Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nyck knew Stoffel was dead.

He knew as soon as the cars collided, as soon as the front wheel of his car whacked Stoffel’s head back.

Through the crunching of carbon fibre, through the yelling of the crowd, through the blood in his ears, he could hear Stoffel’s neck snap.

The cars skidded to a halt, Nyck reeling from the whiplash he suffered, dizzy and unfocused.

The crackling of his radio brought him back.

“Nyck? Nyck, can you hear me? Are you okay?”

He lifted a shaky hand to the radio button, still staring into the helmeted eyes of his teammate.

“I can hear you.” Was all he said.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

He couldn’t feel his legs, he couldn’t feel his left arm, he couldn’t even feel his heart beating.

“Nyck?”

“Um, yeah, I-I think.”

“What hurts?”

What didn't?

“Everything.” He replied. It wasn’t a lie, there was pain racing all over his body, but nothing could compete with the pain he felt in his heart at the sight of his teammate, his best friend, his husband, unmoving in the cockpit opposite him.

“Can you see Stoffel? Is he moving?”

Nyck swallowed around a lump in his throat. “No, he’s not moving.”

“Okay, the medical team are on their way, sit tight.”

Nyck took his finger off the radio button and slumped back in his seat. His mind was racing, thoughts bouncing against his head as if they were rubber balls bouncing off a wall, but one stood out in particular;

How was he going to live without Stoffel?

The Belgian was his life, his light, his universe. Stoffel was his everything. 

What was he going to do without him?

Marshalls arrived, chattering about in something that sounded like Dutch but wasn’t the kind Nyck could put his finger on-

A marshall turned around, the black, yellow and red vertical stripes burning themselves in Nyck’s mind.

Shit, they were racing in Belgium. Kortjik, to be precise. Stoffel’s hometown.

Nyck’s brain shut down again, not registering the marshall addressing him until a gloved hand was waving itself in front of his face. He blinked and looked up at the marshall, who gestured at him to get out of the car.

The Dutchman went through the process of exiting the car on autopilot. Undoing his seatbelt, unhooking the wheel and handing it to the marshall, then finally clambering out of the car, jumping straight down onto the ground as one of the medical teams grabbed his arms and lead him towards one of the ambulances parked at the exit point of the track.

Distantly, he could hear Jack and Dario chatting nonsense over the speakers, discussing random facts about Belgium, arguing over whether Belgian waffles or chocolate were better.

None of that mattered now, not without Stoffel.

The ambulance ride was a blur. He answered the paramedic’s and doctor’s questions as best he could, did as he was told, let the doctors and nurses fuss over him for what felt like hours, but as soon as they left him alone to rest, the thoughts came back.

He tossed and turned, tears streaming down his cheeks as he tried desperately not to sob into his pillow. Several nurses passed, giving him sympathetic looks.

They didn’t understand. For all their working in a hospital, giving bad news daily, they wouldn’t understand how he felt.

Ian visited him the next day, face grave.

“It’s not good,” he started. His face filled with relief. “But he’s alive.”

Nyck’s face must have been a picture. “He… he is?” His voice cracked, this was too good to be true.

“Barely, he’s in a coma, but the doctors are certain he’ll wake up within a month or so. Maybe earlier with a little persuasion.” He gave Nyck a look, and the Dutchman flushed red.

Their relationship wasn’t a secret, there was no way it could be in the nosey world of motorsport, with its nosey journalists and even more nosey drivers, yet Stoffel still managed to make Nyck blush like a teenager in their first relationship.

“He’ll still be unable to race for a while, though. Maybe for the rest of the season, but I don’t think you care too much about that.” Shit, Ian was still talking.

Nyck shook his head. “As long as he’s alive.” He said. “I don’t care what happens next, just as long as Stoffel’s there.”

That night, the doctors wheeled Stoffel’s bed into the same room as Nyck’s. Nyck thought the constant beeping of the heart monitor would grate on his nerves, but he found it gave him a sense of comfort. 

Stoffel was still there, Stoffel hadn’t given up on him.

As that thought passed through his head, Nyck felt a little silly. Of course Stoffel wouldn’t give up on him, it’d probably break the Belgian’s heart to know Nyck had thought that. Stoffel was strong, stronger than Nyck, no doubt.

His judgement day would have to wait. For now, Nyck wanted to just live with his husband, as long as they were allowed.

Chapter Text

It had been two weeks since the crash, and Nyck had spent almost every second of that fortnight at Stoffel’s bedside. Only twice had he left, and that was only when Lando Norris had turned up and threatened to call Fernando on him unless he went home, ate something and “for the love of fuck, Nyck, have a shower, you stink!”

Not once during those two weeks had Stoffel stirred, not that Nyck cared. The beep-beep-beeping of the ECG machine was enough to reassure any worries he had.

Hand clasped in his husband’s, Nyck idly played with the gold band on Stoffel’s left ring finger. Memories of their wedding day filtered through his mind, and Nyck smiled.
To sound absolutely cliché, it was the happiest day of his life, by a country mile. He’d been terrified, pacing the length of his room back and forth, so much so that Antonio had been worried he’d wear a hole in the carpet, worrying that he’d get out onto the stage and everyone would laugh at him for being so foolish.
He hadn’t needed to worry, naturally, and the wedding had gone on without a hitch. Despite Mitch’s suggestive comments, the night had been much more subdued than the day, both grooms far too tired for any traditional wedding night activities and ended up falling asleep only half-out of their wedding attire.

A small twitch brought him out of his musings and his head snapped down, just catching the slight tremble of Stoff’s pointer finger.
A large grin spread across his face and he leaned down closer to Stoffel.

“Stoffie?” He whispered in a voice that, if he was ever heard, he would completely deny sounded squeaky.

Stoffel’s finger twitched again and Nyck grasped his hand tighter.
“Stoffie? Can you hear me?”

Stoffel let out a small groan, head turning towards Nyck’s voice. After what felt like centuries, the Belgian’s eyes fluttered open.
Nyck couldn’t help the gasp that left his mouth, he hadn’t seen his husband’s eyes in weeks, not since that fateful day, and damned if he hadn’t just fallen in love with them all over again.

Stoffel squeezed his eyes shut almost as quickly as he had opened them, and slowly, gently, gradually opened them again. Clouded and hazy, the blue-green orbs slowly focused on Nyck.

“N’ck?” Stoffel murmured, flexing the hand Nyck was clutching to as if his life depended on it.

“Heya, Stoffie,” Nyck smiled softly, loosening his grip on Stoffel’s hand. Stoffel reached out, letting his fingers trail over Nyck’s cheekbones, leaving butterfly kisses over the Dutchman’s skin.

Nyck clenched his eyes shut, leaning into his husband’s touch. Tears leaked from his eyes and he wasn’t strong enough to stop them.
Instantly, he felt Stoffel wipe them away and pull him into the Belgian's shoulder. Sobbing into his husband’s shoulder, Nyck let the stress and emotions of the past two weeks finally overcome him.

Stoffel rocked him slightly, making Nyck laugh a little. Stoff had the ability to make Nyck feel like a child; warm and safe and loved in a parent’s arms.
Which seemed like a weird comparison but Nyck was just so tired that couldn’t muster the will to care.

His eyes began to slip closed, finally lured into the land of sleep by the safe embrace of his husband, and the comforting rhythm of Stoffel’s heart beating right next to his ear.