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Chapter Text

Charles is lying on the bed in his and Lando's apartment struggling to keep his eyes open. He had promised Lando that he would wait up for the younger boy to arrive home from a dinner he had had that night with the team. Charles blinks a few times trying to drive away the weight of his eyelids, not wanting to fall asleep until he knew Lando has arrived home safely. After what feels like a few more hours of mindless scrolling on Instagram and fighting sleep, Charles decides to just rest his eyes for a moment as he clicks off his phone and pulls the covers up around him. Not minding as his consciousness begins to slip away, his thoughts that were as clear a moment ago come to an end as Charles falls into a restless sleep.

*******

Charles opens his eyes as sun rays stream through the window, realizing he has slept through the whole night. He yawns, stretching out to find touch Lando, confusion washing over him when his arm finds nothing but air. Charles frowns as he sits up, looking at Lando's side of the bed. Where was he? Had he come home last night? Anxiety settles itself in the pit of Charles’ stomach. A noise down the hallway snaps him out of his thoughts.

Charles lifts his legs off the bed, shivering as the cold air hit his bare torso. He sits on the edge for a moment as he picks up a sweatshirt from the floor and pulls it over him. He stands up slowly, feet padding softly on the carpet as he walks down the hallway. Charles pokes his head around the corner into the kitchen, to see Lando sitting at the kitchen table. Any relief to see that his boyfriend had gotten home safely the previous night is destroyed when he sees the way Lando is covering his eyes and how the younger boy's shoulders shake.

"Lando, what's wrong, did something happen?" Charles asks, voice shaking slightly at the question. Lando remains silent but Charles can't help but notice how his shoulders begin to shake more. Lando lets out a quiet whimper as he drops his hands away from his face. The anxiety that is building in the pit of Charles' stomach intensifies as he catches sight of Lando's puffy eyes.

"Lando what's happened?” Charles says more harshly than he means to.

"It's... it's Arthur" Lando says quietly, new tears forming in his eyes.

"What do you mean Lando, tell me. Tell me what has happened" Charles says, raising his voice, still staring at Lando, desperate for any information. Lando shakes his head, covering his mouth with his hand. Charles stays standing where he is, eyes wide as he stares at the crying boy in front of him

"What is it?" Charles asks, voice trailing off.

"There was..." Lando starts, trying to compose himself, breathing deeply through his nose. "There was an accident," Lando says finally, tear tracks still clear on his face. Charles's breath catches in his throat, his feet not moving from where he is standing.

"Lando is he...is he okay?" Charles whispers so quietly that he isn't sure if Lando has heard him at all. Lando's face crumples at the question, hesitating before shaking his head. That is all Charles needs to hear. He grips his shirt over his heart tightly as an anguished sob leaves his mouth. He can feel Lando's hands on him and knew he was talking to him but can't make out any of the words. The grief swallows him whole. He has his eyes squeezed so tightly shut that he can see white spots.

Charles opens his eyes but the kitchen and Lando were gone and the colors around him swirl and seem to blend together. Charles jolts awake with a gasp, hands clawing desperately at his chest as he realizes he can't breathe. As he tries to draw in enough air, he lets out a loud round of coughs. Charles rolls onto his side trying to fight for air. He isn't sure if the tears beginning to make their way down his face are from the lack of oxygen or the dream he just had.

In a rush, Charles tries to stand up, realizing that he is not getting any air and he is going to pass out soon if he doesn't. As he tries to get up he falls off the bed, body hitting painfully against the floor as his legs get twisted in the sheets. He lays there on the ground for a moment, trying once again to catch his breath, the blood is pounding in his ears and his heart is thudding in his chest. A sob tears through his throat past the gasps for air. Charles begins to cry harder, letting out loud sobs, his chest growing tighter as bile rose in his throat. He pulls his legs, still tangled in the sheets, to his chest, burying his face in his knees.

"Charles?" a voice comes from the doorway. Charles whips his head around, locking eyes with Lando. The sobs only intensify as he stares at the young Brit.

"Charles, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" Lando asks, worry thick in his voice as he moves towards Charles and crouches down to his level. All Charles can do is grip onto the younger boy, holding Lando's shirt tightly in his fists, sobs still wracking his frame.

"It was Arthur. Lando, I thought I had lost him. I can't lose him Lando" Charles sobs into Lando's shirt, his words muffled. Lando doesn't know what else to do other than wrap his arms around the older boy and pull him closer as he rubs a gentle hand in circles over his back, telling him that it was just a dream and that Arthur was okay. Charles' sobs eventually begin to die down, the exhaustion taking over his body as he lies in Lando's arms. With the promise that they would go and check on Arthur first thing in the morning, Charles begins to let his eyes drift shut. Lando rocks the two from side to side as he presses kisses to Charles' forehead. Despite the anxiety that was still bubbling in his stomach from seeing his boyfriend in such a distressed state, Lando's heart swells with affection as he watches Charles' breaths evening out and the lines on his forehead beginning to soften as Lando rakes his fingers gently through his hair.

Chapter Text

Relief washes over Max as he pulls up between the two Ferraris. It was a difficult race, to say the least, so Max had been more surprised than anyone to have gotten P1. Max had felt terrible the whole race. He was dizzy and his whole body was shaky and as much water as he drank, he couldn't seem to stop the thirst and the boiling temperatures of the track were doing him no favors, but now as he sat in his Red Bull, the dizziness and pounding in his head seems to have worsened. he can see Charles and Carlos getting out of their cars, congratulating each other, and taking off their helmets. Max knows that he should be doing the same thing, but it feels a lot nicer to shut his eyes and rest his helmet against his hands. Max sits like that for a while, taking deep breaths to try and ease the pain in his skull. He has no idea how long he has been sitting there but when he looks up, he sees what feels like every pair of eyes watching him. Realizing this was probably a good time to get out of the car he begins to remove the headrest and steering wheel. It takes him about twice as long as it should have to get out, his shaky hands not cooperating. When he finally manages to get out of the car, he stands still for a moment waiting for the spinning to stop and trying to ignore the concerned faces that surround him. Deep down he knows something isn't right. His heart is hammering inside his chest and every noise around him sounds muffled. When Max took a deep breath, dark spots begin to cloud his vision, and blood rushes from his head. All he sees before he plummets to the floor is Charles rushing towards him.

*******

Charles who is now holding an unconscious Max against his chest yells out for help. Carlos immediately rushes over to help Charles guide Max to the ground.
"I need to get this off," Charles says as he starts to pull at Max's helmet, voice cracking with distress. Carlos stays silent not knowing what to say to comfort his younger teammate but supports Max's neck as Charles pulls off his balaclava.

Charles and Carlos both grimace as they take in Max's appearance. Max is as white as a sheet except for the bright red coloring on his cheeks. Charles doesn't think that this was just from the race, Max looks sick. Max lets out a quiet whine, turning his head, which is resting in Charles's hands, and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Shh Max, we're getting you to help it's okay." Charles says as he leans down so Max can hear him, trying to ignore the rapid breathing coming from Max. Max whines loudly, starting to try and sit himself up, struggling to coordinate his limbs.

"Max please don't move," Charles says as Carlos gently pushes Max back down into Charles's lap. Max whimpers, some tears escaping the corners of his closed eyes. Carlos notices Max's hand struggling to find something to grab onto and quickly holds it,

"Max, help will be here soon," Carlos says as he begins rubbing his thumb soothingly over the back of Max's hand.

“Carlos, he’s so warm,” Charles says, feeling Max’s forehead with his palm. When Charles looks down into Max's eyes, he can tell the Red Bull driver had no idea where he is or what has happened. His eyes are glazed over, darting around, as tears slip down his boiling skin. Charles feels bad for the driver. He is clearly confused and scared and would undoubtedly be very embarrassed later if he was told what had happened. Carlos can tell just by looking at Charles, that Max’s state is causing him a lot of discomfort.

“He will be okay Charles,” Carlos says, placing his free hand on Charles' shoulder. Charles just nods but doesn't move his eyes away from the sick boy in front of him.

"Charles," Carlos says, gesturing to the medics making their way over to the group. Charles breathed out a sigh of relief, glad that Max could now get some proper medical attention. Charles and Carlos step back, letting the medics get to work, hooking Max up to an iv, and asking him questions, most of which Max can't answer in his confused state. His eyes are darting around wildly trying to make sense of his surroundings and His hand that had previously held tightly onto Carlos’ is now grasping desperately, finding nothing but air to hold on to. Seeing this makes Charles' stomach twist and suddenly he has a lot of compassion for his childhood rival. As the paramedics load Max into the back of the ambulance, Charles can't help but feel slightly guilty for leaving Max all on his own, as he thinks back to how scared Max had been just moments ago.

“We’ll see him at the hospital mate,” Carlos says nudging Charles’ side with his elbow. Charles just nods as he watches the ambulance drive away.

******

Carlos and Charles arrive at the hospital a few hours later. After finding out that Max is suffering from a severe case of heatstroke, they follow the nurses’ instructions to make sure they went to the right room. When they find it, Carlos knocks a few times before opening the door and letting Charles step inside. Max is fast asleep, flowers and cards already decorating the room. Charles cringes at how fragile he looks sleeping in the hospital bed. The pair move closer to Max, standing quietly by the bedside.

“Mate, that’s good. Look at his breathing compared to before.” Carlos breaks the silence, nodding towards Max who is taking slow breaths in his sleep. Charles nods, smiling at Carlos, wincing a little bit at how loud the older driver is talking. Seeing Max here did not ease Charles’ discomfort at all. He has the same pale skin and bright red cheeks, except now is hooked up to all sorts of machines, has a cannula in his nose and there was a catheter coming out from under the sheets which Charles tries not to think about. They sit down on the small couch that was next to the bed. Carlos pulls out his phone to text some of the other drivers an update on Max’s condition. Charles on the other hand, unsure of what do to with himself, settles for holding Max’s clammy hand that lay by his side, hoping to provide some level of comfort when Max finally woke up.

Chapter Text

For the past few days, Lando has noticed something felt off. The dull pain in his abdomen and nausea that appears whenever he can smell food should have concerned him more than it does. However, nothing prepares him for how he wakes up that Sunday morning. The first thing he notices is that he is completely drenched from head to toe in sweat and at some point in the night he had kicked all the covers off and somehow removed half his clothing. Lando winces as he feels how dry his throat is, swallowing painfully. Deciding he desperately needs water, he stumbles out of bed to the bathroom, his legs almost not managing to carry him there. As Lando splashes some of the cold water onto his face, he takes in his appearance in the mirror. The tan complexion he usually has is gone and is now replaced with a pasty white apart from the dark rings that outline his eyes. Lando groans, checking the time before slowly making his way back to the bed.

Lando arrives at the track late that morning after forcing himself to leave his bed for the second time that morning. Although he finds the experience intensely overwhelming, Lando holds a tight smile on his lips as he signs McLaren hats and takes pictures with fans, trying to finish up as quickly as possible so he can sit down somewhere.

As Lando enters McLaren's hospitality, he has to take some deep breaths to try and suppress the urge to vomit right then and there from the smell of coffee.

"Oh my god Lando you look like shit," Daniel says loudly as Lando walks past. Ignoring his teammate, Lando keeps on walking, in search of a bathroom where he can escape the overwhelming assault to his senses that he seems to be experiencing this morning.

When Lando enters the small bathroom, he squeezes his eyes shut, leaning back against the locked door as he slides down onto the floor. Lando tries taking some deep breaths, but he seems to be feeling worse by the second. As Lando goes to stand up, a sharp pain shoots through his stomach. Lando cries out at the sudden pain, slapping a hand over his mouth when he did.

There is a knock at the door "Lando, are you okay?" he hears Daniel say from outside the bathroom. "I heard something. Are you hurt?" Lando stays silent, mentally cursing himself for crying out.

"I'm fine Daniel," Lando finally says, trying to sound as cheery as possible, hoping he has convinced his teammate. Suddenly a wave of nausea comes over him. Lando crawls his way over to the toilet, as bile rises up his throat. Tears come to his eyes as he gags violently over the toilet. Lando feels a sharp stab of pain in his stomach as he gags again, nothing but yellow bile coming up. Lando slowly begins to stand up using the bathroom counter to aid him. When he finally stands up his head swims, and his legs shake beneath him. Lando splashes some more water on his face from the sink, trying to cool down his burning skin. In Lando's mind, he has done quite well at convincing his older teammate that nothing was wrong. Daniel on the other hand is very aware of Lando's habits of trying to hide how bad he was feeling and is waiting for him on the other side of the bathroom door. A few minutes later, Lando stumbles out of the bathroom, looking even worse than he had before.

“Jesus Lando," Daniel says, catching him by the arm and studying Lando’s disheveled appearance. Lando shrugs off Daniels's hand, becoming agitated with the Australian's concern.

"Daniel please, just stop, I'm fine," Lando says not bothering to look at his teammate, and walks away, although there was nothing Lando wants more right now than comfort from someone. Daniel lets him leave, though anyone can tell Lando is in no state to race just by looking at him.

*******

To say Lando feels worse than he did before would be an understatement. He has been shaking uncontrollably all day and has thrown up twice before the driver’s parade. The voices around him all sound distorted and Lando has to blink rapidly to stop his vision from going blurry. Max had been talking with Sergio in the driver's parade when he notices Lando by himself down the other end of the truck.

“What’s wrong with Lando?” Max asks, still watching the boy. Checo just shrugs, looking over to where Max was looking. Max quickly finishes up his conversation after that, deciding to check on the young driver. The safety rail on the side of the truck is supporting most of Lando's weight and as Max got closer he can see Lando shaking as droplets of sweat roll down his face.

“You, okay?” Max asks leaning down a little bit to look Lando in the eyes. “Do want some water?” he asks, offering Lando the plastic water bottle he is holding. Lando sways a little where he stands, breathing deeply, eyes glossed over. "Lando, what's happening? Are you going to pass out?” Max asks, trying to get Lando to look at him.

"Lando, can you see me, do you know where you are?" Max asks, grabbing onto the younger boy to stop him from falling

"Max, get off me" Lando whins dragging out the 'me’, trying to push Max off him. "Lando, what the hell?" Max says, feeling the heat radiating off Lando, his own shirt now becoming wet from Lando's sweat. Lando begins gagging suddenly and Max helps him lean over so he isn't sick on himself. Max keeps a tight grip around Lando's shoulder as he throws up onto the floor of the truck, not letting him collapse into his own vomit.

"He needs a doctor" Max yells, turning around to the rest of the drivers. Some of the drivers sprang into action at that doing what they can to help Max and Lando while some of the drivers stay back, staring at the situation unfolding clearly feeling very out of their depth. Max continues to hold Lando tight as he goes limp in his arms.

*******

Lando wakes up to the strong smell of hospital disinfectant. The room is completely silent aside from the slow beeps coming from a machine beside him. Lando can see in his peripheral vision that someone is sitting by the bed. He lets out a whimper as he tries to turn his stiff neck to see who it is.

"Lando. Hey, buddy" Max says softly when he realizes that Lando is awake. "Hey don't cry. what's wrong? Are you in pain?"

"Wha.." Lando whimpers, furrowing his brow in confusion. Lando reaches a shaky hand up to touch his face, realizing that there were actually tears wetting his cheeks. He slowly lets his hand fall from his cheek, letting it rest on his chest.

"Lando, do you know what happened?" Max asks after a few moments of silence as he moves closer to Lando's bed. Lando shakes his head slowly, starting to feel a little anxious that he can't remember anything. The only memory he has from that day is waking up that morning covered in sweat.

"You passed out, you had appendicitis," Max says, a grimace on his face.

“They take it out?” Lando says quietly, eyes still looking glazed over. Max nods “You were really sick, Lando. Everyone was really worried”

“Oh,” Lando says as he reaches down to lightly touch his belly with his fingers, wincing when he feels a large bandage under the thin hospital gown.

"Your mum is coming"

"Mum?" Lando asks, looking up at Max, voice cracking with emotion. Max nods his head, a tight smile on his face.

"She'll be here soon, okay?"

Lando nods, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill.

“Hey, why don’t you try and go back to sleep? she’ll be here when you wake up.” Max suggests, patting Lando’s arm gently seeing that the younger driver was getting upset. Lando nods in response, but Max can tell Lando is far too anxious to sleep now. Max sighs, watching the younger driver, as he clutched onto the thin hospital blanket like it was his only lifeline.

After a moment, Max gets up. Lando watches curiously as the older boy began removing his shoes, before slowly climbing onto the bed next to Lando. The pair sit there for a moment and Max thinks he had made a terrible mistake. He doesn't want to make Lando uncomfortable. He is deliberating getting off the bed and pretending he didn't do anything in the first place when Lando rests his head on his shoulder, soft curls brushing Max's cheek. Max smiled, carefully placing his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

Chapter Text

Arthur wakes up lying on the floor of his apartment, disorientated. A second ago he was making dinner for himself and now he is on the floor. Nothing specifically felt wrong until he stood up. His vision blurs and he has to hold onto the kitchen counter to stop himself from falling over. Arthur looks over the bench, turning the stove off where all his pasta water has boiled off. Arthur slowly walks to his couch and sits down and tries to take some deep breaths to try and stop the shortness of breath and tingling in his hands. As he is sitting there, he realizes that it must have gotten dark at some point while he was passed out. Because it definitely wasn't night-time when he began to cook dinner. To be perfectly honest, realizing this scares Arthur. He has no idea how long he was out and no idea why he even passed out in the first place. Anxious about being alone if he passed out again, he makes the decision that when he feels better he will drive to his Mama’s house to spend the night, figuring a 5-minute drive would be safe enough.

*******

Arthur had only been driving for a few minutes when he feels a familiar fuzziness in his brain and tingling in his hands.

It is suddenly pitch black and Arthur can’t see a thing. The strong smell of smoke and burning rubber stings his nostrils. He tries moving but that seems impossible. Arthur has an unbearable pain in his chest, that no amount of deep breathing seems to get rid of. When he opens his mouth to try and yell for someone to help him, nothing comes out. Arthur begins to feel himself losing consciousness this time. Before he passes out, He can hear a voice telling him that help is coming, and he is going to be okay. Arthur drifts off, the faint sound of sirens coming closer in his ears.

*******

It is about 9 PM when Charles gets the call. Charles and Carlos are watching a movie on the couch when the unknown number lights up his phone screen. Charles listens to the first few seconds of the call before getting up and walking out of the room. Carlos watches him leave in confusion, wondering why Charles felt the need to leave the room to take this call. Carlos waits on the couch, staring at the doorway Charles had just gone through, waiting for him to come back. After a few minutes, Charles returns, his face as white as a ghost and visibly trembling,

"Charles?" Carlos asks, stomach sinking as he quickly gets up and walks over to him. "What's wrong," he asks, grabbing a hold of Charles's shaking hands in his own. "Arthur is hurt, I think. He was driving and... I ... I don't know what happened... but he crashed. He's at the hospital. I don't...I don't know how bad it is," Charles mumbles out quickly as he looks down, biting his lip to suppress the emotion.

“Then we will go to him,” Carlos says, cupping Charles' face with his hands.

*******

Charles feels like throwing up when he sees Arthur in the hospital bed. It feels so, so wrong. His sweet, cheerful, younger brother is now lying unconscious in a hospital bed. He has so many tubes and wires attached to him that Charles feels like he can hardly see him at all. His mouth is slightly ajar, the tube for the ventilator that is pushing air into his lungs keeps it open. Carlos sits down on a chair in the corner of the small hospital room, letting Charles be with his brother. Charles presses a kiss to Arthur’s forehead and begins running his finger through his hair. Charles stops when his fingers run over a section of hair matted with blood. He feels sick but continues gently running his fingers over his scalp. Carlos watches as begins Charles speaking in French to his unconscious brother, stomach twisting at the sight. Carlos knows Arthur well and it feels extremely wrong to see him like this. Carlos doesn't know what Charles is saying to Arthur, but Charles is beginning to cry.

They hadn't been in the hospital room for long when suddenly, the beeping of the machines is no longer slow and steady. Unsure of what is happening for a moment Carlos's eyes dart over to the heart monitor which is now beeping rapidly. Looking back to Arthur he swears under his breath, rushing to press the call button. Arthur's joints lock as his limbs hit painfully against the bed. Carlos can hear horrible grunting noises coming from Arthur's chest. Carlos looks at Charles who has backed into the hospital furniture in fright, tears springing to his eyes as Arthur continues to convulse. As nurses begin to flood the room getting to work, Carlos grabs Charles' arm, pulling him outside. Charles looks back at Arthur as they left, heart hammering in his chest. He continues to look back down the hallway the whole way as they walk away from Arthur's room.

“He will be okay Charles, they will look after him,” Carlos says, rubbing a hand up and down Charles's arm, leading him into the small waiting room.

******

As soon as Charles is away from Arthur, he lets all his pent-up emotions loose. He begins to cry tears racing down his cheeks.

"I had no idea it would be this bad" Charles sobs reaching up to pull at his hair so tightly that Carlos is worried Charles is going to hurt himself.

"How could it be this bad? I can't lose him too Carlos" Charles cries, pulling his hands down to cover his eyes, as he collapses into a plastic chair. Carlos drops down too, wrapping an arm around him.

“He will be okay Charles” Carlos whispers rubbing a hand up and down Charles’ back.

“He drives cars at 300 kilometers an hour for a living but now he is dying in hospital from a road accident,” Charles says, bringing a hand back up to his hair. “I don’t even know how it happened,” Carlos's expression softens and he pulls Charles even closer.

“He is not dying Charles, just be strong for him, okay?” Carlos says, guiding Charles's head into his chest. “That is what he needs” Carlos felt Charles nod against him, taking deep breaths and wiping his eyes, fresh tears still making their way down his cheeks. Carlos sighs continuing to rub Charles's back, bringing his other hand to gently stroke the back of Charles's head.

*******

Over the last week, Charles and his Mother had been staying with Arthur, not wanting him to be alone if he woke up. They would sit by his side, quietly talking to him. Pascale would tell him over and over again how much they all loved him and how brave he was. Seeing how exhausted the pair was becoming, Carlos had eventually convinced them both that they needed to go home and get some proper rest, reassuring them both that he would be there to look after Arthur if he were to wake up while they were gone.

*******

Carlos yawns stretching out as much as he can on the small couch, turning his head as he hears a noise coming from Arthur’s bed. He looks over, jumping slightly as he sees Arthur staring at him, eyes impossibly wide with fear. Carlos watches as Arthur's eyes slowly flick around the room. Arthur lay still for a moment until he slowly starts reaching for the ventilator on his face, his fear now mixed with confusion . “Hey no, no, no, Arthur stop” Carlos says hurrying to hold down Arthur’s wrist as gently as he can.

“Please, Arthur. You are okay” Carlos says, squeezing Arthur’s wrist gently, reaching for the red call button, and pressing it. The younger driver’s blue eyes are now filled with tears, which are beginning to flow down his temples onto the pillow. His chest is heaving as he struggles against the ventilator, now making sickening noises as he cries and grunts.

“It's okay, it’s okay” Carlos whispers, not knowing what else he can do. Arthur is shaking like a leaf beneath Carlos’ gentle hold, his hands now clenched tightly at his sides. Carlos places his other hand on top of Arthur’s hair beginning to run his fingers through it like Charles has been doing throughout the entire week.
“You’re okay, you’re alright,” Carlos spoke softly, continuing to lightly run his fingers through the younger driver's hair. The boy continues to make noise, not seeming to register Carlos' words as he gurgles and sobs beneath the ventilator

"Don't worry, Arthur, calm down “ Carlos says. "Let it breathe for you it’s there to help you. You’re okay” Arthur's eyes dart around the room as he continues to let out gurgled sobs, his chest heaves, as he suddenly attempts to sit up. “No, no, no Arthur. Just lie down okay:” Carlos says, guiding him back down as gently as he can. Arthur’s hands are still shaking violently as he looks up at Carlos with wide eyes. Carlos hopes that when the drugs that they had given Arthur wear off and his family is here again, he will be less afraid. As nurses come in to check on him, Carlos makes sure to keep a hand on Arthur, hoping to provide any comfort he can for the young driver.

*******

A few days after that, they decide it is safe to take him off the ventilator. Arthur's hands are shaking like they were a few days ago when he had first woken up. His eyes locked on the ceiling, as the doctors prepare him for the procedure.

“It is going to be okay Arthur. I’m right here” Charles says reaching out and grasping Arthur's hand. Arthur squeezes his hand back. The nurse is talking to Arthur, telling him everything they are going to do. Arthur just watches her as she speaks letting out a low hum when she asks if he understood what is going to happen. Arthur squeezes Charles's hand as tightly as he can as they began to take it out and Charles has to look away as the long tube is pulled from his throat. Arthur arches his back in pain and lets out a gurgled moan. The nurse taking it out is speaking softly to Arthur, giving him words of encouragement. When it is all out, Arthur lets out a round of wet coughs. He squeezes his eyes shut in pain, as he feels the muscles in his chest straining, immediately being comforted by his family.

*******

Charles sat next to his brother's bed for the rest of the evening, keeping him company. Charles is beyond thankful that his brother is awake when just days ago he didn't know if Arthur would wake up at all, but he knew Arthur still had a long way to go. Arthur is lying on the bed watching Charles talk, exhausted as he fights to keep his heavy eyelids from closing. Trying to respond to something Charles has said, he stammers, struggling to find the right words. Charles stays quiet, giving his brother time to focus on what he is trying to say. Charles can see Arthur becoming frustrated and his heart clenches as he watches his younger brother trying to form his sentence. His hands are gripping the sheets so tightly that his knuckles are white. Charles decides to step in when tears begin to form in Arthur's eyes.

"It's okay Arthur," Charles says reaching out to rub Arthur's shoulder. Arthur watches his brother with sad eyes as he tries to blink back the exhaustion.

"you can rest, Arthur. I'm here, you're okay"

Chapter Text

When Pierre finishes the race, he is in the most pain he has ever been in. His stomach had only started to hurt when there were fifteen laps to go and it had felt like someone had been stabbing him with a knife for the last five. He sits in his car, trying to find the strength to get out. Pierre gasps in pain as he holds on to the halo and begins to pull himself out of the seat, tears springing to his eyes. Some marshals end up helping him out of the car, and his stomach cramps painfully as he does.

Pierre pulls off his helmet and balaclava, scanning the crowds for Charles, and spots him a bit further down the pit lane. He wraps an arm tightly around his stomach as he begins to walk towards him, wincing at the pain that comes with every step. Tears begin to form in his eyes as another cramp shoots through his stomach. Pierre ignores the concerned looks from the marshals, cameramen, and the other drivers. The only person he wants to see right now is Charles.

As Charles sees Pierre stumbling towards him with tears staining his cheeks, his heart drops. Charles heard that Pierre wasn’t feeling well during the race but doesn't know what has happened. He certainly doesn't expect to see the French driver in tears.

Charles rushes over to meet him, stomach sinking with worry “Pierre, what’s wrong,” he asks, hands moving to support Pierre’s broad shoulders.

“Shit, Charles. It hurts so bad” Pierre gasps, squeezing his eyes shut. There is a fuzziness around the edges of Pierre’s vision as he leans his weight on Charles. Charles can see beads of sweat making their way down his skin. Pierre is leaning so heavily on him now Charles is afraid he is going to pass out.

“Let’s leave, hm?” Charles says quietly, letting Pierre lean into his hold. Pierre just nods, eyes glassy and unfocused and chest heaving from the pain.

*******

Pierre wakes up lying in a bed, the pain in his stomach somehow worse than before. He vaguely recalls being sick at the track and Charles taking him back to his hotel room and Pierre assumes that was where he was right now. It is dark inside the room, but Pierre can tell it was still daytime from slivers of light coming in around the closed blinds. Pierre realizes he is just wearing his boxers and tries to remember taking his race suit and fireproofs off. He figures Charles must have done that for him too. Suddenly, Pierre’s stomach lurches violently and he clamps a hand over his mouth, scrambling to get out of bed. Pierre barely makes it to the bathroom before he is heaving violently into the toilet, all the food he had eaten that day coming up. Suddenly, the lights in the bathroom flick on and Pierre whines at the brightness.

“Oh, Pierre” Charles coos, kneeling down next to Pierre and placing a hand on the back of his neck.“Get it all out,” he says, holding Pierre while he continues to empty the contents of his stomach.

Pierre begins to cry softly as his stomach spasms painfully and more vomit makes its way up his throat. Every time Pierre tries to take a breath, more vomit appears. Even after everything in his stomach has come up, Pierre continues to retch into the toilet bowl. By the time his stomach is finished, he is gasping for air. He leans heavily on the toilet seat, head spinning. He is beginning to drift off when he feels strong hands hook under his arms. He lets Charles slowly pull him back so that Pierre is lying in his lap. He leans back against Charles's warm chest, his eyes slowly shutting as Charles presses kisses to the top of his head. Pierre is beginning to fall asleep when Charles carefully shifts Pierre off him, leaning him against the wall. Pierre moans quietly, wishing he was still in Charles' warm embrace.

Charles returns moments later, a cold cup of water in his hand. “Just a few sips. Please. You need water.” He says, crouching down to Pierre’s level. Pierre nods, reaching out to take it. When Charles sees how much Pierre’s hands are shaking, he decides to give the water to Pierre himself. He gently holds the back of Pierre’s head as he brings the cup to his lips, slowly pouring some into his mouth. Charles tilts the glass up a little more when he sees Pierre swallow. He stops when Pierre has drunk around a quarter of the glass, not wanting to overwhelm Pierre’s already sensitive stomach.

Pierre sits there for a few minutes with his head on his knees as Charles crouches beside him rubbing his back, still holding the glass of water. Pierre throws his head back against the wall, letting out a loud sob when he feels the familiar feeling of nausea in his throat returning. Tears are falling down his cheeks again as he swallows back a gag. Seeing what is happening, Charles helps him slowly move closer to the toilet. With no food left to throw up, he violently gags, the water he had just drunk coming up. Charles watches Pierre, considering taking him to the hospital. His stomach is tight with anxiety, unsure if he can deal with Pierre being this sick. Charles is snapped out of his thoughts by a whimper from Pierre, as his head rests against the toilet seat.

“Pierre, hey. That’s gross, come on” Charles says, half serious and half joking in an attempt to lighten the mood. Pierre only groans in response, shivering as goosebumps spread over his skin.

“Do you think you’re finished?” Charles asks, lifting Pierre away from the toilet bowl. Pierre nods sluggishly, looking up at Charles. Pierre is almost as tall as Charles and heavier, so Charles struggles to carry him back to bed. When he has finally made it, he places Pierre down on the mattress. Charles pulls the covers gently over him and breathes a sigh of relief as he sits on the bed next to him, gently stroking his sweaty hair.

*******

Pierre wakes up with a start, already feeling bile rise up his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, knowing there was no way he can make it to the bathroom in time. Suddenly there is a bucket under his chin and a hand rubbing gently on his back as he retched. Pierre is gasping for air with how hard he is throwing up.

“Breathe Pierre. It’s okay” Charles whispers softly. Pierre tries to, but every breath he takes got caught in his throat, and the lack of air makes him feel lightheaded. Pierre feels Charles moving his body so that his back is resting against the headboard of the bed, as he continues to heave into the bucket. Seeing Pierre has nothing more to bring up, Charles takes the bucket from Pierre’s tight hold.

Charles is gone for a moment and Pierre shuts his eyes letting his head fall forward. He doesn't hear Charles return but feels a gentle hand hold his head back as a warm towel is pressed to his face. Pierre keeps his eyes shut as Charles wipes his mouth, washing off the thin trail of vomit down to his chin. When Charles has finished wiping Pierre’s face he puts the towel back in the bathroom, before returning to Pierre. Charles grunts as he lifts Pierre and moves him further down the bed so that he is no longer leaning against the headboard and pulls the covers up around him. Charles presses a kiss to Pierre’s cheek as he slides into bed next to him wrapping an arm protectively around his stomach, pulling him closer.

Chapter Text

Daniel spots Max as he made his way to his post-qualifying interview in the media pen. He can tell Max doesn't feel well. He had been sick for the few days leading up to the weekend, and that mixed with the extreme temperatures of the track that day weren’t doing him any favors. He doesn't know how bad the Dutch Driver is feeling but as he watches Max leaning heavily against the railing in the media pen, Daniel can tell he is exhausted. He keeps an eye on the younger driver as he talks with Seb, waiting for his interview.

*******

Max mumbles his way through the interview, keeping his answers short, trying to focus on the interviewers’ questions instead of the pounding in his head. He wants nothing more than to lie down somewhere and sleep, trying not to think about all the interviews and debrief with the team he still has to complete.
Max nods, forcing a smile as the interviewer thanks him for his time. As he steps away from the interviewer, he stumbles, reaching an arm out to hold back onto the railing. He keeps his eyes shut as dizziness washes over him. Max feels someone grab his arm, but his mind is too fuzzy to figure out who it is. He takes a step backward, trying to get away from the hand grabbing him. As he steps back, he loses his balance. The world is spinning around him, then nothing.

Daniel had only looked away for a moment but when he looks back, someone is holding onto Max’s arm and Max has a hand pressed over his eyes. For a moment Daniel isn't sure what is happening until he sees Max’s legs buckle and he drops to the ground.

“Shit”

Seb whips his head around to where Daniel's eyes are looking after hearing the Australian swear. Seeing Max on the ground, he follows Daniel as he makes his way quickly over to Max. By now people are yelling and crowding around the young driver. Daniel pushes past everyone, dropping down next to Max’s unconscious form. Max’s whole body has a thin layer of sweat over it and more beads of sweat are making their way down his forehead. Daniel wishes he had stopped Max from driving that day. He knew that the younger driver hadn’t been feeling well though Max had insisted that he was fine to everyone that had asked.

Daniel pays no attention to the chaos around him as people rush around, getting water and ice for Max and getting the medics. His only concern is the unconscious boy lying in front of him.

“Max, Hey wake up,” Daniel says as he lightly pats Max’s cheek, frowning when he felt how hot he was. Daniel presses his fingers to the neck of the red bull driver, as he checks his pulse. He swallows thickly when he feels how fast it was, pulling Max up, so he is resting against his own chest. Seb helps to move Max’s limbs and head as they flopped lifelessly. Daniel holds the red bull driver's head against his shoulder so he can get a good look at him. His cheeks are on fire compared to the rest of his pale face.

“C’mon Max. Wake up” Daniel repeats, his hand stroking Max’s scalp. He doesn't know what else to do so he just keeps doing that though, Max’s eyes remain firmly shut.

*******

Max can tell he was lying in someone's arms. There is an odd buzzing in his ears, and he racks his brain trying to figure out what had happened. Then he hears a voice, familiar, calm. That is Sebastian’s voice.

"He's burning up," Another voice speaks, so close to Max that he can feel their breath in his ear. This voice is not as calm as Sebastian’s but just as comforting. By the Australian accent and the scent of cologne he can now smell, Max knows it was Daniel. When opens his eyes slowly, trying to let his eyes adjust to the sunlight, he is met with Sebastian's worried face in front of him. He tries to say something to ease the older man's concern but feels his eyes slowly falling shut again.

“There you go. Keep them open for me” Daniel says quietly, his tone encouraging. Max just blinks sluggishly in response, turning his face into Daniel's warm neck.

“Max stay awake, okay? we’re getting you help,” Seb says, reaching out to place his hand on the back of Max's neck. Max whines in response as he struggles to maintain consciousness. Daniel can tell Max is confused by the situation and shushes him, rubbing a hand up and down the Dutch driver's arm.

"You're okay Max. You passed out, but you're okay," Daniel says, trying to reassure the younger driver. The way Max stares back at him with glazed-over, confused eyes scares him.

“You need water Max,” Seb says, passing his drink bottle to Max. Max takes the bottle with a shaky hand, taking a few sips. The water does wonders to soothe his dry throat. He slowly pushes the bottle into Daniel's hand when he is finished, letting his head fall back against Daniel's shoulder.

*******

When the medics arrived, Max is a little more aware and responding to Daniel and Seb's questions. Seb helps him so that he is sitting up on his own. The medics ask him questions that Max has to think hard about before he can slur out a response. Daniel keeps a hand softly on Max's back, rubbing up and down when the younger driver struggles to find his words.

“We're going to take you back to the medical center okay, get you out of this heat,” one of the medics says, checking his heart rate.

“I’m okay now, really,” Max says, looking up at her, his eyes still glassy and unfocused. The woman ignores him, talking to the other medic.

“Can you stand?” Daniel asks, wrapping an arm around the younger driver's back. Max nods, holding onto Daniel tightly as he helps him stand.

“Max just take it slow, okay?” Daniel says. Max just nods, leaning heavily on Daniel as they slowly walk towards the medical center, led by the medics.

*******

Daniel listens to the conversation of the medics closely, as he sits in the medical center. Relief washes over him when they decide Max does not need to be taken to the hospital. Though Daniel is relieved to hear this, he still knows how devastated Max will be when they tell him it wouldn't be safe for him to race tomorrow. Max is fast asleep on the examination table, knees pulled up to his chest. The damp cloth that they placed on his forehead has fallen off, lying scrunched up beside his head. Daniel sits next to him, scrolling idly through Instagram. He looks up when he hears a small whine from Max. Max is still lying down, rubbing a hand over his eyes, the other gripping the sheet underneath him tightly.

"Hey," Daniel says quietly, a soft smile on his face as he slips his phone back into his pocket. Max lowers his hands from his eyes, looking up at Daniel. His eyes are unfocused still and he makes no attempts to say anything so Daniel speaks again.

"How are you feeling," Daniel asks making his way over to the side of the bed. Max just shrugs his shoulders, looking down. Daniel can't help but notice the tinge of pink on Max's cheeks when he realizes he had fallen asleep.

"Are we going home?" Max asks, still looking down as he plays with the hem of his shirt.

“Yeah yeah. They just want to keep you here for a little longer, okay?” Daniel says, reaching a hand up to brush Max's sweaty hair off his forehead.

“Will you stay?”

“Yeah, of course, Max,” Daniel says, nodding as he begins to run his fingers softly through Max's hair. Daniel watches as the younger driver shuts his eyes again. Though Max claimed to be okay after he woke up, there was no doubt he was exhausted from the whole ordeal. Daniel continues to run his fingers through Max's hair as he drifts back to sleep, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Chapter Text

Seb and Mick enter the track together on Saturday for FP3 and qualifying. Mick is excitedly telling Seb about a new band he is listening to while Seb walks beside him smiling and nodding, pretending like he had any idea of what Mick was talking about.

"Watch the step" Seb interjects quickly, seeing that Mick isn't looking where he is going.

"What?" Mick asks, not hearing Seb as he trips on the step. Seb tries to reach out his arms to catch him, but it is too late. Seb feels sick as Mick’s head hits hard against a concrete curb. A few people around them gasp as he falls.

"Mick? Hey, are you okay?" Seb asks, quickly crouching down next to him, and placing a hand on his back. His stomach drops when he realizes Mick is unconscious.

"Shit" Seb swears under his breath when he sees a trail of blood beginning to make its way down his face, coming from a cut on Mick’s forehead. It is coming out thick and fast, turning his short blonde hair, red. Seb yells out to the staff at the track, hoping someone would call an ambulance. Once he is sure that help is on the way he gives his attention to the boy in front of him. He carefully rolls Mick onto his side a little bit to get a better look. Mick's nose is bleeding too, coming down to coat his lips and chin in blood. Someone hands Seb a towel which he presses to Mick's forehead. Seb can't ignore how quickly the towel is turning red as it absorbs the blood. It seems like blood was covering most of Mick’s face at this point. Seb looks back down at Mick’s eyes which flutter as he begins to wake up.

*******

The first thing Mick feels when he comes around, are the waves of pain originating from his skull. For a moment, Mick thinks he is at home in bed, just waking up. He quickly realizes once he opens his eyes that he is still at the track, and for some reason, lying down.

“Take it easy, okay” Mick hears Seb say, though he has no idea what Seb is referring to.

He tries to recall what happened as Seb slowly helps him sit up, letting out a groan as his head spins with the movement and his vision goes fuzzy around the edges. Seeing droplets of red on the ground around him, Mick slowly brings a hand up to his face, whimpering a little when his fingers come away red. He begins to look around him, seeing how many people are staring at him as blood dripped from his head and nose into his lap.

Mick puts both hands over his nose in an attempt to contain the bleeding only resulting in the blood starting to trail down his hands and forearms instead. Though Mick seems to be getting himself into an even bigger mess than before, Seb doesn't have a better solution to contain the bleeding so he lets him be, trying to wipe as much of the blood off Mick’s arms with the towel as he can. A few fans have taken out their phones, taking photos and videos of the younger driver as he sits on the ground. This only seems to make Mick more upset and Seb can see his cheeks burning in embarrassment over the whole situation.

"Can we go now?" Mick, whispers to Sebastian, voice shaking.

Sebastian sighs "Look I think they are going to want to take you to the hospital. You hit your head pretty hard. They just want to make sure you're okay." Seb says softly trying to keep the younger driver calm.

"I am...I...I am" Mick says, eyes beginning to glass over with moisture. Seb tries to calm Mick down, not wanting him to panic before he is out of the view of the fans.

"Mick? Mick, look at me, forget that they are here." Seb says, gesturing towards the crowd that is starting to form around them, placing a comforting hand on Mick's shoulder. Mick nods, shutting his eyes as he tries to stop tears from escaping. Seb wishes that the staff at the track would use their common sense and step in to try to move the fans filming him, away. For a moment, Seb thinks about trying to get Mick to somewhere more private while they wait for the ambulance, though Mick was starting to look very sleepy, his eyes threatening to close and Seb knows that' it's never a good sign for someone who has just hit their head. Instead, Seb just stays with Mick as they wait, giving him soft words of comfort.

*******

Though realistically, it is only a few more minutes until the ambulance arrives it, of course, feels like a lot longer to Seb, when the boy he loves like his own son is on the floor, bleeding.

When the paramedics assess Mick, it doesn't take them long to decide that they will need to take him to the hospital. Seb can see the young driver beginning to panic at the mention of the hospital, his breaths becoming rapid and unsteady.

“I’ll come by the hospital later, okay?” Seb says, rubbing circles on Mick's back, trying to ease the younger driver’s anxiousness.

“Aren’t you going to come with me?” Mick asks, frowning in confusion as he reaches out to grab Seb’s arm. Seb’s heart clenches.

“Mick, I’m sorry I can’t come with you right now,” Seb says, continuing to rub circles on Mick's back.

“You’ll be okay, alright?” He says quietly, only to Mick. “They’ll look after you.” Mick just nods in response, chewing his bottom lip, the tears that threatened to fall moments ago, are now beginning to make their way down his cheeks. Mick wastes no time in swiping them away, not wanting to give the fans even more to talk about.

Though Mick wants him to come so badly, Seb knows the team isn't going to like the idea of him missing qualifying to go to the hospital with Mick. The thought of Mick alone at the hospital makes Seb’s stomach clench in guilt. He wouldn’t be alone though; his family would be there. He would be okay. All Seb had to do was qualify and then he could go and be with Mick. Seb watches as they bring Mick to the back of the ambulance, a paramedic on each side of him helping him walk slowly, still pressing the towel to his forehead.

*******

It is hours later when Seb has finally finished all his driving, interviews, and debriefs with the team and is finally able to go to the hospital, barely managing to concentrate on anything when he knows Mick is hurt.

Seb finds the room number he was told at reception and knocks lightly on the wooden door before opening it and stepping inside.

"Seb!" Mick says, face lighting up when he sees the older driver. He moves so he is sitting upright, wincing a little and shutting his eyes for a moment. Though the reaction worries Seb, Mick looks a lot better without so much blood on his face. He has a large bandage on his forehead and still has some dried blood around his nose and upper lip, though Seb is relieved to see that it didn’t seem like he had broken it.

"I thought maybe you were not going to come," Mick says as Seb makes his way over to the bed and Seb feels a surge of sadness and guilt as Mick speaks.

“No, of course, I came” Seb replies, placing a gentle hand on Mick’s shoulder. “Has your family been by yet?”

“Gina came by for an hour, but she had to go, she's going to be back in the morning,” Mick says, shrugging his shoulders. Seb nods, smiling, as Mick starts telling him how many stitches he got on his forehead. Seb fills Mick in on how qualifying went and the pair continue to talk for hours. When Mick yawns in the middle of his sentence, Seb realizes how late it had gotten. At some point, while they talked, it had gotten dark outside.

“Tired?” Seb asks, chuckling a little as Mick yawns again sinking lower on the bed. Mick nods rubbing his eyes, a small smile on his lips.

“Why don’t you sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up,” Seb says, smiling back at the younger driver. He had already left Mick alone once that day and he wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

Chapter Text

Daniel and Lando are catching up, getting some lunch together in Monaco. They have just finished up and are getting ready to leave when Lando notices something is wrong. As Lando begins to walk towards the exit, he looks back, realizing Daniel isn't following. " Daniel?" he asks looking back at the Australian driver who is now standing by the table, leaning some of his weight against it. Daniel takes a few deep breaths before dropping back down onto the chair.

"Daniel?" Lando asks, walking back towards him, resting a hand on his shoulder "What's going on," Daniel just shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand at Lando. Daniel's are locked on the floor, his mouth hangs slightly open as he breathes much harder than he should be. He swallows hard, squeezing his eyes shut as he does, letting a small whimper escape his lips. Though Daniel had waved off Lando, he knows exactly what is happening but hoped that by some miracle, his symptoms will pass and he won't have a severe reaction. He doesn't want to put that on Lando. The only person who knows the extent of his allergy is Max and he still feels guilty when Max has to deal with him like this.

"Are you okay, what's wrong, are you sick?" Lando asks, desperately trying to figure out why the older doesn't look like he can breathe. Daniel just shakes his head again, lifting a hand up to pull the collar of his sweatshirt. "Do you want to go outside?" Lando asks, still unaware of what to say to help his teammate. Daniel doesn't say anything but begins to stand up on shaky legs, holding onto the table for support as he does. Lando keeps a tentative hand on Daniel's shoulder as they leave, still at a loss of what to do. Daniel is breathing heavily as he makes his way out of the restaurant, earning a few worried stares from people at their tables.

Lando follows Daniel outside of the restaurant as he makes a beeline for a bench on the sidewalk, sitting down heavily. Daniel brings a hand up to his chest, grabbing desperately at the fabric, breathing only getting worse. He watches as Daniel lets out short, wheezy gasps. With Daniel's condition only getting worse, Lando, realizing he can't handle this alone, decides to call for help.

"I'm calling an ambulance, Daniel," Lando says, pulling his phone from his pocket, his other hand rubbing his teammate's shoulder. Daniel grabs his hand that isn't pulling at the neck of his sweatshirt and grabs Lando's wrist, shaking his head quickly. "no..please" he rasps out.

"What! why?" Lando asks, voice squeaking and eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

Daniel swallows before answering "Don't n-need one...please" He manages to choke out. Lando looks at him in disbelief. If he's not allowed to call an ambulance, who is he allowed to call? Lando stands still for a moment, completely out of his depth when finally decides to call Max. He would know what to do. If Daniel didn't want an ambulance, then calling Max was the next best thing.

Max picks up the phone after the first few rings. "Hey mate, what's up,"

"Something's wrong with Daniel, he might be having a panic attack I think or something. can you come, i-i don't know what to do" Lando says quickly, stumbling over his words. As he speaks to Max, he feels Daniel tug roughly on his sleeve. He looks down to see Daniel looking up at him, his eyes wide. Daniel opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.

"Shit okay yeah, I'm coming. where are you" Max said, Lando could hear him running on the other side of the phone. Lando explained where they were, rubbing Daniels back as he did. The wheezing and gasps coming from Daniel made Lando's stomach twist. As he watched the older driver gasping for air, tears beginning to trail down his cheeks, Lando realized this was definitely not a panic attack.

*******

A few minutes later Lando breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Max's car pull up. Max quickly hops out, slamming the door shut behind him jogging across the road to the pair.

"What did he eat," Max says immediately, leaning down to look at Daniel's face. Daniel has beads of sweat forming on his forehead and tears trailing down his cheeks. The usually tan complexion of the older man was gone, replaced with a pasty white

"What do you mean, why?" Lando asks, confused

"Just tell me, Lando, please" Max replies. Lando shrugs, bringing his hands up to pull at his hair. "I don't know, a burger, the same as usual,"

"Anything else?"

"Um he had a bite of my pasta, that's all," Lando says anxiously, looking at Max's concerned frown.

"Fuck Lando, what the hell were you thinking" Max groans, shaking his head in disbelief. Lando takes a step away from Daniel and Max, feeling a little hurt that Max is so upset with him.

"What? What's the matter" Lando asks though he was pretty sure he's starting to understand.

"Did it have any kind of nuts in it?"

Lando nods, feeling sick, and though Lando was pretty sure what Max was going to say, his stomach drops regardless as Max only confirms his suspicions of Daniel having a nut allergy. Lando immediately feels guilty, now knowing his simple gesture of offering Daniel some of his lunch was the cause of the reaction he is now having. Daniel hadn't even mentioned a food allergy before. He hadn't meant to give Daniel something he couldn't have.

"I-I didn't know" Lando stutters, his voice cracking.

"C'mon, Daniel, we need to lie down okay?" Max says softly, ignoring Lando. Daniel holds onto Max as tightly as he can, still gasping and wheezing, as Max moves him from the bench to the ground.

"Max..." Daniel manages to wheeze out through gasps of air.

"I know, I know," Max says, stroking a hand through Daniel's curls as he pulls Daniel's bag towards him, rummaging around before pulling out an EpiPen, and jabbing it into Daniel's tattooed thigh. Lando winces at the sight, though he sees no reaction from his older teammate.

"W-what are you doing," Lando asks.

"He needs it. last time he didn't have one. It was really bad."

"There was a last time?" Lando asks, his eyes wide with disbelief, though Max doesn't seem to notice him as he rubs Daniel's chest while he continues to gasp for air. Lando is shocked that Daniel had never brought up his allergy, especially one this severe.

"Lando, call an ambulance, he's getting worse," Max says after a minute or so, not taking his eyes away from Daniel, who looks like he passing out in Max's arms, though still struggling for air. it makes Lando's stomach sink and he calls the ambulance, explaining the situation, and giving them their location. When he gets off the phone he just watches Max as he tries to comfort the Australian.

Max looks up at Lando who is standing beside the pair holding both his and Daniel's things. The younger driver looks scared as he watches Daniel. Max sighed, now feeling guilty for getting angry with him .

"He has never told you has he," Max says, looking up at Lando.

"No" Lando murmured still watching Daniel. Max sighs, shaking his head in disbelief.

"He's going to be okay Lando, this has happened before, much worse than this time"

"I feel so bad," Lando says quietly, biting the nail on his thumb"

"No Lando, don't. You couldn't have known, he doesn't tell anyone. The only reason he carries it with him is because I force him to" Max says, gesturing at the EpiPen now lying on the concrete." Lando just nods slowly, guilt still gnawing away at him as they wait for the ambulance.

*******

Daniel groans as he blinks awake. By the bright lights and the slow, steady beeping beside him, he quickly becomes aware he was lying in a hospital bed. Daniel knows why he is here, the events of earlier in the day replaying in his mind. As he flicks his eyes around the small hospital room, he sees Max sitting, in the corner of the room, scrolling tiredly through his phone.

"Maxy," He mumbles sleepily, a smile playing on his lips.

Max looks up but he doesn't return Daniel's smile. "No, you don't get to do that, pretend like everything is fine now," He says, not moving from the plastic chair

"What?" Daniel says quietly, his smile dropping. Max sighs loudly, trying to calm himself before he spoke.

"You don't understand, you can't just eat whatever you want, you have to be careful. Daniel, it doesn't just affect you, what would I do if I lost you? what am I supposed to do without you?" Daniel tries to interject but Max doesn't let him "You can't pretend it's not real. I know you hate it but this is serious. You could have died today if Lando didn't call me and you didn't have your EpiPen. You already told him not to call an ambulance. How are people supposed to help you if you don't tell them?" Max says loudly, his voice thick with emotion.

Daniel's eyes are locked on the ground as Max speaks, listening to what he was saying. He bit his lip in an attempt to suppress his emotion.

"Please Daniel I love you, I just want you to be careful," Max continues, his voice much softer this time. There is a moment of silence before, Daniel lets the sob he was holding back, out, tears beginning to fall freely down his face. Max immediately comforted Daniel, leaning over onto the hospital bed and bringing him into his arms, Letting Daniel lean his head against his chest. "I'm sorry Max" Daniel sobs, voice muffled, by Max's sweater. Max just rubs the back of his head as he cries, pressing kisses to the older driver's soft curls.

Chapter Text

Lando has no idea what has woken him up. The blinds in his and George's bedroom are open, and he can see it's still dark outside, the only light being from the streetlamps. He lays still for a moment when he hears a whimper from beside him. In the darkness of the bedroom, he can just make out George curled up on the other side of the bed. His forehead is creased, and his hands are gripped tightly around the sheets that are over him. He is letting out small whimpers in his sleep.

"George?" Lando asks, placing a hand on George's forehead, frowning at how warm it is. "George, hey wake up," Lando says, lightly shaking George's shoulder. George shifts a little in his sleep, pushing his face into the pillow. Lando shakes his shoulder again and George's eyelids flutter and a low cry comes from his throat as he begins to wake up. The cry quickly turned into gasping breaths. Lando immediately pulled George into his arms.

"You're okay, you're okay," Lando says, running his fingers through George's short hair. After a few moments, George's breaths start to slow and his eyes begin to fall shut again.

"I don't feel good" George mumbles keeping his eyes shut.

"Yeah you have a fever," Lando says continuing to stroke George's hair. George just lets out a noise in response, trying to pull the blanket up around his sweaty body. Lando gets up from the bed, making his way over to their closet. He rummages around for a few seconds, before pulling out a clean shirt.

"George you can't go back to sleep in that," Lando says walking back to the bed, gesturing to George's shirt that was wet with sweat. George hums in response curling in on himself. Lando sighs as George begins to fall back asleep. He pulls George's dirty shirt off and maneuvers his limbs through the clean one himself.

“Lando?” George mumbles, his voice coming out weak.

“It’s okay, it's okay,” Lando says, gently stroking George's cheek. Lando throws the dirty shirt on the floor and climbs back into bed next to George, shushing him as he continues to whine in discomfort. Lando can see how George is shivering beneath the sheet and pulls him closer, wrapping his arms around him to try and warm him. George curls into Lando, pushing his head against the Mclaren driver's chest. Eventually, George's breaths even out and he falls asleep but Lando stays awake, holding George as he moves and whines in his sleep.

*******

George realizes he's alone when he reaches for Lando, finding nothing other than cold sheets. He squints against the sunlight that is streaming into his room, as he tries to untangle his legs from the sheets. He shivers against the cold air, suddenly realizing the shirt Lando had changed him into is now also soaked with sweat.

He props himself onto his elbows, head swimming as he does, and spots a glass of water left by Lando on the bedside table, desperately needing water to soothe his scratchy throat, he reaches for it. He's slowly lifting it towards him when his shaky hands fail him and it drops, smashing against the ground.

George lets out a defeated whimper as he drops his head back onto the pillow. A second later Lando appears in the doorway concern written all over his face. "Are you okay?" he asks, looking down at the smashed glass and then back at George. George opens his mouth to speak but no words come out and he has to cough lightly to clear his throat.

"I'm sorry" he manages to rasp out, voice weak.

"Don't apologize. it's alright" Lando says, pressing a kiss to George's forehead before kneeling down to clean up the shattered glass.

*******

George becomes aware that he has fallen asleep again when he feels Lando gently shaking his shoulder. He opens his eyes to Lando in front of him, holding a cup of water and some pills.

"Do you think you can sit up?" Lando asks, putting the water and pills on the bedside table. George nods, beginning to sit up with some help from Lando. Once he is upright, he begins letting out chesty coughs, barely getting a moment to take a breath. Lando sits down next to George, holding as he continues to let out coughs, rubbing his chest in an attempt to soothe him. Once George's coughing stops, Lando reaches for the water, helping George slowly take a sip. Lando places a hand on George's forehead, grimacing at how much hotter than he was only a couple of hours ago.

Lando carefully moves George off of him, quickly getting the thermometer. When Lando returns, George has already curled into a ball again, the sheets pulled almost completely over him. Lando pulls back the blanket leaving a thin sheet over George.

"I'm so cold Lando," George whines as he shivers, goosebumps appearing on his skin. Lando just strokes George's hair as he shivers in an effort to calm him. George flinches as Lando places the thermometer in his ear, instinctively trying to move away. “It’s alright,” Lando soothes, holding George’s head in place. Lando swears when the thermometer beeps and he sees how much George's temperature has risen. He stops looking at the thermometer when he sees George trying to pull the blankets back over himself. Lando pulls them back once again.

“Lando, stop” George whines as they are pulled from his hands.

"You're too warm, you can’t have all these blankets," Lando says, tossing them into the washing basket. George lets Lando take them, seemingly too exhausted to argue. After helping him drink some more water, go to the bathroom, and get changed out of his sweaty clothes, Lando feels content with leaving George to rest and hopefully sleep off some of his fever.

*******

“Hmm?” George hums, as he wakes up to Lando gently rubbing his back.

"I made you soup, how are you feeling," Lando asks, kneeling down beside the bed, placing a tray with a bowl of soup and a glass of water next to him on the floor.

o

"You can't cook Lando," George mumbles not opening his eyes. George knows he is being a little rude. Lando had still bothered to make soup for him, though he really isn't in the mood for one of Lando's poorly made dishes.

"I know, It's from a jar, " Lando replies, sounding a little bit embarrassed.

"M'not hungry,” George mumbles, staying curled up.

“C’mon you need to eat. You won't get better if you don't. Please, George." Lando pleads, rubbing George’s shoulder.

"I don't feel well," George says, not giving in to Lando's persuasion.

"Look I’ll help you," Lando says, not really giving George a choice as he pulls him up the bed, so he is leaning against the headboard. George insists on feeding himself, though his shaky hands betray him as he spills some of the soup on the bedsheets. After that, he gives up on being independent, letting Lando feed him. By the time he has eaten around half of the microwaved tomato soup, he is beginning to feel slightly nauseous. He just shakes his head, keeping his mouth shut as Lando brings another spoonful to his lips.

"Are you done?" Lando asks, lowering the spoon back into the bowl. George nods, shutting his eyes again. And though George is sure Lando will make him finish it, Lando seemed satisfied with what he has eaten, putting the bowl back onto the tray. Lando grabs some paper towel, using it to wipe away the tomato soup at the corners of George’s mouth. While George finds this slightly humiliating, Lando has just spoon-fed him a bowl of soup so he doesn't really care anymore. Lando places the tray beside the bed before climbing in next to George. George, immediately moves into his arms, cuddling as close as he can to Lando. Lando can feel the heat coming off George and it's not long before he can feel his own shirt becoming wet the sweat. He lets George sleep for a while, just relieved that George is currently getting some proper rest. With George snoring softly into his chest, Lando finds himself becoming worried about how hot George is getting as he sleeps and gently shakes him awake.

"George, I need to go out and buy you some fever reducers. Is that okay?" Lando says, stroking George's hair back. George nods, keeping his eyes shut. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Lando asks, moving his hand from George's hair to his back, beginning to trace shapes with his fingertips. George just nods again, wishing Lando would stop talking.

I can ask someone to drop them off?" Lando offers, worrying about the older driver being alone in this state.

"No Lando please I'll be fine" George begs, though his weak and raspy voice is anything but convincing. Lando pauses, watching George. Part of him worries about all the terrible things that could happen to George while he was gone, and the other part told him that a 24-year-old man was perfectly fine to be left at home for an hour.

"If you say so. I’ll be back soon," Lando says, carefully moving out of George’s hold and getting out of bed before leaning in to press a kiss to George's forehead.

“Call me if you need anything,” Lando says, though he is sure the older driver has already fallen back asleep. He picks up the tray on his way out. taking one last look at George before he leaves.

*******

George wakes up in their dimly lit bedroom. The light coming through the blinds is less bright now, leaving George wondering how long he was asleep. The chills that he had before are gone, though everything is now hot, painful, and overwhelming. George calls out for Lando, his voice straining as he does. With no response, he calls out again. He is met with silence and can't make sense of why Lando isn't answering there. George tries to think of what has happened and where Lando has gone but his memories from the day are hazy. George shifts on the bed in an attempt to get up, gasping in pain as he does. All his limbs feel weaker than ever before and ache from deep inside. He calls out for Lando again, more desperate this time, hoping at any moment the younger driver will appear in the doorway. Tears prick in his eyes as he tries to move again, arms shaking violently underneath him as he tries to sit up. George lets out a sob, feeling hopeless and frustrated, his aching shoulders shaking as cries. George wants nothing more than to find Lando or at least call him, but he can't find the strength to get up off the bed. The pounding in his head and the ache throughout his whole body are becoming unbearable and the crying is only making it worse. With each sob, pain shoots through his body, and he is becoming lightheaded. He has no clue where Lando has gone but desperately hopes that he would be back soon and that wherever he has gone is not too far away.

*******

Lando is tense the whole time he is out, his mind jumping to all the terrible things that could happen to George while he alone. The longer Lando is away from George, the more worried he is. He should have just trusted his gut and stayed home with George and Lando mentally curses himself for leaving him all by himself. When he arrives at the pharmacy, he quickly finds the fever reducers, grabbing whatever other things looked useful for someone with a fever along the way. Lando checks his phone as he pays for the medicine, seeing if George had called him without his knowledge. He hasn't. As Lando gets back into the car, he calls George, starting to drive as it rings. With each ring, the anxiety in Lando's stomach burns deeper. Lando speeds up slightly when George doesn't answer his second call, trying not to go too far over the speed limit.

*******

Lando unlocks the apartment, rushing inside. "George?" he calls out, dumping the shopping bags by the door. When Lando reaches their bedroom, he finds George lying on the bed, a thin layer of sweat covering his whole body and tears streaming down his face. His hands are gripped tightly into the sheet that lay messily around him.

"George" Lando whispers, eyes wide in shock.

"Why did you leave me?" George sobs, opening his eyes a little to look at the younger driver. His words are slurred and Lando can tell he is delirious.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Lando says, his voice shaking as he runs over to George, pulling him into his arms.

George lets out a pained moan as he is moved into Lando's lap, choking on his sobs. Lando apologizes again, pressing kisses to George's hair, lifting a hand up to George's forehead.

"Fuck" Lando swears a little too loudly when he feels how hot he is. He carefully moves George off his lap before running back to the front door to get George's medicine. He grabs a few different boxes, reading the instructions on his way back to the bedroom.

“George, do you think you can sit up?” Lando asks, speaking as calmly as he can. He doesn't want George to sense how terrified he is.

"I don't feel well Lando," George chokes out, tears still streaming down his cheeks.

"I know, you're going to be okay, just sit up for me," Lando says, stroking George's hair back. Lando helps George sit up giving him gentle words of encouragement though he is doing most of the work. Lando grabs the glass of water from earlier, helping George sip some to swallow the pills.

“That’s it, just a few more,” Lando says as George swallows the first pill. Lando slowly helps George swallow the last few. By the time they had finished George’s breathing is labored, the small amount of effort he put in, wearing him out. “Good job George,” Lando says rubbing a hand up and down his arm. “I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” Lando says, cradling George’s face in his hands. George manages a small nod as he shuts his eyes again.

Trying to be as quick as he can, Lando turns on the air conditioning in the bedroom and wets a washcloth with cool water. When Lando comes back, he kicks off his shoes and slides into bed next to George pulling the older driver to his chest. Lando places the washcloth on George's forehead, shushing George when he tenses and opens his eyes at the new sensation. George's eyes are glassy and unfocused, staring off at nothing but Lando sees a flicker of pain cross them.

"George?"

"S'cold" George mumbles, brow creased in discomfort as he tries to turn his head away from where Lando has the washcloth pressed.

"I know I'm sorry," Lando says, his own eyes watering at seeing his boyfriend in pain and not being entirely sure of how to fix it. He continues to run the washcloth over George's forehead, hoping it will do something to lower the older driver’s temperature.

*******

Lando wakes up slowly, his neck was sore from the way he slept on it. At the realization that he had fallen asleep, he jolts awake properly, stomach sinking. He was supposed to be looking after George, making sure his fever went down. He quickly looks over to George, almost afraid to see if his fever had risen.

George is sleeping peacefully, he had dark circles under his eyes and his hair is still damp with sweat but his skin is cool and Lando lets himself breathe again. He gently runs his fingers through George's hair making sure not to wake him. When George stirs slightly in his sleep, Lando holds his breath, praying that he won't wake up in pain. George just lets out a quiet him, curling closer, squeezing Lando's hand in his sleep. Lando's heart swells at the sight and he pulls him closer to his chest "I love you so much" he whispers into George's cheek in between kisses.

Chapter Text

Daniel is scrolling through the comments on Instagram. The majority of the comments are positive and deep down Daniel knows this, but it's a lot easier to focus on the bad ones. The ones that tell him to quit formula one. The ones that tell him he isn’t good enough. More unsuccessful races meant more hours he can spend scrolling through the comments telling him how undeserving of his seat at McLaren he is. Daniel knows he is becoming obsessive. He spends hours of his days reading all the comments and he can't stop himself. All he can think about is the team, the fans, Lando. How he is letting everyone down, How McLaren could be coming fourth in the constructor’s championship if it wasn’t for him. He knows he isn’t performing; he doesn't need everyone else telling him to.

Throughout the last few weeks, Daniel has developed a system. He will work out with his trainer, come home and train some more. He will work when everyone else is resting, driving on the simulator into the early hours of the morning. Daniel has a couple of weeks till the next race and is working harder than ever. He has to be better. he spends the morning training with Michael. Micheal praises him for working so hard. It feels good to hear. It feels good that at least someone thinks that Daniel is trying hard. Michael's praise and encouragement only makes him work harder.

He's working out more than ever and somehow he's the weakest he's ever been. when he looks in the mirror can tell he's lost weight. His eyes are more sunken, his cheekbones are more prominent on his face and his usually thick curls beginning to thin. The motivation and drive Daniel used to possess is now gone, along with his energy. The only thing that fills his mind is a nagging sense of self-doubt.

Daniel works harder and tries to ignore how exhausted he feels all the time, how often he gets sick. Even Michael seems concerned when Daniel insists he still has to train when he catches his third cold of the month. Daniel can feel himself start to burn out. He will wake up from the few short hours of sleep he gets with a pounding in his head, throat dry. He knows his body needs to rest, but his mind needs to move, to burn the anxiety right out. Without exercise, his mind keeps him up all night with unanswered questions about his future. At least this way he's doing something. Anything to prove to himself that he deserves his seat.

*******

Daniel put his earphones in, turning his music up as far as it goes. He steps onto the treadmill, walking as he begins turning up the speed. Daniel slowly breaks into a run, treadmill thumping with every heavy step he takes. Although his legs are starting to ache and his breath is becoming short, he continues increasing the speed. As he runs his chest tightens even more and his legs began to weaken, barely able to keep up with the treadmill. He feels like his legs might collapse underneath him if he continues. But he keeps running, the failures that were clouding his head, making him run faster. The lack of air that comes with how fast he is sprinting to keep up with the treadmill overwhelms him and he trips a little, almost falling off. He quickly presses the emergency stop, stumbling off the treadmill and falling onto his knees as he gasps desperately for air. He grips the fabric over his chest, trying to get some air into his lungs, an unexpected sob tearing through his throat.

Still gasping for air, Daniel crawls to the side of the room. He places his back against the wall and his head between his knees, finally letting out sobs that were making his throat ache. He watches as tears fall freely onto the floorboards below him as he tries to calm his racing breathing. Daniel has no idea how long he sits there but eventually, he hears the front door unlock and someone enter his apartment.

“Daniel?” a voice Daniel recognized as Max calls out making Daniel's stomach clench with anxiety. Max can’t see him like this, he was a mess and acting like a child. His mind flashes back to a few weeks prior when Max had confronted Daniel on the driver’s parade, pointing out how exhausted he looked. Daniel had brushed off the comments, joking with the Dutch driver but he knew Max saw straight through him. Since then, Max had left the topic alone apart from a short text that read ‘I’m always here if you need me."

Daniel takes a deep breath, sniffing and wiping away tears before Max can see him. He can hear as Max opens a few different doors to see if Daniel is home before eventually opening the door to the gym. Daniel looks up, and by the look on Max's face, he knows he hasn't done a good job of wiping his tears away.

“What are you doing here?” Daniel asks, voice hoarse as he wipes away the snot he can feel drying on his upper lip, suddenly feeling self-conscious under Max's gaze.

“What do you mean? We were supposed to meet for lunch an hour ago, I got worried when you didn’t show up or reply to my texts.” Max says, voice soft, a small frown on his face.

“Fuck” Daniel swears, dropping his head down into his hands, mentally cursing himself for forgetting. He is about to apologize when Max speaks.

“What is it Daniel?” Max asks so softly, that Daniel feels more tears come to his eyes. Daniel tries to speak but his words get caught in his throat as he looks back up at Max. Max's expression is sympathetic, concern clear in his blue eyes as he watches Daniel. And before he knows it, he is crying again, sobbing hard into Max’s shirt as Max holds him tightly.

“I’m trying” Daniel whispers, his voice quiet and far too vulnerable for his liking.

“I know” Max replies, stroking the back of Daniel’s curly hair, already knowing what he was referring to. The pair sit together in silence for a few minutes before Max speaks again.

“Daniel, what’s going on with you? I’m worried” Max asks, pulling away from the hug to look Daniel in the eyes. Daniel chews on his lip, going quiet for a moment before he speaks.

“I’m just trying so hard, I don’t understand. I’m working so hard, and I can’t fucking do it. I don’t get it." Daniel says, voice shaking as he wipes more tears away. “I feel so lost at the moment and I’m just waiting for a moment like Monza to show everyone what I’m capable of and it's not coming. I can’t do it anymore. I’m so exhausted all the time and all I fucking see are comments telling me I’m not good enough. It’s too much.” Daniel continues, covering his eyes with his forearm.

“It's okay, it’s going to be okay Daniel,” Max says, pulling Daniel back into his arms, unsure of what else to say to comfort the Australian. Max knows the situation Daniel was in. Daniel’s career was coming to an end. No team would want an older driver in 2024 after two terrible years with McLaren if he decided to take a year off. It was unfair. But so was racing.

“You can work hard but not like this, it’s not good and it's not going to make you any better. You are a good driver Daniel, a great driver you still deserve to be here. Those comments don’t mean a thing” Max says, well aware of how damaging comments like that can be to a driver’s confidence. He had gotten his fair share of them after Abu Dhabi. Daniel nods slowly in response, but Max can see the older driver isn't properly listening.

“Daniel. You deserve to be here” Max says again, holding Daniel's shoulders to focus on him. Max’s words only make Daniel break down even more, burying his head in Max’s shoulder. Max just holds Daniel as he cries. After some time, Daniel speaks, a quiet ‘Thankyou’ muffled by Max’s shirt.

Chapter Text

It had been another few weeks until Arthur was cleared to be discharged. Charles had eagerly volunteered to pick him up from the hospital and look after him. Not wanting to burden his mother with his care, Arthur agreed to go with Carlos and Charles. Carlos stays silent as they walk along the hallway of the hospital to pick up Arthur, anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach as Charles talks about all the things he has planned for him and Arthur to do together when he comes home.

“Um Charles," Carlos stops walking, catching Charles' hand. Charles turns back to look at him, frowning when he sees Carlos's expression.

"Carlos, what?"

"Charles just because he’s coming home doesn’t mean he’s better, you know that, right?” Carlos says, hating the way it sounded like he is talking to a child. Charles drops his hand from Carlos's, his expression unreadable until he drops his head, looking at his feet and sniffing and Carlos immediately feels guilty.

"Charles?" Carlos asks when Charles doesn't say anything, guiding Charles's chin back up to look at him.

“No, I know.” Charles finally replies, "Of course, I know," he says, before blowing out a noisy breath. Carlos searches Charles's face for something more, taking Charles's hand in his own. He is just watching Carlos with those beautiful blue eyes, glossed with tears and it is clear he isn't going to say anything else. Carlos decides not to push it further already feeling bad for ruining Charles' good mood. Charles had spent the greater part of the last few weeks at the hospital when knew Arthur's current condition better than anyone.

"Okay, I'm sorry" Carlos whispers, squeezing Charles's hand "Let's go"

Charles nods quickly, his lips pressed into a thin line, following Carlos as he leads him toward Arthur's room.

*******

Carlos looks in the rearview mirror at Charles and Arthur in the backseat. Charles has a sad smile on his face as he watches his younger brother fall asleep on his shoulder.

They pull into the driveway a short while later and Arthur blinks awake when the engine is turned off. He looks slightly panicked for a moment in a way that makes Charles' heart twist. When he sees Charles next to him his shoulders sag slightly and he seems to relax. Charles helps him walk inside, guiding an exhausted Arthur into the guest bedroom, staying with Arthur for as long as it takes him to fall asleep.

When he shuts the bedroom door behind him, his chest feels tight with anxiety. Carlos is already in the kitchen, humming to himself as he makes dinner. The whole room is lit up with warm light as the sky outside darkens. The familiarity of it all loosens some of the tightness. Carlos looks up from the vegetables he's cutting, smiling warmly at Charles. Charles joins him in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Carlos's waist, and burying his face into his shoulder. Carlos hums affectionally, reaching up to stroke back Charles's hair, before continuing to chop vegetables. Charles can feel his throat getting tighter and he squeezes his eyes shut, pushing his face harder into Carlos's neck to stop it. A short, shaky intake of breath gives him away.

"Charles?" Carlos asks, placing the knife down on the chopping board, and turning around to return Charles's embrace. Charles clings to him tucking his face in the crook of Carlos's neck.

"Yeah?" Charles murmurs, voice cracking ever so slightly.

"Hey," Carlos says, pulling away to look at Charles' "What's going on?" Carlos's eyebrows knitted together. There's a hint of a smile on his lips, inviting Charles to open up. Charles wants nothing more than to pull him back into a hug. Charles returns a tight-lipped smile "It's just...a lot"

Carlos' expression softens as he pulls Charles back into a hug, abandoning his cooking entirely as he holds Charles' head to his shoulder. "He is doing well, really well," he says, stroking the back of Charles' head "He is so lucky to have you"

*******

Charles and Carlos coordinate their schedules to make sure someone is always with Arthur and twice a week Charles drives Arthur to physical therapy to try and help him regain all his strength. Occasionally, Arthur will forget words and stutter when he got too tired or stressed but Carlos and Charles are patient with him, gently prompting him towards the right words. Though apart from that the first few days pass smoothly until one night when Charles wakes up, an odd feeling settling in his stomach. He lies there for a few moments trying to fall asleep again. He turns to his left, a smile tugging at his lips when he sees Carlos sleeping peacefully beside him. His mouth is slightly ajar as he snores lightly, dark hair a mess. Carlos stirs slightly, mumbling something in his sleep as Charles reaches out to gently tuck some of his hair behind his ear. He tries to go back to sleep, shuffling closer to Carlos. Carlos seems to stir slightly and wraps an arm around him. He shuts his eyes, but can't shake the uncomfortable feeling at the bottom of his stomach. Eventually, he decides to go and check on Arthur, just to be sure he is okay and then he will be able to go back to sleep worry-free.

When he opens the door to the guest bedroom, he lets himself relax slightly when he sees Arthur curled up on the bed. He stands against the doorframe for a moment watching Arthur sleep when a pained groan breaks the silence. Charles's stomach sinks.

“Arthur?” Charles whispers into the darkness. Another groan, this time louder, has him rushing to Arthur's side. "Arthur what's wrong?" he asks urgently, a hand already stroking Arthur's hair.

“D-don’t..feel well” Arthur stutters, fingers clenching and unclenching on the sheets around him. In the light coming from the hallway, Charles can see tear tracks making their way down Arthur’s face.

“Why, what do you feel?” Charles asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Feel weird,” Arthur says, through gritted teeth.

“Okay let's relax alright,” Charles says gently, becoming aware of what might happen. Charles had been told that Arthur was likely to experience seizures when he gets out of the hospital, but Charles isn't prepared for when it actually happened. The last time Arthur had a seizure was in the hospital with doctors and nurses nearby. But now they are at home, just him and Carlos to look after him. Charles tries to remain calm, not wanting to scare his younger brother further.

Arthur shifts on the bed as he lets out a low groan from the back of his throat, pushing his heels into the mattress as he struggles to find some relief from discomfort. His breaths are labored as he tries to fight off the oncoming seizure.

“Shhh, it’s okay, just let it happen it’s going to be okay, I’m here,” Charles says, trying to soothe him. Arthur’s breath is hitching as he cries, and Charles can tell it is going to start soon. When Arthur starts to seize, Charles yells out for Carlos. He waits a few seconds, yelling out again when he doesn't hear anything. Moments later he hears Carlos's footsteps, thudding down the hallway.

“Fuck” Carlos swears as he sees Arthur, rushing over to stand next to the bed, one hand reaching up to push nervously through his hair, the other placed gently on Charles's shoulder. Charles grimaces when the smell of urine began to fill the room, knowing what has happened. Arthur’s breaths are coming out in short gasps as powerful spasms sweep through his muscles, his arms and legs hitting violently against the bed. Awful gurgling noises are coming from the back of Arthur’s throat as he shakes uncontrollably on the bed, reminding Charles a little too much of when Arthur was in the hospital. Charles froze as red foam begins to form at his mouth, watching as it began to run down his chin.

“It's okay Charles he has just bitten his tongue,” Carlos comforts, rubbing Charles' back as he wipes some of the foam away with the sheets.

Charles nods slowly, comforted by Carlos's presence. He looks at his watch, feeling sick and silently praying that the seizing will cease soon. After what feels like an eternity, Arthus's muscles stop spasming and he stills, aside from the occasional twitching of his limbs. It takes a few minutes before Arthur makes a noise from the back of his throat, expression pained. Arthur mumbles something out that only vaguely resembles the words 'What happened?'

"It's okay you’re safe, it's over now alright," Charles comforts. Arthur only whimpers in response, pushing his head into the pillow.“It’s okay, it’s okay. You did so well” Charles says softly, rubbing circles on Arthur’s chest as he comes around properly.

Charles lowers his voice, turning to look at Carlos, "can you put a sheet on the couch for him please?" he asks. Carlos nods, pressing a kiss to the top of Charles' head before he leaves. Charles helps Arthur get cleaned up and changed into some clean clothes, being as gentle as he can. Arthur is uncoordinated and confused and Charles can only imagine how sick he must feel. sitting him back down on the edge. Charles helps Arthur sit back down on the clean side of the bed, waiting for Carlos to return from the living room.

“Carlos, can you help him walk? I’ll clean up here,” Charles asks, rubbing Athur's shoulder when the older driver returns from the living room. Carlos nods, making his way toward Arthur. Carlos helps him walk a few steps when Arthur's legs buckle beneath him. Carlos catches him easily, carefully lifting him, one arm under his back and the other under his knees. Arthur groans in protest but quickly falls back asleep in Carlos’s arms.

By the time Charles finishes cleaning the mattress and putting the sheets in the washing machine, he checks his watch to see that it's already 4 am. It doesn't take Charles long to decide to spend the rest of the night in the living room to keep an eye on Arthur, Carlos quickly insisting on staying up too. The pair have been sitting there for around 40 minutes when they hear Arthur groan from the couch.

“Arthur?” Charles asks, checking to see if his brother is actually awake.

“Shit” Arthur whispers, lifting his forearm up to cover his eyes, shifting his hips in an attempt to get comfortable

“Hey, how are you feeling,” Charles asks gently, getting up from his seat. Arthur doesn't answer, as his tired eyes flick around the room when his eyes land on what he is wearing.

“How did I get changed?”

“You needed some help,” Charles says, trying to be careful with his wording, there is a moment of silence before Arthur lets out a quiet sob, his cheeks burning red before he began to speak.

“I hate my life. I do not even know if I can r-race again. You don’t even trust me enough to leave me alone for five minutes,” Arthur says, now sobbing. “You a-and Carlos have to help me with e-e-everything, it’s so embarrassing. I am such a b-burden.”

Charles’ stomach clenches at Arthur's words “Arthur…” he tries, placing a hand on his arm.

“Stop just leave me a-alone.” Arthur yells, pulling himself away from Charles as best he can. Charles takes a step back from the couch, sitting back down next to Carlos, for the first time in his life, unsure of how to comfort his brother. He feels like an idiot, watching his brother cry and having no idea what to say. He is supposed to be there for him.

Charles wants to talk to Arthur, tell him he is sorry and that everything will be okay. Tell him that Carlos and Charles love him and there is no reason to be embarrassed. Though just as quickly as Arthur had started talking his eyes are falling shut and his breaths evening out as he drifts back to sleep, almost as if he hadn’t woken up at all. After a few minutes of silence, Charles is thinking about waking him up again when Carlos places a hand on his knee. “It can wait.” He whispers softly, almost as if he can read Charles' mind.

Chapter Text

The cake from Carlos's birthday is too many calories. Charles can tell just by looking at it. It looks delicious, yeah but he can see the calories in the filling, in thick icing and fondant decorating the top. Maybe other drivers can afford to have a cheat day every now and then but not Charles. No, he needs every inch of the perfection he has created for himself.

So he slips off to the bathroom when everyone else is too focused on Carlos to notice he is gone, kneeling in front of the toilet like he had so many times before.

Charles isn't completely sure why he cares so much. Why is he kneeling on the bathroom floor while Carlos is celebrating outside with the rest of the team, enjoying his birthday cake? Charles secretly resents him for it. Resents him for not counting every single calorie and being able to enjoy himself every now and then. Resents him for being normal. Maybe it is the fact that every weekend he watches the gap between him and Max grow or maybe it's the constant pressure put on him to be light. He gets a sick sense of satisfaction when people tell him how skinny he is getting, choosing to ignore the glimmer of fear in their eyes and how the tone of their voices sounds more like pity than envy. A distant part of his mind is screaming to stop, yelling at him that he needs to do something to get out of this routine, but he can't hear it when he crosses the checkered flag in P1. That's what makes all this worth it. He knows that if he pushes himself enough there'll be another win on the board at the end of it. That's the only thing that matters.

For a long time, it had just been extreme diets and extra training when he could fit it in. The diets take their toll. He doesn't sleep properly even when the exhaustion is almost always overwhelming. He can barely stay upright during training which doesn't go unnoticed by Andrea, who is always him feeding protein bars, telling him to sit down and rest. For a while, it seemed like it had been working, but there were still pinches of fat he could feel under his fingertips that nothing seemed to shrink no matter how many miles of treadmill he ran or days he restricted his food. His stomach feels heavy with the cake and guilt, there's a slight cramp starting in the pit of his stomach. He runs his hand down the expanse of his belly, to where he's stuffed full and tucks his hands under his thighs in the hopes of forcing himself to resist. It's a dangerous door to reopen but Charles isn't sure he knows how to close it again. If he starts again, he won't stop. He knows that and as much as he tells himself that this time will be different; just one more time it's still a lie. It will never be just one more time.

He drops his head, wiggling his toes in his sneakers, like it will stop the awful itching feeling running through his veins. He'd had two slices. God. Why the fuck had he gone back for another. That thought alone makes tears spring to his eyes and he tries not to imagine how disgusted Carlos and the rest of the team were when they saw him stuffing his face. Carlos who can eat cake on his birthday and not even think about calories will tease him about being a control freak.

Charles shoves a finger to the back of his throat with practised ease, until he gags and the revolting mix of cake and bile fills his mouth. The acidity burns and he feels a rush of relief that reminds him all too well of his teenage years. He closes his eyes in contentment when he's done. Finally, the heavy feeling in his gut is gone, replaced by sharpness and an emptiness he has to be strong enough to ignore.

He wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve and reaches for a fistful of toilet paper to wrap around his fingers and clean up the remaining traces of cake and bile that cling to the inside of his mouth. He feels a bit shaky but clearer, like he can go out and celebrate how he should have all along without thinking about food and his stomach and how disgusted he is with himself every time he sees his own reflection. He wanders back into the celebrations, giving Carlos a pat on the back and joining in whatever conversation is currently going on. He doubts anyone even notices his absence.

This had happened before. More than a few times, actually. But it started when he was a kid, when all he'd hear was how his slim build was perfect for karting. How even the smallest weight would make the biggest difference when he got to Formula 1. It had confused Chalres' at first, he hadn't really understood it fully but he understood that if his people kept saying it then it must be important. So where others saw a growing boy, Charles saw extra weight waiting to be shed. He Still does, if he's honest. Deep down, he knew it was normal, gaining weight. After all, he'd grown almost four inches one year but Charles was observant. He noticed that the kids who won always weighed at least a few kilos less than him. If he wanted to win he would just have to be lighter.

After a disappointing karting race, his mother held him close and kissed him on the cheek, telling him she was proud of him either way. That she was proud of him as he was, no matter what. That night he'd stood in front of the bathroom mirror and thought about the winner of the race, a scrawny Finnish boy, feeling disgusted when he pinched at the little bit of baby fat around his middle. He made sure that the door was locked before putting his fingers in his mouth, tentatively pushing to the back. It had hurt his throat at first and it had taken him a little while to learn the motions and bring something up. When he finally had, he'd felt like he had tasted triumph along with the half-digested burger.

 After the first time, Charles found it was very hard to stop. It was a lot easier to lose weight that way than spend hours in the gym or decrease his calorie intake. Even so, he tried to stop and had some periods where he was able to live as he was supposed to. But every time, after a disappointing season and a stressful summer of weighing himself obsessively until it almost drove him insane and not getting the results he wanted, he had found himself huddled over a toilet bowl, relieved and feeling lighter after.

Max had been the only one to know for a very long time. He hadn't meant for the Dutch boy to find out, they weren't even friends at that point but their rivalry had shifted from intense jealousy to resentful understanding of each other's talent. He'd walked in on Charles in the bathroom, bringing up his lunch after a race and he'd stood there, eyes wide and concerned and then innocently asked if Charles was sick. He could've lied then. That's what he should've done but something inside him snapped and he'd just cried. Broke down and sobbed with Max holding him awkwardly. Max hadn't known what to say but he didn't leave, just rubbed his back in silence until Charles had stopped sobbing. Charles had made him swear he wouldn't tell anyone, knowing that if word ever spread he wouldn't live the rest of his life. His mum would make him stop karting and find him some sort of therapist who would try and prise his career, his lifeline out of his hands. And Max had promised to keep it a secret, even if he was hesitant, still perplexed as to why Charles was doing this to himself. They'd developed from a kind of tentative friendship then onwards. Slowly it evolved into soft glances and gentle touches that lingered a few seconds too long, so innocent that nobody ever asked questions.

A year later, Charles had to spend two months in hospital after Lorenzo found him passed out in the shower. He tries not to think about it, ever. How he'd woken up drenched and freezing wrapped in a towel, teeth chattering uncontrollably while his older brother had lifted him easily, shouting for their parents. How he'd had to see Arthur, just turned eleven at his bedside crying because he didn't understand why Charles had done this to himself on purpose. "Vous ne pouvez pas vous faire ces choses Charles" his mother cooed as she sat by Charles' bedside, stroking his hair back. She was crying and Charles had to squeeze his own eyes shut to himself from doing the same.

It's a memory Charles wishes he could forget. He knows how bad it had gotten last time and tries to tell himself this is nothing like it was back then. Charles is perfectly capable of handling this on his own.

After Carlos’s birthday, Charles falls hard into his old habits. He doesn't even fight it. One meal here and there skips quickly into full days of purging and restricting. The painful hunger pangs soon ebb away to a dull emptiness and he feels weightless.

It's media day and despite the heat in the air he chooses a jacket, feeling uncomfortable exposing his thin frame. It's not that he's ashamed of it. He's proud of how far he's come but Charles can feel the looks he gets, the concerned ones and confused ones, that his engineers and mechanics seem to get when they gaze at him for a moment longer than they usually would. At this rate, he's going to end up talking to a doctor whether he likes it or not. Then he'll be confined to the side-lines, feeling his confidence and ability being chipped away. Carlos teases him about it lightly as they walk to their interview. "You always dress like it's winter," Carlos nudges him, laughing and Charles manages a smile, hiding his discomfort with a shrug.

Charles discreetly checks his watch for the fifth time willing the interview to be over. He's hot under his too many layers, and he just wants to leave. He rubs a hand across his clammy brow and shifts in his seat as much as he dares, not wanting to bring too much attention to himself. Carlos’s voice is becoming white noise in his ears as he squints against the sun and thankfully he's doing most of the talking anyway. It's probably for the best because his tongue feels thick in his mouth and he isn't sure he can put a sentence together that makes sense right now.

Thankfully, just as his vision begins to tunnel the interviewer is thanking them for their time and Carlos is standing, happily shaking her hand. Charles tries to do the same but stands up too quickly and grips the table to steady himself. His knees buckle slightly but it's enough that his teammate catches him by the waist. "Charles!" he hears as darkness swims in his vision.

When he opens his eyes next, he's sure only a few seconds have passed. He's in Carlos's arms, both of them still standing, his head tucked under the Spaniard's chin. He straightens, embarrassed and forces out a chuckle. "Stood up too quickly," he tries, seeing the crowd of concerned reporters and team members surrounding him.

Carlos is waiting for him to pull away, stand on his own but Charles doesn't. He's not sure he can without falling to the floor anyway. Carlos seems to pick up on this because he leans in close, so only Charles can hear him. "Charles, are you okay?"

Charles nods, blinking heavily as he forces his eyes wider open, the motion just making the dizziness worse. "Yes. I think- I think I just stood up too fast." he croaks, his voice wobbly, betraying how far from fine he actually is. He expects Carlos to let go after that, not guide him back down to the couch they were just on, not letting him go. He's muttering little 'It's okay's' as they sit.

“When they're back down, Carlos goes for his jacket, saying something about it being 'To hot'.

“No, Stop!" Charles tries to pull back when Carlos grabs hold of the zipper, tugging it down. He roughly pushed Carlos's hands away with what little strength he has. His heart feels like it's dropped to his stomach and tears are welling up in his eyes as he looks at the frown on the spaniard's face. "Please... don't."

Carlos gives him this look of disbelief and confusion. "What is going on?" he hisses, voice hushed.

Charles just shakes his head mutely, pushing himself to his feet and almost stumbling. He has to stand still for a second to make sure the ground doesn't rush up to meet him and then he's walking off, head bowed. He hears people calling after him but the blood in his ears is roaring and tears are streaming down his cheeks as he bites hard on his lip. He doesn't feel completely in control of himself and it terrifies him.

Charles feels tense, jittery, and generally self-conscious for the rest of the day, like everyone around him knows. Maybe they do. Carlos is sending him concerned glances for the rest of the day, which Charles is trying to ignore but it's hard to when Carlos keeps hovering, like he'll drop if left alone.

Sunday is awful. Ferrari fucked the strategy and Charles had finished a dismal 11th, behind a Haas for god's sake. To make matters worse, he still can't shake off the lightheadedness and has a pounding headache that makes his mouth dry and thoughts hazy. He stumbles out of the car and against better judgement, heads to the nearest bathroom, pulling off his helmet. He doesn't even stop to congratulate Carlos who had finished P3. He just needs to get away.

He slams the door behind him and locks it, dropping to his knees in front of the toilet. His heart is racing in his chest and his sweat feels icy on his clammy skin. His mind is all mixed up but he knows he has to make all this unpleasantness fade. He pushes his fingers to the back of his throat but by the time he brings something up, he's hit with this odd clarity. It scares him how desperate he is for this. Even when he hasn't eaten since yesterday and his body is doing all it can to keep him upright. He chokes out a sob, not sure whether he's crying because he actually feels awful or the fact that he knows this is everything like last time. It's only a matter of time before he's 13 again, passed out in the shower. He rests his head against the cool tiles, sitting numbly until his breathing is under control and his tears have dried when there's a knock at the door.

“Charles are you in there?”

Charles shuts his eyes letting his head drop forwards. He immediately recognizes the voice as Mattia’s. Why the fuck would they send Mattia?

“You were supposed to get weighed.”

He doesn't reply. His joints still feel all sluggish and he doesn't have the strength to move, let alone unlock the door and pull it open to face Mattia. “Sorry I had to go to the toilet,” he says, trying his best to steady his shaky voice.

“Hurry up we have to go now,” Mattia says. His voice is stern and Charles can tell he is angry so he pulls himself to his feet, staggering the to the sink and washing his hands. He grimaces when he sees himself in the mirror. He still has the imprints from his helmet on his cheeks, his eyes have dark circles around them and he has vomit at the corners of his mouth. Charles rips some toilet paper off the roll, wiping it around his mouth, before throwing it in the toilet, flushing it.

He wipes the sweat away from his eyes with his palms, continuing to press his palms into his eyes until white spots appear. He opens his eyes, when Mattia knocks on the door again, blinking at the harsh light in the toilet.

He follows Mattia silently as he leads him back to get weighed. Mattia hasn't said a word, holding off on the inevitable lecture he's going to get later. Charles stands in line, head down, like he's a kid who just got told off. Max walks past him, and their eyes lock. He has this almost imperceptible shake of his head but Charles looks away. He doesn't have time for pity right now..

"Charles!," he hears Max's voice call out from behind him and he just keeps walking. He's not in the fucking mood. "Charles, hey." Max huffs as he falls into step with Charles, a bit breathless. "Can you stop walking and talk to me."

Charles stops, shutting his eyes momentarily. "What?" he spits and he knows he's being unfair but he's upset and humiliated and can't bring himself to talk to Max.

"What is going on?" What's wrong?" Max asks. "You cannot pretend to not know me."

"What are you talking about?" Charles asks weakly, resuming his steps, hoping Max will just give up.

"You don't talk to me anymore." Max is still following him, refusing to take the hint that Charles wants to be left alone. "I do not understand," he says, a bit sadly, grabbing at Charles's arm to stop him from walking away.

"I... nothing," Charles chokes out. He doesn't really have an excuse. It's true he hasn't been talking to Max. They haven't even had a proper conversation, for the better part of the season.

Max sighs, looking down like he is deciding if he should say what he is about to say. "You have lost weight," He finally says bluntly. 

"What the fuck. why would you say that?” Charles yells, pushing Max’s hands away. He's very aware of the people around him, slowing down as they pass.

"Carlos says you passed out-"

"What the fuck does he know," Charles spits. "I didn't"

"Are you eating?" Max asks, giving him a look of disappointment and concern. Charles wants to shout at him. Instead he just stands there, mouth hanging open.

“I just don’t want it to happen again,” Max says, looking down at his drink bottle. "What happened when we were kids, you know I was afraid." 

Charles stares at him in disbelief, shocked that Max would even bring it up at the track of all places. Max hadn’t spoken about any of this since Charles had gotten out of the hospital. They just went back to being rivals, acting as if nothing had ever happened. Charles always appreciated that Max never treated him any differently after what had happened, God knows his family did. Always being overly cautious not to upset him and checking three times a day that he had eaten. Max had ruined all of that now. Bringing it up in a public place, having the nerve to even suggest that this was the same as what had happened years ago.

“Fuck Max, no!” Charles swears, turning around and walking away, leaving Max standing alone in the pit lane. For what felt like the hundredth time this week, Charles feels like crying. He is just exhausted and needs to sleep.

“Charles I’m sorry” Max yells after Charles. Charles just keeps on walking, biting hard on his lip to suppress the emotions that are threatening to come out.

A week later it's the summer break and Max invites Charles to get lunch with him and Daniel. Charles can see right through. He knows this is a chance for Max to see if he's eating. Charles takes two days to reply before he realizes that will only make Max worry more. He reluctantly agrees. He can pretend for one day if he has to.

Charles reads nervously over the menu in front of him, stomach churning at the thought of consuming any of it. He would have thought that Max and Daniel would have picked a healthy restaurant seeing as they were both on diets too but apparently not. When the waitress appears at their table, Max gestures for him to order first. As much as Charles knew that this was his chance to prove to Max that everything was fine and he isn't spiraling again but he still can't do it. He closes the menu, feeling sick “I’m okay for now thanks” He can see Max watching him closely until Daniel starts to order and Charles was just happy to have the attention away from him and his order, or lack thereof.

Charles' anxiety calms a bit after that and the three have fallen back into casual conversation when Max excuses himself from the table disappearing for a moment. When he comes back, he has a tight-lipped smile on his face. “I ordered you something, Charles. I felt bad that you didn’t get anything”

Charles' stomach drops and his throat closes for a moment. He knows this is just Max testing him and he hates him for it. Charles just gives him smile, muttering a quiet ‘Thank you'

When the food arrives, Charles gets a good look at what Max has ordered. He didn’t think Max could have picked a greasier, fattier burger for him. The burger has two different sauces, a beef patty topped with American cheese, and thick strips of bacon. Next to the burger is a large serving of thick crinkle-cut fries, practically drowned in cheese. Charles wants to strangle Max at this point. There was no reason for Max to order this.

Even Daniel seemed a bit taken aback by Max’s choice for Charles. When Max had told him he had ordered him something, Charles actually thought about eating some just to ease Max’s concerns about the whole situation, however, the thought of this being the first thing he will have eaten this week so far makes him feel nauseated.

Throughout the whole lunch, Charles continues to pour himself more water to distract the pair from the fact that he hadn’t touched even touched his burger. Max and Daniel had both finished their food and Charles’s burger had long gone cold.

“Are you going to eat this?” Max says pushing the plate closer. Charles’ chest burns with anger. Why is Max making this so hard? Why can't he just leave Charles alone?’

“You eat it” Charles replies through his teeth, pushing the burger back toward the center of the table.

“No I want you to have it” Max replies “I bought it for you”

Charles looks over at Daniel who seems blissfully unaware of the subtext of the conversation between Charles and Max.

“I can get a takeaway box if you want it later,” Daniel suggests.

“No he can eat it now,” Max says, not looking away from Charles. Charles just wants to go home. The last thing he wants right now was to have to eat the greasiest meal he has ever seen while Max stares him down. Reluctantly he picks up the burger, hesitating before taking a bite. The taste is overwhelming, a stark contrast to the cracker and cut-up vegetables he has been surviving on the past few weeks. He manages to eat around half the burger and a few of the fries when he pushes the plate away from him, his stomach already hurting.

“I’m full,” Charles says when he sees Max watching him. Max seems to leave it alone after that which relieves Charles. As Max and Daniel talk, all Charles can think about is the burger sitting like a weight in his stomach. He has been so good lately. It's probably the longest he has ever gone without eating and Max has ruined all that hard work. His chest is becoming tight as he thinks about it and he can feel himself panicking. If Daniel or Max notice how fidgety he was becoming, they don't say anything. He quickly excuses himself from the table making a beeline toward the bathroom, not listening to Max and Daniel's calls after him.

“Is he okay?” Daniel asks, looking as confused as ever.

Max stomach sinks as Charles leaves, knowing from all their years together in karting, what he is about to do. He feels even more guilty that he forced Charles to eat the burger. It had been unkind of him; picking that out of all the things on the menu. Max just has to confirm his worst fears. He gets up to follow Charles

Tears spring to his eyes as he pushes his fingers to the back of his throat. Charles' chest aches as he gags. He pushes his fingers back further and gags painfully again, though nothing comes out. Charles continues becoming more violent with his actions with each passing moment and by now he is sobbing.

Suddenly Max is kneeling next to him on the dirty bathroom floor, pulling him close.

“Oh my god, Charles, stop please,” Max says grabbing Charles’ arms and pulling his fingers away from his mouth.

“I don’t want to go, Max, please don’t make me go” Charles sobs. Max knows immediately that Charles is referring to the hospital.

“It’s okay calm down, I shouldn’t have made you eat it I’m sorry,” Max says softly.

“I can’t do it” Charles whimpers, saliva running down his chin.

"Do what?” Max asks, trying to be as gentle as he can with the Monegasque driver.

“I can’t get it out, I feel so sick,” Charles says, fresh tears running down his cheeks as he struggles against Max to put his fingers back into his mouth.

“It’s okay we’ll get you help okay? You’ll get better. You won’t have to do this,” Max says, holding Charles' hands still.

“I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do but we have to do something, I can’t lose you,” Max says, grabbing some toilet paper to wipe Charles’s face. Charles nods taking a deep breath, tears still racing down his cheeks.

“You don’t have to go to the hospital. Why don’t you try talking to someone? Why don’t we start there,” Max says rubbing Charles’ back in an attempt to calm down his breathing. “Can you try for me?”

Charles’s chest aches and his stomach does somersaults at the thought of being back in the hospital. His head spins at the thought of trying to talk to someone about why he was doing it. What if the press finds out? He can't risk losing his seat. Though as Charles looks into Max’s pleading eyes. He feels a pang of guilt in his chest. “Yes,” he whispers, gripping tightly onto Max’s hoodie.

Chapter Text

A dull, aching pain starts in Max's ear at the beginning of the Grand Prix weekend, growing more painful with each day. Max can barely focus in the strategy meeting on Sunday morning with how much his ear is throbbing. He tries tugging at his earlobe, turning his head to the side in an attempt to relieve some pressure in his ear. Max looks up when he feels Checo nudge him in the side. Checo is giving him an odd look, and Max can see a hint of concern in his eyes.

"You okay?" Checo whispers, leaning closer to Max. He's whispering right in Max's ear but the sound is muffled.

"What?" Max asks, now focused intently on hearing his response. A dirty looks from Christian is enough to tell him he'd spoken louder than he'd meant to.

" I said, are you okay," Sergio repeats, voice still hushed.

“Oh. yes. I’m okay,” Max replies, making a mental note to stop touching his ear when other people are watching. There was no point in people worrying over nothing.

*******

Max sits in his car at the end of a disappointing race, helmet resting on his hands. He can't find it in himself to care about his below-average performance when the pain is almost making him physically sick. The pain that had at least been bearable that morning has now become intolerable and Max finds tears coming to his eyes with each painful stab that shoots through his ear.

Max struggles through the rest of the day, the promise of being able to sleep at the end of all this, being the only thing getting him through. He's leaving the track when he spots Daniel out of the corner of his eye, forehead creased in concern as he makes his way over to Max.

“Do you want a lift back to the hotel? He asks, placing a hand on Max’s back as they begin to walk together. Max gratefully accepts, just relieved he doesn't have to organize anything himself.

He takes a seat next to Daniel, leaning his head back against the headrest. They sit in silence, both exhausted from the weekend as Daniel navigates them back to the hotel. As they drive the pain seems to worsen to the point where it is practically suffocating. Max clenches his eyes shut tight and rubs at his ear. The pain spikes again and he reaches out blindly to his right until he finds Daniel's arm. At the touch, Daniel turns to look at him, immediately concerned when he sees Max's face contorted in pain.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks gently, turning Max to look at him as he pulls over to the side of the road. Max just groans in response, not daring to open his eyes.

“Max?” Daniel asks, voice concerned. “What’s happening?”

Max lets out a groan from the back of his throat as the pain spikes again, pulling at the hair around his ear tightly. “I just...I just don’t feel good”

“Why, what’s wrong, talk to me,” Daniel says softly, rubbing Max’s shoulder.

“I’m okay. Really. I just need some rest.”

Max flinches as Daniel reaches out to touch his forehead.

“You’re really warm. Are you sure you’re not sick” Daniel asks, voice laced with worry.

“Yes Daniel, I am...exhausted I just need sleep”

Daniel nods in response, expression doubtful

*******

Before they go to their separate rooms, Daniel asks again, trying one more time to check what was wrong.

“Is it your ear that's bothering you? You keep on pulling at it.” Daniel asks. Max just looks at him, turning his head slightly to the side and giving Daniel a pleading look. Daniel gives up after that, reluctantly waving goodbye, telling Max to call him if he needed anything. Daniel still worries as he watches Max walk down the hallway to his room but Max was clearly not in the mood to talk about it, he will just have to trust that he would call if anything was wrong.

*******

Max stumbles into his hotel room, dumping his stuff on the floor and plugging his phone in next to the bed. He slowly peels off his Red Bull top, not bothering to get out of his jeans. He clambers into bed, practically falling asleep before his head hits the pillow.

When Max wakes up the next morning the pain is somehow worse than yesterday when he had finished the race. Max is hot all over and uncomfortably sticky from sweat. Still, he curls into the bed pulling the blankets up around him. By now Max knows this isn’t something he will be able to beat by spending a couple of days in bed. Max curses himself for not asking for help yesterday when Daniel had been so persistent. It's pointless to pretend that nothing is wrong now. He reaches his arm out of the covers, patting around the bedside table till he finds his phone. He pulls it back under the covers, giving himself a moment to warm his arm back up. After a minute, Max opens his phone, scrolling through his contacts till he finds Daniel's name. Max hesitates for a moment, not wanting to bother the older driver. He eventually presses the contact figuring that Daniel will probably kill him if he finds out that Max needs help and hasn’t called him. The only rings a few times before Daniel picks up.

“Hey Mate,” Daniel says, voice thick with sleep.

“Hey,” Max replies, taken aback by how raspy his voice comes out.

“Jeepers, Max you sound terrible. Are you right?”

“Yeah, no I’m fine I just need you to come by my hotel room with some painkillers, please”

Daniel can't help but feel just a tiny bit annoyed. He could clearly tell something was wrong yesterday, but Max being Max, refuses any help until whatever was wrong with him reached its breaking point. Despite this, any annoyance he is feeling is overshadowed by worry. Max must be feeling pretty shitty if he is actually willing to ask for help.

Daniel and Max are in the same hotel, so it doesn't take him long to get there, a blister of paracetamol from his own bag with him. He knocks twice, tapping his foot as he waits. It takes longer than it should for Max to answer the door. When the door finally swings open and Daniel gets a good look at Max, he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from commenting on the younger driver's appearance. Max looks exhausted: hair a mess and bare skin glistening with sweat.

“Did you bring some?” Max says, shuffling slowly back to bed. Daniel holds them up, giving Max a sympathetic smile.

“Thank you” Max groans, flopping back down onto the bed.

“Do you reckon it’s a bad cold or what?” Daniel asks, placing the paracetamol on the small desk in the corner of the room.

“Ear infection I think,” Max says, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“Jesus, it would have to be a pretty bad one. Let me have a look,” Daniel says, walking over to the side of Max's bed.

“Stay still,” Daniel says softly, carefully tilting Max’s head to the side. Daniel grimaces, as he looks closely at Max’s ear. The ear canal is inflamed and swollen, and pus is pooling in his ear.

“Fuck Max, have you seen it?” Daniel gasps, lightly touching the outside of Max’s ear, pulling away when Max squeezes his eyes shut in pain.

“Sorry, sorry,” Daniel says, running a hand over Max’s hair “Max, I think you need to go to the doctor,”

“Max groans, shifting on the bed. ”I’m just going to take something for the pain”

“Look I’ll book you an appointment, please let me take you. I don't want it to get worse.” Daniel says already pulling his phone out to call the doctor's office.

*******

At some point Max falls asleep waking up to the sound of Daniel calling his name. Max opens his eyes, blinking against the sunlight streaming into the room. He sits up slowly when his eyes adjust, head spinning slightly as he does.

“I've booked you an appointment in around 45 minutes. Is that okay?” Daniel asks, placing a gentle hand on Max’s back. Max nods, quickly pushing the covers off of him and standing up.

“You alright?” Daniel asks, rushing to hold onto Max as he sways on his feet.

“Dizzy,” Max replies, shutting his eyes, and holding tightly onto Daniel as he waits for the dizziness to disappear. After a moment Daniel reaches onto the floor, picking up what seems to be a clean t-shirt, not letting go of Max’s arm as he does. He slowly helps Max into it, careful not to touch his bad ear.

*******

Daniel, looks over to his left to see Max shivering slightly in the cold air of the waiting room.

“Are you cold?” Daniel asks, gently nudging Max with his elbow. Max opens his eyes a little to look at Daniel, another shiver running through him.

“Here, have my hoodie,” Daniel says before Max can respond, quickly pulling off his hoodie and placing it in Max’s lap. Max stares at it for a moment, before pulling it on and giving Daniel a tired smile.

*******

“Max Verstappen?”

Max jolts awake, suddenly aware that he had fallen asleep on Daniel's shoulder. His cheeks flush a little at the realization, though by the look on Daniel's face, he doesn't seem to mind. Max stands up, his head swimming. He can feel Daniel's hand hovering on his back in case he got dizzy again as he follows the doctor to her room. She gestures for him to sit down on the examination table, asking the usual questions and checking his temperature. She lets out what sounds like a concerned hum as the thermometer beeps. By the way, Max is feeling, he figures it must have been pretty high.

“This will be a little uncomfortable,” the doctor says, pulling Max’s earlobe out to get a better look into his ear and pushing the otoscope inside. Max shuts his eyes, wincing and instinctively reaching out to grab Daniel’s hand. Daniel squeezes his hand back, rubbing his thumb over Max’s knuckles. Max squeezes Daniel's hand tighter as he as the doctor continues to prod Max’s ear.

Max can feel tears welling up in his eyes and quickly swipes a hand under each eye, preventing the risk of any tears falling down his cheeks, not wanting Daniel to see him crying over an ear infection. Even when Max thinks the doctor is done she continues to move the otoscope around his sensitive ear, each nudge sending pain around his entire head.

Daniel seems to notice his discomfort and gives his hand a tight squeeze. “Are you okay?” He asks, voice much lower than it was minutes before when he was talking to the doctor. Max nods quickly, not wanting to appear even weaker than he had already made himself look. Max can tell there was something that Daniel wants to say, but held his tongue, sending Max a sympathetic smile instead. As soon as the doctor finishes, Max lets out a breath he doesn't know he was holding.

Daniel rubs a hand up and down Max's arm as the doctor walks back to her desk to take notes.

*******

The doctor confirms that it is in fact an ear infection and prescribes painkillers and antibiotics. Max honestly doesn't care what is wrong with him, and is just happy to be able to go back to bed.

Daniel helps him back to his hotel room, making sure he knows where the antibiotics are and when he has to take them. Max secretly already knows all of that but, appreciates Daniel's attentiveness. Daniel hovers around the room after Max, ensuring he doesnt fall while he gets ready to get back into bed. Once daniel is sure that Max wouldn't somehow injure himself, Daniel feels a bit more content with leaving. The sweat still shining on Max’s forehead, a sure sign he still has his fever, worries Daniel but as to not invade Max’s space, he decided he better leave.

“Alright, you all good now?” Daniel asks, giving Max two thumbs up.

Max nods, smiling a little at how cheesy Daniel is being.

“I’ll let you rest, okay? Call if you need me,” Daniel says, reluctantly grabbing his phone and keys and walking towards the door.

“Daniel, wait,” Max says, coughing a little to clear his throat.

“Yep?” Daniel says, turning back to look at Max. The softness in his voice makes Max’s heart swell.

“Do you want to watch something?” Max says quietly, scrubbing a hand over his eyes.

“Oh.. yeah, definitely” Daniel nods, a smile playing on his lips. He walks back over to the bed, kicks off his shoes, and settles himself on top of the covers next to Max, turning on the tv.

Max manages to stay awake for a whole 10 minutes of the low-budget sitcom they're watching before he is snoring softly on Daniel's shoulder. As the sun outside begins to set, Max seems to lean more heavily against Daniel as he falls into a deeper sleep. Daniel reaches beside him, grabbing a pillow and placing it in front of him as Max's head drops softly to rest in Daniel's lap.

Chapter Text

One second, Charles is driving, about to overtake George. The next thing he knows he can't see a thing, his limbs ache painfully, and the smell of rubber burns his nostrils. He can hear something on the radio, but it's muffled in his ears. He can hear someone gasping and choking for air and it takes him a few minutes before he realizes, he is the one making those noises. He can't help but let out another cry as he tries to move. He tries to call out for help, but the words get stuck in his throat. Charles doesn't know how long he had sat there but as some of the adrenaline wore off, the pain he was beginning to feel more strongly made back spots appear in his vision, and knows that he won't be awake for much longer. As Charles sits there his mind becomes a little clearer and it dawns on him that he must be dying. He can't move and he is sure there is almost no oxygen entering his lungs. He is almost comforted by the darkness that was beginning to cloud his vision. At least I won’t be in pain anymore, He thinks to himself.

*******

Max sees it when he comes around the corner. The Ferrari is in pieces and buried in the barrier. George has stopped too, a little further down the track but he can see George moving around in his car. He can hear Gianpiero’s voice on the radio, telling him there is a red flag, but he is already driving slowly, navigating the debris left by the crash, watching for any movement from Charles. All he can see is Charles' head slumped forward in the cockpit.

*******

Max sees the replay when was back in the garage. The replay that they aren't showing any of the fans. Only then is it when he realizes how bad the crash was. He can't even imagine the impact Charles must have felt when he hit the barrier. The realization forms a lump in his throat, and he feels as though someone has taken all the air from his lungs. He stays watching the screen, waiting for Charles to get out of the car, without a scratch on him. But that moment never comes and the anxiety in his stomach grows with each moment that Charles stays motionless in the car. He asks practically everyone in the Red Bull garage if they knew anything though no one gave him an answer. Max tries not to imagine what everyone is thinking. He had seen the replay. He know Charles's chances of emerging unharmed were slim. Desperately, he turns to Christian, hoping to glean some semblance of an answer, only to be met with a grimace in response.

Carlos, Max thinks. Carlos would know something

Max leaves the Red Bull garage, walking quickly down the pit lane when he sees George walking the opposite way. Max knows the crash was technically Charles’ fault. He had attempted a dangerous overtake and paid the price but Max is angry. He is angry that Charles was unconscious in his car and George was essentially unharmed, walking down the pit lane. He's angry until he sees tear tracks on the Mercedes driver's face. He watches as George is approached by Lewis who places a comforting hand on the younger driver’s shoulder, leading George back towards the Mercedes garage.

When he gets to the Ferrari garage, he hangs back near the entrance, knowing he isn't welcome here, but it seems that everyone is too focused on the replay to notice his intrusion. He can see Carlos watching the replay with the rest of the team. He can't help but notice how the older drivers’ hands shook as he studies the screen.

‘Carlos?’ Max calls out, taking a step forward as the older driver presses his palms into his eyes, lips pressed into a thin line. He's taken aback when Carlos looks up and he doesn't think he’d ever seen the Ferrari driver look so shaken. His eyes are red and brimming with tears and his chest is heaving like he's breathing more air out than he was getting in.

“I…” Max starts though he loses his train of thought, deeply unsettled by the look Carlos gave him. All he can think about as he jogs back to his own garage was that something is very wrong.

*******

When Max gets back to his garage, the screen is just showing shots of the paddock that no one is watching. Max spots Christian looking at a computer in the back of the garage and walks over.

“Is he still in the car?” Max asks, pulling his race suit down to his waist because he feels like he's being suffocated.

“No, he’s being taken to hospital now,” Christian says not taking his eyes away from the screen.

“Do you know anything yet?” Max asks, voice hopeful.

Christian sighs, gaze shifting towards Max. “Max..” he starts, choosing his words carefully. “The impact on his body…he would be so lucky to- ”

Max doesn't let him finish, walking to his driver’s room and locking the door behind him. Overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions, Max feels dizzy like he's going to be sick. In a hurry, he sits down resting his forehead on his knees as he tries to control his breathing and focus on not passing out.

*******

When Charles wakes, his senses are overwhelmed by an intense, blinding pain. A choked sob involuntarily escapes his lips as the waves of agony surges through his body, causing him to tightly grip the sheet beneath him. The muffled voices around him gradually grow clearer and Charles figures he must be in a hospital. He is only vaguely aware of the commotion happening around him as he feels an oxygen mask being placed on his face, hearing someone far away say something about it helping his breathing. It doesn't. The crushing feeling in his chest seemed to stop any air from coming in. Amidst the chaos someone is urgently calling his name, asking him if he could hear them, and asking him to wake up. Charles tries to answer them, but he can't figure out how to articulate his thoughts into coherent words .

Charles finds himself letting out another cry as his body is moved, each movement sending waves of excruciating pain coursing through him. Charles understands some of the things they were saying. He understands the words ‘fracture’ and ‘surgery’ though two words stood out to him the most .‘internal bleeding’. Even in his confused state, he knows those aren’t good words. He understands when they cut off his clothes. Charles doesn't like that part though the overwhelming pain in his body doesn't leave him any energy to care. Charles feels a prick in the crook of his elbow, and he drifts into darkness once more.

*******

Max sits in the waiting room, leg bouncing up and down. Carlos is on the chair next to him, head leaned back against the wall, letting out soft snores in his sleep. Max doesn't blame him; the pair have been there for hours without hearing a word. Max has gone up to the front desk to ask more times than he can count and still can't get any information. The first time he’d gone up, the receptionist assured him that she would tell them if she heard anything. Still, he continues to ask about Charles whenever the anxiety bubbling in his stomach becomes too much. He has to feel like he's doing something for Charles. He feels guilty just sitting in the waiting room while Charles is alone somewhere in the hospital.

Carlos had found Max in his driver’s room after the FIA had decided not to continue the race given the circumstances and offered to drive him to the hospital. His eyes were no longer brimming with tears and his breathing had slowed back down. He had the same stoic expression that he always had though his hands had still been shaking. Max was actually very grateful that Carlos had gotten them there, found out where Charles had been taken, and contacted his family. Max didn’t think he could have done any of that by himself. Max’s stomach churns painfully every time he thinks too hard about why they are there. Carlos had been the same; jittery and nervous before he had drifted off. When Carlos had fallen asleep, Max let himself cry silently, tears racing down his cheeks. After an hour of this, he's exhausted himself and he doesn't think he has any tears left to shed.

*******

When Charles wakes up again, the room is completely dark aside from a light coming in through the window on the door. Charles has vague memories of the last day. People pulling him from his car. Ambulance sirens.

He loses his breath for a minute when he can't feel his legs, dread consuming him. After a few painful moments, he finally finds the strength to lift his head off the pillow to look down, struggling against the brace around his neck. An intense wave of relief washes over him when he sees that he hasn’t lost them. What he sees isn't much better though. His left leg is bandaged and surrounded by metal going into his calf, and his right is bandaged up his whole leg, disappearing under his hospital gown. The sight makes him feel nauseated and forms a lump in his throat. Charles drops his head back onto the pillow, blinking back tears. All Charles can think about is the fact that he might not ever drive again and the thought of that terrifies him more than anything.

*******

Max checks the time. It's 11:38. He's beginning to drift off himself, exhausted from the day when a doctor approaches them. Carlos jolts awake when Max nudges him with his elbow. Max stands, pulling Carlos up with him as the doctor reaches them. With the pair now listening closely, the doctor explains the extent of Charles's injuries. How they could go and see him. How Charles has been in and out of consciousness and is confused. Max finds himself having to fall back down in his chair in relief when the doctor tells them, Charles's injuries aren't life-threatening. After seeing the aftermath of the crash and waiting for hours in the hospital Max had convinced himself that they were going to lose another driver that day. The doctor warns them both that it could be quite confronting to see Charles like this, but Max has just spent the last few hours preparing for the worst possible scenario.

The doctor is right. Charles is so pale he could be dead right now and Max wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Just by looking at him, Max knows Charles won't be able to race in 2023, let alone finish the season. He doesn't even know if Charles would be able to come back at all. The doctor had explained that Charles had broken both legs, completely shattering the left one. This isn't something with a quick recovery time. Part of him wishes that Charles had won the championship instead of him. 2022 could have been his last chance. thinking about it makes him want to cry again.

*******

Max scrolls through his phone on the small sofa in Charles’ room. Carlos had left around thirty minutes ago but Max had decided to stay. The quickest Charles’ family can get to the hospital from Monaco was 2 days and the thought of Charles here alone makes him feel a little sick.

Max is brought out of his thoughts by a sharp inhale from Charles. When Max looks up, Charles is pushing his shoulder blades together behind him as he struggles to move on the bed, face scrunching in pain. Charles let out a whimper at the movement, a few tears slipping from the corner of his eyes. Max swallows, unsure of what to say.

“Charles..” Maxs says, getting ready to get up off the chair. Charles jumps a little at Max’s voice, unaware that anyone else is in the room.

“Max?” Charles asks, his voice is weak and confused. It makes Max's stomach twist.

“Y-yeah. Are..are you okay?” Max asks.

“I don’t know” Charles' voice breaks, tears springing to his eyes.

“Are you in pain?” Max asks gently, he's reached out a hand to rest on Charles' forearm, hoping to provide some measure of comfort.

Charles hesitates before murmuring a quiet ‘yes’

“They just came in and gave you more morphine in your drip so that should kick in soon.”

“Okay”

The pair sit in silence for a few minutes, Charles is still tense on the bed, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Do you remember what happened?” Max finally asks.

“I think so,” Charles says, his voice coming out strained as he clenches and unclenches his fingers against the sheets.

“Can’t do anything by halves can you man ” Max chuckles lightly, though his joke was met with silence. Charles just looks at him in response, his eyes half-lidded. Max rubs the back of his neck as he let out a sigh. “Uh…your family is flying over from Monaco. Carlos stayed here for a while, while you were asleep, but he had to go.”

“Okay,” Charles said quietly, trying to nod though the neck brace restricted his movement.

“It’s really late Charles,” Max said checking the time on his phone, “Maybe you should try and go back to sleep”

It was silent for a few moments and Max was about to sit back down when Charles spoke.

“Do you think I can ever drive again?” Charles asked, His voice breaking as he spoke. Max tensed at the question looking down.

“Yeah of course. You just have to rest now so you can. Your body needs time to recover” Max reassured, feeling guilty in case he was lying to Charles. Max looked back up just in time to see Charles's face crumple, a few tears slipping out and rolling down his temples.

“Hey, no what’s wrong,” Max said, instinctively reaching out to hold Charles’ hand.

“Nothing…just hurts,” Charles said, sniffing and letting out a breath as more tears gathered in his eyes.

“Okay, okay it’s alright, why don’t we see if there’s anything stronger, they can give you, just try and relax,” Max said rubbing his thumb over reassuringly Charles's hand, as he pressed the red call button next to the bed.

“Okay” Charles whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. The pair fell into a comfortable silence, Charles feeling more relaxed now that he was holding Max's hand. By the time the nurse came into the room, Charles had fallen back asleep, gripping tightly onto Max’s hand.

Chapter Text

It had begun as a normal night out. Daniel, Max, Carlos, and Lando had gone to a club in Monaco together to celebrate the end of the season. Before Daniel had invited Max along, it had originally just been Lando and Daniel going out and of course, if Daniel was bringing Max, Lando wanted Carlos there too. At some point early on in the night, Max had left where the four of them had been drinking to go the bathroom. Max had only had two drinks so far and was finishing his third as he walked the bathroom when he was stopped by a group of men. By the grins on their faces and their rush to pull out their phones. Max figured they must be fans, excited to see their idol on a night out. They seemed nice enough, so Max stayed and talked with them for a while after they had all taken photos with him. Realising during their conversation that he had placed his drink down when he was taking pictures, Max looked around for his drink briefly before one of the men in the group passed it back to him. He gave the man a tight smile before downing the rest of his drink. As Max stood with the group of men for a bit longer, the room seemed to tilt, and his vision blurred around the edges. He tried to blink it away but that only seemed to make it worse. As Max stood there for a bit longer, he began feeling like he was very drunk despite having only had three drinks. Max politely excused himself, making his way to the bathroom as he had originally planned on doing.

Max swung the door to the bathroom open, stumbling into a stall and locking the door. Max sat heavily down on the lid of the toilet. It all seemed to hit at once. Max let out a gasp and dropped his head into his hands as he felt another wave of dizziness wash over him. Max’s heart was pounding so violently in his chest that he felt like would explode any second. This wasn’t right. He had to find Daniel.

The walls were the only thing keeping him upright as he stumbled out of the bathroom and back into the club. All he had to do was get back to his friends and tell them something was wrong. However, that task proved much harder than Max had originally anticipated. As soon as he tried to take a step forward his legs felt like jelly. Max groaned in exasperation. Why couldn’t his body just cooperate with him? He slowly started walking, leaning heavily on the wall, trying not to take his vision of his friends for too long in case they left or moved somewhere else. Max hadn’t figured out how he was going to walk once there wasn’t any more wall for him to lean on but decided he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

As hard as Max tried to keep an eye on his friends, the flashing, coloured lights, loud music, and people dancing weren’t making it easy and at some point, Max lost where they were standing. He looked behind him, letting out a pathetic whimper when he realised, he had only walked a few metres from the door to the bathroom.

Max leaned against the wall behind him, patting down his pockets. He felt a small amount of relief when he felt his phone. His vision blurred as he scrolled through his contacts pressing the first familiar name he saw; Carlos. Max whimpered in frustration as his fingers couldn’t seem to be able to press the right letters. He hit send, accidentally dropping his phone as he did. Not having the coordination nor the energy to bend down to pick it up, Max could only pray that the message had sent.

******

Carlos pulled his phone out of his pocket as it vibrated, his forehead creasing in concern at the message on his lock screen from Max reading ‘neef help cwlros’.

“Daniel where did Max go?” Carlos asked, putting his phone back in his pocket, realising he hadn’t seen the Dutch driver in a while.

Daniel gave Carlos a quick shrug, before turning back to his conversation with Lando. Carlos sighed, leaving to find where Max had gone, deciding not to waste time explaining the odd text.

Carlos figured the younger driver had just had too much to drink and had drunkenly texted Carlos. After all, why would he text Carlos instead of Daniel or Lando if he really needed help.

Carlos walked around for a few minutes, scanning the crowd for Max before he spotted him. Max was leaning against a wall his head hanging down in front of him. Carlos thought it was odd considering how Max had only been a little tipsy when he had last seen him. Carlos didn’t see how the Dutch driver could have managed to get himself so drunk already. As he got closer, he noticed a sheen of sweat on Max’s skin and the way he was shaking.

“Everything okay Max?” Carlos said on a chuckle, trying to hide the worry in his voice. At the sound of Carlos’s voice, Max sluggishly blinked his eyes open, letting out a hum. Carlos leaned down a bit to look properly into Max’s eyes. From what Carlos could see, his pupils were fully dilated.

“Max? Hey,” Carlos said placing his drink down and lightly patting Max’s cheek. “Max what’s going on did you take something?”

Max groaned, trying to pull away from where Carlos had a hand on his jaw.

“Max, did something happen?” Carlos asked more forcefully this time. Max shook his head, letting out a whine as he sunk to the floor.

“Max listen to me what’s happened?” Carlos asked, crouching down next to Max becoming frustrated that he couldn’t seem to get a single sentence out of the younger driver. “Did you take something?” Carlos placed a hand on Max’s forearm, trying a gentler approach. Max shook his head, wiping his mouth sloppily with the back of his hand.

“Okay, okay, what happened then?” Carlos said, his heart thumping in his chest.

“Someone passed me a drink” Max slurred out, grabbing Carlos’s arms to steady himself. “Maybe it wasn’t mine”

Carlos felt his heart leap to his throat. “Max, who?”

“Just a man,” Max said, becoming a little teary. Carlos was piecing the story together in his mind though he still felt like there must be some part of the story he was missing. Had someone tried to drug Max? Carlos tried to get more out of him, but Max already seemed completely unaware he was even talking to him anymore.

“Max, do you want to go outside for a bit?” Carlos asked, deciding from the sweat around the collar of Max’s shirt and his heavy breathing, that maybe this wasn’t the best environment for Max to be in right now.

Max quickly nodded gripping tightly onto Carlos’s arm for support, as Carlos pulled him up off the floor. Carlos held an arm tightly around Max’s torso, the other holding his arm, doing most of the work as the pair walked outside.

Carlos second-guessed his decision of bringing them outside as Max shivered in Carlos’s hold when the freezing air hit the pair. Once he had sat Max on the ground, he quickly pulled off his own jumper, placing it over Max, not wanting him to get too cold. Carlos sat down next to Max seeing if he could get the younger driver to talk to him. However, the longer they sat there, Max only seemed to become more drowsy and out of it. He was also still sweating profusely despite the cold wind hitting the pair.

“Shit Max, alright. It’s going to be okay. I’m calling Daniel ” Carlos said. Not even knowing if Max could hear what he was saying. Carlos swore as Daniel didn’t answer, trying to call Lando instead. Carlos held the phone up to his ear waiting for him to answer, keeping a firm grip on Max’s arm. Lando picked up the phone after a few rings.

“Carlos, mate you’ve been gone for ages you said you were going to find Max where are you guys?” Lando yelled over the music, giggling as he spoke.

“Lando is Daniel there, pass me to Daniel” Carlos yelled back, not wanting to talk to his drunk best friend right now. Carlos waited as he heard Lando passing his phone to Daniel.

“Carlos is everything okay?” Daniel’s worried voice came through the phone.

“Daniel, Max took something, or someone gave him something I don’t know,” Carlos said, his voice coming out panicked. Carlos was surprised Daniel could even understand him with how fast he was talking. Carlos quickly explained where they were and threw his phone to the side.

Moments later Daniel was rushing out of the exit, towards the pair, throwing himself down next to Max and fussing over him. Carlos was more than happy to let Daniel take over. He seemed to somehow know how to handle the situation much better than Carlos had. Carlos watched as Daniel tried to get Max to stay awake, one hand holding Max’s head, the other rubbing Max’s knee. Max whined a little at the contact, his head dropping so that his chin was against his chest.

“Max, stay awake for me please,” Daniel said gently lifting Max’s chin so that their eyes were level, frowning at Max’s laboured breathing. Daniel and Carlos both watched as Max let out a guttural sob before leaning forward and heaving. Carlos took a quick step back to avoid the splash the vomit made on the pavement.

“Carlos, we need to call an ambulance,” Daniel said, looking up at Carlos.

******

Carlos had made sure Lando got home okay and put him to bed, and Daniel had volunteered to go with Max in the ambulance. The ride to the hospital was awful. Max was distraught and panicked in a way that no amount of comfort from Daniel seemed to be able to soothe. A paramedic had a sick bag held up to Max’s chin as he vomited repeatedly. In between the intense bouts of vomiting, Max gasped desperately for air as tears stained his cheeks. Daniel didn’t think he had ever seen Max look so vulnerable.

Daniel stayed with Max for as long as he could but as soon as they stepped foot inside the hospital doctors and nurses crowded the gurney Max lay on, taking no note of Daniel’s presence. Max was quickly rushed away, wheeled through a pair of automatic doors, leaving Daniel standing alone in the hallway.

******

The first thing Max became aware of was how raw his throat felt and how his head throbbed. Was he hungover? No that couldn’t be it. He didn’t feel like he usually did after a night out and he couldn’t remember what had happened. There had only been one time in Max’s life where he was so drunk, he’d blacked out and it didn’t feel anything like this anyway. This wasn’t his bed either. The pillow was hard, and the sheets felt crunchy where his hand was tightly squeezed around them. He was also freezing cold. So cold, the mattress moved beneath him as he shivered. Max curled in on himself, pushing his face into his pillow as his teeth chattered. The feeling of nausea clawed at his throat and his stomach churned painfully. He wrapped his arm tighter around his stomach, trying to suppress the noises it was making. Just as Max was going to try and open his eyes, someone pulled a blanket further over him, rubbing a hand over his shoulder as they did. Max hummed at the touch, though just as soon as it had come, the person pulled their hand away taking all their warmth with them. Max whimpered quietly as another shiver ran through him.

“Max?” The person asked, placing their hand back on his shoulder. Max relaxed a bit at the sound of the familiar Australian accent. The person next to him must be Daniel. Max turned, towards his voice, slowly, blinking his eyes open, giving them a moment to adjust to the bright, lights. From what Max could see he was in a hospital.

Daniel gently squeezed Max’s shoulder “How are you feeling?”

“Not good,” Max said shrugging.

Daniel frowned a little. “Do you need anything?” He said, sending Max a sad smile

Max shook his head.

“Are you hungry?”

Max paused before shaking his head again.

“Okay,” Daniel said quietly, a big smile on his face, seemingly excited to see the younger driver awake. Max was just tired, confused, and didn’t feel well. As Daniel kept on talking, his voice was starting to become white noise. The exhaustion was becoming too much, and Max’s eyes dropped shut again. Daniel was speaking softly to him, drawing patterns on the back of Max’s hand, lulling him back to sleep.

******

Max woke up confused and disorientated. He tried to recall the night before. He remembered dancing with Daniel and drinking with Lando and then…nothing. He opened his eyes, flicking them around a room he didn’t recognise. A distant memory of stumbling around a club alone and being violently sick filled Max’s mind. Max tried to catch it, but it was already gone, though the memory had already filled Max’s chest with red, hot panic. Max threw the blanket off of him, trying to figure out what to do next. All he was wearing was his boxers and a t-shirt that didn’t belong to him.

The sheets were pulled back on the other side of the bed that was clearly slept in. He couldn’t stay here. He had to get out. He was lying in a bed that wasn’t his and dressed in clothes that weren’t his. Something wasn’t right. The level of anxiety was becoming unbearable with each passing moment, leaving him with a lump forming in his throat. Max stumbled out of the bed, frantically looking around the room for a way out and scanning the floor for any of his discarded clothes. He found them neatly folded on a chair on the other side of the room. Max cursed at how far away they seemed to be, his weak legs struggling to carry him to the other side of the room.

As he stumbled over, his foot got caught in a hoodie lying on the floor, and he fell, hitting his chin hard against the floorboards. Max let out a sob, quickly clamping a hand over his mouth as he did. Max shut his eyes as he heard the door open, curling up where he now lay on the floor.

“Hey, hey, hey” someone was saying as they stood over him, hold his shoulders. Max tried to push the persons hands off, his eyes focused on his clothes in the corner of the room.

“Max, hey,” the voice said a little more firmly this time. Max looked up in fear though only saw the concerned eyes of Daniel.

“Daniel?... w-why?” Max stuttered, confusion and fear evident in his voice. Daniel opened and shut his mouth a few times like he was figuring out what to say before he spoke.

“We were at the hospital together, do you remember?” He said, Holding Max’s biceps in his hands as the younger driver silently cried.

“No-no I don’t remember,” Max said, shaking his head wildly, clearly trying to suppress his tears. Daniel seemed like he was on the verge of tears himself as he scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to think of a way to gently explain to Max what had happened.

“Before that, we went clubbing. Carlos and Lando were there. Do you remember that Max?”

Max quickly nodded, looking up into Daniel’s eyes, recalling the hazy memory from before.

“Some fans...or…I don’t know…they…someone drugged you.”

Max felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had been thrown over him and he stilled in Daniel’s arms. “What...”

Daniel didn’t say anything just studied Max’s face with sad eyes.

“What the fuck?” Max said, beginning to shake.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry ” Daniel whispered, lifting a hand to stroke the back of Max’s head. The pair sat like that for a long time. Max didn’t even feel like crying anymore. As much as he tried to calm down, he couldn’t stop shaking, partly in fear and partly in anger.

“Are you okay?” Daniel finally said.

“Yeah..I…” Max stuttered, unable to put his thoughts into words. Daniel held Max’s face running his thumb over where Max had hit it hard on the ground.

“You’re bleeding,” Daniel said quietly, his thumb coming away red. Max just watched him as he grabbed a tissue from next to the bed before coming back and carefully wiping away the blood on Max’s chin.

Daniel waited till the Dutch driver stopped shaking before getting up from where they were sitting on the floor and throwing the bloody tissue in the bin before coming back to help Max back into the bed.

“It’s okay, alright, nothing bad happened, okay? And your safe here alright, you can stay here with me for as long as you want if you need.” Daniel said, pulling the covers over Max. Max just nodded, his sad eyes watching Daniel.

“You need rest. Try and go to sleep we can talk about it more when you’re feeling better,” Daniel said making his way over to the door. But Max didn’t want Daniel to leave. He didn’t want to be alone, still shaken from what he had just been told.

“Daniel…” Max whimpered, lifting his arms a little towards Daniel, desperately craving Daniel’s warmth.

“It's okay, go to sleep Max,” Daniel, smiling sadly at Max.

“Daniel, please come and sit with me,” Max said, his voice shaking like he was about to start crying again

“No hey, it’s alright Max,” Daniel said, walking over to the bed and shuffling in next to Max’s trembling form, Daniel carefully guided Max’s head to lean on his chest with one hand, and pulled the covers up around the pair with the other.

“Just have a rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Daniel said softly, resting his chin on the top of Max’s head.

Chapter Text

It started with a tingling feeling in Max’s hands and feet and a subtle, nagging feeling of fear in the back of his head. As Max continued to drive, a sudden feeling of intense discomfort and uneasiness washed over him. Max tried to push those feeling aside. He only had 10 more laps to go. He was P1, there would be no point in stopping now.
Before he knew it the fear had quickly turned into a red-hot feeling, spreading over his chest, squeezing around his neck, suffocating him. Max couldn’t catch his breath. He could feel himself losing control, hot flushes making him sweat even more than he was already. It was all becoming too much for his already exhausted body to handle. He could feel the panic rising in his chest. He had to stop; he couldn’t go on like this. Max’s hand fumbled as he struggled to press the right button for the radio.

“Please can I stop? I need to stop.” His voice came out shaky and in between gasps.

“Why, Max what is it?” Gianpiero responded, concern in his voice.

“Please?” Max tried, his voice cracking in distress. Max was met with silence, but it was Christian’s voice that came through the radio next.

“What’s the matter Max, is there something wrong with the car?”

There was silence as the team waited for Max to respond. When Max couldn’t find the words to express to Christian what was happening, Christian spoke again. “Put your head down and finish the race Max” His voice was stern, and Max knew there was no arguing with him. His stomach sunk at Christian's words. Max bit down hard on his tongue until he tasted blood, in an attempt to gain control over his body and suppress the overwhelming fear he was feeling. The tingling in his hands and feet was beginning to make them feel numb. Max’s whole body was stiff and on edge, as he drove, not daring to slip up, even in the slightest. Each turn was a carefully calculated, robotic action in an attempt to finish the race, despite the unbearable crushing feeling in his chest.

Gianpiero’s voice was coming through the radio, asking him if he was okay and Max wished that he would just shut up and let him focus on his driving. His rapid breaths were quickly causing him to become lightheaded and his head spun. He was physically unable to get enough air into his lungs even though he was now gasping. Cars were beginning to overtake him, but Max didn’t even care anymore. He felt like he was dying. God. Was he dying? Max thought, the pain and fear only increasing with each turn.

Though only minutes has passed since Max had asked to come in on the radio, he felt so much more afraid, struggling to focus on anything other than the choking fear, spreading around his whole body. There was only one thought filling his head over and over again. ‘I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die’ Christian didn’t understand, if he didn’t come in, he was going to die right here in his car.

******

It all happened so quickly. His car spinning off the track, the smoke and dust obstructing his vision from inside the car, the sound of the crowd yelling. He had lost his concentration only for a moment and he had found himself in gravel, his Red Bull up against the barrier. Max let out a sob, hitting the steering with both hands as hard as he could. His chest heaved, still trying to draw in enough air. He hit the steering again out of pure pain and frustration, eventually resting his head against it in exhaustion. For the first time in 15 minutes, Max’s breathing finally started to slow. He didn’t feel any better though. The fact that his breathing was almost back to normal, only made him all the more aware of his other symptoms. He was trembling, his stomach hurt and his whole body just felt…numb. Max couldn’t figure out if this was worse than what it was like when he was driving or not. There was no way he could go back to the garage and face the team now. Not after what he said on the radio. And now this. He couldn’t handle the disappointed eyes of Christian and his father.

Some of the marshals helped pull Max out of his car, one of them holding an arm around him as he walked to the medical car. As much as Max wanted to shrug them off and tell them he didn’t need help walking, that would be a lie.

Max shut his eyes in deep tiredness, as he sat in the medical car, letting his brain pretend he was anywhere else but here right now. Pretend this wasn’t happening, and he had finished the race and gotten P1. He just wanted to crawl into his bed and sleep for days on end, away from Christian and his father and the rest of the world.

******

He was taken to the medical center. Max half expected the doctors to tell him he had some sort of rare heart defect, and he would be dead at 25 and what he was really experiencing in the car was a heart attack though none of that happened. They looked him over, quickly determining that he was fine, simply giving him a paper cup of water to settle his sore stomach. Red Bull hadn’t sent anyone to the medical center to be with Max, so he walked back to the garage alone, pulling his helmet back on before he did in an attempt to hide the array of emotions he was feeling from the outside world.

Max knew he probably looked stupid walking back into the garage with his helmet still on, an hour after he got out of the car, but he could act like a child if he wanted to. He could hide behind his helmet and pretend he hadn’t embarrassed himself in front of the entire team. Slink off to his driver’s room and save himself the shame. Unfortunately, Christian had other plans. “Max,” Christian said, placing a hand on Max’s arm not letting him walk any further. “What happened back there?”

Max swallowed thickly. His ears and cheeks burned at the mention of the accident. He was grateful he was still wearing his helmet and Christian couldn’t see the tears, threatening to spill onto his cheeks. “It was a mistake”

“Max” Christian warned, clearly not buying Max’s pathetic lie. Max watched him for a moment, trying to think of an excuse before roughly, pulling his arm out of Christian’s hold, his head hanging low as he escaped to his driver’s room. Christian called after him, but Max just continued walking, tears dripping down his cheeks and nose.

Max’s shoulders sagged as he sat down on the small couch in his room, exhausted and relieved that he was finally alone. The chills and chest pain had mostly left Max’s body leaving him with a deep exhaustion. His body ached from the inside out. Almost like he felt when he would wake up the morning after a crash, where all his muscles and joints throbbed painfully. He unlocked his phone, making the mistake of looking up his name on Twitter. Max wiped a hand over his mouth as tears began to form in his eyes again. The fans were quick to start talking about the incident. Many claiming that Max had done it for attention. Max could only hope that the radio hadn’t aired but from what people were saying it looks like it had. He had finally gone crazy and the whole world had been there to witness it. He didn’t know how long he sat there with tears dripping silently down his cheeks. but at some point, there was a knock at his door. Max’s breath hitched and he quickly wiped the remaining tears from his cheeks. He prayed that it wasn’t Christian or someone who would tell him to leave the comfort of his driver’s room and face the world. Max knew he would have to at some point, but not now, not yet. He wasn’t ready. Relief washed over him when the door opened and he was met with the kind, gentle face of Daniel. Daniel stepped inside the small room, pushing the door shut behind him till it closed with a quiet click.

“Are you okay?” Daniel asked, tilting his head to the side slightly, his eyes full of concern. Max nodded but knew that his blotchy cheeks, red eyes, and shaky hands, betrayed him.

“Max,” Daniel said, his voice disapproving, as he saw what Max had been looking at on his phone. He took Max’s phone out of his hand, closed the tab, and turned it off. Max’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment and he looked down, wringing his hands together in an attempt of self-comfort.

“What happened Max?”

There It was. The question Max had been dreading Daniel asking from the moment he walked into the room because truthfully, Max didn’t know what had happened. Never in his 25 years of life had he experienced anything remotely close to this, let alone while driving. He took a deep shaky breath in before beginning.

“I was…” Max started, completely unsure of how to explain to Daniel what had happened. Daniel sat down; his expression soft, ready to listen attentively to Max.

“I was just in the car, and then I couldn’t breathe and it hurt so so much. My chest hurt so much I felt like I was going to die,” Max said, pausing as his voice cracked. “I feel like I’m going crazy” Max didn’t dare look up at Daniel, too scared to see what the older driver’s reaction was.

“Max, I think you had a panic attack,” Daniel finally said, his brow furrowed.

Max bit his lip and Daniel could sense a hint of resentment in his otherwise, unreadable expression. Daniel was silent for a while before speaking again “You can talk to someone you know?” Daniel leaned forward on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees in front of him. “They can help you, it doesn’t mean you’re going crazy,”

Max didn’t speak, though he nodded, looking down at his lap. The pair sat in silence for a while, both drivers unsure how to continue the conversation, before Daniel reached over, pulling Max’s hands apart. Max hadn’t even realized he had begun wringing his hands together so strongly that they had gone red and there were now lines where his nails had left scratches on his skin.

Max’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment again, as Daniel ran a thumb over one of the bigger scratches. Something about how gentle Daniel was being, how carefully he was treating him, made Max want to start crying again.

“Hey,” Daniel’s said, still soothing the angry red scratches with his thumb. Something about the soft tone he used made Max look up at him.

“It’s gonna be okay,”

Max didn’t believe it but something in Daniel’s warm, chestnut eyes, made him want to.

Chapter Text

Lando was miserable. He was currently lying on the floor of his driver’s room, curled up on his side, breathing deeply in an attempt to suppress the nausea clawing at his throat. His hands were gripped tightly around his water bottle. Beforehand, he had been trying to take small sips to settle his stomach but had since given up on that. It now served as something for Lando to hug when the nausea got particularly intense. He had been feeling bad all weekend, but he felt especially awful today, which was unlucky because it was Sunday.

Lando didn’t bother lifting his head up when there was a soft knock at the door, already knowing that it was Jon coming to tell him he had to leave the floor and his water bottle; the only things providing him any comfort right now.

“C’mon Lando we’ve gotta go,” Jon said, sending Lando a sympathetic smile. When Lando made no attempt to stand, Jon made his way over to him, hooking an arm under his armpit, and helping him up.

“You feeling okay?” Jon asked, steadying Lando as he swayed slightly on his feet. Lando nodded taking a deep breath. Jon furrowed his brow like he didn’t quite believe him but nodded anyway, patting Lando on the back.

******

Lando stood in the garage, while everyone else around him, rushed to get the car ready for the race. A sudden wave of nausea made Lando double over, wrapping a hand around Jon’s forearm in an attempt to support himself. Then, as his stomach spasmed, he began to dry heave several times until he brought up everything he had eaten that day. In between heaves, Lando took a sudden, gasping breath, violently coughing, only to throw up once more, the sound making the whole garage fall silent. Lando shut his eyes, whimpering, as a long string of saliva dripped from his mouth, landing with the vomit on the floor. Lando opened his eyes again when the nausea seemed to pass, still a little unsure if that had actually just happened.

Everyone in the garage had stopped to look at Lando. A few had disgusted expressions on their faces, wrinkling their noses in disgust. Others were giving him looks of sympathy. In Lando’s opinion, both were equally bad. Lando wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his race suit before reaching out for his helmet, which Jon was holding up out of Lando’s reach.

Lando looked up at Zak, his pleading eyes glistening with unshed tears. Zak was watching him, his expression unreadable. Lando knew it was a pointless task, trying to convince Zak that he was fine to race at this point. The puddle of vomit on the garage floor said otherwise. Zak shook his head, turning back around.

“Go home Lando.”

******

After Zak had told him to go home, Jon had helped him out of his race suit and sent him back to the hotel, dressed in his McLaren gear. As soon as he had gotten to his hotel room, he stripped off, curling into bed in only his boxers. After lying down for a while, the nausea seemed to die down a little from the lack of movement. Lando had been in and out of sleep since he got back but figured it had probably been a couple of hours since Jon had dropped him off. However, his rest was soon interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Lando groaned, opening his eyes a little but shutting them when the person knocked again. Lando pulled the pillow from the other side of the bed over his ear, trying to block out the persistent knocking, hoping whoever it was would just go away. They didn’t go away though, only kept knocking.

After a minute or so of this, Lando had had enough. Throwing the blanket off of him, he got out of bed, the cool air in the hotel room hitting his bare chest. As he was about to leave the room, he hesitated before picking up a discarded hoodie from the floor. Whoever was at the door probably didn’t want to see Lando half-naked in his boxer shorts anyway. Lando pulled the hoodie on before wrapping an arm protectively around his stomach as he slowly trudged towards the front door.

When Lando finally opened the door, he was met with Charles, smiling sweetly at him. He was still wearing his bright red Ferrari jacket, which matched the blush the cold outside had created on his cheeks and nose. His hair was a bit damp and flat from the light rain that day, but he looked happy, nonetheless.

“Charles what…did you come straight here after the race?” Lando asked in shock, unsure of why Charles had decided to pay him a surprise visit.

“No, not quite I stopped to buy soup first. I heard you were not feeling well.” Charles said holding up a takeout bag, a small smile on his face.

“Wow soup, that’s… that’s very nice,” Lando said, feigning happiness at Charles’ soup, though eating soup was the last thing Lando wanted to do right now.

“Look Charles, I appreciate this but it’s probably just bett-” Lando began, but stopped at the familiar, feeling of nausea rising in his throat.

“Are you okay Lando?” Charles said, furrowing his brow. Lando shook his head, clamping a hand over his mouth. He quickly stumbled into the bathroom as he gagged, leaving the door wide open for Charles. Charles hesitantly stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He placed the bag of takeout on the coffee table in the small living area, making his way over to the closed bathroom door.

“Lando?” Charles asked, knocking gently on the door. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine mate, you can leave if you want. I’ll be fine here,” Lando croaked out between gasps of air. Charles winced as the sound of retching began behind the door. After a few minutes, Lando came out of the bathroom, heading straight back to bed.

“You can stay here, or you can leave, do whatever you want I don’t care, just...I’m fine. Thank you for the soup.” Lando said, waving a hand in Charles' direction as he walked slowly back to the bedroom.

“Lando” Charles called after him but got no response. Lando hadn’t said that he should go, but he hadn't exactly invited him in either leaving Charles unsure of whether he was welcome or not. Charles finally decided that if Lando was feeling better the next time he got out of bed, Charles would leave. He didn’t just want to leave him here in a hotel room, vomiting alone. His friend obviously wasn’t feeling well and the least he could do was to look after him, at least that’s what Charles would want if he were in Lando’s position.

Charles was pulled out of his thoughts by Lando rushing past him into the bathroom. Charles quickly got up off the couch he had settled himself onto for the time being, following Lando to see if he was okay. Though, before he could even step a foot inside the bathroom, the door was shut in his face. Charles hesitantly knocked, only to be met with a quick ‘go away’ followed by the sound of retching. For a minute, Charles thought about coming into the bathroom and actually making sure that the McLaren driver was okay but decided against it. It would most likely result in Lando being more upset with Charles. When he heard the toilet flush and the tap turn on, Charles quickly made his way back to the couch.

A moment later, Lando appeared out of the bathroom, looking worse than before if that was even possible. His usually curly hair was greasy, lying flat on his head and his eyes looked deep, sunken, and tired. He was hunched over a little bit as he walked like it was too painful to stand up straight.

“Lando” Charles called before Lando could disappear back into the bedroom. Lando tiredly stopped walking, turning round.

“Lando, you do not seem well mate. So, there must be something I can do.”

“Please just go home. You don’t have to be here.” Lando said, shutting his eyes, pleading. The way his voice was now trembling makes Charles' stomach clench.

“Maybe it would be better if we put something next to your bed if you were going to be sick” Charles suggested in another attempt to be useful to his friend in some way. In Charles’ mind, vomiting and having to get up out of bed every 10 minutes to do so, could not be the most comfortable thing.

“Charles, please. Just go ” Lando said, his voice weak and quiet as he retreated back to the bedroom.

******

The next time Lando rushed past him to get to the bathroom, Charles didn’t make an attempt to follow him, knowing the younger driver would only close the door in his face. Lando had clearly asked him to leave and at this point, Charles knew he was overstepping his boundaries, yet something still told him to stay. Charles just waited for Lando to emerge from the bathroom. Perhaps then, he would make another attempt at trying to help.

When Lando had been in the bathroom for over 15 minutes Charles finally made the decision to knock on the bathroom door. “Mate, are you okay in there?” He asked, expecting some slightly hostile response, brushing off the older driver, though Charles was met with silence.

“Lando?” Charles called, knocking again. Now worried that something had happened to the younger driver, Charles opened the bathroom door, the smell of vomit burning his nostrils. Lando was curled up next to the toilet, his head propped up by the toilet seat, clearly just having finished being sick. Charles sighed, crouching down next to Lando.

“Why don’t we get you off this floor?” Charles asked, placing a comforting hand on Lando’s shoulder. Lando shook his head miserably against his arm, strands of sweat-soaked hair plastered to his forehead.

“I know, I know. You will feel much better in bed though,” Charles said, moving to help Lando stand up. Lando shook his head frantically before he heaved into the porcelain bowl again. Charles placed his hand back on Lando’s back rubbing slightly, wincing as more vomit splashed into the toilet, He wondered how much more food Lando could possibly have to throw up.

After a while, the vomiting eventually diminished to the occasional dry retch, though the nausea in Lando’s throat was very much, still present. Lando was left panting and out of breath, unable to move, and with his eyes tightly shut from the nausea and the pure agony of it all.

“Are you finished?” Charles asked, hoping that the answer would be yes. Lando nodded, whimpering as tremors ran through his body as it tried to recover from the violent bout of vomiting. Charles positioned himself behind Lando, hooking his arms under Lando’s armpits, preparing to lift him. Lando let out a cry of pain as Charles began to lift him, his sensitive and exhausted body tensing up in disagreement.

“What’s wrong, do you feel sick?” Charles said, quickly releasing the pressure under the younger driver’s arms.

“Hurts,” Lando managed to gasp out. “Please don’t,”

“O-okay um,” Charles stuttered, gently helping Lando to sit back against the wall, unsure of how to proceed.

“Could you try?” Charles asked, really not wanting to leave Lando lying on the cold tiling. Lando desperately shook his head, “no, please just-” He gasped, his voice breaking off into a whimper. Charles sighed. If the discomfort of somehow getting back to back to bed would be worse than staying on the cold floor, maybe it would be better for Lando to stay in the bathroom. Lando suddenly, leaned over the toilet again, heaving helplessly, his body struggling to find anything to bring up.

“I’ll be back in a second,” Charles said, rubbing Lando’s back before quickly disappearing into the bedroom. The sound of heaving ceased and there was only silence as Charles pulled the quilt and a pillow from the bed. As no new noises came from the bathroom, Charles feared that Lando could have passed out. But as he returned to the bathroom with the quilt and pillow in hand, Lando was just lying there limply, still reluctant, or incapable of moving his body.

Charles placed the quilt down, folding It in half so Lando could lie on one half and still have the other half covering him to keep him warm. Charles was aware that, perhaps it was a little gross to put the quilt on the bathroom floor, but anything was better than Lando having to lie on the cold ground. Lando, watched him with half-lidded eyes, still leaning against the toilet. He seemed confused when Charles set up the makeshift bed but didn’t protest when Charles gently guided him down, so he was lying on the quilt.

“I will just be over here, okay?” Charles said, leaning against another wall in the bathroom. From where Charles was sitting, he couldn’t see Lando’s face well, but he didn’t miss the small nod from the younger driver. Eventually, Lando’s breaths evened out and he fell into a restless slumber.

******

Charles could tell Lando had woken up when he buried his face in the pillow, letting out a low whining sound that made Charles’ heart ache in sympathy. Suddenly Lando was trying to push himself off the floor as his stomach spasmed violently, though it proved difficult in his weakened state.

“Hey, are-are you alright,” Charles said, quickly shuffling across the bathroom floor towards Lando as he made a desperate attempt to lean over the toilet. Charles managed to lift Lando’s body up enough so that he was leaning over the toilet as he began to heave. Lando’s stomach continued to churn painfully as he sat hunched over the toilet, spitting saliva into the bowl, though nothing happened. All Charles could do was rub Lando’s back, offering words of encouragement. Lando was in complete misery. He obviously still needed to vomit but his body wouldn’t bring anything more up. Hot saliva dripped from his mouth as he waited for the inevitable.

Charles didn’t know how long the pair had been sitting there when Lando finally brought up some yellow bile. Charles was hopeful that the younger drivers’ suffering would cease for at least a little while now that he had been sick. Thankfully some of the nausea seemed to pass, leaving both drivers feeling relieved. With Charles’ help, Lando laid back down on the quilt, shutting his eyes. Lando’s face was covered in sweat and his lips had residue from the vomit. Figuring Lando would find it easier to go back to sleep with a clean face, Charles picked up a spare washcloth from next to the sink, running it under warm water for a few moments before wiping Lando’s face and around his mouth. Lando didn’t oppose, just hummed quietly when the warm washcloth touched his clammy skin.

******

Charles woke up leaning against the bathroom wall, realizing he hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He checked the time on his watch. It was quite early, natural light still drifting down into the bathroom. His whole body ached particularly his back, from sleeping in such a position. He was stretching his neck from side to side when he realised Lando was awake too. Lando was trying to push himself into a seated position, a panicked look on his face. He spoke when he saw Charles looking at him.

“Charles…shit, help,” Lando’s small voice came from the other side of the room. It took Charles a moment to figure that Lando had thrown up on himself, most of it staining the hoodie he was wearing.

“Oh, Lando,” Charles said softly, going straight to Lando, helping him before he could get himself into a bigger mess than he already had.

“I think you are not very well mate,” Charles said, letting out a small chuckle in an attempt to conceal the worry in his voice. Lando shut his eyes, nodding a little, his exhaustion clear. It struck Charles then that Lando had not eaten or drunk anything the whole time Charles had been here. No wonder he was exhausted. Though maybe food wasn’t the best thing for Lando’s sensitive stomach right now and besides, Charles would need to go out to get something unless Lando wanted to eat a cold bowl of soup, which he probably didn’t. At the very least, Charles could get him some water.

Charles left the bathroom feeling guilty for leaving Lando alone like this even if it was just for a moment. He quickly returned with a glass of water and a clean sweatshirt he had picked off the floor. Charles pulled the soiled hoodie off of Lando, dressing him in the clean sweatshirt, trying to be gentle when Lando scrunched his face up in pain. Charles then held the glass of water he had filled, up to Lando’s mouth, but shook his head, presumably because he was scared of throwing up again.

“Just a few sips, okay?” Charles pleaded though Lando didn’t seem willing to drink any. “Then you can go to sleep,” Charles looked at Lando’s face, his white, chapped lips a clear indicator of his dehydration. “I know it hurts alright, please?” Finally, Lando sluggishly nodded, not protesting as Charles held the glass to his lips. Once Lando had drunk an acceptable amount of water, Charles placed the glass aside, wetting the washcloth again and wiping Lando's face

******

The hotel room had gone dark. Charles checked the time; it was quite late. He looked over at Lando as he slept. His bottom lip was jutting out slightly and he had a small frown on his face as he snored quietly. Charles couldn’t leave Lando to spend the entire night on the bathroom floor, though he wasn’t sure that even if he did wake Lando up, the younger driver would be willing to move from where he was curled up. From the way Lando had winced at every small movement when Charles was changing his hoodie, Charles doubted he would be up to moving to the bedroom.

Eventually, Charles made the decision to carry him back to bed himself. He carefully lifted Lando still wrapped in the quilt, one arm under his knees and the other supporting his back and shoulders. Lando’s head was hanging back, so Charles carefully moved Lando in his arms so that his head was resting against Charles’ own chest. Charles froze when Lando shifted in his arm, letting out a quiet whimper and mumbling something incoherent in his sleep. Charles stayed still for a moment not wanting Lando to wake up feeling sick or in pain. After a moment, Lando stilled again, seemingly falling back asleep and Charles breathed a sigh of relief, starting to walk with Lando in his arms. Lando was actually quite light, so Charles didn’t have any trouble carrying him back to bed. He walked slowly, maneuvering Lando through each doorway, careful to not accidentally hit Lando’s head or feet on the door frame. Charles slowly lowered Lando down onto the soft mattress, making sure the quilt was pulled up around him. Charles put a new glass of water on the bedside table and placed the garbage can next to the bed, suddenly feeling very relieved that he hadn’t left when Lando asked him to.

Chapter Text

Max doesn't know why he still feels like this. He had won. Twice. He had achieved all he had ever wanted, and he should be happy, but he isn't. Max had spent his whole life waiting for the day he won his first championship, telling himself that when he did, his father would finally be proud of him. But he should’ve known better. He would never be able to live up to his father’s impossible expectations. How could he? He had won two championships and it still wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough.

The winter break had given Max an excuse to isolate himself from everyone he knew. No one would ask where he was. No one would ask questions. Except for Charles. Charles had texted Max almost every day of the break and Max had read every one as they popped up on his lock screen. Some were Charles telling Max what he had done that day or a funny thing that had happened and some were Charles asking if he was okay, asking Max to call him. Max had cried for a long time in his dark apartment when Charles had wished him a Merry Christmas. The messages never stopped but Max hadn’t opened a single one since the start of the winter break. He didn’t know how to explain to Charles how he was feeling. He didn’t want to scare someone with what was happening inside his mind. There were many times that Max’s finger had hovered over their chat trying to resist the urge to open it. He longed for someone to talk to. The loneliness had been eating away at him all winter. However, he knew that if he started talking to Charles, the words would just spill out and Charles would surely cut him off completely if he ever heard the dark things that plagued Max’s mind.

When your father tells you at every opportunity that you’re worthless you start to believe that no one could ever love you. And as Max sits curled up on the bathroom floor, he does, in fact, feel truly unlovable. Was Max simply not good enough to be the son of Jos Verstappen or had Jos just created an unachievable target in some fucked up way of making Max work harder. The constant pressure pushing down on his shoulders, the crushing feeling in his chest. It's all too much. He tries to steady his erratic heart, tries to calm his racing mind. But nothing is working. Max is becoming more and more distressed with each passing moment as dark thoughts cloud his mind. Max had always felt like this, ever since he was young. This was different though. He had never quite felt this kind of helplessness and despair before and knew something must be wrong with him. Normal people didn’t feel like this.

Usually, Max just rides out the panic and anxiety and then spends days in bed to try and start to feel normal again or at the very least; better. But this time the panic isn't stopping and neither is the anxiety that claws at him from the inside out.

Max reaches a hand up, pulling tightly at his hair in an attempt to somehow ground himself. The other hand lies shaking violently in his lap. He just wants Charles to comfort him. To hold Max in his arms and tell him everything will be okay. Though he knew it wasn’t that simple.

Max finally pulls his phone from his pocket, scrolling through his contacts and pressing Charles’s name, letting it ring. his stomach sinks when the phone call rings out and he was met with Charles’ voicemail message. He looks to the floor next to him, seeing a shiny object glisten in the harsh light of the bathroom. A razor. He picked it up, studying the cold blade in his fingertips as he gulps back sobs.

Yesterday, doing what he was now considering, wasn’t even an option. But now he could end it all, and it wouldn’t hurt anymore. The pain and unbelievable anguish would finally stop. Max’s mind scared him sometimes.

Charles had always told him that if he had a bad day there was always tomorrow to try again and reminding Max that he was only one phone call away. Max had followed this small piece of advice religiously but now he didn’t know what to do because Charles wasn’t picking up his calls. Charles wasn’t picking up his calls and if he didn’t have Charles, he had no one.

As Max spent longer on the bathroom floor his panic had come to a head. he looked down into his palm and seeing the cold metal staring back gave Max felt a new surge of confidence. he finally ran it over his wrist, his stomach churning violently as blood began to seep from the wound. The small droplets quickly turned into thick lines running rapidly down his arm, the sight beginning to make him shake. He switched the razor to the other hand, his fingertips feeling numb and tingly against it. Before his hand got too weak for it, he held the blade to the other wrist, pressing down with more confidence now.

It didn’t make Max feel like he thought it would. He had expected to it feel something like the lines that littered his thighs where no one could see them. Those were only surface-level cuts though. These were deeper cuts, stealing all the air out of his lungs and sending throbs of pain shooting up his arms towards his chest.

The sound of his phone vibrating beside him was enough to pull him out of his thoughts. Without having to check, Max knew it was Charles. Charles always called him back. It was too late though; Charles had missed his chance now. As the white tiles on the bathroom floor slowly turned crimson, the weight on his shoulder lightened a bit but he didn’t think he felt any better. There was a loud thumping noise in his head making his mind go cloudy, but he was still very aware of the throbbing originating in his wrists. He let the blade slip from his weak fingertips and fall to the floor with a clatter. As he felt his consciousness leaving him, he thought back to Charles. A flicker of regret made Max’s stomach drop and he realised this wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want to be here, but he didn’t want Charles to be here all alone. He sluggishly moved his head to look down at his wrists. It was too late. Even with the haze over his brain, Max knew he was losing too much blood though he didn’t even have the energy to call an ambulance or Charles. Max’s whole body felt heavy and slow. His heart was beating so loud he could hear it in his ears and a thumping was growing louder and slower with each passing moment. He felt sick to his stomach. This was how Max Verstappen was going to die.

******

A sound pulled Max back to reality.

“Max?”

Max let out an exhausted sob at the familiar voice filling his apartment, he didn’t want Charles to see him like this. He squeezed his eyes shut when he heard footsteps approach the bathroom door, not wanting to see the look on Charles's face when he caught sight of what Max had done.

“Max, oh my god!” Charles gasped, his voice cracking. Even in his delirious state, Max could hear the pure fear and horror in Charles's voice.

“No, No, No!” Charles began to sob, throwing himself down next to Max, the blood on the floor, soaking the knees and shins of his jeans. Charles pulled a few towels off the rack and pressed them over Max’s wrists.

“Oh my god,” Charles said again when he saw how quickly the towel turned red. The sight made him feel sick. Charles kept on repeating the same three words over and over again and Max wished he would stop because Charles’s voice sounding so distressed hurt more than anything else.

“Stay with me” Charles croaked, trying to get Max to look at him.

“Cant” Max murmured back, struggling to keep his eyes open as his body grew weaker and weaker.

“Max stop, please try to stay awake. Please” Charles begged; his voice frantic in a way Max had never heard before.

“I’m so tired Charlie,” Max said, his voice barely a whisper.

“You have to stay awake, you have to, okay?” Charles sobbed, his hands shaking relentlessly as he pushed blood-stained towels harder onto Max’s wrists. Charles’s voice turned to white noise in his ears as the darkness on the edges of his vision caved in. This time Max didn’t try and fight it. As his eyes dropped shut for the last time, he heard the desperate voice of Charles.

“What have you done?”

******

Max wasn’t sure what had happened. Something told him he shouldn’t be awake right now. Distantly, he knew something had happened. Something bad. Suddenly someone was lifting his face to look at them, stroking his cheeks, talking to him. Max frowned because the voice sounded so sad. He subconsciously leaned into their touch. Max tried to reach up to hold the person's hand, whimpering softly at the aching pain in his arms when he tried to move them. The person shushed him softly pushing his sluggish limbs back beside him. Their face was a blur, but Max could just make out the delicate features of Charles

“What are you doing here?” Max said before he could stop the words from leaving his mouth.

Charles didn’t say anything for a few seconds, pulling his hand away from Max. For the first time, Max could see clearly how broken Charles looked. Dark purple bordered his eyes. Snot was running down his cupids bow onto his mottled lips where he had obviously chewed on them persistently.

“Do you remember what happened?” Charles asked.

Max tried to think, frowning because his brain was taking so long to respond. Every action seemed lethargic and took the energy out of him. Max eventually shook his head feeling bad that he couldn’t answer Charles's question properly.

Charles opened and shut his mouth a few times, licking his lips, not seeming to be able to put any words together.

“Max…your bathroom…you uh…you hurt yourself” Charles finally managed to choke out. Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, like saying the words were causing him pain. Oh. That was the bad thing. Max’s eyes dropped shut again and Charles could sense the pain behind his eyelids.

“I wish you hadn’t brought me here,” Max whispered turning his head away, so he didn’t have to see the wounded look that crossed Charles’ face.

“Max…” Charles sighed, his voice hurt and pleading. He waited a few moments for Max to acknowledge him in any way, but he stayed curled up, turned away from Charles.

“Max you could have come to me. I’m here, I was-” Charles stopped to gain his composure when his voice cracked “I was always here.”

Max was too ashamed to talk to Charles any longer, suddenly feeling very defensive and uncomfortable and just wishing that the floor would swallow him whole.

“Please go away”.

“We’ll work through this together, okay? I know its scary right now.” Charles tried.

“Don’t” Max said firmly, trying to hide the guilt he was feeling for putting Charles through so much.

“Max, talk to me,” Charles said trying to reason with the Dutch driver though Max stayed silent, not even looking over at Charles. Charles was at a loss for words. What could he possibly say to comfort the boy in front of him? After a while, Max’s constant fidgeting stopped, and his breathing evened out, and Charles figured he must have fallen asleep.

Charles stayed watching Max while he slept, feeling on edge and disturbed by what he had seen earlier. He looked down at his hands. There was still blood under some of his nails that hadn’t come off when he’d washed them. A reminder of what had happened. He kept on wanting to wake Max up to check that he wasn’t actually dead instead of passed out from exhaustion and blood loss. Not that that sounded much better. Charles kept on thinking about what would have happened if he hadn’t come over. He almost hadn’t. Thinking about it made Charles feel physically sick.

Max’s small hospital room was beginning to make him claustrophobic, and it suddenly seemed like there wasn’t enough air for the both of them. He had to get out of these suffocating walls. He threw the door open with a loud bang, gasping as he breathed in the clear air, thankful to have escaped the incessant beeping of the machines crowding Max. Now that he could finally breathe, tears welled from deep inside him, constricting his throat. He lowered himself to the floor, covering his face. Some of the nurses sent him pitying looks as he broke down in the lonely hallway. Why had Max not trusted him enough to share how much pain he was in? How had he not made it clear enough to Max that he was there for him? Charles had spent too much time here; in hospitals, sitting next to the beds of people he loved. How could Max think about leaving Charles when so many people already had?

All these thoughts left him feeling small and inadequate in helping Max recover. Charles had no idea what was next. What all of this meant for Max. What it meant for Max’s racing. At some point, he would have to contact Christian. Suddenly Charles felt guilty for not contacting anyone. It’s not like he was the only person who cared about Max. He should’ve called Sophie and Victoria and Daniel and Jos. From what Charles had witnessed Jos had never been the best parent but he still deserved to know. Didn’t he? Before Charles could think about it any longer, a nurse approached him, a sympathetic smile on her face.

“He’s asking for you”.

Charles nodded, using his sleeves to dry his eyes, mentally preparing himself to talk to the closed-off and hostile Max he had left in the hospital room. Though when Charles walked back into the room Max’s eyes were full of fear, and he was now sitting up slightly in the bed, his broad shoulders tight and tense.

“Does my dad know?” He spoke quickly, holding his breath as he waited for a response. Charles was confused at first. Why did Max look so scared at the thought of his father knowing what had happened?

“No, not yet,” Charles said, shaking his head, grateful he hadn’t had enough time to start calling people yet. Max let out a shaky sigh dropping his head seemingly relieved. He slowly lowered himself back onto the mattress, careful of his bandaged wrists as he did so. Charles watched him, worry creasing his brow.

“I’ll never be enough for him. He can’t know.” Max murmured after a while, his thin voice wavering. The statement caught Charles off guard, leaving him unsure of what to say to comfort Max. He was about to reply when Max spoke again.

“Can you hold me?”

Charles' heart broke even more at Max’s timid request. He wasted no time at all in sliding next to Max, holding him so tightly, they became one person. As Charles wrapped his arms around Max, cradling his head to his shoulder, the tears burning Max’s eyes just seconds ago, now flowed freely. Max let his shoulders sag and his muscles relax, burying his face in Charles's neck. In that moment, there in his arms, Max felt safe. Safe to cry and not be rejected. Safe to relax and let out all of his pain, feeling warm and embraced on every level of himself.

Chapter Text

Max hadn’t been very keen when Daniel had dragged him out of his apartment that afternoon for a hike, complaining that Max spent too much time indoors. Max had always been slightly perplexed by Daniel's love for the outdoors. The bugs, the pollen, the dirt. It just wasn’t appealing to him. Though he did have to admit once they had started hiking it did feel nice to be outside, away from the gym and his oppressive simulator room.

The hike had started very tame, just a wide gravel path winding through some trees. However, soon the pair were walking precariously over rocks close to the edge of a small ridge hanging over some small trees and bushes. The path was too narrow for both of them to walk side by side so Daniel had walked in front, looking over his shoulder at Max while they talked. As they walked further up the path, Max was beginning to regret his choice of shoes, realizing that while they were stylish, the shoes had no grip whatsoever.

As he stepped onto another large rock, covered in dust and gravel, his foot slipped and he fell, hitting his knee hard on the jagged edge of the rock. Before he could slip anymore, Daniel was holding him tightly by the arm.

“Be careful, yeah? This part can be a bit dangerous” Daniel said, helping Max back up. Max nodded, looking carefully over the ledge where he had almost slipped down.

“You alright?” Daniel asked gently, noticing, Max’s unease.

“Yes sorry, I have to be more careful I think,” Max said, looking quickly back up at Daniel. Daniel frowned crouching down to inspect Max’s knee where a thin trail of blood was now running down his shin.

“Looks pretty nasty” Daniel stated, wincing slightly as he lightly touched the skin around the cut “Does it hurt bad?”

“Uh yes, a little” Max admitted, his cheeks beginning to heat up.

“Let’s turn around I reckon,” Daniel said standing back up.

“Oh no, no” Max immediately refused, shaking his head, “I am fine…really” He wasn’t about to ruin Daniel’s hike just because he'd worn impractical shoes.

“C’mon it's gonna get dark in a while anyway, we shouldn’t have started so late,” Daniel said, looking towards the sun beginning to sink in the sky “C’mon”

Max followed Daniel as he started back down the rocks, letting Daniel lead the conversation, still feeling a bit shaken. Max contributed small comments and jokes here and there between breaths of air, wiping droplets of sweat off his forehead. Max was particularly happy when one of his jokes made Daniel laugh loudly, throwing his head back as he did. Max smiled at how Daniel's laughter echoed through the mountains they were walking through. As Daniel turned around again, giving Max one of his signature wide smiles, he didn’t pay attention to where he was walking.

Max barely had time to warn him before he watched Daniel's foot get caught on a rock protruding from the path. Max watched in horror as Daniel fell, his hands clawing wildly at the dirt and rocks around him to find something to grab onto as he slipped down the ledge. Max’s stomach dropped as he heard Daniel’s body hit the ground with a sickening thud.

“Daniel!” Max yelled rushing to the edge to spot Daniel on the ground, though the short trees and bushes obscured most of his view “Daniel are you okay?!”

Max, waiting silently for a response, his rapid breathing the only noise. When he heard nothing, he yelled out again.

“Wait there Daniel I’m coming down, hang on!”

*******

Daniel figured he must have passed out for a moment, looking around it took him a minute to remember what had happened. Aside from feeling a little nauseous and short of breath, he felt generally okay. It wasn’t until he pushed himself onto his elbows that the pain hit him at full force, shooting through his back and legs.

“Oh my god, oh my god Max, help me!” Daniel gasped, as he dropped back onto the dirt, his eyes wide.

“Daniel, what’s happening, what’s wrong?” Daniel heard Max yell from somewhere above him. Daniel tried to call out again, but the pain was making him breathless.

“Shit” Daniel whispered, his voice shaking as he squeezed his eyes shut. Daniel heard shuffling and the sound of falling gravel as Max presumably made his way down to Daniel. Then the crunch of leaves and gravel as Max dropped down next to him.

“What hurts Danny,” Max asked though it was obvious. Daniel’s left leg was bent at an unnatural angle and the bone was pushing uncomfortably against the skin. Max felt like he was going to be sick just by looking at it

“Fuck… it's…it’s my…fucking hell” Daniel gasped out, gesturing wildly towards his leg.

“Uhm…It’s going to be okay just…just don’t look at it please” Max fretted, his hands hovering over Daniel's leg.

“What why?” Daniel asked, desperately trying to push himself up onto his elbow to see it.

“Please don’t look…please” Max snapped back, gently pushing Daniel back down by his shoulder. Daniel sort of understood after that and stayed quiet, gnawing on his bottom lip instead for some semblance of pain relief and to somehow calm the rising nausea that had come with trying to move.

As some of the adrenaline wore off, the nausea only got worse. All he could think was 'Please not in front of Max.'

At the sudden feeling of bile rising in his throat, Daniel desperately scrambled to roll off his back as he heaved onto the dirt. The movement sent even more sharp pain through his leg making him cry out. Daniel felt a different kind of pain as he heard a whimper and felt a tentative hand on his shoulder.

“Daniel?” Max’s voice came out unsure and small, and Daniel instantly felt terrible. Max hadn’t even wanted to go hiking in the first place and now he was stuck here trying to look after Daniel.

“I’m okay Maxy…I’m okay, don’t be scared, I’m sorry for bringing-” Daniel started, cut off by his stomach spasming and harsh gag. He heard Max swear loudly above him, hand still firmly planted on Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel hadn’t seen his leg but if he was going off how it felt, he knew it was bad and hated that he was scaring Max. Feeling the nausea fade a little, Daniel rested his head down on the dirt, shutting his eyes. It wasn’t more than a few seconds before Max was shaking his shoulder lightly.

“Daniel, can you stay awake? Are you okay?”

Daniel looked up at Max. His eyebrows were drawn together, and his cheekbones were tinted red like they always were when he was upset.

“Call a-an ambulance” Daniel panted, squeezing his eyes shut. Max immediately blurted out an apology, rushing to get his phone out of his pocket. It was only a few moments later when Max started swearing. A few times in English, then in Dutch, sounding dangerously close to tears.

“Daniel, Fuck. I...” Max was just staring down at his phone in disbelief. “No service…”

“Yeah” Daniel breathed out. He felt utterly hopeless, but he wasn’t surprised. He’d never been able to get service here before.

“Daniel just wait here, okay? I’ll be back soon I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”

Daniel's stomach sunk when Max got up and hurried away, desperately not wanting to be alone at that moment but by the time he managed to choke out “Max wait” Max was already too far away.

*******

Daniel wasn’t sure how much time had passed since Max had left and he found himself becoming worried for the younger driver, wondering if he had somehow gotten lost on the way down the trail. By the time he heard voices approaching on the track above, the evening sun had cast long shadows on the ground and the sky was painted with hues of orange and red which Daniel would find beautiful in any other situation. He hadn’t moved since Max had left. Every time he’d made a small movement to roll onto his back, a spike of pain would consume him, so he had just stayed in the same position, forehead pressed awkwardly into the dirt.

Max was back at his side like no time had passed at all, mumbling apologies for taking so long. Daniel had been left alone with his thoughts for so long, wondering if Max had gotten lost somehow or forgotten where he had left Daniel so at Max’s return, Daniel let the tears that had been threatening to spill for hours, slide down his temples. He was in too much pain to show his relief in any other way.

The nausea only increased as the paramedics began moving him and he really hoped that for everyone’s sake that they had a sick bag on hand, just in case. Daniel cried out, reaching a desperate hand for Max as he was moved onto the spinal board, and his leg was jostled once again.

Distantly, Daniel could hear the paramedics around him discussing how to transport him safely to the hospital but all he could focus on was Max as he held tightly onto Daniel’s hand, being careful of the areas of skin where rocks had cut and scratched him.

*******

Daniel was barely coherent by the time they reached the hospital, already too drugged up on pain medication and exhausted from the whole ordeal. Max followed as Daniel was wheeled through a set of double doors, the smell of iodine and peroxide hitting him and making his nostrils burn. Before he could follow Daniel any further, a nurse was holding his arm and guiding him gently back towards the doors “You’ll have to stay in the waiting room. We’ll keep you updated,“ Max looked desperately back at Daniel, trying to pull away from the nurse's hold a little.

“Daniel, I’ll just wait out here for you, it’s going to be okay,” Max said before he was led back through the doors. Max wasn’t sure if Daniel had heard him until he made a small noise from the back of his throat and managed to give Max a small smile. Max was led back into the waiting room, the double door swinging shut behind him. All he could see through the narrow rectangular windows was Daniel slowly being wheeled down the hallway.

*******

Max had spent the night, curled up on one of the plastic waiting room chairs barely managing to drift off. The anxiety was eating away at him, leaving him biting the skin around his thumbnail and picking at the scab that had formed on his knee until a droplet of blood formed to somehow keep himself calm.

They operated on Daniel late the next morning. Max had been able to see Daniel a handful of times before his surgery, only allowed to visit quickly in between tests and X-rays before he was sent back to the waiting room to wait until Daniel’s surgery was finished. He seemed to have to wait for hours before Daniel got out of surgery and even longer before he was able to see him.

It was later that afternoon when Max was finally told Daniel was in a recovery room and he could go and see him. Before Max entered Daniel’s room, a nurse discussed the surgery with him, explaining how Daniel's bone was now being held together by plates screws, and pins, and Max couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed for the older driver.

The sight of Daniel lying in his hospital bed made Max’s heart heavy with worry. He didn’t know why, but he had been expecting Daniel to look better after his surgery. He didn’t. Daniel’s skin was a sickly pale and the bags around his eyes were almost purple. The cuts on his face had been cleaned somehow only making them more prominent on his tired face. Max tried to ignore how sick Daniel looked instead texting Daniel’s parents the latest update on their son. Max hoped that maybe it would bring them some measure of comfort to know that Daniel was not alone.

*******

Max was beginning to drift off a little as he waited on the small couch until he saw Daniel shift slightly, out of the corner of his eye. Daniel woke up slowly with his face twisted in pain, swallowing repeatedly, and bringing a hand up to touch his throat. Max assumed it hurt from the tube that was down it only hours before, during surgery.

“How are you feeling?” Max asked softly not wanting to startle the older driver. Daniel opened his eyes flicking them around the room, managing a small smile when he saw Max’s face

“Feel like—” Daniel started, but he just shut his eyes, not showing any signs of speaking again.

“How are you feeling Daniel?” Max asked again, trying to get a response out of him. Daniel opened his eyes again looking at Max, his features creased in confusion, seeming to barely understand anything Max was saying, just sleepily opening and shutting his eyes, making Max’s stomach burn with worry. Max waited a few minutes before trying again. "Daniel, can you hear me?"

Daniel stirred, his eyes fluttering open. "What?"

"I need to know how you're feeling. Are you in any pain?" Max asked, his voice gentle.

“I think I got hurt” Daniel muttered, eyes drooping shut again. Max sighed, exasperated, feeling a wave of anxiety wash over him though worried as he was, he still didn't want to push Daniel too hard.

“Alright. you can go to sleep soon. They need to check on you and make sure you're doing okay, but you can sleep after that" Max said softly but he doubted Daniel was listening anymore, already looking fast asleep.

*******

As night fell, Max settled into the uncomfortable hospital chair; eyes glued to Daniel as he slept fitfully in the hospital bed. As the night wore on, Max grew increasingly worried. Daniel was tossing and turning in his sleep, moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes as he let out quiet whimpers of pain that made Max’s heart clench with worry. Daniel woke up momentarily when a nurse came in, checking his vitals and administering more pain medication. Daniel seemed a little confused and still in pain but fell back into a more peaceful sleep shortly after with Max giving him soft words of comfort. Max managed to drift off in the early hours of the morning though never fully falling asleep. Mind still half awake, racing with thoughts of Daniel.

*******

After a couple of days of Max staying by Daniel’s side, encouraging him to eat. helping him walk to the bathroom, and keeping him company, Daniel’s head seemed to become clearer, and the conversations became a little less one-sided. Max sat by Daniel's bedside; eyes heavy with exhaustion. He had been at the hospital for two days straight, refusing to leave his side, but as time went on, he felt his body growing weaker, and his eyelids drooping.

"Max, you need to get some rest," Daniel said. His voice cracked as he spoke but was still firm.

Max looked up, his eyes meeting Daniel's. "I can't leave you like this. What if something happens while I'm gone?"

Daniel's expression softened "You need to take care of yourself too."

Max hesitated, unsure of what to do. He wanted to stay by Daniel's side and make sure he was okay, but he knew that Daniel was right. He needed to get some rest.

"Fine," Max said, finally giving in. "But I'll be back first thing in the morning."
Daniel smiled weakly, "I'll be here.

As Max walked out of the hospital room, he felt a wave of tiredness wash over him. He knew that he would have to leave at some point, but he couldn't shake the feeling of guilt for leaving Daniel alone. Max couldn’t sleep that night, spending most of it tossing and turning, his mind still very much awake thinking about Daniel. He just wanted to be near him; make sure he wasn’t scared or in pain. At least if he were at the hospital, they would update Max on Daniel. If Max was at home in bed, he doubted that the hospital would bother ringing him if anything happened. All he could do was count down the hours until he could drive back to the hospital and be by Daniel’s side.

******

When Max entered Daniel’s room the next morning, Daniel’s cheeks were bright against the rest of his face and his skin was shining. Panic settled itself in Max’s stomach as he saw how the older driver was shivering despite the warmth of the hospital blankets. He felt Daniel’s forehead then his cheek, frowning at the warmth. He felt Daniel twitch under his touch, opening his eyes to slits and letting out a groan.

“Are you alright?” Max asked taking a seat beside Daniel’s bed. Daniel slowly nodded, blinking his eyes open a bit wider to look at Max.

“Do you feel sick?” Max asked, watching as Daniel swallowed and licked his dry lips.

“Yeah” Daniel finally croaked out. “It’s normal,” he added before Max could ask.

“But…” Max paused for a moment, swallowing hard. “It's fine right?... you’re fine?” his dark eyes searching Daniels. There was a pause and Daniel seemed to hesitate before answering.

“Yeah, I think so,”

Max nodded slowly, uncertain as he looked down at his hands, Daniel's words doing nothing to ease his concerns. “I don’t like seeing you like this” he finally said, voice cracking slightly.

“I know…I’m sorry” Daniel said holding his hand out for Max to take. Max took it, Daniel’s tan fingers contrasting against his own pale skin.

“Don’t apologize” Max said, squeezing Daniel's hand. “Want to try and go back to sleep? You need to rest”

“Are you gonna stay?” Daniel asked, shivering as he pulled the blanket further over his aching body.

“I’ll stay here, but you need to try and rest, okay?” Max assured. Daniel seemed content to fall back asleep after that, not letting go of Max’s hand just yet.

Daniel slept for the rest of day, only being woken by a nurse every hour or so for his medication. Daniel would look equally confused each time he was woken up, needing a few reassuring words from Max to calm him down. By the late afternoon, his fever had broken, and his nausea seemed to have subsided.

Max gently shook Daniel awake before he left. “I am going now, but I'll be back first thing in the morning, okay?"

“Alright,” Daniel said, nodding but Max could sense the disappointment in his voice.

"Are you going to be okay, I can stay if you need me to” Max asked, fully prepared to spend another night with Daniel.

Daniel chuckled weakly “It’s okay,” he said, voice barely audible.

Max nodded, giving Daniel’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before he left “See you tomorrow yeah?”

“See you tomorrow ” Daniel mumbled back, already sounding half asleep.

******

When Max visited the next morning, Daniel was sitting more upright in his bed, looking more alert than he had the previous day. There was a tray of food in front of him, that looked, for the most part, untouched but Max could see where Daniel had eaten some of the fruit and found himself weirdly proud of Daniel for at least trying. Daniel sat up a little straighter when he saw Max, giving him a sleepy smile.

“Are you feeling better?” Max asked, taking a seat next to Daniel's bed

Daniel shrugged “Better than yesterday.”

“No fever?”, Max commented, taking in Daniel’s appearance.

Daniel shook his head giving Max a small smile “No fever,”

The rest of the day passed by slowly, Daniel and Max spending most of it just talking, with Daniel falling asleep for a couple of hours after lunch. A doctor came in that evening, discussing long-term treatment and physical therapy. Daniel listened with tired eyes until the doctor mentioned him being discharged in the next few days. Max noticed how Daniel’s expression brightened with excitement.

“Do you have someone who can take you home? Maybe stay with you for a few days at least; a family member?”

“What?” Daniel asked confused, his excitement fading fast.

“We really shouldn’t discharge you unless there’s someone there to look after you, just to make sure you are not reacting badly to any medication.”

Daniel straightened in the bed, a small frown appearing on his face “Look after me? What do…there’s no one, I’m…my family is in Australia-” Daniel let out a hollow laugh and Max could tell he was trying hard not to get upset.

“The painkillers will make you very drowsy.” The nurse tried to reason, a sympathetic look on her face.

“You could stay with me, that’s fine, right Daniel?” Max interrupted before Daniel had time to get upset.

“Right…” Daniel replied, the frown still on his face, as his eyes flicked between the nurse and Max. The pair sat in silence for a few moments before Daniel spoke.

“You don’t have to do this”

Max shook his head, “You would do the same for me Daniel”

*******

A few days later, Daniel was discharged, and Max drove him home. Daniel was obviously in pain and Max couldn’t help but notice the way he would wince and hold his breath at every small bump in the road.

“Is it hurting a lot?” Max asked, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at Daniel.

“Uh, yeah” Daniel replied, repositioning himself on the seat slightly. Daniel tensed, letting out a choked noise when Max’s car drove over a pothole on the road.

“I’m fine,” Daniel said when Max shot him another questioning look.

*******

“Just hold onto me,” Max said, as they slowly made their way up the stairs to Max’s apartment, Daniel swearing the whole way. By the time Max helped Daniel sit down in the guest bedroom, Daniel was panting hard, exhausted.

“Are you okay?” Max asked, patting Daniel’s shoulder.

“I need to go to sleep” Daniel, replied, pushing his palms into his eyes. Max helped Daniel get ready for bed, Helping him in whatever ways he needed before heading to his own bedroom, setting alarms for all of Daniel's medication.

*******

The next few days passed smoothly, Max and Daniel spending most of their time on the couch watching movies together with Daniel falling into a restless sleep from time to time. Max was doing as much training as he could from home. Though much weaker than the ones in the hospital, Daniel's painkillers made him groggy and dizzy and while Max couldn’t just stop his training completely, the least he could do was limit how long he was out for, not wanting to leave Daniel alone in that state. Max noticed subtle changes the painkillers had on Daniel’s personality. How he seemed a little quieter and withdrawn. Still, Max tried to dwell on it, telling himself that once Daniel started to heal, he would return to his old self. Daniel was currently lying down on the couch, his leg elevated on a pillow that was sitting in Max’s lap as they watched a movie together. In the corner of his eye, Max could see Daniel sinking further down on the couch, beginning to yawn. He wasn’t surprised. It was already 9:30; late in comparison to the times Daniel had been going to bed that week.

Max watched, slightly amused as Daniel's eyes would drop slowly shut and his head would fall forward before, he would jolt awake again, trying to fight his sleepiness for a little bit longer. At some point, Daniel caught Max looking over and gave him a tired smile as he tried to suppress another yawn. After another 15 minutes of this, Daniel’s chin finally dropped down to his chest and quiet snores started leaving his slightly open mouth, dark lashes fanned out in his cheeks. Max let him sleep for a few minutes seeing if would wake up again before he carefully leaned across to push Daniel’s head into a more comfortable position, pulling the blanket a bit further over his torso

By the time the credits of the movie rolled, Max found his eyelids growing heavy. After a few more minutes of trying to stay awake, he made an attempt to get up. He slowly started shifting the pillow Daniel's leg laid on, off his lap, freezing when Daniel moved in his sleep, pressing his cheek further into the couch and frowning and mumbling something in his sleep. Max chuckled softly at Daniel's incoherent words, deciding to just stay put for the night. He’d rather that than disturb the Australian's sleep.

He knew his neck and back were going to be sore in the morning, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care because Daniel was here with him; safe and recovering instead of in his own apartment, alone. He carefully positioned himself in a way where he wouldn’t hurt Daniel’s leg in his sleep, placing a hand affectionately on the shin of Daniel's other leg and finally letting himself drift off to sleep.

******

Daniel had been irritable all day and Max could sense that Daniel was becoming frustrated from being stuck inside and constantly having to ask Max for help with even the simplest of tasks. Max tried to be patient with him, making a mental note to offer to take Daniel for a drive tomorrow to get him out of the house. Max was silently relieved when Daniel finally decided to go to bed, hoping some sleep would have Daniel feeling better the next morning.

“Do you need a hand?” Max cautiously asked. Daniel shook his head, brow creased in concentration as he clumsily pulled himself off the couch, putting the crutches under his arms. Max didn’t ask again. Though Daniel seemed unsteady using the crutches, he seemed determined to get himself to bed by himself so Max let him.

It hadn’t been more than a minute since disappeared down the hallway when Max heard a loud crash followed by Daniel swearing, his voice pained. Max immediately jumped up, rushing down the hallway, breath catching in his throat. His stomach dropped when he found Daniel on the floor, face scrunched in discomfort, clutching at his leg, crutches on the floor.

“Are you alright?” Max asked, rushing to kneel beside Daniel.

“Yeah, I-” Daniel started, swallowing. “I just tripped. Shit”

“Are…are you hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Daniel said, cheeks beginning to heat up. “I just need to go to sleep, m’getting clumsy.

“Are you sure you are not hurt?” Max asked, rubbing Daniel’s shoulder.

“Yes Max, I just want to go to bed,” Daniel said, avoiding eye contact. The humiliation was only growing with each passing moment.

“At least let me help you then, you must be in pain.”

“I’m sure I can get up on my own” Daniel muttered back, blinking away the moisture in his eyes

“No here let me help” Max insisted, starting to help Daniel stand up

“Max STOP!” Daniel finally yelled, roughly pushing Max’s hands away. Max’s face fell and he shuffled away a little, shocked by the sudden outburst.

“I am just trying to help,” Max said quietly, not daring to try and help Daniel up just yet. Daniel's shoulders slumped as he swallowed down the lump in his throat, suddenly seeming to realize what he had done.

“Fuck…I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” Daniel stammered out, beginning to cry. Max watched Daniel with uncertainty, feeling tears form in the corners of his own eyes, hands beginning to shake slightly in his lap.

“Max” Daniel seemed to plead, eyebrows knitted together and eyes full of regret. The way Daniel’s voice shook, made Max’s heart ache horribly but he didn’t say anything, a small part of him afraid that Daniel would yell again.

“Max. I’m sorry,” Daniel tried again, his voice softer. He reached out a hand to hold Max’s arm. Max wanted to pull away but stayed, letting Daniel hold him.

After a while, Max helped Daniel up, not saying a word. Max could see tears racing down his cheeks as they walked towards his room, but he decided to stay quiet, not wanting to make things any worse than they were. He carefully helped him into bed, pulling the blanket over him. As he was about to leave, he stopped at the door, turning back to Daniel.

“Daniel I’m always here for you”

He didn’t get a response, so he shut the door softly, retreating to his own bedroom. Max felt somewhat sick. Something had shifted. It was like a new part of their relationship was being explored; a part Max didn’t like. In all their years of friendship, he had never seen Daniel like this.

******

Max was up early, deciding to go for a quick jog to clear his head before he had to make him and Daniel breakfast. On his way out, Max ducked his head into Daniel's room to check if he was okay, grimacing when he heard Daniel's breathing coming out in short breaths.

“Daniel?” Max whispered into the darkness, checking if he was awake. In the darkness, he could just make out Daniel lifting his head a little to look at Max before dropping it back down on the pillow.

“Are you alright?” Max asked stepping into the room a little bit, hand hovering over the light switch.

“I can’t sleep, I’m all nauseous” Daniel drowsily mumbled.

Max’s ears pricked at that, and he flicked on the light “Do you feel warm?”

“No, no m’fine it’s just the pain,” Daniel said, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness of the room.

“Do you need a bucket?”

“Mm-m, not that bad” Daniel shook his head. “It will go away on its own”

"You can have more of the other painkillers now. Do you want them?” Max said checking his watch.

“Yeah…thanks.”

Max left quickly, collecting a glass of water and the painkillers. When Max returned, Daniel was covering his face with his hands. “Daniel?” he called, placing the tablets and the water down next to the bed. A small sob made, Max’s heart leap to his throat.

“Daniel, what is it, what is wrong?” Max asked, alarmed at Daniel’s sudden change of mood.

“No, I’m okay, I’m sorry.”

“Daniel please, talk to me” Max pleaded, holding Daniel's wrists to try and gently move his hands away from his face. Daniel took a deep breath, seemingly gathering his thoughts before he spoke.

“I-I’m in so much pain all the time and…I can’t do anything for myself and I-I” Daniel took another shaky breath “It’s just…I’m very embarrassed about how I was yesterday” he said, letting out a sob, trying to bring his hands up to cover his eyes again.

Max froze for a moment before leaning over the bed to wrap his arms around Daniel. Daniel was quick to do the same, holding onto Max tightly, burying his face into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” Daniel cried, his voice muffled by Max’s hoodie. Max just squeezed Daniel tighter, letting himself take in the scent of his curls.

“Do not cry Daniel, it will be okay. You will be okay”

After a few minutes, Max helped Daniel sit up slightly to take his painkiller before toeing off his running shoes and lying down on top of the covers next to Daniel. “Go back to sleep it's only 6,” he said, squeezing Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel nodded, hastily wiping a hand under each eye, and sniffing, but Max could see his body was still tense with pain and nausea.

"Close your eyes," he said softly. "Take some deep breaths." Max reached a hand up to stroke back Daniel’s slightly thinning curls off of his forehead. Daniel followed Max’s instructions, beginning to relax at Max’s gentle touch. Max could see Daniel becoming sleepier as the medicine took effect. As he drifted off, Max continued to run his hand through Daniel’s curls, ensuring that he was comfortable. He stayed with Daniel until he was sure that he had asleep, then quietly left the room, letting Daniel rest.

Chapter Text

Charles can hardly believe it when he wakes up on Saturday morning nauseous. It’s almost too cruel to imagine. After years and years of bad luck, Charles was determined that this was the year he is going to win the Monaco Grand Prix. But now as he lays in bed, stomach curling with nausea, it seems like all his hopes of winning in front of his home crowd are going to be cut down by a stomach bug.

His stomach gurgles loudly and he rushes out of bed, stumbling into the bathroom. He drops down to his knees in front of the toilet bowl, breathing heavily. The nausea is making hot saliva drip from his lips, but he can’t bring anything up. Charles racks his brain for everything he had eaten in the last day but thinks of nothing out of the ordinary. At some point, the nausea seems to fade, and he gets up, slowly getting dressed.

The nausea comes and goes throughout the morning and his clothes feel slightly sticky on his skin but miraculously, Charles makes it through most of the day without raising too much concern within the team. He completes FP3, disheartened when he gets out of the car feeling worse than before. when a shiver runs through him, he makes his way back to his driver’s room, pulling a thick sweatshirt over his race suit and fireproofs, not bothering to get changed. He knows he has some time to himself before qualifying so he sits down in his room, resting his aching limbs. He doesn’t quite mean to, but at some point, his eyes start drifting closed and he moves from a sitting position to lying down.

Charles wakes up because he is shivering so violently, and his body feels hot and sticky under all the layers of clothes he has on. His vision blurs, head spinning as he sits up but before he has any time to think about how bad he’s feeling he’s being told that he needs to start getting ready for qualifying.

*******

“You, okay?” Carlos asks in the garage, giving him a pat on the back. Charles tries to reply but stutters over his words, mind feeling far away.

“Yes” Charles manages to choke out after a moment, and he just hopes that Carlos can’t see how much his teeth are chattering as he speaks. Charles can tell Carlos wants to press further but their conversation is broken up by the team getting them ready before he can.

Driving is even more painful than it had been in FP3. Any energy he had, to begin with, is quickly depleted as he completes more and more laps. Every bump is amplified, and his chest is heaving as he tries to breathe.

Charles finishes qualifying, only managing to go 9th fastest. He feels disappointed and defeated because he knows it’s the best he could’ve done today and it’s not good enough. He pulls himself out of the car with shaking arms, swaying violently when he jumps down to the ground. Andrea is by his side in an instant, holding him up and leading him back to his driver’s room. Andrea sits him on the massage table, helping him lie down, asking him again and again if he needs to be sick, but Charles can’t answer, too focused on breathing through gritted teeth. Andrea helps him peel out of his sweat-soaked race suit and change into something more comfortable, even if it is just his Ferrari top and jeans, and tells him to wait there.

Charles curls up, drawing his knees to his chest, trying to conserve body heat. It doesn’t work and he’s shivering like he was before qualifying. There are droplets of sweat running down his forehead and he has to keep wiping them off with the back of his hand.

When Andrea returns, they leave the track straight away. It’s not a long drive back to Charles' apartment but he leans his head against the window, relishing the cool temperature against his burning skin. Andrea is talking as he navigates them through the tight streets of Monaco and Charles just responds with hums every now and then, too exhausted to do much else.

That night Charles drags himself out of bed, to sit miserably in front of the toilet when the nausea wakes him up. His stomach is churning, but he can’t manage to bring anything up. He sits there on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest as he waited for the nausea to pass.

When his stomach heaves, and he leans over the toilet, retching into the bowl, feeling dizzy and weak, his body shaking with the effort. Tears well up in his eyes, and he wipes them away with the back of his hand.

After a few minutes, the nausea passes, and Charles sits back against the wall, feeling drained and exhausted. He checks the time on his phone and sees that he has 14 unread messages from Max all of them concerned about Charles and why he left the track so early. Charles groans, feeling bad for not replying but his shaking fingers can’t seem to press the right letters, so he just gives up, placing his phone back down on the bathroom tiles, as a wave of nausea makes him gag into the toilet bowl.

*******

Charles startles awake to his alarm, lying on his bathroom floor in a puddle of his own sweat. His stomach sinks when he realizes it's Sunday and he feels even worse than yesterday. His back and neck are aching from lying on the cold tiles all night and he cries out a little as he tries to sit up. His shirt is plastered to his skin, and he tries to pull it off, but he can barely lift his arms above his head. The process of getting changed takes ten times longer than it should and he gets so dizzy at one point that he has to sit down for a few minutes.

He takes two Tylenol as he leaves his apartment, shoving the rest of the packet in his bag. By the time he gets to the track, he’s only an hour late which he sees as quite an achievement seeing the state he was in when he woke up that morning.

He tries his best to focus during the strategy meeting, but his mind keeps wandering and he can barely keep his eyes open. As the meeting continues, he can feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead and the nausea becoming worse. He’s letting loud breaths in and out of his nose to suppress it and a few members of the team are giving him odd looks.

He tries to discreetly take a sip of water but his hands are shaking too much and he can’t unscrew the cap. Just as he is about to give up, Carlos nudges him gently and takes the bottle from him, unscrewing it before passing it back. Charles takes it gratefully, shooting Carlos a forced smile. The cold water helps a little bit and gets him through the rest of the meeting.

*******

He tries to stay away from Max as much as he can throughout the day already feeling bad for not replying to his texts. At the start of the driver's parade, he sees Max a bit further down the pit lane talking to Carlos. Both of them are looking his way and he pretends he doesn’t notice.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to see Max. He just knows if Max sees the state, he’s in, he will either convince Charles not to drive or just worry about him the entire race instead of his own driving. He knows Max is likely not appreciating this treatment but at this point, it seems easier to avoid him until the weekend is over than trying to convince him that he’s not that sick.

He tries putting as much energy as he can manage into waving to the fans, but the sun is beating down on him and his shirt is becoming wet with sweat, sticking to him around the collar and under the arms. His eyes feel sticky as he tries to blink away the spots appearing in his vision. At the end of the lap that seemed to drag on forever, he wastes no time in getting out of the car and disappearing to his room.

He is almost back in his driver’s room when a wave of dizziness clouds his head, and he has to lean against the wall. He can feel nausea rising from his stomach to his throat, and gags, doubling over. Andrea is suddenly next to him, swearing and Charles clings onto him as Andrea supports most of his weight. He can hear himself wheezing slightly as Andrea practically carries him the last few meters to his room.

“Sit here,” Andrea says, helping Charles onto the massage table. A bucket is shoved into his hands, that he immediately lowers his head into.

Andrea crosses his arms, shaking his head. “Charles, this is-”

“Andrea” Charles cuts him off, lifting his face out of the bucket “I am racing, okay? I have to.”

Andrea opens and closes his mouth a few times like he’s about to say something before he leaves, not saying another word. Charles sits there for a few minutes watching the door, unsure if he’d actually convinced Andrea to let him race. For all he knows Andrea could be telling Fred that Charles is in his driver’s room, gagging into a bucket.

After a while, Charles stops watching the door, waiting for Andrea to come back, and stares at a mark on the wall instead. He can feel himself zoning out and his eyes drifting shut, the longer he stares at it. He jolts awake to a rapid succession of knocks at his door and hits his head against the wall behind him. Groaning in pain, he lifts a hand to the back of his head.

When he hears the door open, he raises his heavy eyelids halfway only for them to fall shut. He raises them again and is met with Carlos’s concerned expression and for a moment he thinks maybe Andrea has sent him to convince Charles not to race.

“Max is looking for you”

Oh. Even worse.

“He says you’ve been avoiding him.”

Charles groans loudly, rubbing a hand over his clammy face. He’s too sick for this. He presses his fist into his forehead, willing his headache to stop. “No, I have not been avoiding him,” Charles says. “I’m just sick alright? Tell him that.”

Charles flinches, pulling away a little when Carlos places a hand on his forehead. “Charles you are so warm”

“I know” Charles replies, irritated.

“Mate, I think you need to see a doctor,”

“Maybe, after the race,” Charles says resting his forehead on the edge of the bucket Andrea has given him.

“Go now, Antonio will be racing with you like this, no?”

“No?” Charles says, shaking his head, brow drawn in confusion.

Carlos freezes for a moment “You are still racing?” he asks, mouth hanging open in shock. Charles nods slowly, now unsure if the team has made a decision without his permission. Carlos pauses, taking in Charles' appearance before shaking his head “There is no way, you cannot race like this,”

“Can…can you get Max?” Charles asks, choosing to ignore Carlos’s concern

Carlos raises an eyebrow, “Here? Mate how?”

“You said he wanted to talk to me” Charles gives him a pleading look, knowing perfectly well Carlos is going to struggle getting Max to Charles drivers’ room without getting in trouble with the team.

Carlos sighs, eyeing Charles for a moment “I’ll be back soon wait here” he finally says, leaving Charles’ room.

“Thank you” he calls after Carlos, voice hoarse.

It’s not long before Carlos returns with Max. He looks annoyed when he sees Charles sweating profusely and hunched over the bucket but rushes to him regardless, pulling him into a hug.

“Charles, what are you doing?” Max asks when he pulls away. Charles gives him a look of confusion and is about to ask Max what he means when he continues, “Why are you racing when you’re like this?”

“I feel better than I did yesterday” Charles lies.

Max raises his eyebrows “You don’t look better” he retorts, crossing his arms in front of him. Charles lowers his head, feeling defeated. He doesn’t have the energy to argue with Max right now and lets his head fall to rest on Max’s chest. “Please, it’s okay”

“It's unsafe,” Max says, stroking the back of Charles’ head.

“Max, you know what this means to me” Charles tries again, pulling away from Max, his voice breaking as tears fog his vision slightly. He really doesn’t want to cry and blinks rapidly to try and stop himself.

Max breathes out, running a hand over his face, clearly conflicted. Charles just watches, teary-eyed, hugging the bucket closer to his chest. Max finally sighs, reaching out to hold Charles’ shoulders “I won’t tell you not to race, just be careful alright?”

*******

Max stays with Charles as much as he can after that, and Charles can tell there’s a part of Max that doesn’t trust he can actually race. Max, of course, stands next to him during the national anthem, sending him worried glances every moment or so and Charles is about to subtly whisper at him to stop because he’s going to attract attention when a wave of exhaustion washes over him and he can’t even focus on his own national anthem because he’s so warm and he feels as if he’s going to collapse at any moment.

Suddenly Max is whispering something urgent to him and he tries to listen, but he can’t make out any of the words. Max’s hand feels like fire where he’s holding onto his forearm, and he tries to pull away. All he can think about is that he cannot pass out in front of the whole of Monte Carlo. He has to leave. He starts trying to walk away but there is more than one set of hands stopping him from going anywhere and Charles deliriously wonders why everyone wants him to stay here and faint in front of his home crowd. He suddenly feels himself dropping and people around him yelling and all he can see is white.

*******

Max is beside Charles when he starts swaying slightly, eyes unfocused and staring off at nothing, while the Monegasque anthem is sung.

“Charles are you okay?” he whispers, grabbing Charles’s arm because of how dangerously close he looks to passing out. Charles looks from the sky towards Max, blinking slowly, mumbling something incoherent before he is pulling away from Max.

“Relax, relax it’s alright” Max repeats, trying to draw Charles' attention towards him as he continues to try and stumble away. The national anthem has stopped, and Charles now has the attention of thousands and thousands of fans. At some point Carlos helps him holding him up, trying to keep him still. Charles looks distressed being held still and is struggling against them before he suddenly stops. Max watches as Charles' face turns white. It is as if his heart has suddenly stopped beating and all the blood has run down into his feet. Distantly Max can hear gasps of shock, as Charles’s body goes slack and he crumples to the ground, his torso still being held up, head lolling forward.

“Charles, hey. Can you hear me?” Max asks urgently, trying to wake him up as they lay him down. There is no response from Charles and soon members of the Ferrari team are rushing to Charles and Max is pushed aside.

Most drivers stand around watching with concern as Charles' unconscious body is lifted onto a gurney, until their teams are ushering them all back inside their separate garages to prepare for the race, including Max’s.

Christian gives him a sympathetic look because he knows what Charles is to him and Max realizes that sooner or later, he's going to have to come to terms with the fact that he has to race regardless of Charles’ condition but the thought of driving 79 laps without knowing if Charles is okay, makes him feel a little sick.

As always, his race pace is unmatched, and he stays a comfortable 9 seconds ahead of everyone else for the entire race. He feels guilty as he stands on the top step of the podium, looking out at the crowds of Monaco, knowing it’s what Charles dreams of.

*******

Max had left the track as soon as he could, only wanting to be with Charles. Charles still had a high fever but could go home according to the doctors. With some help from Andrea, Max managed to get Charles up to his apartment and into bed.

That’s how they end up here, an almost naked Charles shivering on the bed with a thin sheet over his legs. Max is next to him, trying to get Charles to take small sips from a bottle of water. Charles has moved as close as he possibly can into Max’s side and Max can feel the heat radiating off him.

In his confused state of mind, Charles keeps on trying to sit up, whining about still having to race. Max pushes him back down every time, running his fingers through his hair. Charles' forehead is creased in discomfort, eyebrows drawn low.

“Stay still,” Max says when Charles starts getting up for the sixth time, trying to swing his legs out of bed. Max pulls them back onto the bed, holding his ankles in place for a moment. Charles stops moving around so much now that he’s being held, “Max?” he says, voice slurred with sleep.

“Yeah Charles” Max says, running a hand over Charles’ disheveled hair, hoping that the he would start to calm down.

“I need to race,” Charles says, suddenly making another effort to get out of bed.

“No, no you’re not going anywhere,” Max says with a chuckle, holding Charles still. He’s trying to be gentle, remembering how distressed Charles had been during the national anthem.

“Maaax,” Charles whines, “Let me go,”

“Charles, the race is over,” Max says, unsure if it’s going to calm him down or make him more upset. Charles stills, dipping his chin to his chest, breathing noisily out of his nose, “M’gonna be late” he finally mumbles.

Max takes a deep breath trying to keep his own anxiety at bay. “No, you’re not, it’s alright”

Charles just whines in response, weakly trying to pull away from Max's hold.

“Charles it’s okay,” Max tries to soothe, ”You need to rest, close your eyes, and try to sleep.” Max sighs, pulling Charles back down next to him. Charles whimpers in protest but slumps against Max. Charles’s breathing begins to slow as he lies against Max, his brow smoothing out for the first time in hours and Max thinks that he finally might have fallen asleep until he hears him mumble something inaudible.

“What?” Max says quietly, leaning down closer so he can hear. Charles starts moving, sitting up in the bed, head hanging forward. Max groans internally, thinking he had been able to get Charles to fall asleep only for him to be up and moving around again.

“What is it, Charles?” Max asks, grabbing Charles' shoulder to steady him, right as he looks like he’s about to fall forward.

“I can’t miss it, I don’t want to miss it” He stutters, face crumpling and tears brimming his eyes.

“You didn’t miss it, I promise,” Max says, tenderly wiping the moisture in the corner of Charles' eyes away with his thumb. Max knows that lying to Charles is probably not the best way to go about it, but he can’t see any other way to calm him down.

“You sure?” Charles asks voice barely audible as he studies Max’s face with red and glistening eyes. Max nods, lips pulling into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He can see the moment the tension in Charles’ face melts away and feels a pang of guilt for lying to the Monégasque driver. He just hopes that Charles doesn’t remember any of what Max said in the morning.

“Let’s just rest now okay, do you want to lie down?” he tries, tugging gently on Charles' bicep. Charles nods, mumbling quietly as he shivers against the cold air hitting his bare torso. Max pulls Charles too hot body closer to his side, pulling a blanket over them. Charles sighs contentedly, closing his eyes, the warmth of Max's body lulling him to sleep.

Chapter Text

Max and Charles spend their Saturday night in Max’s hotel room, luxuriating in each other’s presence. Charles has himself nestled between Max’s legs, head resting on his chest. Max runs his fingers through his hair. He can't help but notice how exhuasted Charles looks as he watches the tv ahead of them. His eyes keep slowly drooping shut, body relaxing again Max's until he'll jolt awake again.

"Sleep," Max tells him.

"Can't,"

"Why not?"

"If I sleep now, I will not sleep tonight and that will not be good for my racing tomorrow." Charles murmurs, making an exaggerated effort to keep his eyes open.

 Not even a minute later, Charles is fast asleep against him. Max gently repositions him, situating him into a more comfortable position though the movement is enough for Charles' eyes to flutter open again. He lets out a small, confused noise, brow furrowing as he reaches up to rub his eyes.

“You are so tired Schat” Max hums, thumb caressing Charles’ cheekbone.

“I am tired” Charles confirms, closing his eyes at Max’s touch. “I need a break,”

“You will get one soon.” Max replies, moving his hand to run through Charles’ short hair. Charles frowns, huffing.

“That is not what I mean,” he says, shaking his head.

Max cocks his head to the side. “What then?”

“A break from racing”

Max’s hand stills where it had been comforting Charles “Yes?” he says slowly, voice unsure.

Charles sighs, “Maybe I should stop racing for a while”

“A while?”

Charles is tense where he’s lying on Max’s chest. “A season or two. I don’t know?”

Max frowns as he tried to comprehend. "What are you talking about?" he asks, voice unintentionally accusatory.

“I am going nowhere right now. You know that.” Charles replies, voice carrying a hint of sadness.

Max shakes his head adamantly. “That is not true, your time will come,” He says, wondering how on earth he hadn't noticed Charles feeling like this.

“Well without you there, maybe…” Charles says, voice trailing off. Max's hand, which had been caressing Charles's hair, retreats abruptly. The sudden withdrawal startles Charles slightly

“Fuck, Charles, you know this isn’t my fault” Max snaps.

“Isn’t it?” Charles challenges, sitting up and pulling himself out of Max’s arms. He knows he’s being a little unfair to Max but the anger and frustration from the last few seasons with Ferrari makes the words spill out.

Max scoffs in response. “You’re not making any sense”

“I am Max, you are just not listening to me,” Charles says, irritated, as he shuffles over to the other side of the bed.

“You are not being realistic”

“I just need a break alright, why do you care?”

“Of course, I care. Why would you quit now? I do not understand after everything we have sacrificed. It’s like you are giving up on us, giving up on racing, everything we have been through together.” His voice rises in pitch as he speaks, his Dutch accent becoming more pronounced. There is a beat of silence before Charles responds.

“I am not quitting Max. I will come back ”

“Yes, good luck with that” Max murmurs, sarcastically.

Charles shoots him a glare in return as he chews on the skin around his thumbnail. “You wouldn’t understand Max” he grumbles finally, crossing his arms over his chest.

“This is stupid. You are being so stupid” Max replies, shaking his head in disbelief. That only seems to annoy Charles more and he gets out of bed, walking over to his shirt lying that had been thrown to the floor only an hour before.

“What are you doing?” Max asks, voice going high again as Charles pulls his shirt back over his head.

“I’m going, okay?” Charles states matter-of-factly, collecting the rest of his belongings scattered around the room.

Max looks at Charles, puzzled. "I thought you were sleeping here," he says, his tone filled with confusion.

Charles met Max's gaze, his face void of any emotion. "Yeah, well, I don't feel like it anymore," he replied coldly.

Max's frustration began to bubble up “This is what you do Charles, things get too hard and so you just leave,” he says, suddenly aware that he’s raising his voice. “You cannot quit because I am better than you Charles,”

A flicker of anger flashes across Charles' eyes. "You think you're better than me, huh? Is that what it is? You don't fucking believe in me," he retorts sharply, raising his voice.

"Charles no that's..." Max starts, tone softer than before but he doesn't know how to continue the sentence. He can't take back his words.

"Fuck you," Charles spat out, his voice quivering with a mix of anger and hurt. With that, he forcefully slammed the hotel door shut behind him, leaving Max standing there, his heart pounding with regret.

*******

Charles doesn’t talk to Max on Sunday, mind now entirely focused on the race. Deep down he also wants to maintain some sort of appearance of indifference; wants to pretend like he doesn’t care at all about their argument the previous day. Weirdly he wants Max to see him looking so unbothered and feel bad about himself. Charles knows it's not a very nice thought, but he can’t help it.

Still, every time he sees Max out of the corner of his eye there’s an odd sinking feeling in his stomach. It lasts for a fleeting moment before it's clouded by anger bubbling from deep inside him.

Charles enters the garage before the race, his gaze locked on his beautiful red Ferrari. His eyes wander over it, meticulously checking every detail, ensuring it is in perfect condition. The mechanics around him seem to sense his intensity, working diligently in silence. They know better than to disturb Charles when he is in this state.

As the race begins, Charles unleashes his anger onto the track, pushing himself to the limit. Lap after lap, he maneuverers through the twists and turns with calculated precision, channeling his frustration into raw speed. The cheers of the crowd and the roar of the engine are the only sounds that occupied his mind.

Time seemed to blur as the race progresses, each lap melding into the next. Charles loses himself in the rhythm of the track, finding solace in the focused pursuit of victory. The world outside the circuit fades away, leaving only the pursuit of the checkered flag in his sights. He can almost taste the champagne on the top step of the podium; Max watching from below, jealous, regretful.

There is only one car left to overtake and the victory is his. As Charles approaches the turn, Max’s words are running through his head, and he knows he has to make his move. You cannot quit because I am better than you Charles. He is right on the tail of Max’s car in front of him, and he can feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. It’s a split-second decision when he decides to dive down the inside. It’s stupid, impulsive. He wouldn’t have done it in any other circumstance. He only realises there’s not enough room when it’s too late. He clips Max’s wheel. It’s all a blur after that. he pulls his arms to his chest like he was taught and just holds his breath. He knows he’s moving but he doesn’t know in which direction. The world around him turns into a chaotic blur of shattered dreams and twisted wreckage. There is a deafening impact on his left side that knocks the wind out of him. Pain sears through his body, mingling with the bitter taste of regret. He can’t breathe. He can’t see. He's surrounded by darkness. His whole diaphragm is aching where the seatbelt has pulled him back against his seat. He struggles to hold onto consciousness as black spots start appearing in his vision. Everything just feels wrong.

He needs Max here; he needs to say sorry.

*******

“Is he okay? Fuck, please tell me he’s alright” Max pants over the radio, looking in his rearview mirrors. His heart was pounding in his chest, almost in disbelief at what had just happened.

“I haven’t got a visual yet” GP replies. His voice is short and tense in a way that makes Max’s stomach sink. GP doesn’t speak again. There is just silence after that.

“He’s alright?” Max asks again when the silence has dragged on for too long.

“Just come back to the pitlane Max”

*******

As he enters the garage, the air is thick with tension and concern. Engineers and mechanics are huddled around screens. Through the heads of the team, Max spots a replay of the crash on one of the screens. Max watches on in disbelief, the attempt at an overtake is reckless, to say the least. When he sees the Ferrari hit the barrier at full speed, leaving clouds of gravel and dust in its wake, his mind immediately jumps to the worst scenario, fear coursing through him.

Max hardly has time to feel relieved when he sees Charles race suit out of the car because he’s not getting out and walking away like he should be. no. He’s being pulled from the car, unconscious. Why the fuck is he unconscious?

His limbs feel numb and tingly as he watches live footage of Charles being wheeled into the ambulance; arms crossed over his chest, head, and neck held in place by a collar.

Max can’t watch anymore, he turns around stumbling away from the screen, legs shaking so much he’s not quite sure how he’s moving forward. There is a horrible guilt clawing him up inside and he feels like he’s going to be sick. He slides to the floor of his driver’s room, chest feeling unbearably constricted. He’s suddenly hyperaware of the little gasping noises leaving his throat when he realises, he can’t really breathe.

Daniel is with him a moment later. “C’mon mate, s’alright” he says leaning down to Max “Calm down”

“I need to talk to him,” Max manages to gasp out, “I need to see him,” Tears are beginning to wet his cheeks.

“C’mon mate. I’ll take you ‘right?” Daniel tries, putting a hand under Max’s armpit to try and pull him up off the floor. When Max is reluctant, Daniel crouches closer to Max, a comforting hand placed on his back.

“Max hey, look at me” Daniel tries softly, turning Max’s chin to look at him “Max,” he says again, more firmly when Max doesn’t lift his eyes where they are cast towards the floor. Max finally sniffs looking towards Daniel,

“He’ll be okay, it’s Charles” Daniel reassures, rubbing his hand up and down Max’s arm as if he is trying to warm him up. Daniel is being so soft and encouraging and Max has a feeling that’s it similar to the way Daniel would comfort a child. “Do you want to come with me to the hospital?” Daniel starts, speaking slowly “Or do you want to go back to the hotel?”

“Not the Medical centre?”

“He’s been taken to the medical centre, but he’ll be driven to the hospital soon alright? Do you want to go and meet him?”

“Okay” Max finally murmurs, nodding. Barely any sound comes out, but Daniel seems to understand what he says. Daniel helps him up, doing most of the work “You’ll be right” he says, ripping a few tissues from the box and handing them to Max.

Max keeps his eyes pointed at the floor while they walk out of the paddock, following Daniel’s lead; the media would have a field day if they saw Max’s eyes dripping tears.

*******

When they get to Charles' room, there is a small group of Ferrari staff waiting outside including Andrea, Silvia and a few other Max doesn’t know the names of. Max hesitates, stopping for a moment, realising he might not be welcome here. Daniel’s hand is suddenly on his shoulder guiding him forward again. Much to Max’s shock, none of them even raise an eyebrow at Max’s appearance.

Daniel immediately makes his way over to the seat next to Andrea, beginning a conversation. Max envies Daniel’s ability to strike up a conversation with anyone no matter how uncomfortable the situation. Max just stands dumbly near the door unsure of what he’s actually allowed to do. He looks over at Daniel for guidance who gives an encouraging nod towards the door to Charles’ room. Max’s hand lingers on the handle, looking over at the small group of Ferrari staff, none of them are paying attention to him anyway. Hesitantly he pushes open the door. Max approaches the bed with trepidation, his heart aching at the sight of Charles’. He's fast asleep, or passed out. Max doesn’t know. A crease is etched on his forehead. He doesn’t look comfortable, and Max can only hope that he’s not in any pain.

He tries to keep his panic at bay, sitting down on a chair in the corner of the room. The sound of the chair legs scraping against the tile floor as Max drags the chair closer to the bed, seem to cause Charles to stir, letting out a noise from the back of his throat. Max stays still just in case he scares the Monegasque and still not 100% sure that Charles isn’t still angry with him. The light of the setting sun coming through the windows seems to be causing Charles pain. He’s squinting, trying to turn his head further into the pillow. Max quickly gets up and pulls the blinds shut. The creases on Charles' face soften after that and he makes another noise, lips moving sloppily as he shifts on the bed. After a few moments, Max realises Charles is saying Max’s name.

“Charles?” Max replies, not sure if the Ferrari driver even knows he is there. Charles looks confused for a moment, eyes darting immediately to where Max is sitting. He makes another noise, and he reaches for him, clumsily lifting his arms up. Max immediately leans over the bed to return the hug, hoping he’s not causing Charles any more pain by doing so. He presses a kiss to Charles' forehead and Charles whines softly at the contact. Fuck. This wasn’t normal.

It doesn’t take Max much longer to realise that Charles is very out of it. Definitely a concussion. When he pulls away from the embrace and finally gets a good look at Charles, he looks fairly okay apart from the dazed expression on his face and the bruising that is peeking out from under his hospital gown. He holds Charles' hand in his own, relishing in its warmth.

“I was being selfish yesterday, I’m sorry,” He says between kisses pressed to the back of Charles’ hand, practically the only part of him that isn’t bruised.

"What's going on ?" Charles asks, words slurring together. His face is contorted with a mixture of confusion and exertion, using way too much energy just to gather his thoughts.

“Our fight, last night. I’m sorry” Max says, speaking a little slower.

“What? I don’t...” Charles is mumbling, lifting a hand to rub his eyes.

Max’s heart sinks a little. Charles doesn’t remember. The realisation worries him, and he suddenly feels bad for knowing something Charles doesn’t. If Charles could remember he’d probably still be furious. Max keeps on replaying the argument in his mind while Charles watches him with glazed, confused eyes. Remembering the last words, he said to Charles before the crash feels like a punch to the gut. As another wave of guilt washes over him. He feels his eyes sting with tears he didn’t know he had left to cry and lifts his hands up to cover his eyes, elbows resting on the edge of Charles’ bed.

“I’m sorry Charles,”

“Max…what?” Charles lifts a hand up to hold Max’s wrist, weakly attempting to pull it away from his face. “Why are you…what’s wrong?” he asks, voice panicked.

“Because we fought, I was…I was worried for a moment that the time I would speak to you was…” Max swallows suddenly feeling self-conscious and unsure of what he’s trying to say. he swallows “I am being very dramatic, I know”

“We are fighting?” Charles looks worried again, sitting up a little straighter.

“No, no not anymore, it was silly, I wish we hadn’t,” Max says, trying to wipe his eyes dry.

“Oh...” Charles' body relaxes into the bed at Max’s words, but his expression is equally as confused as before.

“It’s going to be okay,” Max says abruptly. He doesn’t know why he’s saying it now, he just feels like he should.

Charles nods, grimacing in discomfort as he adjusts his position on the hospital bed, gently cradling a hand to his ribs.

“Are you okay?” Max asks realising he hadn’t yet asked him.

“It...mm…hurts” Charles mumbles, eyes fluttering shut again.

“I know, I'm sorry,” Max doesn't know what else to say.

“Mmhmm”

There are another few minutes of quiet, only filled with the steady beeping of the heart monitor and hushed chatter from outside the door.

“We are alright, yes?” Max finally asks, voice small. It’s an odd time to ask but the question has been circling his mind since last night.

“Yeah?” Charles says like it's obvious and the innocence in his voice makes Max want to cry again. Charles would remember their argument soon, and they would have to talk about it. Maybe start fighting again but for now, Charles is here with him; mind a little hazy and body a little bruised, but here nonetheless.

Chapter Text

Carlos squints awake on Thursday morning to bright sunlight streaming in through a gap left in the hotel curtains. Before he can even wake up properly, unease settles itself in his stomach, mind racing with thoughts of the day ahead. He pulls the covers tighter around himself, to distract himself from the anxiety tightening in his stomach. He glances at the clock on his bedside table, the red digits mocking him with their insistence on time's passing. It takes him twice as long to get out of bed than most days. He knows because he’s just watched 30 minutes tick by in front of him. When he finally does, he slowly swings his legs over, enjoying the softness of the carpet beneath his feet. He stands up, legs feeling as though they’re being held down by invisible weights and body aching in protest as he slowly shuffles to the bathroom.

He tries to keep a routine, even when every week of his life is in a different country. Routine is what he needs the most. routine, routine, routine

Carlos splashes his face with cold water, hoping to wash away evidence of a restless night. He watches his reflection in the mirror trying to ignore how tired he looks. He grabs his toothbrush, carefully squeezing a small amount of toothpaste onto the bristles. The mechanical hum of the electric toothbrush fills the silence, providing a momentary distraction from his racing thoughts. As he brushes his teeth, he tries to anchor himself in the present and wishes he didn’t wake up feeling so far away.

It’s easier when he’s told what to wear, a collared Ferrari top. But then there’s the pants and the shoes and he finds himself contemplating every garment like it’s a decision he can’t afford to get wrong.

His hands tremble slightly as he picks out a pair of jeans. He second-guesses himself as he’s pulling them on and contemplates a different pair for a moment until he continues pulling them up to his waist.

He meticulously dresses, struggling with each button and zipper as if it were a tiny obstacle on his path to the outside world. Sweat forms on his forehead, despite the coolness of the room, and doubt lingers in the air, threatening to consume him. His stomach churns again. In a weird way, it makes him homesick. He misses when he could tell his mother he wasn’t feeling well, and she would let him stay home from school even though he didn’t think she ever believed him. None of that matters anyway because right now he’s thousands of miles away from his mother and his childhood home.

He checks his watch. He’s already seven minutes late, the realisation makes the knot in his stomach twist tighter. Before he walks out the door, he throws all the clothes strewn around the room, back into his suitcase so he can somehow trick himself into thinking he’s in control of his own life when he returns that evening.

*******

Routine is doing nothing to ease his anxiety today. Maybe it’s because he didn’t have time for a shower this morning. Or because they’ve scheduled in another meeting at the last minute. He hates how easily a change in routine throws him off his game.

He does what he’s told. Goes where he’s told to go, says what people tell him to say, and sits where people tell him to sit. The weight of compliance propels him through the morning and before he knows it, he’s walking into a meeting with the rest of the team. He takes a seat next to Charles, unease mounting. Charles smiles sweetly at him, and he tries to smile back, but he thinks it might have come out more like a grimace. He clenches and unclenches his fists under the table, in an attempt to steady his violently shaking hands. He knows he is fidgeting a lot; or as much as he can without someone calling him out on it. He stutters through a response to a question about the car as best he can. Still, his chest burns with humiliation when he finishes. You sound stupid. he berates inwardly.

Struggling to regain control, he tries to regulate his breathing as much as she can, because this is the absolute worst place he could fall apart. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. He repeats like a mantra in his head. When the meeting finally finishes, he feels a fleeting sense of relief and takes a few deep breaths, slinking off to his driver’s room before anyone can ask him if he’s okay.

Carlos sits in the comfort of his cramped driver's room. Away from the team; away from judgment. His hands are shaking uncontrollably. His chest is pounding in the most painful way imaginable, and tears blur his vision. He aggressively wipes them away before any can fall. He checks his watch. He has just over an hour before he needs to be anywhere. If he can calm down before then he’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine

*******

Charles stands against the wall scrolling idly through his phone. He’s not even looking at anything, just finding something to do to pass the time. He’s already been waiting for 30 minutes. Someone has already come and fixed his hair, brushing some powder on his cheeks. Everyone is ready to start the interview, but one important member of the team is still missing: Carlos. Charles checks the time again, impatience growing. Silvia is pacing around flustered, red hair a mess as she talks to various Ferrari staff about Carlos’s whereabouts. Time drags on and Carlos is yet to make an appearance

“Charles will you please check his room” Silvia finally asks, exasperated, barely giving him time to respond before she is checking her watch again, shaking her head. Charles reluctantly leaves, making his way back to the Ferrari hospitality. As he walks, memories of Carlos in their meeting that morning fill his mind. Carlos had been distant, his responses stutters, hands trembling; a stark contrast to his usually calm and collected demeanor. Charles picks up his pace, now wondering if there was a valid reason for his absence. As Charles nears the driver's room, he hears a faint sound, barely audible above the surrounding noise. Curiosity and concern stir in his stomach, and he quickens his pace.

“Carlos, mate we have a meeting now, did you forget?“ he asks, knocking lightly on the door “Carlos?”. After a few more seconds of silence, he carefully turns the door handle, peeking into the darkened driver’s room. That’s where he sees Carlos, curled on the floor his breath hitching, hands pulling his hair. Charles freezes for a moment unsure of what to do with himself. “Carlos?” he asks, voice unsure. When he doesn’t get a reply, he enters the small room, pushing the door shut behind him until it softly clicks shut. He kneels down next to Carlos, keeping his voice soft “Carlos, what’s happened?” he asks. Now that he’s closer he can see how Carlos’s body is shaking with each shuddering inhale and exhale through his teeth.

“Are you hurt? Or sick?” Charles asks, trying to nudge Carlos in the right direction. He doesn’t get a response to that either and sits back on his heels taking in Carlos’ appearance.

“I…I need to leave” Carlos suddenly gasps between erratic breaths, voice coming out strained and desperate.

“What? What do you mean Carlos?” Charles asks, concern building.

Carlos, opens his mouth, trying to speak again, but his voice fails him, and all that come out are rasping breaths and strangled murmurs.

“Can I touch you?” Charles asks, a hand hovering near Carlos’s shoulder. Carlos shakes his head quickly, standing up rather abruptly, startling his younger teammate. He’s unsteady and stumbles a bit as he gets to his feet.

“I…I...don't” he is mumbling, clutching his chest as he paces the tiny room.

“Mate what is it? What do you need” Charles asks slowly, trying to mask the worry in his voice.

“I can’t” Carlos chokes, words escaping as a whimper.

“Can’t what?” Charles asks, tone reassuring. Carlos is shaking his head as he presses his palms to his forehead, fingers tangled in his hair, as something resembling a sob leaves his mouth.

Charles' stomach sinks. “No, it’s okay. Please don’t cry” he tries, voice panicked.

“Help” Carlos, whispers, voice rough as his fingers tighten their grip on his hair.

“Mate, I don’t know what to do,” Charles says, almost desperately “How do I help you?” he asks, unable to hide the fear in his voice any longer. Carlos’s wide, panicked eyes dart toward Charles but stare straight through him. Carlos’s body is shaking violently, lips curling in sync with the syllables they're trying to form.

Carlos, Mate” Charles says, voice trembling with panic. “Carlos, Carlos, try and breath with me,” he says, demonstrating with deliberate slow breaths. Carlos shakes his head, jaw clenched tightly as unwelcome tears, rush down his cheeks. He can’t seem to keep still body in a constant state of restless motion as he paces the room

“Please try” Charles begs. Carlos makes an exhausted attempt to follow Charles' instructions, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s not making a difference though and a fresh wave of emotion rolls over him. He lets out another sobbing sound. Charles is struggling to stay calm, his own panic escalating. Every fiber of Charles' being is screaming at him to help, but he doesn’t know how. Feeling desperate, Charles lunges forward, reaching out to support Carlos, his own hands shaking. Carlos jerks away violently, eyes filled with fear. "No, stop” he breathes, words barely audible.

Charles recoils his hand, immediately feeling guilty for upsetting Carlos more. His hands are starting to shake, mirroring Carlos's. "Okay, okay. Sorry, I’m sorry," he stammers, voice shaking. "Just... just focus on your breathing.”

He doesn’t think Carlos is even listening to him anymore. He’s practically hyperventilating at this point; each exhale is punctuated with choked sobs. Body struggling to cope with the intensity, he stumbles backward, legs giving way beneath him, and he sinks to the floor. “Carlos! Hey Carlos, can you look at me please!” Charles thinks he might be yelling now. He’s not sure. Carlos' gaze flickers toward Charles but holds no recognition. His body is growing limp and he sags against the wall behind him, body shaking with sobs. Charles' own heart is pounding in his chest, panic escalating. "Carlos! Please, Mate breathe" Charles pleads,

Charles takes a breath, putting his own panic aside as he slides to the floor next to Carlos, a tentative hand hovering over his shoulder. “Carlos, mate, please listen. You are not alone. I'm here. It’s just us and you’re safe. I promise. Hold my hand if you can. You are going to be okay” he rambles, hoping at least some of it is reaching Carlos. Carlos' unfocused eyes flicker toward Charles, a faint look of recognition crossing his face. With a trembling hand, he reaches out, holding Charles' outstretched fingers.

Charles lets out a quiet breath of relief. The panic coursing through him is calmed only slightly by the fact that Carlos is now holding his hand. Carlos has his eyes shut, eyebrows knitted together in focus, as he takes in shuddering breaths of air. He opens his mouth slightly when he breathes out, squeezing slightly at Charles' hand. Charles gives a gentle squeeze back, “That’s it mate, good job” he encourages.

Charles doesn't know how much time has passed when Carlos’s breathing finally starts to steady. “Are you okay?” Charles asks gently after a while. Carlos gives a small nod, blinking slowly, as the color returns to his face.

“In the meeting...before…was that...?” Charles asks, not finishing his sentence.

“Yes,” Carlos says, lifting his free hand to his throat when his voice cracks. Charles nods, understandingly, noticing how Carlos is still trembling, goosebumps prominent on his skin.

“Are you cold?” he asks softly. Carlos starts shaking his head, breathing picking up a little, and for a moment Charles thinks that he’s going to start spiraling again .

“Just…can we just…quiet. Please” Carlos begs quietly, eyes falling shut.

“Yeah…sure” Charles replies softly, watching the way Carlos's shoulders heave as he breathes in and out.

Carlos has his eyes shut, head hanging low for so long Charles is beginning to worry. He contemplates saying something to make sure he’s okay, but Carlos had asked for quiet so instead he just lets Carlos hold his hand, almost afraid that even the slightest movement will have him pulling away.

Gradually, Carlos regains his composure. There is a moment where he blinks slowly as if he's thinking before he pulls his hand back into his own lap from where he was holding onto Charles. Charles sees a flicker of shame cross his face but decided not to press any further .

“I…I can’t go out there” Carlos finally breaks the silence, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t do it anymore.” His voice is still shaking, thick with emotion, and Charles’ stomach twists, knowing Carlos didn't have a choice. It’s part of their job, clearly outlined in their contract. He's quiet for a moment thinking of what to say.

“We will do it together” he finally says, voice determined “One step at a time,” It's the only thing he can think to say to comfort his teammate. Carlos's expression softens as he leans his head back against the wall. His cheeks are blotchy and red and his words come out hoarse.

“Thankyou Charles”

Chapter Text

“Lando, mate we have to go”

Lando stirs at the words, lifting his head from where it has been buried in the crook of his elbow to meet the concerned face of Oscar. He hadn’t even meant to fall asleep. He and Oscar had just been sitting in his driver’s room together, passing the small amount of time they had before their next media commitment. He knows why Oscar is looking at him strangely. He’s been sick for a few days now and it’s only getting worse. What started as a mild head cold has now developed into this weird flu-like illness where his whole body aches and every cough sends sharp pains through his chest.

“Lando” Oscar says again from where he’s now standing, holding out a hand. His younger teammate pulls him off the floor, giving him a pat on the back when Lando is standing. On the way to the garage, Lando catches his reflection in a window. His skin is pale, his eyes bordered by a purple-grey colour, and his usually defined curls are lying limply.

“Are you okay to race?” Oscar asks as he holds the door open for Lando. Lando nods absently. It feels like it’s more out of politeness than anything because they both know you don’t really have a choice an hour and a half before the race.

It’s an awful race. He gets a puncture on the third lap and has to pit early, ruining his race. He’s running last and at this point he thinks it might have been easier to just return to the garage and call it a day. But Zak’s on the radio, giving Lando a few words of encouragement before telling him to “Keep pushing,” so he does. His muscles are aching with each repetitive lap. He doesn’t even care about overtaking anymore, he just wants to finish.

The results are unremarkable. Max in P1, Fernando comes in second, and George in third. Lando makes a mental note to send George a quick congratulations for his podium. He pulls into parc fermé exhausted, body shaking despite the heat. He doesn’t get out; he doesn’t think he has the strength.

Carlos and Oscar are next to his car, each putting a hand under his armpit as they try to help him out. Lando’s arms are aching at the joints and it's painful as he’s lifted from the seat. He can hardly contain the whimper that escapes his lips.

“C’mon help me,” Carlos says to Oscar as he starts undoing Lando’s helmet. Lando just lets them do it as he tries to get his breathing under control because Fuck, he’s so out of breath. It's literally a breath of fresh air when they pull his helmet and balaclava off and he can finally breathe slightly better for the first time in two hours. He doubles over, a hand pressed to his aching chest as violent coughs force their way out. When he’s done, left heaving for air, Carlos holds him close against his chest.

“Is he okay?” Oscar asks Carlos from somewhere next to him. Lando can’t see how Carlos responds, because he’s letting Lando’s head rest on his shoulder. Lando tries to say something, tries to tell Oscar not to worry but the words are leaving his mouth as whimpers made raspy by his inflamed throat. Carlos is shushing him gently, and Lando, feeling utterly drained, just lets himself be held.

As he attempts to pull away to cough again, Lando finds Carlos' hand supporting the back of his head, preventing him from moving too far. He ends up coughing wetly into Carlos' shoulder, his body betraying him in its weakened state. “Lando,” Carlos says gently. “We are leaving”

*******

As much as Carlos wants to leave right away, somehow, it’s not that straightforward. He has to talk to his team, talk to Lando’s team, talk to Lando’s trainer, just to be able to leave the track a little earlier than usual, all while he’s left Lando is curled up in his own driver’s room with Rupert to look after him.

“Wait here, okay? I’ll be back soon. ” he had said to Lando, carefully draping his Ferrari jacket over the younger driver and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. Lando hummed quietly, eyes blinking open for a moment at the affection.

There’s still a pit of worry in Carlos’ stomach from leaving Lando alone but he pushes it down, trying to get Lando back to their hotel room as quickly as he can.

*******

It doesn’t take long for Lando to curl up miserably on the bed when they’re back at Carlos’ hotel room, still wearing his McLaren shirt and skinny jeans.

“At least get changed Cariño” Carlos laughs inwardly, rubbing Lando’s shoulder in affection. Lando doesn’t even stir, just continues letting noisy breaths out of his open mouth. “Lando?” Carlos says, gently shaking his shoulder. Lando lets out a hum, pushing his face further into the pillow but doesn’t show any sign of actually getting up. Carlos sighs, carefully holding Lando’s ankles while he pulls off both his shoes, discarding them on the floor. For a moment he contemplates changing Lando fully but instead, he settles on just pulling Lando’s shirt off of his too-warm body. The way Lando keeps on unconsciously moving closer to Carlos makes the job harder than it should be. When he’s finished, he quickly gets himself changed, before sliding into bed next to Lando, adjusting the blankets over his sleeping form, making sure they’re pulled up to his chin.

*******

Lando wakes in the middle of the night, face scrunched in discomfort, breathing heavily as he tries to move into a more comfortable position. He turns over on his other side, met with Carlos’ tired face illuminated by his phone screen. The sight comforts him a bit. He’s awake, feeling sicker than ever but at least he’s not alone. He sees the moment Carlos's eyes flick to him, noticing him awake.

“Feeling, okay?” Carlos asks softly, a hand coming to stroke Lando’s hair. The way he knows Lando loves. Lando gives him a small nod, snuggling closer to his side.

Carlos had already been awake for at least an hour, looking at flights on his phone. In the morning the two of them are supposed to get on flights going different ways. Lando to Monaco and Carlos to Spain. The thought of saying goodbye to Lando at the airport especially when he’s like this makes Carlos’ heart physically ache. So that’s why he is awake at 2 in the morning, looking at a different option where he can somehow bring Lando back to Spain with him.

“Do you want to come back to Madrid?” He asks, thumb tracing the curve of Lando’s ear. Lando’s eyes flick up to look up, slightly perplexed at Carlos’ sudden question.

“Really?” Lando’s voice is still raspy, barely above a whisper, but his heart still swells at the offer.

“Mhm” Carlos hums, fingers still running back over Lando’s hair “None of my family will be there. You can fly with me tomorrow morning and we can go to the next race together if you’re feeling better.

Lando hesitates for a moment, considering Carlos’ offer. As much as he wants to go, the thought of Carlos having to look after him and disrupting his plans for the next week makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. He looks up, met with a pair of hopeful brown eyes.

“Yes,” he says impulsively “I want to come back with you…if you want me to”

That seems to be the right answer because Carlos goes back to his phone, a smile tugging at his lips as he nods. “Do you want to get changed?” Carlos asks.

“Oh” Lando lifts the covers up, seeing his jeans he’s still dressed in. “Yeah, I will” He clears his throat, a few coughs following. Carlos has to hide a wince at the sound. Lando gets up, kneeling in front of his bag and begins rifling through it until he finds a pair of sweatpants. He’s pulling the sweatpants over his hips when his head snaps up. “Oh, Carlos, my flights” he says a little panicked. “I was supposed to fly back with Daniel tomorrow”

“I’ll look after it Landito” Carlos says, smiling around the words. “Come back to bed,” he says, patting next to him where Lando had been curled up minutes before. Carlos doesn’t miss the way, Lando is shivering lightly as he gets back into bed. He opens his arms, letting Lando settle against him.

“Are you okay” He whispers into Lando’s hair. He feels Lando nod against his chest. There’ll be a few moments until a shiver will make Lando’s whole form shake again. Carlos runs his hand rhythmically up and down Lando’s bicep, trying to warm him a bit as he pulls most of the blankets over him. It takes a while but eventually, Lando seems to drift off to sleep, comforted by Carlos’ presence.

Carlos wakes up to coughing. He groggily checks the time on his phone, cursing internally when he sees there are only 20 minutes before he has to be awake anyway. When he turns on the light, Lando is sitting on the edge of the bed, back facing Carlos. His shoulders are hunched, shaking as he lets out loud wet sounding coughs.

“Lando” Carlos murmurs, softly touching Lando’s back. Lando flinches slightly but doesn’t respond. “Lando,” he says again a little more urgently this time. “Is it getting worse?”

Lando manages a small nod, trying to suppress more coughs. Carlos doesn’t know what to say so he just rests his hand on Lando’s warm back as the coughing continues. 

“We’ll get you some medicine when we are in Madrid okay?” Carlos reassures him. Lando nods again, coughs subsiding as he leans back onto the bed to lie down. Carlos starts packing their things, letting Lando lie down for a little while longer.

Lando gets another 15 minutes of restless sleep, before Carlos is gently shaking him awake, suggesting he take a hot shower before they leave to maybe clear some of the mucus from his throat. Lando looks unsteady as he walks to the adjacent bathroom, undressing himself. “Sit on the floor Carino” Carlos gently instructs (He doesn’t want to run the risk of Lando slipping or fainting in the shower) Lando follows his instructions, sitting down in the small cubicle, arms wrapped around his bony knees, as the warm water washes over him.

While Lando showers, Carlos packs the rest of Lando’s things for him, making sure nothing is left behind, poking his head into the bathroom every now and then just to make sure Lando is okay.

Lando emerges from the bathroom a while later, wrapped in a thick towel, wet curls toppling down his forehead. The sight makes something in Carlos’ heart twinge, and he can’t help but pull Lando into his arms.

“Gonna get you sick” he hears Lando murmur, so Carlos just holds him tighter, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

*******

Lando sleeps for most of the plane ride getting some much-needed rest. His face is pressed into Carlos’ shoulder as he lets out little snoring noises. Occasionally he’ll stir slightly, seeking more comfort by nuzzling his face further into Carlos’ neck.

A couple of hours into the flight, Lando wakes momentarily, eyelids fluttering before he is sneezing repeatedly into his elbow. He stops a moment later, nose itchy and eyes full of moisture. Before Lando can do anything, Carlos is holding a tissue to his nose wiping away the mucus. Lando lets him, feeling more than a little embarrassed that his boyfriend is currently wiping his snotty nose.

“Sorry, so gross,” Lando says, sniffing a few times. Carlos chuckles slightly at that as he throws the tissue away. “You would do the same for me,” he says without a hint of doubt in his tone. Which is true, Lando would wipe Carlos’ snotty nose for him. He would do anything for Carlos. It’s not long before Lando’s asleep, pressed into Carlos's side.

The plane landing is enough to wake Lando back up. He’s groaning as he sits up and by the look on his face it takes him a second to figure out where they are. Carlos rubs his back, stomach twisting. After that he’s leaning heavily on Carlos again, body slumped with exhaustion.

Carlos leads the way, collecting their bags and leading Lando off the plane and out of the airport, lacing their fingers together when they are out of sight. They’re walking through the parking garage, to Carlos’ car when Carlos notices Lando's steps faltering, hand slipping out of Carlos’. Carlos turns around to find a pale and breathless Lando.

He extends his hand for Lando, shaking it expectantly when he doesn’t move to take it. When Lando hesitates, Carlos moves to rub his hand gently over his back. Lando is holding a hand to his chest, taking deep breaths (or at least trying to) “The car is just here” Carlos says softly, gesturing towards the Ferrari parked only a few car spaces away. “Do you need help?”

“No sorry I-” Lando says, interrupted by coughs erupting from his throat. He buries his face in the corner of his elbow like Carlos has seen him a million times in the past week. At some point he’s grabbed Carlos’ hand, gripping it tightly like he’s looking for some sort of support while the coughing continues. “Take your time,” Carlos says, continuing to rub circles on Lando’s back. Lando squeezes Carlos’ hand even tighter if that was possible.

“Just out of breath” Lando wheezes, trying to stop the tickling sensation at the back of his throat. Carlos just hums in acknowledgment, because Lando is very obviously not just out of breath’

It’s a quiet drive home, Lando is tired. They only briefly stop so Carlos can run into the pharmacy to buy Lando some medicine for his cough.

Lando has fallen asleep again by the time they reach the house. Carlos wakes him up gently, holding him close as he leads Lando through the dark house, flicking the lights on as he walks towards his bedroom. Lando’s eyes are flicking curiously around the Sainz family home. Carlos gestures to a few different things, explaining them, hand wrapped loosely around Lando’s waist as they walk. The main living area is surprisingly devoid of much personality. Lando can't see a single photo of anyone in the family. As they walk down the hallway, it's clear where all the family photos are kept. 

There are countless, framed pictures adorning the walls. there is one of a young Carlos cuddled between his sisters, another where a Carlos (not much older than three) is perched on the shoulders of his father. Lando finds himself smiling as he looks at the pictures. There's another photo, much more recent, clearly professional showing the five of them, all wearing beautiful clothes, expressions stern. They look so perfect, all standing there together. Almost untouchable. Lando feels a pang of anxiety. A small, cynical part of his brain wonders how he could possibly ever fit into this family, how Carlos’ parents could ever honestly approve of what they have. The thought is fleeting and disappears almost completely when Carlos’ fingers squeeze slightly tighter around his waist.

The next few days mainly consist of Carlos and Lando, cuddling and watching whatever movies Lando requests. Carlos likes it especially when he can coax Lando out of bed to lie on the couch to talk to him while he cooks dinner for the two of them. And while this isn’t exactly what Carlos envisioned when he thought about bringing Lando home to Madrid for the first time, he still enjoys it immensely. His heart swells at how normal it all feels; Lando here at his home in Madrid, sleeping in his bed.

*******

On their third night in Madrid, Carlos stirs in his sleep, feeling an unusual warmth beside him. He wakes up slowly, realising the warmth is in fact Lando, cuddled as close as he possibly can to Carlos’ side. His face is peaceful, comfortable but his cheeks are flushed, and beads of sweat are glistening on his forehead. Carlos places his hand on Lando’s forehead, his suspicions confirmed.

“Lando?” he says, voice carrying a hint of fear, as he gently shakes the shoulder of the younger driver. Lando lets out a hum as he wakes up, trying to move himself closer to Carlos.

“Cariño” Carlos tries again “Wake up”

A small frown forms on Lando’s forehead “What’s wrong?” he mumbles, voice slightly slurred from sleep.

“You are very warm,” Carlos replies, feeling Lando’s forehead again as if to prove his point “Do you feel okay?” There’s a moment of hesitation before Lando nods “Just tired”

Carlos carefully moves Lando from where he is cuddled into him, heading to the bathroom to find the thermometer having to dig through a few different drawers until he finds it.

“Open your mouth,” Carlos says, placing the thermometer under Lando’s tongue. Lando looks a little annoyed, seemingly about his sleep being interrupted.

“It is quite high,” Carlos says thoughtfully when it beeps, looking at the numbers on the small screen. “Lando?”

“Hmm?”

“Tell me if anything changes, yes?”

Lando makes an affirmative noise, enjoying the feeling of Carlos’s fingers threading through his hair.

*******

The next day is similar to the last few. Lando sleeps for most of it with Carlos next to him, keeping a close eye on his fever. The fever reducers Carlos finds in his bathroom cabinet seem to help and by lunchtime, Lando’s fever is a couple of degrees lower. The cough is a different story. As much medicine as Carlos gives Lando, it remains persistent leaving him breathless as he brings up mucus. 

As the sky darkens outside, Lando remains fast asleep, pressed into Carlos’ side. Carlos stays awake, watching over him and wiping the sweat off his forehead from time to time with his sleeve. Eventually, he gets himself ready for bed, before sliding back into next to Lando and pulling him close.

*******

Carlos is jolted awake by the sound of loud coughing, a recurring disturbance that has become all too familiar this week. Determined to follow his usual routine, he plans to get up, maybe convince Lando to take some more medicine, and hold the McLaren driver till he manages to fall back asleep. However, this time, something feels different. A faint sob-like sound catches his attention.

“Lando?” Carlos calls his heart racing as he fumbles for the light switch next to the bed. He blinks against the light that fills the room, eyes focusing on Lando. He’s half slumped against the headboard, breathing coming out in short wheezy gasps, face red and wet with sweat.

“Carino,” Carlos whispers with concern, his gaze fixed on the younger driver.

“I don’t…something feels wrong,” Lando says, voice sounding thin and shaky.

“What do you mean?” Carlos says, trying to make himself sound calm as he shuffles so he’s sitting next to Lando.

“I can’t...breathe…it’s so hard.” Lando’s face is scrunched up in a pained expression as he speaks. From the glassy look of Lando’s eyes, Carlos can sense the fever has gotten worse.

“Should we try more medicine?” Carlos asks, ready to jump out of bed to get some. Lando doesn’t answer, just closes his eyes like he’s focusing on getting his breathing back to normal. It doesn’t seem to be working though and tears are leaking from the corners of his eyes.

“Do you need to go to the hospital.” Carlos asks. It's hesitant and he expects Lando to protest; say it’s not that bad. Instead, he just looks at Carlos with wide teary eyes.

“Okay,” Carlos says quietly after a moment, trying to keep his panic from surfacing. He carefully guides Lando’s arms into a hoodie because he’s shivering and helps him into a more upright position, strong hands supporting Lando’s slimmer biceps.

Carlos’s mind is going a million miles per hour as he tries to figure out what to do. Oh. Shoes. Lando needs shoes. He reaches for a pair of Lando’s sneakers that are lying on the floor nearby, hurriedly slipping them onto Lando’s feet.

Keeping a strong arm wrapped around Lando’s waist he grabs a dirty sweatshirt of the floor for himself. It smells a bit, but it will do.

He wraps an arm around Lando’s back, another hand holding Lando’s wrist gently as they walk out towards the car. The way Lando is breathing is awful. With each quick exhale a faint wheeze escape. As they’re walking, Lando’s legs give out beneath him. He doesn’t fall; Carlos is there to catch him, heart jumping to his throat as he does. For a few moments, the pair are just standing in the driveway, Lando’s entire frame trembling against Carlos’ side. “Lando” Carlos pleads, hating how his voice cracks with emotion “Lando, just lean on me yes?” Lando gives a weak attempt at nodding as Carlos practically carries him the rest of the way to the car. He carefully helps Lando into the passenger seat, buckling him in, and running to the other side of the car.

At some point in the drive Lando rests his head against the window and lets his eyes fall shut.

“Lando c’mon,” Carlos says urgently, taking a hand off the steering wheel to gently rub Lando’s thigh. “Stay awake, okay?”

Lando looks a little frustrated and exhausted but lifts his head from the window regardless, opening his eyes.

“Was just...” Lando starts, followed by a few quick intakes of breath “Resting” he finishes, voice giving out. He lifts a shaky hand to his chest as he starts taking more, quick breaths in, hardly even breathing out. Carlos doesn’t reply. He can’t reply when he can hear how much Lando is struggling to breathe.

Carlos glances at the road ahead, silently cursing every red light and slow-moving car, standing between them and the hospital. He’s struggling to keep his focus on the road, stealing glances at Lando to make sure he’s okay. Lando is breathing noisily next to him. The shallow intakes of air are met with a hitch then a brief pause before Lando's lungs forced their way forward with a wheeze. Carlos is hyper-focused on the sound, ears listening for any subtle change in his breathing.

Carlos parks the car, helping Lando as they walk to the emergency room entrance, mumbling words of encouragement and comfort to Lando who’s leaning heavily on him. As they reach the front desk, Carlos begins hurriedly explaining Lando’s condition to the women behind the computer, words coming out jumbled.

The nurse gives Carlos a clipboard and a pen “Bring them back to the desk when you’re finished” she says, gesturing towards the waiting area. Carlos’ heart feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest as he directs Lando into one of the plastic chairs.

Carlos starts hurriedly filling out the forms, his mind is in a haze. Lando is fidgeting in his seat, clearly uncomfortable and in pain. Carlos looks at him, seeing silent tears making their way down his cheeks. “No Lando c’mon. It’s okay” He tries, gently stroking Lando’s hair. He doesn’t even care who sees. He helps Lando moves so he’s lying over a few seats, his head resting in Carlos’ lap. Carlos hopes it's slightly more comfortable.

 They haven’t been waiting for long when a few sets of hands are taking Lando from his arms, sitting him in a wheelchair. Lando gives a weak sound of protest as a nurse starts wheeling him down a hallway, twisting so he can look back at Carlos. Carlos gives him a small nod hoping it comes off as comforting, reassuring Lando that he was following them. 

 Carlos is informed they’re taking him for a chest x-ray. He doesn’t know what that means for Lando or what they’re looking for. He doesn't want to ask. He doesn’t want to ask and find out that there’s something terribly wrong with him. Carlos waits outside, wringing his hands and desperately hoping that Lando isn’t scared. He has never really been good with hospitals. They do a few more tests, wheeling Lando into a new room while they wait for the results. Carlos is sitting next to Lando’s bed holding his hand because there's nothing else he can really do. 

“Carlos” Lando whines, voice weak, the oxygen mask they’ve given him fogging up.

“I know, I know,” Carlos says, sympathetically. He doesn’t really know what he means but it seems like the only things he can say.

“Carlos” Lando cries again, crackling breathing following.

Carlos’s own breathing gets heavy, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say to help. He threads his fingers through Lando’s curls, gently scratching his scalp.

*******

They say it's bacterial pneumonia. The words knock the air out of him. All Carlos knows about pneumonia is that it can kill people. How bad is it? Was Lando going to die? Is he going to be okay? His mind is filled with questions he doesn’t know how to ask. The doctor keeps talking. Lando’s lucky. Or at least that’s what they say. they’ve caught it early enough that he should recover quickly. Carlos feels like kicking himself because he was the one who let it get this bad. He should have taken Lando to the hospital sooner. He should have known something was wrong. the next few days Carlos spends on edge, always worried Lando that Lando is going take an unexpected turn for the worst. He doesn't though and a few more days in the hospital and four infusions later they’re being sent home with a box of antibiotics.

Carlos has to do everything for him. He can tell Lando hates it. Although he can see how much Lando wants to protest, he doesn’t, he just lets Carlos look after him, most of the time. Carlos has to make him promise to accept help after he finds Lando collapsed after trying to walk back to bed from the bathroom. Carlos has to take some deep breaths as he helps Lando up, so he doesn’t yell or get mad or say something stupid just because he’s scared. He knows the anxiety will be written all over his face. It scares him how much Lando's body has been weakened.

The antibiotics work quickly. It seems like one day Lando is bedridden fighting against his own body to draw air into his lungs, and the next he’s sitting up in bed, talking away to Carlos like nothing was ever wrong.

It’s a few days later when Carlos, bundles Lando into the car, covering him in a few blankets just in case, and takes him for a drive. He shows Lando every special place he has in Madrid, the city he calls home. Lando’s face lights up at every new place Carlos shows him. They pass a small café where his mother would take him after school sometimes. Lando must see how nostalgic it makes him because he insists that he’s feeling well enough to go in. Lando barely touches any of his food, but Carlos doesn’t mind because Lando is smiling and laughing and they’re here together in the city he loves.

The day is tiring and Lando is exhausted by the time they get home, falling asleep almost as soon as they get into bed. Carlos holds him close against his chest and listens to his breathing. It's soft. Not labored or crackly. Carlos pulls him a little closer, pressing his nose into Lando’s curls.

“Te amo Cariño” he whispers.

Chapter Text

Charles eases his car into the pit lane, exhaustion and dehydration weighing him down. The race had been grueling, high temperatures only adding to his discomfort, and all he has to show for it is a mediocre P8. With shaking arms, he manages to pull himself out of the cockpit, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The world is spinning around him as he jumps out of the car, black spots briefly dancing in his vision. He stumbles, legs feeling uncoordinated and refusing to cooperate. He nearly falls but his hand finds the halo behind him just in time.

George is suddenly next to him, “Charles, are you alright mate?" It’s a casual question, one that should be easy to answer but his tongue feels heavy in his mouth as he watches George’s eyes morph from confusion to concern. Charles shakes his head, trying to clear the fog that has settled over his mind. "I do not feel well," his voice is weak and trembling.

“Yeah?” George says, stepping closer to Charles. The way George is speaking is gentle and surprisingly comforting, a way he’s never heard George speak. Charles vaguely thinks he should find Max. Max will want to know he’s not well.

“No c’mon mate let’s not move about.” George is saying, a hand catching Charles’ elbow before he can wander too far. Charles tries to shrug him off, he doesn’t even know what George is talking about, it all seems distant; surreal. Another wave of dizziness hits him, and his vision goes all spotty.

"I’m gonna faint,” he says abruptly, breathing labored as he desperately tries to find something-anything-to hold onto. George is steadying him, a hand on each of his shoulders. Charles cam practically feel his consciousness slipping away. A keening sound breaks through his lips, eyes rolling backward as the world around him dissolves.

******

Charles opens his eyes. His vision is a bit blurry but from what he can see he’s lying on a gurney in the medical centre. There's a weight around his left hand, squeezing intermittently and someone talking next to him. It’s still muffled and unclear but the Dutch accent is strong and distinct. No one seems to notice he’s awake, so he lets out a quiet noise. It’s a weak attempt at gaining Max’s attention and seconds later he feels fingers run through his hair. He tries to sit up a bit, tries to lean into Max's touch, but he feels so shaky and far away and he has a feeling he might pass out again if he does. His limbs feel weird and surely Max must see that he’s awake. The harder he focuses, the more he can understand parts of the conversation. They’re talking about him like he isn’t here.

“He has…uhh-” Max trails off momentarily, hands gesturing, like he doesn’t know which words to use. Charles furrows his brow slightly. He doesn’t know what Max is trying to tell the doctor. The words ‘eating issues’ leave Max’s mouth, coming out as sort of a whisper, like he knows it will upset Charles. Charles can’t help but tense up. He grips his fingers tightly around Max’s hand, suddenly feeling much more awake than he had a second ago. Max turns to him, eyes cold.

“Charles, schatje have you eaten today.” It’s the first thing Max says to him. Charles' heart clenches at the question and he stutters. Max narrows his eyes, forehead creasing. A doctor is putting a blood pressure cuff around his arm. It's squeezing hard, only getting tighter and he shifts a little in discomfort.

“I have” he tries again, voice sounding thin, heart beating so hard it feels like it’s going to leap out of his chest.

“Charles” Max’s tone borders on warning but holds a softness. “Tell me”

“I didn’t have a lot” Charles admits quietly, his ears and cheeks aflame with embarrassment. It’s a lie, of course. He hasn’t eaten anything. Max and the doctor exchange a knowing look, their conversation continuing without him. Charles pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, teeth working over it as he quietly listens to their conversation. He hunches his shoulders, sinking lower in the bed. He feels like crying.

*******

Charles and Max walk side by side as they exit the track. It’s late and there aren’t many people around, just a few team members hovering around the motorhomes and garages. Max’s hand is resting gently over the small of Charles’ back, the other carrying all of Charles’ things. His lips are pressed tightly shut; clearly not wanting to talk about today just yet. Neither does Charles. Max is very disappointed, Charles decides. He’s still being caring, attentive but it’s lacking its usual warmth.

Max drives them back to the hotel, grip on the steering wheel firm and jaw clenched tightly shut. Charles stares out the car window his eyes fixed on the passing scenery; mind somewhere else. He’s got his body positioned away from Max. He doesn’t want to see the look hanging over his features. Today was weird; embarrassing, something he doesn’t want to ever think about. About halfway through the drive, he makes a weak attempt at small talk when the silence drags on too long. Max’s responses are short, words clipped, eyebrows drawn together. Charles feels the knot of anxiety twist tighter in his stomach. He doesn’t try and talk after that.

*******

"I am getting us room service. You have had a long day." It’s the first thing Max says when they’re back in his hotel room. Charles looks at his feet. He feels short of breath, chest sort of achy, weak. He thinks his body should be used to it by now. “It’s okay,” he says quietly,

Max's eyes bore into Charles'. "What?"

“I am not very hungry” Charles admits, softly, sounding almost apologetic. Max’s chest rises with a sharp inhale, a moment of held breath. “I know that’s not true”

Charles just shrugs dumbly, his eyes averted “I am not hungry” he repeats, words getting caught in his throat.

“I do not care,” Max says, a sudden edge to his words. “You are eating”

Charles’ jaw clenches involuntarily, a twinge of hurt prickling beneath his skin. Max lets out a long drawn out of breath, fingers pressing into his eyes. Then with a usual softness, he comes up behind Charles, arms wrapping tenderly around his waist, chin resting on Charles' shoulder. He lets out another sigh, arms squeezing slightly tighter and for a moment Charles thinks Max might let him get away with it today. That maybe Max has had enough of the constant responsibility of making sure Charles eats three meals a day and will finally leave him alone. It's not a nice thought Charles knows, and it is soon joined by guilt.

“Please eat something Charles” Max’s voice sounds tired, completely exhausted. Charles doesn’t want to argue so he gives a small nod, Max’s arms suddenly feeling too tight around his waist.

Max’s mood seems to lift after he’s ordered food for the both of them, and things feel almost normal until there’s a knock at the door and Charles is reminded of why there’s an uneasiness building in the pit of his stomach.

“I thought we could eat together. How does that sound?” Max offers him a small smile as he begins unpacking the food. Charles returns a small nod, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. He hates how Max feels like he needs to check everything with him. Make sure nothing takes him by surprise and sends him spiraling.

“It’s just vegetables and pasta,” Max says, handing Charles a plate “it's very light” he adds. Charles knows how Max must view him. A helpless child in need of constant monitoring. The thought sparks a feeling of resentment in him. He wants to yell at Max. Tell him he’s more than capable of feeding himself. But that would be a lie. Charles only realizes he’s zoned out when Max gently shakes his shoulder.

“Hey,” Max says gently, his own bowl almost empty. He leans towards Charles, eyes focusing in on the subtle way his hand is shaking around the fork he’s holding. “You’re okay, yes?

“I don’t...” a flicker of panic crosses Charles’ face. He’s staring into the bowl, fork lightly pushing bits of pasta around. He still hasn’t eaten a single piece. Shaking his head, he hands the bowl back to Max. much to his disappointment, Max doesn’t accept it, instead gently pushes Charles’ hand so the bowl is resting back in his lap.

“Please Charles just a little, hm?” Max urges gently. Charles wants to comply. Wants to do whatever it takes to make Max happy, but the words reverberate within him, stirring a mix of emotions he’s struggling to articulate. He isn’t a child anymore, yet he finds himself trapped in a moment that feels reminiscent of a time when his autonomy had been stripped away. Months spent in hospital, a feeding tube snaking through his body. The shame he thought he had overcome begins to creep back. Whispering that he’s weak, that he needs to be controlled.

“Just try for me schajte” Max says, stroking the back of Charles' head a few times. Charles has to stop himself from pulling away. It feels nice but feels like a reminder of the unspoken agreement that Charles needs someone else's guidance. Needs extra encouragement to fulfill a basic human need. That without Max here, he would go days without eating. Max and Charles are rarely apart these days. Max will playfully tell him because he’d miss Charles’ face too much, but he knows the bigger, more pressing reason is that Max is terrified of what will happen if he leaves Charles to his own devices for too long. He takes a breath, suddenly aware of the fingers running over his skin again.

Charles hesitantly takes a small bite, jaw moving slowly as he chews. The texture feels foreign and unsettling in his mouth. He doesn’t like it; doesn't like letting himself enjoy things. Anything that brings him happiness seems like a sign of weakness. He doesn’t say this out loud.

It seems like he’s only taken a few bites of pasta when the feeling of fullness is spreading over him. His stomach feels heavy, swollen, skin feeling as though it is being stretched. He pushes the bowl away, the sight of it making him feel queasy as he brings a trembling hand to his stomach. This time Max takes it away, sensing Charles’ discomfort.

“How are you feeling schatje?” Max asks, packing away the remains of dinner. Charles shifts uncomfortably, lying down in an attempt to alleviate the pressure stretching his belly.

“My stomach hurts a bit” he finally admits. His voice is shaking. He tries to act like it’s not. Tries to act like he’s normal and none of this is real.

“That’s okay. That is normal, your body will need time to adjust I think” Max is quick to reassure him. He has a hand pressed over Charles’ wrist, partly to comfort the Monegasque while also a subtle attempt at stopping Charles from getting up and going to the bathroom. Charles clamps a hand over his mouth, begs himself not to cry. Tears well in his eyes anyway, a lump growing in his throat. He wishes it would stop. He wishes he wasn’t like this. He turns towards Max. His eyes are searching Charles’s own, concerned, unsure how to handle Charles when he’s like this. Charles tries to calm down, tries to stop his next words from leaving his mouth. “Max, I need to be sick.”

“No come on,” Max says. “Let’s just stay here together.” His fingers tighten around Charles' wrist.

“Max” he moans, voice carrying unusual hoarseness, sounding a bit desperate.

“No, no. it’s okay. Come here” Strong arms are wrapping around him, pulling him close. Charles is trembling slightly, whole body tense as he’s guided to lie between Max’s legs.

“Max, let me go” He begs quietly. His throat feels raw, and the words feel wrong on his tongue. The soothing rhythm of Max’s heart is thumping in his ear. But Even as Max holds him, his mind still races, mind fixated on the bathroom.

Max’s arms tighten around him “Charles are you with me?” he asks. Like he knows Charles' brain is somewhere else, knows Charles needs grounding. It takes Charles a few seconds to force a nod. He clenches his fists, nails digging deep into his palms.

The pain in his stomach doesn’t disappear, but it fades a little. At least to the point where he isn’t begging Max to let him be sick. Max doesn’t protest when Charles eventually untangles himself from his hold, lying on his own side of the bed. He curls up, cheeks burning with shame, hoping sleep will take him soon. For a few minutes there’s a hand resting on his hunched shoulder, a thumb gently caressing his skin until it disappears.

*******

Charles lies awake, the feeling of fullness somehow more uncomfortable, accompanied by a rising sense of nausea twisting in his gut. He’s torn between the need to rid his stomach of its contents and to hold on, with the knowledge that by morning the feeling will be almost completely gone. Max has long since fallen asleep next to him. Face pressed into the pillow and an arm thrown over Charles’ middle. Charles has been tossing and turning the whole night, but Max’s arm still finds a way back over his belly.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He doesn’t know how to stop this feeling. Everything feels wrong and there’s only one thing he can think of doing that will help. Tears are burning his eyes as he pulls out from under Max’s arm. Max stirs in his sleep, humming quietly, but doesn't wake up. Charles is shivering slightly as he slips out of bed, feeling shaky as he shuffles slowly through the darkness. The cold tiles beneath his feet burn.

*******

Max wakes, the bed next to him feeling too empty, cold. He readjusts himself, finding warmth in the sheets he’s pulling further over himself as he tiredly reaches out to the other side. Where he expects to find Charles’ warm back, he only grasps cold sheets. Panic snaps him fully awake, as he sits up, eyes darting as he looks for Charles. The space next to him is vacant, sheets crumpled.

His stomach sinks when he sees a faint sliver of light peeking out from underneath the bathroom door. He throws the blankets aside, rushing to the door. For a moment he almost doesn’t want to see what’s on the other side, a scene he’s witnessed too many times. Charles, sick, distraught as he tries to purge his stomach of its contents.

“Charles, Charles, are you okay?” Max knocks against the door, swearing under his breath.

“Charlie, can I come in” he knocks on the door again waiting with a hand resting on the doorhandle until he hears a quiet “yeah” from the other side. He opens the door to reveal a crying, but otherwise okay looking Charles leaning up against the bath, knees pulled towards his chest.

“Charles” Max breathes, Charles looks up at him, eyes red and puffy. He’s shaking.

“I thought... uhm” Max starts, unsure how to continue as he lifts a hand to run through his hair.

“Yeah,” Charles says softly. “I want-“ he drops his chin to his chest “I wanted to”

The confession makes Max’s stomach lurch, and he has to take a breath before he can speak again. “That’s okay. But you didn’t alright?” he says gently, heart still pounding in his chest.

“And I couldn’t really calm down, I didn’t want to wake you” Charles continues, tears are racing down his cheeks. His face crumples a sob escaping his lips, and he quickly covers his face. Max watches helplessly, heart aching as he sits down next to Charles.

“Yeah, Yeah, that’s okay. It’s alright”. He gently holds Charles’ wrists, pulling his hands away from his face “Next time wake me up alright?”

Charles gives a curt nod, head dipped, and gaze averted as he pulls his hands into his lap, chewing on his bottom lip. Max’s eyes flick over the tiny, reddened sores dotting Charles’ lips.

A moment later Charles is opening his arms, more tears dripping down his cheeks. Max heart clenches, a feeling of pity that he knows Charles would despise, blooms in his chest. Charles tears his eyes away from the bathroom tiles to look at Max, red and hopeful eyes waiting for an ounce of comfort. Max doesn’t hesitate in taking Charles into his arms, holding him tightly, almost afraid that if he doesn’t, Charles might just disappear. “I’m so proud of you” he repeats into Charles' hair.

Chapter Text

The first sign that something is actually wrong is when Charles finds Carlos asleep in their bed, still fully dressed in his workout clothes. Charles checks the time; only two in the afternoon, a very unusual time for Carlos to be sleeping.

The shower in the ensuite is running, filling the bathroom up with steam. A clean towel is crumpled on the bed next to Carlos like he was just about to get in the shower. Instead, he’s curled up on top of the covers, chest rising a falling slowly as small breaths of air leave his mouth.

“Carlos?” Charles asks gently, pushing Carlos’s thick hair off his forehead as he kneels next to the bed.

Carlos stirs, blinking awake; confused for a moment “I fell asleep” he murmurs, rubbing a fist over his eyes.

“Are you alright?” Charles asks, voice firm and steady, stroking Carlos’s cheek lightly when he doesn’t respond. Carlos grunts still half asleep.

“Carlos” Charles says again, voice slightly amused.

“I am about to shower” Carlos finally murmurs.

“Yeah, I can see,” Charles says as he turns off the water in the steam-filled bathroom, warm damp air hanging heavy in the room.

“Ay cabrón I wanted to shower,” he hears Carlos groan, from the bedroom irritated but still making no effort to get up

“You can shower in the morning,” Charles says, returning to the bedroom. Carlos doesn’t protest anymore, just gives a small nod, closing his eyes again. Charles can’t help but feel a bit worried, because it’s not exactly normal for Carlos to be taking a spontaneous nap during the day.

“Carlos?” Charles says before the Spaniard has time to fall asleep. “I’ll wake you up for dinner ‘right?”

“Thank you, Sorry” Carlos hums as he shifts on the bed, a look of pain crossing his face only for a second.

“Are you alright?”

Carlos tries to move again, cautious and more alert, before he’s making the same slightly pained face as before.

“Carlos?”

“My uh…stomach feels a bit strange.” He says, a weary smile forming on his face.

“Are you sick?”

“No?” Carlos’s own voice is doubtful. Charles watches him for a moment, eyes narrowing.

“Just yell if you need me, yeah?”

*******

Carlos eats the dinner Charles cooks for them, more out of politeness than anything else. He figures he needs to at least make an effort to eat the food that Charles has spent the last hour working on, still, he eats a lot less than he usually would, stomach feeling sensitive.

He also falls asleep long before Charles does. He wakes briefly, hours later when Charles is getting ready for bed, moving around the room far more quietly than usual. Carlos pretends he’s still asleep when Charles carefully drapes another blanket over his sleeping form, whispering a few affectionate words and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

*******

Charles wakes, the sound of rustling bedsheets and hurried footsteps jolting him awake. He blinks, momentarily disorientated in the dimly lit room. It only takes him a few seconds to conclude the reason being Carlos leaping out of bed, shutting himself in their adjoining bathroom.

He curses internally when he finds Carlos kneeling in front of the toilet, one hand clinging onto the seat, the other tangled in his hair.

“Go back to bed mi amor” Carlos says when he notices Charles, voice rough; and gravelly. Charles ignores him, joining him on the floor, a hand resting on the back of Carlos’s neck.

“Do you need to get sick” he gently asks.

Carlos warily opens his mouth “Uhm, I’m not-” He’s cut off by a harsh cough, followed by the distinct sound of liquid hitting the toilet bowl. A sickening burp is followed by another round of vomit.

Charles scrunches his nose as Carlos brings up everything, he had eaten that day. The sound is disgusting, and the sight is worse; undigested bits of pasta. He has to look away but stays next to Carlos, rubbing between his shoulder blades, muttering words of encouragement because as much as Charles hates this, Carlos is clearly having a much worse time.

Looking for more support, Carlos clumsily reaches out, pawing Charles’ shirt, as he heaves repeatedly into the toilet. Charles takes the hand searching for purchase, in his own squeezing it. By the time he’s finished Carlos’s whole body is trembling, struggling to cope with the intensity.

“All done?” Charles asks hesitantly. Carlos nods confidently, spitting into the toilet one more time, before he’s leaning back against the wall. “Fuck” he breathes, pushing the hair off his forehead. He swallows, letting his eyes drift shut.

“Do you need to be sick again?” Charles asks, keeping an eye on Carlos while he fills a glass with cold water.

“I hope not” Carlos groans.

Charles crouches in front of Carlos, holding out the glass. “Water?”

Carlos nods, gratefully accepting the cup as he pulls his knees against his chest with his other arm.

“Small sips Carlos,” Charles urges, when Carlos goes to drink it all at once.

Carlos takes a few small sips after that “I must have eaten something” he is panting, voice weak, as he hands a half empty glass back to Charles.

"Ah," Charles muses with an affectionate chuckle, dimples creasing, "I hope it wasn't the delicious pasta I cooked for you."

“Never” Carlos croaks softly, smile dimly visible.

“Do you need help getting up?”

Carlos waves him off, stubborn as ever, though struggles as he tries to get to his feet, clutching his stomach, the entire time. Granted, with a little help from the wall he manages, staggering back to bed with Charles following close behind.

“Dios, my stomach” Carlos groans as he slowly climbs back into bed, a hand pressed over his middle.

“Is it bad?” Charles asks, helping Carlos pull the covers over himself. Carlos shrugs, trying to situate himself in a position that doesn’t irritate his already upset stomach.

“Poor chili” Charles coos, pressing a kiss to Carlos’s forehead. Carlos lets out a huff, an unenthusiastic laugh at the nickname. It’s all he can manage for the moment.

“I’m putting this here,” Charles says, showing Carlos as he places the bin from the bathroom next to the bed. Carlos nods but is already shutting his eyes.

*******

Carlos had fallen asleep, hopeful that a good night’s sleep would be enough for his body to recover. When he wakes the next morning, he’s disappointed when his stomach is churning violently, body shivering involuntarily. He twists in bed, letting out a small groan when the same sharp pain in his stomach from yesterday returns. Charles stirs next to him and still half asleep, throws an arm over him his middle. Carlos feels sharp pain shoot through his abdomen, nausea from last night returning.

“Ay Charles, careful.” He hisses, cautiously moving Charles' hand off his stomach,

Now properly awake, Charles yanks his hand away “Shit. Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes quickly. Carlos is about to tell him it’s alright, but he has to take some deep breaths to calm the nausea. Just as he’s about to answer, he gags, mouth filling with hot saliva. In a panic he sits up, gripping the sheets beneath him in a desperate attempt to hold back the inevitable but before he can react, he’s dry heaving over his lap.

That’s all it takes for Charles to stumble out of bed, grabbing the trashcan, and shoving it under Carlos’s chin. Carlos’s stomach spasms violently, his neck craned, eyes squeezed shut as a thick rush of liquid streams into the trashcan. It’s just water and bile at this point, nothing solid left to bring up.

Charles holds the trashcan steady, wishing he could take the pain from Carlos as he sits on the bed in front of him, a hand pushing Carlos’s hair out of his eyes. When the heaving eventually subsides, Carlos lifts his head, chest rising and falling rapidly, breathing far too quickly.

“Easy,” Charles murmurs softly, “s’alright”

Carlos nods weakly, but his breathing remains slightly erratic, body still trembling from the aftershocks of nausea.

“Slow, okay?” Charles says, keeping the bin under Carlos’s chin in case he needs it again.

Carlos groans “I hate this,” he says, letting his forehead fall to rest on Charles’ shoulder.

“Carlos, hey Carlos” Charles is lifting Carlos’s head back off his shoulder, looking into his glazed-over eyes. His forehead had been hot, resting on Charles’ shoulder.

“Hmm?” Carlos sighs, eyelids heavy and longing to drop shut. He just wants to go back to sleep, escape the discomfort.

“You are quite warm, no?” Charles says, fingers lightly brushing against Carlos’s flushed cheeks. Carlos doesn’t say anything, as he continues to shiver.

“Hey, lie down okay” Charles urges him, helping him back down onto the bed. “Wait here a second,” he says, before he’s disappearing into the bathroom. He returns a moment later, a damp washcloth in his hands.

Carlos flinches away initially, eyes flying open when Charles places the washcloth over his forehead “What is this?”

“No Carlos, it will feel nice” Charles assures, holding Carlos’s head still as he presses the washcloth back.

“Did your parents never do this when you were younger?” Charles asks, wiping the cloth across the rest of Carlos's flushed face. Carlos offers a faint hum in response already falling back asleep.

*******

When Carlos wakes next, it’s well into the evening and he realizes he’s spent the entire day sleeping. The room is dark with only a faint light drifting in from the hallway. He can hear Charles clattering around in the kitchen, faint music playing.

As he makes an attempt to get up, maybe join Charles, he realizes, he’s soaked the neck and armpits of his shirt. Disgusted with himself, he sits up, peeling the shirt off himself, movements groggy and sluggish.

As he’s pulling the wet fabric of his feverish skin, there’s another painful stab in his stomach. His breath hitches, mouth hanging open as he tries to suppress a cry. He had to stay still for a moment, clutching his stomach.

After what feels like way too long; the soiled shirt thrown onto the floor, Carlos slowly lowers himself back down onto the bed. Carlos realises, staying very still eases the nausea a little. He doesn’t know how long he stays there awake before he hears quiet footsteps approaching the bedroom. Of course, it's Charles, ever attentive, coming to check on him.

“Oh, you are awake” Charles whispers, when he notices Carlos’s lying awake. “How do you feel?”

Carlos shakes his head weakly. That along with his sweat-covered, shaking body is enough to get the point across.

“You want food? you haven’t eaten anything today,”

“No, Charles. I can’t” Carlos huffs, just the thought of food sending fresh waves of nausea through him. “Sorry,”

Charles sits on the edge of the bed, a hand resting over Carlos’s forehead; touch gentle “Fuck, Carlos you are so warm”

Carlos nods slowly, closing his eyes, the coolness of Charles’ hand on his forehead soothing against the heat of his fever.

“Do you want to have a shower? It might make you feel better” Charles offers, stroking Carlos’s hair. Carlos shakes his head adamantly. The whole process of walking to the bathroom, getting changed, standing under the hot spray of water; it seems like an impossible task right now.

Charles hums; concerned “Alright, go back to sleep. I will leave some food out if you are hungry later.”

Carlos can already feel sleep taking him, the soothing feeling of Charles stroking his hair continuing.

*******

Carlos can’t place the moment he wakes up; he doesn’t even remember falling asleep. All he knows is that he is in excruciating pain. It’s like a fire is burning him, from the inside out. He lets out a pitiful whimper, writhing on the bed, unable to find a position that eases the pain.

There’s vomit on the sheets next to him and the realization should disgust him more than it does but he’s finding it hard to care right now. His throat feels raw, the taste of acrid bile remaining on his tongue.

He can see Charles pacing the floor at the end of the bed, one hand holding his phone to his ear, a frantic flurry of words, his other hand gesturing wildly. Carlos doesn’t care who Charles is talking to, he wants, needs Charles to comfort him instead, to hold his hand; tell him he isn’t actually dying or something because he knows this isn’t normal. He knows he shouldn’t be in this much pain over a stomach flu.

“Charles” he cries through gritted teeth, half-lidded eyes following Charles as he rushes to the bedside, shoving the phone between his shoulder and ear. Instead of giving him the comfort he was hoping for, Charles rests his hands over Carlos’ tense and trembling stomach.

“Does this hurt?” he asks, hands pressing lightly on the skin. Carlos can’t answer, only lets out a broken cry, hands flying to protect his stomach. Charles stays on the phone, voice urgent as he soothes Carlos, fingers getting caught in the knots and grease of his unwashed hair. Carlos gasps for air, feeling as though he might be sick again from the pain alone. “Charles, please” he begs, just desperate for anything that will make the pain go away.

“Calm down, s’fine” Charles is mumbling, his tone hardly convincing, as he places a washcloth over Carlos’ forehead like he had earlier. Carlos can’t think of when Charles had left to get it, nor can he even feel it on his boiling skin.

“Something is wrong” he moans, low and distressed.

“Carlos, babe, I know, I know” Charles’ voice is beginning to shake. He’s scared. Carlos can tell. His fingers are back in Carlos’s sweaty hair.

“Charles” Carlos calls again, he isn’t even sure what he wants Charles to do at this point. An unexpected sob tears through him. It’s hardly a sob though, more of a weak cry and a chest spasm.

“It's okay alright? I’m getting help, just….just stay still. Don’t be scared.”

Dread settles over Carlos, as he feels a familiar tightening of his stomach, and before he can stop himself, warm bile is rising up his throat.

“Fuck, Fuck!” Charles is swearing next to him, voice angry and panicked. It’s all a blur after that; more voices, sirens, cold hands all over him.

*******

There are maybe three things that Carlos is certain of. He’s in pain. He’s in the hospital, and he’s alone. A few minutes ago, when he had woken up, mind still half asleep, he had called out Charles’ name, desperate and a little scared, and hadn’t gotten an answer; no reassuring presence by his side. There’s a rhythmic beeping next to him, and quiet chatter in the hallway outside his room.

He really wishes Charles was next to his bed right now, holding his hand. That would be nice. Maybe then he could tell Carlos what had actually happened; why he’s here.

He had been sick for a couple of days. That much he’s sure of. A brief memory surfaces in his mind; Charles rubbing his back and talking to him, voice encouraging and steady as Carlos had heaved over a toilet bowl. He scrunches his nose in disgust and decides maybe he can find out what happened to him later because he’s so exhausted and his eyelids are feeling much heavier than they were a second ago.

He's halfway back to sleep when the door bursts open, warmth and familiarity surrounding him. There are gentle hands holding his cheeks, soft lips peppering kisses over his face.

“Charles” he murmurs, letting himself be held.

“How are you feeling mon chéri? Better?”

“Where were you?” Carlos asks before he can think it through, saying the first thing that comes to his mind.

Charles looks slightly taken aback, lips curving into an uneasy chuckle as he brushes a lock of hair away from Carlos’s eyes. “I stayed here the whole time,” he assures, fingers gentle against Carlos’s skin.

Carlos just blinks at him, still confused, mind racing to catch up with the current situation.

“You were awake for a little bit earlier. Do you remember?” Charles' hands are turning Carlos’ face to look at him. Carlos has to think about it, trying to recall any flashes of consciousness. But the more he thinks about it, the less he remembers. There are vague impressions of voices, distant sensations of discomfort, but he definitely doesn’t remember being awake.

“Hm?” Charles urges him, slim fingers stroking his face.

“I don’t think so” Carlos shakes his head. “What…uh...what happened?” he asks, reminded by the dull throbbing ache in his stomach.

“We had to call an ambulance, you were not very well at all” Charles chuckles, but there’s no humor in his tone.

“Yes, but what uhm…happened” Carlos tries again. “Why are we...” he looks around the hospital room. “Why are we still here?”

Charles hesitates, clearing his throat “You had to get surgery for your ahh...” he pauses, gesturing to his lower abdomen, as he searches for the right word “Ruptured appendix” he finally says, the words sounding unnatural and awkward in his accent.

“Oh” Carlos sobers at his words.

“It’s okay, you are all fine now, they had some complications” Charles swallows thickly “But you are here now so that is okay”

Carlos lifts the covers, fingers patting over the hospital gown looking for the bandage; proof he’s actually had surgery and this all wasn’t some disorientating painful dream. Before he can find it, Charles is holding his wrist

“Maybe don’t touch it for now,” Charles says gently, voice carrying a shake he can’t hide as he places Carlos’s hand back over the blankets.

“What’s wrong?” Carlos asks, suddenly concerned.

Charles hesitates, red, glistening eyes searching Carlos’s face. His voice shakes when he finally speaks. “The doctors weren’t sure for a while if…I didn’t want to call your parents to tell them their son…” his voice trails off.

He doesn’t want to say the words, but Carlos knows what he’s implying. “Oh…no, Charles, it’s okay I’m okay, yes?”

Charles nods, his eyes locked onto Carlos’s “You were in so much pain” he continues voice uncertain “it was…not nice seeing you like that” he casts his eyes to the ground for a moment. Then with a breath, he’s looking back up at Carlos “Are you…does it still hurt a lot?”

“Only a bit” Carlos, says, looking down at his abdomen. His mind is still cloudy, but the last few days are starting to come back to him. He knows how bad the pain had been. He can only really feel it now if he thinks about it.

“Uhh, I need to contact Ferrari I think” he rubs a hand over his eyes. The logistics of it all are giving him a headache. The last thing he feels like doing right now is calling Fred; informing him he won’t be able to get on a plane to Singapore in less than a week.

“Yes, I have already called Fred, your parents…it is all taken care of”

“Thank you, Charles,” Carlos says, the exhaustion starting to overcome him. Suddenly with every blink, the effort to open his eyes again seems like an increasingly harder task.

Charles rubs Carlos’s cheek with his thumb “C'mon Carlos you are tired, go back to sleep you have had a long night” he’s saying quietly.

Carlos hesitates for a moment, "Are you leaving?"

“No, no I’m staying here” Charles' response is immediate; comforting, “It’s alright,”

With that assurance, he settles back into the bed. The sheets are cold, uncomfortably crisp against his skin, but Charles' hand is warm, intimately familiar against his skin.