Chapter Text
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The hospital was a frenzy of activity as the trauma team prepared for the arrival of Charles Leclerc. The call had come in just minutes before, but the gravity of the situation was already apparent. The paramedics had reported severe trauma - multiple high-speed impacts, possible internal injuries, and the ominous words, “cardiac arrest on scene.” The F1 driver had been pulled from the wreckage by a fellow driver, unconscious, with his heart having stopped after the crash.
As the ambulance screeched to a halt, its doors flew open, and paramedics rushed to wheel Charles’ gurney into the emergency room. His body lay still, his racing suit slashed open to reveal scorched skin underneath. His helmet, stained with blood, bore testament to the violent impact he’d endured.
“He’s unresponsive - cardiac arrest likely due to Commotio cordis,” one of the paramedics reported urgently as they pushed the gurney through the ER doors. “We managed to restart his heart with CPR, but his condition remains critical. The impact was severe - about 300 km/h into the barrier, then a secondary collision that sent him skidding across the track. He was trapped in the fire for approximately thirty seconds before he was pulled out.”
The trauma team sprang into action, wheeling Charles into the resuscitation room. The attending physician, Dr. Paola Binetti, quickly assessed the situation. She had seen racing accidents before, but this… this was severe.
“Get him on oxygen, now!” Dr. Binetti ordered as a nurse swiftly placed a mask over Charles’ face, the hiss of the oxygen barely audible over the chaos in the room. “We need to stabilise his vitals before we can even think about the internal injuries.”
With practiced efficiency, the team began their work. A nurse inserted an IV line into Charles’ arm, administering fluids and medications to support his faltering blood pressure. Another nurse connected him to a heart monitor, the erratic beeps underscoring the precarious state of his heart. His breathing was laboured and irregular, each breath a struggle.
“Check for burns and assess the extent of the internal injuries,” Dr. Binetti directed, her voice calm but firm as she examined the dark bruising spreading across Charles’s chest and abdomen. The burns from the fire were superficial, but the internal damage could be catastrophic, the impact of the crash, combined with the cardiac arrest, had pushed his body to its absolute limits. The initial bruising from the crash was evident, but there were additional, severe bruises that seemed contradictory with the typical trauma from a high-speed accident.
“Pupils are non-reactive,” a nurse reported, her tone grim as she shone a light into Charles’ eyes. “We need to get a CT scan, see what we’re dealing with.”
Dr. Binetti nodded, her focus sharp as she looked over the readings. “Let’s stabilise him for transport. We need to know if there’s any brain injury, but first, we’ve got to make sure his heart doesn’t stop again.”
The heart monitor suddenly let out a piercing alarm as Charles’ pulse flatlined. The team froze for a split second before Dr. Binetti barked, “Get the defibrillator! Now!”
The defibrillator was swiftly brought to the bedside, and the paddles were positioned on Charles’ chest. “Clear!” Dr. Binetti called out as a surge of electricity jolted through his body. His chest heaved, but the monitor’s line remained flat, unyielding.
“Charge again,” she ordered, her jaw tight as she prepared to deliver another shock. The room was thick with tension, every second stretching into an eternity.
“Clear!” Another shock. This time, after an agonising pause, a blip appeared on the monitor, followed by another. Charles’ heart had resumed its weak, tenuous beat, but the team knew they were walking close to the edge.
“He’s back, but we need to act fast,” Dr. Binetti said, her voice steady despite the chaos. “Let’s get him to CT. We need to assess the full extent of his injuries and stabilise him in the ICU.”
As they rushed Charles down the hallway to the imaging suite, Dr. Binetti couldn’t ignore the pattern of bruising across his chest. It was a clear sign of Commotio cordis, the impact to his chest so strong that it caused his heart to stop. The first collision had been brutal, but it was the second hit combined with being trapped in the flames, that had done the most damage.
The CT scan revealed multiple rib fractures, a collapsed lung, and significant internal bleeding. However, as the scan results were reviewed, the team’s attention was drawn to an additional concern. Dr. Binetti’s brow furrowed as she observed the bruises on Charles’s body. The severity and distribution suggested a history of trauma beyond what could be attributed to the crash alone. The patterns were concerning, hinting at potential abuse.
“We need to carefully document these bruises,” Dr. Binetti said to her team. “The patterns are inconsistent with typical crash injuries and suggest possible abuse. We should proceed with a thorough investigation once Charles is stable.”
The ICU team began preparing Charles for a medically induced coma. Given the severity of his injuries and the risk of further complications, it was crucial to minimise stress on his body. Medications were administered to induce the coma, and a ventilator was attached to ensure he was breathing properly while unconscious.
Meanwhile, a surgical team readied itself for emergency surgery to address the internal bleeding and repair the damaged organs. As Charles was wheeled into the operating room, the lead surgeon took one last look at the monitors. “We’re going to do everything we can,” he said, not just to himself, but to the unconscious figure on the table.
And with that, the doors closed, leaving the medical team to battle for Charles’ life, clinging to hope as they faced the grim reality of his condition.
———————————————————————
The drive to the hospital felt interminable, each minute stretching into what seemed like an eternity. Daniel kept his focus on the road, trying to maintain a semblance of calm despite the storm raging inside him. The others were largely silent, their minds occupied with the gravity of the situation.
When they finally arrived at the hospital, they moved quickly through the entrance, but their steps were hesitant, weighed down by the gravity of what awaited them. The sterile air inside was chilling, amplifying the anxiety that churned in their stomachs. As they approached the front desk, the nurse on duty looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in their anxious faces.
“We’re here for Charles Leclerc,” Carlos asked in shaky Italian, his voice steady but with a noticeable edge of desperation. “Can you tell us how he’s doing?”
The nurse’s gaze lingered on them for a moment longer, a flicker of suspicion crossing her features before she checked the computer. “He’s in the emergency room. I’ll let the staff know you’re here.” Her tone was polite, but there was an underlying wariness, as if she was trying to gauge the nature of their concern. It wasn’t lost on Carlos, and it only served to deepen the tension. They were directed to a waiting area, where they sat, each lost in their own thoughts, the minutes ticking by with agonising slowness.
Carlos paced back and forth, his hands clenched into fists as he struggled with the gnawing guilt that had settled in his chest. Max sat in a corner, his head resting in his hands, his thoughts a jumbled mess of regret and fear. Daniel tried to keep the group organised, occasionally glancing at his watch and trying to keep everyone’s spirits up with small, encouraging words.
Lando, Alex, and George formed a tight-knit trio. Lando kept a protective arm around Alex, while George alternated between rubbing Alex’s back and casting worried glances at the clock.
Pierre, sitting near to Carlos, didn’t say much, but the tension in his posture mirrored Carlos’s. Both were dealing with their own internal struggles, their faces betraying the stress they felt.
Suddenly, the doors to the waiting area swung open, and a doctor in scrubs stepped in. Her expression was serious, her face a mask of professionalism that did little to calm the tension in the room. Instantly, everyone rose to their feet, their hearts pounding in anticipation and dread.
“I’m Dr. Leoni,” the doctor said, her voice steady but carrying the gravity of the situation. “I’ve been overseeing Charles’ care since he arrived. I need to be upfront with you: his injuries are severe.”
Carlos stepped forward, his voice edged with desperation, he felt his heart pounding in his ears, and the others were visibly trembling. “How is he? What’s wrong with him?”
Dr. Leoni paused, glancing at the anxious faces around her. “Charles is stable, but his injuries are significant. We had to place him in a medically induced coma to reduce the swelling in his brain caused by a severe concussion. The impact led to some swelling, and this is the best way to manage it.”
“A coma?” Alex gasped, his face going pale as he clutched Lando’s arm. His voice wavered, barely holding back the rising panic. “Is he going to wake up? What does that mean?”
“It’s medically induced,” Dr. Leoni continued, her tone calm but firm, trying to anchor the room’s spiralling panic. “This gives his brain the best chance to heal. We’ll monitor him closely, but we don’t know how long it will last. The next 24 to 48 hours are critical.”
George’s reaction was almost immediate; his face drained of colour, and he shook his head as if trying to reject the words. The thought of Charles being in a coma, however controlled, sent a wave of panic through them all. “But…he has to wake up. You can’t just-” He looked at Dr. Leoni, his eyes wide with panic. “What if he doesn’t wake up?”
Dr. Leoni maintained her calm presence, though her eyes softened with empathy. “I know it’s frightening, but this is his best chance. We’re doing everything we can. He also suffered other injuries - multiple broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a fractured leg in two places. We’ve inserted a chest tube to assist his breathing, and his oxygen levels are stable. But again, the next day or two will be crucial.”
“Oh God,” Pierre whimpered, burying his face in his hands, his body trembling uncontrollably. “This can’t be real.”
Max’s breath hitched as he tried to process the information, he reached out, grasping Daniel’s arm as if he needed to hold on to something solid. The thought of Charles lying there, unconscious and vulnerable, was too much. He could feel the panic rising, threatening to overwhelm him. “This can’t be happening,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
Dr. Binetti, who had been quietly observing from the doorway, couldn’t help but feel a flicker of suspicion as she watched the group’s reactions. There was genuine concern in their eyes, yes, but her mind kept returning to the protocols they followed in cases of trauma patients with concerned visitors. Her expression remained neutral, but her thoughts were racing - was there something more here? But she quickly pushed it aside, focusing on her duty to care for her patient.
Alex was trembling now, his eyes wide with fear. “Is there anything we can do? Anything at all?” His voice broke on the last word, the hopelessness in it cutting through the room like a knife.
Dr. Leoni gave a slight shake of her head, her expression sympathetic. “Right now, the best thing you can do is be here for him. He’s sedated, and he won’t be aware of your presence, but it could still help him to know you’re close.”
The group exchanged looks of helplessness, their emotions raw and overwhelming. Carlos, usually the one to stay composed, was barely holding it together, his fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to process the news. Max, too, was visibly shaken, his usual stoic attitude cracking under the weight of his worry.
“Can we see him?” Carlos finally managed to ask, his voice rough with barely restrained emotion.
Dr. Leoni nodded. “Yes, you can see him now. I’ll take you to his room.”
As she turned to lead them, George, Lando and Alex were already moving, their fear propelling them forward. Max and Daniel stayed close, trying to offer what little comfort they could, though their own hearts were heavy with dread.
The group followed Dr. Leoni down the sterile corridors, their minds racing with the fear of the unknown, the haunting possibility that Charles might not come back to them. The medical details were overwhelming, but all they could focus on was getting to his side, hoping against hope that their presence could somehow make a difference.
———————————————————————
Carlos couldn’t sit still, his mind racing with anger and guilt. He was furious with Ferrari, blaming them for the car’s failure, and his thoughts were already beginning to formulate a plan - a way to hold them accountable, to ensure this never happened again. But as he paced, his anger momentarily subsided as he looked at Charles. Moving closer, he reached out and gripped Charles’ hair, his touch softening as he whispered, “You’re my annoying little brother, you know that right? Annoying? Yeah, more than anyone, but you’re still my little brother. So, you better fight, Charles. I’m not letting you go like this, not now, not ever. You hear me? We're in this together - we’ve still got a lot more trouble to cause and I need you, Charles. We’re going to make Ferrari pay for what they did to you… but I can’t do it without you.”
The others watched in silence, the weight of Carlos’ words hanging in the air. Pierre, standing nearby, was battling his own thoughts. The sight of Charles lying so still and vulnerable brought back the painful memory of losing Anthoine Hubert. He had never had the chance to say goodbye to Anthoine, and the thought that he might lose another friend without doing so was too much to bear.
“Can I have a moment alone with him?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion. “I never got to say goodbye to Anthoine… I need to do this, just in case.” The others nodded, understanding the weight of his request. Once the room was cleared, he approached the bed, his heart heavy with the words he struggled to find.. He leaned in close, his voice trembling and barely a whisper as he spoke. “I never got to say goodbye to Anthoine… I won’t make that mistake again. Please, Charles, don’t make me say it… Just come back to us. We need you… I need you…”
Pierre rested his head on Charles’ chest, listening to his heartbeat as his voice trembled. “But I’m going to say it now, to you, just in case… Goodbye Charlie… I will miss you so so much. Say hello to Anthonie, Jules and your dad for me… Je t'aime petit calamar…” Tears welled up in his eyes as he gripped Charles’ hand, the memories of his lost friend overwhelming him. After a few minutes, Pierre rejoined the others, his expression a mix of sorrow and determination.
Next, Max stepped forward, his heart pounding in his chest. The guilt was unbearable, the thought that he might have been able to prevent this tormenting him. He sat beside Charles, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch his friend’s arm. “Charles… I’m so sorry. I should’ve seen you, done something different… Please wake up…”
As Max looked at Charles, his voice broke in a whispered plea, “Please, say this is just a nightmare…”
But the sight of his own bloodstained hands, trembling with guilt and fear, made it all too real, a stark reminder that there was no waking up from this.
Max lingered for a moment, then stepped back, his chest tightening with emotion. For a moment, Max was lost in his own despair, but then he felt Daniel’s presence beside him, as the older driver entered the room, his usual lighthearted demeanour subdued but still present.
“Hey, Max,” Daniel said softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You know how Charles is Maxie. He’s too stubborn to let this keep him down. He’ll be back to annoying us all in no time.” Max managed a small, shaky laugh, the sound a brief respite from the depressing feeling of the day.
Daniel approached the bed, forcing a small smile despite the fear gnawing at his insides. “Hey, Charlie,” he said softly, his voice laced with a hint of his usual humour. “You better wake up soon, mate. You know we can’t continue without you… plus, who’s going to fight Max for the title and keep his ego in line if you’re not around?” His attempt at a joke was shaky, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.
Daniel stayed by Charles’ side for a bit, talking to him about anything and everything - old races, inside jokes, plans for the future - trying to keep the mood light despite the suffocating tension. He hoped that somewhere, deep down, Charles could hear him and know they were all there, waiting for him to come back. Daniel smiled, but as he looked closely at Charles, a deep sadness washed over him. The memories of Jules Bianchi flooded back, the similarities too striking to ignore. The sight of Charles, so still and fragile, was too much. He had to step back, retreating from the room as the past threatened to overwhelm him.
After what felt like an eternity, Daniel returned, his face pale but composed. “I’ll drive you all back home,” he offered, his voice steady, though there was an unmistakable strain beneath it. “We’ve been here long enough. You all need to rest.”
Carlos shook his head, the anger in his eyes burning brighter now. “Drop me off at Ferrari,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I need to talk to them.”
Pierre and Max exchanged a glance, both of them looking equally drained. “We’ll head back to the hotel,” Pierre said quietly, his voice tinged with exhaustion.
Daniel nodded, understanding their need for rest, even if he wasn’t sure any of them would actually sleep. But when he turned to Lando, Alex, and George, they shook their heads in unison.
“We’re staying here,” Lando said firmly, his voice resolute. He glanced at Alex and George, who both nodded in agreement. “We’re not leaving Charlie.”
The three of them returned to Charles’ side, their presence a silent testament to their love and loyalty. Lando sat on one side, holding Charles’ hand tightly, while Alex and George settled on the other, their arms wrapped around each other and Charles in a protective embrace. They whispered words of comfort, their presence a constant, grounding force amidst the uncertainty.
As the night wore on, the hospital room remained a sanctuary of quiet. The fear of losing him was ever-present, but so was their love - a love that kept them rooted to his side, willing him to fight his way back to them.
And in the quiet of that room, amidst the soft hum of the machines and the steady rhythm of Charles’ breathing, they held on to each other, waiting for a sign, a miracle, something to tell them that everything would be okay.