Archive of Our Own

Ever since that day in the field, Max had made it his mission to stay far, far away from his fellow karters. He didn’t need their pity, didn’t need their friendship. The boy would show Gasly and the others that he was okay on his own, that having friends would only slow him down.

Max only needed to follow his father’s advice and tough love. Friends would make him soft. Friends would make him weak. Friends would make him slower. Friends would make him happy which the little twelve year-old just couldn’t afford to be.

Happiness was leading the race. Happiness was standing on the top step of the podium. Happiness was winning the karting championships. Happiness was a night without tough love.

Now if only his heart wouldn’t tighten so much every time he saw the other karters laughing somewhere without him.

He was fine. Max was fine.

Interacting with the others around the track… if only that could become easier with time. But no, it would never be that easy, and instead he needed to cover his heart with steel plates and bury his soul deep into the abyss.

If only the others could see that Max wasn’t their friend.

He couldn’t afford to be. Not anymore.

It was always Russell who had to go and start something he couldn’t finish. Max hated having to deal with the stuck up Brit, having to hear his smug little voice and witness his pompous attitude. The Dutchman just knew that the other was going to be absolutely insufferable as the years continued.

What a prick.

Albon was fine, the Thai friendly and relatively normal. The only problem with him was the fact he was super good friends with Russell. Max didn’t understand what he saw in the Brit or how he could handle the stick shoved all the way up Russell’s ass.

Oh well.

Russell at least was one of the only karters who understood that Max couldn’t have friends, so for that he got a point. Albon… Albon needed to take the hint.

Like right now.

Max was seconds away from punching Russell. In his defense, the Brit deserved it. From the corner of his eye the young Dutchman could see Albon hovering nearby, hands awkwardly in the air as if the other couldn’t decide to intervene or not. But that wasn’t his concern, oh no.

His concern was the fact that Russell had crashed him out of the race and was going to be the reason Max got a reminder of what tough love was tonight. Not that the other knew that, but it was still the Brit’s fault regardless. Hence, the ongoing screaming match between the two.

“How are you so incapable of seeing a kart in front of you?” Max screeched, hands balled up into fists as he inched closer and closer to the freshly turned twelve year-old Russell. “I was literally right in front of you and had the line!”

The Brit’s face was bright red, chestnut hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. “How are you incapable of letting someone pass you? Huh? Always have to brake hard and ruin everyone else’s race!”

“Oh that’s rich coming from you! You klootzak!”

“Name calling? Well, you’re a bully! A stupid, no good wanker!”

“George, Max, wait guys-”

“I’m a bully? You are always parading around the younger kids and rubbing your success in their faces!”

“Well at least I don’t win every race and leave nothing for the rest of us, unlike someone here!”

“That’s not my fault!” Max stomped his foot, face blistering red. “Maybe you should get better at racing!”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t be so mean to everyone!” Russell lunged forward, hands shoving the Dutchman backwards.

“Guys, please, just-”

“Oh, you are such a pannenkoek!” Max shoved Russell back, the two beginning to grapple with one another.

Both hissed as they tugged and pulled at one another’s suits, pinching skin underneath with their little hands. Insults were shouted at one another while they fought, both trying to stay on their feet as they stumbled about. It was only when Max was about to successfully trample Russell that hands were on them both, separating them with a shout.

“Knock it off!”

Piercing blue eyes bore into Albon, the little Dutchman’s body trembling with rage and fear. He watched as the Thai squirmed under his stare, the other still trying to hold back Russell that was trying to lunge for him again. Crossing his arms, Max seethed at Albon.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to keep you two idiots from killing each other!”

“Well, he deserves it!” Max whined, fingers digging deep into his arms.

“You’re just a shitty bastard!” Russell exploded, the words lodging deep into the Dutchman’s heart.

“George! That’s uncalled for!” Albon said, disappointment lingering in his voice.

“No, let him continue. I want to hear what he really thinks of me.” Max stood his ground firmly, trying to ignore the tears that threatened to slip out. “Let him speak.”

“Max, I don’t think that’s-”

“You want to know what I think?” Russell slipped from Albon’s grasp, stomping over to stand before Max. For his part the boy didn’t falter, but his fingers dug just a bit deeper into his arms.

“You just think you’re better than the rest of us, always winning and pushing us off track and pulling dangerous moves.” The Brit was now standing right before him, shoving a pointy finger into the Dutchman’s chest. “You don’t care to make friends and you look down on all of us. Honestly, you’re just like your father, all rage and temper and bad choices. No wonder no one likes you.”

Max stood there for a moment unblinking, letting the words sink down into the abyss where his soul was shoved into, wrapping around his heart like thorny vines. He let himself feel the pain and hurt, embracing it because this is what he had wanted after all.

But god why did it have to feel like he was dying?

The young boy nodded slowly, the tears now right at the edge, teasing to spill over his lashes. He caught Albon’s gaze, noting how the Thai’s eyes widened at the signs of deep pain in Max’s being, but he quickly looked back at Russell, lips curling into a cruel sneer.

“Bedankt, George, for telling me how you feel,” he spit out, voice slightly trembling. “Good to know how you and the others think of me. But guess what? I don’t care.”

Max cracked at the end, stepping back a couple places. Albon pushed past a fuming Russell, hands out stretched towards the Dutchman. But he was already moving further and further away, away from the offered line, away from salvation.

“Max, wait!”

It was better this way, to have everyone hate him and leave him alone.

Max had always tried to avoid Schumacher like the plague, especially since his parents had divorced. The entire family had witnessed too much over the years, and quite frankly, it was easier to hide in shadows than deal with the looks shot his way whenever they were near. It just was unfortunate that Mick ended up at some of the same races occasionally, as much as he did miss seeing the German boy.

Currently, the young Dutchman was being scolded by his father, having won first place but at the cost of damaging his rear axle. The almost thirteen year-old was half listening to Jos’ beratement, instead staring far off towards where everyone else milled about the track. From where they were partially concealed by some tire stacks, he could just make out the young Schumacher in the distance

And then blue and blue connected.

“Are you even listening to me?” Jos hissed, cuffing Max in the back of the head.

The younger Verstappen inclined his head to the left after meeting his father’s gaze. “Mick is over there and he can see us. Michael won’t be too far behind.”

There was a moment of silence between the two, neither moving and nothing being said. Then Jos was backing away, faking a cough in his hand as he glanced around. If there was one thing the father and son could agree on, it was to not give the Schumacher’s anything to worry about.

Not anymore.

“Right,” Jos spoke, voice oddly neutral. “I will pack up the kart. You go… do whatever for now.”

“Yes, papa.”

Max watched as his father walked away, sneakily glancing towards where he had last seen the younger Schumacher. Spotting him now next to Uncle Michael, the Dutchman winced and scurried away. Not caring where he ended up, the boy wandered until he found a ledge overlooking the karting track. He made himself comfortable, the wind ruffling his blond locks gently.

For a while he sat there, lost in his thoughts, enjoying the small comfort that the breeze brought with it. At the sound of footsteps padding closer to him, Max froze slightly, waiting for whoever it was to appear. Sure enough, a taller body sat itself next to his on the ledge, knees almost touching.

“Good race,” Stroll spoke quietly.

“You too,” Max replied.

No more words were spoken, only the distant chatter of the rest of the grid audible. The two boys sat upon that ledge for a while, finding solace in one another’s presence. They were not friends but they were not rivals either. Just known to one another, nothing more.

And so in that Max allowed himself to have something, knowing that the threat of a friendship would never come to pass with the other. Only a shared tranquility between the two in moments of choppy water.

If not the one who had once been like a brother, then at least there was another silent, downcast figure to fill the void just a tiny bit.

Norris was one of the loudest, if not the loudest, people at the races. Max swore that his laugh could be heard from anywhere on the track, even from inside a building. How the Brit had so much joy, the Dutchman would never know.

Max frowned from where he stood wiping down his kart, peeking at Norris and Ocon who were laughing about something stupid, the two making odd gestures in the air. Huffing, the boy cleaned the metal more aggressively, cheeks puffed up and slightly red. He was startled when the aforementioned boys appeared right in front of him.

“Hiya, Max!” Norris cheered, eyes crinkling with his wide smile.

“Hey, Max,” Ocon spoke, voice a slightly lower octave than the Brit’s, but loud all the same. “Nice work out there.”

“Yeah, you really crushed it today!”

Max grunted, briefly glancing at the two before focusing on the shiny kart before him. He swatted Norris away when the younger touched the metal, a cheeky laugh slipping from the younger boy’s mouth.

“Watch it!” Max scolded, rubbing the spot that had been touched.

It only made the Brit cackle harder, hazel eyes gleaming in the sunlight. “You’re really something else, aren’t ya?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The young Dutchman glowered at the other, ignoring Ocon who was sidling up to his left. “I am a racer and a human, thank you very much.”

“Pshhh,” Norris waved Max’s words away, shaking his head. “Nah, that’s not what I meant, but whatever. Anyways, are you joining the little dinner party we’re having in an hour? Everyone is coming.”

“Yeah, and there will be all kinds of food too!” Ocon chimed in.

Max glanced up at the Frenchman on his left before sliding his gaze to the jubilant Brit. Both wore bright smiles and their expectation of his attendance was palpable in the air. The boy’s gut rolled with nausea.

“No.”

Immediately the other two began to protest.

“What?”

“Come on, Max!”

“Ugh, you never come!”

“Turn that frown upside down!”

“Yeah, just be friendly for once!”

“Would it kill you to hang with us?”

“You really don’t want friends, huh.”

At that Max snarled, nudging Ocon sharply with his shoulder. From the corner of his eye he could see Norris frowning at the Frenchman. Done with the whole situation, the boy threw down his rag into the kart.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I have to go. My father is looking for me.” Max turned away from the vehicle, thankful that Jos was indeed not too far away.

He ignored the protests from behind him, doing his best to ignore Norris defending him to Ocon as well. Instead, the twelve year-old walked away, heading towards his towering father who awaited his arrival with a frown.

Even if he appreciated the effort, it would never be able to be truly and wholly appreciated the way he wanted.

“I swear you are trying to kill me sometimes out there.”

“Well, learn to brake and not get in my way.”

“Non, I will never waver.”

“Neither will I.”

Max held Charlie’s gaze, brilliant sapphire and radiant emerald clashing together in electric sparks. Gasly hovered a bit away, but neither acknowledged him, too focused on the rival before them.

“You’re just a sore loser,” Max mocked, holding his helmet in one arm while the other pointed at Charlie’s face.

The Monegasque scoffed, mirroring the Dutchman’s stance. “You’re a sore winner.”

“You’re both insufferable,” Gasly muttered.

The comment was ignored, Max and Charlie continuing their staredown. It was always like this between them, a constant pull to orbit around the other, one moment peaceful and then the next tense. Rivals, friends, partners; there were a million words to describe them and yet none that truly fit. A duo always together and yet always opposed.

Charlie broke first, a little laugh escaping him as he dropped his arms, cocking his head to the side.

“Was a good move to get me on the last lap,” the Monegasque said, a smile pulling lips up. “Really thought I had you there.”

The Dutchman grinned, hugging his helmet tight to his chest. “Not too bad yourself, your defense is getting better. I wasn't sure I could pass you.”

“And now they flirt, mon dieu,” Gasly muttered.

“Sure you won’t come to Esteban’s van? His papa has made snacks and everyone is going.”

“No, you know I can’t,” Max wilted, kicking the tarmac with his boot. “It’ll be more fun without me anyways, you know that too.”

Charlie frowned. “Non, Max. You are always wanted.”

The boy scoffed hard at that, a rueful chuckle escaping his chest.

“Sure, and pigs are flying. I don’t have friends, Charlie.”

“You are an idiot.”

“Says the Frenchman.”

“It is Monegasque!”

“And here they go again.” Gasly tossed his head back, throwing his arms in the air as he walked away.

Max and Charlie fell into a new argument, both enjoying the banter. But it was short lived as a shadow came to encompass the little Dutchman’s form, a strong hand gripping tight to his shoulder. The boy froze, fear sparking in his eyes. Blue and green met and the former knew he was caught.

“What are you doing, boy?” Jos’ tone was unforgivingly cold.

Shivers raced down Max’s spine, face falling flat as he stood straight and tall. He tried to ignore the worry that sparked in Charles’ own face, ignoring the protective stance his rival adopted.

“What have we talked about?”

“No friends, papa,” Max answered, voice just above a whisper.

“So what is this?” Jos’s grip tightened, pain shooting through the boy’s shoulder.

“Just talk about the last lap, nothing more. I was about to leave to find you.”

“You better have been. Let us go now. We do not need to interact with those who are inferior to us.”

“Yes, papa.”

Jos manually forced Max away, the hold unrelenting as they began to walk off. The young boy gave one last look towards Charles, heart crying in pain at the look on the other’s face. Quickly the Dutchman looked away, head downcast as he left with his father.

Even if he wanted a friend, his father was always there to remind them all that it was not a feasible wish to be had.

Max hid in a small side path, knees tucked tight to his chest as he watched the party going on without him. Blue eyes were filled with melancholy as he watched the other boys laughing and playing with one another, food and drink flowing freely. From his spot he could see almost everything, the only sound reaching his ears the soft melodies playing from a stereo.

Ocon was egging on Stroll to do something stupid, tugging the Canadian around, wide smiles on both their faces. Norris was clearly telling some extravagant tale to an enraptured Gasly, the Brit’s arms wildly waving about as he told his story. By the food was Albon, Russell, and Charles, the three animatedly chatting while stuffing their faces with delicious looking desserts. Around them other karters milled about too, the whole gathering filled with unending amounts of joy.

How he wished to join them in their merry-making.

How he wished to be able to call them friends, not just rivals.

How he wished to ask them if he could sit right there and listen in.

How he wished he could ask them if they got tough love too.

How he wished he could ask them if his father was a bad person.

If Max was a bad person.

If Max should be stronger.

If

If

Max couldn’t have friends, both by his own declaration of killing the soft parts of himself and not accepting the pity, and by the constant watch from his father on his every move. This was not a world where he would get to the highest of highs with friends and pals, No, he had to be ruthless and cold and relentless in his pursuit to win.

Max Emilian Verstappen did not need anyone else, and that was final. He was okay on his own; he had survived this long after all. And he had his father, Jos, to always tell him from right and wrong.

So no, as much as he wanted to go and play with the other karters and chat about stupid things, he didn’t need it, it was only a stupid, weak want. And wants weren’t going to get him anywhere in this world after all.

But by god did he just want one person to understand.