Chapter Text
Nyck knew Stoffel was dead.
He knew as soon as the cars collided, as soon as the front wheel of his car whacked Stoffel’s head back.
Through the crunching of carbon fibre, through the yelling of the crowd, through the blood in his ears, he could hear Stoffel’s neck snap.
The cars skidded to a halt, Nyck reeling from the whiplash he suffered, dizzy and unfocused.
The crackling of his radio brought him back.
“Nyck? Nyck, can you hear me? Are you okay?”
He lifted a shaky hand to the radio button, still staring into the helmeted eyes of his teammate.
“I can hear you.” Was all he said.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
He couldn’t feel his legs, he couldn’t feel his left arm, he couldn’t even feel his heart beating.
“Nyck?”
“Um, yeah, I-I think.”
“What hurts?”
What didn't?
“Everything.” He replied. It wasn’t a lie, there was pain racing all over his body, but nothing could compete with the pain he felt in his heart at the sight of his teammate, his best friend, his husband, unmoving in the cockpit opposite him.
“Can you see Stoffel? Is he moving?”
Nyck swallowed around a lump in his throat. “No, he’s not moving.”
“Okay, the medical team are on their way, sit tight.”
Nyck took his finger off the radio button and slumped back in his seat. His mind was racing, thoughts bouncing against his head as if they were rubber balls bouncing off a wall, but one stood out in particular;
How was he going to live without Stoffel?
The Belgian was his life, his light, his universe. Stoffel was his everything.
What was he going to do without him?
Marshalls arrived, chattering about in something that sounded like Dutch but wasn’t the kind Nyck could put his finger on-
A marshall turned around, the black, yellow and red vertical stripes burning themselves in Nyck’s mind.
Shit, they were racing in Belgium. Kortjik, to be precise. Stoffel’s hometown.
Nyck’s brain shut down again, not registering the marshall addressing him until a gloved hand was waving itself in front of his face. He blinked and looked up at the marshall, who gestured at him to get out of the car.
The Dutchman went through the process of exiting the car on autopilot. Undoing his seatbelt, unhooking the wheel and handing it to the marshall, then finally clambering out of the car, jumping straight down onto the ground as one of the medical teams grabbed his arms and lead him towards one of the ambulances parked at the exit point of the track.
Distantly, he could hear Jack and Dario chatting nonsense over the speakers, discussing random facts about Belgium, arguing over whether Belgian waffles or chocolate were better.
None of that mattered now, not without Stoffel.
The ambulance ride was a blur. He answered the paramedic’s and doctor’s questions as best he could, did as he was told, let the doctors and nurses fuss over him for what felt like hours, but as soon as they left him alone to rest, the thoughts came back.
He tossed and turned, tears streaming down his cheeks as he tried desperately not to sob into his pillow. Several nurses passed, giving him sympathetic looks.
They didn’t understand. For all their working in a hospital, giving bad news daily, they wouldn’t understand how he felt.
Ian visited him the next day, face grave.
“It’s not good,” he started. His face filled with relief. “But he’s alive.”
Nyck’s face must have been a picture. “He… he is?” His voice cracked, this was too good to be true.
“Barely, he’s in a coma, but the doctors are certain he’ll wake up within a month or so. Maybe earlier with a little persuasion.” He gave Nyck a look, and the Dutchman flushed red.
Their relationship wasn’t a secret, there was no way it could be in the nosey world of motorsport, with its nosey journalists and even more nosey drivers, yet Stoffel still managed to make Nyck blush like a teenager in their first relationship.
“He’ll still be unable to race for a while, though. Maybe for the rest of the season, but I don’t think you care too much about that.” Shit, Ian was still talking.
Nyck shook his head. “As long as he’s alive.” He said. “I don’t care what happens next, just as long as Stoffel’s there.”
That night, the doctors wheeled Stoffel’s bed into the same room as Nyck’s. Nyck thought the constant beeping of the heart monitor would grate on his nerves, but he found it gave him a sense of comfort.
Stoffel was still there, Stoffel hadn’t given up on him.
As that thought passed through his head, Nyck felt a little silly. Of course Stoffel wouldn’t give up on him, it’d probably break the Belgian’s heart to know Nyck had thought that. Stoffel was strong, stronger than Nyck, no doubt.
His judgement day would have to wait. For now, Nyck wanted to just live with his husband, as long as they were allowed.