Chapter Text
The celebration lasts all of two minutes before Floyd collapses again.
He was already leaning against John Dory so it’s John Dory who catches him, arms thrown out with a skittery startled “Sh-shoot—FLOYD!”
Instantly his brothers are crowding around them, mixed cries of “Is he okay?!” and “What happened?!” Branch breaks away from Poppy to shove his way past the throng and Poppy and Viva can only peer worriedly over the group, the two of them reaching out for each other without really noticing it.
Everyone’s talking at once but John Dory focuses all of his attention on Floyd, shifting his hold on him, trying to look him over as best he can. He doesn’t notice his hands are shaking only because Floyd is shivering in his arms, cold and quiet when he’d been just fine just a second ago—
“Is he….?” It’s Branch’s voice that cuts through the clamor, sticking out because it’s so small compared to everyone else’s. He’s not looking John in the face, eyes trained on Floyd, but John can hear the quiet panic in his baby brother’s voice and he doesn’t need to hear the rest of the question.
“He’s breathing.” Short, stuttery little gasps that for a fleeting second have John fearing that Floyd’s going to start convulsing. He shoves it back, grits his teeth before adding on, “We need to get him inside.”
For a moment he worries it’s going to be a scramble getting Floyd across the yacht but before he can even say anything Rhonda’s already bounding towards them and John can’t thank her enough, his wonderful girl, but he’s got more urgent things to worry about. With Bruce’s help he’s able to carry Floyd up the steps and through the door, before he’s suddenly handing Floyd off to Bruce entirely the second they’re inside.
“Wh—what are—”
“Take him to the back.” And John is rushing up the ladder to his loft, hurriedly scooping up blankets and pillows. Distantly he hears the sound of the door sliding shut as everyone piles inside and he thumps a free palm twice against the wall, Rhonda’s signal to go. Rushing back down, wanting to race back towards his brother but—he stops, hesitates for only a moment. Quick, before he can lose any more time, he doubles back to the cockpit and grabs the first aid kit he keeps under the dashboard. Just in case.
Bruce is laying Floyd down across the sofa in back and as John Dory approaches he can just make out Bruce’s quiet assurances, gets close enough to see the sheen in Bruce’s eyes that he’s fighting desperately to hold back. John feels something twist in his chest but— no. He shoves that back down, too, as together he and Bruce layer the bedding around their trembling little brother. Somewhere behind them he can make out scurrying footsteps, Clay’s voice cracking when he says “Don’t crowd him.”
John doesn’t realize he’s started talking. “Heeeey, it’s gonna be okay, buddy.” Tucking back the hair from Floyd’s face, forcing himself to ignore the white still clinging to the roots. Not sure who he’s saying this for. “We’re gonna take you home and everything’s going to be okay, okay?” Not that he’s taken the time to consider where that home might even be.
But: Floyd’s gripping the blankets around himself, feverish, still shaking, but even so he finds the will to turn his head, ever so slightly, eyelids fluttering in a failed attempt to get them to open.
“Dory.…”
John swallows around the lump in his throat. “Don’t worry, I gotcha.” Voice low as he brings his hands up to tuck more of the blankets around Floyd, tuck back more of his hair. “I’m here.”
He doesn’t leave Floyd’s side until he’s sure he’s drifted off to sleep.