Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Meteorologists say that this hurricane might be stronger than usual as the South-East coast leaves a heatwave, rating Hurricane Fleur as a lower category 4 as of now. Though she won't be making landfall for another predicted week, people throughout Florida, Alabama and even Georgia are being told to prepare for the worst. In other news..."

Dream allowed his attention to drift away from the news reporter as she moved on to another news story, popping his back from where he sat on the couch and humming thoughtfully.

"What's this about Fleur?" George asked from the armchair in the corner. Currently, the short brit was staying with Sapnap and him in their house in Florida, easing himself into their living dynamic with extended stays every so often. It was just poor luck that he was stuck with them until the planes started flying again, since no doubt if the hurricane was as bad as they predict - or God forbid, worse - there wouldn't be any flights, or maybe even roads, open until they were in the clear.

"Yeah, seems like we're gonna be stuck in the house 'til we're in the clear," Dream said, running a tanned hand through golden waves as he pushes his hair out of his eyes. 

"Ew, gross. I don't want to be stuck in a house with you two for like a week, no thanks." George snarks, getting up to grab a glass of water from their kitchen.

"Bold of you to assume we want you here at all, Gogy. Heh." Sapnap retorts, shoving George on his way to the kitchen before plopping himself next to Dream on the couch, making noises to attract Patches, who was looking at the trio from the door where she stood. She merely looked at him, miffed, before strutting past to drink out of her water bowl by the counter edge. Dream snorts, amused with their interactions. It was different to hearing them do it over a discord call or a TeamSpeak - they were here. In the same house. It was surreal, frankly, two of his best friends - more like brothers in all but blood - in the same room as him.

"Keep telling yourself that, Snapmap!" George sassed, drawing another snort from Dream and a scoff from Sapnap. There was a short, comfortable silence, then Dream spoke up again, "We should probably stock up, I'll go to the store to grab some supplies.

"We'll need torches in case of a power outage, more food and things that keep without refrigeration, probably some blankets and stuff, and I'll get more food for Patches since you never know. Anything else?"

Sapnap and George looked to him, both shaking their heads. 

"Cool. I'll be back soon, then." dream grabbed his wallet and keys, slipping on his black sneakers then leaving the house, ignoring the slight tug of drowsiness on his consciousness. He shoved it away.

Dream closed the door to the house with a click, toeing off his shoes and placing his large paper bag of groceries on the counter, placing his keys in the little wooden bowl by the door, wallet being left near their sink. 

"I'm home!" He called softly, leaning down to pet Patches as she trotted over, "Hey, baby..."

"Hi!" Sapnap giggled as he walked over, "are you happy now? Does our storm prep have the Dream seal of approval?"

"Yep! I'm quite confident now, I think we'll be fine." The tug of drowsiness on his conscious he'd felt earlier made its presence known again, pulling on him a little harder and making his eyes feel heavy. Dream groaned.

"Hey, man, you good?" The Texan asked, concern lacing his tone.

"Yeah, just a lil' tired."

"Wow, Dream," George walked into the room, throwing one of Dream's strategically placed fidget toys - a squishy ball - up into the air before catching it again, "didn't realise that social interaction could drain you so bad."

"Hush, you." Dream smirked, "But all jokes aside, I'm fine, just slept restlessly last night and now its catching back up with me." He chuckled. Sapnap eased, tension in his shoulders Dream hadn't even noticed evaporating. 

George, nosy as ever, walked over to where he set down the bag, gazing over its edge to see inside. He pulled out two large fleece blankets, one turquoise, the other purple, placing them on the back of the couch with a little murmur of 'Karl, my beloved' from Sapnap. Dream took out various tins of soups and beans and cans of corn along with a few loaves of bread, everything else already within their cupboards. 

Dream reached into the bag to grab the last thing he bought, "I also grabbed us another emergency first aid kit, just to be safe. It's got anything we need to treat injuries, so we'll be fine."

Dream coughed into the crook of his elbow just as a small twig flew into their window pane, the wind picking up outside.

"I thought the news said she wasn't going to get here until later this week?" George asked.

"The winds pick up in prep, and besides, she might have sped up. They're not exactly always consistent, what with the weather's unpredictability and all..." Sapnap said, putting their First Aid kit away after taking it from Dream's hand. 

"Yeah," Dream rasped, wincing before clearing his throat, ignoring the concerned looks thrown his way, "besides, it's nothing we can't handle. Florida has seen worse, and Orlando is good at handling this stuff. We'll be fine."

"Okay..." George said, rubbing has arm as he leaned on the back of the couch.

"Aww, is Gogy-Wogy getting scawed?" Sapnap mocked, using the infamous 'uwu' voice on the short Brit, who just slapped him away with a grin. They laughed, and Dream smiled fondly. The wave of tiredness was really getting to him now, and he could feel his eyelids getting heavy.

"..-eam? Dream!" His attention focused back in to a hand waving in front of his face, and Dream looked down to Sapnap's face with a 'huh?'

"Dude, go to sleep, you're basically dead on your feet."

"Yeah," he cleared his throat again, he probably needed some water or something, "I'm gonna go to bed. Just order something for dinner if you need it, but I'm not hungry, I'll see you in the mornin'." He yawned, then shuffled up the stairs. 

Forgoing any shower or such, Dream just pulled off his shirt and socks to change into some pyjama bottoms, sliding under his comforter to nuzzle into his pillow. 

He curled in on himself when a shiver rocked his body, but was dragged into unconsciousness before he could think too hard on it.

The next time Dream woke up, it wasn't because of the warm Florida sun stirring him, nor was it the loud slamming of ran into his windows, but it was instead a small pale hand shaking him by the shoulders. He groaned, feeling a shiver run down his spine again, making goosebumps rise on tanned, freckled skin. The groan made him cough and sputter, throat feeling raw and abused, as if he had been screaming for days on end. However, the thought of drinking water had his stomach flipping, as if it was readying itself for a revolt if he dared tried to eat or drink anything. He threw an arm over his eyes, the overhead lights of his bedroom too much to bear right now.

"-ream, Dre-... Dream!" George's voice filtered in, and Dream blinked away salty tears and sleep that had gathered in his eyes. 

"Ugh..." He moaned in pain, "...George?" He breathed, trying to sit up against his pillows, a task that shouldn't have taken as much energy as it did. 

"Oh, thank God you're awake, Dream!" George breathed, looking to the window, "Hurricane Fleur arrive way sooner than they said she would, its a good thing you went and bought the stuff we needed."

"What time s'it?" He slurred, prompting a coughing fit he hacked into the crook of his elbow.

"You went to sleep at about 6 yesterday and now its 9:30. You slept over 12 hours, are you okay?"

"No... I feel like shit..." 

George cocked an eyebrow and moved closer, placing a cool hand on his forehead that Dream leaned into with a groan - it felt so nice! So cool against his overheated skin. George hummed, "You're burning up... Hang on, I'll go get a thermometer."

When George moved off his bed, Dream huffed. Dream was knocking at his mind's door again, and despite sleeping for way longer than he probably should have, everything felt like he was moving through molasses, sluggish and slow. He was exhausted, as if he'd run a marathon, and he was sweating like he'd run one as well. George wouldn't mind if he slept a little longer, would he? No, of course not... He can just wake up before the brit comes back after all...

Yeah, that sounds like a plan.

Dream shut his eyes again, sinking back against his pillow with a croaky hum. 

Chapter Text

George padded down the house's carpeted stairs with socked feet, on a mission to grab the thermometer they keep in the health cabinet in the kitchen. 

Before Dream went to bed the day before, both Sapnap and him had noticed that he hadn't been 100%, but simply brushed it off as Dream's bad habit of depriving himself of sleep making another surprise appearance. He'd gone to his room, and Sapnap and George had watched a couple movies (not before arguing over what to watch, of course, its not his fault Sapnap has shit taste) before going to bed themselves. 

When George woke up the next morning, it was Sapnap making a poor attempt at breakfast rather than Dream - and the youngest has the audacity to ridicule him on his cooking capabilities. He'd said to Sapnap as such, which nearly got him a spatula to the face, but what is George without his dodging? 

"Where's Dream?" He'd asked, leaning on their island in the centre of the kitchen, curious.

"Still in his room, dude's dead to the world. If he doesn't wake up soon one of us can go check on him."

George definitely did not expect to see Dream burning up, pale skinned and body wracked with chills as he curled in a ball beneath his large blanket. Good thing he checked though.

George emerged from the stairwell, and now that he was focused on his surroundings more, he could clearly hear the loud whistling roar of the wind outside gaining speed and strength. The hurricane was arriving quicker than they'd expect, but its fine. Dream's just got a cold. It'll be okay. Besides, its definitely not safe to go outside any more. They'd have to tough it out. At least the power and phone lines hadn't gone down and out yet.

Keyword being yet.

Sapnap was sat on a barstool next to their kitchen island, scrolling on his phone. When George cleared his throat, Sapnap looked at him, "How's Dream? Is he awake?"

"He was after I shook him awake. The idiot's got a fever, so let's just hope it's just a cold."

"It's fine, if worst comes to shove, his family is only a phone-call away, and so are the other streamers in the UK. Phil and Wilbur will know how to deal with it just in case."

"I'd rather not have to call Phil and Will to help us bring his fever down if it gets higher."

"Yeah, well, ya never know."

George scoffed again, rolling his eyes subtly before opening the cupboard and grabbing the ear thermometer, and then scuttling back up the stairs to Dream's room. 

When he walked back through the already-open door that he'd left, he saw Dream back asleep, snoring softly, a little trail of drool leaking from his open mouth, down his chin from where it was resting against his collar bone. George huffed a fond laugh, and walked over, unapologetically shoving the end of the thermometer into Dream's ear and squashing another laugh deep into his chest at the disgruntled and shocked sound that escaped Dream as he jolted awake. The thermometer beeped it's analysis, reading a '102.06°F' on the American thermometer.

Pulling out his phone, George converted the numbers into Celsius, cursing the fact that his roommates and friends use the wrong units of measurement.

'38.922°C' George grimaced. Definitely a fever. Not high enough to warrant a hospital visit - not that they'd be able to get him there as the storm outside was getting more and more violent as the minutes ticked by. Later this week, his arse. However, it was still cause for concern. 

'It's fine!' a little voice called 'Denial' whispered seductively into his ear, 'You know Dream runs hotter than most people - he's like a furnace! It's probably not as big a deal as you're making it out to be! Stop being dramatic.'

Thankfully, George's responsibility and better judgement pummelled his denial with the sharp fists of 'Hard Truth.' 

"George...?" A slurred Floridian accent cut through his senses, raspy with sleep and fever. George looked up, making eye contact with two hazy and watery false-yellow eyes (he knew they were supposed to be green). His heart melted a little, the tall and confident American reduced to a cozy and soft little blob of feverish chills with messy blond hair and heavy, congested breathing. A rosy pink blush dusted his cheeks like icing sugar atop a cake, melding and highlighting light brown freckles along his cheek bones and the bridge of his nose. He felt bad for his friend, knowing being sick sucked.

"Yeah, Dream, you've got a fever. Not too bad yet, but I'll get you some meds and food. Just sleep and I'll wake you up when I come back."

"Oh... Okay... G'night, G'rge..." 

"Goodnight, Dream."

George watched as Dream nodded off again quickly, his head lolling to the side to nuzzle back into his pillow, dirty blond locks spilling onto the cover in a wavy mess. His tanned fists balled in the covers, and George pulled the knitted lime and white fan-made blanket overtop in a poor attempt to reduce the chills wracking the tall, lean frame drowned under material comfort.

George closed the door to Dream's room with one last look, pretending he didn't jump when a thick branch smacked into Dream's thick window as the storm's growing gales flung them around as though they weighed nothing.

When George came downstairs for the second time with a grin look on his face, Sapnap was already expecting him to say Dream wasn't 100%, if Dream's performance last night was anything to go by. When George said that Dream had a fever and it was nearly 103°F in the span of a few hours, his eyebrows raised in silent shock, minutely.

Little could shock Sapnap, he was rather down-to-Earth, if he did say so himself. Granted, he flinched as the wind hurled another small, loose branch at their front door, the wind seemingly coming from all directions, but other than that.

"You don't seem worried..." George frowned, the shorter brunette scrunching his eyebrows together as he held the thermometer in his clenched hand with the other on his hip.

"I'm not." He asnwered smoothly, hands in his pockets.

"Why?"

"Because a) Dream's strong, a fever won't kill him; b) I'm more concerned that the storm is going to send a fucking tree through our walls; c) I've known Dream since we were like... Twelve, I've seen him in all states." Sapnap shrugged. He came off near non-chalant, which wasn't his intention - fevers are real and can be dangerous- but he also knows Dream. The guy is young and was healthy prior to this little blip in his health, so he'll pull through, maybe just need a few meds, some good food and some actual fucking sleep. 

"It's not that I don't care, o' course," Sapnap continued, a little nagging voice of anxiety telling him to voice his thoughts so George doesn't think less of him, "it's just Dream's young an' healthy. He just needs some food, meds and some sleep." George snorted, smiling.

"Yeah, but neither of us can cook..."

"It's just soup, I can heat up some soup. You find the meds and we'll take 'em up for him, then we can leave him for another 18 hours to sleep it off." He joked, giggling at his own joke, laughing the barest bit harder when George joined in. 

After routing through their newly-stocked cupboards, Sapnap pulls out some tomato soup. It's creamy but light enough to not trigger any backlash from a potentially-sensitive stomach, but also easy. He pours it into a bowl and sits it into the mircowave for two minutes, before pulling it out to stir it with a spoon, then shoving it back in for another two minutes. 

During the bowl's second turn in their microwave, George speaks up again, "Uhh, Nick?"

"What's up?" He asks, not looking up from where he's watching the red liquid bubble through the microwave's window.

"We don't have any fever meds."

"What?" He snaps, head shooting up, sounding harsher than intended.

"We don't have any fever medicine." George snapped back, silver tongue harsh and gaze a little sharp.

"No, no, I heard you I'm just confused. I thought we had some?"

"We'll, clearly we don't. There isn't even Ibuprofen or anything in here. Just some cough syrup and a couple of plasters."

"'Plasters'?" Sapnap couldn't help but mock George with his fancy British lingo. He was using it as a distraction from the fact that they only had bandaids and cough syrup, both of which can't really help with a bad fever.

"Not the time, Snapmap." George muttered, looking down at the label of the bottle of cough syrup he was reading. 

"Humour is my escape, George, I'm getting stressed." He answered, fishing the bowl of soup out of their microwave when it beeped its finish. 

George put the cough syrup away, shrugging, "We'll just have to deal with some cold cloths on his forehead and the soup."

"Sounds like a plan if I ever heard one." Sapnap put the soup on a tray along with a spoon and a cloth that could be wet in the bathroom upstairs, "Let's go feed our patient."

The rain outside got louder and louder as the hurricane beat down on them mercilessly.

Chapter Text

Together, Sapnap and George plodded up their stairs again, armed with cloths, soup, the ear thermometer and their phones and walked into Dream's shadowed bedroom. 

George watched Sapnap gently place the tray with soup and cloths on Dream's bedside table, careful not to disturb the tallest of them from his sleep. The youngest grabbed one of the cloths, disappearing into the en-suite bathroom next to the far wall, the sound of running water sounding. George tuned it out, sitting next to Dream, the bed dipping slightly beneath his weight. 

Dream hadn't moved since George left him earlier, still snoring softly with his eyebrows furrowed just the slightest in discomfort. George felt another tug of pity at his heartstrings, scooting closer to thread his fingers into thick, dirty blond waves. Dream relaxed just a smidge, a small sigh escaping him as George massaged his scalp. Without thinking, he felt the muscles in his face tugging his mouth into a smile. 

George reached over to Dream's drawer, shuffling through the forgotten trinkets collecting dust and other little bits and bobs until he found a little bag of hair clips and pins. Pulling three from the plastic baggie, his forced Dream's sweaty hair as far from his warm forehead as gently as he could, sliding the clips into place. Dream didn't make another noise. That's when Sapnap came back, the cloth wrung out over the sink in the kitchen as he folds it whilst walking. Sapnap placed the cloth on Dream's overheated forehead with featherlight touch.

"He needs to eat, he hasn't eaten anything since yesterday or something..." George pointed out, prodding the tallest of them in the arm. Dream whined, the sound soft but pitched, as he blinked hazy eyes awake. Green eyes, flecked with licks of brown and yellow, were hazy and watery with fever heat and leftover sleepiness, as they sluggishly rolled back from the back of his head, looking at George first, then allowing his head loll to the side to gaze at Sapnap too.

"...mornin'?" He quipped sluggishly, a small smile gracing his lips. George couldn't help the giggle. 

"Not quite, but close enough. We've brought you soup to eat, idiot..."

Dream snorted huffily, pouting out an, "'m not hungry..."

"Yeah, well, tough. You haven't eaten in like a day, so we're here being good friends for your sorry ass." Sapnap sassed, getting a spoonful and forcefully shoving it past his lips, watching as Dream swallowed with shock. The blonde's stomach rumbled as it finally got its first taste of food in a while, and Sapnap smirked, handing Dream the spoon as the bowl was rested in his blanketed lap. 

Sapnap and George watched as Dream slurped down the soup, chatting casually. When another thick branch was flung against the window though, making the trio jump, Sapnap cussed out a quiet, "Stupid storm... So fucking inconvenient."

George laughed, and Dream chuckled.

"Aww, is poor Sappy-Nappy not liking the big, bad storm?" George baby talked, the Brit pouting at the youngest, who turned beet red in anger and embarrassment.

"Fuck off, George, don't pretend you didn't jump too!" 

Their banter went back and forth, until Dream was putting the (half-empty) bowl of soup back on his bedside table with the spoon to its side, scooting back under the blankets, and their argument was forgotten. Sapnap nudged him away from the far edge of the bed, meaning Dream was star-fished in the middle of the bed, until Sapnap himself scooted flush to his side, George doing the same on the other side, sandwiching the Floridian between them. 

George pulled out his phone, loading up Twitch to see who was streaming.

"Wilbur's live, let's watch him." Sapnap said, pointing out Wilbur's name with a glowing red dot next to it on the screen. George wordlessly tapped on it, and Wilbur's face and usual streaming set up appeared for them to view, him talking to his chat about something completely bizarre and irrelevant to the stream's, 'You Laugh, You Lose 22: Electric Boogaloo' title. 

Or it was completely irrelevant until Sapnap stole his phone and typed into the chat box; hehe Wilbur is a funny man :)

The entire chat exploded.

GOGY?!?!?

GOGY

GOGOGY

GEORGE

GOGU JVWOGR VDWIBVWJQV

MR. NOTFOUND

Hi Geogre! :D

I agree, George, is he a very funny man :]

<3

GOGY

HELLO GNF

George snatched his phone back petulantly, huffing as Sapnap cackled and Dream snorted a raspy wheeze, sending him into a little coughing fit. Sapnap rubbed the tallest's arm, unable to reach his back as George shot him a worried look, but Dream just shrugged him off, resting back against the pillows with a rough sigh.

Wilbur smiled at his camera and said a small, "Hello, George! I hope you enjoy." 

They continued on, the videos being sent in by Wilbur's viewers being increasingly odd but amusing none-the-less. Eventually, someone must have collaborated as there was quick succession of several clips that have made Wilbur laugh in the past, and his dam eventually broke. His smile split his face and his squealed out a loud laugh, then immediately went into a rant of denial, yelling more 'NO!'s. George winced at the volume and immediately turned it down, but Dream's face still contorted. 

"Sorry..." George whispered to him. Dream looked at him with eyes that were still hazy with fever, but the lingering exhaustion had ebbed a bit. 

The stream settled into a tense silence as Wilbur grieved his defeat, before he completely refuted all claims he should end stream, continuing on. George and Sapnap would laugh occasionally at an especially funny clip, and the phone's volume remained down in case of another of Wilbur's loud screams. Neither of them noticed the body between them relaxing significantly, nor the way Dream's breathing evened out until Wilbur was wrapping up his stream, wishing his viewers farewell and the 'The Stream You Were Watching Has Ended' screen popped up. That's when, in the sudden darkness and quiet of the room they were in, the soft snores and slow, even breathing became obvious, and both turned to see Dream sleep, head lolled towards George - like he'd fallen asleep watching over George's shoulder - and the tiniest bit of drool leaking from the side of his ajar mouth. 

George smiled at the sight, curling up into Dream's side, not seeing but hearing the shuffling of clothes and knowing Sapnap was doing the same, and allowed his body to relax enough to be lulled into sleep by the comforting routine of Dream's soft snoring and the rise and fall of his chest.

The sound of the wind outside was loud. The sound of growing balls of hail hitting the walls and windows of their home was louder. Minutes after the two had fallen into a deep enough sleep, George's phone pinged with a message;

EXTREME THREAT ALERT: Extreme Hurricane Alert for Orlando, FL. DO NOT leave your place of residence for any reason. This hurricane is now a Risk of Human Life.

Chapter Text

Sapnap is pulled from the fitful sleep his body had submerged him in - groggy and confused - by the loud sound of violent coughing and the body next to him quacking with the force of it. He whines at his sleep being interrupted, but the coughing doesn't stop, just continues. The hacking is wet and deep. It sounds painful. 

The brunette pushes away the remaining tendrils of sleep from his conscious and drags open his eyelids, eyes straining against the twilight the room is plunged in. As awareness seeps into his bones, the slow, sluggish feeling being warded off, Sapnap is hit with a wave of concern.

Dream.

"ugh... Dream? Oh, Dream!" The older continues to be plagued by violent coughs, before they came to a halt with Dream spitting a lump of phlegm into a tissue Sapnap held out for him. The blonde's chest shook still, likely from phantom pain. 

"You okay, man?" Sapnap asked, sitting up to look at Dream properly. The elder's face was still flushed with fever, his hair messy and ruffled, his eyes kept rolling back, but he was borderline awake. Hazy green eyes looked into Sapnap's onyx brown. Then, a raspy voice spoke, making Sapnap visibly wince at the rough edge the coughing had done to Dream's usually soft voice, "Yeah, I'm alright, just couldn't stop coughing, heh... Did I wake you both up?"

Sapnap looked over Dream's body, seeing George still curled up against his side like a content house-cat, fast asleep. He smirked with a huff.

Looking back to Dream, Sapnap spoke softly in the dark, aware of George sleeping not a foot away, "You woke me up, but George is still asleep. The 'Gogy sleeps through everything' jokes are actually true, hah..."

Dream chuckled a raspy laugh, then said, "Sorry I woke you up..."

"Nah, dude, it's fine. It's not like you could help it, you're sick. Speaking of..." Sapnap leaned over a pulled off the cloth still sat on Dream's head. Its disgustingly warm, soaked with fever sweat, and Sapnap cringes internally at the gross feeling of it being peeled from his friend's warm forehead. The moonlight shining through the curtains, glinting off the warm grey of the ear thermometer's plastic surface catches his eye, and his picks it up.

"I'm gonna check your fever again, alright?" Sapnap asked, lifting it so it meets Dream's gaze, since it looked like his head weighed a ton, too heavy for his neck to support at the moment. 

Dream blinked at him owlishly, moving his hand to scratch at the unruly locks atop his head. He took a second to answer, likely the register in his brain being muffled with fever, "Uhm, yeah sure."

The end of the thermometer was shoved, as gently as he could, into Dream's ear. The button was pressed, and a moment later it beeped, quiet yet shrill. 

102.2°F

Sapnap hummed, a little knot of worry residing in his gut loosening a little. 

"Not great but not too higher either."

"Huh?"

"Your fever has gone up, but not by a lot, so I think we're fine for now. I'll just cool down your cloth, be back in a sec'?" Sapnap got up, putting the thermometer down on the bedside table again, before getting up and turning on the light in their bathroom. The intensity of the sudden brightness made his head spin for a second, but it was warded off quickly by his mission. The tap started, and the cooler water poured out of the facet, letting it soak into the warm and soggy material of the cloth. The water ran over his fingers, sending goosebumps climbing up his arms and a shiver run down his spine. The water was cold, but that was ideal to bring down Dream's fever without the help of fever reducers. He wrung it out, the water trickling down the drain, but the temperature staying, and as Sapnap was about to leave, the light above him flickered out, blinking once, twice, then fizzling out, only the howl of the wind the signal that it wasn't just them forgetting to pay a bill or that particular bulb had decided that it had run out of juice.

"Shit..." Sapnap cursed softly, flicking the switch a couple of times experimentally. It didn't turn back on. He cursed again, "Aww fuck..." 

As his eyes readjusted to the darkness, he slowly walks back over to Dream's bed, folding the cloth again and sitting by the blonde's side. As the cloth was placed back on his warm forehead, Dream gave a content sigh, body melting back against the pillow. Sapnap smiled, but it was quickly dampened as he realised he should tell Dream about their city's situation.

"Dream." The older looked up. Well, more like he lolled his head in Sapnap's direction, "The power's gone out. I tried the light in the bathroom and it's gone. We'll have to use candles and phone torches." Dream hummed absently, sinking down against his soft mattress, asleep instantly. Sapnap huffed fondly, carding his hand through Dream's dirty blonde hair, the blonde unconsciously nuzzling into his palm with a hum. 

Despite his body wishing for him to hunker down too, curl up next to his overheated friend like George, his mind was buzzing with activity, thoughts whirring to the forefront and back of his brain like an angry hornet's nest. He knew it was merely anxiety at the situation, but there were so many thoughts.

If the power is out does that mean our phones are too?

How much worse is the storm gonna get?

Will Dream be okay?

Will we all be okay?

He's fairly certain he still has data on his phone, and he knows for a fact that he still has charge on his portable laptop, so they have that too, and that's just him. They won't know how much worse the storm is gonna get yet, since they haven't had a notification. 

'Yet,' a petulant little voice hisses at the back of his head, and he makes a mental note to check his phone in a few hours. 

Dream'll be okay. He has to be. If not, then he doesn't know what he'll do. Dream seems so untouchable, and they don't have all the resources to bring down the fever all the way yet. He has a feeling that this may be the calm before the figurative storm (not the literal one raging just beyond sturdy walls), but that could also just be the raging anxiety churning his gut. 

They'd be fine. It'll all be fine. If they can handle storms on Twitter, they can handle this. They'll be fine. It'll all be fine.

Sapnap fell asleep to the comforting thought settling the buzzing in his head to a dull hum.

Dream woke up again with watery eyes and a violent throbbing headache pressing itself against the inside of his temples. It pounded against his skull with a sledgehammer, sending more pain webbing across his skull with every pound of his heart against his ribs. 

He coughed involuntarily, swallowing harshly the feeling of phlegm crawling up his raw throat. 

He felt awful.

Dream doesn't remember a time he felt this awful. It must have been years. 

Every throb of his head brought new waves of tears to his sore and red eyes, and the unnatural ylheat radiating from his body was uncomfortable, making sweat cling to his skin but chills wrack his body, attacking him from the inside out made it near impossible to give away blankets willingly. He wanted to hide under as many blankets as possible to ward off the feeling of being cold, but the thought just made more heat pulse through his body in harsh waves and his head throb with more excruciating, brilliant-white pain. 

He groaned, "G-eorge... Sa-pnap..." Normally, he'd be embarrassed at the way his voice cracked around the words, but right now he couldn't give a shit. He was so uncomfortable and gross and he wanted comfort from his best friends. It doesn't matter that he's being whiny and needy, he wanted it and that's all that matters.

There was no response, but the feeling of the two warm - please no more warmth, but he needed more warmth, he was freezing - bodies sandwiching him between them, he knew they were there. Probably asleep still. 

There was sound outside. The whistling howl of wind and rhythmic pounding of hail stones against the windows and walls.

The tears collecting in his eyes came to a climax, spilling over the edge to stream down freckled cheeks. He sobbed quietly, but the bodies either side of him did not budge, likely in the throws of REM sleep: dead to the world.

After a few more minutes of sobbing - or was it hours? Everything was too fast and too slow and overwhelming yet too little all at the same time - Dream felt his weak reserves of energy fizzing out, eyelids growing heavy once more. The rhythmic pounding of the hail outside didn't help, lulling him into another restless sleep, eyes sloping shut with a breathy whine. 

The unnatural heat continued to radiate off his skin in uncomfortable, pulsing waves of fever heat.

Chapter Text

Surprisingly - or not really - it wasn't daylight that awoke George after a few hours of fitful sleep, nor was it the overheated body he'd snuggled into, it was actually his phone vibrating over and over. Groggily, George peeled open his eyes with a groan, sitting up and accepting the call without a thought, "...hello?" He rasped.

"Gogy!!" Tommy's boisterous, and most importantly - much to George's disgruntlement - loud voice streamed from his phone's microphone, making him flinch and cover it in an attempt to not awaken the men still asleep, "How are ya, big man?"

George looked over. Dream was facing away from him, but his chest rattled quietly with an occasional cough as it rose and fell with his breathing, unruly and tousled dirty blonde hair falling into his closed eyes. Something else George could see were dried tears tracks making his cheeks tacky, and he felt his heart squeeze with sympathy and pity once again. Sapnap had one arm slung carelessly over Dream's waist, snoring softly into Dream's bicep as a small trail of drool was about to make contact with Dream's tanned and freckled skin. George scoffed, getting up leaving the room with as little noise as humanly possible.

"I'm alright, Tommy, what about you?"

"We're alright over here too!" George heard the boisterous laugh of Jack Manifold and Tubbo in the background, but he's sure that wasn't all of them, likely a couple more, "Just wondering if you'd want to join us in a vlog today?"

"Sorry, Toms, I can't right now. I'm in Florida."

"Oh yeah! I forgot about that! How's Big D and Sapnap?"

George sighed fondly, "Sapnap's fine. Dream, on the other hand, we think has the flu, so he's a little miserable, but other than that."

Tommy's voice went soft hearing that, the young man being sweeter and caring in person than his borderline narcissistic online personality, "Aww, I'm sorry to hear that. Will he be okay?"

George faintly heard Tubbo in the background say a muffled 'what's wrong?' but Tommy and George paid him no mind in favour of continuing their ongoing conversation.

"I haven't checked his fever in a few hours, it's hard to tell how much time's passed, what with the storm, but he didn't feel much warmer. So yeah, I'm sure he'll be fine." George was not sure, but the likelihood of something terrible happening because of a mild case of the flu was low, so the maths checked out. And George has always been good at maths.

"Storm? What storm?" Came Tommy's response, tinny with the phone's microphone.

"Hurricane Fleur made landfall during my stay, and we're being forced to stay inside as she passes over Orlando." 

"Oh! Well that sucks, you can't really do much, huh?"

"Meh, I wasn't expecting it. I don't really go outside much anyway, and neither do the others. Plus, if all three of us went out, Sapnap and I might be recognised, and since Dream hasn't done his face reveal yet, we don't want that getting out." George shrugged his shoulders, even though Tommy couldn't see it.

"Hah, fair enough. I'm gonna go then, we're getting packed up to do an escape room!" Tommy brightened, exclaiming the last part excitedly.

"Ooh, well enjoy it. Good luck, by the way, you'll need it."

"You dickhe--" George cut the line, the call ending with a sweet little tinny tune.

"Who was that?" Came Sapnap's voice from barely four feet behind him, and George absolutely did not scream. 

"Sapnap!?" His voice did not climb an octave in surprise, either.

"Yes, hello." Sapnap deadpanned groggily, rubbing his knuckles against his closed eyelid, removing any sleep that remained, "Who was on the call?"

"Oh... It was Tommy, wanting to invite me to do a Tom Simons vlog, but I had to turn him down because, well, y'know--"

"You're in the wrong country, approximately 4000 miles away?"

"That's one way to put it, but yeah."

Sapnap snorted out a laugh and brushed past him, heading into the kitchen. George followed.

The youngest breezed past the light switch, instead digging through one of their drawers, pulling out several torches and candles, and a lighter to light the wax wicks.

"What's with the torches and candles?" George asked dumbly, his brain blank.

Sapnap looked at him through his eyelashes, walking over to the light switch and flicking it experimentally. The light did not turn on.

"Oh."

"Oh indeed."

"When?"

"'Couple hours ago, went to the bathroom to change the fever cloth-thing and the lights went out on me. Dream's fever's gone up, by the way."

"Oh, gee, thanks. How much?"

"Don't remember exactly, like point four, maybe a little more. 's barely anything, so I don't think we really have to worry, but just thought you'd like to know."

"I would."

"Good job I told you then, isn't it?"

They laughed a little, and George walked forward and took some candles, planting them around their kitchen and through their living room and hallways. He went back and grabbed a second lighter, lighting the sweetly scented candles as he went, illuminating the house with warm glows and the sweet aroma of cinnamon and vanilla - courtesy of Dream's mother and older sister.

It was almost eerie, the candles flickering occasionally with the howl of wind and hail hitting their house outside secure walls, but the cozy and comforting scent the candles gave off ruined it. Like the most welcoming haunted house. George snorted at the thought.

He went back to find Sapnap, lighter in hand but devoid of any candles, seeing the youngest put his own away, the kitchen adorned with candles on every counter.

"A little overboard, don't you think?" George relished in the way Sapnap jumped. Hah, I love karma.

Sapnap glanced up with a playful scowl, "Look, Gogy, we happen to have - in case you hadn't noticed - a large kitchen. Personally, I'd enjoy being able to fucking see. But hey, that's just me."

"Ooo~! Sapnap's in his sassy arc~! Sassnap strikes again!" George eloquently drawled, unable to think of a greater comeback. 

Sapnap rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner's of his mouth. George walked around their black marble counter to put the second lighter away. He closed the drawer, and looked at Sapnap, "Want to watch a movie or something in the living room?"

"Sure, d'ya think Dream'll be okay?"

"Dream'll be fine for an hour or two. We're literally stuck in the same house either way, so we're not far if he needs us." George assured, but the way Sapnap's gaze drifted to the middle distance as they strolled through their house made him huff sympathetically.

"Hey," George said, firm but soft, knowing how Sapnap's anxiety would get the better of him from time to time, "Dream. Is. Fine. He's a grown man, and this is just a fever. We can handle a fever. Now say it with me: Dream is fine."

"'Dream is fine.'" Sapnap mumbled his echo, shuffling his socked feet against the beige carpet.

"Right, now again: we are fine."

"'We are fine.'"

"It's all going to be okay, the storm will pass, Dream's fever will break, and we're going to watch Moana."

The switch in Sapnap's mood and demeanor was almost comical, "Ohohoh no we're not. We're going to watch something better than Moana, we're going to watch something new like Luca! Moana has been out for years and we've seen it enough!"

"You are so uncultured, Moana is a masterpiece. And Luca isn't 'new', it's been out for ages!" George rebutted, relishing their usual playful banter more after he just had to convince Sapnap of things that had been playing at his own mind.

"You stupid bitch..." Sapnap sighed, then leaping for the remote. George startled, watching as the youngest got himself settled on their plush couch with the remote sat tauntingly in his palm. Sapnap's smug smirk nearly made him gag.

"You are a pig." George emphasised, sitting on the opposite end of the sofa to inaudibly voice his displeasure.

"I'm thinking movie marathon; we can take it in turns!"

"...fine..." George pretended it didn't make him smile when the youngest cheered. 

As Sapnap switched on Luca and the opening scenes and music began to pour throughout the candle-lit room, George found himself relaxing against the soft pillows. 

At some point half way through their fourth film, Beauty and the Beast, Patches made her presence known, padding into the room, sitting on the glass coffee table and yowling loudly. Sapnap jumped up, picking up the cat with a softness reserved only for her and rocked her gently in his grip like a new born baby, "w'a'ss wrong, kitty~?" He planted a kiss to her furry forehead. 

Patches wriggled in his hold, squirming and yowling some more. 

Sapnap released her, and the cat leapt to the door to the living room, sitting and meowing loudly.

"That's odd, normally she's pretty quiet..." Sapnap walked over to her, holding out his hand for her to sniff. She stood, tail straight and elegant as the tip swayed, and she slipped out of the room in a stiff pounce. George hummed, confused. Cat would sometimes do that back home, usually when they wanted to go outside.

"Maybe she wants outside? Cat does that when they want to back in the UK." George suggested, offering some input on why their sweet little cat was acting so apprehensive. 

"Maybe, but we can't let her outside right now, the storm'll blow her away. She could get really hurt!" Sapnap cried.

"I'm not saying let her outside, Nimrod. I'm just offering ideas, I dunno..."

Patches came back, doing the same stuff skip as before, walking in a tight circle and meowing loudly, ears twitching violently. 

"...should we follow her to see what she wants?"

"That would probably be smart, yes."

George got up from the sofa as Sapnap began following the little tabby cat. His eyes tracked her movements. She did a little spin near the door, then she sprinted about 5 feet into their hallway, yowling more loudly, and skipping towards the stair well. 

"Patches? What's wrong?" George asked her, the little cat looking up at him with large, intelligent eyes, before whipping her head around and zipping up the stairs like it was nothing. Sapnao and George looked at each other in confusion, then followed her.

Once they got to the top, George caught the glimpse of the end of a sleek brown tail disappearing through Dream's bedroom door.

"Patches?" He asked, following her, hearing Sapnap's slightly heavier footfalls behind him on the carpet.

George walked closer. It was silent apart from the wind howling outside and their footsteps. They couldn't even hear Patches' padded paws anymore. She must have stopped. 

It was so quiet. George was scared to breath too heavily in case he shattered a tense yet unreadable atmosphere. 

A pale hand planted itself on Dream's doorway and George peered inside apprehensively, Sapnap over his shoulder. 

The room beyond was dark, just the barely-there light from behind closed curtains, and the silhouette of Dream asleep on his side in bed, facing away from them.

"Mreowww!!" Was the loud yowling from Patches, and George nearly shrieked, startling violently. He heard Sapnap's breath hitch behind him. 

Geirge shushed her, patting her head gently, before walking slowly - cautiously into Dream's room, towards the sleeping man in the bed.

"...Dream?" George said, tilting his head to gaze at Dream's face. He still couldn't see it. George was getting anxious now. Sapnap had moved into the room too, but stayed near the doorway. The body in the bed didn't even flinch.

"Dream." Nothing. "Dream!" The blond didn't stir.

George moved closer, getting onto the mattress, feeling it dip under his weight, planting a pale hand on the blond's forehead from over a freckled shoulder, "Dream, I'm--" George gasped, retracting his hand like he'd been burned. It felt like he had. 

"Sapnap," George said, voice low and apathetic, "grab the thermometer." 

Sapnap moved quickly, snatching it from who-knows-where outside of George's field of vision and planting it into his open palm. 

George jabbed it into Dream's ear as gently as possibly, holding his breath.

A second ticked by in silence. Nobody breathed.

Another tick of a second.

A shrill beep.

George took the thermometer out of Dream's ear, bringing it's digital screen up to his eyes so they could see in the low lighting.

His stomach dropped. His heart raced. His eyes widened.

40.7°C

"Sapnap..." George tried his hardest to not let his voice wobble or break, not entirely present enough to hear if he was successful.

"Yeah...?" George had never heard Sapnao sound so meek and small before.

"We have a problem..."

Fleur's winds raged, roaring fury, reminding them the calm before the storm had ended...

Chapter Text

After filming the new Tom Simons vlog with Tommy, Jack Manifold, Tubbo and Wil, Phil thought the after stream would be "pretty chill".

They'd filmed as much footage of the escape room as they could, himself doing most of the work as the others played with props and discussed dark fates if they couldn't escape within the boundaries of the timer-

(Tubbo sat on the floor, picking at his nails, "Will they lock us in here if we don't escape in time?" He asked, optimistically. His tone was too cheerful, "Will they leave us until the next person comes along and we're just piles of rotting flesh and bone?" 

Tommy looked at the older teen, "...what the fuck..?" He laughed awkwardly, a little scared.

Jack Manifold side-eyed the younger lad, making a face to the camera Will held. Phil just sighed, continuing with the puzzle his last clue had led him too.)

And it was pretty fun. They made the exit by the skin of their teeth - no thanks to the others - and now they were on the Dream SMP just messing. Phil was streaming, and so was Tommy. Not a big lore stream, just friends hanging out and feeding their starving fans crumbs of comfort. 

Niki and Ranboo had joined the call at some point as well - the latter not in the call, just talking through Tubbo's end - and they were just messing about. 

Tommy's and Phil's characters strolled along the wooden surface of the prime path as Tommy chittered on about nothing and everything, the elder only half listening, when their discord interrupted the youngest with a little ba-dup! of someone new joining VC 2. 

Checking his second moniter, Phil could see the strikingly colourful profile picture of one GeorgeNotFound, and the brunette's end of the call was silent.

"George?" Tubbo prompted, and that's when the older Brit seemed to realise himself. There was a second of shuffling, then George spoke.

"Phil!" George exclaimed down the line, and Phil snapped to attention, ignoring his chat's repetition of "GOGY!" as it zipped by. 

George's breathing was laboured, and Phil felt a little dread settle itself comfortable in the pit of his stomach, "George? Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not. I really need your help. It's an emergency." Phil took a second to registers then nodded, apologising to chat and ending his stream. 

He heard Tommy do the same, no doubt they'd have to explain this on Twitter and other platforms later. Once that was done, Phil turned his full attention to the discord call, "George, what's wrong?"

"Tommy's remember when I told you earlier that Dream had the flu?" George asked Tommy, and Phil heard the youngest's breath hitch. There was an implication there that he wasn't getting.

"Yeah, well, me and Sapnap just let him sleep for a couple hours and we went back and checked his fever... It's high... Really high, and we don't know what to do..." George sounded lost, vulnerable and scared. 

Admittedly, it was hard to imagine. George, the mighty but apathetic was scared. Scared for the wellbeing of one of his best friend's that he'd known for years. The Dream, Mr. YouTube, over 26 million subscribers at twenty-two and counting. It was hard to imagine the confident, sweet and loving person so low.

"How high?" Parental instincts kicked in then, even if Phil wasn't even 10 years older than George. 

"It's nearly 41°C..." Phil felt his eyes widen, and a small gasp left his lungs without his consent. Others in the call gasped as well, and Phil absently heard Ranboo ask, 'thats bad, right? How bad...? How worried should I be?'

"Has he been given any fever medication recently?" Phil asked.

"No, we don't have any in the house."

"Can you go get some? Will he be fine with Sapnap?" Will asked, tone taking on something similar to Phil's.

"We can't. There is a huge hurricane outside, and I got an alert on my phone a few hours ago telling us not to leave the house." George told them, and if Phil was listening carefully, he could just hear laboured breathing behind George's voice. He knew who it was immediately.

"Give us a run-down on the situation, George." Niki said, firm but soft.

"We have no fever meds and can't get any because of the storm. He ate half a bowl of soup a couple hours ago when Wil was streaming last, and Sap and I have been trying to bring down his fever with wet cloths. They haven't worked though..."

Phil hummed, playing with the stubble growing on his chin, thinking. Then, he spoke, having made a decision.

"George, I know this is going to sound bad, but I need you to listen. You need to strip Dream down to his boxers and run a tepid bath. Just fill a bath with lukewarm water - only half-way - and stay with him. If he shivers, it means it's working. Can you do that for me?"

George gained control of his breathing again from where it had slightly sped up, breathing a quiet 'yes', "I'm going to put you all on speaker so Sapnap can speak to you too."

The call filled with 'okay's and 'alright's. On George's end, the shuffling became more apparent, and Sapnap greeted with a weak "Hi."

More responses, but that hardly mattered right now, what mattered was helping the sick Floridian on the other end of the call.

Sapnap shuffled uncomfortably, sitting behind Dream as he pulled the over-heated Floridian towards his body, Dream's temple sitting against Sapnap's racing heart. He's found it to be skipping beats with the high levels of anxiety thrumming through his veins, their treacherous murmurs only being held at bay by his own stubborness. 

Clay - because that's who he was, not just Dream, but Clay, one of his best friends since he was- like- twelve?! - moaned in discomfort in his sleep, shifting so most of his weight was focused on the shoulder that was wedged between Sapnap's ribs and arm. He huffed in his sleep, muttering some gibberish with a lazy tongue, then nuzzled closer to Sapnap, who just threaded his hair with his fingers, face twisted with lines of worry.

The sound of running water filtered through the air, George taking Philza's advice over their discord call on the elder's phone. They'd decided to savour battery power, and since George's phone was on a lower power percentage anyway, his was the first to be used. Then Sapnap's. Dream's sat, unused and uncharged, somewhere... Sapnap doesn't really know where. 

"How're you holding up then?" A tinny voice floated from the receiver on George's iPhone, and Sapnap was too caught up in his own head to distinguish it.

"Meh, you know. The storm is a huge pain, but my attention is a lil' splintered right now. How about you?"

"I'm doin' alright," the voice - Philza, he registered, finally - answered casually, though tinted with an edge Sapnap recognised as tense worry. He was well aquatinted with the feeling after the past few days, then, Phil laughed, terse and clipped, "sorry about the poor small talk, guess we're all a little shaken..."

"Sorry about the stream, I saw your icon was live..." 

"Nah, don't worry about it mate. This is more important. Speaking of this; how's he doin'?"

Sapnap looked down. Dream had unruly and unkept dirty blond hair that was damp with sweat, freckled cheeks flushed with a bright red, eyebrows knit together with tension and discomfort, and little beads of salty tears collected at the corners of his screwed-shut eyes. 

"Not gonna lie, he's been better."

Phil laughed again, and it was a little more genuine this time. 

The sound of running water was cut off sharply, George padding back in, towelling his forearms. Chocolate brown eyes met warm grey. George nodded at him, "Ready?"

"...guess so." Sapnap mumbled. He placed George's phone in the centre of Dream's nightstand, towards the base of his lamp, so it wouldn't be in the way. George sat by Dream's calves, and started pulling the cuffs of his pyjama bottoms over the heel of his feet. Dream mumbled in protest, but made no other movement. Sapnap began running his hand up and down the blond's side, supposed to be a comforting gesture. He thinks it works. 

The waistband, tied around Dream's waist with a white cotton ribbon, is quickly undone, pulled down from where they sit on his waist over his hips and down freckled legs. 

Dream blinked awake.

The tallest groaned, blinking bleary green eyes, making the small tears gathering fall, creating tacky trails down his face. 

"G'rge...? Sapn'p? Wh's wrong?" He mumbled, voice gravelly and raspy. Probably from sleep.

"Dream," George started, looking into the blond's eyes, gaze steady, "your fever is too high, so we're going to put you into a tepid bath, okay?"

There was another tense silence, only broken by the routine howl of the wind outside.

"... what?" 

So Dream's brain is mush. Okay, new plan, they just move him straight away and talk to him as they go, trying to keep him conscious. Sounds good, Sapnap. Thank you, Nick.

Sapnap met George's gaze, determined, "Keep undressing him, we just have to keep talking to keep him awake." George nodded.

"So, Clay," Dream made a little noise at the use of his real name by George, but listened, not even noticing the continued effort to pull his pyjama pants away from his legs. Thank Christ he was wearing boxers, "did you Dream about anything whilst you were asleep?" He popped the 'p'.

Dream breathed a sigh, head lolling onto Sapnap's chest, "No... I didn' dream of anything." He slurred. 

"Okay then," George let the baggy pants fall off the bed as they were pulled away from Dream, the younger barely even registering their absence, "have any cool video ideas, then?"

"...uhh... Circles." He said decisively, nodding, "let's do circles, code 'em into the game 'n' shit..."

George blinked in confusion, and Sapnap felt himself mirror the emotion. Sapnap just played along, "circles, huh? Probably one of your best ideas yet!" 

"Circles in Minecraft, why not?" 

They made quick work of Dream's remaining clothes - leaving his boxers on, of course - letting the green-eyed man prattle off random thoughts that flitted across his mind, most of them unintelligible and broken in Dream's feverish state. 

"Okay Dream," George said, cutting off Dream's blabbering of another idea full of gibberish, "we're gonna pick you up now. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, 's fine. Jus' do whatev'r, I guess..." 

Sapnap shook his head a little, the action fond. He looped his arms under Dream's armpits, letting them meet over his chest for the most stability, seeing George balance the blond's legs on his hips, hiking them up. Dream watched them blankly, blinking sluggishly.

"Okay, 3, 2, 1... Lift!" With their combined strength, Dream was lifted from his bed's surface with a huff from all parties. George started walking backwards and Sapnap walked forward to follow him, lugging the large, overheated body along with them. 

It was slow and short and a little unsteady, but eventually they made it to the candle-lit bathroom conjoined to Dream's bedroom, and they sat the Floridian on the closed toilet lid. Dream's eyes were closed, and he leaned forward heavily with a breathy groan. 

"I know, buddy," Sapnap comforted, popping his back and running his hand up and down Dream's upper arm, "don't worry, we're sorting you out, I promise."

"You'll be fine. You're going to be okay."

Hazy green eyes looked at him from above fever-flushed cheeks. Dream nodded.

The wind howled her irrational rage from beyond their glass windows, the sky an inky black with storm clouds and the absence of the sun.

Chapter Text

By the time George and Sapnap had managed to get Dream's long body into the bath, his eyes were already rolling. Or, at least he thinks they were, with the way his vision would blank out for a second or so at a time. He brain felt slow and his head was heavy. 

Dream shivered once his skin touched the water - had they dumped him in a frozen lake?! It was so cold, and he immediately tried to get his body to comply and lift himself out. However, two strong arms foiled his plan and secured him against the tub's wall with an unintelligible mumble, brushing the fluffy cow-lick of dirty blond hair away from his forehead, where it was beginning to stick again. Dream whimpered, it felt nice. The fingers were soft but firm against his aching scalp, massaging the skin. Dream relaxed against the freezing porcelain.

He'll deal with the cold water for now, just because the hand in his hair was so nice...

When Dream tried climbing out of the tub once they situated him in the water, George is man enough to admit he panicked. Phil - before they cut the call - said that if he was shivering, then it was working, and the full body shudder that racked Dream's frame made him think they were getting somewhere. It would all be ruined if Dream just... got out!

Thankfully, Sapnap reacted quickly, pushing their friend back with an, "oh no you don't." Once Dream was back against the bath's wall, blinking at them with round, glassy eyes, Sapnap let his hand thread through the dirty blond hair, massaging the overheated scalp hidden beneath the mass of locks, whispering, "I'm sorry, Clay, I wish we could make this easier..."

George's heart melted with sympathy, and he gently placed a hand on Sapnap's shoulder, sending him a soft smile. Nick reciprocated the gesture, eyebrows furrowed in worry. 

Clay began to cough, the sound chesty and painful, and wow, they were really spreading George's sympathy thin today, huh? 

"I'm gonna call Phil again, see if he can help us now we have the main part over with." George told Nick, getting up and grabbing his phone from the bed in the other room. When he came back, Nick had moved to sit on the edge of the bath tub, holding a... Decent conversation with the elder of the two. George smiled, and in the doorway, he opened Discord and scrolled until he found Phil's contact, pressing the 'call' button.

It rung once, twice, thrice, and then the subtle click of it being answered.

"Hello again, George, have ya done it yet?"

"Yes, he's in the bath, Nick is currently holding on a conversation, so he's awake too." George explained, "anything else we can do, then?"

"Hmmm... Maybe some more soup and sponging him down. You said earlier he hasn't eaten in a while, he'll need the electrolytes."

"Alright, I can do that," George nodded, even though Phil couldn't see it, maybe he'll have heard the rustling of his hair, "I'll call you later...?"

"Yeah, good luck mate, and know you can call if you need me again."

"I know, thanks, Phil, have a good... Night? Bye." George hung up. It was a little abrupt, but he's a little desperate, okay?

Then, just because today couldn't get any better, George heard a sharp gasp and the sound of gagging. Little hiccupy gasps, desperate for air that won't come, forced by a stomach that won't surrender. George whirls around in time to see Nick force a bin under Clay's chin as the tallest is forced to reject the little substance that remained in his stomach. Gag after gag, wave after wave of his stomach revolting, and George kneels down beside his friend. Little sparkling tears roll down hot, freckled cheeks, and another clench of pity squeezes George's heart. Eventually, the gagging stops, sobs and dry heaves are all the leave him. 

"Clay, Clay, are you feeling better?" George asks softly, rubbing a strong arm. He already knows the answer though.

Clay sobs, "N-no," he stutters, "George, it hurts."

He knows. "I know, and I'm sorry. I wish we could do more. I'm going to go get you some broth, okay? But you'll have to try to stomach it. I'll get you some water too to rinse out that taste." 

The bitter taste of acidic vomit was overbearing and heavy on his tongue, making his nose scrunch up in absent disgust. Clay clapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth in an attempt to alleviate the rancid taste. It didn't work. Yay. 

The world was a little hazy, the throbbing in his head rolling in cruel waves of pain. The pulsing behind his eyes when they grind against his sockets has him whimpering pitifully, and his throat felt abnormally warm. Chest rattling with every breath, and nose so congested that the only way he could breath properly was through his mouth, another awful reminder of the vile taste of old vomit clinging to his teeth.

In short, Clay felt... a bit horrendous. 

Every time he'd drag his sandpaper eyes lids down his dry eyes, he could tell that time was going quicker than his fever-addled brain was comprehending. One second, Nick was in front of him, speaking words that sounded like another language, and then he'd reopen his eyes (with too much effort required to be healthy) and Nick would be sat on the toilet seat typing frantically on his phone. Lifting a hand out of the cold cold it's too cold you're going to fREEZE TO DEATH it's lukewarm, you're actually boiling alive inside your own skin water, Clay scratched at his greasy hair, unwashed in what must have been a couple of days now. 

What was even happening?

Uhh...

There, uh.. there was a... Ummm...

"Ugh... Nick?" His tongue was like lead inside his mouth.

Nick seemed to jump where he sat, scrambling too quickly for his brain to ccomprehend to the edge of the bath tub to listen attentively, "Yeah, Clay? What's up?"

"Wh's happen'ng ag'n?"

"Well... Uhh..." Nick seemed to hesitate, not meeting his eyes. It's a good thing too, they were watering and wanted to roll back into his head, body desperate to climb out of the water and go to sleep. 

"Well... There's a storm outside."

"A st'rm?"

"Yeah, you're also quite sick."

"'m sick? Yeah, yeah, that seems r'ght..."

Nick huffed a laugh, more like a pitiful puff of air. Clay didn't like it. He preferred it when Nick laughed his squeaky laugh, or snorted, or any other laugh that was actually genuine. Not that one.

"George is getting you some soup, do you remember that?" Nick asked, thumbing the back of his hand, rubbing soothing circles gently into the veins, "please tell me you remember that..." He whispered.

"Yeah, I r'memb'r th't." It was true, he wasn't just saying that to make Nick feel better. Well, he wanted Nick to feel better too. Obviously.

Another slow blink, and George was sat in front of him, a glass water bottle sat on the tub's wall, and a bowl of warm brown broth being stirred with a spoon in his hand. 

"Clay, can you drink some of this please? It might help get rid of the natsy taste in your mouth, too." 

Someone else pried the cap off the bottle for him, handing it over and lifting the base gently to tip small waves of water into his mouth. It was like heaven. He hasn't realised how dry his mouth was before this, tongue like sand and breath like cruel gusts of wind disturbing the grains on sand dunes mercilessly. 

He wanted to chug it all, then and there. However, the hand on the bottom prevented him from doing that. It frustrated him and he grunted angrily.

"You might be sick again if you down it all, take small and slow sips." A voice commanded. Clay sighed, fine.

Once about half of the bottle was gone, the water was pulled from his weak grip. He whined.

"I know, but you need to eat this too..."

A spoon made contact with his chapped lips, and he graciously allowed it entry. The broth was warm and smooth - even if it tasted off. He was ill, it was natural for things to taste different to how it should - right? He managed four mouthfuls before he was pushing another spoonful away with a tickle in his nose.

"Dream, you have to-" he cut the voice off with harsh sneezes into his lap, head snapping down so he wouldn't sneeze on his roommates.

"Bless you." Someone different said, a little ways away from the one with the bowl. 

"Th'nks..." He responded, voice nasily with congestion. 

The food resumed. It wasn't until his stomach felt distended beyond being able to stomach more that he rejected another spoonful with a small whine. 

His eyelids felt heavy and the rolling pain behind his eyes, forcing pressure into the area behind his pupils, and Clay wanted to sink into the water (as cold as it was) in order to sleep. That's all he wanted now. Sleep brought him peace from the pain his body was forcing him through.

His eyelids fluttered, and he rested his aching neck by leaning his head against the cool tiled wall. 

A cold, soft material was placed over his forehead, but being as tired as he was, he didn't give it a second thought, drifting into a dreamless sleep with relative, sluggish ease...

"Clay?"

Chapter Text

"Clay?"

The dirty blond's breathing evened out to a raspy wheeze as sleep buried him under its warm embrace. George smiled, and the weight of the bowl of mostly-eaten soup was light in his hands. 

Nick tapped him on his shoulder, "Can I take the bowl downstairs? I've been in here too long."

"Yes, you can, but only if you deal with the puke too." George rebutted.

Nick sighed, rolling his eyes as he stood, "Fine." The youngest took the bowl and the bin and left George in warm candle-light. 

To be completely honest, George didn't know what to do now. Clay was asleep, and until the power returned to Orlando, it was difficult to say properly what they could do. It's not like they could just leave the sick male in the bath on his own, that could make him worse if they left him for too long. However, the floor to the dark bathroom wasn't exactly comfortable. 

They could gather blankets and such from their separate rooms to make a little pillow fort or something on the floor...? But then there was the worry of what they could do, since they needed their phone charges in case the power came back and they needed to call a professional. Plus, reading books by candle light could be dangerous, should the book catch on fire. Hey, George is a nervous person, being ready for anything is always the safest option.

In the most ironic way did that turn on them, given the circumstances. 

Wait, no! No negativity!

Nick came back then, eyeing him with a pout, both vomit and bowl-free. 

"Nick, what should we do now?"

The bearded-man thought for a second, then shrugged, "I don't know, any thoughts?"

"We could build a pillow fort in here? My arse is going numb."

Nick snorted out an ugly laugh, but it still made fondness swell in George's chest, and he nodded, "let's gooo-ho-ho-ho~!"

Grabbing colourful blankets and pillows didn't take them long. A warm grey fleece was wrapped around them both - it must be at least 8 squared-feet - and then there were their individual pillows too. Along the way, after dumping their prizes, Nick came in with a dusty cassette player and a cardboard box of old cassettes and a devilish smirk glued to his face.

"What's that?" George had asked, bewildered, "They look ancient."

"They're the cassettes and the player Clay's mom dropped off when we first moved in, but he never let me watch them. Well... He can't stop us now!"

"You... Are an evil genius."

They'd set up an old box television with the cassette player leaning on its side against the body, and old videos were playing just beyond the boundary of the bathroom ensuite.

They had names like 'Clay's 1st Birthday' and 'First Time at the Beach', each featuring their friend from 20+ years ago in 10 minute snapshots of his life before they knew him. They "awwee!!"-d the sweeter moments, like toothless giggling or seeing him in a particularly cute onesie, and George had never felt more like his mother in his life: watching baby videos and going through baby photos of someone who would be red-faced and complaining should he have been conscious. 

When the 7th cassette finished playing, George said abruptly into the candle light, "...we have so much blackmail material now..."

"I don't know," Nick responded, "Baby Clay is cute, I dunno if I wanna ruin it..."

"Killjoy." George just said, mature as he is.

Nick snorted again, shuffling within his blankets. From the bathtub, Clay mumbled something unintelligible, then groaned loudly. 

The Dream Team (minus Dream) looked at each other, then Nick got out of the blankets and grabbed the thermometer from the side of the sink and gently took Clay's temperature.

The little device beeped.

"Hmm..." Nick hummed, "It's gone down by like... 0.2°F it's not exactly much..."

"It's still doing something, though," George pointed out, ever the optimist, "we can't hope for too much too soon, we just have to hope that it's a good sign."

"It could also just be false hope." Nick stated, solemnly, "For all we know, this could be his body gathering all of its energy to just make him... Spontaneously combust- I dunno!"

"Wow, you're really positive today, huh?"

"Oh, fuck off."

The storm outside whistled a song of frustration, but the optimist in George couldn't help but feed him the subtle information that she seemed to not have as much energy to cry her rage as a few hours prior...

Chapter Text

Beyond sturdy brick walls, across a deep and vast ocean, across time zones and whipping winds of a violent whistle, a small group was collected around a rich brown coffee table.

Wilbur shoved a poof of curly brown hair away from his eyes, releasing a gentle sigh of frustration from the repetitive action, and returned his attention to the other three people sat with him. Jack Manifold was precariously perched on an old armchair, legs crossed at the knees as his attention remained fixed on the television above a modern fireplace. His face was pinched with silent worry, a look that seemed wrong on his young face.

Niki Nihachu was beside Wilbur, hunched over herself, head balanced in her hands and ankles close to the sofa's foundation that they were both sat on. Her large eyes were the barest hints wet and her mouth was small, eyes trained on the television as well. They parted from the screen for a second, catching him staring. She smiled, the action tense and anxious, and Wilbur smiled back, hoping he didn't look as worried as he felt.

Sat on the floor, on the other side of Wilbur, was one TommyInnit, criss-cross applesauce on the colourful rug, tongue occasionally darting out to wet his dry lips as his blue eyes remained unwaveringly trained on the screen before them, craning his neck to see despite having easily being able to just get up and sit on the sofa he was leaning against. Wilbur reminded him of this fact several times. Tommy turned it down each time.

Before them, the television screen continued to display the section of the BBC News that informed of international troubles. The main topic was of Hurricane Fleur, and Wilbur honed his ears on the reporter's professional - and frankly gratingly annoying - voice.

"Hurricane Fleur continues to batter the states along the south-east of the USA, passing the southern tip of Florida to move inland. People residing in Georgia are now allowed to move back to their homes, as meteorologists have confirmed that the storm has altered its course." She shuffled her papers, and Wilbur couldn't help the way his nose wrinkled in anger, "Fleur has reportedly shrunk from a Category 5 to Category 4 storm, after she lost the energy previously gained over the warmer seas surrounding the Carribbean. It is said that the eye of the storm will pass over the city of Orlando within the next four hours, going from 220mph windspeeds to 0mph."

Wilbur was mad at her. She stated it like she didn't even care, with such disinterest and apathy, that it was just another happening in the world. Didn't she know that his friends were stuck there? Didn't she know that the only contact they had was them when discord would allow them to talk? Didn't she know that one of them was suffering from a tremendously high fever, and his roommate had called Phil live on stream in a panic because he didn't know what to do? Didn't she know? Or did she just not care that these were real people suffering as she spoke?

A hand grabbed his fist - when had he clenched it into a fist? - and smoothed down the his tense muscles so that his hand was flat against his knee. Wilbur looked to see Niki looking at him with a knowing look, and she gently shook her head. Don't, that look said, don't waste your time being angry.

Wilbur softened his gaze and nodded, defeated. He looked back to the screen just as the woman's coworker finished his display of British weather. A small shard of anger reared its ugly head - how could they worry about Britain's miserable weather when Florida was being battered with one of the strongest hurricanes to hit the state since Andrew ?! - but Wilbur squashed it down to the best of his abilities. The screen cut back to the female presenter.

"Thank you, Evan," the woman spoke, looking bored and disinterest still, "Continuing with Florida: from Ocala to Key Largo the state has lost all power, officials are worried that areas further north, such as Jacksonville, will lose power as well as the storm progresses. Local authorities are prepared to protect, but roads have been completely shut down as a message was sent out 2 days ago that Hurricane Fleur was officially labelled a threat to human life. People within the State of Alabama are still waiting on news of what will become of them once the storm passes the Borders of its neighbouring state. My name is Carol Harris, and thank you for tuning into BBC News." 

The screen transitioned out, but Wilbur continued to stare at the screen as advertisements started to play. He blinked out of his stupor when the screen suddenly went black, shut off. Jack Manifold held the remote, and sighed as he put it down.

There was silence for a moment, still and calm. Like the eye of the storm, Wilbur thought, bitterly.

"What now?" Tommy asked, voice uncharacteristically small.

"We should tell George." Niki said, accent curling around her words, "If they don't have any power, he probably won't know most of that information."

"We don't know how long the Storm's eye'll last, though..." Jack pointed out, voice steady and level, "We should tell George anyway, I'm not saying we shouldn't, but how much relief will the eye bring them?"

Wilbur thought for a moment, how much time would the eye last for?

He scrambled up, grabbing a pen and a pad of lined paper from his bookshelf, ignoring the startled cries of Tommy and Jack, and Niki's startled yelp as his sudden movement. 

"We can work out how much time the eye'll last for!" He declared, face set in determination.

Tommy's face flashed with recognition at the tone, and his eyes twinkled with a well-meaning mischief Wilbur knew well, "Go on then." He dared.

Wilbur planned to.

He sat down suddenly, uncapping the pen and scribbling a messy title lopsided on the page:

Hurricane Fleur:

"What was the wind speed again?" Wilbur asked, looking up.

"I think it was 220mph..." Jack trailed off, thinking hard.

"I can use that. Given that the wind speed was 220 mph, which is equal to about 98.3 metres per second if my maths is correct, and that Fleur is a category 4 storm at current time, the eye's diameter should be about 50 kilometres." 

Wilbur scribbled on his page more, letting his companions lean over his shoulder to watch.

Hurricane Fleur:

220 mph wind speed = 98.3 m/s

50 km 

"...50 kilometres is 50,000 metres..." Wilbur trailed off, giving himself time to write.

Hurricane Fleur:

220 mph wind speed = 98.3 m/s

50 km = 50,000 metres

Wilbur haphazardly wrote down the Physics equation he had memorised during school, not allowing his disbelief that he'd actually use it after his exams leak into his determination to find the answer.

"...carry that over, to make Time(s) the subject..."

Hurricane Fleur:

220 mph wind speed = 98.3 m/s

50 km = 50,000 metres

speed = distance/time(s)

time(s) = distance/speed

"...now we just have to substitute the correct values in. Jack, can I use your phone for the calculator?"

Normally, Jack would refute, but he remained silent, handing over the device.

Hurricane Fleur:

220 mph wind speed = 98.3 m/s

50 km = 50,000 metres

speed = distance/time(s)

time(s) = distance/speed

time(s) = 50,000/98.3 m/s

time(s) = 508.6... seconds

"Now, if we divide it by 60, it'll give us the time in minutes..."

Wilbur punched in the numbers, and wrote down the result on his page.

time (mins) = 508.6.../60 = 8.5... minutes 

"...What does that entail?" Tommy whispered.

"It means that, once the eye passes over Orlando in a few hours, if the storm keeps this up, the Dream Team will have about 9 minutes of peace before it starts up again."

"Is that enough time to buy some fever reduces to help Dream?" Niki asked. 

It was a valid question. George had given them the address when he started going across the pond, and Dream had sent them all care packages and friendly gifts in the past out of the good of his heart with his address on the label. Given this information, Wilbur grabbed Jack's phone again and turned on Google maps, punching in the Dream Team's address and searching for the nearest location that sold fever reducers that would still be open during a hurricane. Some places stayed open to provide shelter to people caught short when a storm made landfall, and the closet one the Dream Team's house was 11 minutes away by foot. 

Wilbur felt a little ball of hope light in his chest. A smile began to stretch across his face, and the same hope making his insides glow bled into his tone:

"It could be..."

Chapter Text

Nick, frankly, wasn't surprised when George's stationary phone started buzzing violently with a discord call in his notifications list.

Nick was a little bit surprised when it was revealed that Jack Manifold was calling George on discord at what would be four o' clock in the UK.

Nick was a bit more surprised when Wilbur was the one talking through the other end of the phone when George answered Jack's call.

And Nick wasn't the least bit surprised, instead thoroughly impressed by his friends, when they handed over some valuable information.

"The eye!" Wilbur cried the second the call answered, clearly not understanding they he and George weren't expecting this, and had - in fact - no idea about what he was talking about.

"...what?" George questioned, lifting an eyebrow Wilbur couldn't see, but made Nick snicker.

"The eye! Niki, Jack, Tommy and I are watching the BBC News and they've received word that the Storm's eye will pass over Orlando in a few hours!" Wilbur answered. You'd think they were psychic with the way Wilbur would prattle on without context.

"...okay?" Nick said, thoroughly confused, "why is that important?"

"Because the eye will stay over Orlando for about 9/10-ish minutes!" Jack called from somewhere in the background.

"And?"

"The nearest drug store that'll still be open is 11 minutes away on foot!"

There was silence in that bathroom as George and Nick's gazes slowly looked over to each other, shocked brown eyes locking onto determined grey ones. Nick forced as much 'You're not going to stop me from doing this' into his gaze as he could. George held his gaze for a second longer, then looked away, sighing. Nick knew he'd won with the way George held his eyes on the phone in his hand. 

"...are you saying what I think you're saying, Wilbur?" George asked lowly, resigned and defeated in a way that made him seem a lot older than 25.

"What I'm saying, GeorgeNotFound, is that one of you can stay with Dream and the other can run or drive to the shop, grab the drugs and go! You'll have to be quick, but it shouldn't be impossible if you hurry!" Wilbur was very insistent, proof that he truly believed this would work; and if Wilbur believed it, who were they to question him? 

"I... Nick?" George turned to him, voice quiet and Nick straightened his spine at being addressed, "are you willing to go? Or would you like me to?"

"You stay here." Nick spoke, blinking slowly, "I trust you with Dream. And... No offense but you're not exactly an athlete..."

George huffed a quiet laugh, but there was no mirth behind the air that left his nose, "...alright," George turned his head back to his phone (54% battery) and spoke with a voice more powerful in tone and volume, "thank you, Wilbur. How long until the eye crosses us?"

"I think the weather reporter said four hours? And that was about 10 minutes ago, so count 3 hours and 50 minutes-ish and just wait until the wind and rain has settled enough to be safe!"

"Okay Wil, thank you, thank you all. See you soon."

"Bye."

"Bye."

George's phone pinged as the call ended. A sigh left the elder's lips as he turned to the younger, "You positive you're up for this?"

Nick nodded, "Absolutely."

George just shrugged, "...alright."

As George tucked his phone onto a shelf where water won't damage it, Nick moved to sit on the pile of blankets still perched by the door. A soft groan and the sound of shifting water drew both of their attention, and dull green eyes were visible as Clay peeled back his eyelids. His face scrunged in discomfort and Nick barely held back a wince of sympathy.

"Clay?" Nick asked, voice now a lot less confident than it was minutes ago.

His eyes started watering, and Nick felt a jolt of panic run through him; was Clay going to be sick again?! Was he that upset?! Was it a really bad fever dream?!

Just before his mind could over think it too much, Clay's nose twitched and he reeled forward with a sneeze, "H'tsshoo! H'tssh'o! A'tzyoo!" A weak sniffle and then his body mercilessly threw him back into a sneezing fit, "At'schyoo!!"

Nick didn't know what to do. For coughing and choking fits, you pat on the back; for vomiting, you hold back long hair; what do you when someone sneezes repeatedly with no sign of a break?! Say "bless you" and hope for the best?!

"A'shtyou!" Clay sniffled, then groaned, "Ugh..."

"Clay? Are you properly awake?" George asked, stepping closer timidly.

Clay blinked owlishly at him, then sniffled the trail of snot leaking from his nose, "Huh?"

George grimaced. Nick couldn't tell if it was from the response, how nasally their tall friend sounded, or the snot. It wouldn't surprise him if it was all three.

"How are you feeling...?" 

"Umm... Wet?" Nick couldn't hold back his snort, "I'm uncomfortable in the w'ter... Can I get out?"

The healthy two shared a glance, and then George nodded, "You've been in there a while, I think it'll be fine to take you out..." Clay nodded lazily, head more lolling bouncily up and down rather than a conscious effort in affirmation. His arms left the water, the small droplets catching on the light hairs on his forearms. They shook under his own weight, so much Nick was worried they'd give out. Together, George and him pulled him from the tub's walls and sat him by the blanket hoard they had by the door. Clay blinked, open-mouthed and not quite with-it, and wet his lips, swallowing harshly. He hadn't gone pale (well... Paler) though, so he wasn't going to vomit again. Hopefully. 

Nick felt another pang of sympathy strike him, and he pushed the dark golden blonde hair away from Clay's flushed forehead. Glassy eyes latched onto his own, and he smiled and he padded Dream down with a clean, white towel from their rack. Clay hummed softly, the sound turning into a thoughtless huff quickly after. 

Clay, as pliable as he was in this state, was also still 6'3 and ~200 lbs, so it was more Nick dragging him across the plush carpet, huffing and puffing, as Clay's head lolled around on his shoulder like a bouncy ball. Unloading the tall, sick male, Sapnap grabbed some cream coloured tarten-flannel pants, slipping them over Dream's legs, along with a largely oversized and soft cotton Prussian blue 'GNF' T-shirt (a merch prototype that was rejected for faulty sizing, actually). 

"George!" Nick called, "Come help me bring him downstairs!"

If they brought Dream downstairs, it'd be easy to get him the meds and the water to down them with, and that's where all the candles were still flickering peacefully, lighting up their living room. That, and maybe it would do Clay some good to have a change of scenery. 

Clay mumbled something unintelligible, picking up his feet and planting them firmly under him. His legs shook minutely, but Nick appreciated the effort to take the strain off him. George came quickly, and - after explaining his reasoning - grabbed Dream by his hips and helped guide them down the stairwell. A soft moan of 'ugh... I wanna go h'me...', and Clay was positioned against the arm of their L-shaped couch, buried under one of the thicker fleece blankets from the SNF Bathroom Nest™ and face smooshed against a large plush pillow, snoring softly. 

By now, it had been about 45 minutes since Wilbur had called, and George and Nick were at a lost of what to do.

"We could watch a movie?" Nick suggested, shrugging. George shrugged too, nodding. 

"May as well, then we can watch a show or something and get you ready to go to the pharmacy."

"The 'pharmacy'!" Nick mocked, a poor British accent pouring from his lips. George scoffed, rolling his eyes fondly. Together, they settled on the couch as well; George with Dream's legs in lap and Sapnap against the other arm. 

A lightning strike flashed beyond their closed curtains, and Nick couldn't help the way he gulped as Dream whined in his sleep.

It'd be fine...

They'd be fine...

They always were...

Chapter Text

One movie and an episode of The Office later (so approximately 3 hours and 26 minutes), Nick and George were preparing themselves for Nick's outing. 

"Okay, that should be everything you'll need to get. You got the money?" George asked, handing him a strip of scrap paper with the medication required written on it: 2 packs of Advil, another thermometer and a small packet of candles.

"Yup. $35 in my pocket, plus my phone so you can call me if we need it." He had changed his clothes from the gross ones before, a clean t-shirt with a large hoodie from Clay's merch closet and a pair of tracksuit bottoms paired with his favourite scuffed sneakers. Nothing fancy, but enough so he can be in and out. 

"How're you getting there and back?" 

"Use my skateboard, and I can run or walk 'round places I can't skate through, s'fine."

George sighed, rubbing his upper arm, subconsciously looking for comfort. Sapnap nodded, even though the doting was normally nice, Nick was restless and wanted to go. He wanted to help. He wanted to be useful. 

"George, I'll be fine. I've been living in Florida longer than you have, this isn't my first rodeo. I've helped Dream when he was sick before, and I've also been in a hurricane before, it's okay."

"I know, I'm just not used to this type of... survival stress..." George confessed, looking over to their tall friend, who was blinking owlishly at the ceiling with lidded eyes. Clay had woken up about 5 minutes ago and hadn't spoken a legible word since. It would have been cute or funny if Nick didn't think he could be sick with worry. 

The wind outside continued to whistle, heavier than it was hours ago. Odd.

With his sneakers slipped on and the money and the list safely tucked into his back pocket, Nick shrugged on a denim jacket overtop of the hoodie as a windbreak, grabbing his skateboard from the closet off to the side of the room. The eye should be upon them any minute now, so he and George positioned themselves so they could see through gaps in the curtains and blinds hiding the outside world from their sight. 

The wind was howling. The rain was pounding. The storm was raging. And then... it just stopped. All the wind, rain... everything. Just halted. As if reality just paused...

The eye was upon them.

"It's here." Nick stated, sounding much calmer than he felt, anxiety buzzing just below his skin, "I'll be back soon."

"Be safe." George said, and Nick nodded before stepping out of the door and closing it behind him. 

God. Outside was a mess.

Stepping down from their doorstep and along the driveway, Sapnap could tell the storm wasn't anything to laugh at.

In the distance, the gentle whir of rain and wind could be heard, assaulting buildings and swaying the trees. The large, old palm tree that separated their front yard from their neighbours had been dramatically uprooted, lying sadly on the road at an odd angle, dirt smattered around it. Slates and tiles that made up their roof were missing from theirs and other houses on the street, shattered on the pavements in trails of carnage, tossed around by vicious winds like toys. Thankfully, Clay's truck remained safely tucked away in their garage, but their neighbours weren't as lucky: a large block of cement was planted firmly on their car's roof, crushing the top and shattering all the mirrors and windows. Nick winced in sympathy for the vehicle. The entire ground was littered with branches, leaves and twigs that had been ripped from the trees stationary on the floor like fallen warriors after a valiant battle. 

Quite literally carnage.

"Holy shit..." Nick pointedly ignored how his voice wobbled. Not right now, he had to get a move on: he was on a time limit here. Planting his skateboard down, Nick stepped on and kicked off, the refreshing way the humid air blew against his face clearing his head. 

Sapnap knew which pharmacy he was going to, he knew the way there by heart since the last time Clay had gotten badly sick he'd had to rush over to grab meds just like now. The only difference was, a hurricane wasn't assaulting the city barely miles away like it was now.

Last time Dream had gotten this sick, his song was to be released in the week. Karl, bless his soul, had tried to distract them both by inviting them to a Tales of the SMP episode with Techno, Ranboo, Niki, Fundy, Bad, Q and others' assistance, but the fever and the infection and the swollen lymph node had all just appeared overnight and his roommate could barely talk to tell Karl he couldn't make it. Scratch talking, he made opening his eyes and even breathing look painful. Thankfully, Patches had sat on his chest and the warmth from her little body had sent him to sleep, leaving Nick to explain the situation to their friends and fellow actors.

("Hallooo~" Techno had drawled when Nick joined the call, accompanied by Karl's hello and Bad, Niki, Ranboo, Q and Fundy's unique calls of welcoming.

"Hey guys." Nick smiled, a warm feeling of fondness sparking in his chest. It was partly squashed, though, when he could hear the faint sounds of Clay coughing with bronchitis.

"'kay, now we just have to wait for Dream and then we can start! Everyone got their skins?" Karl asked jovially, unaware of how the first part made Nick cringe. Words of affirmation went around, and, after the words died down, Nick spoke up.

"Yeah... Uhhh... About that..."

"Sapnap, did something go wrong with your skin loading? Mine's doing that too..." Fundy had asked, the clacking of his keyboard being picked up by his mic.

"No, the skin's fine, it's just... Dream won't be joining us..."

The silence echoed through the call.

"What do you mean? Is he alright?" Karl asked, not even mad, just concerned. Nick smiled.

"Nah, poor guy has bronchitis, fever and some lymph node thing. He's out of commission for today, sorry."

Niki cooed her sympathies, telling Sapnap to wish his roommate a speedy recovery, Bad doing the same thing, with Karl, Ranboo and Fundy following closely behind. 

Techno grunted, "Tell the nerd to take care of himself, God knows he needs to learn better self-care." Sapnap snorted and agreed.)

However, after his character had been killed off, he went to go check on Clay and the fever had spiked, and in a rush he'd dm'd Karl to tell him he had to go and left for the very same pharmacy he was skating towards now. He must've memorised the route as a response to the situation, and it was actually coming in handy. Who'd've guess?

The wind disrupted his hair, making the thin whisps around his temples flutter against his skin. 

He didn't like how similar the two scenarios are. 

With a huff, Nick kicked again, speeding up his travel. He couldn't afford to be lost in his thoughts, he had to get to the pharmacy ASAP.

He inhaled deeply, letting the air fill his lungs satisfyingly, holding it until the burn made him release the exhale. He could do this, he just had to breathe.

Nick's trip continued, until he turned a corner and had to jump off his board, it continuing to speed forward, travelling smoothly under a giant knocked-over palm tree until clattering pathetically over a little pile of rocks, halting.

"...shit..." Nick swore, the tree wasn't small, the trunk about triple the size of his thigh, and the gap between it and the floor was barely enough for his skateboard to travel under. A large boulder and an overturned car framed the tree, so he could go around without it taking a while. 

Over it is.

Sapnap approached the tree, planting both hands on the trunk and forcing it down, checking how much of his weight it could handle. 

It barely budged.

That was promising.

He repeated the action. Same result.

Holy shit, he might be able to do this!

He repeated the action once more, but this time jumped experimentally. Then, with a mental count down, he brought his feet onto the trunk, sneaker soles gripping the bark with purchase. He squatted on the trunk, holding the position for a second - inhale, exhale - then leapt down. He landed with a thud, then straightened, his spine popping. Nick sighed.

Leaning down, he readjusted his skateboard's position aware from the little rocks, mounted it again and kicked off, back on his way. 

That's right, baby, Sapnap thought with a smug smirk, not even the goddamn universe can stop me! Nice try, God, but you'll have to try harder than a dumb tree to stop me!

Challenging fate was his first mistake.

Since Nick left their door, George had been nervous. He knew that it was his job to take care of Dream, but being stuck here whilst his younger friend faced their hurricane-struck town to grab the meds... George felt useless.

He was making tea in their kitchen, hoping it'll calm him down some. He's the only one in their house that drinks proper Yorkshire tea, Dream drinks the fancy herb stuff to calm himself down, and Sapnap lives off of coffee, but there was something about Yorkshire tea that soothed his homesickness and his nerves in one.

A wet cough and a twin sneeze sounded from the room, and George's heart shrivelled up and died a little.

He took his tea and a large glass of water, walking into the room, planting it on the coffee table. Dream had woken up shortly after Sapnap left, delirious and confused, and George was worried he's start panicking. Thankfully, and panic was eased out of Clay, but nestled itself happily inside George, who noticed that Dream's fever had spiked again. It wasn't by much, but he was edging dangerously close to a 41°C fever and not nearly enough fluids inside his body. So, the water was for Clay, be it for George's own mental assurance as well. 

"Clay..." George sing-songed softly, hyperaware of the splitting migraine tearing through his friend's head, "I have some water for you, can you drink some please?~"

"Mhm~" Clay whined, voice high and teary. He stretched his back, but didn't have the strength to sit up from where he was leaning against their couch with the fleece draped over his legs, "m'yb..." 

George hopes that was a 'maybe' and not a gag or something. Either way, he picks up the glass of water and sits by Dream, tipping the water into his mouth, little sips at a time, making sure his sick friend swallows before offering more water. After a couple few of sips, George places the drink down, not wanting to iverface Dream. Trying to get him to eat anything now could be dangerous since the don't want him to vomit before taking meds, and overfacing him would make him even more uncomfortable. 

George wanted to call Dream's mom and siblings, hoping they'd know what to do, maybe even get them to come over, but he knew he had to wait until Sapnap got back to try the meds first.

Grabbing their thermometer again, he checked Clay's temperature.

40.85°C

"Shit." George muttered at the tiny, digital screen as if it personally wronged him. 

Maybe it had. Maybe it was a false reading to send him into cardiac arrest. Maybe it was a joke. ...Please let it be a joke.

He took the reading again. And again. And again.

40.85°C

40.85°C

40.86°C

Visceral fear roared through George as the reading ticked up before his very eyes. 

As if on cue, Dream groans, scratching at the scruff of stubble that was growing in along his jawline. 

Patches was meowing at the foot of their couch now, weaving between George's legs. He paid her no mind.

"Dream," he said, tapping his friend on the shoulder, waiting for him to look up, "I'm going to call your mum and see if she can come over..."

"M-mom?" Dream stuttered, looking at George with glassy eyes and flushed freckled cheeks. 

"Yeah... Nick'll be back soon with your meds, though sound good?"

"Yeah... Yeah..." Clay muttered, eyelids fluttering. He fought the drowsiness for a second longerz then lost the battle as his eyes fluttered shut, breathing evening quickly.

With a hand on his hip, George walked away, loading up his phone and pulling out Dream's mum's contact. He clicked the green button. The call rang once, twice, then the subtle click of it being answered.

"George? Honey, are you okay?"

At the sound of her voice, George wanted to cry. Dream's mother was like his American mum, making him feel welcome in the new country outside of Dream and Sapnap.

"Hi, I'm sorry for calling right now, but I need your help..."

"Oh, sweetie, what's wrong? Is it the hurricane?"

"No, actually, it's your son."

"If he's bothering you, just tell him I said--"

"No! No, heh, no... No, it's not that... Your son...

Your son is sick... And I don't know what to do..."

Chapter Text

After a couple more minutes of skating and pretending the sight of Orlando in shambles didn't bother him, Nick made it to the store front. 

It was a fucking wreck.

The pharmacy itself wasn't too fancy, usually more modern with the building's primary features being the white outer layer with an electric green and sky blue accents on the signs and posters in the windows. It had large, full body, bulletproof windows with a modern glass door, and usually a sign outdoors welcoming in their guests. However, the storm had done some serious damage, as one of the major windows was completely annihilated, the other switch shatter lines spierwebbing across the expanse of it, and the door had been knocked off one of its hinges, swaying lightly. It looks like the slightest weight would send it clattering to the ground. One of the three signs usually outside had been cascaded across the street, penetrating an opposing store front window, and the other two were no where in sight.

"Jesus fucking Christ..." Nick whispered lowly to himself, horrified awe nestling a home in the area of his chest.

Shrugging off the emotion, Nick picked up is board and tucked it safely under his arm, maneuvering carefully around the destroyed door and slipping inside.

Oh shit, there were actually people here. 

The cashier, obviously, was there, trembling slightly behind the counter, with choppy, short black hair, yellow contacts and snake-eye piercings in their lower lip. They were wearing the uniform for the pharmacy: a white polo shirt with the logo in the same electric green and sky blue that decorated the shop. They were taller than Sapnap, maybe 6'0?

But, then there was an older gentleman, whispy white hair resting flatly against his head with a cane in one hand and a shiny little pocket watch in the other, wearing some nice tartan pants and a white button up shirt and a tan vest overtop. He looked like he may have been going somewhere like a golf or country club before getting stuck in the pharmacy when the storm hit. Maybe around the same height as Nick? An inch shorter? Hard to tell.

There was a young, dark skinned woman with ebony hair wrapped tightly in a bin atop her head and shining amber earrings dangling from her ears. She had thick, round glasses sat on her nose, but her features were soft ina large wooden hoodie and baggy jeans with a fabric tote bag wrapped tightly in her fist. 

Then, there was a mother and daughter duo: both with curly, auburn hair and green eyes. The mother had very sharp features and a stern, apprehensive look on her face, hair done in a high ponytail and a pink blouse upon her person. Her daughter, though, still had baby fat on her cheeks, and a beauty spot next to her nose, just below her eye. The auburn locks were cut into a curly bob, but resting on her face were a pair of glasses and a look of pure, unadultered awe. Nick looked at her hoodie and it made his stomach sink: she was wearing a GeorgeNotFound hoodie and had the Dream Team wrist bands dangling from her wrists. 

A fan.

Shit.

Sapnap tried to keep his body from tensing, but from the way the young girl's face fell slightly, he probably wasn't too successful. He shot her a smile anyway, and she seemed to brighten a little more.

Stepping over a little pile of rubble that must have fallen from the ceiling, Nick walks over to the cashier and pulls out his money, "Can I have two packs of Advil please?"

The drugs, in a hurricane situation, are placed behind the counter for safe keeping in a new beta law that is being tested, to avoid drugs being in the streets and sidewalks. It's pretty helpful too, because now Nick doesn't have to scour the remains of the store for the Advil he needs.

The cashier (whose name tag says 'Ash') nods stiffly, ducking down and, with a little rustle, pulls two packets of Advil from below the countertop, "That'll be $26, please." They say, and Nick hands over his money. 

Soon, his change is in his pocket, and he's about to leave, when a young, feminine voice says, "I'm sorry, are you Sapnap?"

Nick freezes for a second, but turns around to see the young girl wearing Dream Team merch about 3 feet from him. He eyes her, then nods, apprehensively.

"Oh! I'm a- I'm a huge fan!" She stuttered fumbling over her hands, "Uh- I'm Katie!"

Sapnap smiles, even in this less than ideal situation - she's stuck in a pharmacy during a hurricane for crying out loud - fans still fondly support them. It's sweet.

"Hi Katie, y'know I would sign something but I'm kinda--"

"Wait, Sapnap? My nephew loves your videos..." The darker skinned woman said, a kiwi accent curling around her soft words. She meets his eyes, then quickly averts them. The old gent doesn't say anything, just watches passively. Katie's mother's apprehensive looks seems to melt slightly as she watches the streamer and her girl interact, then says firmly, "Katie, honey, he bought those things for a reason, you should let him go."

"But mom-!"

"No buts, honey, he obviously has someone he needs to help."

Nick's gaze snaps to her, and he gaps, bewildered, "H-how--?!"

"I'm a nurse, I know the body language of someone who is trying to help a loved one." She says, all-knowing. The old gent just nods, and as time goes on, he reminds Nick more and more of Callahan. 

Nick nods, and starts his way out of the store, but an ugly, screaming feeling pulls at his gut. It curls and writhes and squirms, and it's so unpleasant, Nick stops in his tracks. He can't just leave these people here, they could get seriously hurt. Even if it is a pharmacy and they have a nurse, the building isn't exactly safe anymore. He waits for a tick. Two. Three. Then, Nick sighs.

He turns around, and everyone in the store is looking at him curiously.

"It't not exactly safe here anymore. Would you... Would you like to come with me?"

George is scared. He isn't afraid to admit that now. 

After calling Dream's mom, she offered to come over, obviously having to bring Dream's younger brother and Drista since Dream's dad was stuck at his work building further in the city. 

("No, no, please, I can't ask you to do that. It's dangerous, and I'm just being sensitive, but would you mind staying on the phone with me?" It was a liez he really wanted her help.)

Dream's fever hadn't climbed too drastically since, but the younger was still feverish and delirious. It was scary, because George had never seen Clay like this before: the younger has always been chaotic but smart and kind and (mostly) level-headed. But now, he was loopy and confused and skittish but slow.

Dark blonde hair, usually sticking up and fluffy tufts, was now limp against a sweat-slick forehead. Forest green eyes were glassy and watery. Freckle-dusted nose and cheeks were pink with fever and nasally with congestion. Long limbs, normally lean and graceful, were clunky and heavy, as if Dream was just getting used to the sheer length and size of his own body. 

Dream had tried to stand up, and it was like watching Bambie on ice, the younger's legs shaking with the silent threat to buckle, breath laboured and tears streaming down his face. He went pale awfully quick, and even gagged oncez but stopped quickly, meaning nothing came up. Still gave George a fucking heart attack, nonetheless.

Currently, Dream was sprawled out on their counch again, under the same blanket, with his forearms either side of his head and laid on his back.

"George..." Dream whined, sounding awfully like the stream where he begged for George to stay live, when they were still an ocean apart, "I feel s' baaad..."

"I know Dream, I know, Nick'll be back soon and it'll all be fine, okay?"

The younger scoffed, but blinked slowly anyway, swallowing thickly. His nose twitched and he sneezed, "A'shtyou!"

"Bless you." George stated numbly, rubbing his hand up and down Dream's shin. He hoped it was comforting. 

A soft whine and a moan of pain, but other than that Dream made no other noises. His breath didn't even out though, the fever stubbornly keeping his body from rest. 

Then, the sound of a door opening and closing reached his ears. George shot up, startling Dream and Patches, who was settled in a little loaf on the armchair adjacent to the couch. 

"Nick?! Nick, do you have the--?!"

The words quickly died on his tongue.

"Hello, George," Dream's mom said softly, Drista stood proudly beside her and Dream's brother on her other side, hands in his pocket with an amused smirk, "I believe you needed some help?"

Chapter Text

The anxious energy buzzing through George's veins, setting his nerves alight and making his stomach do sumarsaults, was beginning to get annoying.

As soon as she'd arrived, Dream's mom set to work, calming George down from what was beginning to get closer and closer to a borderline panic attack he didn't even know he was reaching, setting her youngest children off to prepare... something! George couldn't exactly tell the words apart at that second, focusing on the feeling of his lungs inflating and deflating routinely and the absence of the Storm's howling gales. 

Once back to himself (more or less), he could comprehend the words, especially when Dream's brother shoved a cup of sweet smelling tea into his hands, the temperature of the cup not too hot, but warm enough to be pleasant.

"Thank you..." George had muttered softly, taking a sip and humming as Dream's brother and mother disappeared into the other rooms. George followed them through. 

Drista was sitting next to her eldest brother, petting Patches with little soft whispers to the cat. Patches, ever the attention junkie, was soaking up the attention like a dying man in a desert finally offered water. The dream team had - disgracefully - offered her limited attention the past couple of days, but George thinks they have a good excuse. Dream watched his youngest sister with absent, delirious fascination, blinking slowly. George is 50% sure that Dream hasn't even recognised that it was his sister sat next to him. 

The tallest breathes a soft huff, as if watching the methodical pets of Patches' fur was a very hard task (could it be making him dizzy?), and turned to the side and groaned.

Dream's mother emerged and walked over, planting her hand on her son's forehead, but recoiled quickly with a hiss, "Oh, baby..."

Dream's eyes lazily rolled around inside his skull, eventually glassy green meeting concerned olive. He blinked, slowly, and the room grew tense. 

"It's like he's stoned." Dream's brother deadpanned, and Drista stiffled a snort. Their mother shot them both a warning glare and they quickly quietened, but that didn't stop the harmless jokes, "What if we put on baby sensory videos on YouTube? Let him watch those, wouldn't it be funny?" Drista joked, her tone light-hearted.

Together, the two youngest sat beside their brother, grabbing his phone and unlocking it with ease, sliding to the YouTube app and searching for the video. Clicking the first choice, they showed it to their elder brother, but Dream just blinked and wrinkled his nose. The children sighed, and Drista put his phone away with a shrug, "worth a shot."

Dream's mother rolled her eyes at her children's actions, then turned to George, "Have you had a call from Nick? You said he'd gone out."

"He's gone to the pharmacy a little bit away to pick up some Advil since we don't have any in the house. We'd been trying to combat the fever with wet towels and a tepid bath, and the bath seemed to work for a bit, but just seemed to make it worse once he was out. I haven't heard from Nick since he left, though..."

Dream's mom hummed, "Okay, have you tried to call him?"

George shook his head, "We're trying to keep both phones charged. Initiating the call from my end with no signal, even on Discord, would severely deplete my battery."

Dream's mom nodded, rubbing her chin in thought. She started walking towards the kitchen, "I'll make you all food, getting him to to eat may increase the electrolytes and help his immune system."

George nodded absently, and walked over to sit on Dream's other side, Drista and... Drother? On her other. Drista was messing on her brother's phone again, where she loaded Discord and tapped Tommy's contact. It rang a couple times, before the call was answered, and the young girl put it on speaker-phone: "Big D? Are you okay now? George and Sapnap seemed really worried about you."

"Hi Tommy." Drista says, a smile on her face.

"D-Drista?!"

"Yep! Oh, and my brother and George are here too."

"Oh! George and Dream, then. Is your brother oka--?"

"Other brother, dummy. Well, Clay is here, but he's so out of it, it'd be funny if it wasn't concerning."

"Hey, so you're the TommyInnit?" Drother asks, leaning into the speaker on the phone, "And who the Hell is 'Big D'?"

Tommy sputtered on the other end, the sound tinny and covered with static, "I'm not going to talk about that with such- such young children!"

"I'm fairly sure I'm older than you." Drother said smugly.

"Oh yeah? Prove it bitch, how old are you?"

"Turn 18 in January. You?"

"...Shit..."

"Hah, that's what I thought."

"Tommy," George interrupted, "Are you with Wilbur or Phil or anyone?"

"Not right now, I'm with Jack and Niki."

"Oh, okay, tell them we say hi." George said, settling back, willing to stay quieter.

"Arright." There was a rustle, then the faint voices of Jack and Niki reacting to the message. They sounded happy.

Dream made a small noise, then tried to get up to regain control of his phone, only just realising he didn't have it anymore, "G've it b'ck..."

"No." Drista said, and Dream's face fell, like a kicked puppy. Drother snorted.

"I'm back." Tommy called down the receiver, "Holy shit, it's so weird to know that GeorgeNotFound and Dream's younger siblings are calling me right now! You're like a band!"

"What's our band name?" Drother asks, sounding genuinely interested.

"It better not be something stupid like 'TommyInnit Is Poggers' or whatever." Drista claims, putting on am over-the-top British accent to mock the sputtering teen on the other side of the ocean.

"No, no, it'd be like- it'd be like- like 'Gogy and the Dreamlings' or something!"

"...Is he being serious?" Drother asks the room.

"Yep." Drista and George answered at the same time. 

"I'm back with some soup!" Dream's mom called, carrying a tray with five servings of a stew-like broth. She handed one to George, Drista and Drother (after they hung up on a sputtering and confused Tommy), leaving one on the tray for herself, picking up the last and kneeling beside her eldest son.

"Clay," She started softly, waiting for his eyes to drift in her direction before responding, "I need you to eat some, okay? It'll help you feel better."

The freckled blonde eyed the bowl, then grunted, "'m not h'ngry, mom..."

"Baby, I know, but you're not very well and this will make it better. Please?"

Dream breathed in and out for a few seconds, then hummed and nodded slowly, taking the bowl from his mom's outstretched hands gingerly. 

The older woman nodded approvingly, "Thank you, honey." She picked up her own, blowing in the steaming spoonful before putting in her mouth and swallowing. 

They continued to eat, the only sounds being the clanking of spoons against the porcelain bowls. 

Drista and Drother finished their's quickly, and George soon joined them - Dream's mom made some really good soup. Dream himself only got through a couple of spoonfuls before his throat was refusing to swallow, and George just squeezed his shoulder in sympathy. Dream's mom swallowed her last mouthful before accepting all their dishes and taking them away.

She disappeared to the kitchen, and that's when George heard the door open and close again. His eyes widened, it must be Nick!

George bounded up with a huge smile, scrambling to his feet and running to the archway that hid the front door.

Nick!

Nick was finally back, and he had the meds for Dream and they could give them to Dream who would finally get better and the storm would end and it would all be okay again--

Nick and five other people stood at the door.

The youngest of the Dream Team waved awkwardly.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

The way the colour drained from George's face, Nick knew he'd done something wrong. 

Was bringing another five people into the house two famous streamers and their even more famous faceless roommate where two (kinda?) fans would be able to see a good idea? No. Was leaving them in that destroyed pharmacy a good idea? Absolutely not. Was Nick a heartless asshole? In no way, shape or form. Was he little bit of a dumbass?

Yes. 100%.

George's jaw tightened noticeably, and his voice was a little strained when he said, "Nick. Can I talk to you? Privately?"

Nick gulped quietly, nodding.

George pulled them into the kitchen, and Nick absently noted that another person was with them.

"What were you thinking?!" The Brit hissed, anger sparkling in deep brown eyes.

A defensive gleam flared in Nick's chest, "I couldn't just leave them there, George! All of them were stuck in the pharmacy the entire storm with limited supplies and limited safety! A child was with them! You just expect me to abandon them in the middle of a life-threatening storm?!"

"I'm not saying that, Nick - I'm glad you helped them! But why bring them here of all places?!" George seethed, gesturing rapidly between himself and Sapnap, "We are two of the most famous streamers and YouTubers on the planet right now, and the third of our trio - who is faceless - is not even 10 feet away from what appears to be a super fan and won't even be lucid when his identity is exposed to them! You couldn't have fucked up more!!"

Nick felt his face burn a bright scarlett, "Well at least I had the fucking balls to leave the house and make a fucking difference here. You didn't leave for the pharmacy to grab Dream's meds: I did. You didn't have to make the journey there and back: I did. You didn't even do it alone! I did!!"

Once their screaming match was over and they were both bretahinf heavily through their noses, Nick turns to see who it was in the kitchen with them.

Dream's mom stared at them with a single brow raised, observing them. A mug of tea was gripped in her hand, and she was stirring the rich brown liquid idly with a dainty tea spoon. Her long blonde hair curved over her forehead, some strands tucked behind her ear in a barely disheveled mess of familiar-coloured locks. She wore a pink sweater and some leggings. Casual for the situation.

"Boys," she said calmly, intelligent olive eyes flicking between the men, "you should know better then to tell at each other rather than talk it out."

Nick bitterly noted that this is where Dream got his talent of sorting through arguments between Sapnap and George.

Nick grit his teeth and glare back at George through his eye lashes. George scowled at him down his nose. 

"Ahem." Dream's mom emphasised, eyes sharp and demanding, "I believe apologies and explanations are in order."

"I'm... sorry, George. But you know I couldn't leave those people there. It wouldn't have been right."

"...I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have yelled, but I'm scared."

"...Me too."

"..."

"..."

"...Did you at least get the Advil?" George broke the tense silence with a quiet enquiry.

"Yeah, what do you take me for, and idiot?" Nick responded, a breathy chuckle evident in his tone.

"Obviously!" George exclaimed. They laughed, breathing out.

Dream's mom nodded approvingly.

Footsteps could be heard from down the opposing hall, one set heavy and clumsy, along with two pairs of lighter footsteps. Soon enough, Dream's disheveled head appeared in the doorway, along with Drista hanging off his back and Drother shoving his shoulders away from the kitchen. Both attempts appeared to be fruitless.

Nick cringed; Dream looked worse than before. 

Dark golden blonde hair was curled into an unruly mess, evidence of exhaustion, thinner, wispier locks curling softly around his temples with thicker tufts on top curled into the air at odd angles. The growing undercut that snaked down his nape and blonder tufts that wrapped around his ears were curling up as well, tousled and ruffled with both sleep and human attention. Bags so dark, they looks like they were physically weighing him down, a deep bruising indigo in colour, stark against the feverish pink of Dream's freckled cheeks. Beads of sweat dotted his hairline, a moist sheen coating on his sun-kissed skin. He looked awful, and that was sugarcoating it.

"Are you two f'ghting?" He slurred, eyes glassy and his body swaying minutely.

George and Nick looked at each other, then both turned to look at Dream and shook their heads.

"No, we're not." 

"Go back to sleep, buddy, we're okay."

Dream glanced between them, slowly processing what was said, then made a small noise, hanging off the doorframe slightly before slowly stumbling away.

Dream's mom sighed, "What am I going to do with them?"

George and Nick returned to the gaggle of misplaced people left in their doorway, soon after. The group eyed them warily, and shuffled awkwardly.

They must have heard the screaming match...

George sighed, "Hello, I'm sorry if you heard any of that. Nothing that was said was intended in a malicious way. I'm George, you've already met my roommate Nick, please make yourselves at home."

A girl with one of his hoodies on and Dream Team wrist bands hopped forward, bouncing on the spot with the unbridled energy of an excitable puppy, "You're GeorgeNotFound!" She declared.

He didn't know how to feel.

Nick allowed some context, "This is Katie, she's a fan."

"I can see that." He said quietly, smiling at her. 

An older woman with similar features as Katie stepped forward, "Hello, I'm Carol. I apologize, my girl is a big fan of you both."

She thrusted a hand out, and George shook it firmly.

Nick stepped forward again, "Carol, you're a nurse, you said, yeah?"

Carol smiled at him, "Yes, I am."

"Could you help us? Our friend has some form of bad flu variant..."

Carol nods without hesitation - nurses' instincts, maybe? - and Katie's bouncing halted momentarily. 

The older gentleman took his cane and hobbled into the archway after Carol and Nick, along with the cashier and the darker skinned, soft-voiced woman. Katie stayed behind with George, watching them all go with apprehension. 

George eyed the young girl, "You know who is through there, don't you?"

"...yeah..."

"Is there a reason you don't want to go through? Most people would be freaking out right now if they were in your position..."

"I-..." Katie looked down, thinking, "It isn't fair. He didn't choose to show me. I just happen to be in a situation where I'm given this chance."

"Don't worry, he'll know the situation, and I'm sure it isn't as big a deal to him as it is you." George smiled down at the girl, and gestured for her to follow him, leading her through the archway to their living room. 

The older gentleman sat at a bar stool with a mug of tea that Dream's mom was making earlier, along with the soft-spoken woman. Ash - the cashier - was leaning against the couch arm, by Drother and Drista, who watched what was happening with awe. 

Nick was sat up straight, and arm wrapped carefully around Clay's shoulders, who was blinking slowly with drowsiness. 

Carol was kneeled in front of the tall blonde, one hand on his knee and the other against his forehead. Her brow was pinched in concentration.

Carol pulled her hand away, and shook it swiftly, "I won't lie to you, that's one of the highest fevers I've ever seen in someone this young and healthy. Has he had any other symptoms?"

"He threw up once, maybe twice. The fever, obviously, sneezing fits, coughing, drowsiness, delirium, maybe a lack of appetite, but other than that nothing."

Carol hummed, standing up.

"What have you done to try to bring it down?"

"Before the meds, we did a tepid bath as per request of a friend, but that only brought it down a little bit 'til it rose a ton, we used the cloths and stuff too. But, overall, it barely did anything."

Carol nodded, then spoke, "Give him the recommended number of Advil. Put a cloth on his forehead anyway, and reduce number of blankets you give him. That should bring it down."

Dream's mom got to work straight away, grabbing a cloth from the cabinet below the sink and wetting it. Thankfully, the water still worked. 

George left Katie's side and grabbed the pills, and - as Nick shifted himself and Clay - gave the young girl a perfect view of the blonde's face.

She gasped dramatically, and slapped her hands over her eyes. A couple chuckles went around, until Nick said, "Don't worry, you haven't done anything wrong. It's fine, I'm sure he's okay with it."

Katie removed her hands, glanced quickly, then walked over to where her mother was leaning against the island by the kitchen and stood with her.

Clay felt even worse than before, if that was possible. 

He was vaguely aware that his younger sister, brother and mother were here, and George was too, but he doesn't remember where Nick went. One minute he was there, the next he wasn't. 

Clay suspects he fell asleep at some point, maybe twice, but he hardly remembers anything among the freezing, full-body chills that run rampant through his body from time to time, or the fact that his sharp mind has softened for a little while. 

He blinks his eyes open again, unfazed by the presence of salty tears clouding his vision, and absently takes note that more people are in his house than before. The fact should startle him, but he can't find the energy to really feel anxiety at the situation. 

He is very tired.

Another slow blink, and Nick is back! Yay! 

The younger man is holding him close, and then two more blobs appear. 

One has a little White rectangle, and the other little White blobs. Nick helps him sit up and that's when Clay is hit with the startling realisation that his body aches.

Like, ran a marathon while carrying the entire fucking state of Texas aches.

Clay groans, and he wonders if it sounds as broken as he hears it. 

While his mouth is open, the little White blobs are shoved into his mouth, and he swallows in instinctual surprise. Then, the cold - incredibly cold, why has he only noticed now why he's so uncomfortably warm - rectangle is placed on his sweaty forehead and he hums his appreciation. 

Clay blinks again and he's blanket-less, but has gained his two siblings sidled against one side and George and Sapnap on the other, and sleepily smiles as he drifts off once again.

Chapter Text

Hours later, after small and large bouts of sleeping, after routine changing of the cloth on Dream's forehead, after more bowls of soup and cups of coffee, and a bathroom trip for everyone, things began to change.

For one, the storm calmed down significantly.

What were once thundering voices clashing in lighting strikes are more chiller winds, those that you'd get on a much lower category storm, and a brief message of victory from Wilbur confirms that Fleur has lost most of her energy and is now a high category two storm, according to the BBC over the North Atlantic Ocean in the UK.

Nearly three hours later, and all the phones in the room got the same, light-hearted ping!

'Due to Hurricane FLEUR's change in behaviour, it is now safe for the citizens of FLORIDA to move from their places of residence. We thank you kindly for adhering to the safety precautions.'

The message had their impromptu guests itching to go home, thanking them for their hospitality. It was a pleasant feeling, and the strangers grown acquaintances made Nick feel a little sadness twinge in his chest to see them go.

With safe travel wishes and rides home, everyone was safely delivered, including Katie and Carol (not without watery goodbyes and fan photos taken, plus great thanks to Carol for all her help), the older gentleman (who said his only words to them on his doorstep, "thank you, young man."), as well as the cashier (who was happy to be at home in their small apartment) and the soft spoken lady (who asked for an autograph and photo for her nephew).

Nick dropped off Dream's mom and siblings as well, doubling back to make a separate trip just for them, with the wish that Dream's mom wanted to welcome her husband back when he got home from work. Nick, obviously, obliged, and thanked them all for their help.

Now, seven hours later, with the first shreds of sunlight peaking through the curtains in nearly three days, back in his own house with his two roommates - his best friends - and their beautiful cat, Nick feels like he can finally breathe.

He takes large gulps of air, and - wow - it's just as good as his aching lungs hoped it would be. 

The situation isn't perfect, but it's pretty close, the homey environment making a warm, fizzy feeling settle itself in Nick's chest, wrapped around his heart in a soft hug.

Clay - raging fever mostly gone (from nearly 41°C to a much more easy to handle 38.9°C) - coughed from his place on the couch, still in the tartan pants and old 'GNF' T-shirt. The meds that Nick had picked up had some form of adverse affect, making Clay incredibly drowsy with the inability to sleep from congestion and headaches, so Dream has been loopy and soft in his sleepiness.

"Niiiiickkkk~..." Whinier, too, "'m so tired..."

Nick huffed a laugh through his nose, and sat besides his brother in all but blood, pulling the tallest's head into his lap and playing with his hair, "I know, I know..."

George appeared from somewhere to the side, holding his phone in his hand, which vibrated with a joyous ringtone sounding from it.

When Nick sent the elder a confused look, "'s Wilbur, he's calling to check in. I'm assuming it's not just him on the other end, though."

"Facetime?"

"Mhmm."

Sapnap sighed, debating what to do. They couldn't just leave Wilbur hanging, especially since he'd helped them hours before. Plus, they'd probably have a great time once the call was answered.

Nick nudged Clay's shoulder gently, "C'mok buddy, why don't you face me? Try to sleep ok your side, facing me, might help you sleep better?"

There was no logic in the fake reason he'd supplied, but in his fever-addled state, Clay's mind was soft in drowsiness, so he didn't question it, shifting his body so his back was facing their television. Nick maintained the hand in his hair the entire time.

George answered the call on his phone, Dream's legs in his lap, and he flicked the screen (still mid-processing the image) over to their TV screen. Wilbur's face appeared on the once dark screen, smiling brightly with sunlight streaming from behind him.

George smiled too, his friend's smile infectious, "Hey, Will."

"Hello~!" Wilbur called, voice echoing from their speakers with a rumble. Nick waved with the hand that wasn't in Dream's hair.

"Hope you don't mind but I have some information for you," Wilbur started, and Nick and George nodded for him to continue, "so according to the BBC, Fleur is on her last legs, and will be officially over Orlando in like... 2/3 hours, and probably no longer a problem in 5. You'll be free to move around!"

"More like 'Free to start the clean-up job'..." Nick grumbled, and George rolled his eyes in amusement.

The speakers made an odd rustling sound as there was a small scuffle on the other end of the call, and suddenly four more heads popped into view: Tommy, Niki, Jack, and Phil.

"Gogy!" Tommy yelled, and George flinched from the volume. Clay grumbled, readjusting himself, but made no other movement or sound. Once satisfied, he huffed and curled up slightly. George smiled at the display.

Putting a playful scowl on his face, George turned his sharp look into the five people on the large screen, and watched with glee as Tommy shrunk back with a grumble. Phil chuckled, and Niki giggled.

"How's Dream?" Phil asked, shoving his way closer to the front.

"Better than he was, the meds worked. Thanks for figuring out how to get them, guys." Nick thanked, a genuine smile stretching his mouth, "Fever's down a ton, so it's much more manageable. Another two, three doses, and he'll be normal."

"Well... As normal as Dream can be." George stated mischievously, and it earned him a weak kick from the man sprawled out on Sapnap's lap.

"Seriously, thank you. Now, it's just a game of playing housemaid until-"

"Until your sugar-daddy-housewife can start doing everything for you again?" Niki asked, completely serious.

Jack and Wil screeched out hyena-esque laughs, Tommy and Phil wheezing so hard, the younger went red until he dropped out of frame. Niki sat there, in the centre of the carnage, looking perfectly innocent. 

George and Nick were beet-red, and they had to pretend that they both didn't smile when Dream snorted at their expense through a congested nose...

Chapter Text

The call had ended soon after, George conscious for Dream's still not-100% health. 

The tallest of them had been blinking slowly, sluggishly scrubbing a hand over his growing scruff of stubble and breathing even, as if he was just on the precipice of sleep, but some invisible force was preventing him from tipping over the edge into wonderous unconsciousness. 

George was getting tired just watching him doze and nod off, before jolting awake with bleary green eyes. He turned to Sapnap, "We should put him in an actual bed, sleeping on this couch for so long probably isn't doing any good for his back."

"There was no saving it anyway, in every photo he leans like the Tower of Pisa."

George barked out a sharp laugh, the comment from Sapnap unexpected and amusing.

"Am I wrong?!" Sapnap exclaimed again, bouncing to his feet.

"You c'n make fun of me, Nicky, wh'dn you st'rt p'ying rent." Came the indignant, slurred response, and it took far too much effort in George to not fall to the floor laughing maniacally. He settled for just laughing. 

Sapnap wiggled his eyebrows, "But, baby boy, you love me too much to force me out." He pouted, hands on his hips.

Dream scoffed, then wiped his eyes and tried to sit up. Keyword: tried.

"...This is just sad to watch." George stated, eyes following the younger in his attempts to get up. Dream mumbled something, sounding similar to 'shut up, idiot'.

Sapnap and George watched him for a couple seconds longer, before caving and hauling him up by his armpits. Dream made a startled nose, but quickly buried his nose in George's hair and wrapped his arms tightly around his waist as George walked them towards the stairs.

Nick picked up the blankets, folding them as he followed the pair, "Oh my God, DNF."

"Shut up, Sapitus Napitus." George retorted. He felt the puff-of-air laugh that left Dream against his scalp. 

Silence fell upon them for about 10 seconds, then Sapnap spoke up, "Can't believe you got sick during a hurricane, Dream, talk about main character problems."

"Wha--?"

"Yeah, leaving us poor, innocent souls to fend for ourselves, how ungentlemanly..." George pouted, though he knew Dream couldn't see it. The hands around his waist tightened and Dream bruised his nose further in the mess of George's hair.

"Tha's not fair, you guys are so mean. I didn't ask t' get s'ck..."

"Yeah, well, you're on the road to recovery now - thanks to meee - so we can make fun of you again." Nick drawled.

George screeched a laugh, "You're free real estate!"

"Wow, Gogy on his funny arc." Came the deadpan response in his hair. 

Up the stairs, through the hallway, and eventually in Dream's room, George turned around and shoved the taller off his person, Dream making another strangled noise while George just smirked cruelly.

"So mean." Dream snuffed, then righted himself to he was actually in the bed. 

"I know, baby boy, but it's okay, Sappy's here to make it all better." Sapnap threw himself beside the tallest, snaking his arms around Dream's thin waist, face smooshed against his shoulder blade. 

"Oh my God, Dreamnap." George said, getting his own back and he tossed a pink fleece over the two's legs. 

"Shut up, Gogy." Sapnap caught on, nuzzling Dream.

"Oh my God, Dream Team Cuddles? DreamNotNap? ...please?" Dream said, voice sounding the clearest it had been in the past couple days.

George melted inside, but refused to let them know. He huffed, then crawled in on the other side of his sick roommate, pretending the cheers from the two men beside him didn't make something flutter in his chest. 

A large hand curled around his hip and pulled him closer, and a sleepy mutter of, "I love you guys..." 

"Love you too..."

"Love you three." George rolled his eyes at Sapnap's childish response.

The embrace between the three of them was warm and soft, no panic to reduce and fever that was easily on it's way down, no repressed anxiety on the howling winds outside, just the three of them. Just the three of them, cuddling, in Florida finally, the Dream Team United.

"Oh my God, Dream Team Cuddles, not clickbait, real..." Sapnap said, voice softer, tired.

George hmcan sympathise with the feeling, the way his head felt lighter and his body heavier, but in a way that felt comforting and safe. Head filling with soft cotton clouds, eyes hazy, and it took him a second the realise the deep, rumbling breaths he'd thought were white noise were just Dream snoring softly beside him, and Sapnap rustling his head into the crook of Dream's neck in his sleep.

Good, his brain whispered through the tired haze, he needs a good sleep... So do I... Hmmm...

With the mental humming, plus the comforting rumble from the larger chest beside him and the warmth around his waist and under the blanket with him, George was lulled into a much-needed and restful sleep...

Chapter Text

When Dream awoke the next morning, it wasn't from the whipping winds of a wild storm, nor from his friends nudging him awake so he didn't drown with a killer fever. It was to the birds.

Tweets and chirps, warbles and trills, stitching a melodious symphony outside his bedroom window.

He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed it.

Another thing he missed was a large proportion of whatever happened in the last few days, because he doesn't remember going to sleep wrapped around George and Sapnap clinging to him from behind in clothes he wasn't wearing last time he was coherent. 

Not that he minded, though, he may make a fuss on stream when it's brought up, but cuddling with the homies is important.

Dream shifts slightly, moving his hips further towards Sapnap so he could shuffle up, twisting slightly so he was laid against his pillow with his hands folded in his lap. George huffed a little, but didn't stir further when a hand started playing gently with his hair. 

So, now to take stock of his body. Dream felt... shit, to be perfectly frank. He was sweaty and sticky and gross, but he also had a throbbing headache and his nose was congested and his eyes were watery, and his body was warm. Not the type of warm from the inside out, like when you've drank a nice warm drink or you're just so full of fond love, this was the kind of warm from the outside in, like an evil entity was wrapping its boiling tendrils under his skin, getting closer and closer to his core. It wasn't a pleasant warmth, basically. 

He whined, then flushed at the noise. He didn't mean to make the noise, but he felt a little pathetic. He wasn't dumb, he must've gotten worse and his unsuspecting roommates had to deal with whatever his body threw at them without him able to help. 

Normally, he'd push himself up and persevere, make them a dinner to apologize, appear on stream, edit a video, anything until the fever broke on its own. But he was so tired, and his limbs felt like lead. He really didn't want to move, and now George had turned around and was shoving his face into his chest and Sapnap had threaded his legs together and, Jesus, he isn't leaving this goddamn bed. No fucking way. He's too comfortable. 

He huffed, shoving tufts of hair away from his eyes - he really needed to get it cut again - as he shuffled down into the covers again, wrapping arms around his friends as he smiled, content. 

Despite him physical comfort, sleep didn't come to him as easily as he would have desired.

Slight movement made Sapnap stir. 

The room was warm - not overbearingly, but enough to be comfortable - and there was an arm around his head, cushioning his neck, and then there was a congested huff and the subtle disruption of breath ticking his hair. 

Cracking open his eyes, Sapnap saw Dream settle, breathing in the smell of them as he stretched his legs under the covers, then bent them so they were back in tandem with his own. The older didn't seem to fall back to sleep though, be it the unnatural heat still eminating from his skin (albeit less intense than before), or just having slept a lot in the past few days. 

"Dream?" He asked, voice raspy and rough, and a small giggle escaping him at the widening of shocked green eyes. Dream smirked, flush still present on his cheeks, but no where near to the degree of previously, "Mornin'."

"Morning," Dream responded, flexing his shoulders until they popped satisfyingly, "you sleep well?"

"Yeah, like a baby. You?"

"Alright, I guess. Got no idea what happened to get here though, hah." He laughed, the sound breathy and light. Sapnap smiled, but the pang of worried confusion still echoed in his gut. 

"You... Don't remember? Guess that makes sense, you weren't exactly coherent a lot."

"Delirium?" The older asked, blinking away the remaining fatigue still heavy on his person. 

"Oh yeah." Sapnap laughed, finding comedy in the severity, "We would have taken you to the hospital if it weren't for the storm."

"Oh joy." Dream stated, monotone and sarcastic. It made a deep laugh resonate from Sapnap's throat. George grumbled in his sleep and nuzzled further into Dream's arm. The youngest turned to the tallest, "Wanna go downstairs? We should let him sleep."

"Sure." Dream said, shuffling over towards Sapnap as the brown-haired man got out of the bed. 

When the taller stood, Sapnap noticed he was still a little unsteady on his feet, the tail end of the ravaging fever making him dizzy, probably. To avoid disaster, Nick slid his arm around Dream's waist and helped him down the stairs, placing him on the couch he'd basically lived on not a day ago. 

The blonde man sunk into the squishy cushions with a content huff, blinking at Nick coherently. 

"I'll go get some more fever reducers, you're due another dose, I'm sure."

"Hmm... 'kay..."

"Don't be fallin' asleep on me!" Nick snapped, watching as Clay sat up higher.

"'m not!" The voice returned just as Sapnap disappeared into the kitchen. Meandering over, he picked up the packet of pills, emptying a few into his hand, then grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, and placing a couple slices of toast into their toaster, Nick retreated back to Clay's side, handing him the pills and the bottle of water.

"Thanks." Dream rasped, placing the little circular pills onto his tongue before filling down water, drowning them as they vanished down his throat. 

"No worries, man, wanna watch something on TV? I don't think George'll wake up for a bit yet, we might have time to watch something."

Clay yawned, "Put on an episode of an anime you're watching, I'm not picky."

Nick shrugged, "Alright, I'll go get the toast first, though."

He returned with two plates of toast, two buttered slices on each. Placing them down on the table, he pulled Clay closer to his body, letting the taller loll his head on top of his own as the opening sequence of Demon Slayer started to play.

They weren't 5 minutes in before the illegible mumbling if Dream's sleep-talking created low whitenoise by his shoulder, and Nick couldnt hold back his find smile if he tried.

Chapter Text

Dream had told them that he slept-talked a lot. It was a rare ocurance when he was a small kid, then just got more and more frequent the older he got, and now he does it near every night. Nick can hear him from his own room sometimes, if it's a particularly intense and vivid dream, talking about total nonsense. He's answer questions, say compromising things, and some things he'd say we're amusing and sweet at the same time.

Certain factors would affect it, too - like if he'd eaten something triggering before bed, or if he was restless the day before with anxiety, stress or general ADHD, and even if he was sick. It was just another little fact about his best friend - a silly, unimportant fact that made him all the more fond and made them feel all the more domestic in their grand, shared house together.

Like now, with Clay drooling into his hair (most would be repulsed, but they'd seen worse than a little drool), fast sleep with feverish skin and incoherent babbling in his sleep like a baby, Nick couldn't feel anything negative coursing through his body. He just felt content; fuzzy, warm (from fondness or Clay's fever he didn't know), squishy and just generally... Happy. Feelings like this were sometimes hard to come by in their lives now - some of the English-speaking world's biggest content creators would bring their hardships.

Twitter always jumping on their asses, stresses and schedules that had to be followed and abided by, merch, streams, friends, and all that while juggling their responsibilities as humans and adults living in a country like the US. They had taxes and bills to pay, food to buy and eat, their own health and wellbeing to cater to, and it could be tough. Dream's current condition was living proof of that - one's health couldn't be ignored.

Now that the thought had occured to him, Sapnap doesn't know what could have caused Dream's current condition. Was it flu season? He doesn't think it is, and besides, Dream never leaves the house so chances of him catching something wouldn't have been high at all. Perhaps stress? More likely, but still, they'd been keeping an eye on him so he wouldn't work himself into the ground again. Maybe allergies? Dream doesn't have any that he's aware of, minus hay fever of course.

It could have been anything, but all that matters now is that Dream is on the mend - and that he doesn't have to take another dose of fever reducers for another few hours yet.

The anime on screen continued to flash bright colours and smooth animation to him, but he couldn't be bothered to watch, content with the feeling on Dream's stomach expanding beside him with each deep breath he took of air, occasional mutterings of random words mashed together into a cacophany of gibberish. A smile worked onto Sapnap's face; it was cute (in a totally platonic way).

The toast on the coffee table was going cold, but he daren't move in fear of disturbing the older, sick man. It was like moving after a cat sat on you: shifting even the most insignificant muscle was a betrayal of trust that was punishable by death. A crime of the most terrible degree. A true work of villainy. He mustn't.

The enraged growl of his stomach disagreed.

He hadn't eaten in a while, Nick knew that, but he had Dream to take care of! He couldn't just abandon him!

And despite the toast not even looking that appealing, the idea of eating it was beginning to win over moving and potentially disturbing his sleeping friend. The toast was a little burnt, and perhaps too much butter, but that didn't matter, he was hungry and he couldn't eat Dream!

...well...

No! Get your head out of the gutter, Nick!

Instead of dwelling too hard, he shifted slightly so Dream's weight was focused in his side and not his slowly-dying arm as the taller man cut off his blood flow, reaching over and snagging the edge of the plate with his finger. The plate edged closer the him, but also just over the edge of the coffee table. He repeated the action, watching as the toast teetered dangerously over the edge.

It didn't fall.

Sapnap breathed a sigh of relief, able to finally reach over and grab the plate, resuming to his original position just in time for Dream to shift his own. The dark blonde curled around his smaller body, arms shifting to protect Nick's chest as he bear-hugged him. Sapnap sighed fondly, letting out a chuckle, and patted the outside of Dream's thigh at he munched on his toast, the sleeping man humming in his sleep before muttering something about microwaves and towels.

"I know buddy," he said, humouring his friend who was still asleep, but Nick knew it was possible for outside sounds to interfere with fever dreams, "them damn towels are breaking our microwave again. What'ch'ya gonna do about if, man?"

"Hmm," Dream hummed in his sleep, "I d'nno. Put 'em in the 'ven?"

Nick assumed that meant he was threatening to out their towels in the oven.

"Sure, buddy, want some help?"

"Pl'se..." Dream snorted, and then continued to snore softly, the sound reverberating in the back of his throat, next to Nick's head. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. Sapnap laughed quietly, patting his thigh again, taking another bite out of his toast. 

When George woke up, the bed was cold, absent of the two other men he fell asleep curled up beside.

At first, he deliriously looked around, looking for them in some primal need to find his people, but then he snapped back to his senses when he heard the sounds of their TV downstairs.

'Oh,' he realised, thoughts finally rational, 'they must've woken up before I did and gone downstairs so they didn't disturb me or something.'

It brought a smile to his face.

Groggily, George stood, feet padding down the stairs gently. He emerged to Patches meowing at him, something unusual for her.

They hadn't been focused on her for once though, so she was likely demanding their attention and craving affection. George bent down to pet behind her ears and he arched with a gentle smile as she pushed her head into his hand affectionately - he was ever grateful she's taken to him as well as Dream had predicted she would.

"Heya, girl," he said, using the same voice he did with his nephew when he was first born, "ya hungry?" She yowled at him.

Laughing, he followed as she cantered towards her food bowl, tail lashing in the air as her olive eyes watched him expectantly. He scooped a tin of her food into her bowl, mashing it with a fork from their drawer and placing it down for her. She immediately dove down to eat, sinking her fangs into the tuna mush. George shook his head fondly, vanishing into the living room, where the noise from before had disappeared.

He was met with the sight of Sapnap and Dream cuddling on the couch - well, Dream was cuddling Sapnap while the youngest was eating some toast with vigor.

"Hi." George said, watching as Sapnap jolted at his appearance.

Sapnap laughed, "Hey."

George watched him for a second, before asking, "How is he?" He inclined his head towards the tallest, still drooling into Sapnap's auburn curls.

"'s had his fever reducers already, he won't need another dose for a couple hours, I think." He said, swallowing his mouthful of burnt bread, "He also started dozing about half an hour ago and hasn't woken up since."

George nodded, watched them a little longer, before walking over, settling on Sapnap's other side. It was cozy, the younger warm running, but not feverishly like their other third right now, and not naturally chiller like George.

"Gogy, question-mark?" Sapnap said, phrasing it like a question but saying the punctuation along with it.

"Oh, shut up, Stinknap, you're just warm and don't make me sweat like a dog like Dweamie over there." Sapnap chortled and Dream mumbled something in his sleep, hand settling on top of George's head.

"Have you checked his temperature?" George murmured.

"No, not yet. We've just been vibing, I didn't want to disturb him. Do it later?"

George sighed, "...fine. We'll have to do it soon though, I want to know how much his temperature has changed by, and if we have to call Phil again."

Sapnap made a 'pfft' noise, "Oh mighty Crow Father, how dost I fix green man?"

George shrieked out a laugh before cutting himself off with a fist between his lips. Dream stirred for a second before stilling again, and George let out his laughs as snorts through his nose that look mildly painful. Sapnap couldn't help himself and minimised the sounds of his own chuckles as he chortled with his British friend from across the couch instead of an ocean.

Soon enough their giggles died down, and silence overtook them. It wasn't awkward or uncomfortable, just content. Dream was on the mend, neither of them had too much stress, they were just... Happy.

"Wanna play Scrabble?" George offered, preparing himself to get up.

Sapnap huffed through his nose, jutting out his bottom lip, "Yeah, sure."

As George got up to retrieve their game board to play, Dream mumbled something under his breath again, huffing into Sapnap's unruly curls. Sapnap smiled at this, pulling the feelce blanket that had begun to droop down his friend's shoulders up again, covering him in a warm fluffy cacoon of warmth and safety, and Sapnap smiled.

He smiled as he and George whispered through games of Scrabble.

He smiled as Dream blinked blearily at them, waking up slowly and gently, voice raspy with his grogginess.

He smiled when Patches buried herself into Dream's blanket cacoon, settling into the bottom in his lap.

Sapnap smiled with the loving feeling of domesticity that rarely arrived, but he treasured so dearly.

Chapter Text

Something important to say...

First of all, this story isn't being abandoned ! I live this story with my entire being, it's my magnum opus! I'm just taking a bit of time to readjust to life after a hectic couples months for me! I finished school, got a job, got my diagnosis for several different things, and in general just trying to get by.

I have decided to keep Techno in the Silver Tongues AU, adhering to the boundaries he had set in place pre-mortum so I may keep his memory alive through my work. I don't want to forget him. I don't want others to either. I want to maintain his legacy for as long as I can. After that, though, I think I will put him to rest in my work. It's only fair. Thank you for your understanding. Don't forget to take care of yourselves. :)

Technoblade was such a strong and talented individual, unapologetically himself while being entertaining and engaging at the same time. I truly loved him (in a parasocial way) just because of the joy his videos brought me in some of my darker times.

I know that previously, all my chapters' end notes said that he could get through it, but he fought hard and long, I personally think he deserves the rest. So, rest well, Alex "Technoblade", thanks for all the memories, and while I'm not a religious person, I hope you're looking out for all of us, just because that's the kind of person you are. 

Everytime I think that he's truly gone, my chest seizes, like if it squeezes hard enough, the realisation will just be strangled away. The truth won't be true. Unfortunately, that's not how it works. He may be gone physically, and frankly I'm sick of seeing this, but he's only gone when we forget him. Also... My family has an old story, that if you open your camera and start to record, you can see small spheres or "orbs" flying past the lense on the video. These are spirits. They're loved ones and those who've passed and held great importance to the household staying around to look over them like guardian angels. I just have a hunch that Techno's watching over his friends and family, and maybe us too.

In these times, things are hard. Grief is suffocating, and life just feels too big. I'm here to tell you that it's not. Techno wouldn't want you to be sad or miserable or anything like that, and neither do I. I love you guys, and so did he, so drink some water, eat what you can (it doesn't have to be loads! Just enough so you don't hurt yourselves!), get some sleep, and remember him. Don't forget him, because that's when he truly dies. Gone, but never forgotten, as the saying goes.

So, with a heavy heart that I hope will become lighter with time, I say: Technoblade never dies.

Chapter Text

With a sniffle, Dream blearily opened his eyes. The world calmed into focus after he blinked away the sleep and remaining drowsiness.

The blonde jolted at a screech, sitting ramrod straight. He looked over, expecting to see something horrible, maybe one of his friends in pain, tense and ready for a fight, but instead saw George pouting, slouched in on himself, pouting like a baby, glaring daggers at a laughing Sapnap, all this occurring with them on the floor, over their coffee table. On the glossy wood's surface was a Scrabble board, letting arranged at odd angles with words that Dream knew for a fact (in his feverish and dizzy brain) were not real words. He blinked away his confusion, and watched the two brunettes squabble over Scrabble.

"George," Sapnap got out between his cackles, "don't be mad. Just get good."

George guffawed, "I do not need to 'get good'. You're cheating!"

"I am not!!"

Dream cleared his throat, "Are you both childish enough to be arguing over Scrabble?"

The two shorter men whipped their heads around at him, and the fever and whatever other germs were playing tag with his immune system must've given him nerves of steel because he didn't even flinch at the withering gazes of chocolate and hazel. He snorted; the longer he looked at them, the more like overgrown babies they appeared. 

George was the first to look away, "You wouldn't get it, this is Extreme Scrabble. You should feel honoured to be in its presence right now."

"Oh, I am." Dream drawled sarcastically, "I'm so honored, you have no idea."

"Good." George continued, acting nonchalant in a way that he knew riled Dream up. 

Dream huffed, slumping in his blanket against the couch cushions.

The thrum of illness was withering now, still present but... Lesser. It's vice grip loosening. 

Still, looking around at his best friends, only slightly riddled with illness, and the Florida weather finally taking mercy on them, Dream couldn't help but snuggle further under his blankets and smile sleepily.

Everything was going to be okay.

fin. Thank you for reading until this far. ily all, and until next time <3