Formula One - One Shots

𝟒𝟒𝟑𝟑 ~~ perishing with grace, part 2

make sure you have read part 1 !

cw: medical settings, mentioned needles, mentioned being intubated, amnesia

~🥀~

Max wakes up in the hospital, alone. The light is too bright for his eyes, making him blink for several minutes before he can see something. His ears are ringing, but as it calms down, he can hear two other things: the steady sound of his breath and the heart monitor. Nothing more, nothing else. Just a plain, modern hospital room, with him and some medical equipment.

It's when he tries to swallow that he realises there might be a problem at hand.

He can't swallow anymore. In fact, he's not even breathing for himself right now. Looking towards his left, he sees the artificial diaphragme pumping air in and out of his lungs.

Of course he begins to freak out, to try to put the tubes out of his throat. Of course some nurses immediately rush in, and pin him down while they do remove that tube.

"Don't move too much, Mr Verstappen," one of them says. "It will only hurt your throat further, and your respiratory system is enough bad as it is."

Max doesn't understand why she says that, at first. His respiratory system is fine, thank you very much. Nothing note worthy happened to it, nothing except...

It's very blurry, inside his head, as if his memories were pulled out of his brain, and rearranged, or reminded back and cut as some places, like an old VHS tape player. He can't tell the date, that's for sure. But he can't tell the last major thing that happened to him. Yeah, he does remember his first championship, but 2022? Nothing noteworthy, really. He doesn't even know the standings, or the car's specs, or even if he has win any races or not.

That's how he realises things might be fucked beyond his understanding.

When the medical team finally leaves, he is free to breathe eon his own again, but forbidden to leave his bed.
"Your muscles can't handle that much stress, not after that much time," a nurse says to him, his voice low and calm, almost soothing him if it weren't for what he was implying.

Max wants to ask what the fuck's going on, he wants to ask how long he stayed there, where's his family, where's the rest of the people who are supposed to care about him. But his voice is raspy, and no sounds comes out of him. The nurses are out before he can even try to say a word, leaving him alone in that empty room again.

It's not that bad, it can't be that bad. Maybe he hit his head during a race and has some light amnesia, happens all the times with high performance athletes. Maybe it's April 1st, and people are pulling a prank on him. Maybe Daniel will come out from behind a corner and yell:

"Surprise! Got you good this time, huh?"

While having that smile Max knows only him gets.

But no, nothing happens. Nothing happens for a while, and Max feels like he's gone mad. His brain has the time to invent impossible scenarios, to fins one thousand and one reasons for why he was intubated, why he can't remember 2022, why it feels like he forgot something very important that he shouldn't have.

Max has the time to decide that fuck it, he's getting out of there, before a doctor enters his room, his dad following close behind.
His body tenses up. It's been a while since he last saw Jos, since his dad got semi-banned from the paddock for a while, RBR decision.

"Hello, Mr Verstappen," the doctor says, getting in front of his bed. "I know you must feel very disorientated right now, and that nothing makes much sens, but it will be easier for us all if you would just stay in bed, and try to remain calm, alright?" Her tone is smooth, but Max can hear the slightest fickle of fear behind it.