Back to You
George Russell would never forget the sound.
Not the screaming over the radio.
Not the deafening silence that followed.
But the crash.
The violent, horrifying crash that unfolded right in front of him.
One second, Max Verstappen's car was still fighting through the circuit.
The next, everything went wrong.
"MAX!"
The scream tore from George's throat before he could stop it.
The Red Bull spun uncontrollably.
Metal twisted.
Carbon fiber shattered.
Then came the impact.
A sickening sound that echoed across the track.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
George's world stopped spinning.
"No... no, no, no..."
His hands trembled on the steering wheel.
Around him, drivers slowed as yellow flags turned into red.
The race was over.
Nothing mattered anymore.
Because Max wasn't moving.
The radio exploded with voices.
"George, stay in your car!"
"Marshals are on the way!"
"George, do not leave the vehicle!"
But George had already ripped off his helmet.
Already climbed out.
Already started running.
The distance felt endless.
Every step burned through his lungs.
Every heartbeat pounded against his ribs.
Still, he ran.
He ran past barriers.
Past confused marshals.
Past people shouting his name.
Because there was only one thought inside his head.
Please be alive.
Please.
Please.
By the time he reached the wreckage, emergency crews were already surrounding the car.
The sight nearly brought him to his knees.
The car was upside down.
Crushed.
Broken.
Smoke curled into the air.
And somewhere inside that twisted mess was Max.
George pushed forward despite the hands trying to hold him back.
"Sir, you can't be here!"
"Move."
"Sir!"
"Move!"
His voice cracked.
The paramedics finally managed to pull Max free.
Blood stained his race suit.
His face was pale.
Far too pale.
George felt his stomach drop.
"Max."
No response.
"Max."
Nothing.
George grabbed his hand.
Cold.
Too cold.
"I'm here," he whispered desperately.
His vision blurred.
"Please stay with me."
The ambulance doors slammed shut moments later.
George climbed in before anyone could stop him.
He didn't care about the race.
Didn't care about the championship.
Didn't care about anything.
As long as Max survived.
That was enough.
It had to be enough.
Hours later, the hospital corridors felt colder than winter.
Drivers arrived one after another.
Team principals stood in silence.
Nobody knew what to say.
Nobody wanted to imagine the worst.
George sat outside the intensive care unit with dried blood still staining his hands.
Max's blood.
He hadn't washed it away.
Couldn't.
It was all he had left.
The doors finally opened.
A doctor stepped out.
The look on his face told George everything before a single word was spoken.
"No..."
Someone started crying.
George wasn't sure who.
Maybe Max's mother, Sophie.
Maybe Victoria.
Maybe himself.
The doctor lowered his gaze.
"We're sorry."
The world shattered.
Max Emilian Verstappen was pronounced dead shortly after midnight.
Twenty-nine years old.
Gone.
Just like that.
George couldn't breathe.
He couldn't think.
Couldn't understand how someone who had filled every corner of his life could simply disappear.
At some point, he left the hospital.
Nobody stopped him.
Nobody noticed.
Or maybe they did.
Maybe they understood.
Because grief made ghosts of everyone.
The city was quiet.
The streets empty.
Eventually, George found himself standing in a small garden beside the hospital.
A pond sat at its center.
Still.
Silent.
Beautiful.
Much like the man he had just lost.
George fell to his knees.
The tears came without warning.
Without mercy.
"Are you happy now?" he whispered into the darkness.
His voice shook.
"My love..."
The words tasted like broken glass.
"Why did you leave me?"
The night offered no answer.
George clenched his fists.
His shoulders trembled.
"I'll do anything."
The confession escaped before he could stop it.
"Anything."
His voice cracked.
"I swear to God."
Tears streamed down his face.
"Please give him back."
The pond shimmered.
At first, George thought it was a trick of the light.
Then the golden glow grew brighter.
And brighter.
And brighter.
Until it became impossible to ignore.
George stared.
Frozen.
The water rippled despite the absence of wind.
Something moved beneath the surface.
Something impossible.
Then, for the first time that night..
He heard laughter.
Max's laughter.
Soft.
Familiar.
Alive.
George's heart stopped.
"Max?"
The name barely left George's lips.
The golden glow spread across the pond, turning the dark water into liquid sunlight.
For a second, he wondered if grief had finally broken him.
Maybe this was what happened when a heart shattered beyond repair.
Maybe he was losing his mind.
Then he heard it again.
A laugh.
Warm.
Familiar.
Infuriatingly familiar.
The kind of laugh that always appeared after Max won a race.
The kind that lingered in George's memories long after every argument, every rivalry, every moment they spent pretending they meant less to each other than they actually did.
George stumbled toward the edge of the pond.
"Max?"
The water rippled.
A set of car keys slipped from his trembling fingers and disappeared beneath the surface.
"Shit."
Instinctively, George crouched down and reached for them.
His fingertips brushed the water.
The surface broke apart.
Not like water.
Like glass.
George froze.
A hollow darkness waited beneath.
A tunnel.
An impossible tunnel stretching far beyond what should have existed under a simple garden pond.
His breathing quickened.
Every instinct told him to run.
To leave.
To turn back.
But then,
Laughter echoed through the darkness once more.
Closer this time.
George's heart clenched painfully.
"Max..."
The tunnel seemed to pulse with golden light.
Inviting him forward.
Calling him.
And if there was even the smallest chance..
The smallest chance,
That Max was waiting somewhere ahead...
George would follow.
No matter the cost.
No matter where it led.
"I'll find you."
The words escaped in a whisper.
Then he stepped forward.
The tunnel swallowed him whole.
Darkness surrounded him.
Cold air rushed past his face.
The world twisted.
Spun.
Collapsed.
And suddenly,
George was falling.
His back slammed against something solid.
Voices exploded around him.
The smell of fuel and hot asphalt filled the air.
His vision blurred.
Then sharpened.
And George froze.
"No, you're listening to me now."
The voice.
That voice.
His heartbeat stopped.
A hand grabbed the collar of his race suit and shoved him roughly against the wall.
George looked up.
Blue eyes glared back at him.
Familiar.
Alive.
Impossible.
"Dickhead."
Max Verstappen looked absolutely furious.
"You are such a pain in the ass."
George couldn't breathe.
His mind refused to process what he was seeing.
Just hours ago,
No.
Minutes ago.
Max had been lying motionless in a hospital bed.
Now he was here.
Alive.
Angry.
Beautiful.
Real.
"Are you even listening?" Max snapped.
George stared.
The same freckles.
The same messy hair.
The same stubborn expression.
Every detail exactly as he remembered.
A broken sound escaped George's throat.
Before Max could react, George threw his arms around him.
The paddock fell silent.
Max froze instantly.
"What?"
George held him tighter.
As if letting go would make him disappear again.
As if this were a dream waiting to end.
"Thank God."
His voice cracked.
"Thank God."
"George..."
"You came back."
Max blinked.
"What?"
George laughed and cried at the same time.
A completely broken sound.
"You came back."
People around them exchanged confused looks.
Someone dropped a clipboard.
Someone else quietly walked away.
Nobody wanted to get involved in whatever was happening.
Meanwhile, Max remained trapped inside the strangest hug of his life.
"George, what the hell are you talking about?"
George shook his head.
Tears continued falling.
He didn't care.
Not anymore.
Not when Max was breathing.
Not when Max's heart was beating beneath his hands.
Not when he could feel warmth instead of a cold hospital bed.
"I'm sorry."
Max frowned.
"What?"
"I'm sorry."
George's voice trembled.
"For everything."
The apology hung between them.
Heavy.
Sincere.
Years too late.
Max slowly released his grip on George's collar.
His anger disappeared almost instantly.
Replaced by concern.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
George wasn't acting like someone who had just lost an argument.
He was acting like someone who had survived a funeral.
And Max had no idea why.
For the first time all day, he didn't know what to say.
George finally pulled away.
His eyes were red.
His cheeks wet with tears.
Yet somehow,
He was smiling.
A small, grateful smile.
The kind people wore after receiving miracles.
"See you later, Max."
Max stared.
Completely baffled.
George patted his shoulder gently.
Then turned and walked away.
Leaving Max standing there in stunned silence.
"What the hell just happened?"
Nobody had an answer.
Neither did Max.
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But as he watched George disappear toward the Mercedes garage, a strange feeling settled in his chest.
Like something important had happened.
Like somehow,
Without understanding why..
He had almost lost him.
That night, George barely slept.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the crash.
The twisted metal.
The blood.
The monitor going flat.
Max dying.
Again.
And again.
And again.
George woke up gasping before dawn.
For several seconds, he simply stared at the ceiling.
Then he grabbed his phone.
The date stared back at him.
One year.
One entire year before the accident.
His hands shook.
One year to save Max.
One year to change fate.
One year to make sure he never had to hear a doctor say those words ever again.
At first, George tried to stay away.
It seemed safer.
Simpler.
If he kept his distance, maybe it would hurt less.
Maybe he could focus on preventing the accident.
Maybe he could survive this timeline without falling in love all over again.
That plan lasted exactly three days.
Because Max Verstappen was impossible to avoid.
Especially when he suddenly became determined to figure out why George had transformed into the strangest man on the grid.
"You're staring at me again."
George nearly dropped his coffee.
Max smirked.
"There it is."
"There, what is?"
"That guilty face."
George rolled his eyes.
"You're insufferable."
"And you're weird."
Somehow, that became their thing.
The arguments became conversations.
The conversations became dinners.
The dinners became late-night phone calls.
Then morning runs.
Then stolen moments.
Then feelings neither of them could pretend not to notice.
George hated it.
Because every laugh reminded him of what he had already lost once.
Every smile became another reason to be terrified.
Every day brought him closer to the date marked on his calendar.
The date that haunted him.
The date that waited patiently in the future.
Like a predator.
Months later, Max found him staring at the countdown on his phone.
"What's that?"
George locked the screen immediately.
"Nothing."
Max narrowed his eyes.
"Liar."
George forced a smile.
"It's really nothing."
Max didn't believe him.
But he let it go.
For now.
The closer they grew, the harder it became.
Because George wasn't just trying to save a rival anymore.
Or even a friend.
He was trying to save the man he loved.
And fate seemed determined to remind him of that every single day.
Then the date arrived.
The same circuit.
The same weekend.
The same race.
The same nightmare.
George felt sick.
Every sound felt familiar.
Every corner looked wrong.
Every memory clawed at his chest.
Max noticed immediately.
"Hey."
A hand touched his shoulder.
George turned.
Max was smiling.
Concern hidden behind it.
"What's wrong?"
Nothing.
Everything.
George wanted to tell him.
Wanted to tell him about the hospital.
The pond.
The tunnel.
The future.
The death.
Instead, he pulled Max into a hug.
A desperate one.
The kind that belonged to people saying goodbye.
Max wrapped his arms around him immediately.
"George?"
"Promise me something."
"What?"
George closed his eyes.
"No matter what happens today..."
His voice broke.
"...be safe."
Max pulled back slightly.
Confusion crossed his face.
"George."
"Promise me."
A long silence followed.
Then Max sighed.
"I promise."
George laughed weakly.
The tears were already threatening.
Max wiped one away with his thumb.
"You're scaring me, Schatje."
George leaned into the touch.
"I know."
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Max kissed him.
Soft.
Gentle.
Like he was trying to reassure both of them.
When they finally pulled apart, Max rested his forehead against George's.
"I'll see you after the race."
George smiled sadly.
"I know."
It felt like a lie.
---
The race began.
Everything happened the same.
At first.
The positions.
The corners.
The timing.
The engine warnings.
Every detail.
George's blood ran cold.
"No."
Not again.
Not again.
Not again.
Then Max's voice exploded through the radio.
"The engine isn't responding!"
George's heart stopped.
This was it.
The moment.
The exact moment.
He knew what came next.
He had seen it before.
Lived it before.
Lost everything because of it before.
Around him, chaos erupted.
Engineers shouted.
Teams panicked.
The future was unfolding exactly as it had the first time.
And suddenly George understood.
Fate wasn't changing.
It was repeating.
Unless someone paid the price.
A strange calm settled over him.
The fear disappeared.
Because for the first time in a year..
He knew what he had to do.
"George, what are you doing?" came the Toto frantic voice over the radio.
George smiled.
Tears blurred his vision.
"I'm sorry."
"What?"
"I'm sorry."
The car accelerated.
Straight toward danger.
Straight toward destiny.
Straight toward the man he loved.
Max's car was seconds away from disaster.
George tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
One final breath.
One final prayer.
Please.
Let this be enough.
Then he turned.
The impact was catastrophic.
The world became light.
Then darkness.
Then pain.
So much pain.
But somewhere far away,
Someone was calling his name.
"George!"
Max.
"George!"
Still Max.
George smiled.
Good.
That meant he was alive.
The hospital room smelled sterile.
Machines hummed softly.
George opened his eyes. Slowly.
Everything hurt.
His chest.
His ribs.
His lungs.
But none of that mattered.
Because Max was sitting beside him.
Alive.
Safe.
Crying and Mess
George had never seen him cry like that.
"You idiot."
Max laughed through his tears.
"You absolute idiot."
George managed a weak smile.
"Still alive, I see."
"Don't joke about this."
Max grabbed his hand.
As if afraid George might disappear.
"I thought I lost you, Schatje."
For a moment, George remembered another hospital.
Another version of this story.
Another ending.
Only this time, Max was the one sitting beside the bed.
Alive.
And that made everything worth it.
His fingers were growing colder.
The doctors knew.
He knew.
There wasn't much time.
"Max."
"No, Schatje."
"Max."
"Don't speak, you’re still weak, please."
George smiled.
A sad, tired smile.
"If you win another championship someday..."
Max immediately shook his head.
"Stop, Schatje, please don’t.."
"...don't look for me in the crowd."
"George."
"Just live."
Tears streamed down Max's face.
George hated seeing them.
But he loved him too much to regret any of this.
"That's all I wanted."
Max squeezed his hand desperately.
"No, George."
His voice cracked.
"No, no, no."
George looked at him one last time.
The same blue eyes.
The same stubbornness.
The same man he crossed time itself to save.
"I love you."
The words came easily.
Because they were true.
They had always been true.
The monitor began to ring.
Long.
Continuous.
Unforgiving.
And for the second time in his life,
Max Verstappen watched the person he loved disappear in front of him.
Only this time,
It wasn't him who died.
One year later.
The crowd roared.
Fireworks exploded above the podium.
Champagne sprayed through the air.
Another victory.
Another trophy.
Another championship.
Max stood at the top step.
The world celebrated around him.
Yet all he could think about was someone who wasn't there.
Someone who should have been standing beside him.
That night, he drove alone.
Far away from cameras.
Far away from celebrations.
Far away from everyone.
Until he reached the cemetery.
A small bouquet rested in his hands.
Along with the championship trophy.
Max sat down in front of the gravestone.
For a long time, he said nothing.
The silence felt familiar.
Almost comforting.
Eventually, he placed the trophy beside the flowers.
And smiled.
A sad one.
The kind grief leaves behind.
"I won, Schatje."
The wind stirred softly around him.
"I finally won, George."
His eyes burned.
"You were supposed to be here, Mijn schatje ."
Silence answered.
But somehow, Max didn't feel alone.
He looked up at the stars.
And for the first time in a long time, he laughed quietly.
Because he could almost hear George's voice.
Almost hear him teasing.
Almost hear him telling him to stop being dramatic.
Max shook his head.
Then looked back at the gravestone.
"Thank you, Max. For everything."
The words were barely a whisper.
Yet they carried the weight of an entire lifetime.
For saving him.
For loving him.
For choosing him.
Every single time.
Even against fate itself.
And somewhere beyond time, beyond grief, beyond endings..
George finally got his wish.
Max lived.
- Fin
