This is sort of a sequel to How To Save A Life. At the same time, it's set in the universe of Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind. It can be useful to read HTSAL first to get an idea of the situation, but that's not necessary to understand the story (although I do recommend reading that story). Same goes for OOSOOM; all you need to know from that one is that Blaine has epilepsy (he was diagnosed when he was 5).
I wrote this story mostly for myself. I was in the mood to write a sick!fic and at the same time, I really wanted to bring back my OC from my previous story (the student from the epilogue). So I decided to combine them. And then I remembered the reviews for OOCOOM (plus, I found this amazingly detailed article about epilepsy), so I chose to explore that subject a bit more for this story.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or any of its characters (but I do own the OCs in this story).
Warning: Mentions of epilepsy and explicit descriptions of seizures. Don't read if that triggers or bothers you.
Aftershocks
"Blaine?"
Kurt closed the door to the apartment, where he lived with the man who had finally become his husband a short while ago after years of being engaged, and walked into the kitchen, guessing from the smell meeting his nose that his husband had already begun making dinner. And sure enough, Blaine was standing by the cooker, spoon in hand. It looked like Blaine's mind was on a different planet, though, from the way he was stirring mindlessly and staring into nothing. When he didn't react even when Kurt came in, the DEA Special Agent called his husband's name again.
"Blaine?"
Still no reaction.
As he came closer, Kurt recognised what was happening. He gently took the spoon from Blaine's hand, lowered the temperature of the hotplate and guided his husband to a chair. From experience and research, Kurt knew that he wasn't supposed to move him in the middle of a seizure, no matter how 'small' it was, but he didn't want Blaine anywhere near a hotplate when he wasn't in control of his actions. He knew Blaine would come back to reality sooner or later, so he turned back to their dinner to make sure it wasn't burnt, casting a quick look at the clock in the meantime.
Although he had been trying not to show it, Kurt was worried. Ever since the Luttman case, Blaine had been getting these kind of focal seizures more often than usual. This was the fourth one since they had returned from the safe house five weeks ago and their lives had gone back to normal. Kurt knew Blaine's seizures were linked to stress and you didn't have to be a genius to deduct that the Luttman case was the factor that put Blaine over the edge this time.
"Kurt?"
The agent turned around smiling.
"When did you get here?"
"A few minutes ago." Kurt studied Blaine's confused expression. "How are you feeling?"
"Um, fine. I have a bit of a headache, though." When he noticed the spoon in Kurt's hand, he pouted slightly. "Oh, you've already started making dinner. I was going to, but... I must have gotten distracted... I think."
In fact, Blaine had no idea what he had been doing before Kurt had arrived. He remembered coming home and going into the kitchen with the intention to make dinner – something simple, since he wasn't exactly the best cook. But then, he was suddenly sitting on a chair and somehow Kurt had come home and started cooking without him noticing.
"Actually, honey, I've only just got home. I wouldn't have had time to do all of this so quickly. You didn't just get distracted; you had another seizure."
"Oh."
Blaine's frown deepened.
"Blaine, this isn't normal."
"It is, actually," the young teacher answered bitterly. "It's called epilepsy, remember? The seizures are part of the condition."
"Not so many in such a short time. That's not normal," Kurt retorted. "Your medication is supposed to prevent them."
"Of course, but those drugs aren't perfect. You know I can still get seizures from time to time."
Kurt saw that Blaine was getting upset and realised that maybe his husband was as worried as he was. He crouched in front of Blaine and took his hands in his, rubbing them affectionately.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm just worried. You know they've been occurring more often than usual." He met Blaine's eye. "I get it. With everything that's happened, you're more stressed. You haven't been sleeping well; neither of us have. And on top of that, mid-terms are coming up. It's all coming at you at once. You're tired and stressed out and then, of course, this is the result."
Blaine looked down at their intertwined hands and sighed deeply.
"I don't know what you want me to do, Kurt. I went to the therapist, like you suggested, but I can't will the nightmares away any more than you can. What else can I do?"
Kurt didn't need any time to think his answer over. For the past couple of days, he had spent a lot of time reflecting on this problem, considering the same arguments Blaine had just provided. After what had happened to his father – whose accident might not have been an accident after all, although they couldn't prove it anymore – and after being on Luttman's target list himself, Blaine had agreed with Kurt when the latter had told him it might be a good idea to go see a therapist to talk about it. But, like Blaine rightly remarked, the nightmares they both still had were a bit more tenacious than that.
"Perhaps you should go see Dr Portman and have her check your medication," Kurt suggested. "It might not be effective enough anymore; maybe you just need something stronger."
"Maybe," Blaine nodded. "I'll go on Monday. I only have class until four so I can go after school."
"Okay." Kurt kissed him lightly on the lips. "Do you want me to call her and make an appointment for you?"
"No, that's okay. I'll do it myself. How about you save what you can of our dinner, before it's entirely ruined?"
Surprisingly enough, by the time Kurt was done, their meal didn't taste burnt at all.
It was confirmed. Today was officially a weird day. The week had barely started and that was the conclusion Sienna Linn had already come to.
Monday always started at 8 a.m. with acting class. To be fair, the class had been funny rather than weird. Mr Bernandez had had them doing tongue-twisters to improve their articulation. Next had been Dance 101 with the legendary Cassandra July, who had actually given her something that had sounded like a compliment, which – as everyone knew – was as rare as Winter Showcase being won by a freshman.
After lunch break came her favourite class: Historical Musicology with Mr Anderson, the teacher she had a secret crush on – just like most girls in school, she suspected. It was the lesson she always looked forward to. The reason why Mr Anderson was so popular among the students was because of the untameable enthusiasm with which he was able to make even a boring class like this interesting. Only, today, something seemed... off.
At first, everything had been normal. But as they were nearing the end of the first hour, something changed. Mr Anderson suddenly seemed distracted. He made several obvious mistakes, though he only took notice when someone pointed them out to him. With every minute that passed, it only got worse. Sienna slowly realised her teacher wasn't just distracted, but plain confused. Increasingly, he lost the thread of his explanation and there were more unfinished sentences than finished ones. When she added the fact that he looked a far cry from his usual chipper self, Sienna had to conclude that something was wrong with their teacher.
Finally, after another mistake-riddled account that was cut off halfway through, she put up her hand. Mr Anderson looked surprised when he saw her hand in the air and frowned, as if he weren't sure what he was supposed to do. Then he abruptly snapped out of it.
"Um, yes, Sienna? Did you have a question?"
"Sir, are you all right?"
"... Excuse me?"
"I'm sorry, sir, but you seem a little... distracted?" she finished uncertainly, although she felt better when she heard a hum of agreement from the other students.
"Oh." Mr Anderson's frown deepened. "I'm sorry about that. I guess I am feeling a bit... weird. Maybe..."
There was a pause as he zoned out completely, staring at nothing in particular for quite a while before he continued. "Maybe I should... go..., um,... sit down... just for a minute."
As he made to move to the desk, he stumbled. Contrary to what everyone was expecting, he didn't catch his footing and fell, hard. The shocked gasps running through the room were nothing compared to the complete silence that followed as the students began to realise that their teacher wasn't getting back up.
"Mr Anderson?"
Sienna stood up from her seat and hurried down to where he was still lying motionless on the floor, his eyes closed. As she knelt next to him, she saw another student running down the steps and crouching down on Mr Anderson's other side.
"Mr Anderson?"
While Sienna attempted to wake him up, shaking his arm and calling his name over and over again, the other student – a guy named Oliver Kingston – pressed two fingers to their teacher's wrist and let out a tiny sigh of relief when he felt a steady and strong pulse beneath his fingers.
"Help me turn him onto his back," he ordered Sienna. "We need to check whether he's breathing or not."
Sienna blanched for a moment when she heard that, but eventually managed to gather her wits.
"Are you sure that's safe? What if he injured his head or his neck when he fell? We might end up hurting him even more..."
"Yeah, well, if he's not breathing, none of that will matter," Oliver snapped. When he looked up at her and noticed how distressed she was, he softened his tone. "I think we have to risk it. We'll just have to try to be careful, okay?"
Doing as she was instructed, Sienna supported her teacher's head while Oliver turned him around. They had barely finished the job when the recumbent body suddenly stiffened. Both Oliver and Sienna jumped back in surprise, staring as Mr Anderson began shaking uncontrollably, as though he'd fall apart if his limbs hadn't been attached to his body.
"What's happening?" Sienna stammered.
"He's having a seizure," Oliver breathed in response.
He sprung into action, first checking his watch before pulling off their teacher's colourful bow tie and loosening a few buttons of his shirt. Then he sat back and looked at his watch again.
"What are you doing?"
To Sienna, it seemed absurd to be concerned with the time at a moment like this.
"Timing the seizure. I saw it on a TV show my mum always watches. Apparently, you're supposed to time it because its duration determines how severe the seizure is."
He turned his attention to the rest of the students, taking in their staring faces and shocked expressions.
"Could someone go get the nurse?" he called out.
There was no immediate reaction. Everyone's attention was fixed on their teacher.
"Don't just sit there staring like damn cows," Oliver shouted more fiercely. "Go get the nurse!"
That did the trick. From the second row, a boy jumped up from his seat and sprinted to the door.
"Now what?" Sienna asked anxiously.
"I don't know," Oliver replied, looking at his watch again and casting a worried glance on Mr Anderson.
"What do you mean? What did they do on that show?"
"I don't know," Oliver repeated impatiently. "They shouted a lot, but, somehow, I don't think that'll help, do you?" When he saw Sienna's stricken expression, his frustration deflated. "I'm sorry. I don't know what we're supposed to do either."
"There has to be something we can do?" Sienna asked timidly.
Oliver hesitated, thinking it over.
"Let's just... wait and see what happens, okay?"
Sienna nodded mutely, wringing her hands.
"It is going to stop, isn't it?"
Before Oliver could come up with an answer that would hopefully reassure the girl, the jerking movements ended and Mr Anderson's head lolled to the side.
"Is it over?"
"I think so..."
Oliver reached over to check Mr Anderson's pulse and breathing again.
"He seems okay," he answered Sienna's questioning look.
At a moment like this, Derek Schilling was thankful for the intensive dance courses that were taught at NYADA. If anything, they had given him more endurance than he had ever had in his whole life. And that was exactly what he needed right now, considering the general set-up of the building. While Historical Musicology took place in one of the classrooms on the ground floor, the first-aid room was near the dance rooms, which made sense given that most accidents at NYADA happened there. The problem now was that those – along with the nurse's room – were located on the other side of the large building on the first floor.
"Mr Schilling!"
Derek skidded to a halt when a deep voice called his name from behind him. He turned around to see Carmen Tibideaux – Dean of Vocal Performance and Song Interpretation at NYADA – strolling calmly through the hallway.
"Madam Tibideaux," he panted.
"Is there any particular reason why you are storming through my school like a madman?"
"Madam Tibideaux," he said apologetically, ready to excuse himself and resume running, "pardon me, but I need to go get the nurse. There's something wrong with Mr Anderson."
Before he could run off again, Madam Tibideaux grabbed his arm with surprising strength.
"What happened?"
"Um, I'm not sure, but I think he was having a seizure."
"Where?"
"Historical Musicology. Um, room 105."
Madam Tibideaux nodded curtly, releasing Derek's arm and sending him back on his way. Then she turned around and headed in the opposite direction to the room Derek had just come from. When she barged into room 105, all heads – except for one – turned to her and the students still sitting in their seats erupted into anxious whispers. Ignoring them, Carmen took in the situation at the front of the classroom.
"Turn him on his side," she ordered in a no-nonsense tone.
"What?"
"I said, turn him on his side."
She sat down next to Sienna. If anyone found it strange to see the Carmen Tibideaux kneeling on the floor, nobody said anything about it. Between the three of them, they were able to roll the unconscious teacher over, with Madam Tibideaux muttering angrily to herself about "how on earth it was possible that today's youth knew absolutely nothing about basic first aid".
"Mr Kingston, Miss Linn," she continued more calmly, "could either of you tell me what happened?"
Oliver quickly gave a short, but still fairly detailed account of how strange Mr Anderson had acted before collapsing and of the seizure itself. Carmen tutted quietly when he told her how long the fit had lasted.
"Okay. Miss Linn, would you mind going to reception and asking Eve to cancel the rest of Mr Anderson's classes for today and tomorrow. Also tell her to call Kurt Hummel and have him come to the school. Do you have any other classes today?"
"No, ma'am."
"Good, then come back here when you're done. We might still need your help."
Sienna nodded in understanding and left. When she was gone, Madam Tibideaux stood up as well and addressed the other students.
"As for the rest of you, you are dismissed. Please leave quietly through the door at the back of the room. Thank you."
"Okay, spill."
Kurt looked up from his paperwork and saw Sam watching him expectantly.
"What?"
"You've been distracted all day and you've been staring at the same page for the past ten minutes. What's bothering you?"
"It's nothing," came Kurt's automatic response.
Sam raised a sceptical eyebrow.
"Okay, fine," Kurt conceded. "You're right, something is bothering me. But since there's nothing you or I can do about it, it doesn't really matter."
"That's a load of rubbish. Just because you can't do anything about it, doesn't mean it's not important. And whatever it is, you've been mulling it over all day. So what is it?"
Kurt sighed, annoyed that Sam was able to read him that well, especially given that Kurt was an expert at keeping his emotions to himself while at work.
"Blaine's epilepsy has been acting up lately. And, yes, I know that that can happen sometimes, but I just can't shake the feeling that it's different this time."
Kurt explained about the times he had seen Blaine zone out, three times at home and once in the middle of a Sunday's stroll in the park, when his husband had stopped responding but had kept walking on auto-pilot.
"And who knows how many times it's happened when I wasn't there and he just can't remember it."
"Has he been taking his medication?"
"Yes, of course," Kurt replied. "I make sure he does every day. I know it's probably just stress, or something. It's almost mid-terms and you know how he can get. He works himself into the ground for his students."
"Can't you ask his doctor for advice?"
"We're going to. He has an appointment today after class."
"And you want go with him, don't you?"
"What? No, it's fine. It's just a check-up, he's okay to go by himself."
"Yeah, but you want to. I can tell."
"Well, it doesn't matter what I want. By the time I get back home, it's already over."
"Then go home early," Sam insisted exasperatedly, as if it were obvious despite Kurt's doubtful gaze. "Oh, don't look at me like that. You know Andy would be okay with it; it's a slow day. Nothing much to do here aside from some boring paperwork."
Sam would never find out what Kurt's answer to that would have been, because at that moment, the latter's cell phone went off.
"Hummel. … What? When? … Where is he now? … Okay, I'll be right there."
Kurt hung up and immediately started gathering his things.
"Guess the choice has been taken out of my hands. That was NYADA. Blaine just had a grand mal seizure. I'm going to go pick him up."
"Do you need me to come with you?"
"No, but thanks. I don't even know how bad it was. I wouldn't want you to be stuck in a waiting room with me, should that be necessary."
"All right. Call me if you need anything." Kurt made to head to Andy's office, but Sam stopped him. "Go on. I'll clear it with Andy."
"Thanks."
Kurt made it to NYADA a bit faster than usual thanks to low traffic. The girl at the desk, Eve, promptly led him to a class room, where he found Madam Tibideaux sitting on the floor with two students, Blaine between them. His husband was lying on his side, with his head on a sweater, looking as if he had simply fallen asleep on the floor.
"Madam Tibideaux," Kurt said pleasantly, "it's good to see you again, although I wish the circumstances had been better."
One of the students made room for him next to Blaine's head, where he sat down and began caressing his hair, checking him over.
"How is he?"
"Fairly well, all things considered," Madam Tibideaux answered in her usual calm voice. "According to Mr Kingston here, the seizure lasted about four minutes. It took us a while to wake him and he was very confused when he did. But the nurse said he should be okay to go home."
Kurt nodded. After all these years of them being together, he knew the drill. No need to take Blaine to the ER unless the seizure lasted for more than five minutes or if there was more than one without him waking up in between.
"Blaine? Blaine, wake up." Kurt rubbed his arm gently until the teacher shifted a bit. "Come on, Blaine, wake up. The sooner you're up, the sooner I can take you home."
Blaine mumbled something that sounded both like "Kurt" and "hurts" before finally opening his eyes.
"There you go," Kurt smiled. "How are you feeling?"
"My head hurts…" Blaine frowned, obviously not entirely sure where he was or what was happening. "Have an appointment... after class."
"I know, honey, but that'll have to wait for now."
"I can't be late,... it's important."
"Don't worry about that, okay? I'll call the doctor and tell her you're not coming. Maybe she has time for a house call."
He forced Blaine to sit up, ignoring his groan and supporting his nearly dead weight while he got used to his new position. Then he stood up and, with Oliver's help, dragged his husband to his feet as well, keeping one arm firmly around his waist while Blaine rested his head heavily on Kurt's shoulder. The agent waited patiently, still taking most of his husband's weight, until the latter had got his bearings and was more steady on his feet.
"You ready?" Kurt whispered softly, receiving a simple nod in response.
They made it to Kurt's car surprisingly fast. Blaine stumbled a few times, but, fortunately, Oliver was there to help Kurt keep his husband upright. When they had finally made it home and Blaine was settled comfortably in bed, Kurt took out his phone to call Dr Portman and noticed that he had two messages from Sam.
'How's Blaine? If you need anything, let me know.'
'Oh, and Andy said to tell you not to bother showing your face tomorrow ;-) '
"Did you take your medication?"
"Yes."
"Do you have your cell phone?"
"Yes," Blaine answered, annoyance creeping into his tone.
"How are you feeling?"
"Kurt, will you stop making a fuss?" He followed his husband with his eyes as the latter ran around the apartment, getting ready for the day. "I'm feeling fine."
"Yes, well, you felt fine on Monday and look what happened then. Are you sure you're ready to go back? Maybe you could wait another day. Or two."
"Kurt, it's only two more days until the weekend."
"And tutoring on Saturday."
Blaine grabbed the agent by the elbow when he passed him, effectively stopping him in his tracks, and quickly hugged him around the waist to keep him in place.
"Actually, I've already cancelled that. So just two days and then you'll have a whole weekend to fuss over me. No work, I promise."
"All right," Kurt grudgingly admitted defeat. "But you will call me if you start feeling weird. I've discussed it with Andy and I'll be in the van most of the day, so I can come pick you up at any time."
"Yes, I know, Kurt," Blaine smiled. "You've only said that about four times already."
"I'm sorry."
"Listen, I get that you're worried, but I promise I'll take it easy."
"You'd better. 'Cause I don't want to get another call like that."
"You won't. Goodbye kiss?" Blaine asked, smiling innocently.
Kurt returned the grin, not hesitating to comply.
Five hours later found Blaine in one of NYADA's common rooms, surrounded by the noise of studying and practising students. He was sitting alone at a table in the corner, where he was trying hard to focus on his own work, when Madam Tibideaux noiselessly approached him.
"Back already, Mr Anderson?" she asked, startling him and breaking his last shred of concentration.
"Madam Tibideaux. Yes, I am."
Pulling out one of the chairs, the Dean took in the bustle around them.
"Is there a problem with your office?" she asked curiously.
"Oh, no, no problem at all," Blaine explained. "It's just that I promised Kurt I'd try to avoid being alone as much as possible, just in case. And there's the added bonus that this is a great place to pick up the rumours flying around."
"Ah, yes, the rumours."
"They're very interesting, actually," Blaine continued, laughing. "They range from a minor heart attack to a brain tumour. Add to that my absence last month and apparently I'm on my deathbed."
Madam Tibideaux remained silent for a while, studying him. Blaine didn't want to admit it, but he was actually mortified about what had happened in front of his students and boss.
"You don't have to justify yourself to them," Madam Tibideaux interrupted the silence eventually, making Blaine wonder if she could read his mind. "You don't even have to tell them anything if you don't want to."
Blaine looked down at the table, unable to look his boss in the eyes.
"Blaine." She waited to continue until he would finally meet her eyes. It was one of those rare moments that she called him by his first name. "You don't owe them anything. And there's nothing to be embarrassed about."
The noise that Blaine made in response to that couldn't be described as anything other than a disbelieving grunt.
"Those students don't gossip about the events on Monday to make fun of you. They're worried about you."
When Blaine didn't reply, Madam Tibideaux decided to change the subject.
"Tell me, how are you doing?"
"Better." Madam Tibideaux nodded, wordlessly encouraging him to elaborate. "I'm probably getting an adjustment of my medication. They took some blood and we'll get the results of the test next week. That should help."
"Good. I shall leave you to your work then." She stood up and sent him a stern look. "Consider what I said. In the end, it's up to you to decide what you do or don't tell your students."
With that, she left.
Before Blaine had time to think about what Madam Tibideaux had said, Sienna showed up next to him. It was as if she had been waiting for the Dean to leave.
"Hey, Mr Anderson," she greeted him timidly.
"Hello, Sienna." When she didn't say anything else, wringing her hands nervously, Blaine decided to help her along. "Did you need something?"
"Um, no, not really. I mean..." She took a deep breath, as if she had to calm herself. "I was wondering, if you don't mind my asking, … how are you?"
"Oh. No, of course I don't mind. I'm fine."
"Oh, that's good to hear." She smiled in relief. "I'm sorry. I don't normally ask teachers personal questions like that. It's just that... I... It was really scary, what happened. I mean… At the time I didn't really know what was going on, but... I'd never seen anything like that before and..."
Blaine observed the girl silently and frowned as he realised how upset she still was, even days later.
"I'm sorry," she said after a few moments of collecting herself. "I didn't mean to unload on you like that."
"Hey, it's okay," Blaine interrupted before Sienna could make a break for it. "I'm actually glad you came to talk to me about this. 'Cause I know how scary this is, trust me. For everyone. But I think you should be proud of yourself that, in spite of your fear, you still did what you could to help me. And I for one couldn't be more grateful."
"I didn't even know what I was supposed to do," she replied, doubt clear in her voice.
"Well, from what I've heard, you and Oliver did a great job taking charge of the situation nonetheless."
By the time she left, Sienna seemed much more reassured. And without knowing it, she had left Blaine with more to consider.
"Good afternoon, class," Blaine started his lesson the following Monday. "I trust you all had a good weekend?"
Some students grumbled in response, most of them having spent the entire weekend preparing for mid-terms, which were now rapidly approaching. Blaine chuckled quietly to himself; even after all those years, he still remembered how stressful it was. He walked around the desk and sat down on the edge of it, facing his students.
"Before we start, there's something I'd like to discuss with you guys."
All the students waited impatiently for him to continue. Everyone knew what their teacher probably wanted to talk about. Last time he had spoken to them like this, he had just risen from the grave and had had to explain his absence and supposed murder to them.
"I'm having a feeling of déjà vu all of a sudden," Blaine successfully broke the tense silence in the room. "Okay, so I've been listening to some rumours and how they evolved over the course of the week. I can assure you all that I'm not dying in any way and I don't have a brain tumour as far as I know." He paused for a bit, looking around to see the students' reactions. "I do, however, have epilepsy. I've had it my whole life. So, to me, it's something that I'm used to; I've had a lifetime of learning how to deal with it. But it's my understanding that most of you – if not all of you – have never seen anything like what happened last Monday before. I had a seizure because I'm epileptic. It's as simple as that. And I would normally never have told you that – Madam Tibideaux even assured me that I didn't have to tell you squat –, but I felt it might be better. Especially since I cannot guarantee that something like that will never occur again."
He waited again to let his words sink in.
"So, does anyone have any questions about this before we start?"
After a few moments of students looking around at each other, waiting to see if anyone dared, a girl somewhat in the back tentatively put up her hand.
"Yes?"
"How often does that happen?"
"In my case, not very often, fortunately. About once or sometimes twice a year. At least the grand mal seizures do. But I'll admit that this was a big one."
The girl and some other students nodded in understanding. When it looked like no one had any other urgent questions, Blaine got to his feet and clapped in his hands.
"Okay, glad that's over with." Blaine walked back to his bag and began taking out his books. "Although this whole episode might get an epilogue after all. I heard that Madam Tibideaux was planning to add an obligatory first-aid course for you guys to the curriculum. At least some good came out of this, I suppose."
With that, he closed that chapter, trusting the students to spread the word – something they had proven to be very good at – and started his lesson like nothing unusual had happened.
The end.
I'm not entirely happy with the ending, so if anyone has suggestions on how I can fix that, let me know.
Would anyone be interested in some kind of prequel, explaining how Klaine got to where they are now? 'Cause I started writing something, but I'm not sure yet whether I'm going to continue or not. Probably not if there's no interest.
I'm looking forward to your reactions.