Maybe in another life-formula 1

Broken wings

six years ago-Belgium

Angelus opened his eyes to a room that was way too bright. A sterile white ceiling swam into focus, and he groaned as a sharp ache radiated through his body.

He tried to move, but his legs refused to respond, sending a jagged bolt of agony up his spine. Panic bubbled in his chest as he struggled to comprehend his situation.

"Bambino!" His mother's voice broke through the fog of his confusion. He couldn't see too well his eyes refusing to focus but the dread and pain on her face were hard to miss her eyes red swimming with tears. She rushed to his side, her face etched with worry and relief. "Grazie a dio!."

"Mama..." His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. He tried to sit up, but the effort only intensified the pain, forcing him back down onto the bed.

"Shh, no don't move angel its okay yeah you'r okay," she rushed out gently, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. Her touch was comforting, but it did little to dampen the anxiety and dread running through him.

Before he could ask any more questions, a doctor walked into the room, a calm but serious expression on his face.

"Good to see you awake, Mr. Reyes. I'm Dr. Jan. How are you feeling?"

"Everything...hurts," Angelus managed to say through gritted teeth.

"what do you remember"

"the rain, the car spinning...i don't know" he croaked out

The doctor pulled up a chair beside the bed and began to explain.

"You were in a very serious crash and unfortunately You've sustained multiple injuries: fractured ribs, a broken leg, and significant spinal trauma. We've done everything we can to stabilize you, but the road to recovery will be long and challenging." the doctor said gently, or as gently as he could when telling a guy he might not walk again in a non-direct way.

Angelus listened in stunned silence, the doctor's words washing over him like a cold wave. His mind raced, trying to piece together the events that had led him here, but all he could remember was the blinding pain and the sound of screeching metal.

"When can I go back home...to Italy?" he asked, his voice a hollow echo.

The doctor exchanged a glance with his mother, who bit her lip squeezing his hand.

"That will depend on your progress. Right now, the focus is on your recovery here. We need to ensure you're stable and on the right track before any travel can be considered."

Angelus's heart sank. He turned his head away, staring blankly at the wall. "I don't want to talk to anyone," he muttered. "No visitors."

His mother's face fell, but she nodded in understanding. "Alright, angel. I'll tell them."

The days in the hospital dragged on, a haze of pain management, drips, medications, and restless nights. Angelus remained withdrawn, refusing to see anyone except his mother and the medical staff.

He felt like he was inhabiting a body that wasn't his felt like he was just waiting till he woke up and all of this was over. Angelus found himself sitting in a plastic chair in the tiny hospital shower his mom washing his hair careful not to get water on the stitches in his eyebrow. He stared at the ceiling eyes empty he could hear his mother humming an Italian song she used to sing him when he was a kid, he was 18 but having his mother wash his face every morning spoon feed him, and wash his hair was making him feel dependent in a way that was overwhelming him. What if he never got better what if he stayed like this?

As his mother dried his hair angelus stared down at his body, his left side marred with scars, some bandaged others stitched. His left leg was completely covered by a cast, and his ribs were black and blue. He let out a shaky breath as his mother helped him back into the wheelchair, He just wanted it all to go away

 For the next three weeks, he felt trapped.

"Charles called me," his sister said through the phone put on speaker as his mother rummaged around the room

"Alex too, they said you weren't answering" she added when he didn't reply

"What did you say marls" he signed

"I said you just needed some time, that you were getting better" Angelus didn't feel like he was getting better but he was grateful for his sister's lie nevertheless.

"your an asshole by the way" she added

"Marlena!" his mother chastised from the opposite corner of the room

"No mama it's true they care about him and he's being an asshole"

"shes right ma it's okay, look marls I'm just really not in a good place," he said his voice cracking

"and I need space"

"... I know Angelo I know...when are you coming home," she asked quietly

"two days.."

"I can't wait for you to get back"

"..yeah me too" his voice breaking as he laughed painful tears threatening to fall from his green eyes.

The day came when he was to be discharged. He was bound to a wheelchair, his body still weak. His mother was there, fussing over him, her hands trembling as she ran her fingers through his hair, trying to tame the unruly locks.

"Do you feel ready to go home, Angel?" she asked softly, her eyes lingering on his hollow cheeks and the gash and stitching in his eyebrow.

Angelus didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked at her, searching for something in her eyes "Did he call?" he asked finally, his voice barely more than a whisper.

His mother's eyes softened, and she shook her head gently. "No, honey. He didn't call."

"come on angel let's go home"

A wave of sadness washed over him, more painful than any of his physical injuries. He had hoped, despite everything, that Max would have reached out. But no. The silence was deafening. She patted his cheek tenderly. "It's going to be alright, Angelus. We'll get through this together."He nodded, but the words felt hollow. 

....