#Medical emergency | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hayanwulf · 5 months ago

Note

IronStrange:

One of them performs CPR on the other.

Fun fact: a defibrillator can’t actually revive a patient who ‘flatlined’.

Shocking, I know. I guess that’s modern media misrepresentation for you.

PS: At the cost of being a lil hypocritical.. the chance of getting an unshockable cardiac arrest (aka flatline or ‘asystole’) in our scenario, and then also surviving it with CPR, is ridiculously, laughably low. So, Stephen really shouldn’t have survived here, or flatlined in the first place... But hey, the movie itself threw realism out the window, so you can’t tell me shit.

The empty mug comically slipped from his grip, meeting the floor in an ear-deafening shatter.

Tony did not hear it, however, not over the pounding of heartbeat in his ears that immediately followed the almost-heart attack he got at the sight of a literal portal on fire inside his workshop, out of which stumbled his ex-fiance who he had not seen for eight months, hands clutching bloody chest, face drained of color and contorted in pain, steps staggering and making him crash against an equipment.

“The hallucinations are getting crazy,” Tony murmured.

“It’s not a hallucination, Boss,” FRIDAY announced, an urgency to her voice, pulling Tony out of his disbelief-induced state of shock — bless his AI. “Doctor Strange needs immediate medical attention! He’s been stabbed on the chest.”

Tony’s heart only lurched further at the last bit, but he forced his feet to move, shoved all thoughts to the back of his mind, beelining straight for his very mortally injured ex-fiance who was now leaning against god knew what, looking up at Tony with wild, terrified eyes.

“Cardiac Tamponade,” Stephen muttered, his voice weak with a bit of tremble to it, as Tony came to his side to carefully support him. “There’s blood in the pericardial—”

“Shut up!” Tony snapped, felt Stephen flinch against him, and immediately cursed himself for lashing out like that for no reason. He just.. god, this was the first time Tony was seeing Stephen after seven goddamn months, and it was to find him injured — mortally injured — and the first thing Stephen spoke to him was godforsaken diagnosis of how severely close to death he was.

He looked back at the portal once and suppressed a shudder, before shifting his focus back on Stephen to help lead him over to the small infirmary that was built right next to his workshop. “Just.. what the fuck, Stephen?”

Stephen winced, throwing a glance behind his shoulder at the portal, misunderstanding what Tony truly meant. “Sorry, that’s..” He made them pause and waved a hand at the tear in reality behind them.

Tony watched in awe for a moment as the portal quickly shrank and disappeared, remnants of glowing orange dust in the air the only evidence that something had even existed there a moment ago.

“What just—” Tony cut himself off. Not important right now.

He shook his head to dispel all other thoughts and focus solely on Stephen because oh god there was so much blood, Stephen was hurt, Stephen was dying—

“FRIDAY!” He called out, voice wavering with the panic that grew in him with each passing moment as he led Stephen to the adjacent infirmary.

“There is no medical staff at the Compound, Boss..”

“Why!?” Tony asked as his heartbeat spiked at the realization, even though he already knew why.

No one lived in the Compound anymore. All of the staff had been long since dismissed.

As he led Stephen towards the nearest operating table, Tony spared only a brief moment to wonder why, despite there being nobody and nothing in this large establishment, was it that Tony continued to stay here.

He helped Stephen lay flat on the operating table and began to undo.. whatever it was that Stephen was wearing, all the while chanting under his breath, “I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this..”

“Tony,” Stephen spoke, grabbing hold of Tony’s wrist and looking him in the eye. “You can, I know it.”

Tony helplessly shook his head because he couldn’t. How could Stephen think that he could?

But, god, there was no time, no choices.

Stephen either had him, or nothing.

Tony felt the exact moment Stephen’s grip on his arm grew weak, saw his eyes flicker as he fought to keep them open.

“I trust you..” Stephen said weakly, and then passed out, his hand going limp over Tony’s.

Tony stared for a moment.

“Boss?”

FRIDAY’s voice pulled him out of his daze. He looked up at the heart graphs, then back at Stephen’s limp body, and then back up at the heart graphs to be absolutely extra sure he hadn’t lost Stephen yet. His mind was nothing but panicked haze and adrenaline, and logic fought emotion as he struggled to simply act, to do something because he was losing Stephen right in front of his eyes and oh god he needed to save him—

“FRIDAY, w-what—” He swallowed as his voice wavered, “what do I do?”

“Boss, you are close to having a panic attack—”

“And he’s close to dying, dammit! What do I do!?”

“He needs a pericardiocentesis.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“Just get the needle, second shelf from the top.”

FRIDAY guided him through the surprisingly simple, yet downright horrifying procedure of stabbing a needle straight into Stephen’s heart to drain out the blood stuck in his pericardium, decompressing the pressure on his heart. There was a large stab wound on the left side of his chest. The sight of so much blood — of Stephen’s blood — made Tony feel lightheaded, its suffocating metallic scent tangible in his mouth, tasting like copper, all the while his eyes watched the screens of vitals with sharp attention, witnessing as Stephen’s heartbeat grew weaker and weaker, every digit of drop in the heart rate making dread pool heavier in his stomach, making his gut twist sickeningly.

He was holding Stephen’s delicate, precious life in his hands and god, it was terrifying.

How did you do this every single day? Tony silently asked the man lying unconscious in front of him, the back of his eyes stinging as tears formed in them.

If Stephen died now, here, like this, Tony could never forgive himself.

It was those thoughts that roared loud in his mind, in tandem with the beeping of the heart monitor, as he held onto the needle drawing out a nauseating amount of blood.

Even after most of the clogged blood from the walls had been drained out, Stephen’s heart remained weak, his low heart rate not recovering.

And then it happened, just as he pulled out the needle.

Tony’s entire world came to a halt at that sharp, ear-deafening beep of the heart monitor.

“You need to start CPR, now!” FRIDAY spoke up immediately, voice loud and clear over the shrill beep.

“I—the defibrillat—”

“That won’t work, you have to do CPR!”

Tony didn’t question her. He trusted his babygirl, trusted her to help him save Stephen’s life, and moved up to Stephen’s face, tilting his head up, chin held in his hand.

30 compressions, 2 breaths.

He would not lose Stephen. He would not.

Steadying his resolve as he inhaled a deep breath, he pinched Stephen’s nose and then dipped down to seal their mouths together, before blowing into Stephen’s mouth, watching from the corner of his eye as Stephen’s chest rose. He repeated the action, blowing a second rescue breath into Stephen’s mouth, and then quickly moved to his chest.

Taking care to not place his hands over the stab wound currently sealed with nanites, he pushed down forcibly at Stephen’s chest and set up a fast pace, counting the compressions in his head, acutely aware of his speed as well as the relentless beeping of the heart monitor that continued to echo in the background.

After 30 compressions, he repeated the two rescue breaths, and moved to performing compressions again.

Seven.. eight.. nine..

Tony froze when the incessant beeping of heart monitor stopped, to be replaced by a barely there pulse, the graph displaying a weak heart rhythm that was all over the place.

Tony could’ve cried right then. Maybe he did.

“Don’t stop,” FRIDAY’s voice instructed him, and so he didn’t, continuing with the chest compressions.

Two more cycles passed by the time FRIDAY said, “You can shock him now, Boss.”

Tony didn’t waste another second in fetching the defibrillator. He applied the conductive gel over the two paddles before placing one on the right side of Stephen’s sternum and the other below his left nipple — thank the science gods Stephen’s injury didn’t get in the way of their placement — and let FRIDAY decide the appropriate voltage. He pressed down hard on the paddles, steering clear of any other contact to Stephen’s body as the equipment delivered shock.

The heart rhythm graph reacted immediately, and Tony watched in awe as the entire electrical activity was reset and started producing a much healthier, stable rhythm. The pulse reacted to it, quickly gaining strength.

Tony’s knees nearly buckled from the sheer intensity of relief that washed over him, watching Stephen’s heart gain its strength back right in front of his eyes.

Stephen’s eyes flew open with a start and a gasp, and Tony was immediately by his side, the defibrillator abandoned. He panted, eyes glazed and darting wildly at first, until they slowly regained focus. Tony placed a hand on Stephen’s arm, wanting to help him, wanting to give him something to anchor himself to.

But mostly to reassure his own self that Stephen was still here.

“God, that feels weird in the astral plane,” Stephen murmured, his voice a little raspy, before a weak laugh escaped his lips.

“You think this is— wow.” Stephen was laughing. It hadn’t been five minutes since Tony had pulled this man out of the claws of death and now here he was, laughing. Tony felt his body vibrate, his inside burning up with this infuriating mix of anger and.. and.. ugh! He didn’t know.

Never had he felt something so strong, so nauseatingly gut-churning before.

Christ, was this the anger that Stephen felt every time Tony had looked death in the eyes and walked the other way with a victorious smirk on his lips? Was this the exasperation he had always seen in Rhodey’s face when Tony had dismissed his own near-death experiences? Was this the horror Pepper felt every time, as she watched Tony’s gruesome injuries be patched up by Stephen?

“Tony..?” Stephen called out in a small, uncertain voice, causing Tony to turn back to him. Whatever Stephen found there, it made him flinch. Good. After a second, he tentatively added, “I’m.. sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Tony snapped. “You.. you fucking walk out on me without ever telling anything, not even a message, a note, nothing. A-and the next time I see you, you’re walking out of a wormhole with.. with a stab on your chest, bleeding all over my lab. And you’re sorry. You fucking died, Stephen!”

Tony realized that he was visibly shaking now, his breath coming in hitches as thick tears streamed down his face. He sat himself down on the edge of Stephen’s table, wiping both his hands over his entire face, just trying to collect himself. God, it felt like someone was squeezing his heart trying to make it burst.

What would he have done, had Stephen died here today? Because of his inadequacy, because he didn’t know what to do, how to act fast, how to save the life of his fiance?

A shaky hand landed on his arm, making him remove his hands from his face to turn and look down at Stephen.

His ex-fiance had a remorseful look on his face as he interlocked their fingers.

“You did an amazing job, Tony. You saved me.”

Some of Tony’s tense energy melted, and he exhaled a shaky breath with closed eyes.

Stephen was alive. Stephen was here. Because Tony had managed to save him.

“Thank you,” Stephen added after a moment.

Tony opened his eyes and glanced at Stephen from the corner of his eye. “Fuck you.”

He felt it more than heard when Stephen’s chest rumbled with a laugh, and Stephen immediately winced.

Right, the wound must hurt like a bitch.

“Hold on,” Tony said and went to fetch a fresh needle and a vial of painkiller.

A minute later, he unceremoniously dumped the used needle on the appropriate bin as he spoke, “So what’s up with the glowing wormholes and your LARP wizard costume?” He leaned himself against an equipment near Stephen’s table, who was now sitting upright, putting the said LARP costume back on. “Or do we wanna talk about who wanted to roleplay too realistic murder mystery with you? Oh, I have a better idea. How about we start from where the hell did you fuck off to in Nepal?”

Stephen winced, and this time it wasn’t from the physical pain. “I shouldn’t have left you like that?”

“Yeah? Well, good thing that I’m used to being left behind by the people I trust,” Tony spoke, voice laced with venom. A memory flashed in his mind. Blood tainting the white of snow, the feel of metal growing lethally cold all around his body, the dead weight of a dead arc reactor sitting over his chest.

He suppressed a shiver, shoving the memory away.

Stephen, of course, knew nothing of the said memory, and a hint of confusion mixed with hurt flashed over his features. “I.. I’m really sorry, Tony. I have to go.”

Tony blinked, doing a double take of what he’d just heard. “I’m sorry, did you just say that you have to go?”

“Yes.”

“Where!?” Tony snapped, not quite able to hide the irritation in his voice.

Stephen bit his lower lip, expression twisting in contemplation, clearly weighing his options about what he wanted to tell Tony. He then sighed and looked up at Tony.

Tony didn’t know what answer he had expected to hear.

‘I moved on.’ ‘I have another life now, one without you.’ ‘Stop trying to follow me.’

But what he got wasn’t something he’d have expected to hear in a thousand years.

“I was learning magic in Nepal.”

It left him staring dumbfounded, simply trying to grasp what he was hearing.

Stephen sighed again, averting his eyes. “You saw the portal, right?”

Tony swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling too dry as a new, terrifying kind of realization dawned on him. “Yeah.”

Stephen closed his eyes. “There are.. more like us. Good and bad. And the bad ones are going to try to destroy this world, with magic.” He got off the table then, getting on his feet, and stood a foot away from Tony, looking him in the eyes. “I have to go, Tony.”

Too much. This was all too much. First he watched Stephen stumble out of the goddamn portal, watched him die on the table, resuscitated him.. now he was learning that..

Magic.

Stephen was magic.

He’d been learning magic on Nepal, all this time, while Tony was left fumbling alone trying to gather even the tiniest scrap of information on this man, just enough to know that he was fine, that he was alive.

Tony was left with an odd mix of unadulterated fury and debilitating fear bubbling beneath his skin.

Hesitantly, Stephen reached out and took one of Tony’s hands in his shaky grip, brought it to his mouth, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on the back on his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said one last time and let go of Tony’s hand, turning to walk away.

Tony caught his arm before he had fully turned, making him pause and look back at Tony.

“I’m coming too,” Tony declared, letting his determination shine in his tear-streaked eyes.

Stephen slowly shook his head. “There will be magic, Tony.”

Tony spread his arms, summoning Mark XLVII, which flew into the infirmary from his workshop, opened up and quickly wrapped itself around Tony’s body in one quick, flawless motion, only leaving his head uncovered. He could see it in Stephen’s awestruck expression that he was impressed by its smoothness and elegance.

“I’m coming,” Tony repeated, “and that’s final.”

Coming because he would not back down in the face of magic. Coming because he had a duty to this world.

Coming because he would not let Stephen walk into danger all by himself.

Stephen looked at him from one eye to the other, swallowed, and nodded once.

“Close your eyes, I have to open a portal.”

Tony did, trusting Stephen.

#ironstrange #stephen strange #tony stark #fic #mcu fanfiction #hayans tumblr shorts #cpr #medical emergency #let it be known that hayan hates medical shit with a burning passion #this was so worth it though #also apparently hayan doesnt understand the concept of drabbles #im a lost cause yall #still so worth it

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papayanorrisxx · 8 months ago

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Summary: It was the Silverstone GP, and you were invited by The years continue, and you watch the race drivers come and go. New generations take to the track, and some even remind you of Lando - a wild streak to their driving, a cheeky smile, a hint of recklessness in their eyes. It's in these moments that you feel closest to him - when you see his passion for racing live on in a new generation of drivers. the McLaren team to support your best friend, Lando Norris, at his home race. The atmosphere was electric as Lando dominated the track, leading the race by almost four seconds on lap 47. But in a heartbreaking twist, his aggressive driving caused him to lose grip, sending his car spinning into the barrier and bursting into flames.

Warnings: Graphic Injury Description, Major Character Death, Use of Y/N, Car Accident, Fire and Rescue, Medical Emergency, Emotional Distress, Romantic Confession, Mentions of Blood Loss, Physical Pain.

Note: Hi everyone! This is my very first fic/imagine, and I’m both excited and nervous to share it with you all. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you for taking the time to read my work, and I would love to hear your thoughts and feedback!

It was the Silverstone GP, and you was invited by the Mclaren team to support your best friend, Lando Norris, at his home race.

It was lap 47 and Lando was leading the race and was almost 4 seconds ahead of everyone.

He took the corners fast.

To fast.

He looses grip of the wheels and his car spins around, hits the barrier and the car crashes into pieces and sets on fire.

Everyone in the garage is silent, when his radio comes on:

“Arg.. a… t-tell h-h-her I love her-r”

You hear the call, and your heart skips a beat, instantly fearing the worst. You had to see him, and tell him your feelings before it was too late.

After a few moments, the firefighters finally managed to get the fire under control. Then, they take Lando out of his ruined car. Luckily, he was alive and awake, though he was bruised, bleeding and clearly in pain.

Lando is quickly put into the Medical Car and driven into the Medical Center.

You don't hesitate and run into the Centre, right behind Lando, ignoring everyone that tries to prevent you from going.

The medics place Lando on one of the beds and check on his condition. He's conscious and lucid, but very badly injured. His arms and legs are covered in deep scratches and cuts, his nose is bleeding heavily, and he's coughing up blood.

The medics are checking his vitals, and the doctor says that "He's stable, but he's lost a lot of blood."

Lando lies there, pale and shaken from shock and pain. He looks around and suddenly sees you, standing next to his bed. His eyes soften and he tries to smile, but it turns into a grimace of pain.

"Y/N," he croaks. "You're… here."

You take his hand and hold it firmly in yours.

"Of course I am, idiot," you choke out, your eyes filling with tears.

A weak smile tugs at his lips. "I guess.. I made quite a scene, huh?”

He winces and coughs, blood staining his chin.

You press a tissue to his chin, stemming the blood flow.

"Don't talk, stupid," you say, though your voice trembles. "You need to save your strength."

He lets out a soft chuckle before wincing again. "I must look like a mess, huh?"

The doctors and paramedics are still moving around him, checking his vitals and giving him painkillers.

"You look like a right idiot," you tease gently. "But you're still hot as hell."

Even though he's in pain, he laughs softly, wincing again. "Always know what to say, huh?"

"Yeah, well," you say, "someone's gotta tell you what an idiot you are."

You squeeze his hand, your heart aching at the sight of him so beaten up.

He looks more serious now, his voice a raspy whisper. "Y/N... Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," you answer, leaning closer. "You can ask me anything."

He lets out a shaky breath, his hand squeezing yours tightly. "I... I..." He coughs again, the effort clearly taking a toll on him. "I want... to... tell you something... important."

Tears well in your eyes, sensing the gravity of the moment. You gently stroke his hand, encouraging him to speak. "Go on," you say softly.

He closes his eyes for a moment, gathering his strength. When he opens them again, his gaze is fixed on you, intense and unwavering. "Y/N... I... I love you. I've loved you for a long time. And I'm sorry it took an accident for me to finally say it."

Your breath catches in your throat, tears streaming down your face. You never dared to hope he felt the same way.

"Lando..." you whisper, your voice choked. "I... I love you too. I've loved you for so long..."

Despite the pain he is in, his face lights up with a mixture of relief and joy. "You do? Really?" He asks, as if he doesn't quite believe it.

You nod tearfully. "Yes, you idiot. Of course I do. I've been in love with you for years. You're all I think about, day and night."

His gaze softens, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Years, huh? I guess I was a bit oblivious, huh?"

He tries to chuckle again, but devolves into another coughing fit.

You gently shush him, wiping the blood from his chin again. "Stop it, you idiot," you say, your heart overflowing with love and worry. "You need to conserve your strength."

He nods weakly, the coughing subsiding. His eyes never leave yours, holding onto your hand like a lifeline. "I wish I could hold you right now," he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

"You will soon," you promise. "Just hang on for me. You'll be okay."

Your heart aches at the sight of him so vulnerable, but you also feel a wave of love and protectiveness wash over you.

"I'm scared," he admits so quietly you almost don't catch it. He swallows hard. "Everything hurts so much... I don't... I don't want to leave you."

Your heart breaks at his words. "You're not going to leave me," you say firmly, your own fear and worry bubbling up. "You're going to be fine. You're too stubborn to die on me. You hear me?"

He manages a weak grin. "Yeah, I'm pretty stubborn, aren't I? Lucky for you."

He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep, shaky breath. "Just... Just promise me... you won't leave me, okay? Stay with me. Please."

"I'm not going anywhere," you say fiercely, brushing some hair away from his forehead. "I'll stay right here, by your side, no matter what."

He lets out a shaky sigh of relief. "Thank you," he whispers. He opens his eyes, looking at you with all the vulnerability you've never seen in him before. "I love you so much. I don't know what I'd do without you."

You squeeze his hand, your heart aching at the raw emotion in his voice. "I love you too," you say again, your voice filled with tears. "We're going to get through this together, okay? You and me."

A single tear escapes the corner of his eye, and he nods. "You and me," he repeats hoarsely, clinging to your hand as if it's the only thing keeping him grounded.

You continue to hold his hand, offering him comfort and assurance. The sound of the medical personnel moving around the room, the beep of the monitors, and the low hum of the air conditioning fill the background.

Finally, a doctor approaches, a serious expression on his face. "We need to transfer him to the hospital now," he says. "Can you step aside, please?"

Reluctantly, you let go of Lando's hand, knowing he needs to be taken care of. The doctors move in, quickly attaching monitors and preparing him for transport.

You take a step back, watching as they carefully lift Lando onto a stretcher. His eyes find yours, pleading you not to leave.

You force a reassuring smile, your hand still outstretched towards him. "I'll meet you at the hospital," you say softly, your voice trembling.

Lando nods, his hand clenching around yours one more time before they wheel him out of the treatment room and to the waiting ambulance outside.

The ride to the hospital feels like an eternity. You follow the ambulance closely, anxiety coursing through your veins. The thought of losing Lando is too painful to bear.

When you finally arrive at the hospital, Lando is immediately taken to the Emergency Department. You are directed to the waiting area where other anxious families are waiting for news.

The hours crawl by, your mind consumed with worry and fear. The doctors and nurses come in and out, but they won't let you see Lando.

Finally, a doctor approaches you, a serious expression on his face. "Can I speak to you in private for a moment?" he asks.

Your heart sinks, fearing the worst. You nod wordlessly and follow the doctor to a quiet corner of the waiting area.

The doctor takes a deep breath, clearly struggling to find the right words. "We've done everything we can for Lando," he begins, his voice solemn. "However, his condition is critical. The impact from the crash has caused severe internal bleeding and damage to his organs."

Your heart feels like it is being crushed as you struggle to comprehend the doctor's words. "But... but he's going to be fine, right?" you manage to ask, your voice trembling.

The doctor looks at you kindly, but his expression is filled with sorrow. "I'm afraid it's not looking good," he says gently. "We're doing everything possible to stabilize him, but the next few hours will be critical. There's a chance he may not make it."

Those words feel like a knife to the heart. You can't fathom a world without Lando, your friend, your love, your everything.

Tears stream down your face, the reality of the situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. "I need to see him," you whisper, your voice desperate. "Please, let me see him."

The doctor regards you for a moment, understanding the desperation in your voice. "I'll see what I can do," he says, "but I must warn you. He's in a very critical state, and it may be distressing for you to see him."

You nod, knowing that nothing can brace you for the sight of Lando in such dire condition.

The doctor leads you down a sterile hallway, the click of your footsteps echoing in your ears. The sound seems to mirror the beating of your heart, a mixture of fear and hope.

The doctor pushes open a heavy door, revealing a private room where Lando lies motionless on a bed surrounded by medical equipment. The steady beep of monitors, the sound of the ventilator, and the faint hiss of machines fill the room.

The sight of him is shocking. His face is pale and battered, tubes and wires connecting him to various machines. A large bandage covers his head, and there are numerous scratches and cuts on his exposed skin. The ventilator helps him breathe, pumping air into his lungs in a regular rhythm

A sob catches in your throat as you rush to his bedside, taking his hand in yours. It's ice-cold, a stark contrast to the warmth you're used to.

You brush a strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers trembling. "Lando," you whisper, your voice breaking. "I'm here. I'm here, love."

There is no response, save for the steady rise and fall of his chest, each breath assisted by the ventilator.

You collapse into the chair beside his bed, your hand still holding his. The enormity of the situation floods over you, the fear and helplessness consuming you.

Hours pass, the only sound in the room the rhythmic beeping of the monitors and the steady hum of the ventilator. The doctors and nurses come in periodically to check on his vital signs, but each update is laced with the same ominous words.

Time seems to warp in this sterile room. The hours blend together, the waiting is endless, and the fear only grows stronger.

You refuse to leave Lando's bedside, your hand constantly holding his. Every now and then, you whisper words of love and encouragement to him, hoping that somewhere deep within his unconsciousness, he can hear you.

The doctors and nurses occasionally urge you to get some rest, but you shake your head stubbornly. You can't even think about leaving his side, even for a moment. The thought of missing something, of not being with him in his last moments, is unbearable

Night falls, the room now dimly lit only by the machines and the soft glow of the overhead light. You're sitting beside Lando, your eyes fixed on his still form.

Suddenly, the steady rhythm of the machines falters. The heart monitor begins to give erratic beeps, the line on the graph fluctuating wildly.

Panic seizes your heart, your grip on Lando's hand tightening. "Lando... Lando, no, please," you whisper, pleading with him to hold on.

Doctors and nurses burst into the room, urgently checking each of the monitors and machines attached to Lando.

They work frantically, adjusting dials and administering medications, but the heart monitor continues its erratic pattern. The atmosphere in the room is charged with tension and desperation.

One of the doctors looks at you, their eyes expressing a message you don't want to hear. They begin to prepare resuscitation equipment

"No," you whimper, clutching Lando's hand tightly. "No, he can't leave me. He can't. Lando, please, don't leave me."

The doctor approaches you, their expression compassionate but firm. "I'm so sorry," they say, their voice barely above a whisper. "You need to step back for a moment, please."

Reluctantly, you force yourself to release Lando's hand. Stepping back, you watch your world fall apart. The doctors and nurses rush into action, administering CPR and using the defibrillator in a desperate attempt to restart his heart.

The next few minutes are a blur, the room filled with the sounds of beeping machines, shouted orders, and the urgent voices of the doctors and nurses as they continue their resuscitation efforts.

Each passing second feels like an eternity. Your heart aches as you watch the doctors working, desperately trying to save Lando.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, one of the doctors looks at the heart monitor. The rapid, erratic beats begin to slow, replaced by a flat line, a grim confirmation of what you dread most.

The room falls silent, the only sound the steady beep of the heart monitor and the soft whir of the ventilator.

You stand frozen to the spot, your world collapsing around you, a wave of numbness washing over you. The doctors and nurses look at each other, their expressions heavy with sadness and sympathy.

The doctor walks towards you, a heavy sadness in their voice. "I'm so sorry," they say, their voice barely above a whisper. "He's gone."

A sharp,noise escapes from somewhere deep within you. It's a sound of unbearable pain, a sound of a heart breaking into fragments.

You stagger forward, reaching Lando's bedside. He lies there, pale and still, a shadow of the vibrant man you once knew. You reach out, your trembling fingertips tracing the features of his face.

The reality of his loss slams into you with the force of a tidal wave. The tears you had been holding back now stream down your face without restraint, your body racked with sobs.

You take Lando's lifeless hand in yours, clenching it like a lifeline. "No, no, no…" you whisper, your voice hoarse and broken. "Not like this. It can't end like this."

The room is heavy with a quiet, almost reverential atmosphere. The medical staff step back, leaving you alone with Lando in the silence.

You bend over, resting your forehead against your intertwined hands, the tears dripping onto Lando's motionless chest.

Your mind is flooded with memories - laughter, shared dreams, moments of joy, and the love that burned like a flame between the two of you.

You struggle to comprehend a world without Lando, a world without his smile, his laugh, his presence. The pain is overwhelming, tearing at your heart like a relentless storm.

"Please," you sob, your voice breaking. "Please, come back to me. I can't do this without you. I need you."

But the room remains silent, the machines now stilled, the heart monitor a constant, cruel reminder of the absence of the life it once measured.

As word of Lando's passing spreads, the racing community comes together in grief. The Formula 1 drivers, his teammates and rivals alike, reach out to you, offering their sincere condolences and reminiscing about the times they shared with Lando on and off the track.

At Lando's funeral, numerous Formula 1 drivers arrive to pay their respects. Some, like Daniel and Carlos, share heart-wrenching stories of their time as his teammates, reminiscing about his talent, passion, and infectious laughter. Charles tearfully speaks of the brotherly bond he had with Lando, a friendship that went beyond the race track.

George Russell delivers a deep speech, remembering Lando's determination and unwavering spirit, recalling races where they battled head-to-head.

Finally, you take the stage. Your voice quivers as you speak about Lando's love and loyalty.

As you stand beside Lando's coffin, your voice trembles with emotion as you address the mourners. "Lando was not just a racing talent," you begin, your eyes fixated on his face for a moment. "He was a friend, a companion, and above all, my true love."

You pause, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before continuing, "Lando's laughter could light up any room, and his determination on the track was second to none. He lived life with a passion that few possess, and his spirit was as bright as the stars in the sky."

You force yourself to continue through tears. "But what defined Lando the most, what made him truly special, was his heart. His love for racing, his loyalty to his friends, and his selfless care for those he loved. He gave so much, always putting others first, and his presence in our lives left an indelible mark."

You look around the room, meeting the eyes of those gathered, their faces reflecting the same pain and love you feel. "Lando leaves behind a void that cannot be filled and memories that will last forever. He will always be with us."

Your voice breaks as you force out the last few words. "Goodbye, my love. I'll carry you in my heart always."

You step back, wiping away tears as the room falls silent, the weight of your words settling over everyone present.

The drivers you mentioned before, along with others like Lewis, Max, Pierre, and Oscar, take turns coming up to you, one by one. They offer words of comfort, stories of their time with Lando, and their own heart-wrenching farewells.

Some, like Daniel and Carlos, share stories of Lando's pranks and mischief, remembering his ability to find humor even in the most intense moments. Charles shares more intimate memories, moments of vulnerability and support, revealing the depth of their friendship.

George, his voice choked with emotion, tells you about the countless hours spent together, training, gaming, and discussing racing. He recalls Lando's advice and the friendly competitions that always pushed them to be better.

The weight of their shared grief hangs heavy in the air, but you can also feel the love and respect they all had for Lando. They are a band of brothers, bonded by the common thread of racing, and in this moment, you are all bound together by the memory of one extraordinary person.

The days that follow are a blur. You go through the motions as best as you can - planning the funeral, answering calls from well-wishers, and trying to make sense of the void that Lando's absence has left in your life.

It's during the quiet moments, though, that the reality of your loss hits you the hardest. The late nights spent crying yourself to sleep, the moments when you reach for your phone to call Lando before remembering he's gone, the silence in your once-shared home.

Months pass, and you find yourself at the Silverstone track where Lando had his accident. Today, they are unveiling a memorial to honor his memory.

The track is bustling with attendees, including Formula 1 drivers, racing staff, and fans who had been affected by Lando's sudden passing. The air is thick with a mix of anticipation and sadness.

You stand among the crowd, your heart heavy as you watch the preparations for the unveiling. A podium is set up near the track, and a large, covered structure nearby awaits the reveal.

The moment arrives when the officials prepare to unveil the memorial. The cover is pulled away to reveal a life-sized statue of Lando, frozen in the moment of triumph, a checkered flag in his hand, and a wide, joyful grin on his face.

A collective gasp rises from the crowd, followed by applause and scattered cheers. The statue is a beautiful tribute, a forever testament to Lando's passion and achievements.

The drivers who had spoken at his funeral are also in attendance. They approach the statue one by one, placing their hands on it, as if trying to connect one last time with their fallen friend.

Daniel lays his palm on the statue's outstretched hand, his eyes fixed on the life-like features. Carlos pats the statue's back, reminiscing silently about the memories they shared.

Oscar stands in front of the statue for a long moment, his fingers stroking the flag in Lando's hand. It's as if he holds a conversation with Lando, a silent one no one else can hear.

Then, George steps forward. His gaze remains on the statue's face for a moment before he rests his forehead against the chest. It's a gesture of brotherly love and farewell, his last words to Lando whispered into the air.

Finally, it's your turn. You approach the statue with a mixture of trepidation and nostalgia. As you touch the cold, stone surface, the pain of loss and the love you once shared with Lando flood back.

You let your fingers trail over the lines of his face, caressing softly. Memories flash before your eyes - his smile, his laughter, his touch. You murmur words of love, apologies, and the thousand "I wish" and "what if" phrases that have plagued your thoughts since his passing.

You step back, feeling the weight of his absence in your bones. But in the quiet strength of the statue, you also find a bit of solace, a permanent tribute to the man you loved so fiercely

The days and weeks that follow the unveiling of the memorial are both easier and harder. Easier, in a way, since the grief has settled into a constant dull ache, a part of your daily life. Harder, because the memories are stirred

It's the little things that hit you the hardest - a song on the radio that reminds you of a road trip you took together, a race on TV that you used to watch with Lando, a car that looks like his.

The seasons change, and life's rhythm is dictated by the Formula 1 calendar. With each race, you feel the absence of Lando's presence more deeply. The races that he should have been a part of, the podium celebrations he should have been on, the laughter in the paddock that should have been there.

As time continues to pass, life slowly begins to take on a new rhythm. The pain of losing Lando never entirely vanishes, but you find a way to honour his memory in your own way.

You keep his memory alive by sharing stories about him with friends, family, and anyone who cares to listen. You tell about his love for racing, his passion, his loyalty, and his unwavering spirit. You tell about the way his eyes lit up when he won a race, the way he laughed when you shared a joke. Through these stories, his memory lives on, a vibrant, indelible part of your life.

You start a foundation in Lando's name, supporting young drivers with potential who lack the means to make it to F1. It's a cause close to your heart, and it's a way to carry on Lando's love for the sport and ensure that other aspiring drivers get a chance, just like he once did.

Over time, the pain starts to dull, replaced by a sense of peace and acceptance. You don't forget Lando, but your memories of him don't hurt as much as they used to. The emptiness in your heart isn't as sharp, and you can sometimes even smile when you think of him.

The track where Lando had his accident becomes a sanctuary of sorts for you. You visit there often, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends. You sit beside his statue, listening to the silence, sometimes speaking to him, sometimes just sitting quietly beside his memory.

The years continue, and you watch the race drivers come and go. New generations take to the track, and some even remind you of Lando - a wild streak to their driving, a cheeky smile, a hint of recklessness in their eyes. It's in these moments that you feel closest to him - when you see his passion for racing live on in a new generation of drivers.

The End

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