Chapter Text
No-nonononono, was the universe against him? What was wrong, what had he done that made him deserve this. He did everything, everything everyone asked, listened to every trick and tried it all. Gave up and came back again, he did it all. He wanted everything, anything but got nothing. He qualified P1, how do you fuck that up?
You can’t but Max did, of course he did. His dad was here, disappointed. He must be fucked up becasue he was scared, like when he was a child. When he cried because his dad accidentally threw away his stones Ty hat he’d gathered throughout the day. He’d cried and couldn’t stop talking about it, bringing it up until he saw his dad snap. A sight he rarely saw at that age.
Jos dragged him up the stairs by the arm, Max tried to keep up but it hurt and this- he didn’t want this.
“You want your stone, yeah?!” Jos yelled, throwing one of Max’s prettiest ones at his shoulder. A white one, with pink pointy bits. Max thought it was beautiful when it fought the light in his window but as it hit his rubbed raw skin he regretted ever having it. He couldn’t cry, not now, then he got even more mad, just take it Max and it’ll be over just as quick as it started.
As he pulled into the pits after he ended 9th he wanted to become the car and never leave. He sat, watched as the others, infront, getting out and getting weighed, clasping hands with Charles, Pierre and Fernando, the podium pickers. Charles had won, that was a big achievement after all these years. Max wanted to congratulate him, be happy for him, but he had tears in his eyes and he wasn’t sure he could touch anyone without breaking down.
*
Charles was so- he was perfect, even the tears in his eyes as he looked up to the blue sky above. Max could almost see them up there, watching, hoping they watched over him too.
Pierre was a wide eyed child still, nothing more as he watched Fernando spray his team with champagne. Max remembered when that was the red bull team, underneath the podium. The small smile tugging on his dad’s face.
The car was good enough, Checo could drive it just fine, better than Max.
*
Max entered the garage and he couldn’t breathe for a moment. Trying to compose himself as he watched his dad approche him. “Did you try?” He asked, Christian heard, Max knew he did but what could he do, what could anyone do. Max nodded.
*
Losing that champion was the most soul crushing experience Max has ever felt. Never had he fought so hard, spent every minute of his life. Gone down to every minute detail to make it work, make him work. It wasn’t enough, it was never enough. He couldn’t, he couldn’t hear Christian’s congrats on second place. Second . Second in life, second in the universe, second to his dad and second in that stupid car.
He didn’t want to think, was this worth it anymore? The fireworks exploded into the sky and Max’s heart and soul with it. Should he retire, leave it in its worst and be known for his best? Opposite of Nico ended at an all time low, no celebration. He started first, how. How useless can a person be to not be able to drive forward, press the pedal and you’re there. All this training for this, for nothing. That last lap felt like the end, GP’s voice rang through his ears, “Hamilton P1.” Hamilton P1, was what was going to haunt the rest of his career, the rest of his life.
Max was tired, couldn’t answer and just drove. The walls pulled at him, he let the G’s pull at his body, hopefully it would break his neck. Pull too hard and have him in the wall, frontal, no brakes just let the steering wheel go and hope. Hope that everyone looked away in time or would forget the sight. His dad would. He was ushered into the pits, to the front, he didn’t deserve that. He wanted to continue forward, over his dad and over everyone, he wanted to never meet anyone again, be alone . Alone in a new way, alone in a way you can never get back from.
He wanted everything and nothing. Lewis was up on the car taking in the fireworks, for him. Never had Max felt this dread before, for everyone, everything. He laid the wheel carefully on the front, stood and felt the faint rush of cold night air against the suit. The wheel was pressed back before Max even thought of controlling his hands, he was standing again. If he got out this would be real, in the car nothing was real it was just him and the car. If he touched the pavement everything was real . Max climbed out.
First foot, the other one. His team roared, they were proud, pretended at least. Max hadn’t. The ground was so cold, so cold in the warm air, grounding. Max sunk, sunk to his knees next to the car, the one that would save him, was supposed to. His fingers gripped onto the edge of the metal, his helmet touched the side pod. He wasn’t alive anymore, his soul had died. He was shaking.
Tears rolling down his cheeks, soaked into the balaclava underneath, trapped. The visor kept him in, closed him from the public. He banged his head against the edge, hit his hand, tried anything, everything to get it out. Get that hatred out, to be able to live again.
A hand touched his back, he didn’t want it, please don’t yell . He’ll never complain again, never cry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, imaorryimsorryimsorryimsorryplease?
Was it the cold hand of the universe finally coming to get him, remove him from this earth like hell? Max turned his head slightly, red. Red suit, Monegasque flag, Charles . A sob rocked Max’s body, he fell, slid down head against the pavement. Charles pulled him up, wrapped around him, holding him up as Max rested entirely against him. Charles knew what this meant. Max would never recover. Another hand, bigger, was on his back. Max’s eyes were closed but he knew once he heard the voice. “Max, I’ll get you new rocks, how does that sound?”
Max will never recover, this was a statement as Max shook, he couldn’t breath, would never breathe again. Never breathe the same air as he once breathed.
*
His helmet was off, ushered off to drink water. The British national anthem was playing. He was sitting, sitting on the second podium place like he did on the days he was too tired to stand as a child. He fell back, the music became dulled and he watched the sky, watched Lewis’ eyes fall to his. Did he regret it? No.
The stars were brighter tonight, were they watching, Max thought so. Fireworks exploded and Max was never coming back. He was broken. The fireworks were beautiful, everything was, Lewis was, the trophy was. Max couldn’t express it. He was done.
Done forever, the stars blurred and the colors illuminated, white and pink. His stone