Chapter Text
“Do you feel like a man when you push her around?
Do you feel better now, as she falls to the ground?
Well, I’ll tell you my friend, one day this world’s going to end
As your lies crumble down, a new life she has found”
Esteban wasn’t quite sure what to make of Max Verstappen. Honestly, he wasn’t sure anyone really did. At the end of the day, all he knew was that the other boy was different.
Every once in a while, while at their karting competitions, the Frenchman would run into the younger Dutchman. Sometimes the other would be muttering to himself while other times he seemed to be moving in almost a panic. Once in a while Esteban would catch a weird tension in Max’s whole body, almost as if he was holding himself together from even the slightest of winds. Either way, there was always something off about the boy.
What that was, Esteban wasn’t certain. He knew enough that it wasn’t right, but he was young, and who would expect a fresh-faced teenager to fully understand just what the younger was actually going through.
In hindsight, the Frenchman would later wish he had said something, even if only to his own father, but there was just something holding him back. Instead, he would watch and slowly put things together over time, only realizing in later years the abuse that the younger had been suffering all along. For that was what it was, wasn’t it?
Abuse.
~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~*~*~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~
Esteban screamed at the top of his lungs, punching the air with his fist as he did his cooldown lap. Victory tasted sweet, especially after such a tough battle against that damned Max Verstappen, but he had come out on top, the crown now his to wear. Popping open his visor, he drove his kart towards the makeshift pit lane, excitement flooding his veins.
When parked, the Frenchman hurriedly undid his straps, easily sliding from the small vehicle. Without any hesitation he sprinted towards where his father waited, throwing himself into the man’s arms. Large, warm hands ran up and down his back, shaking him in joy as well.
“Well done, mon prince,” his father rumbled. “I am so proud of you!”
“Merci, père,” Esteban laughed out, squeezing his father tightly.
When the arms around him let him go, the teen bounded away, ripping off his helmet to take in the warm sun. He smiled bright at those around him, briefly noting the despondent look on Max’s face. Thinking nothing of it, Esteban hurried over to the podium, eagerly awaiting collecting his trophy.
As the ceremony began, the Frenchman watched as the third place boy took his spot, a small wave being given to the crowd. Next came Max, the Dutchman sluggish in his movements, his smile not reaching his eyes whatsoever. Esteban frowned slightly at that before grinning broadly once more as his name was called, hopping onto the top step. But as the French anthem began to play, he couldn’t help but hear the quiet murmurs from his right.
“Idiot,” Max was whispering to himself. “More tough love for you. Useless without it. Never good enough even with it.”
Esteban felt his innards twist at the words, wondering what the hell the younger meant by them. He did his best not to outwardly frown, wanting to not worry his father out there in the crowd, but Max’s self-criticism kept bouncing around his head. He made a note to ask the other when the ceremony was over just what he was talking about.
Things flew by in a daze after that, the Frenchman happily taking his first place trophy. He waved brightly at his father in the crowd, also connecting gazes with Pierre who clapped for him when he cheered in victory. But the second things were over, Esteban was trotting after a quickly moving Max.
“Hey, wait up!” He called out, hurrying after the Dutchman. “Max, wait!”
The other boy froze in place, shoulders hunching up tight. With almost robotic movements Max turned to face Esteban, a flash of fear in the other boy’s blue eyes before it was replaced with indifference.
“What is it, Ocon?” Max coolly asked, fingers nearly white where they clasped onto the second place trophy.
Esteban stopped before the other, pausing to find the right words.
“On the podium, during the anthem…” the Frenchman began cautiously. “You were muttering to yourself, something about tough love. What did you mean?”
Max startled, eyes blowing wide open. His mouth gaped, face draining of color. Esteban regretted asking his question.
“That was…” the Dutchman tried to answer, body slowly beginning to tremble. “You shouldn’t have… that was… that… it was nothing! Forget you heard anything, and just take your win.”
“Max, wait!”
But the younger boy had already sprinted off, running as if he were being chased by a killer. The older teen wilted in place, disheartened to see the other so afraid and panicked. However, there was nothing to be done, Esteban instead turning around to head back to his kart, sadness lingering in his wake.
Later, when he was finishing helping his father pack up their van, he would catch sight of Max once more. Only this time, there would be a fresh bruise on the boy’s pale cheek. One that hadn’t been there mere hours ago…
“Face down in the dirt, she said, ‘This doesn’t hurt’
She said, ‘I finally had enough’
Face down in the dirt, she said, ‘This doesn’t hurt’
She said, ‘I finally had enough’”