Chapter Text
Silverstone is loud.
It’s the first thing he notices as he steps out of his car for Thursday media. All tracks are loud, obviously. But it’s just a lot more noticeable when he can hear the direct contrast of the screaming and cheering when Lewis walks past to the immediate silence the second he dares to show his face.
It was to be expected though, England loves Lewis. He’s their crown jewel. It only makes Max more appreciative whenever he sees a pocket of navy blue screaming their throats out for him amongst all the dark Mercedes shirts.
For once, they separate the champion leaders in the press conferences. Max is thankful, even if he thinks he heard a whisper or two of Gemma sending off some vicious emails.
He wasn’t even planning on watching Lewis’conference until Alex barges into his driver's room and flops down next to him on the bed.
“You are so lucky they didn’t shove you into media with him.” He complains, shuffling about until he takes up most of Max’s pillow, and successfully shoves Max to the very edge of the bed. “I swear they just conveniently forget that I’m British too! I have the passport and everything, but no Lewis is the only Brit defending this great nation from the evil, hungry Dutch.”
Max snorts, “Is that seriously what they’re saying about me?”
“Yes!” He exclaims, “Oh it’s all they’re willing to talk about. Max has been winning a lot lately, Max has been leading the championship, Max has been this, Max has been that. Shut up! How about that? Just shut up!”
“Rough, man. Maybe say it to their face next time,” He says, ripping the pillow out from under Alex’s head and cuddling it under his own.
Alex glares at him, “God I wish. I don’t think RedBull would let me get away with that. You should, though. We’ve got to record something soon, maybe ask them to just not?”
“Fuck,” He groans, “I forgot about that. You’d think they’d go easy this week considering it’s Lewis’ safe haven.”
Alex sits up very suddenly. Startling Max just a little, “We can use that!” He grinning now and his voice is almost at a shriek, “Just think about it! Oh poor baby Maxie, he’s just so stressed out this weekend, he can't possibly go and record something!”
He scoffs, “I do not sound like that, and they’d never believe it anyway. When have I ever gone to them to say how stressed out I am?”
“Exactly! You never complain, so now that you finally do, they’ll think something’s seriously wrong and you won’t have to do a thing outside of the car, and we can both do something useful with our time.”
He raises an eyebrow, “Yeah, no chance. I can’t have them thinking I’m a pussy. Come up with a better idea and then I’ll do it.”
Alex stabs his finger into Max’s side, making him shriek, “Why don’t you come up with something then.”
“Get your fingers away from me! And I would, but-”
“Alex, Max!” A shout from down the corridor, “Come out, we’re filming now!”
They lock eyes in an instant.
“Pretend to be asleep?”
“God yes.”
They still had to do the filming. They just had the added benefit of the entire garage having a photo of them curled up together to fit on the bed, and the threat of it being posted to Instagram if they don’t start coming to filming on time.
“Nervous?”
Max’s head snaps up at the noise, he’d been silently staring off at the crowds of screaming fans from the parade bus, just observing. He turns and Daniel’s there, leaning against the railing next to him.
He has no idea when he turned up, he hadn’t noticed.
“No.”
Daniel snorts and throws an arm around his shoulder, dragging him in whether he likes it or not.
“You’re fooling anybody, mate. I’d be nervous too if I were you.”
Max stares down at the track. He likes Daniel. He’s always been nice to him, never treated him like an outsider or a prodigy. Just Max.
But he hates how the man has an uncanny ability to read him. Everyone else has been giving Max a wide berth this weekend, they can probably sense his souring mood from miles away.
It’s not his fault though. He doesn’t know how else he’s supposed to act when he’s surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people all hoping he’ll crash out on the first lap so Lewis can ride to victory and they can scream and shout about just how wonderful and perfect Lewis is.
He understands it, he really does. To them it’s just numbers on a screen, an exciting show, he’s definitely had the same mentality watching drivers as he grows up. But now he’s the driver they’re all preying on.
“I mean god, just look at him,” Daniel continues, nudging Max’s shoulder until they’re both turned to Lewis at the front of the bus, in sync like meerkats, “I don’t think I’ve seen him stop smiling once since thursday, and now he’s up there looking like he owns the world.”
“He’s perfected the royal wave,” Max mutters as Lewis glows, capturing everyone's attention.
“Did you see what happened this morning? He said hi to some guy and he literally passed out on the spot. It’s a bit like what happens to the ladies every time I walk into a bar.”
Max snorts, “Yeah, because you smell so bad.”
Daniel gives him a playful shove in return, “Watch it, or I’ll throw you off the bus in a minute.”
He grins back, focus leaving Lewis and the crowds completely.
He never seems to realise when Daniel manages to distract him from whatever he’s thinking about until long after he’s been tricked.
Max takes a deep, steady breath as he sinks into the cockpit.
It's fine. It’s all fine.
Just 52 laps until he can rush through media and go home. He can prove to every single LH fan that he deserves to be here, and that he’s better than what they all think he is.
The weekend’s been tense.
Every interview he’s had has seemed aggressive, every post about him has been negative, every fan has booed at his name and now he can finally call an end to it.
It’s all going to be fine.
The lights flash
Five
Four
Three
Two
One
And they’re racing.
Instantly, he’s battling Lewis, the crowd is roaring, they trade positions every turn.
Max knows this. He has racing in his blood, heart and soul. This is where he thrives.
He ducks and weaves and turns, at one with the car. He doesn’t even think as he shoots in front of Hamilton, taking the lead again. It’s all instinct.
Instinct formed from hours and years of hands gripping the wheel so hard they cramped, feet pushing and releasing the pedals constantly, racing lines he’s raced so many times he’s got them mapped into his mind. The only thing he can see when he closes his eyes.
So he knows what he’s doing as he’s approaching copse corner. He knows what he’s doing as he spins the wheel, eyes locked into position.
And then he has no idea.
Suddenly his head is spinning and he’s spinning and then he stops.
And then there's pain.
There’s so much pain he’s dizzy with it, something’s ringing in his ear, his vision is fuzzy and it takes more than a few moments for anything at all to process.
He crashed.
He’s in the wall.
He’s out of the race.
“-ax, Max, are you okay?”
There’s a voice in his ear, GP, he thinks dazedly. He wonders how long he’s been talking for.
He crashed and GP’s talking to him, he’s asking if he’s okay.
He crashed and he hasn’t responded yet, they don’t know he’s fine yet. He needs to tell them but the first thing he manages to spit out is,
“Fuck,” Even to his own ringing, painful ears, it sounds pitiful. Even worse amongst the midst of groaning.
He can hear the sigh of relief on the other side. GP is calm, he’s never loud. Especially not when he’s breathing. He surely can’t be that relieved.
“Are you alright Max? Can you get out?” He sounds a little odd. His voice is a little higher than usual, even through the scratchiness of the radio.
Still, it’s nice. It gives him something to focus on that isn’t the burning pain flowing through his body.
Objects move in front of him. People.
They’re reaching for him, helping him climb out. He stumbles briefly, but the marshalls don’t allow him space to fall.
He forgot to respond to GP.
The ringing in his head increases tenfold and his head is just so heavy. He curls in on himself, allowing his head to drop down, before hauling it back up again because he’s perfectly fine and he doesn’t need to do that, and before he’s realised it his head is drooping again.
There’s a lot of noise around him.
Cheering, he realises and his heart drops.
He’s crashed and they’re cheering.
He can’t even see straight and they’re cheering.
If it weren’t for that ugly halo he could be dead and they’re cheering.
He wants to sob with the unfairness of it all. The Netherlands would never be this cruel to Lewis.
It only gets louder the longer he’s standing and he wishes they would stop because it hurts. It hurts his head and it hurts his heart and he just kind of wants to curl up into a ball and never be seen again.
His skull is throbbing, he can’t hear a word the marshalls say as they drag him off into a car.
He doesn’t even register the ride to medical.
His vision is swimming, everything’s melting into one.
He’s being laid down on something that’s not quite comfortable and his eyes are blinking closed.
There are panicked voices around him and he tries to force his eyes open, to see what’s happening, but he can’t.
He probably wouldn’t see much anyway.
Dad will be so upset with me for crashing.
The world feels muted and hazy. There’s a rhythmic beeping on his left.
His entire body aches but he’s not sure why. Darkness consumes everything.
There’s shuffling on his right.
“Max?”
He recognises that voice. Maybe.
“Max, are you awake?” It whispers, “The doctor told me I needed to wait for you to wake up naturally.”
He feels floaty. Like he’s not really tethered to reality, just watching everything flow past.
He hums back, unsure if he can muster up more than that in response.
“Can you open your eyes for me? Please?” He thinks the voice sounds concerned. Maybe slightly fearful.
He manages to blink his eyes open and it takes a second to get used to the blinding light shone straight at him.
“Max!”
His eyes drift to the side, his head feels too weird to move it. It feels tight, but not quite painful. Numb, but not fully.
“Charlie?” He murmurs, words getting caught on his lips.
Because… Surely not? Right?
But it’s the same brown hair, styled better than it used to be for sure, it’s the same french (“Monegasque, Max! How dare you call it french.”) tilt to all his words and those eyes.
Max knows those eyes. Especially when they’re staring at him all wide and questioning.
“Yeah,” Charles breathes, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face, “Yeah, it’s me. I was hoping we’d see each other again in better circumstances, but here we are.”
It’s only then that Max registers their hands, carefully intertwined as Charles rubs his thumb back and forth, seemingly subconsciously. Max feels like it’s important, somehow, but in his current state he can’t really seem to grasp why.
“What- huh?” And it’s just about all he can muster up. This is wrong. He shouldn’t be here. Why is he here? Why is Charles here too?
“There was an F3 race earlier, we stayed to watch your race.” He says, almost sheepish before his face turns dark, “And then I saw everything happen and I just couldn’t stay, Max, I couldn’t. I had to make sure you were okay.”
Everything happen.
Something happened. Something happened that made Charles come all the way-
Oh.
His eyes widen with a jolt.
The crash.
He crashed on the first lap, collision with Hamilton.
“The race, what happened with the race?” He asks, and his head hurts. Suddenly his thoughts are racing faster than he can catch up, and it’s overwhelming and it’s painful.
“Hey, hey,” Charles is leaping forwards, pressing a comforting palm onto his sternum and holding his hand just that bit tighter, “It’s okay, just relax for a second, I’m here. Breathe for me, deep breaths.”
Max stills, barely. Waiting for the sharp pain to pass, focusing on the warmth of Charles’ hands.
“After I crashed,” He continues slowly, “What happened?”
Charles sighs, annoyance flashing over his face, “Hamilton won, Carlos in second, then Bottas. That was a couple of hours ago now.”
Lewis won.
Max is in a hospital bed, he can hardly think or move, and his championship rival has won.
He doesn’t know how he’s going to scrape back the points gap.
“What did he say? Hamilton, what did he say about everything?”
Charles does a terrible job of hiding his scowl, even to Max’s hazy vision,
“I don’t think that matters right now, it was nothing important.” He shrugs.
He’s a terrible liar.
“Can I have my phone?”
He frowns, “The doctor said you aren’t supposed to look at any harsh lights like that. She said we don’t want to risk prolonging the recovery time.”
Max can only hope Charles will feel bad about the pitiful state he’s in when he pouts slightly and asks, “Please? I want to check my texts, Nico should hear from me.”
Charles frowns even harder but glances around the room anyway, as if a doctor will magically appear in the corner of the room, and slips Max’s phone out of his pocket.
“Only for a little bit, okay? Just message him and turn it off.”
Max did want to check his texts, but that was until he saw the twitter notifications on his screen.
Max Verstappen causes crash, says Lewis Hamilton
Lewis Hamilton out partying whilst championship rival hospitalised
Verstappen at fault, says Lewis Hamilton
Hamilton in the midst of victory celebrations as his adopted son is in hospital
His throat dries up.
He clicks it.
Instantly his feed is filled with tweets.
Totally deserved. Max caused that crash I’m glad he’s in hospital
Abhorrent behaviour from Lewis. He crashed Max out of the race and then celebrates his win whilst he’s in hospital? His son, mind you
Lol, not Max going out the same way as his dad
Max blanches.
He scrolls further. It’s a video.
He can barely make out the screen, his vision’s gone too blurry but he clicks it anyway.
“Lewis! How do you feel about the race today?”
He beams, brushing a hand through over his braids, “It’s a great track, as always. Winning here makes it all the more special.”
“Max!” Charles interrupts, “You shouldn’t look at that stuff, especially not now.”
“So you’re happy with your performance today?”
“Extremely. The first lap was rocky, of course, but after that I think myself and the team did an excellent job of making everything run smoothly, and getting us ahead in the championship, even if Max could’ve been cleaner.”
Charles reaches over and grabs the phone out of his hand before the video can continue. It doesn’t matter much now, anyway.
Lewis is thrilled with the race. His weekend couldn’t have gone better.
Max doesn’t know if it’s the strong medication he must be on to stop the pain, the fact that the pain hasn’t stopped, or maybe it’s just everything finally crashing down on him as his eyes begin to well with tears.
“He’s celebrating,” He whispers, it sounds broken to even his own ears, “He’s blaming it on me and now he’s celebrating whilst I’m in a fucking hospital bed.”
“Max,” Charles says, and it’s slow and so full of sympathy Max can’t stand it.
He can’t stand that he likes it.
Because if he can sit there and enjoy all of this pity thrown his way then he’s weak. He’s weak and he doesn’t deserve anything and he’s not good enough to race and he’s certainly not good enough for anyone to stick around.
That’s probably why no one has.
“I don’t think you should be thinking about any of it now, Max. You should be resting, please. You’re on too much medication to think clearly about this.”
Max feels the tears start to drop.
“Oh, Max.” Charles says, and it’s so soft and delicate Max just breaks.
In an instant he’s being pulled into Charles arms, head tucked into his neck.
“I don’t get it,” Max cries hysterically. “I don’t know what I’ve done, why does nobody like me?”
“That’s not true, that’s never been true. So many people love you.” Charles sounds so sure of himself that Max almost wants to believe it, but he doesn’t know anything.
“Then why has everyone left?” He agonises, “My own mother didn’t want me, and Lewis doesn’t either! He could at least pretend, he’s meant to be my dad but he hates me too much to even try. Even the fans! The crowds were cheering when I crashed. I could’ve died and they were celebrating and I just don’t know what I’ve done, what’s wrong with me?” He’s full on sobbing, barely getting the words out but they spill out of him anyway.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Charles says forcefully, bordering on aggressive as he holds Max tighter, “Never let anyone make you think that. You are perfect. I can’t say anything about your mother or Lewis, but I can say that those crowds were cheering that you were alive. They wanted you out of the car and safe. That was all.”
Max doesn’t know what to say to that.
“I won’t ever leave you, Max.” Charles continues, “We’ve been friends for years, you mean a lot to me. I won’t let that go to waste. Believe me when I say that.”
Max doesn’t know what to say to that either. He just digs his fingers further into Charles’ back, clinging onto his one pillar right now.
He’s not sure why, but he chooses to believe Charles isn’t lying.
Max blinks awake again when he hears shuffling in the room.
His eyelids are ridiculously heavy as he tries to open them, but he manages it enough to see a blurry, bald figure in the corner of his room.
The figure looms closer, “Go back to sleep, Max. I just wanted to check up on you.”
It sounds like he’s hearing it underwater, but he knows that voice far too well to not notice it.
“GP?” He mumbles, squinting at him.
“Hey kid,” There’s a hand brushing through his hair, he leans up into it subconsciously, “How are you feeling?”
“Tired. Hazy.” He grumbles, eyes shutting closed again.
GP snorts, “Yeah, that’s to be expected. You should go back to sleep.”
“No,” He argues petulantly.
GP sighs, fond, “Alright, have it your way then.”
Max smiles to himself, opening his eyes a little wider.
GP is ruffling through a backpack, pulling out a bag of McDonalds. Instantly, Max perks up, looking expectantly at him.
“Not for you,” GP says without even looking at him, “Doctors orders, they want to track what you’re eating.”
He throws the bag at Charles, who Max forgot was there, despite their hands still being clasped together. He looks surprised at being given food, even though Max is relatively sure he hasn’t eaten since he got here.
Max frowns. He really wants a burger.
GP sighs, again, and holds out a kinder bar.
“I didn’t give this to you, you didn’t eat it. Brad said it would be fine for you to have and it wouldn’t affect much, but either way, you didn’t get it from me.”
Max grins, ripping it open instantly, “Of course not,” He nods, before instantly stopping because it really fucking hurt.
GP smiles to himself, collapsing into a chair on the other side of Max, so now he’s flanked by two people he likes.
Charles takes his hand away from his to unwrap his burger, Max feels the loss more than he should.
A phone starts ringing, Charles scrambles to pull it out of his pocket.
“It’s Nico,” he says, eyes switching between Max and Nico.
Thoughtlessly, Max reaches out for the phone, taking it before anyone can argue and answering it.
“Hello?”
“Max? Is that you? Are you okay?” Nico rushes all his words out in an instant.
“Nico!” Max says, happily.
“Hey, Max. How do you feel?”
“Floaty.” Max responds, doing absolutely nothing to quell Nico’s worries.
He doesn’t see GP and Charles share a look over his head.
“Are you okay? What have the doctors said? Who’s with you now?”
And honestly Nico should’ve known not to ask too many questions.
Max thinks for a moment, trying to wrack his brain for any answers and falls short.
“Max? Are you there? Call the nurse, or the doctor. You’re worrying me Max, are you okay?”
Max goes to answer, but before he can the phone is taken right out of his hands by GP, who puts a hand on Max’s hair to appease him before he can argue.
“Sorry, It’s Gianpiero. The nurses gave him some more painkillers recently, so he isn’t very coherent at the moment.” He says, watching as Max immediately gets distracted by Charles.
“Oh! GP, you’re there with him?”
“Yeah, me and Charles, a friend of Max, he’s in F3 right now.” He responds.
He was hoping to be with Max earlier, RedBull was planning to send someone trusted, but when they found out Charles was going they figured it was better to sort out a couple of things first.
GP protested, he just felt uncomfortable knowing Max would be dazed, even if Charles would be there with him. It wasn’t good enough unless he could see for his own eyes that Max was alive and breathing.
He’s sure now that Charles is good for him, if the glances he keeps throwing Max mean anything at all. He’s also not sure he’s ever seen someone so ruffled over someone they haven’t really seen face to face for a while.
Something tells him he’ll be seeing and hearing a little more of him.
“Yeah, I know Charles, that’s good. Is he okay?” Nico sounds so concerned, GP really should’ve called him earlier but it slipped his mind in all the panic.
It’s always nice to hear that people care about Max the same way he does.
“Max is fine. He’s concussed and bruised, but that’s about it. He just needs some time to recover.”
He can hear the long sigh on the other side of the phone.
“Okay. I’m glad. I’m going to kill Hamilton when I see him.”
Nico’s voice gets so dark and angry all of a sudden that GP believes him. He takes a glance at the two boys, locked deeply into a conversation that probably makes no sense given the current state of Max’s speech, and ducks out of the room.
“Should I be making an effort to keep you away from him? As it stands I don’t think I could stop myself either. The entire garage has never felt so much stress.” It’s part joke, but at the same time he knows if he were to see Lewis, drunk on adrenaline and his win, he’d probably attack him.
“I cannot believe him. He always does this! He gets too into it, loses sense of his priorities and everyone has to pay for it. I won’t let him do it this time. I won’t let him bring my son into it.”
“Well if you fight him, let me know if you want any help, I know about a hundred people.”
Nico huffs out a laugh, “I’m trying to book flights now, I’ll get on the first one there and I’ll take him home. Can concussed people take planes? I’ll figure it out when I get there. I’ve got a backpack, I can probably get there in four hours, can you tell him that? And are you sure he’s okay? They’ve not missed anything have they?” He rambles.
“Nico,” He says, soothing, “Breathe. I’m here with him, I’m not leaving him. When he gets discharged, I have a place around here, I’ll take him there. He can stay as long as he needs to, you too. Once he’s better you can both go back to Monaco. It’ll all be sorted. It’s late, for now just take some time to calm down, go to bed, and in the morning you can pack up anything you or Max might need and then fly out.”
There's silence on the other line, probably the first time Nico has stopped to think since Max crashed.
“Are you sure?”
“Completely. I’ve got Max. Sort yourself out, then focus on getting here. I’ve got it all handled on my side.”
“Thank you, Gianpiero, seriously. I can’t imagine what I’d do without you.”
“It’s no problem, Nico. I care about him too.”
GP takes one look at a very frazzled looking Charles, clinging onto Max’s hand before deciding he’s absolutely coming with them.
Max is actually awake and relatively mentally present when Seb walks into his room.
He’s glad to see the older driver. Even if it means Charles completely stops talking in the face of his hero.
“Hey, Max. How are you feeling?” He asks, stepping cautiously into the room.
“Better,” Max says, because he doesn’t have much else at the minute.
He smiles, “I’m glad, you had us all worried there for a second, mate.”
Is it sick and twisted that that makes Max happy?
He doesn’t want people to be worried, but he likes knowing that people care enough about him to be worried. It means he’s someone worth worrying about.
“Sorry about that,” He says, sheepish, because how else is he supposed to respond?
Seb just laughs and shakes his head with something akin to fondness, “I’ve got all your stuff packed, RedBull gave me all the keys and the codes, just so it’s all in one place when you get discharged.”
Max beams, “Thanks.” He says, before he realises he doesn’t actually know when he gets discharged. He’s probably well enough to go home, surely? He slept throughout the night soundlessly. Surely he just needs to go and sleep in a quiet, dark room until the ringing in his head and the blurriness in his vision disperses.
He turns to GP, “Do you know when I can get discharged?”
His face sours, “When Hamilton finally gets here and signs off on the papers.”
Seb looks at him confused, “He hasn’t come?”
Charles scoffs, hate of Lewis apparently strong enough to get over his hero worship of Seb, “Of course not.”
Seb frowns, eyebrows drawn together in thought, “Right. Okay.”
Max sinks a bit further into his bed.
Of course Lewis wouldn’t be here. He’s too busy celebrating. Because that’s more important than Max and always will be. That’s fine.
Max doesn’t care what other people think of him.
Seb can only stay a little longer before he has to leave and attend to whatever busy he has. Max wishes he’d stayed for longer, but that’s a selfish thought.
Lewis is fucked.
He’s never fucked up this bad. He’s never felt this guilty.
Terribly, he’s not sure if the feeling comes from genuine guilt, or if he’s just upset that Seb called him just to yell at him.
It was deserved though. How could he just forget?
He’s Max’s primary caregiver, and even if he wasn’t, Nico’s in Monaco. Right now he’s Max’s only caregiver.
He hasn’t checked up on Max, not even a text and he hasn’t done something as simple as signing off papers.
Regardless of who’s at fault for the crash, Max got hurt, and it was Lewis’ responsibility to check in with him and sign him off and he didn’t.
He has no idea what’s awaiting him in the hospital room, and he has no time to think about it either as he pulls his car into a free spot near the front of the hospital.
He’s more than aware that turning up hungover, smelling of alcohol and wearing sunglasses to try and stop some of the blinding lights beating into his eyes is not the best idea, but right now he doesn’t have any other choice.
He slows his walk right down as he walks down the corridor to Max’s room. He really doesn’t want to see the inside.
He doesn’t want to see Max bruised and banged up, he doesn’t want to see whoever is in there with him. He knocks anyway. Quiet, weak and pitiful, in the hopes that maybe they won’t hear and he can just leave.
“Come in!” A voice calls from inside.
He slowly enters, hiding a wince at the scene.
Max looks worn and torn, he’s staring at his lap, resolutely avoiding Lewis’ eyes. Another teenager Lewis doesn’t recognise is sat on his left, giving Lewis a look that should probably kill him on the spot. His race engineer is on his right. GP isn’t technically making an expression that isn’t neutral, but Lewis can still feel the waves of judgement coming off of him.
“Hey,” He says, probably not the best opener in this situation but he’s working with what he’s got, “I’ve signed off on everything they wanted me to. You’re free to go whenever.”
Max doesn’t answer, instead his engineer does, “Good. Now he can go home.”
“I can help?” He offers, “If you want.”
GP raises an eyebrow, “That won’t be necessary, thank you.”
Lewis could cut the tension in the room with a knife. Fuck, a knife probably wouldn’t be enough, He needs a chainsaw.
“Are you sure? I mean I am his guardian, I should be staying with him.” He’s pushing it and he knows he is. But he wants to do something to prove he’s not a terrible person who intentionally stands recently half orphaned teenagers up.
GP scoffs, finally letting some bitterness enter his perfectly neutral tone, “SOme guarding you’ve done.”
Which, yeah. Deserved. But Lewis only wants to help.
“Nico is flying over,” GP continues, back to being composed, “He’ll be here soon. You aren’t needed, but I appreciate the offer.”
His tone very much says he doesn’t appreciate the offer. But it is what it is.
He runs away with his tail between his legs.
“Have you got him?” Charles asks, for probably the millionth time.
Max fights the urge to remind them that he’s right here and they don’t need to talk about him like he isn’t.
His legs work fine. They don’t even need to do all of this. (He’s willfully ignoring the one singular time the one and only time he stood up, and almost died if not for Charles’ fast reflexes).
He has an arm over both of their shoulders so the weight is distributed evenly.
Charles tried to argue that he needed to be picked up like a fucking princess, before GP shut it down because neither of them are actually strong enough tot bridal carry his full weight down five floors.
So this is the best he’s going to get.
He sighs, resigning himself to a very uncomfortable walk down to GP’s car. At least he can sleep on the drive.
“Lewis! How do you feel about the race today?”
He beams, brushing a hand through over his braids, “It’s a great track, as always. Winning here makes it all the more special.”
“So you’re happy with your performance today?”
“Extremely. The first lap was rocky, of course, but after that I think myself and the team did an excellent job of making everything run smoothly, and getting us ahead in the championship, even if Max could’ve been cleaner.”
“How do you feel about the crash with Max? Are you aware of the aftermath?”
Lewis frowns, “No? I haven’t heard anything. I asked if he was alright on the radio and they said he was out of the car.”
“Ah, I see. I was a 51G crash.”
“51?” Lewis’ eyes are wide shocked, “Fuck, man. Is he okay?”
“I believe he’s in hospital now.”