you left me no choice.

by tara_black203

Summary:

Charles Leclerc faces a terrible crash that puts his racing career and mental health at risk. Feeling abandoned by friends and blamed for the accident, he struggles with anxiety and depression. With the help of Esteban Ocon and Max Verstappen, Charles begins a tough journey to heal his body and mind, hoping to return to Formula 1. Maybe as a Ferrari driver, or maybe not.

Major crash occurs at Monaco 2021. Does Charles make it through?

Chapter 1: am i alone?

Charles Leclerc stared at his phone screen. The image of his fellow drivers reflecting on his glasses. Lando’s latest instagram post showed Daniel Ricciardo, Max Verstappen, Alex Albon, George Russell, Carlos Sainz, and himself grinning, drinks in hand. A post about a moment of camaraderie, a break from the pressure of the racing season, only reminded him of his solitude.

The mid-grid place finishes, the almost podiums, had been gnawing at him, but this– being left out by the very people he thought he were friends with– cut deeper. The tight-knit group he once considered family seemed to have moved on, without him, but with Max, leaving him to navigate the paddock alone.

The memories of the late-night Twitch streams with Lando, George, and Alex now felt like a distant calling of the past, their laughter and inside jokes replaced by conversations that no longer included him. Seeing Max replacing him, bonding with the group, added salt to the wound. Charles felt like a ghost, lingering on the fringes of a friendship that had moved on without him.

He stared at the photo again, unable to look away. The smiles on their faces seemed to haunt him. The celebration after the Portugal race – why wasn’t he invited? Was it something he did? Was it something he didn’t do? The thought gnawed at him. He had always believed that they were friends, that they had each other’s backs. Yet, here they are, without him, and he was left alone in his hotel room, feeling like an outsider.

Charles sighed, tossing his phone onto the couch in his hotel room. The walls felt like they were closing in on him, the silence more oppressive than the roar of the engines on the track. Sebastian Vettel, his former teammate and mentor, was no longer there to offer him words of wisdom. Seb’s departure hadn’t only been from Ferrari, but him as well. The once-supportive mentor had moved on like everyone else. Their conversations had dwindled to occasional, perfunctory messages. Charles didn’t want to disrupt his peace with his problems. Especially since Seb seemed content in the new chapter of his life.

Even Pierre Gasly, his closest friend on the grid, seemed too preoccupied with his growing relationship with Yuki Tsunoda to notice Charles’s growing despondence. Their conversations, once filled with shared frustrations and dreams, had shifted. Pierre was constantly talking about Yuki, their budding friendship, and the joy he felt spending time with his new teammate.

“Did you see how Yuki handled that corner? He’s got so much potential, “ Pierre would say, his eyes lighting up.

“Yeah, he did great,” Charles would respond, forcing a smile, though inside he felt a pang of loneliness. Pierre’s excitement for Yuki was genuine, and Charles didn’t want to dampen that, but it made him feel more isolated.

Pierre’s texts had become more sporadic, their late-night talks replaced with Pierre gushing about his plans with Yuki. Charles felt abandoned. Like a third-wheel in their new friendship. The bond he had with Pierre felt like it was slipping away and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The feeling of being replaced had truly become common in Charles’s life.

And then there was Carlos. Ever since they had become teammates, Charles had been trying to foster a good relationship with him. But Carlos, still hung up on losing Lando as a teammate, seemed unwilling to interact beyond the necessary PR duties.

The start of the season had been particularly disappointing for Charles. He had come into the year with high hopes, especially after the last season. But race after race, he found himself just missing out on the podium, stuck in fourth place. The consistent almost-podiums were beginning to feel like a curse, a reminder of how close yet how far he was from success.

This evening, the weight of his thoughts pressed down on him. Charles felt a familiar sense of panic rising. His chest tightened, breathing quickened, and hands started shaking. He tried to calm himself, but he knew the only way through was to let him feel it. The anxiety took hold, overwhelming his senses. His mind spiraled into a tornado of doubts and fears.

Why am I always just short of the podium? Am I not good enough? Why don’t they want me around?

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat like a drum in his ears. The room seemed to close in on him, the walls pressing tighter, the air growing thinner. He stumbled to the floor, collapsing onto the cold floor. His vision blurred with tears.

I’m a failure. They don’t need me. I’m all alone.

He curled into a ball, clutching his knees as he tried to steady his breathing. The isolation he felt was suffocating, the disappointment crushing. It took several long minutes before the panic attack began to subside, leaving him exhausted and emotionally drained.

He needed to break this cycle. He couldn’t continue feeling like this, isolated and unworthy. Charles resolved to try and bridge the gap with Carlos. If he could show his teammate he was there to support, not sabotage, perhaps they could have more of a genuine connection.

The next morning, Charles arrived at the Ferrari garage early, armed with a renewed sense of purpose. He spotted Carlos reviewing data with the engineers, his expression strained. Taking a deep breath, Charles approached, offering a tentative smile.

“Bonjour Carlos. I was looking over the data from yesterday’s practice and through that I could share some tips that helped me last season. Maybe it could help us both improve.”

Carlos looked up, his eyes flickering with a mix of surprise and skepticism. “Thanks, Charles, but I think I’ve got it covered.”

Charles’s smile faltered, but he pressed on. “I know you do, but sometimes two pairs of eyes are better than one, no?”

Carlos hesitated before nodding. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

As Charles shared his tips, he could sense Carlos’s wariness. Although it stung, he understood. Trust did not happen overnight. Especially in Formula 1. Despite the tension, Charles felt a small spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the beginning.

However, as the day wore on, Carlos’s reluctance became more apparent. Every suggestion made by Charles was met with a curt and firm rebuttal.

“Thanks, Charles, but I’ve got a different approach for Turn 5,” Carlos said, his tone flat.

“Alright, but maybe if you try braking a bit earlier…”

“Really, Charles, I appreciate it, but I know what I’m doing,” Carlos interrupted, his patience thinning.

The coldness in Carlos’s responses cut deeper than Charles cared to admit. By the end of the session, he felt more dejected than ever. His attempts to connect seemingly in vain.

Charles returned to his room, feeling a mix of exhaustion and relief. He had taken the first step, but he knew it would take time for Carlos to trust him fully. In the meantime, he decided to reach out to another old friend.

That evening, Charles dialed Esteban Ocon’s number, his heart pounding nervously. The phone rang twice before Esteban picked up. His familiar voice brings a sense of comfort.

“Charles! It’s been a while, how are you?”

“I’m..I’ve been better,” Charles admitted. “I was hoping we could catch up sometime. Maybe talk about life, the season, everything, anything really.”

Esteban’s tone softened. “Of course, mon ami. I could use a friend right now. How about we meet up after the next race?”

“Sounds perfect,” Charles replied. A genuine smile spread across his face for the first time in days. “I’ll see you then.”

Esteban paused, then added, “You know, Charles, it’s tough for all of us. This season hasn’t been easy for you or me. Maybe we can help each other out.”

Charles felt a warmth spread across his chest. “I’d like that. I really would.”

“Great,” Esteban said, his voice more upbeat. “Let’s make a plan. We’ll grab dinner and just…talk. Good for both of us.”

 

A few days later, after the race weekend, Charles found himself seated across from Esteban at a quiet restaurant. The ambiance was cozy, soft lighting and hum of low conversations around them. It felt like a refuge from the chaos of the racing world.

Esteban smiled warmly as they clinked glasses. “To old friends and new beginnings.”

“To old friends,” Charles echoed, taking a sip of his drink. For the first time in weeks, life felt normal. Right now, he wasn’t Charles Leclerc, a Scuderia Ferrari driver, but just a friend catching up with one of his oldest friends.

As they dug into their meals, the conversation flowed easily. They talked about the highs and lows of the previous seasons, the pressure from their teams, and their dreams outside of racing. Charles found himself opening up about his feelings of being left behind.

“It’s been tough, “ Charles admitted, his voice soft. “I see them all hanging out, and it feels like I’ve been replaced.”

A few moments later, he added, “Like I don’t matter.”

Esteban nodded, his expression sympathetic. “I get it, Charles. I really do. It’s hard seeing others bond while you feel like an outsider. But you do matter. You’re one of the best drivers on the grid. And more importantly, you’re a good friend. Don’t let anyone make you feel like less.”

Charles felt a weight lift off his shoulders. “Thanks Esteban. I really needed to hear that.”

They continued talking, sharing stories and laughs. For the first time in what felt like forever, Charles felt understood, his burdens shared. Esteban’s presence was a balm to his wounded spirit, reminding him that he wasn’t alone in his struggles.

As the night drew to a close, Charles felt a sense of contentment. The anxiety that had plagued him was still there, but it was quieter, overshadowed by the warmth of friendship. He realized that while he might have lost some connections, there were still people who cared deeply about him.

Outside the restaurant, Esteban clapped a hand on Charles’s shoulder. “We should do this more often. It’s good to talk.”

“Yeah, we should,” Charles agreed, a genuine smile on his face.

“Thanks for tonight, Esteban. It really helped.”

“Anytime, Charles. Anytime,” Esteban replied, pulling him into a brief, reassuring hug.

As Charles walked back to his hotel, he felt lighter. The road ahead was still uncertain, but he was ready to face it, knowing he had friends who would support him. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to hope.

Chapter 2: one step forward, two steps back

Notes:

so uh shit happens. update for chapter 3 will be coming this week.

The week break between the Spain and Monaco races was a calm time for Charles Leclerc. The Spain Grand Prix had left him feeling isolated but hopeful. But spending time with Esteban Ocon was a bright spot amidst this darkness. When Esteban suggested they hang out during the break, Charles felt a flicker of hope. Someone was making an effort to spend time with him. Making an effort to be there for him. Making an effort to be his friend.

They spent the afternoon at a local cafe, talking about everything except racing— life, hobbies, childhood memories, and even recent hookups. Esteban’s nature and genuine interest in Charles’s well-being made him warm.

“It’s good to catch up like this,” Esteban remarked as he sipped his coffee. “We don’t always get to just…be ourselves. Away from the media, away from the track.”

Charles nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah it feels good. Thanks for reaching out, Esteban. I needed this.”

Esteban’s expression softened. “Anytime, Charles. You’re not alone in this, okay?”

For a moment, Charles allowed himself to believe that things might get better—that maybe, just maybe, he could rebuild the connections he had lost.

However, Pierre’s reaction after seeing their post shattered that fragile hope. Pierre’s emotions were already running high after Yuki Tsunoda’s disappointing race in Spain, which ended in a DNF. The picture of Charles with Esteban only added fuel to his frustration.

Their phone conversation turned heated quickly, with Pierre’s hurt and anger boiling over. “What the hell, Charles?” Pierre’s voice crackled through the line. “What did I do to deserve being abandoned like this? To see you cozying up to Esteban while I’m dealing with all of this?”

Charles tried to explain, to make Pierre understand, but his best friend’s accusations cut deep. The more he tried to defend himself, the more Pierre’s words wounded him.

“Maybe I was wrong about us being friends,” Pierre spat out bitterly. “If you’re just going to make new friends and leave me behind whenever it’s convenient for you, then maybe we should just cut contact altogether.”

Charles’s confidence, already shaken by recent events, shattered completely. He felt the weight of Pierre’s words like a physical blow. To lose his best friend over a misunderstanding was a pain he hadn’t anticipated.

Feeling adrift and rejected, Charles withdrew into himself. He threw himself into his training, pushing harder and harder, trying to bury his emotions beneath a relentless pursuit of perfection on the track. Racing was the only thing he felt he could control amidst the chaos of his personal life.

Esteban, sensing Charles’s need for space, respected his friend’s boundaries while quietly offering support from a distance. Their friendship remained a quiet anchor in Charles’s turbulent sea of emotions.

But with Pierre ignoring his attempts at reconciliation and Carlos Sainz distant after their earlier clash, Charles felt utterly alone. The weight of isolation settled heavy on his shoulders, threatening to crush him under its weight.

Days blurred into nights as Charles’s training regimen intensified. He pushed his body to its limits, hoping to channel his frustration and sadness into raw performance on the track.

During one grueling workout session, Charles pushed himself beyond his boundaries. His muscles screamed in protest as he lifted weights, his lungs burning with each breath. Sweat poured down his face, blurring his vision as he pushed through the pain. Every ounce of his being focused on the physical exertion, trying to drown out the turmoil of emotions swirling inside of him.

But the strain began to show.

His body, already fatigued from the relentless training and emotional stress, struggled to keep up. During a particularly intense set of exercises, he pushed himself so hard that he nearly collapsed from exhaustion. His vision blurred, spots dancing before his eyes as he fought to stay conscious.

His trainer rushed to his side, concern etched on his face. “Charles, you need to stop. You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

Gasping for breath, Charles leaned against the wall, his body trembling with exertion. “I… I need to be ready,” he managed to choke out between ragged breaths.

His trainer shook his head, placing a hand on Charles’s shoulder. “You’re pushing yourself to the brink. This isn’t healthy, Charles. You need to rest.”

But Charles couldn’t rest. Racing was his lifeline, his escape from the chaos of his personal life. It was the one thing he felt he could control amidst the uncertainty and turmoil.

The night before qualifying in Monaco, Charles found himself alone in his hotel room, overcome by a torrent of emotions. He sank to the floor, his body shaking with silent sobs. The pressure, the loneliness—it was suffocating.

In the grip of a panic attack, Charles struggled to catch his breath. His chest tightened, his vision blurred with tears of frustration. He felt helpless, lost in a whirlwind of anxiety and self-doubt.

Outside his door, Esteban Ocon sensed something was wrong. He had seen Charles retreat into himself over the past week, and now, hearing the muffled sounds of distress from inside the room, he knew he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Knocking gently, Esteban called out softly, “Charles, it’s Esteban. Can I come in?” Charles hesitated for a moment before unlocking the door. Esteban entered cautiously, his expression filled with concern.

“What’s going on?” Unable to speak, Charles shook his head, his breathing still ragged. Esteban sat down beside him, offering a comforting presence. He didn’t press for words, knowing sometimes silence and support were more healing than any advice.

Slowly, Charles’s breathing steadied, the panic attack gradually subsiding. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, feeling embarrassed and vulnerable. “I’m sorry,” Charles muttered, his voice hoarse.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Charles,” Esteban replied gently. “We all have our moments. You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately.”

Charles nodded weakly, feeling a flicker of gratitude for Esteban’s understanding. They sat in silence for a while longer, the weight of Charles’s emotions hanging heavy in the air.

“You know,” Esteban spoke up after a while, his tone soft, “you don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here for you, Charles. Whatever you need.”

Those simple words were like a lifeline to Charles. In that moment of vulnerability, he felt a bond of friendship strengthen between them. Esteban wasn’t just a colleague or a fellow driver—he was someone who genuinely cared.

As they sat together, Charles found himself slowly opening up about his struggles, about the loneliness and the fear of failure. Esteban listened without judgment, offering reassurance and understanding.

“You’re not alone, Charles,” Esteban said firmly, his gaze unwavering. “We’ll get through this together.”

The next morning, Charles woke with a sense of determination. He knew he couldn’t let his emotions dictate his performance on the track. Pushing aside the lingering exhaustion from the previous night’s breakdown, he focused on the upcoming qualifying session.

The streets of Monaco hummed with anticipation as Charles climbed into his Ferrari, his mind clear and focused. Despite the turmoil within, he summoned every ounce of skill and determination. Lap after lap, he pushed the car to its limits, seeking the perfect line, the perfect balance.

And then, in a moment of sheer triumph amidst the chaos of his emotions, Charles Leclerc qualified for pole position.

It was a testament to his resilience, his unwavering commitment to racing. But beneath the surface, beneath the celebration and the accolades, Charles felt the weight of his personal struggles pressing down on him.

The race ahead loomed uncertain, a battleground where victory and defeat hung in precarious balance.

The Monaco Grand Prix dawned bright and promising, the streets alive with the thrum of excitement and anticipation. Charles Leclerc, despite the turmoil within, approached the race with a steely determination. Qualifying for pole position had been a triumph—a testament to his resilience amidst personal turmoil.

As the race began, Charles focused intently on maintaining his lead. Lap after lap, he navigated the narrow streets of Monte Carlo with precision and skill.

But on lap 17, everything changed. A subtle shift in the car’s handling caught Charles off guard. The familiar rhythm of the track faltered, replaced by a growing sense of unease.

As he approached a tight turn, the car suddenly veered, its rear end sliding out of control. In a split second, Charles fought to regain control, but it was too late. The car careened towards the barriers with terrifying speed.

The impact was brutal, jolting through his body with a force that left him momentarily stunned.

Behind him, Yuki Tsunoda, racing close behind in his AlphaTauri, had no time to react. The visibility around the tight corner was limited, and before he could adjust, Yuki’s car collided with the rear of Charles’s Ferrari, amplifying the devastation of the crash.

Metal shrieked and carbon fiber splintered as the two cars collided. The force of the impact sent Charles’s Ferrari spinning, careening into the unforgiving barriers at a crushing speed. The sound of twisting metal and screeching tires filled the air, a cacophony of destruction that echoed through the streets of Monaco.

Inside the cockpit, Charles was thrown forward violently. His vision blurred, his body jarred by the impact. He tried to raise his hand to signal his condition to the team, but the pain was overwhelming.

Darkness crept at the edges of his vision, and then everything went black.

Chapter 3: no. no. no.

The team’s radio crackled with urgent voices as they scrambled to respond. The red flag was called, signaling all the drivers to return to the pits. Marshals and medical personnel rushed to the scene, but the car was wedged tightly against the barriers, making extraction difficult and dangerous.

Sebastian Vettel, despite his own race concerns, immediately halted his race to help. He recognized it was Charles’s Ferrari and not Carlos as many thought. He sprinted as fast as he could towards the scene, heart filling with dread. Yuki Tsunoda had already abandoned his car and was beside himself with worry. Shouting for help as he reached Charles’s motionless form.

Yuki knelt beside Charles, his hands trembling as he tried to find a pulse. Panic gripped him when he couldn’t detect any signs of life. “Charles! Charles, can you hear me?” Yuki’s voice cracked with fear and desperation and he continued his frantic search. Panic gripped him when he noticed the red of Charles’s racing suit, stained and darkened. Blood.

Sebastian arrived moments later, his mind racing with memories of his time as Charles’s teammate. He knelt beside Yuki, his own hands shaking as he gently removed Charles’s helmet to assess the situation. The sight of blood in Charles’s hair sent a chill down his spine.

“Stay with us, Charles,” Sebastian murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He felt a pulse, relief flooding him when he detected a faint heartbeat. “He’s alive,” Sebastian called out to the medical team as they arrived. His voice trembled with relief.

The medical team assessed Charles’s condition. They worked methodically to stabilize him before extracting him from the wreckage. It was a tense process, every second feeling like an eternity.

Meanwhile, in the Ferrari garage, a sense of panic spread like wildfire. Mattia Binotto, the team principal, watched the unfolding scene on the monitors with a sinking feeling. Mechanics exchanged worried glances, their minds racing with the same thought.

It wasn’t a driver error. It was a malfunction.

The realization hit Binotto like a punch to the gut. If it wasn’t Charles’s fault–if there was a technical issue with the car– it could spell trouble for Ferrari’s reputation and standings in the championship. One thing Ferrari knew was that they needed to control the narrative.

Around them, the pit lane buzzed with anxious whispers. Drivers and teams, often rivals on the track, watched with a shared sense of concern. They all knew the risks of their sport. The fine line between glory and catastrophe. Seeing one of their own in such a horrible crash brought a sobering reality to the forefront of everyone’s minds.

As the drivers returned to the pit lane, their faces were etched with varying shades of concern and worry. Max Verstappen, who had been leading the race, was visibly shaken as he briefed the incident with his team. Although he and Charles weren’t close now, he had always had a soft spot for the Ferrari driver from their shared childhood. Racing Charles was one of the best moments of his career and he hoped there would be more.

Esteban Ocon, who had been Charles’s friend and confidant in the recent weeks, was overcome with emotion. His fists clenched at his sides as he watched the medical team attend to Charles. Worried at the sight of his friend. So vulnerable, so pale, and so still. It made him feel anger and helplessness.

Suddenly, Esteban felt a hard shove, turning around to see Yuki’s anguished face. “This is your fault!” Yuki shouted, cracking with emotion. “If you hadn’t been distracting Charles, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

Esteban staggered back, stunned by Yuki’s accusation. Trying to move past Yuki, he saw Pierre and suddenly realized where the outburst had come from.

“Stop it, both of you!” Pierre’s concerned voice rang out sharply. Attempting to diffuse the situation without escalating the tension, he said, “This isn’t helping Charles right now.”

Esteban’s eyes blazed with anger, his chest heaving with every breath. “He was your friend. You should have been there for him when he was panicking about not being able to be enough. Not being a good friend. Not being a good person. Instead you were chasing after Yuki.”
Pierre flinched at the accusation. “I–I didn’t abandon him,” he stammered, his voice betraying his guilt. “I–I didn’t know he was going through that.”

Esteban’s jaw clenched as he glared at Pierre. “You think that’s an excuse?” he spat. “Charles needed you, and you were too distracted to see it.”

Amidst the chaos stood Sebastian Vettel. His thoughts were consumed by concern for Charles’s well-being.

“This can’t be the end for you, Charles,” Sebastian murmured to himself, his fists clenched in determination. “You’ve still got so much left to achieve.”

Carlos Sainz, who had been Charles’s teammate at Ferrari, watched the scene unfold with a heavy heart. He knew he could have done more to support Charles, to be there for him beyond the track. Guilt gnawed at him as he realized how isolated Charles had been feeling in recent weeks.

“I should have reached out,” Carlos muttered to himself, his brow furrowed with regret. “I should have tried harder to be a friend, not just a teammate.” The realization hit Carlos hard.

He vowed silently to himself that if Charles pulled through this, he would make amends, be the friend Charles needed.

Chapter 4: the aftermath.

The message haunted every fan who was watching.

Charles: There is something wrong with the car. There is something wrong.

Team: Copy, we are checking. There seems to be nothing wrong. Keep going.

Charles: I cannot control the car. I cannot control the car.

That is when the crash occurs.

The aftermath of Charles Leclerc’s crash at Monaco sent shockwaves through the Formula 1 paddock. Drivers retired from the race out of concern for their friend, their minds consumed with worry after learning Charles’s last radio message indicated a problem with the car, not the driver.

Max Verstappen stood at the edge of the Red Bull garage, his usually confident demeanor replaced by a solemn expression. He watched the medical helicopter take off, carrying Charles to the hospital, a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest.

“He’s tough,” Max muttered to himself, a mixture of hope and fear churning inside him. He had battled Charles fiercely on the track, their rivalry intense but always grounded in mutual respect. Now, seeing his rival in such a situation, Max felt a pang of helplessness.

Daniel Ricciardo, known for his infectious smile, was unusually subdued as he gathered with the McLaren team members. “We’re all thinking of him,” he said quietly, his usual cheer muted by the gravity of the situation. He glanced over at Max, recognizing the shared concern etched on his face. He knew the extent to which Max loved Charles, but neither were willing to acknowledge it. Now, he worried if Max had lost that chance like he had with Jules.

Meanwhile, Charles lay fighting for his life in the hospital. The surgical team worked tirelessly to address the internal bleeding caused by the crash.

Esteban Ocon, having rushed to the hospital with the Leclerc family, paced anxiously in the waiting room. He had formed a close bond with Charles in recent weeks. He couldn’t fathom the thought of losing his friend.

Arthur and Lorenzo Leclerc, Charles’s brothers, sat together in a tense silence. The images of their brother’s crash replayed in their minds like a nightmare. They remembered all too well the loss of Jules Bianchi, another talented driver taken too soon. The parallels were haunting, and fear gripped their hearts as they awaited any news from the medical team.

“We have to believe he’ll make it through,” Arthur whispered, his voice barely audible. Lorenzo nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. They clung to hope, praying silently for Charles’s recovery.

In the corner of the waiting room, Esteban caught sight of Pascale Leclerc, Charles’s mother.

Her familiar face was etched with worry as she spoke quietly with members of the medical staff. Esteban approached cautiously, his heart heavy.

“Any news?” Esteban asked softly, his voice betraying his anxiety. Pascale looked up, her expression weary. “They’re doing everything they can,” she replied, her voice tinged with a mix of exhaustion and hope.

“Charles is strong. We have to believe he’ll pull through.” Esteban nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. He had seen Charles’s determination on and off the track. He would pull through.

Outside the hospital, the media had gathered, their cameras clicking incessantly as they awaited updates. Reporters spoke in hushed tones, conveying the gravity of the situation to a global audience. Fans around the world held their breath, their thoughts and prayers with Charles Leclerc.

Back in the waiting room, tension mounted with each passing minute. The Leclerc family clung together, drawing strength from each other’s presence. Esteban remained by their side, offering silent support as they waited for any sign of hope. Hours stretched into an agonizing eternity.

Finally, a door opened, and a weary-looking doctor approached the group. Everyone held their breath, their eyes fixed on the doctor’s face, searching for any hint of good news.

“We were able to stabilize him,” the doctor began, his voice calm but weary.

“But we will be monitoring for the next few days, in case his condition changes.” A collective sigh of relief swept through the room, tears streaming down Arthur and Lorenzo’s faces.

Esteban felt a weight lift from his chest, though he knew the battle was far from over.

“Can we see him?” Arthur asked, his voice trembling with emotion.

The doctor nodded. “Briefly,” he replied, leading the family and Esteban down the corridor to the intensive care unit.

Inside, Charles lay pale and still, connected to monitors that beeped rhythmically. Machines hummed softly, providing life-sustaining support.

Esteban’s heart clenched at the sight of his friend, so vibrant on the racetrack, now fragile and vulnerable.

“I’ll give you some space,” the doctor said gently, stepping back to allow them privacy. Esteban approached Charles’s bedside, his hand trembling as he reached out to grasp Charles’s limp fingers.

“You’re going to make it through this, Charles,” Esteban whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“We’re all here for you.” Arthur and Lorenzo stood on the other side of the bed, their hands resting on Charles’s arm. Tears streaked down their cheeks as they silently willed their brother to fight. Outside the hospital, the night air was cool and quiet.

Max Verstappen lingered at the edge of the hospital entrance, his mind swirling with thoughts of Charles. They had shared fierce battles on the track, each pushing the other to their limits. But beyond the competition, there was a bond forged in respect and admiration.

“I hope he pulls through,” Max murmured, his voice barely audible. He clenched his fists, a surge of determination coursing through him. “You’ve got this, Charles.”

Chapter 5: thank god.

Summary:

Charles wakes up. He gets visited by his friends, but it is not received well. His mental health is taking a deep dive to the current situation and it seems to be only getting worse.

Charles Leclerc woke up to the sterile whiteness of the hospital room, the incessant beeping of machines, and the dull ache that spread through his body. His eyes fluttered open, greeted by the concerned faces of his family and Esteban Ocon. He tried to move his hand, but it wouldn’t respond. Panic surged through him.

"Charles, you're awake," Arthur said softly, relief evident in his voice. Lorenzo, meanwhile, called the doctor.

Charles, attempting to speak, rasped, “What happened? Esteban, why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be racing?”

Esteban, stunned, hand trembling as he reached for Charles, said, “Why would you think I would let my friend wake up alone in the hospital…especially after such a horrible crash?”

The doctor entered the room, a somber expression on his face. "Charles, it's good to see you awake. I have some news. The crash caused significant trauma to your hand, and you'll need to undergo physiotherapy. You've temporarily lost function in your hand, and you won't be able to race for at least three to four months, maybe more."

Charles’s heart sank. Racing was his life, his identity. Without it, he felt lost. He saw the worry in his brothers’ eyes and forced a smile. "I'll get through this," he said, though his voice lacked conviction.

He spoke to Arthur directly, “Don’t worry about me. You need to focus on yourself right now. You need to place well in F3, if you are to move up into F2.”

Arthur’s heart broke hearing this. His brother was lying in a hospital bed and telling him to focus on himself. He realized the stress that Charles was under. He would do anything to lessen it.

As soon as the doctor left, Charles tried to get Lorenzo and Arthur to go home, seeing as it looked like they hadn’t slept since he got into the crash. They eventually agreed to go home on the condition that Esteban would stay with Charles. Esteban had no problem with this and agreed right away. He was willing to help his friend in any way.

Later that night, the reality of the situation crashed down on Charles. His chest tightened, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. "I can't... I can't do this," he stammered, clutching at the sheets, his vision blurring with tears.

Esteban moved quickly to his side, holding his hand. "Charles, focus on my voice. Breathe with me, in and out, slowly."

But the panic attack took hold, overwhelming him. The room seemed to close in, the sounds and lights becoming too much. Esteban sang an old French lullaby, guiding him through it. Eventually, Charles’s breathing steadied, though his body remained tense.

"Charles, you need to tell the doctors about these panic attacks," Esteban said gently. "They're getting worse, and it could affect your ability to drive."

Charles shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. "I can't, Esteban. I don’t need to damage my reputation more than it already is."

The next day, the news broke that the FIA had fined Charles for the crash, claiming it was a driver error. Ferrari had pushed the narrative to the press, insisting there was nothing wrong with the car. Charles felt a wave of depression crash over him. The weight of the blame, the accusations, it was all too much.

At that moment, Pierre Gasly and Yuki Tsunoda walked into the room. Yuki stood nervously at the foot of the bed, his eyes wide with fear. "Charles, I'm so sorry. I... I didn’t see you."

Charles looked at him, the pain and betrayal from the news still clear in his eyes. "It's not your fault, Yuki. It was the car."

Pierre tried to step forward, his voice hesitant. "Charles, I’m here. I wanted to talk—"

Charles cut him off, anger flaring. "Why did you ignore me after I reconnected with Esteban? But you can shove your friendship with Yuki in my face?"

Pierre looked stricken, guilt flashing in his eyes. "I didn’t mean to, Charles. I just—"

Esteban stepped in, his voice firm. "Pierre, this isn't the time for this. Charles needs to rest."

Pierre bristled, his tone defensive. "I know what’s best for my best friend."

Charles’s voice was cold and detached. "You’re not my friend anymore, Pierre. You have made sure of that with your recent actions."

Pierre took a step back, his face pale. "Charles, I—" Pierre was understandably heartbroken. His childhood friend—no brother, doesn’t think he has Pierre’s love.

"Leave," Charles said, turning his head away. Charles could not control his tears any longer if this conversation continued. He wanted this day to be over. This life to be over.

Esteban put a hand on Pierre’s shoulder, guiding him towards the door. "This isn’t helping, Pierre. Let him rest. Talk to him later, it is best for both you and him."

Pierre looked back one last time before leaving, his expression a mix of sorrow and regret. Yuki followed, his head bowed.

Sebastian Vettel visited next, his concern evident. "Charles, I'm here for you. Talk to me."

But Charles was too deep in his own head, consumed by the fear that Ferrari would drop him as a driver. They clearly didn’t respect him, that is clear in their recent actions. His eyes were distant, unfocused, as Sebastian tried to reach him. Sebastian eventually gave up and left the room.

Outside, he talked with Esteban about what had been going on with Charles.

“He’s been really lonely— isolated almost.” Esteban whispered. He felt extremely worried for Charles’s mental health. Everything seemed to hit Charles, just as he was feeling happier. Esteban knew that Charles had been suffering for a while, but he thought that he could provide him some relief.

“What do you mean isolated?” Sebastian asked, thinking of the times Charles would go out partying when he was his teammate in Ferrari.

“His friends seem to be leaving him out for some reason and Pierre just cut off contact because Charles has been speaking with me. He has been suffering and no one has noticed.”

This really hit Sebastian hard. He didn’t know. Charles was his mentee–no, his son almost. How could he have not noticed? Why didn’t Charles ask him for help? He knows why. Because Sebastian had done what many others have done to Charles. Leave.

Finally, Lando Norris, George Russell, Alex Albon, and Max Verstappen came to visit. Seeing them made Charles’s anger flare up again. "Now you want to be my friends? Now that I’m hurt and not a threat?"

"Charles, we’re sorry," George said, his voice earnest. "We should have been there for you."

Alex added, "We didn’t realize how much you were struggling, Charles. We messed up."

Lando nodded, his eyes full of regret. "We thought you were okay. We didn’t see the signs."

Max just stood at the back, his face serious. Charles shook his head, tears of frustration welling up. "You all ignored me until now. Now that I’m out of the competition, you come running. What kind of friends are you?"

"Charles, please," Lando tried again, stepping forward. "We’re here for you now."

"Too little, too late," Charles muttered, turning away.

As the others left the room, Max stayed behind. He walked over to Esteban, his voice low. "What can we do to help him get back to racing? He needs to know we're serious about supporting him."

Charles overheard and snapped, "You’re probably happy I can’t race for most of the season. Less competition for you." Not that I was any threat at all, Charles thought.

Max looked taken aback, genuine hurt in his eyes. "Charles, that’s not true. We want you back on the track. We all do."

Esteban intervened, his voice firm. "Charles, Max is trying to help. We all want you to recover and come back stronger."

Esteban did not want Charles to ruin any of his relationships in anger. Although Charles's anger was justified, it does not mean that the others do not want to repent.

Charles’s breathing grew rapid again, the stress of the visits, the news, and the injury overwhelming him. The incessant beeping of the heart monitor only amplifying his panic. The nurses rushed in, sedating him to prevent further harm.

As Charles drifted into unconsciousness, the room emptied, leaving only the quiet hum of machines and the somber presence of Esteban. He sat by Charles’s side, holding his friend’s hand, his heart heavy with worry.

Notes:

Would you like to see Pierre and Yuki and the twitch quartet moments about how they plan to make it up to Charles?

Chapter 6: is life really worth it?

Summary:

This chapter delves into the hurtful state that is Charles's mental health. It does not have much interaction with other characters, but more of an insight on how I want Charles's character to be perceived. Public figures have feelings too, they are human too.

Charles lay in his hospital bed, the sterile environment doing little to ease the turmoil in his mind. His thoughts were a chaotic storm, more turbulent by the recent news of his inability to race for months. He still could feel the numbness of his hand. He attempts to move a finger, but even that did not happen. He felt lost in his own mind. The doctor entered the room, his expression serious.

"Charles, the amount of stress you’re under is causing you to develop an anxiety disorder," the doctor said gently. "We need to put you on medication to help manage this."

Charles shook his head vehemently. "I don’t have an anxiety disorder. I don’t need medication."

Esteban, who had been sitting quietly by Charles’s side, intervened. "Charles, you’ve been having panic attacks. You need help."

Charles glared at him. "I’m fine. Do not exaggerate my situation, Esteban. You of all people know the stress that comes with our profession."

Esteban sighed realizing that Charles would never admit it. Especially in his condition. So he turned to the doctor and said, "He’s had multiple panic attacks. He digs his nails into his shoulders when he’s trying to alleviate the pain." He showed the doctor the crescent-shaped marks on Charles’s shoulders.

The doctor nodded, his expression growing more concerned. "Charles, this is serious. You need to take the medication and follow through with therapy."

Charles’s defiance faltered under the weight of Esteban’s and the doctor’s concern. He reluctantly agreed, though his heart wasn’t in it. He felt like he didn’t deserve the help. He had done nothing but hurt people with his life. Was it really worth it?

Later that evening, Esteban received a text from Max Verstappen.

Max: How can we help Charles get back to racing?

Esteban stared at the message for a moment, then replied.

Esteban: He needs physiotherapy three times a week. The FIA has mandated that he sees a licensed professional for a mental health evaluation because they think he caused the crash on purpose.

Max: That’s ridiculous. We’ll work out a schedule to help him through this. Can you coordinate with his brothers too?

Esteban: Yeah, I’ll get Arthur and Lorenzo involved. They’ll be around when we’re gone for race weekends.

As the plan began to take shape, Esteban felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe this would be the opportunity Charles needed to open up and start healing.

…

Despite the outpouring of support from fans, who petitioned for an investigation into what happened to Charles’s car, he only saw the negative comments on Twitter. They were harsh, accusing him of being reckless and harmful to other drivers, like Yuki.

"Charles deserves what happened to him," one comment read. "He’s a danger on the track."

"Maybe now Ferrari will get a real driver," another wrote.
As he read through the comments, his thoughts drifted to his family, particularly Arthur. Growing up, their family could only afford for one of them to kart, and they had prioritized Charles. The weight of that decision now felt crushing.
They made the wrong choice, he thought bitterly. Arthur could have done better than me.
The negativity ate away at him, and his depression grew more severe. The weight of the FIA’s accusations and the harsh words of strangers online crushed his spirit. He reluctantly started taking the anxiety medication the doctor prescribed, but even that seemed insufficient to stem the tide of overwhelming sensations.
One night, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders, Charles took more than the prescribed amount of his medication, desperate for any relief from the storm inside his mind.

But one thought was clear.

If I disappeared, everyone would be better off.

No matter what anyone told him, Charles knew that was true.

…

The next day, Esteban arrived at the hospital to find Charles looking more subdued than usual. "How are you feeling today?"

Charles shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "Same as always."

Esteban frowned but decided to keep pushing. "Max and I have worked out a schedule to help you with your recovery. Your brothers are on board too. You’re not alone in this, Charles."

Charles’s eyes flickered with a brief spark of hope before the weight of his despair crushed it again. "I just don’t see the point anymore, Esteban. Everyone thinks I caused the crash. Even Ferrari."

"That’s not true, Charles," Esteban insisted. "Your real friends know the truth, and we’re going to help you through this. You just have to trust us and take it one step at a time."

"Trust you?" Charles said bitterly. "Like I trusted everyone else who abandoned me? Why should I believe that any of you really care now?"

Esteban took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "They messed up, Charles. They should have been there for you, and they weren't. But they’re here now. We’re not going to let you go through this alone."

"How do I know they won’t just disappear again when things get tough?" Charles asked, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear.

"Because they’ve learned from our mistakes," Esteban said firmly. "We’re committed to being here for you, no matter what. You deserve better, and we’re going to make sure you get it."

Charles nodded slowly, though the battle within him raged on. He wanted to believe in his friends, in his ability to recover, but the darkness of his depression was a formidable foe.

…

The fans, meanwhile, rallied behind Charles, using the radio message as proof of his innocence. They demanded an investigation into what happened to his car, insisting that the issue lay with Ferrari, not with Charles.

"Charles told his engineers something was wrong with the car," one fan wrote. "Why didn’t they listen? Why didn’t they check?"

Another added, "We need answers. Charles deserves justice."

Despite this support, Charles couldn’t shake the negativity. The harsh comments echoed in his mind, drowning out any positivity.

As Esteban stayed with Charles that night, he watched over him, determined to help his friend find the light again.

Notes:

Which character do we want to see more of in the next chapter? Pierre? Max? Lando?

Chapter 7: interlude

Summary:

Max and Pierre reflect on their moments with Charles. From the beginning, Charles was always part of their journey. Will he continue to be?

Max Verstappen couldn’t remember the exact moment he fell in love with Charles Leclerc, but he will always remember the karting race where it all began. Charles had come out of nowhere. He had passed him in a particularly intense race, and Max found him extremely frustrating and admiring. Charles was faster, but he made the race exhilarating in a way it wasn’t before. The thrill was consuming, and Max knew he would be obsessed with the Monegasque from that moment on.

Max always thought of Charles as a fierce competitor, but over time, he began to notice things about Charles he hadn’t before. Like the way his eyes lit up when he talked about racing, or how his laughter had a way of making everything seem brighter. One day, Max found himself staring at Charles during a drivers meeting, admiring the curve of his jaw and the softness of his features.

"Mate, you’ve got it bad," Daniel Ricciardo’s voice broke through Max’s thoughts. Daniel nudged him playfully. "That’s not how you look at a rival. That’s how you look at someone you want to fuck."

Max scoffed, face red. "Shut up, Daniel."

Daniel grinned, not letting it go. "Seriously, Max. You've been staring at him for the past five minutes. Just admit it, you’re smitten."

Max tried to laugh it off, but Daniel’s words echoed in his mind.

…

In the cooldown room after a particularly grueling race, Max was explaining the intricacies of tire management to Charles, who listened with rapt attention.

"So, if you manage the front tires better through the corners, you can save the rears for the straights," Max explained, his hands animated as he spoke.

Charles nodded, hanging on every word. "That makes sense. I’ll try that next time."

Lewis Hamilton watched them, bemused. As they were about to leave, Lewis pulled Max aside. “Charles is perfect for you,” he said with a knowing smile. “I wish you both the best.”

Max was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Lewis chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ll figure it out.”

…

Later, during a debrief with his teammate Checo Pérez, Max couldn’t stop talking about how well Charles had performed in Bahrain and their meeting in Monaco over the winter break.

"You should have seen him, Checo. He was incredible out there. And in Monaco, we had this amazing time just hanging out," Max rambled on.

Checo finally interrupted, exasperated. "Max, please stop telling me about your boyfriend. We’re supposed to be doing teammate bonding, not simping over Charles Leclerc."

Max froze. The realization hit him. He wasn’t just obsessed with Charles. He was in love with him.

…

When Charles crashed and the replay aired on live TV, Max felt a surge of panic. He was about to run back onto the track when Christian Horner held him back.

“You can help after the race,” Christian said firmly.

Max’s relief when he saw Charles in the hospital bed was overwhelming. The idea that Charles thought Max would be glad if he got hurt was gut-wrenching. Max wanted to treasure him, to be there for him. He made a silent vow to be more present in Charles’s life, to be a better friend, and maybe, one day, something more.

…

Pierre Gasly vividly remembered the day Charles was avoiding him. They were younger then, and Pierre couldn’t understand why his friend was acting so strangely. When Charles finally dragged him to a nearby beach, Pierre was confused but relieved.

"Charles, what's going on?" Pierre asked, concerned.

Charles took a deep breath, his hands shaking slightly. "Pierre, I need to tell you something important."

Pierre waited, his heart pounding. "What is it?"

Charles looked him in the eye, his voice trembling. "I’m gay."

Pierre was taken aback for a moment, then he smiled. “Is that all? I thought you were avoiding me because I beat you in our last race!”

Charles laughed, the tension melting away, and from that day on, their bond grew even stronger.

…

When Pierre was fired by Red Bull, Charles was the first to call him. After expressing his anger, Charles did something unexpected—he called Christian Horner and berated him for his decision.

“Christian, you’ve made a huge mistake,” Charles said, his voice filled with anger. “Pierre is one of the best drivers out there. You’ve just lost an incredible asset to your team.”

Christian tried to interject, but Charles wasn’t having it. “No, you listen to me. Pierre has more talent and heart than half your team combined. You’ll regret this decision, mark my words.”

Nothing made Pierre feel better than hearing his best friend stand up for him so fiercely.

…

But nothing compared to the horror Pierre felt when he saw Charles’s car destroyed in a crash. The Ferrari spun out of control, and all Pierre could think of were his last, harsh words to Charles about not being friends anymore. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Charles, not like this.

The relief Pierre felt when he saw Charles in the hospital was immense, but it was mixed with a deep sense of betrayal. Charles had taken his words to heart, believing that anyone, even Yuki, could be more important to Pierre than him. But Charles was his brother in everything but blood, and Pierre was determined to prove that to him.

Chapter 8: do i see the light?

Summary:

Charles seems to be getting better. He was released from the hospital and is going to physiotherapy. Life seems to be going better. But life is a roller coaster...

Charles Leclerc stood at the entrance of the hospital, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on him. He had just been released, but the freedom was short-lived as a crowd of reporters swarmed around him.

"Charles, will you continue in Formula One? Is your career over?" one shouted.

"Have you apologized to the fans for ruining the Monaco Grand Prix?" another demanded.

Charles felt his mind begin to drift away from the chaos, a telltale sign that he was starting to disassociate. Colors blurred, voices echoed distantly, and he felt like he was watching the scene unfold from a distance.

Esteban Ocon, who had been waiting nearby, saw the vacant look in his friend's eyes and quickly stepped in.

"That's enough!" Esteban barked at the reporters. "Charles needs rest. Please give him some space."

He gently but firmly guided Charles away from the crowd, keeping a protective arm around his waist. The doctors had warned Esteban that the pressure Charles was under could cause these dissociative episodes, and it was crucial to manage them carefully.

Back at his apartment, Charles felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. All he wanted to do was curl up and forget about life for a while. He slumped onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. He started sobbing, and it slowly got harder to breathe. Esteban, refusing to let his friend go through this alone, sat down beside him and wrapped his arms around him.

"I'm here for you, Charles," Esteban whispered. "No matter what happens, you're not alone. You're my close friend, and I'll help you through this."

Charles felt a flicker of gratitude amidst his despair. He leaned into Esteban's embrace, and slowly, exhaustion took over, pulling them both into a deep sleep on the couch.

---

Some time later, Esteban woke up to the sound of Charles mumbling and thrashing in his sleep. His friend was having a nightmare.

"No! No, please..." Charles muttered, his brow furrowed in distress.

Esteban gently shook him awake. "Charles, wake up. It's just a dream."

Charles gasped, his eyes wide with fear as he looked around, trying to orient himself. "Ferrari... They ended my contract," he stammered. "I can never race again. My father... he was yelling at me. My brothers... they resented me."

Esteban pulled Charles into a tight hug, holding him as he trembled. "None of that is true," he reassured him. "Your father was proud of you, Charles. He always will be. You've achieved so much. And your brothers love you and want whatever is best for you. You're not alone in this."

Charles clung to Esteban, his breathing gradually slowing down. "I'm scared, Esteban," he admitted softly.

"I know," Esteban whispered back. "But we'll face this together, okay? You're stronger than you think."

---

A week later, Esteban had to return home due to his family's concerns about him after Charles’s crash. Charles had been alone for the past two days, grappling with his thoughts and fears.

Today was his first physiotherapy appointment. As he prepared to leave, his phone buzzed with a message from Esteban.

"Good luck today, Charles. You’ve got this!"

Charles smiled faintly, feeling a glimmer of hope. At least one person cared. As he was about to head out, a knock sounded at his door. He opened it to find Max Verstappen standing there.

"Hey, Charles," Max said, a bit awkwardly. "Can I come in?"

Charles hesitated, unsure how to respond. He didn't know Max well, and after everything that had happened on the track, trust didn't come easily.

"What are you doing here?" Charles finally asked, his voice guarded.

Max shifted uncomfortably. "I heard about your appointment today. I thought... maybe you could use some company." Max totally did not pester Esteban all night about the details. And he totally didn’t text Daniel fifteen times if it would be too forward of him to do this.

Charles studied Max for a moment, searching for any sign of insincerity. But there was something in Max's expression that seemed genuine, despite their past rivalry.

"I... I guess so," Charles replied reluctantly, stepping back to let Max enter.

Max entered cautiously, sensing Charles's uncertainty. "I know we've had our differences, but... we're still colleagues. And more than that, I want to help you through this."

Charles nodded, though his guard remained up. "Thanks," he muttered, not quite meeting Max's eyes.

As they walked towards the door, Max glanced back at Charles, noticing the weight of exhaustion and worry that still lingered in his green eyes. He knew this wouldn't be easy, earning back Charles's trust, but he was determined to try.

"I'm here if you need anything, Charles," Max said sincerely.

Charles nodded again, a small flicker of gratitude stirring within him. Maybe, just maybe, he could learn to lean on others for support, especially in the darkest moments of his life.

---

Two weeks had passed since Charles was released from the hospital, and the days had been a grueling battle with himself. Today was no different. After a particularly painful physiotherapy session, he felt drained and defeated. The exercises designed to restore the function in his hand seemed more like torture, and the pain gnawed at him constantly.

Back home, Charles's anxiety mounted. He could feel the familiar tightening in his chest, the racing thoughts, and the overwhelming sense of dread. Despite knowing the dangers, he decided to take more than his prescribed dose of anxiety medication, desperate for any form of relief.

The pills did not bring the calm he sought. Instead, the panic grew, amplifying every fear and insecurity. His breaths came in shallow, rapid gasps as he struggled to control the rising tide of anxiety. To cool himself down, he stumbled into the bathroom, aiming for the faucet.

His right hand braced against the wall for support, while his left hand fumbled with the faucet. The uncooperative limb refused to turn the handle, and the frustration mingled with his panic, making everything worse. The room spun around him, and before he could process what was happening, he crumpled to the cold tile floor, darkness swallowing him whole.

Notes:

i'm not sorry for how this chapter ended. lemme know if it was good!

Chapter 9: i think we’re almost there.

Summary:

Charles is slowly on the path of recovery. He didn't see the light before, but he has someone, or many people, to guide him to it now. He doesn't have to do it alone. The pressure of this sport, of the expectations, and of the people who he lost are still there but he seems to be able to bear through it now. He seems to be able to manage it without it consuming his life.

Pierre Gasly had spent the past two weeks tormented by guilt and worry. He wanted to reconnect with his friend and hoped Charles had cooled down enough to talk. Today, he decided to visit, hoping they could mend the rift between them.

Arriving at Charles's apartment, Pierre knocked on the door, calling out his name. There was no answer. He tried again, louder this time, but still nothing. His anxiety spiked when he noticed Charles's cars were parked outside, indicating he was home. Something was wrong.

With mounting concern, Pierre used his emergency key to unlock the door. The apartment was eerily silent as he stepped inside. He checked the living room and the kitchen, but there was no sign of Charles. He saw a pill bottle spilled open on the table. Heart pounding, he headed towards the bedroom and noticed a faint light coming from the bathroom.

"Charles?" Pierre called, his voice shaky.

He pushed open the bathroom door, and his worst fears were confirmed. Charles lay motionless on the floor, his skin pale and clammy. Pierre's heart lurched, and he immediately pulled out his phone, dialing emergency services.

"I need an ambulance right away," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "My friend is unconscious. I- I think he overdosed on his medication."

As he relayed the address, Pierre knelt beside Charles, gently shaking his shoulder. "Charles, wake up. Come on, stay with me, calamar."

Minutes felt like hours as he waited for help to arrive. He checked for a pulse and was relieved to find it, though it was faint. When the paramedics finally arrived, they quickly assessed Charles's condition and loaded him onto a stretcher.

Pierre followed the ambulance to the hospital, his mind racing with worry. He blamed himself for not being there sooner, for not trying harder to help his friend. All he could do now was pray that Charles would pull through this.

---

At the hospital, Charles was rushed into emergency care. Pierre sat in the waiting room, his hands trembling and his heart heavy. He sent a message to Esteban and the Leclerc family, informing them of what had happened. He felt a mixture of fear and guilt, hoping that they would understand he was trying to make things right.

Hours later, a doctor approached Pierre with an update. "Mr. Gasly? Your friend, Charles, is stable, but it was a close call. He's being moved to a room now. You can see him, but please, keep it brief. He needs rest."

Pierre nodded, his throat tight with emotion. He made his way to Charles's room, feeling a profound sense of relief when he saw his friend, pale but breathing, hooked up to monitors and IVs.

Charles's eyes fluttered open, and he looked around groggily. When his gaze landed on Pierre, there was a flicker of recognition and confusion.

"Pierre?" Charles croaked.

"I'm here, Charles," Pierre said softly, stepping closer. "I'm so sorry. I should have been here sooner."

Charles's eyes filled with tears. "I didn't want anyone to see me like this."

Pierre's heart ached for his friend. "You don't have to go through this alone. I'm here for you, and so is Esteban. We all care about you."

Charles closed his eyes, the weight of his emotions too heavy to bear. "I just... I don't know how to keep going."

Pierre reached out, gently squeezing Charles's hand. "One step at a time, calamar. We're going to get through this together. I promise."

As Charles drifted back to sleep, Pierre sat beside him, determined to keep his promise and help his friend find his way back from the darkness.

Charles felt a mix of excitement and apprehension as he prepared to return to racing. The FIA had finally found Ferrari at fault after a thorough inspection of the car and a review of the engineer's information. Ferrari had begrudgingly taken him back, but Charles could feel the animosity from his team. The fine they had to pay since the constructor was found at fault had left a bitter taste in their mouths. It was not the best environment for Charles, but he had no choice but to keep going. He needed to train hard to get back on the podium at Silverstone, a race that was incredibly important to him.

For the past few weeks, all he had done was rest. Now, he pushed himself to the limit in training, determined to make a strong comeback. He needed to do well, not just for himself, but for everyone who had supported him through his recovery. His training habits had become almost obsessive. He nitpicked every step and detail to improve. He pushed himself to the brink, teetering on the edge of injury. Each time he felt the strain in his hand, he pulled back just enough to avoid damaging it further, but it was clear that he was driving himself hard.

As Thursday approached, bringing with it media day, Charles couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety. He had seen many of his friends in the paddock, and during his break from racing, many had made efforts to hang out with him, keep him company, and help him get to his appointments. He hoped that their support wouldn't diminish now that he was back on the track. There was still a doubt in his head, especially since he hadn't seen Esteban in a while. Race weekends and Esteban's return to his family in Switzerland had kept them apart.

The atmosphere in the Ferrari garage was tense. Charles could feel the pressure from his team, the unspoken expectation that he had to perform well, especially after the incident. The dark looks from the engineers and mechanics were a constant reminder of the fine they had to pay. It wasn't the warm, supportive environment he had hoped for, but it was what it was.

Charles was in the middle of an interview when he saw Max approaching. The reporter asked him how he felt about being back in the paddock.

"It's been a tough journey," Charles began, "but I'm ready to be back. I’ve worked hard to get here, and I’m looking forward to giving it my all at Silverstone."

"Do you feel any added pressure given the circumstances surrounding your return?" the reporter probed.

Charles took a moment to gather his thoughts. "There's always pressure in this sport. But I’m focused on my recovery and doing my best on the track. My team and my fans deserve that."

Just then, Max interrupted the interview, his concern evident. "Hey, Charles, are you okay? Do you need any water?"

Charles couldn’t help but notice that Max’s tone seemed a bit too tender, almost bordering romantic affection, rather than friendly. But he didn’t mind. Max had been a key part of his recovery, and Charles was grateful for his support, in whichever way it may be.

With a small smile, Charles turned to the interviewer. "Max here has been a big part of my recovery. I couldn’t have done it without him and my other friends. I’m ready to win, and I’m grateful for all the support I've received."

Max handed him a bottle of water, their fingers brushing slightly. "You’ve got this, Charles," Max said, his voice filled with encouragement.

Charles took the water and nodded, feeling a surge of determination. "Thank you, Max. It means a lot."

The interviewer, sensing the genuine bond between the two drivers, asked, "Max, how do you feel about Charles's return?"

Max glanced at Charles before answering. "I think Charles is an incredible driver. Ferrari is lucky to have him back. He’s shown so much strength and resilience. I have no doubt he'll be back on the podium soon."

Charles felt a warm rush of gratitude. "Thanks, Max. That really means a lot coming from you."

As the interview wrapped up, Charles looked around the paddock, seeing the familiar faces and the camaraderie that had helped him through the darkest times. He knew that no matter what happened at Silverstone, he had already won something far more important – the strength to keep going.

Later, as they walked back to the paddock together, Charles turned to Max. "Thanks for interrupting back there. I really needed that."

Max smiled. "Anytime, Charles. You know I'm here for you, right?"

Charles nodded, feeling a flicker of something more than friendship between them. "Yeah, I know. And it means a lot."

The pressure from Ferrari, the relentless training, and the lingering doubts were all still there, but for the first time in a long while, Charles felt like he could handle it. He had the support of his friends, and that made all the difference. As they approached the Ferrari garage, Charles took a deep breath, ready to face whatever came next.

Charles couldn't believe it. He was standing on the podium at Silverstone, champagne in hand, the crowd cheering below. The feeling of victory was exhilarating. After everything he had been through, it felt incredible to be back at the top. As he stepped into the cooldown room, he couldn't help but savor the moment. He had missed this so much.

There was a two-week break until the next race, and Charles planned to take full advantage of it. He needed to secure a good position in the driver's championship. When he returned to Monaco, Max asked him if he wanted to have dinner. Charles had said yes, mainly because he hadn’t had time to buy groceries and was thinking of ordering takeout anyway.

However, it did affect Charles a bit that Max had asked him to dinner alone. Max usually preferred group dinners, so it struck Charles as odd. He tried on a couple of outfits before settling on one, feeling a bit nervous. This felt like a date, but the last thing Charles wanted to do was assume. He thought Max might still be hung up on Daniel since they hung out a little too much to be just friends.

As he rifled through his wardrobe, Charles felt his anxiety mounting. He grabbed his phone and quickly texted Pierre and Esteban for help.

Charles: Guys, I need your help. I have dinner with Max tonight, and I have no idea what to wear. Feels like a date but I don’t want to overthink it.

Pierre: Relax, Charles. Just be yourself. Wear something that makes you feel confident.

Esteban: Go with the navy blue shirt. It looks good on you. And don’t stress too much. Max likes you for who you are.

Taking their advice, Charles put on the navy blue shirt and took a deep breath. He hoped the night would go well.

---

Charles arrived at the restaurant a little early, his nerves still buzzing. He took a seat and glanced around, trying to calm himself. When Max walked in, Charles couldn’t help but notice how good he looked. Max had clearly put in some effort, and it showed.

"Hey," Max greeted, a bit awkwardly, as he sat down. "You look great."

"Thanks," Charles replied, feeling a bit shy. "You too."

They ordered their food and started chatting. At first, it was about racing and the recent podium, but gradually the conversation shifted to more personal topics. They laughed about old memories, shared stories from their childhoods, and talked about their hopes and fears.

"Do you remember our first karting race together?" Max asked, smiling fondly.

"How could I forget?" Charles laughed. "You spun out on the first lap, and I thought I had a chance to win. But then you came back and overtook me in the last corner."

Max chuckled. "Yeah, those were the days. No pressure, just pure racing for fun."

"Sometimes I miss that," Charles admitted, swirling his glass of wine. "Everything was simpler back then."

Max nodded. "I know what you mean. But we’ve come a long way, and I’m proud of us. I’ve always known you would make it into formula one with me."

Charles smiled, feeling a warmth spread through him. "Me too."

As the evening went on, Charles began to feel more at ease. The initial nerves faded, replaced by a warm, comfortable feeling. He realized he was enjoying Max's company more than he had expected.

"So, what do you think of this place?" Max asked, glancing around the restaurant.

"It's nice," Charles replied. "I’m glad you suggested it."

Max smiled, looking a bit relieved. "Me too. I wanted tonight to be special."

Charles's heart skipped a beat. "It is special," he said softly.

They shared a moment of silence, just looking at each other. Then Max reached across the table and gently took Charles's hand. "I'm really glad we did this," he said quietly.

Charles felt a rush of emotions. He had suspected, but hearing Max say it out loud made it real. "Me too," he replied, squeezing Max's hand.

---

As the night drew to a close, they walked back to Charles's apartment, hand in hand. The air was cool, and the streets were quiet. Charles felt a sense of peace and happiness he hadn’t felt in a long time.

"Do you want to come in for a bit?" Charles asked when they reached his door.

Max nodded. "I’d love to."

They went inside, and Charles poured them each a glass of wine. They sat on the couch, talking and laughing, the evening stretching into the early hours of the morning.

Eventually, they fell into a comfortable silence. Charles leaned against Max, feeling safe and content. "Thank you for tonight," he whispered.

Max wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close. "Thank you, Charles. For everything."

As they drifted off to sleep, Charles couldn’t help but feel hopeful for the future. He knew there would be challenges ahead, but with Max by his side, he felt ready to face anything.
Meanwhile, Pierre and Esteban were getting worried. They hadn’t heard from Charles since he went to dinner with Max.

Pierre: Have you heard from Charles? He hasn’t texted back about how the dinner went.

Esteban: No, I haven’t. Should we ask Lando to check on him?

They quickly messaged Lando, who was more than willing to help.

Lando: On it. I’ll go check on him.

Lando arrived at Charles’s apartment and knocked on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again, louder this time, but still no response. Concerned, Lando used his emergency key to open the door. He didn’t see Charles in the living room, so he went into the bedroom and saw a light in the bathroom.

"Charles? Max?" Lando called out, his voice tinged with worry.

There was no response, so he cautiously approached the living room. His concern turned to relief and amusement when he saw Charles and Max cuddled up on the couch, both fast asleep. He quickly snapped a picture and sent it to Pierre and Esteban.

Lando: All good. They’re just having a sleepover 😏

Pierre and Esteban both sighed in relief and then laughed at the picture.

Pierre: Of course, they are 🙃

Esteban: Looks like things went well after all.

Charles woke up to the sound of his phone buzzing. He checked it and saw the picture Lando had sent, along with the messages from Pierre and Esteban. He smiled and showed it to Max, who chuckled.

"Looks like we have some explaining to do," Max said, his eyes sparkling.

Notes:

hope you liked the chapter! sorry i disappeared for a little bit, i have been taking a break to really focus on where i want the story to go. i have written most of the fic and now am going to do regular updates every two days. i cannot wait for this race weekend, so stay tuned for the next chapter!!

Chapter 10: i was there. i was doing better.

Notes:

i hope you like this. i was so excited for spa, it has disappointed me in the end. so sad to what happened to george. lmk ur comments about this chapter and what u wanna see!

The Hungarian Grand Prix was always a race Charles looked forward to. He felt ready, more prepared than he had been in a long time. His training had been intense, and he was determined to win. But racing is unpredictable. On the first lap, there was a massive crash, and Charles found himself tangled with Lance Stroll. Both cars were out, and Charles was left with another DNF.

Back in the pits, Charles was devastated. He could hardly process what had happened. He had worked so hard, and it had all been for nothing. As he sat in the corner of the Ferrari garage, feeling the weight of disappointment, Max found him.

"Hey, are you okay?" Max asked, concern etched on his face. "How's your hand? Your head?"

Charles looked up, trying to force a smile. "I'm fine. Just... frustrated."

Max's expression darkened. "Stroll's an idiot. He should've seen you. He could've seriously hurt you."

"Max, it's okay. These things happen," Charles said, touched by Max's concern but not wanting to dwell on the incident.

Max shook his head, his voice rising with anger. "No, it’s not okay. This is the second time this season he’s pulled a stunt like this. He needs to learn how to drive properly or get off the track. You deserve better than this, Charles. You’ve worked too hard to be taken out by someone else's stupidity."

Charles appreciated Max's words, but he didn't want to get his hopes up. He couldn’t let himself believe there was more between them than friendship.

Later that night, several drivers decided to go to a bar to wash away the memories of the disastrous race. Charles joined them, hoping to drown his sorrows in a few drinks. As the alcohol started to take effect, he saw Max and Daniel talking closely. They had dated before, and seeing them together stirred something in Charles. He wondered if they were getting back together.

Deciding he needed to move on and find his own happiness, Charles took a few more shots. He felt the buzz of the alcohol loosening his inhibitions. He stumbled over to Carlos and Lando, who were chatting at the bar.

"Hey, Carlos," Charles slurred, "why don't you like me?"

Carlos looked startled. "Charles, what are you talking about? I don't dislike you."

"Sure," Charles said, waving his hand dismissively. "Y..you don't want to get close to me because you feel like you’re betraying Lando."

Charles starts swaying a bit. Carlos sighed, trying to calm him down. He reaches his hand out to steady Charles, but Charles pushes him away. "Charles, it's not like that. I was just afraid of getting that close to a teammate again."

"Liar," Charles said, leaning in closer. "You're in love with Lando. It's obvious. And don't worry, I won't fall in love with you because... because I already love someone else."

He stumbled away, leaving Carlos and Lando to process his words. Lando turned to Carlos, eyebrows raised. "So, are you going to explain that?"

Carlos looked down, avoiding Lando's gaze. "I... I guess I have to."

Lando placed a hand on Carlos’s arm, drawing his attention. "Don’t be afraid. I’m here, and I want us to be close."

Carlos took a deep breath, his eyes softening. "I’ve been scared, Lando. Scared of losing you like I almost lost our friendship."

Lando smiled gently, leaning in closer. "You won’t lose me. I’m right here, and I want this too."

Carlos looked into Lando's eyes, the tension between them easing. "Then let's take it slow, okay? I don't want to mess this up."

Lando nodded, squeezing Carlos's arm. "Slow is good. As long as we're together."

Meanwhile, Charles found himself talking to a cute guy at the bar. The guy had striking turquoise eyes, a playful smile, and a charm that drew Charles in immediately. It also helped that he had dirty blond hair. He introduced himself as James, and they quickly struck up a conversation.

"Hey, I'm Charles," he said, smiling shyly.

"Nice to meet you, Charles," James replied, his voice smooth and warm. "Tough race today, huh?"

"Yeah, you could say that," Charles chuckled, trying to push away the lingering disappointment. "What about you? Do you follow F1?"

"Somewhat," James said, leaning closer. "But I prefer meeting the drivers in person."

Charles laughed, feeling a bit of his tension ease. They danced together, the music and alcohol making Charles forget his earlier disappointment. James was attentive, his hands gentle on Charles's waist, his touch a comforting presence.

"So, do you come here often?" Charles asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

"Only when I need a break from reality," James replied with a wink. "And you? Do you always look this good when you're out?"

Charles blushed, looking down. "I'm not sure about that, but thanks."

As the night wore on, Charles felt a flicker of happiness. Maybe he could find joy in new experiences and new people. He didn't need to be hung up on Max or anyone else. This was his time to be happy, and he intended to make the most of it.

From across the bar, Max watched Charles and James with a frown. He felt a pang of jealousy seeing Charles laugh and dance with someone else. Daniel noticed and placed a hand on Max’s shoulder. "Let him be, Max. It's the first time I've seen Charles smile like that. He looks like Jules."

Max sighed, his eyes still on Charles. "I know. I just... I don't want to lose him."

Daniel gave Max a reassuring smile. "You won't. If it's meant to be, it'll happen. Just give him space to heal."

Max nodded, knowing Daniel was right, but unable to shake the unease in his chest. He hoped Charles would find his way back to him, but for now, he had to let him find his own path to happiness.

Time had a way of healing wounds, but for Charles, the process was slow and painful. Since his disastrous crash earlier in the season, he had been on a tumultuous journey of recovery and self-discovery. The Hungarian Grand Prix marked another chapter in his story. He didn’t have his best race, but he managed to score some points. For that, he was grateful.

Ferrari was still not completely on his side. The incident at the beginning of the year had left scars that seemed to be hard to heal. The team treated Carlos as their first driver, and there were whispers about breaking Charles's contract. Carlos, however, was doing his best to bridge the gap. Their friendship had grown beyond mere PR; they spent more time together, often playing padel or hanging out on double dates.

One of those double dates had been especially memorable. Carlos, Lando, Charles, and James had decided to go go-karting. The competitive spirit was high, but the atmosphere was light and filled with laughter.

---

As they got into their karts, Carlos nudged Lando. "Ready to lose, Norris?"

Lando grinned. "In your dreams, Sainz."

Charles and James shared a smile. "Think we can take them?" James asked, a playful glint in his eye.

"Absolutely," Charles replied, feeling more relaxed than he had in months.

They raced around the track, the air filled with shouts and laughter. After a particularly close finish, Carlos and Charles found themselves neck and neck.

"Still got it, Leclerc?" Carlos teased as they exited their karts.

"Always," Charles shot back with a grin.

Later, as they sat down for drinks, Carlos and Lando were deep in conversation, their heads close together. Charles looked at James, feeling a sense of contentment he hadn't felt in a long time.

"I'm really glad you're here," Charles said softly.

James reached out, squeezing Charles's hand. "Me too, Charles. Me too."

---

Fast forward to the Belgian Grand Prix. Charles didn’t have his best race, but he managed to score some points. For that, he was grateful. After the race, Max had been avoiding Charles, not wanting to dampen his mood with his jealousy. Seeing Charles happy with James was hard, but Max knew he had to let him be.

Daniel noticed Max's mood and decided to talk to him. "You okay, mate?"

Max sighed. "I just... I wish it was me dating Charles. But he's happy with James, and I don't want to ruin that."

Daniel put a hand on Max's shoulder. "If you care about him, you'll support him. Besides, you never know what the future holds."

Max nodded, knowing Daniel was right. "I know, but it's hard. I didn't even realize how much I liked him until recently. And now, seeing him with James... I just feel like I missed my chance."

Daniel smiled gently. "Sometimes, we have to let go of what we want to make space for what someone else needs. Charles needs support right now. Maybe it's not about being with him, but being there for him."

Max looked down, absorbing Daniel's words. "You're right. I just... I want him to be happy."

---

Meanwhile, Charles was on his date with James. They had planned to go for a quiet dinner, away from the usual F1 frenzy. Charles stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his shirt for the third time. He texted Pierre and Esteban, nervously asking for their opinion on his outfit.

Pierre replied first: "You look great, Charles. Relax and have fun!"

Esteban chimed in: "Just be yourself. James is lucky to have you."

Smiling at his friends' encouragement, Charles headed out to meet James. As they sat down at the restaurant, James looked at Charles with a warm smile. "I'm really glad we could do this," he said.

"Me too," Charles replied, feeling his nerves start to dissipate. "It's nice to get away from the track for a while."

Throughout dinner, they shared stories and laughed easily. Charles found himself opening up about his struggles with Ferrari and his fears about his future in the sport.

"I can't imagine how hard it must be," James said sympathetically. "But you're incredibly strong, Charles. You've come so far."

Charles felt a warmth spread through his chest at James's words. "Thank you. It means a lot to hear that."

As the evening went on, a somber tone settled over Charles. He couldn’t shake the feeling of uncertainty about his future. Despite James's comforting presence, the weight of his situation lingered.

When they left the restaurant, James hugged Charles tightly. "Remember, no matter what happens, you've got people who care about you."

Charles nodded, appreciating the sentiment even though his heart was heavy. "Thanks, James. I needed this."

---

After the date, back in his hotel room, Charles couldn’t stop thinking about the race and his uncertain future. He felt a pang of jealousy when he remembered seeing Max and Daniel talking closely during the drivers’ parade. It was a reminder of the complicated feelings he had yet to sort through.