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George didn’t even remember how it started.
Maybe it was the way Kimi refused to eat dinner.
Or how he screamed for Max, over and over, even though George kept saying, “He’s coming home soon, baby, I promise.”
Or maybe it was just how quiet the apartment felt when he finally got Kimi to sleep, face red and tear streaked, little chest still hiccuping in sleep.
Maybe it was the way George sat down on the kitchen floor at 8:47 p.m. and realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. That his hoodie was still wet from the juice Kimi had spilled at 3. That he’d done everything right today - he’d tried so hard - and it still felt like failing.
The tears came fast. Silent at first. Then loud. Then he was sobbing, not even bothering to get up, pressed against a cabinet with his knees tucked to his chest, chest heaving like it hurt to breathe. And then then he was gagging.
“Oh, god-” he scrambled up, stumbled to the bathroom just in time to throw up nothing but stomach acid into the sink, shaking and crying and sweating.
He barely noticed his phone buzzing.
Barely registered the knock at the door ten minutes later.
“Georgie?”
That voice. Familiar and warm. A little posh, a little worried. George blinked from the bathroom floor, face against the cold tile. “...Daddy?”
The door creaked open.
Jenson stepped in first, eyes going wide as they landed on George curled up like a wet paper towel.
“Jesus! Nico, get a towel! And the tea, and the- fuck- Georgie, sweetheart, what happened?”
George couldn’t even answer. His mouth tasted like bile and mint toothpaste, and his throat hurt from crying. “I-I don’t know,” he croaked.
Then Nico was there too, crouching down with a hand on George’s cheek, the other smoothing his sweaty hair back. “You’re okay. You’re okay now, liebling. Deep breaths, mm?”
George nodded, even though he was not okay. He hadn’t been okay for days. He’d been barely holding it together with duct tape and cartoon soundtracks and Max’s “you got this” texts. But hearing Papa Nico’s voice, smelling Jenson’s aftershave.
It cracked something wide open.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispered, eyes burning again. “I don’t know how to do this. He won’t eat. He screams. I tried so hard today, and he- he didn’t even want me! He just kept crying for Max, and- and I can’t do this.”
“Oh, Georgie,” Jenson murmured, already lifting him into his arms like he weighed nothing. “You are doing it. You’ve been doing it every day. You're just tired. Very tired.”
Nico helped wrap the towel around him, wiped his flushed face with a cool cloth. “You are allowed to fall apart, mein schatz. That doesn’t mean you're failing.”
“I threw up,” George sniffled.
“We’ve all thrown up while crying at some point,” Jenson said, brushing back his curls. “Nico once cried because he dropped a crème brûlée.”
“I was hormonal and it was homemade,” Nico defended lightly.
George huffed out a miserable laugh. “I feel like shit.”
“You look like shit,” Jenson agreed cheerfully, kissing his forehead. “But you’re our little shit.”
They got him into fresh clothes. Made him tea. Toast. Forced him to eat half. Nico cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen like it was instinct. Jenson lit a candle and put on that instrumental Spotify playlist George liked. And when Kimi woke up an hour later crying again, George sat up to get him but Nico gently pushed him back down.
“Rest. I’ll go.”
George blinked. “But he’s- he’s fussy when he wakes up, he wants me-”
“He’ll survive one night without you glued to him.” Jenson kissed the top of George’s curls again. “You need to be a baby for a few hours.”
From the bedroom, Kimi’s whimpering quieted under Nico’s gentle humming.
George finally curled into Jenson’s side, warm, exhausted, a little hollow.
“I feel like such a loser,” he whispered.
“You’re eighteen. You’re raising a two year old. You’re exhausted, overwhelmed, and still fighting. That makes you a warrior, not a loser.”
George closed his eyes and for the first time in many days after Max had left for a race weekend, he let someone else hold the pieces together for him.
His parents, like their words, had everything under control within a very short time.
The flat was still now. Soft lullaby music hummed from Kimi’s nightlight in the bedroom. The candle Jenson had lit earlier burned low on the coffee table. The air smelled faintly of chamomile tea and baby shampoo.
George was asleep. Finally. Curled up, cheeks damp but breathing steady, his face nestled into Jenson’s chest. He looked young. Not in the “he's-just-barely-eighteen” way he got judged in public. No. In the “he’s-still-our-baby” kind of way.
Jenson carded gentle fingers through his curls, exhaling slowly.
On the far end of the couch, Nico walked back from Kimi’s room holding the now-sleeping toddler to his chest, tucked in a warm knit blanket. He was still wearing that pinched, unreadable look on his face- the one Jenson had come to recognize over the years. The worried but too proud to say it out loud look.
He sat down quietly, settling Kimi onto the pillow beside them.
Neither of them spoke at first.
Until Nico finally broke the silence. "...Do you remember that night? After the kart race."
Jenson looked down at George’s lashes fluttering softly in sleep. “How could I forget, love?”
Nico’s jaw worked. “He was grey. Collapsed by the pit wall like he couldn’t even stand. I thought it was heatstroke. Dehydration. But then... when the doctor said he might be...”
“Pregnant,” Jenson finished gently.
Nico stared at the ceiling like it might give him strength. “He was sixteen, Jenson. Sixteen. He’d just turned, three months before.”
“I know.”
“He was crying so hard he could barely speak. Wouldn’t even look at me. Like I was going to hit him.”
“You were shouting, Nico.”
“I was scared!” Nico snapped, then winced at the volume, dropping his voice again. “He wouldn’t tell us who the alpha was. Kept saying, ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s done.’ I-” His voice cracked. “I thought I’d failed. All those years raising him to be responsible, focused... I thought I’d failed him.”
Jenson gave a low sigh and brushed a curl from George’s forehead. “You didn’t fail him. He was scared. He didn’t need a lecture. He needed his papa. And you... you tried. You came around.”
“I almost didn’t,” Nico said quietly. “I almost made it worse.”
Jenson looked up, brow soft. “But you didn’t. You held him that night when he finally stopped crying. You didn’t let go for hours. Remember what you said?”
Nico’s voice went hoarse. “‘It doesn’t matter how it happened. You’re still mine. We’ll figure it out.’”
Jenson smiled gently. “Exactly. You were scared. So was he. But you showed up. And you kept showing up. You’re showing up right now.”
Nico looked down at Kimi, sleepy curls, little lips parted in sleep, a tiny hand twitching in a dream. So small. So innocent.
“So did he,” Nico said, barely above a whisper. “He grew up overnight. Our baby had a baby.”
Jenson didn’t say anything, just held George a little tighter.
After a pause, Nico said, more softly, “Do you ever think about what it would’ve been like if things were different? If we’d taken him to that boarding school in Switzerland? Kept him racing full time. Not let him kar-”
“Not let him be a teenager?” Jenson said, not unkindly.
Nico gave a guilty chuckle. “Exactly.”
Jenson’s smile was sad. “He might’ve still found Max, you know. That boy is persistent.”
Nico’s face wrinkled. “I loathed Max.”
“You still act like you do,” Jenson teased.
“I don’t loathe him,” Nico muttered. “I just- he knocked up my son. Who still didn't know how to tie his shoe laces.”
Jenson barked a laugh, hand coming up to muffle the sound. “Two years ago, and you still call it that.”
“Well, he did!”
“He also grew up. Fast. Took responsibility. Loves them both like his entire life depends on it.”
Nico didn’t reply, but his expression shifted, softening. He leaned forward and kissed Kimi’s forehead gently. “I do see it. The way Max looks at them.”
Jenson, quieter now, added, “They’ll be alright. They’re doing better than we ever expected.”
Nico let out a long sigh and leaned back, finally letting himself relax.
“Our baby had a baby,” he murmured again, shaking his head in wonder. “And now look at him. Crying until he pukes and still fighting for every inch.”
Jenson grinned down at George.
“Just like his papa.”