. Genuinely what?

Hulkenberg just acted like this was all normal, letting Logan mostly hobble by himself, gentle guiding hand between his shoulder blades. He didn't take off the chest harness which kind of annoyed him, but he didn't have his voice enough to say anything. It felt like opening his mouth and speaking was this large hurdle he couldn't climb; harder than walking even.

Logan really had no idea what was happening. Why was Hulkenberg the one leading him places? They'd probably exchanged only a handful of conversations before. Logan wasn't exactly popular or well liked driver and he and Hulkenberg were from completely different generations. It didn't make sense.

Since it was another driver collecting him, it couldn't have been that long since the Dutch GP. It was a double header. There wasn't a lot of turnaround time. But that still begged the question, why Hulkenberg? Why not Oscar? Oscar had collared him. It was legal — it was supposed to be protection. Did Oscar not know? Did Oscar no longer want him? He remembered his collar being ripped off. Did Oscar think that meant Logan was no longer his? Is that what the medical people thought?

He didn't understand what was happening. He just wanted Oscar.

He couldn't express any of this though. He couldn't open his mouth. Words escaped him. Somehow they ended up on a plane. The whole thing was kind of a blur, so Logan really doesn't know how that happened, but Hulkenberg wasn't too weird. Maybe he looked a little nervous, but it was so hard to tell because Hulkenberg did a really great serious, stoic expression. Utterly unreadable especially in the state Logan was in.

He was pretty confident that they ended up in Italy, but at some point all airports looked the same and he couldn't focus well enough to read. No one talked to him, not even Hulkenberg. It was a whole production, getting him off the plane, into a car, and then to a hotel without really seeing anyone. Logan would be impressed with how Hulkenberg handled it all if he wasn't too busy focusing on breathing and wanting Oscar because now whatever painkillers he'd been given were not enough.

They'd worn off at some point over the flight and Logan's saving grace had been that he was mostly laying down and still. Disembarking had hurt though. One would think that whatever sub haze he was in would do something to dull the pain — and maybe it was, which was perhaps a scary thought — but it was ineffective at best. He still felt too much.

What was worse was that while not dulling the pain anywhere near enough for it to be classified even as just discomfort, it did trap him in his body.

His thoughts were slowly coming back to him, but it was like they were behind a plexiglass wall. His body didn't move consciously — it was like something (or someone) else was making the decisions for him. His body was on autopilot and he couldn't turn it off.

Honestly, that was more scary than anything. Injuries, he was used to. He got used to those and knew well enough how to tough it out, how to handle it. This strange in between consciousness that was very much not subspace freaked him out. And there was nothing that he could do but hope that Hulkenberg wouldn't hurt him more; wouldn't return him to Williams.

He wanted Oscar. He wanted to feel safe.

Everything was wrong.

He did his best though to try and focus a bit more once they came to a stop in front of some nondescript hotel room. He fought the fog, desperate to know what was happening.

The door nearly flew open, and then both he and Hulkenberg were unceremoniously pulled into the room, the door slamming closed behind them. At least they were now in private, no longer exposed.

(Then again, maybe that would be worse. Now they were in private, and in Logan's experience, that was always when things got worse. Doms showed their true colours when there was no one to watch or judge them. Well, no one but Logan; the bad sub. He didn't count.)

He hadn't expected to be confronted by Nico fucking Rosberg though.

Rosberg was one of F1's most infamous subs, not that it was hard at all with how few subs there were. Rosberg was maybe a little more expected than Hulkenberg, if only because he was at least another sub, but he'd probably interacted with Logan even less than Hulkenberg had. He didn't understand why the older sub was involved. This concern had to be beneath him.

(And maybe it was also a little concerning because where Nico Rosberg went, his dom, Lewis Hamilton was not far behind. That in itself was fairly concerning to Logan.)

"How was he? On the plane."

Rosberg was speaking. He'd grabbed Logan by the shoulders, holding him in place and scanning over him. Logan couldn't tell if he was satisfied with what he saw. His expression was so severe. His voice was clipped and sharp, that European disapproval Logan was so used to hearing.

"Quiet. He hasn't spoken yet."

Rosberg moved, guiding Logan toward the bed. He was slow, patient when Logan stumbled, shuffling over his own feet clumsily. Was he hearing shoes? He had to be wearing shoes. He couldn't tell though.

Rosberg guided Logan up onto the bed, following closely after.

"Piastri is still at the track?"

"Yes. Lewis will grab him when he can and let him know Logan is here."

Logan perked up a bit as he heard not only Oscar's name, but the voice of another dom he knew he could trust; Mark Webber. Mark would help him get back to Oscar. Mark would make sure he wasn't hurt — at least, not any more than he currently was. Sitting hurt. He wanted to squirm, but that would draw attention to himself (and probably hurt more) and he didn't want that.

"What do we know so far?" Rosberg demanded, his voice loud and sharp.

"How long have you known about Sargeant?" Hulkenberg added.

Logan blinked, the want to squirm intensifying. Why were they mad at Mark? Mark hadn't done anything wrong Mark was good to Oscar and Logan.

"I first got involved earlier this year. Logan kept his dynamic a secret from everyone but those who found out. Passed himself off as a mild dominant. His whole family are apparently doms, so he knew how to act. Oscar only found out in Australia this year."

"Weren't they childhood friends?'

Logan wanted to whine, wanted to defend Oscar. It wasn't his fault he didn't notice. He hadn't wanted him to. He was supposed to be convincing. They lived in different countries and only raced together half the time. How had Oscar just been supposed to know that he was lying?

"Yeah. Oscar was surprised. Of course the kid had been in love with him since they were teammates in the junior categories regardless of designation. So he offered to collar him. Logan agreed. I got involved a few months later when Oscar asked me to serve as his trusted dom."

A tear slipped down Logan's cheek going unnoticed by the room at large. The mention of his collar — of Oscar collaring him, choosing him — made him physically ache. He didn't have his collar anymore. Honestly had no idea what had happened to it or if it had just straight up been destroyed.

(Would he even want it back? It was his collar; his. Oscar had given it to him. But… it had been ripped off of him. He'd nearly been strangled with it.

It wasn't fair. It was his racing collar, the only one he was allowed to wear behind the wheel in the car.

What was he supposed to do?)

"Oscar is a little old for that," Rosberg chimed in.

"Oscar wanted me for my sub rehabilitation experience. Oscar wasn't the first dom to find out his true dynamic and they — whoever they were, the kid refuses to talk about them — were not as good. They abused him, badly. Probably blackmailed him too."

Ouch. Okay. Didn't need to say it like that.

"He is probably in the worst condition. I have ever seen a sub. Scarring all down his back and thighs — not to mention his genital area. I've never seen so many scarred wounds on the perineum before. The worst of the damage was to his first internal gland though. It was all but destroyed and is completely inert."

"And no one knew?"

"The kid hid it well. Oscar managed to get him to a specialized clinic. They were working on rehabilitating him — learning to work with his limitations and get him what he needed to be healthy. He wasn't backsliding as far as I know, but it was going to be a long road. The police came to talk to us the same day that he was discovered. They wanted to know where Oscar had been all weekend — what he knew about his sub's whereabouts."

"That was fast. Komatsu told me a mechanic stumbled across him two days after the race. He was naked and battered, dumped at the far end of the track where he was unlikely to be discovered in a timely manner."

It felt like cool liquid pooled down his spine as the conversation happening above him washed over him. So that was how he'd been found. Some mechanic — from Haas — had stumbled across him. Pure chance.

Logan had just been dumped; left to die. If what they were saying was true, it was even days after the race. Everyone should have been cleared out. He hadn't been intended to be found. It made his breath catch in his throat.

(What Logan didn't want to think about, was that the timeline implied that it wasn't just James. Someone else had had to be the one to dump his body as James' presence was required in Italy as soon as possible. Him staying behind would have been noticed and noted.)

"Lucky find."

"Half the team was stuck in the Netherlands. Not much to do while we waited to leave."

"The unpaid debts."

"He'd probably be dead without it, I suppose."

"The police didn't say much else. We have no idea who they're investigating. Just that we should expect them to contact us again."

Rosberg shifted on the bed. 'It was probably someone at Williams. Maybe even James." This time, Logan actually flinched. It was minute, but it was there. "As much as I hate to think about it. He seemed to just… have it out for Logan."

"That seems pretty extreme, no?"

"Well, who else could it be? Another Williams employee? A stranger? What seems more likely?"

"We should leave this to the police."

"Well, if it is James, or someone else at Williams, we can't just let them get close to Logan."

"I can't imagine we'll be leaving this room all weekend."

"That bad?"

"Kid's got stitches in places no one wants stitches. He was hobbling at best. He'd been basically left for dead."

"Right, yeah. What did— what did the doctors say?"

Oh right. Logan wanted to know this too. If the doctors spoke to him at all, he certainly didn't remember what they'd said. He was feeling it now though, and that was kind of concerning.

"That he'll recover. He shouldn't be much worse off than he had been before the attack — which from what you claim seems to be not exactly good. A lot of bruising, a lot of blunt force trauma. He suffered some tearing that wasn't insignificant. It'll be a hard recovery. No penetration at all for 6 weeks. He can wear a collar over the bandages though, as long as it is light and loose."

Okay. That was… a lot but he would heal. Most importantly, he could wear a collar. He wanted his collar. He wanted Oscar.

"What happened to his neck?" Rosberg asked.

"Strangulation. Doctor said they suspect it was done with his collar."

"They ripped it off of him?"

"Most likely."

Logan wanted to curl up into himself, but his body wouldn't respond. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Well, when Oscar gets here, he can re-collar him," Rosberg said in that matter-of-fact tone of his. "That will help. I know that I actually started getting better once Lewis re-collared me again."

Yes, Oscar was coming and he would re-collar Logan. Then everything would be okay again. Oscar was coming. He had to remember that.

He'd managed to curl up a little, mostly lying on his side. His cheek was pressed against the bed. He hurt and it was easier to just… not move. Not that he really could do anything more than a slump or glacially paced squirming. Now that he was in a bed with another sub, the haze that had fogged over his thoughts was becoming more present again. It was too bad that it didn't do much to actually dull the pain. It just rendered his physical reactions more minute.

He must have missed some exchange because the next thing he was aware of was Mark Webber kind of kneeling or maybe crouching in front of him. Was he on the bed? He thought maybe he felt the bed dip near him, but he couldn't be sure.

"Hey Logan," he said softly. "Are you with me, pup? It's Mark. You're in Italy. You're safe. I won't let anyone get you."

Logan blinked at him, turning his head slightly to try and see Mark better. He kind of wished Mark would hug him. He didn't want Mark to touch him.

"I know you can't believe me yet, but I promise Oscar will be here soon."

Logan felt another tear slide down his cheek. He didn't know what else his face was doing, but it caused Mark to reach forward and gently brush Logan's hair off of his face. He flinched at the touch.

"I promise that he won't be mad at you. He missed you so much. He's been a wreck without you, pup. It'll be okay, pup."

Logan wanted to believe Mark so bad. He wanted nothing more than for Oscar to be here and to not be mad at him. He'd settle for Oscar just being here honestly. He knew he'd messed up and he was sorry. Oscar would understand, wouldn't he? He was always telling Logan it was okay and that he wasn't a bad sub. There was no one he trusted more than Oscar. He trusted Oscar more than he did himself.

They left him alone on the bed after that, clearly picking up on the fact that his ability to both understand and respond was limited. Mark was slow to leave the bed, careful to not jostle Logan much. He appreciated it in a distant way.

Rosberg left the bed as well, although his was more of a clamber, less graceful than one would normally attribute to a sub — not that Logan was one to talk. He was clumsy on a good day. To say he was ungraceful was frankly generous.

After he was left alone on the bed — unmoored but still bound and hurt, and altogether too helpless — time seemed to slip away from him. He was vaguely aware of quiet conversation happening across the room, but he no longer cared to try and follow it. All there really was for him to do was breathe and wait. Mark said that Oscar was coming, so Oscar would come.

Logan could be good. He could wait.

He had no way of telling how much time had actually passed before anything notable happened, but it couldn't have been a short one. He felt too stiff. The tears dripping down his temples had long since dried as he just… drifted.

He noticed it when the door opened though. It was startlingly loud to Logan's senses. There was some kind of hissed conversation happening near the door — it was too quiet for Logan to be able to understand — but he could tell very easily that it was not a happy conversation.

He dragged himself back to the present a bit more, determined to see what was happening.

The first thing he noticed was Oscar and his heart sang. Mark hadn't lied. Oscar really had come for him.

But that wasn't the only thing he noticed.

Oscar was in quite the state himself. His arms were pulled behind his back and he was paler than normal, wobbly. It almost seemed like he was being held up more than he was being held back.

What Logan was unable to peel his gaze away from though was his face. Not for any romantic reason like he would have preferred, but because someone had muzzled him.

Abruptly, Logan wanted to be sick.

Muzzling was barbaric. It was something reserved exclusively for doms who got so out of hand that they wouldn't listen to reason and there was no other way to control them. It was considered cruel.

It worked by inflicting pain and humiliation on the dom. It rendered them mute and limp like they'd been scruffed. What was worse was that the effect lingered well after the muzzle was taken off. If worn for too long, it could really mess with a dom's system. It's use was even illegal in certain states.

It made Logan sick to see his dom — to see Oscar — brought so low like this. To muzzle a dom was to reduce them to the level of a sub. Bound to obey, helpless and vulnerable.

Oscar's eyes were hazy and dazed. Logan had never seen him like this before. Oscar was not meant to look like this.

Oscar's eyes slid over him before abruptly meeting Logan's own horrified gaze. He lurched forward, the man holding him by the bicep — Lewis fucking Hamilton apparently — still had a sure grip on the Aussie so he didn't really make it far. A muffled sound tore itself from Oscar's throat, and almost simultaneously Logan whined pitifully. Tears of frustration and fear beaded up in his eyes.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Oscar was supposed to come get him and then all of this horror and pain would be over. Instead Oscar came to him bound and hurt, and the older doms in the room were not letting him come near Logan. He didn't understand. Why would they muzzle him? What was happening? He wiggled in place, desperate suddenly for Oscar to just be here. If Oscar could not come to him, then Logan would have to go to him.

The sight of Logan fighting to get to Oscar only made Oscar fight harder in turn. He practically flung himself out of Lewis' hold and almost immediately hit the floor. He crumpled into a heap, struggling to try and right himself but not having the coordination or even the arms to. His visible struggling and continual crumpling to the ground only made Logan struggle more himself. He could tell how much Oscar wanted to get to him, how hard he was trying. But the muzzle… oh what had they done to his dom?

Logan still couldn't form words no matter how lucid and in the moment he felt now. That didn't mean he was silent anymore though. No, instead he kept making these awful, high-pitched, wounded noises. He hated how he sounded but there was nothing he could do. He sounded hoarse and scared, and that was not helped at all by the very visible tears of distress now forming in Oscar's eyes.

Lewis took pity on them (and really that's the least he can fucking do if he was the one who fucking muzzled Oscar) and hauled Oscar back onto his feet. With the grip that he had under Oscar's armpits, Lewis actually lifted him clean off of his feet. Were it any other situation, Logan would almost be impressed (Oscar was not small albeit for an F1 driver) but it wasn't any other situation. Instead, it just highlighted just how powerless they were, how vulnerable.

Oscar was muzzled and bound. He couldn't really do anything to fight back. Logan was even worse off. Should any of the doms in the room try something, they were in no position to stop it. Who would help them? Not Rosberg. Now that the man had his championship and his dom back, he wouldn't dare legitimately challenge him. Not anymore. Mark? Well he was in the room and Oscar was still muzzled.

Lewis all but tossed Oscar onto the bed. Logan didn't have the time or energy to be angry about that though, because Oscar was on the bed. With him. He squirmed and wiggled, not caring for the way he felt the tug of pain at every movement He just wanted — no, needed — to be close to Oscar.

They pressed up against each other, Logan making himself as small as possible so that he could tuck himself into Oscar's side. He was slightly taller than Oscar, and the both of them were racing drivers and didn't exactly cut imposing figures. Logan pressed his face into the crook of Oscar's neck, tucking his chin in downward to cover his own neck and bandages.

He wished that Oscar could wrap his arms around him. Ultimately, it wouldn't do much to actually improve the situation, but it made him feel safer. It would make him feel comforted.

He would have to make do with just having Oscar here, pressed up against him. It was more than he'd thought he'd get. He should be grateful he got that much.

(But being this close to Oscar only made it more obvious how much the muzzle was affecting him. It made Logan's nerves prickle, an unnatural tug pulling his brain up into a state of hyper awareness.

He knew that it wasn't entirely fair of him to think, but doms weren't just… subdued. They had it made. It was illegal in so many countries to do something like this to a dom; classified as assault.

Oscar was so still, so limp. It was like he was only half there. If he focused maybe he could feel a light tremor as if Oscar's entire being was rejecting the muzzle. His breathing came out in shallow nasal huffs. His eyes were glazed over, staring almost through Logan when they'd been in eyeshot.

It scared Logan.)

Instead of his cheek resting against Oscar's skin, he came to rest against the base collar of the muzzle. It wasn't enough that they'd muzzled him, they'd also fucking collared him too. He yelped softly, pulling back briefly to look at it. He whined, distress seeping from his entire body as he nuzzled harder into Oscar as if wanting hard enough would make the whole thing disappear.

"You can't be serious, mate. What gives you the right? The authority?"

Oh Mark sounded mad. It made Logan press further into Oscar, small whimpers leaving his throat. A dom yelling, no matter how the dom was, was alarming. Instinctively, it sent another jolt down his spine, made him want to shrink even further.

"Listen, Magnussen is the one who made the decision. He reacted when Oscar began to use his dom voice—"

"That's ridiculous and you know it," Mark snapped. "Muzzling is fucking archaic."

"And you thought muzzling him was the best way to not make a scene?! You're Formula 1 drivers and doms! You should be able to handle these situations without resorting to a muzzle! There's a reason they are banned in so many countries."

"No one saw us and we got him here," Lewis replied stiffly. "What's done is don."

"No, Mark hissed back "What's done is not done because Oscar is still muzzled. I asked you to get Oscar for a reason, Hamilton."

Logan peeked out from where he had his face buried in Oscar's neck — or as close to it as he could get anyways. He didn't like how helpless the both of them were while other doms — older doms with more power and sway than two drivers barely out of their rookie year — argued about them over their heads. Oscar was muzzled, and he couldn't do anything until the muzzle was off. The way it was digging into him; his glands… He couldn't fight back.

That meant it was up to Logan to keep watch. He was hazy and hurt, but Oscar was all but paralyzed by his own biology and other doms' overreactions.

He kept his face mostly buried in Oscar's sweat-slick neck, but peeked out just enough to get a glimpse of what was happening.

Lewis looked like he was genuinely confused and disgruntled by Mark's words He was acting like he was the one attacked.

"Muzzling him was an overreaction and shows how incompetent Magnussen is. I expected better from you though. I asked you to bring Oscar for a reason. Oscar being muzzled defeats that purpose entirely; not to mention the damage it'll do to Oscar."

Yeah, Mark's defense was nice and all, but Oscar was still muzzled. Logan was still bound.

"Logan is a highly distressed collared sub," Mark continued absolutely no patience in his tone at all anymore. "He went through something awful and traumatic. He had his collar ripped off by a dom who violated him and nearly killed him. Having his dom reassure and help take care of him is integral to his recovery!"

"We can just take the muzzle off then, can't we?"

Mark scrubbed a hand over his face. "It's not that simple," he nearly growled. "Do you just bring Nico up from subspace by dumping a bucket of ice water on him? If so, that would explain a lot about 2016."

"What the fuck, man?"

"Muzzles effectively induce a drop in doms," Mark barreled on. "You've had it on him for what? More than an hour now? He'll be in drop."

Oh.

Logan knew it was bad but… somehow hearing Mark talk about it was so much worse. It made it feel real. They'd treated Oscar like an unruly sub, something to be subdued when it didn't react how they wanted it to, and his biology was literally rejecting it.

Drops sucked. And they'd sent Oscar into one on purpose. Tears welled up in his eyes unbidden. He sniffled.

"Yeah, he couldn't really move on his own."

Mark huffed. "Oscar has never been muzzled before. It's illegal in Australia because it was deemed barbaric."

"The one Kevin had— it's got the bit."

"Of course it does. Even if we were able to take it off now, Oscar will probably drop even further, may even snap. Not to mention the whole effect that this has and will have on Logan."

Logan didn't understand. He was just upset and confused. Oscar was here, but also, he wasn't at the same time. He was physically present, but who could say where he was mentally? Logan couldn't tell He highly doubted anyone else could.

They'd shoved a bit in his mouth and muzzled him.

Logan couldn't understand why they kept the muzzle on anyways. Sure, Mark said that Oscar would drop, but it was too late for that anyways, wasn't it? As soon as the muzzle had gone on, it was too late. Wouldn't it only be worse the longer he had it on?

Logan tucked himself back into Oscar's neck again. He didn't like how they were talking. He didn't want to hear any more.

He felt it as Oscar tried to curl around him, but it was a twitching, hesitant motion. It only made Logan's eyes burn more with tears. It felt harder to breathe.

He wanted this whole thing to just be over. He wanted none of this to have ever happened. If he could go back… this was all his fault…

He couldn't stop the tears that poured down his face even though it was beyond humiliating. He hated crying in general — and especially since he was prone to crying while subbing — but crying in front of a bunch of people who he'd grown up looking up to and respecting? It was bad enough that they'd seen him so low, now he was crying like a damn fool.

He was the pathetic sub that he'd always been told that he was. Couldn't do anything without Oscar. Now when Oscar needed him, he was useless. His stomach rolled. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the tears away but it was useless.

He barely noticed it when the bed dipped under someone else's weight, but he did notice that it caused him to roll just a little bit away from Oscar. This was obviously distressing because right now Oscar couldn't do anything to defend himself so Logan had to do it for him. He wasn't exactly mobile either (and he probably wouldn't be for a while) but he could at least use his body as a shield. They'd hurt Oscar enough.

"Hey Logan. Are you with us?"

Logan flinched violently, curling back into Oscar. He'd thought he'd been upset about how they all talked over his head like he wasn't even there but oh being talked to was somehow worse, wow. He just wanted Oscar. Why was that so hard?

"I know it's really hard right now, but can you look at me?"

The only comfort that Logan had was that he couldn't hear any dom creeping into the voice. It was Rosberg probably. He was the only one who had touched Logan and the bed before.

At least he had the sense to not actually touch Logan or Oscar. He wasn't gagged. He'd bite.

(It was his job to protect them now. Oscar was too hurt. He was too still. What else could Logan do?)

He didn't know what he did — what little noise or body movement he made that gave it away — but Rosberg picked up on the fact that Logan was no longer stuck in his head.

"We're trying to help you, okay?"

This time Logan was aware of the spluttering noise he made in the back of his throat at that statement. (It tasted like defeat, like concession he shouldn't have given). Help? If they were trying to help, they wouldn't have muzzled Oscar.

"I know it may not seem like it, but we are," Rosberg insisted, his vice never wavering from that annoying even tone. It was a forced calm, talking to him like he was a spooked animal, liable to lash out. "I just want to see your face."

Rosberg was not going to let this go — Logan knew that much. Nico had made an entire career of not letting things go. It was maybe the only reason he had a collar again. The man was persistent to an almost self destructive degree.

Reluctantly, Logan peeked out from Oscar's neck. The dom had gone eerily still. The only motion was whatever Logan did and Oscar's breathing. Logan could almost think that he was asleep were it not for the muzzle.

The damn muzzle.

Rosberg remained quiet until Logan eventually revealed more of his face, only his cheek resting against Oscar's neck instead of the whole front of his face. He stared blearily at the older sub. He was too close. It was uncomfortable.

Nico smiled down at him, wrinkles furrowing around his eyes. "There you are," he cooed gently like that would somehow coax Logan into being more agreeable and feeling more secure. Fat fucking chance.

"I know things really suck right now, but is there anything I can do for you?"

Logan frowned, his eyebrows drawing in together.

"Maybe some water?"

Logan's frown deepened. No, he didn't want water. Not when he couldn't even move his arms. He'd have to rely on someone else holding it for him and the only one he trusted with that right now as Oscar (and maybe Mark). He wasn't going to debase himself any more in front of Rosberg, of all people.

He watched as Rosberg pursed his lips, clearly not entirely happy with Logan's responses, but he didn't care. So what if it made him a bad sub? He knew that. Hell, everyone in this room now knew that. Anyone who had encountered him since the race knew. It wasn't like it was a huge secret. Once you knew that Logan was a sub, it was just obvious. Why else would any of this have happened?

Logan was tired and scared and hurt. He didn't have enough energy to be considerate of other people's feelings — he was set up to fail anyways.

"That's alright," Rosberg said after a long moment. "Do you know where you are?"

Logan stared at him for a long moment, warring with himself about whether or not he should respond. But Rosberg could see his face. He knew Logan understood him.

(Even though they knew he was a bad sub didn't mean that they'd just let it slide. He knew Mark wasn't a strict dom, but Lewis Hamilton very clearly was. Would they punish him for not answering, for not cooperating, when they knew that he could? Would they hurt him?)

(Worse. Would they hurt Oscar more?)

He shook his head ever so slightly, wincing at the twinge in his neck at the motion.

Rosberg's expression softened somehow.

"You're in Italy," he began. "A bit outside of Monza, so we could have some more privacy. It is media day."

Well, that was at least useful. He was sure if his brain had been less fogged over — by bondage he did not remember being put on him — then he would have figured it out himself. Still, he knew he wasn't firing at all cylinders.

He was trying his best.

"Do you remember what happened to you?"

Logan couldn't help the flinch he made. He pressed himself closer into Oscar's side, desperate for comfort and reassurance that was not going to come.

"Yes."

He was as surprised as Rosberg was that he actually spoke. The singular word sounded like it was being torn from him, something automatic and out of his own control. His voice sounded horrible too, hoarse and dry from the days he'd spent silent, raw from the screaming he'd done before that.

Rosberg visibly steeled himself, his face setting into a determined blank. He squared his shoulders. It was all meaningless posturing.

"What can you tell us?" he coaxed.

"Nico—" came a scolding accented voice. Logan couldn't tell who it was. He was too busy staring directly into Rosberg's eyes.

"If he remembers—"

"It's not our job to investigate." Oh that was definitely Lewis actually. Logan would recognize British disappointment and scolding anywhere. "You're just re-traumatizing him."

Rosberg didn't look away either. "Surely it's better if it's us asking rather than the police."

"They'll need to talk to him at some point anyways."

"And the Dutch will take the word of a sub?"

"Nico."

Rosberg was not cowed by arguing with his dom, then again, Logan wouldn't expect him to be. There'd been a reason they'd blown up and Lewis had taken his collar back. Of course Rosberg's pretty obedient act now only went so far.

"Do you remember who attacked you?" he prompted, shifting the focus of his questioning narrower. Of course that meant Logan had to think about James and he didn't want to do that. He shrunk himself as much as he could. He'd never been good at making himself small. Always too awkward and gangly. Too much.

"I know it's tough, but it's really important you tell us," Rosberg continued, still ignoring how uncomfortable and intense the doms were being.

Logan couldn't understand how he did it. How he could just… keep pushing despite the waves of disapproval in the air.

"Help. Oscar."

Talking was trying — exhausting even. He=uh, just being aware was tiring. Talking felt near excruciating. At least mentally, if not near excruciating. At least mentally if not physically. He only had so many words in him, and he wasn't going to waste them on James that man.

"Oscar's here," Rosberg said like Logan was stupid. He fucking knew Oscar was here. Oscar needed help and everyone was just standing around and watching. No one was helping. Logan couldn't understand why.

"Muzzle," he grit out desperately. "Off."

Rosberg's face took on this almost sickening expression of pity.

"It's pretty scary, huh," Rosberg said. "Oscar's okay though."

No, he wasn't. Logan felt tears of frustration burn up in his eyes. Hadn't Rosberg heard a thing that Mark was saying earlier? Oscar was in drop. He was being actively hurt by the muzzle. Oscar was not okay at all. Why was he lying to Logan?

Logan shook his head, tears dripping down his cheeks. "No."

Rosberg sighed, clearly displeased with Logan's obstinance which was rich of him.

"How about this. Work with us a little here, help us put away the people who hurt you so bad, and we'll take the muzzle off."

Logan's heart stuttered. They wouldn't— there was no way—

"Nico, that's enough," Lewis snapped again, this time his voice stronger, but the damage had already been done. "WE are not the police. This isn't your place."

Lewis' scolding meant nothing to Logan though. It was just words. Rosberg was still staring at him imploringly, like he knew that he had Logan, and that Logan would give in.

How could he not? Rosberg had essentially bargained the muzzle's removal — Oscar's well being — for information he wasn't even sure Logan had. This implied that otherwise — if Logan didn't cooperate — then Oscar would remain muzzled. No one had made any moves to touch Oscar at all since he'd been thrown onto the bed with Logan after all. Lewis' words meant nothing when he'd been the one to drag Oscar in, bound and muzzled.

And this was all for what? Rosberg's morbid curiosity? His pathological need to be right? To win? Looking into his eyes now, there was a sharpness, a coldness to him. A glint that told Logan Rosberg left something more than just a collar behind in 2016. And what was left behind the veneer wasn't so nice and pretty.

Logan choked on a sob. Why wasn't Mark stepping in? Why were all the doms just… letting a sub just run the show?

"Just tell us what you can, Logan," Rosberg coaxed, his voice horrible and gentle.

"Please," Logan begged, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, you have to—" his voice cracked, dying out part way through.

Rosberg reached out, brushing Logan's bangs off of his forehead. Logan was crying too much to do more than tremble.

"Nico—"

"He's fine," Rosberg said. "It's just a overwhelming situation. A lot of feelings. He'll feel safer once we get the guy." He smiled softly down at Logan. It didn't reach his eyes. "You know, Oscar was muzzled for your safety. Magnussen knows what kind of damage doms can do. Really, Oscar is not being harmed if he wears the muzzle for longer if you need more time."

But he was, though. Logan knew it. He was so still, so cold. It wasn't right.

But Logan could fix it.

"James," he choked out, tears blurring his vision. He was almost grateful; it meant he didn't have to meet Rosberg's piercing gaze any longer. He burned and shook with it, sniffling on the inhale.

"James Vowles?" Rosberg clarified. Logan could only nod, pulling his lip in between his teeth to gnaw at the flesh. "Of course it was James. He's always been weird about subs driving."

"Nico…" This time Lewis' voice was no longer hard. Instead it was almost sorrowful, like Rosberg's statements and certainty worried and grieved him in equal measure.

"I'm fine," Rosberg insisted, no doubt responding to some nonverbal cue that Lewis was delivering. "He was just always… strict."

That was one way of saying things.

"Oscar," Logan rasped, drawing the attention back to his own prone form. "Please."

He'd given Rosberg what he wanted. He couldn't tell him any more. His voice couldn't handle it and he didn't even know what all he remembered about what happened anyways. His memories were all scrambled. Rosberg couldn't actually be expecting Logan to recount the whole thing right? He'd done what he'd wanted.

"Right," Rosberg said, standing up from the bed. "Lewis? Mark. I'll let you two handle this. You know better how muzzles work than I." Then he disappeared entirely even from Logan's blurry vision. He didn't know whether or not that made him feel better. On the one hand, Rosberg was not a kind person, as much as he pretended to be. On the other, he was the only other sub in the room.

Logan didn't trust doms, and he didn't trust Nico Rosberg very much now. But he was supposed to be able to trust other subs.

He hadn't really met many other subs.

"It's okay, pup," he heard. "We'll get Oscar sorted."

Well, why did it take so long? Why wasn't Mark moving faster? Why was Rosberg just allowed to do whatever? Tears continued to stream down his cheeks and he choked on his breaths. His eyes burned from the effort. Deciding that he didn't want to watch — that he was done with being present and useful actually — he turned and buried his nose in Oscar's shoulder. That shifted him enough that he was no longer touching the collar part of the muzzle.

To Mark's credit, he didn't drag it out. His hands moved with efficiency, but not the frantic urgency Logan knew his own would have if he were the one doing this. Probably for the better. Logan didn't know the first thing about removing a muzzle, especially not one as strict as this one. Logan didn't want to hurt Oscar more.

And Mark was trained, wasn't he? He should know best how to do that.

Logan heard the clinking of metal buckles, the rustling of leather brushing against itself. Oscar remained still and unresponsive, his breath shallow. It worried Logan, but the fact that the muzzle was coming off soothed him a bit. Logan had done well. He was protecting Oscar. He was helping.

"Alright. It's off, pup."

Logan sniffled, taking a moment to just breathe in Oscar's scent and trying to calm himself down. The tears wouldn't stop, but Logan would just have to deal with it. Oscar always said it was okay to cry. He could trust Oscar. And maybe Mark.

Maybe Mark.

He pulls his face from Oscar's shoulder and looks up. His breath caught in his chest.

The muzzle had clearly been too tight. There were marks gently purpling under Oscar's jaw and at the hinge. Oscar had always been pale, and consequently some what easy to bruise, but Oscar shouldn't be bruised at all because he shouldn't have been muzzled. His cheeks were puffy, pressure lines on his cheeks too where the leather had dug in unintentionally (allegedly).

What was even more concerning was the fine tremors beginning to settle over Oscar. It was like exhaustion tremors after a hard work out. Yet, despite that, Oscar was still eerily still, his shoulders bent awkwardly due to his bound hands being under him. Shit. Another problem. Oscar needed his hands.

Logan nudged Oscar with his head, the only part of his body that he really had any meaningful control over. Oscar's body moved slightly, but it was like he was unconscious.

Logan didn't understand.

"Os?" he croaked, a tinge of desperation in his voice.

They'd said he wouldn't be immediately okay after the muzzle came off, but… this was bad. This was so much worse than Logan had thought. He hadn't understood. He didn't understand.

Why wasn't he moving?

"Os?" he repeated, the burn in his eyes renewing as his tears thickened. Even at his voice, Oscar didn't so much as twitch. Logan squirmed, ignoring how his body twinged and complained at the movement. He needed to be closer to Oscar. He needed Oscar to wake up.

His hands scrambled weakly at Oscar, pawing helplessly as much as he could.

"Os—" his voice cracked harshly, making him start coughing uncontrollably. His chest felt like it was on fire, his throat raw and pulsing. It made it hard to breathe.

"Hey, hey. Calm down. It's okay. You're safe, Oscar's safe. No one's taking him from you."

Logan let out a wordless cry of distress. It was all too much. Oscar was dead weight next to him — dead weight and hurt. Logan couldn't move and he'd almost died. He couldn't stop crying and it made breathing hurt.

He didn't want to listen to Mark. It was not okay. It may never be okay again.

He nudged Oscar again, maybe trying to get him to respond, maybe trying to roll him off of his bound hands. Either way, he was unsuccessful.

Maybe people were trying to talk to him, maybe even trying to touch him. Logan was beyond that though. He was too exhausted and too hurt. He couldn't get close enough to Oscar. Everything was lost in a haze of pain and fear.