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Pain.
That's all he could feel.
Everything hurt — his head was pounding, his leg had pain shooting up it, most likely broken, and his left arm was hanging loosely by his side.
His car was on its side, it had slammed into the ground, rolling — almost leaving him upside down, luckily having stopped on its side, precariously at that.
He could hear the buzz of people talking in his ears, something about a red flag — there must have been a lot of debris on the track. He wouldn't be surprised if the race was paused either.
Heat.
That's all he could now feel.
It was beginning to climb up his legs.
He was much too out of it to realise that his car was on fire; he was still trapped within the flames, burning alive. Slowly. The voices in his ears got louder, probably someone begging him to respond so that they knew he was alive. He didn't mean to remain silent, he was just so tired.
His head was pounding and there were spots in his vision, he was definitely concussed, that's for sure. He took small shaky breaths as the car just got hotter at his legs, his suit being melted to his skin slowly but surely.
Suddenly, he was being dragged out of the car, soft pain filled gasps leaving his lips as his dislocated shoulder was put through further harm — the person pulling at him didn't seem to care though.
"Russell." This was the first time a voice was getting through the ringing in his ears. He could feel his helmet being pulled off, a bit more careful this time.
Max.
Max had pulled him out of the car.
George couldn't help the noise that left the back of his throat at the sight of his boyfriend. The man must've sprinted to get to him. It made George's heart swell in appreciation.
"Hey, Hey, Schat.. shit." He ran his fingers through George's hair, surveying the man for his injuries. It was bad — his shoulder definitely looked dislocated, which was probably why he was whining so loudly when pulled out of the car. His suit was melted into his legs, he was going to have horrific burns there, and there was blood dripping from his head.
"Wha—..." George's words were slurred, his head lolling to the side slightly, a small whimper leaving his lips. Everything hurt, so badly.
"You crashed baby. It's okay, you're gonna be okay." Max was looking around frantically, looking for someone to come help — he could hear the commotion of the audience behind them, but he ignored them.
"Hurts so bad max."
"I know, I know it was a bad crash baby. It was a bad one." Max kisses the crown of George's head, sighing softly. He didn't want to worry George stop much, and especially didn't want him to see his own injuries.
"Injuries?"
"I don't think you want to know love.."
"Max. Please."
Max couldn't stop himself, not with the way that George was practically begging him.
"Your shoulder is dislocated, you're concussed, your suit is melted to your legs, and one of your legs is probably broken too."
"Oh."
Suddenly, the pain got worse. Immensely so. George could help the nausea climbing up his throat. He felt like he was going to vomit, and soon.
“Move.”
“What?” Max frowned, confused by George’s sudden request, he hadn’t noticed how unwell George was rapidly beginning to look.
“Max, move, I’m about to vomit.”
“Oh—! Shit..!” Max moved out of the way, and carefully turned George onto his side, so that the man wouldn’t choke on his own vomit.
“It’s okay baby, help is coming soon.” Max looked around, seeing paramedics not too far off. George desperately needed to be taken to a hospital. Max hoped the man wouldn’t get worse, he wasn’t sure he would know what to do if George’s condition became critical.
Finally, the paramedics arrived, they were careful with getting George onto the stretcher, and allowed max to come in the ambulance with George — max ignored the fact that the commentators were talking about the fact that George was now being taken away in an ambulance.
The race must have ended by now, he’d been by George’s side for so long that he had no idea of how much time had passed. He didn’t really care to know, all he wanted was for George to be okay. The burns looked like the worse thing, his shoulder not that bad, but his leg was also probably an issue.
He was going to be out of action for months. Then he would have to relearn how to drive the car, max did worry slightly that Toto would bail on George, drop the man’s contact so he didn’t need to worry about the recovery time.
But, he also knew that Toto truly cared for George, and was like a father to him. So, he knew that this was irrational thinking.
However, it didn’t stop him from feeling a slight sense of worry towards the idea. What If George never fully recovered? Then, he would automatically lose his seat. There was that worry, the potential that George would never drive — do what he loves — ever again.
Sitting in the waiting room, alone, max pondered this. He knew, that if George ended up unable to drive, then he would always be there for the man. Maybe even retire himself in order to spend more time with him.
But, that was not a worry for now. For now, all he had to worry about was how George was feeling — he wasn’t allowed in the room yet, they had been fixing him up. This ‘fixing up’ ending up taking an entire hour.
George was asleep when max finally got in to visit him. Though, max didn’t care. As long as George wasn’t hurting anymore then it was all okay — he sat by the younger man’s bedside, holding his non-injured arm in his own.
“You’re going to be okay. I promise.”
Now all he had to do, was wait for George to wake up.