Whats an old scene from a fic that you had to cut out but really like?
An early draft of dwtd ch19 - I decided a different direction (with a cold open at a bar) but did like this version too :)
George takes Max to a rage room. It’s interesting though. Max is a menace on track, dive bombing others without a second thought. But really Max is surprisingly gentle. He seems mostly confused about what he’s supposed to do in there. George had thought that maybe some of the residual anger would be there, but he’s mellowed out. Maybe too much.
It’s concerning really. Max is calm. Quiet. So… not Max.
After waking up that first day, Max had been in a mood. They’d simply stayed in the hotel, Max watching some movie that was only mildly interesting until he fell back asleep. George had offered to get another hotel room, but Max had shrugged and George had ended up staying. In the other bed this time.
How Max had gone back to sleep so early made George wonder how much sleep he had been getting before this weekend. But the quietness had continued. He thought that maybe Max hadn't slept well the night before. George had woken up to a noise that had sounded suspiciously like a whimper, but it had stopped on its own. George didn't ask about it.
Today was only different in the fact that Max grabbed the keys to the rental car without a word. It looked like he wasn't going to say anything. But he stops at the door, lets out a breath like he's making a decision, and says “I am going for a drive. You can come with me if you would like.”
George barely remembers to grab his wallet in his haste to follow him out the door.
Max drives. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't turn on music or a podcast. He doesn't input directions or look at a map. He just… drives.
George respects the silence even as everything screams in him to fill it. He has no idea where they're going. It doesn't seem like Max knows where they're going.
He's not sure how long they've been driving when Max pulls off down yet another dirt road. There's a dirt parking area beside a sign announcing some State Park and giving warnings about a hiking trail. Max drops the keys in the cupholder before he gets out of the car. George grabs them before following after him.
However he wasn't prepared for this. Certainly wasn't dressed for this. And Max dressed the exact same way every single day so it's not like he could go off of context clues. “Max- I'm not sure -”
Max stops momentarily but doesn't turn around. It's the same quiet voice from before that says, “You can wait in the car if you do not want to come.” He starts walking again without waiting for an answer.
George, of course, continues on. He doesn't know what's going on but it's not as thought he can just let him wander off into the woods and… and what? What is Max playing at here?
Eventually Max stops. When George catches up, he’s leaning against a railing overlooking a lake of some kind.
“It’s beautiful.” George comments, not able to handle the silence any longer.
hiii any chance we can get another peek at the next dark dwtd part with gp? 👀🙏 the hurt no comfort is making me crave more whump and dark dwtd comes to mind 😂😭
Then the video shifts.
And GPs heart stops.
It's hard to explain really. One might say GP’s heart actually stopped. He wouldn't be surprised to find this at all. Because what's shown on the screen is something GP can't watch for more than a few seconds. As soon as he realizes what's happening he turns away. Retreating back into the garage.
He should go to Max. He should make sure he's okay.
But he doesn't.
It's selfish. And wrong. But-
But what had he just witnessed? It's like he hasn't really seen anything. Because if he had. If he had. This had to be some sort of sick prank.
Most of the time at least. His papa had died for a long time. Jules had died for a long time. Anthoine was the exception. His death had been fast. Instant.
And he tried not to dwell on it. Tried not to think on it. But sometimes late at night all he could wonder was which he preferred. He decided his father didn't belong in the equation. The real comparison was Jules and Antoine. And the questions was if, God forbid, it happened again, which was better?
Months of hoping, of saying goodbye, but watching as the body waste away to nothing? That glimmer of hope still gleaming somewhere in the background, only to be disappointed and devastated, even if it was somewhat expected?
Or, the heartbreak in a second? No time to prepare. No time to grieve. There one moment gone the next. They probably didn't even feel pain.
Which was better?
Instant he finally decides. Anthoine's death had hit hard, but those weeks of waiting for something, anything, with Jules had been worse.
And yet somehow, somehow, this was even more worse.
He doesn't visit Max in the hospital.
Not in Japan, though maybe he should have. No one from the grid did as far as he knew. That wasn't really - there wasn't much protocol on things like this. And Red Bull was there for him. That was all Max needed before. He wouldn't want drivers hanging around and judging him when he woke up.
Of course that point is null because-
Charles doesn't visit Max in Japan.
There's the podium (they play the Dutch anthem to an empty step. There's not a single Red Bull member in the crowd. Charles doesn't cry, but only because he's too numb.) and then the team brief (it's not a debrief. They sit in the room, no one saying anything. Lewis stares at his hands. Charles blinks rapidly until the room is no longer blurry).
And then Charles is on his way. He probably didn't have to rush off. They have a week before the next race weekend. But he can't stand to be there. Not anymore he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to race there again. He can't look at Lando.
Bahrain feels wrong. It's quiet. No one really talks. The FIA briefing is awkward. They have to be careful with what they say anyway. The general public doesn't know much. Just that Max is alive but unconscious. There's a debate online on whether it's medically induced or organic. Charles knows enough to know with those kinds of injuries, it really doesn't matter.
Lando won't get in the car. Charles obviously doesn't see it happen. Doesn't see Lando stare at the painted 1 on his car before bolting out of the room. But he hears of it. News such as that travels fast in the paddock.
The Grid is all different. Leonardo in the McLaren. Yuki in the Red Bull.
But Charles is in the Ferrari like always.
Jeddah is much of the same. There’s no news on Lando. Even less on Max.
But the air is different. Like everyone else has forgotten. Was that all it took to forget? Three weeks? Two races?
It’s not until Oscar stands on the podium, Charles to his right does a calmness fall across the room. Not until they’re reminded that Oscar has just taken lead of the championship. And that Max will not be taking it back. That Charles is now on equal points. If he’s even P10 in Miami, Max will be delegated to P3. Then George will catch up and send Max out of the top three. Max Verstappen forever stopped at 82 points.
Charles flies to Belgium.
In 2014 Jules Bianchi crashed. He never woke up.
He’s trying to remember when he had lost hope that time around. If it had been instant. He doesn’t think so. It had taken six weeks, he thinks. Somewhere between the six week and two month mark Charles had known it was over. Mostly at least.
And yet it wasn’t until the day it was officially declared that Charles completely believed it. Because hope is afraid to die.
Then Anthoine had been gone in a moment. Here one, gone the next.
And if he had to choose again- to watch it happen again- he thinks- he thinks he would choose the instant. Because that ends. That happens. Then you grieve. Move on. Things are never the same and yet- it’s over. You can move on.
But you can’t choose. And he hadn’t been able to choose. And fate had elected to not let it be quick.
He was determined to make this time different. This time he knew it was over. There was no reason to hope. There was no reason to beg and plead and pray. Max was gone. It was time he accepted it.
And when he steps into the hospital room, he knows it’s true. Max is dead. Has been from the beginning. You can’t compare someone to Senna as often as Max had and expect him to live a long life. You can’t expect Charles to care about someone and for them to live long. It was just the way things were.
GP is there. That surprises him, though maybe it shouldn’t. He expects Sophie, maybe Victoria, but not GP.
“Hello Charles,” He says quietly, rising from the chair beside the bed, closing the book he had been reading. “I didn’t know you were stopping by.”
“Oh- uhm- I am sorry I did not think-”
“No, no it’s fine. I’m sure he’s glad you’re here.”
Charles looks at the “he” in question, lying pale in the hospital bed. Well what can be seen of him. He doesn’t look like Max. Not really. And maybe that makes it easier. If it’s not Max. If it’s someone else with a tube shoved down his throat, machines breathing for him, bruised eyes not even fluttering behind closed lids. His right arm is in a cast, his right leg still in some form of traction. Charles wonders why they’re even trying. Max was dead before it started.
“How is he?” He cringes even as the words leave his mouth. He can see how he is.
“Not much change.” GP says quietly, his eyes are on Max’s face instead of Charles, his hand reaching out to hold the one on the bed. “The doctor says his best chance is keeping him in the coma for now. They are waiting to see what the swelling does on its own.”
Of course that is the important part. Of course that is what he really wanted to know. And yet- “And what of the rest of it? They never did tell us what happened.”
GP’s voice is haunted when he says, “The survival cell didn’t hold. We don’t- they’re still reviewing the wreckage. I don’t know if they will find an answer.”
That does explain things to a degree. It explains the cast and the traction. He’s afraid of what he would see if he pulled the light blanket back. Did the arm take the brunt of it? Or did it crush the ribs too? Was there internal bleeding or is it really just the head injury they are worried about? Does it matter?
No. No it doesn’t matter. Because Charles has seen this before. He knows this story. And he knows what will be the outcome.
“How are you?” Charles finally asks awkwardly, trying to pull himself away from the thoughts swirling in his head. He should not have come here.
“I’m okay, Charles. But thank you for asking.” It’s a lie. One of the boldest he’s seen from the engineer. But he supposes he has to accept it. What else is there to do?
“Will you- will you let me know if- if there is anything.” He doesn't want to say. Doesn't want to ask. But he doesn't want to find out through the media.
“Of course.” It's quiet and simple but he believes him. He accepts it.
“Would you like to sit with him?” GP offers.
Charles almost says no. But then he wonders how long GP had been standing vigil. “I will stay.” He decided, “You should find something to eat.”
“I don't need-”
“No, no he would want you to eat. Go.” He waves him away.
GP hesitates, but eventually he leaves. Charles is left alone. He hates it. Because he is alone. Max isn’t here. Not really.
He’d sat with Jules some. Not a lot. His dad had discouraged it. Thought it would scare him away from racing. But it hadn’t. Maybe it should have. Maybe things would be different now.
So Charles sits there. With Max. Well, what’s left of him. He won’t wake up. Charles knows this. He must know this because thinking anything else would be foolish.
Max was dead the moment impact was made. Charles must remember this. Nothing good will come from hoping. This has been proven time and time again.
“You are stupid, you know this?” Is it a bad thing to say? Don’t speak ill of the dead and all that. “You always knew this would happen. How often did you say you could die at any minute, hm? Did you know or did you just talk?” Does it even matter? Not really. “And yet you still got in the car. I think I hate you for that.”
They weren’t close. Not really. Never had been, despite all of the fan theories and speculations. They’d nearly hated each other at times. Well, Charles had hated Max. Max never really seemed to care about him either way. And maybe that’s what had hurt the most. Max’s indifference. His friendly smile that was never meant to be something more. But no extra attention. Not if Charles was nice. Not if he was mean. Max was just Max. And Charles would always be nothing more than Charles. And now- well he would never be anything more to Max. Because Max was gone. The beeping machines and woosh of air pumping his lungs were sounds of things ending. They mocked Charles. Tried to give him false hope when he knew, he knew what hospitals meant. And he knew that they could keep a rotting corpse hostage forever and it would still mean nothing.
Charles should leave. No one needed to sit with Max. It had been weeks already. He wasn’t going to just wake up. But he told GP he would stay and it would be wrong to walk away now.
So he sits for an hour. And he tries not to think. And then GP is back sooner than he really should be. And Charles gives him a weak smile and walks out the door and resolves to never enter that room again.
But that’s a lie.
Because even dying (dead- Max is already dead) there’s something magnetic to him. Something that Charles could never draw himself away from.
So he goes back.
Again.
And again.
Never for long.
Long enough to let GP or Sophie or Victoria (never Jos. It’s never Jos) grab a meal or a nap or a shower. He sits and he reads or he scrolls or stares at the wall.
It is what it is.
The season heats up. Visiting becomes less possible. The championship becomes more competitive.
With Lando out he's mostly fighting with Oscar. He's always liked Oscar. But he has the misfortune right now to be wearing papaya orange.
Charles is three points away from taking the lead in the championship. He knows this weekend could be the moment.
He stops in Belgium after Spain, before heading to some meetings in Italy. He can’t stay long. He knows that when he gets there. And yet, this time, more than usual. He doesn't want to leave.
Max doesn’t look any different than last time. He’s still pale, his hair is maybe a bit longer than normal, the whooshing of the ventilator and steady beat of the heart monitor the only real sounds of the room.
GP’s exhaustion seems only to be growing by the day. “I can take over for a little while.” Charles offers softly, moving to sit in the chair he has come to think of as his own.
“No, I think I’ll stay for now.” And there’s something different in his voice this time. Something more resigned.
It’s coming to an end. That’s what GP’s voice is saying. But Charles can’t admit to that right now. He doesn’t want to. So instead he asks, “I see his leg is out of traction. And the sling is gone as well.”
GP sighs, a heaviness to it that Charles had not yet heard. “Yes, the bones are still weaker than they would like but-” he shakes his head, pressing his lips together.
But it doesn't matter. That's what he was going to say. But it doesn't matter. Because he's not going to wake up. It's all cosmetics for the sake of the casket at this point.
They sit in silence. Charles, unable to say any of the thoughts circling in his mind. Not wanting to. If he asked- if he received any form of confirmation- it became real.
The sun has set and Charles needs to begin his trip to the airport. He’s spent the last several hours at the edge of the bed, hand resting in the slightly curled fingers of Max’s good hand. His thumb rubs gently over the back of it before he brings it up to his mouth. He’s not sure why he does it. Why he lets his lips brush across the hand ever so slightly. He does it and maybe that is enough.
“I will be back, Max.” He promises, like it will make a difference. “I will try to stop by after Austria if I can. After Silverstone for certain, okay?” There's no response. He is not expecting one. He has known from the beginning that he should not expect anything. And yet a part of him hopes that this will be different. That Max’s hand will twitch in his, that his eyes will fly open and this long nightmare will stop.
Instead there is nothing. When he finally looks up, he sees GP watching him. GP, jaw tight, eyes wet.
It is just finally getting to him. That’s what Charles has to believe. The weeks have stretched and stretched and GP can no longer hold onto hope.
This is of course why Charles never had any. You can not lose hope if you never have any to begin with.
It is contradictory. He knows this. And yet he can not stop himself.
He clears his throat, “I will be back. You will call me, yes? If something changes?”
GP nods once. “Of course.” Voice strained, barely above a whisper. “Thank you, Charles.”
When the door closes behind him, Charles has the feeling that things will never be the same. He pushes the feeling down. It is not like he can lose hope if he never had it to begin with.
This is the first chapter of two different universes. To continue, click the available links below:
Just Know -
- I'm Right Here Hoping
- I'll Leave My Window Open (Coming Soon)
Max & GP (& Lily)
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Read on Ao3
“Watch the fathers with their little girls and wonder what I did to deserve this, how could you hurt a little kid?”
When asked which I should post fluff won overwhelmingly so here is some Dad Max content <3
It clicks. Maybe it should have sooner. Maybe it did. Maybe it clicked the first moment he held Lily in his arms.
“She's beautiful, Max.” GP’s voice is gentle. Quiet. Like he knows just how special and perfect she is and he is afraid that speaking too loud would shatter the perfect little family Max had somehow managed to create.
“She is.” He answers in like manner. He had often wondered himself what small mistake he would make that would ruin all of the good things. Surely something so good and perfect could not last forever. “Would you like to hold her?”
“I would be honored.” He says it as though it is truly one of his greatest honors in life. Max would have to agree.
Max carefully transfers Lily into GPs waiting arms. He has children of his own. He knows what he is doing. Even so Max is reluctant to give up his own time holding her.
“How could anyone hurt their child?” He doesn't mean to say it. He really doesn't, but it’s something that has been bothering him for such a long time it kind of just… slips out.
And he probably shouldn't have said something like that while GP is holding the most precious and delicate child in the world. It is quite a startling statement. “Max?”
“Sorry I-” He backtracks, trying to translate in his brain and then force out his mouth what he actually had meant. “She's perfect.”
“She is.”
“And she is such a good baby.” And now that he’s started he’s not sure he can stop. “She is not difficult at all. But- but even if she were I could never- she's so little.”
“She is.”
“And helpless. She can not do anything we do not do for her. I do not know what I would do if she were hurt.”
“She's in safe hands, mate.” It's a bit teasing, but there’s an honesty- a truth in the soft tone.
“I hope she never wants to race.” Again he confesses as if it’s something that was brought up. It’s just- racing has touched every aspect of his life for always and he doesn’t want it to have this. He won’t let racing touch her in the same way it touched him.
GP hums and Max knows he's listening. Thinking.
“Of course if she wanted to kart I would not stop her.” He defends even though he still has not been challenged. “I want her to be happy.” But even besides his own relationship with racing- would it change things? If Lily started racing would it unlock something dark within Max? He doesn't remember his dad from before. His earliest memories include race tracks and karts. There really isn't a before racing and an after racing to compare. His life was just… racing. “I just do not know what would happen.”
GP hums again, but this time asks, “What do you mean?”
“What if she is good?”
“At karting?”
“Yes. What if she is really good.”
GP is giving him a face as if he is fishing for something but does not yet want Max to know what. “What if she is?”
“Of course wanting to be the best is not bad.”
“No, it's not”
“But it takes a lot to be the best. A lot of hard work.” Max knows this. Max understands what it takes to make it. And if Lily did want to race then he would also want her to be the best and she would likely want to be the best but not at the expense of-
“Max,” GP starts but Max is already picturing what such a life would be. Not much of one if he remembers correctly.
“A lot of time and a lot of effort. You can not be a normal child if you are karting.”
“Max.” He looks up at GP only for his eyes to fall back to Lily. “You're not your father.”
The words are said so gently and yet the words feel more harshly than any slap he's ever taken.
“I know this.”
“You're nothing like him.”
And it's true that he could never treat Lily in the same way. But then again, “Of course I am a boy and Lily is a girl so it is not the same. And this makes sense. Victoria was not treated the same as me.”
“For most people that doesn't matter, Max.”
“And she did not kart professionally, hers was just for fun.”
“And you just said you hope Lily never karts.”
“Yes but-” he's running out of excuses. And really his childhood was not normal but that is just the way things had to be and- “The way he treated me. It was not right, was it?”
It's not a new revelation. It's something he'd been thinking about since he had first held her in the hospital. It is just that now, seeing GP hold her it as if- it is as if he is sure he knows he could never treat her like that.
“No. It wasn't.” GP’s answer is not unkind, but it holds a surety, an absolutism.
“Oh.” He doesn’t know what else to say. Nothing else feels right. He reaches out for his daughter and GP passes her over, carefully holding her head with a gentleness only a parent could understand.
“I'm sorry I couldn't help.” Now it is GP’s turn to speak unexpectedly.
“What do you mean?”
“With Jos. I should have- there were so many times- I should have stopped in.”
“I would not have let you.” Max shrugs, rocking Lily gently. She is a good baby, not crying, but occasionally getting a little fussy as all babies do. The rocking quickly quiets her down.
“Then he only would have pushed me harder.”
“I should have tried harder.” The guilt in GP’s voice is a surprise. It is not something they have discussed in detail but he assumed GP understood that there was nothing he truly could have done.
There’s silence for a long moment, then a soft breath. “I'm glad you know, Max.”
“Know what?”
“I'm glad you realized it wasn't okay.”
“I could never hurt her.” It’s the only thing he could think to say in answer.
“I know.”
“I don't understand how anyone could.”
“I know.”
“It's not fair.” It’s a childish thing to say. Life isn’t fair. He knows this. Has always known this. And yet sometime he could not help but wish-
This time GP’s voice is even softer, “I know.”
“I will just have to- what do people call it? Break the cycle?”
“You've always been great at breaking records, mate, this one should be a breeze.”
Max smiles. Only a little. He doesn't know how much he can smile.
But then he glances away from GP and looks down at Lily. His smile softens.
“She is perfect.” He says it again. He cannot say it enough. It's the only way to describe her. This little life that he took part in creating. There's a softness in his heart he didn't know was possible. A deep love he didn't know he was capable of feeling.
He'd thought it would be like with P. Where he cared for her, but only as time went on did he reach the place where he loved her as if he always had. With Lily it had been instantaneous.
It didn’t make his love for P lesser. It was just different.
Even after only a few months, he couldn’t imagine life without his girls. But more than that, he couldn’t imagine ever letting anything bad happen to them. Either of them.
Which is why, “I am confused sometimes.”
“About what?”
“He used to say that I would someday understand. That when I had my own children I would feel the same. But it is the opposite.” He frowns down at Lily who had now fallen asleep in his arms. She did that a lot. Always sleeping. He had missed that with P. He was glad not to miss this now. “Maybe there is something wrong with me.”
“Max.” He looks up at the unexpected harshness in GP’s voice. “There is nothing wrong with you. There never has been. It’s him who has something wrong. You’re right. You’ll always feel this way. You’ll never want anything bad to ever happen to her. Ever. You’ll always want to keep her safe. That’s normal.”
“Oh.” He says again, still feeling like there are pieces that he is missing. Then, “That’s good.”
It’s such a simple concept. The love a father has for his child. That neverending want for them to have only good things for the rest of their life. It’s funny, really. He knows this. Has known- suspected at least - since the moment he first held Lily in his arms.But now he has GP’s confirmation. Just in case he misunderstood. Just in case something was wrong with him and he didn’t understand everything. The way the world really worked.
But now he thinks it makes sense.
After all, GP still put up with him after all these years. After seeing him at his absolute worst. And he’d never seemed to stop. Even when Max was being a brat on the radio. Even when he made mistakes in the car. Even when he did outrageous and dangerous stunts (this thought gives him even more resolve to never allow Lily in a kart). GP has stayed by him through all of this. GP has wanted only good for him always.
Max hopes that if he ever is compared to another father, that it is GP they choose. Not perfect, but good.
He supposes GP is more of a bonus dad (like he is to P), but it is all the same. He is learning that such a love is not diminished with lack of blood.
Yes.
Max will love Lily forever. He will make sure no harm ever comes to her. He will be a good dad.
He’s not sure what to do with his own father. Not sure how to sift through the hurt and the love and the wrongness mixed with right. He doesn’t know what to do with all of that.
But he vows that none of his children, Not Lily, not P, will ever be forced to reconcile the supposed love with the pain. Lily will not have such complicated feelings towards her father.
Max is going to be a good dad. Not like Jos, but like GP.
Hope you enjoyed! Please let me know what you thought <3
I'll post my hurt-no-comfort later this week so enjoy this while you have it lol
do you have anything in the kilos and kinder universe we could have a sneak peek of 🥹
I have a relapse fic I'm working on but I haven't started on the fic that directly follows Kilos and Kinder unfortunately 😅
Here's some of the relapse fic tho:
“It's happening again.” Max is saying as soon as the phone connects. His hands are shaking and he's trying to keep his breathing steady so as not to have another… incident. The smell of the bathroom is certainly not helping.
“Max?” Rupert is immediately alert. “What's happening again? What's wrong?”
“I can't do it.”
“Do what, Max?”
“Eat. I can't eat it's all wrong. All of it.”
“Okay, okay, just breathe Max lets walk through it. Where are you?”
“The grid dinner.” He thought it would be okay. It's been months. He's been fine. But tonight? Tonight was bad.
“Have you eaten anything?’
“There was chicken but it had so many spices so I tried the fries but they were just wrong”
“Okay. Did you throw up?”
Max closes his eyes, feeling like he's going to start crying at any moment. “Yes. I did not mean to-”
Something's off with the car. He had felt it coming out of Copse, sitting at his lucky P2. He had known that his overtake was inevitable, long before Max was alongside him.
He’s not sure exactly what’s wrong with the car. He’s not Max. He can’t feel and let his team know what exactly needs adjusting in order to give him a better chance at victory. But something is wrong. It’s the steering or the brakes or the gearshift or maybe all three.
But he holds his own. Max passes him but he’s able to keep Lando far back in his mirrors. His hopes of a podium die on the first lap.
It’s when he's applying the brake into Stowe. He feels it immediately, tries to correct, but he locks up and there's absolutely nothing he can do about it.
His hands twist at the wheel, trying to stop the horror that’s happening before him. But again. There’s nothing he can do as the nose of the Ferrari careens directly into the side of the Red Bull.
Max is in the air.
It’s not the first car to ever leave the ground. Not even the first Red Bull. And yet few instances have stopped Charles' heart like this.
He doesn't see the full thing, his own car spinning outward, hitting gravel before finally stopping. But he does see the Red Bull land. And roll.
Dirt and gravel kick up into the air, making it hard to see exactly what’s happening.
“Are you okay?”
He flicks up his visor like that will help, the dust settling enough for him to see the sleek blue livery upside down in the gravel. The halo the only thing between Max’s white racing helmet and the ground. He can’t tell if he’s moving.
“Charles- are, are you okay?”
“Yes, yes fine.” He answers the annoyance in his ear just to get it to stop. His eyes are glued to the Red Bull as he works to undo the straps keeping him in the car.
The steering wheel has been placed on the nose of his car when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. For a brief moment he thinks “perhaps I will die now too” but the blue and white Williams stops in the gravel to his left. Charles blinks the dust away, moving even more quickly to remove himself from the car.
He takes only a moment to strip off his helmet before he’s moving towards the overturned Red Bull.
Charles doesn’t breathe until he sees movement at the base of the car. He slows his pace, urgency dying down as he sees Max crawl from the wreckage and slip through the halo. That halo saved his life. Small miracles.
“Max!” He calls out, even knowing there's no way he'll hear it, it’s more for his own sake. “Are you okay?”
Max doesn’t stand immediately. Perhaps he needs a minute to regroup. Understandable after such a roll.
The helmet comes off and Max looks up.
Charles stops.
It’s not a full look, barely more than a second. But it’s all he needs.
It’s all he needs to see, not the balaclava, no that is so mundane for a driver that it is irrelevant. What he sees is the great red stain that saturates the white cloth.
Max rips the balaclava from his face and somehow that’s worse.
The world seems to stop. Charles’ vision narrows down to a pinpoint. Everything outside of Max's face swirls into colors and light far too distorted to make any sense.
There's blood. There's blood everywhere. On his forehead, in his hair, nose, mouth, down his neck.
Then there’s more blood.
Max is down on all fours and there's more blood and- He's throwing up blood. He's throwing up blood. He's throwing up-
“Charles.” Hands are on his shoulders, shaking him, when had Pierre gotten here?
“Pierre- Pierre he is dying.”
The spinning in his head strengthens and then suddenly he is facing the other direction. Hands are on his face. “Charles, look at me, my friend.”
“Pierre-”
“The medical doctor is with him. He will be okay.”
“It is happening again.” He grabs at Pierre’s forearms. “He is going to die. He is going to die.”
“Charles-”
“I killed him, Pierre I killed him it is me.”
Pierre’s hands move to his shoulders. “Charles. Charles listen to me.” His brain rattles in his head as Pierre tries to shake the fear from him. “You need to calm down. The medics are with Max. They will take care of him. But if you pass out due to panic they will be forced to help you instead. Do you want them to have to help you or should they focus on Max?”
Well - well he didn't want them to leave Max for him. Max needed help. Charles did not. He can’t find the words to express that so he only shakes his head.
“Okay. Okay good. Then breathe.” Pierre peek over Charles’ shoulder and he sees the slight twist in his face. He continues anyway. “Max is moving. He is awake. This is good, no? He will be okay.”
Don’t keep promises you can’t keep. He doesn’t say it out loud but it’s all he can think as Pierre offers him vain reassurances.
Charles wants to turn around. He wants to see what Pierre sees. What has put that look on his face. But he can’t. He can’t look. Not now.
“Pierre,” Alex’s voice breaks Charles from the latest spiral. “Is he-”
“I am fine.” Charles cuts in. Even if there is still a tremble in his hands and panic in his heart. As Pierre said, he is not the priority. That is Max. Charles is irrelevant (except he is the one who caused all of this. It is his fault Max is with the medics. It is his fault there is so much blood on Max’s face).
Alex looks between Pierre and Charles, considering something before finally giving a resolute nod. “I think- I think we should block the stands.”
“How do you mean?” Pierre asks, leaving only one hand on Charles in order to open towards Alex.
“Even if the cameras don't show it, the fans have their phones. It's not- Max wouldn't want that.” His voice is soft but sends Charles' brain spiralling once again. Max has already had so much taken from him. He has already been shoved in the public eye in ways that he hates. And now this? Will it never end for him?
“Charles?” Pierre asks. Charles knows what he is asking. He’s asking if he is up for it. If he can stomach it. If he’s going to spiral into panic once more.
“Let’s do it.”
Alex nods again, this time even more certain, and begins to walk towards the Red Bull. Charles tries not to look. Stares only at Pierre’s back and not what’s happening just beside the life saving halo.
Alex stops first, silently instructing the other two to stand beside him. They are now forming a sort of L shape with the wreckage, looking at the stands. There’s only three of them. Hardly enough to properly block (where are the privacy screens? Why has the FIA not stepped in?), but it’s something.
One set of stands is blocked by the overturned Red Bull. Max seems to be facing, mostly the track, but half of his face is open to the other set of stands- well, now towards their backs.
Phones are out amongst the fans, lenses from media that it is hard to say how they retain their credentials. Max has always hated media. It is not that Charles did not understand why, but now he seems to understand more than ever.
A marshal approaches, he is fairly certain that he is being spoken to in English, but none of the words quite make sense. He looks to Pierre in hope of some understanding, but it is Alex that answers him back. The marshal hesitates, but eventually leave without further interfering.
The sounds of the fans seem to be muted in his ears. All Charles can hear is the deafening sound of Max retching. Coughing. (Dying.)
His hand finds Pierre’s sleeve, fingers circling his wrist with a training grip. Pierre is good enough to not comment.
There’s a high-pitched white noise running through Charles' brain. It’s desperate. Blocking out the tumultuous thoughts that are trying to plague him.
Movement in the corner of his eye forces Charles to turn. Max is up. He’s walking towards the ambulance.
Maybe Pierre was right. Maybe it will be okay. As he said, Max is conscious and moving and-
And stumbling, held up only by the medics who each have an arm. The bright red substance trickles and leaks and pools in the gravel at his feet, the terrible noise somehow louder than every other sound at the track.
Eventually, after what feels an eternity and with great help from the medical team, Max finishes his trek up the ramp.
The three drivers left behind do not move until the ambulance door is shut. They watch in silence as the siren’s blare retreats towards the medical center.
Purpose fulfilled, the marshals end their reprieve. Each of them are being asked, shouted at, if they require any attention themselves.
Charles takes the first real stock of his own body. He aches. But it is only the normal aches. Of straps pulled too tight and adrenaline fading. Nothing that would require a trip to the medics.
But then again- if it would offer a chance to get news of- perhaps even see - Max….
No.
That would be foolish on many levels. It would worry his team and his mum, and many others.
And it may draw attention away from Max. That was something that he could not risk.
He shakes his head, knowing already that Pierre and Alex would answer the same.
Because there are no cars on track (a red flag. Red like the blood that still stained the ground) they are allowed to walk the short distance to the pitlane.
Pierre is pressed into his side until he must turn off towards his own garage, offering a final grounding touch before parting.
Charles tries not to look at the faces around him. It is too much. They tell him that they all saw it too. Saw the blood. Saw everything that Charles will never be able to scrub from his dreams. He hopes he is wrong. That it is something else they are miserable about. Perhaps simply the red flag delay. Afterall there were important cup matches later and maybe they are worried to miss it and-
No.
He knew these faces.
He’d seen them in 2020 when Grosjean had gone up in flames (but he survived, he reminds himself, he survived). In 2019 when Anthoine hadn’t gotten out of the car (and Charles had finally won the next day, as if fate was mocking him). In 2014 when his father had quickly shut off the television (only for Charles to hear it turn back on after he had left the room).
No. These were the faces that marked tragedy. (That marked death.)
And this time…
This time it was all Charles' fault.
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