Yeah, that- that thing about wanting to find someplace to have a meltdown? Yeah. Yeah Ford think's that's happening right here, right now, because his brother is so far gone that he doesn't even think he's real.
Ford swallows hard a few times, blink away the sudden, stinging feeling making his eyes water, and clears his throat. He clears it again for good measure, because he doesn't trust his voice right now, doesn't trust it to make words the way it's supposed to. Clear, concise, moderated - not wet and choked and interrupted by miserable, distressed sounds that a grown ass man who has his shit together would never make.
"Stan, we're going to the hospital. That's not - we're not debating this, okay?" He tries to sound firm when he says it, like he's got enough control over what's going on to actually be in charge of the situation. He doesn't, he doesn't have a single damn clue of how he's gonna handle any of this, but Stan doesn't know that. He doesn't need to know that.
All he needs to know is that everything's gonna be okay, it's gonna - his brother's gonna fix this. He's gonna take care of this and everything's going to be fineand - and Ford's not sure who needs to be convinced of that more, himself or Stan.
"Come on, move with me, we're gonna move you over to the other side, alright?" He somehow manages to sound put together, minus the small waver in his voice. It must be the adrenaline, or maybe the shock, because Ford knows for a goddamn fact that he's not actually calm enough for his voice to do that on its own.
"I'm gonna drive, okay, so I need you to be in the other seat. Can you - you can do that, Stanley, I'm gonna help you there and then you can relax, okay?"
He moves his arm from over Stan's shoulders to under them, using the hand he pressed against his chest to instead loop Stan's arm over the back of his neck. He holds tight around Stan's middle, tries to haul him up and out of the car so he can drag his ass over to the passenger side. They need to move, they need to get going now and find a hospital or a walk-in-clinic or even a goddamn 24 hour drugstore - just someplace he can get Stan help.
no subject
Ford swallows hard a few times, blink away the sudden, stinging feeling making his eyes water, and clears his throat. He clears it again for good measure, because he doesn't trust his voice right now, doesn't trust it to make words the way it's supposed to. Clear, concise, moderated - not wet and choked and interrupted by miserable, distressed sounds that a grown ass man who has his shit together would never make.
"Stan, we're going to the hospital. That's not - we're not debating this, okay?" He tries to sound firm when he says it, like he's got enough control over what's going on to actually be in charge of the situation. He doesn't, he doesn't have a single damn clue of how he's gonna handle any of this, but Stan doesn't know that. He doesn't need to know that.
All he needs to know is that everything's gonna be okay, it's gonna - his brother's gonna fix this. He's gonna take care of this and everything's going to be fineand - and Ford's not sure who needs to be convinced of that more, himself or Stan.
"Come on, move with me, we're gonna move you over to the other side, alright?" He somehow manages to sound put together, minus the small waver in his voice. It must be the adrenaline, or maybe the shock, because Ford knows for a goddamn fact that he's not actually calm enough for his voice to do that on its own.
"I'm gonna drive, okay, so I need you to be in the other seat. Can you - you can do that, Stanley, I'm gonna help you there and then you can relax, okay?"
He moves his arm from over Stan's shoulders to under them, using the hand he pressed against his chest to instead loop Stan's arm over the back of his neck. He holds tight around Stan's middle, tries to haul him up and out of the car so he can drag his ass over to the passenger side. They need to move, they need to get going now and find a hospital or a walk-in-clinic or even a goddamn 24 hour drugstore - just someplace he can get Stan help.