#silverstone wip

[anemptyflask]

🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩 plss

His eyes, in the few moments they had been fully open, were glassy and unfocused. They’d already said he had a concussion, but they could still clear him if it was minor enough. This clearly was not minor. They wanted to take him to the hospital. Wanted to get scans, and not just for his head. For his ribs too. He wondered if there was more. 

At this point he didn’t think Max was lying to him. He really thought Max didn’t know what was going on. Which was terrifying in its own way. 

“We will not be taking him to the hospital. We will not tell the media he has a concussion. We will take him home and move on!” The momentary reprieve of the shouting has subsided, Jos once again shouting.

Christian easily matches. It. “You’re not thinking this through. We play it up. They’re already planning to send him to the hospital, we could make this work in our favor. Get Hamilton disqualified from the race.” 

“And risk the next race? No. The media cannot know.” 

“Look at him,” GP looks back at where Christian is throwing a sweeping arm in Max’s direction. “the race is already at risk. If we can get Hamilton a penalty we have a chance of keeping the gap manageable.”

“He will be fine. There is a week off. He will be fine by then. He does not need hospital.” GP wasn’t sure if Jos was oblivious or just didn’t care. Because it was clear that Max was not in fact okay and it would be a miracle if he was by Hungary. 

“We don't get a say in that, they’re sending him to the hospital, it's out of our hands-”

Max flinches, whether it is at the words or something else, GP doesn’t know.

“Max?” He places his hand on the driver’s knee and feels a flash of guilt at yet another flinch. 

When Max look at him it’s accompanied by rapid blinking and squinting and- and GP starts to wonder. He’s wondering if Max is really seeing him at all.

 “Max? You still with us?” He keeps his voice as neutral as he can, offering another squeeze of encouragement. 

[anemptyflask]

🏁🏁🏁

SORRY I'M SORRY but i can't just see a silverstone fic and let you get away with not writing one william words of it

Oh okay. Hamilton must have won. That’s not good. GP had tried to tell him it didn’t matter but it did. Of course it did. 

There’s a knock at the door and Max closes his eyes instead of turning his head. 

“Max?” It’s Brad and Max relaxes even though he doesn’t know why. The television clicks off and Max releases a breath. 

“Why did you-”

“There’s a TV in the waiting area.” Brad snaps. Max keeps his eyes closed. 

“You will not kick me out of my own son’s room.” 

“No one is kicking you out, but the TV will stay off. So will the lights.” 

“You-”

“And you will keep your voice down.” His voice is low but holds tension. 

“This is not acceptable!” 

“Do you want him to heal or not?” 

Max should intervene. He should stop them going after each other. But he thinks that might require opening his eyes and that would just make him dizzy again and - 

[anemptyflask]

🚩, please and thank you 😊 though I'd take any and all <3

He looks far from well. He's stumbling, slow. GP knows he should just be thankful he was able to extract himself but his heart still lurches when he sees Max stop to bend over multiple times. He knows that medical is doing their jobs. That they're checking him out. But the fact that they don't take him immediately to the medical car is cause for concern.

[anemptyflask]

🚩 come on you should know what happens when you say the word silverstone

“Red flag. Red flag.” The announcement comes over the headset.

It's probably to clear the wreckage. Probably. Almost certainly.

It's Jonathan who informs him, “They're waiting for an ambulance.”

GP nods, intentionally staying calm. That's his job, stay calm, stay unaffected. But that's usually for Max's sake, now it's for his own as well as the fans and the rest of the pit wall.

[anemptyflask]

🥃🥃staying on brand

He's regretting the call now, wishing he'd kept GP in the dark. Not that it would have worked. GP can be rather persistent when he wants to be. “You don't need to worry. I'll take care of it.”

“Take care of what, Daniel.”

Daniel looks at the clock again, wondering if maybe it would have been faster to just pick up the groceries himself. But that would require leaving Max alone. “He's… been sick.” That was one way to put it.

[anemptyflask]

Silverstone wip(s) now have their own document 👍

[anemptyflask]

🏁

“Disgraceful.” His father’s voice snaps him back into the room. Max squints at the TV it’s fuzzy. At first he thinks the signal must be bad, then he remembers his eyes are screwed. “Tries to kill you then celebrates like the championship is already won. Disgraceful.” 

[anemptyflask]

....are we allowed to ask the Rupert one? 😭

If not then 🚩🚩🚩

Max hums again. 

“Did they say anything else?” 

“Said they needed some scans. Didn’t say of what. Probably ribs.” 

“Do they hurt?” 

Max shrugs, but there’s a wince woven into it. So, yes. 

“Anything else.” 

“Dunno.” Max’s eyes fall shut. He looks awful. 

He’s pale. Must have at least partially gone into shock.