GENTLE VIOLENCE - Lestappen

17. Terror moves in

(I finally know how I'm wrapping this story up!!!)

CW FOR THIS CHAPTER: Charles have sad dreams, they speak about it. Jos. Jos is back as a TW.

Max Verstappen

Max wakes up in a startle and he doesn't know where he is for a moment. He's warm and he's cold? He's wet and it doesn't feel right where he lays, like he's wrapped up in sheets and there's this sound that he just wants to stop. But it's after having that very thought that his eyes seem to adjust to the dim light in the room and he hears what that sound is- feels that the wetness around him isn't his own. No his poor Charles is drowning in cold sweat and crying out in small whimpers against his chest.

"Charles... god, baby- hey... hey, hey, hey. Come on." He tries sleepily and Max has to force himself to wake up a little further and turn to his side so that he can see Charles a little better. Max then blindly reaches out to turn on the small bedside light closest to them and in the soft yellow glow he sees the splotchy face of his boyfriend where he lays. Charles crying in his sleep wasn't a sight that Max was prepared for at all.

His soft gray shirt is stained with tears, cold sweat and snot and his face is flushed up pink and red. Charles' eyes are squeezed shut and his mouth open in small wet gasps that seem to get both worse and better over and over again. Max frowns carefully- leaning in to push his lips to the others forehead and then he speaks again but this time his voice is louder, more worried.

"Charlie, come on- it's not real. You have to wake up baby." And Charles does but not without first a loud and heaving gasp and then an even louder sob. It seems to hit the other as he comes to wrap his arms tight around Max's neck- that what he'd dreamed wasn't real. He mutters out several long sentences in French and though Max doesn't understand he can hear the desperation, the fear and grief in his voice. He wants to do anything to make it better but he can't for now besides just this- holding Charles as he cries and shushing him softly whenever a louder hiccupped gasp leaves him.

Max has... somewhat figured it out. Between the initial panic and holding onto Charles now.

This must be what Charles has spoke about. How he doesn't like sleeping alone- how he can't help but have nightmares... if Max had any say about it? He wouldn't even call this a nightmare. This was a full on night-terror.

Charles Leclerc

"Baby talk to me please, tell me what happened?" Max's voice is so gentle and he's being so good to him all while Charles is making a sopping wet mess of his bare chest and he's spreading snot and tears around against his skin like it's no ones business. He feels warm and cold and he feels panicked to the point that the hairs on top of his head are standing at attention. How can he even begin to explain his fears? How can he say this without making Max worried for them and their future? Charles isn't sure so he just cries harder.

But Max falls silent. He shushes him and slowly somehow they've moved to be sitting up. Max has him against his shoulder still and slowly they're rocking side to side- time doesn't exist here and slowly Charles is able to calm his racing heart and the thundering pulse in his ears.

The dream had been awful. It had been a mix of all the things that could go wrong- his brain playing a sick joke on him.

"You died..." Charles explains softly, his voice thick and his eyes still shut. But the heavy sigh from Max tells him that he's listening and that he now at least somewhat understands.

"Tell me more?" The Dutchman mutters and though Charles isn't sure he wants to he nods and takes a shaky breath, blood shot eyes flickering from Max to his messy chest and then down to where his hands are now in Charles'. They're grounding and safe and a little bigger than his own... Charles likes that. That Max is just the smallest bit bigger than him.