Summary: Luke suffers from low blood sugar again, but this time he's at home with his mom. Things don't go well.
Word Count: 3,169
Notes: This is set a few months after part 1. You don't have to have read that one first, but it is recommended.
Warnings: diabetic hypoglycemia, unconsciousness, seizures

Emily Patterson slipped out of her green rubber gardening shoes and into her favorite pair of navy flats. Taking care of her plants was one of her favorite ways to spend a cloudless, warm Saturday afternoon. The weather had been so nice lately that she couldn't imagine why anyone would choose to spend all their time indoors. But one look down the hall at Luke's closed door proved that not everyone agreed.

Yep, she could hear faint guitar strumming coming from his room. She doubted that he'd left his room all day. She shook her head. Music was such a waste of time. She only wished her son would realize that nothing good would come from it. But he was just as stubborn as she was. They were always just a step away from another argument.

Hopefully not tonight, though. She hoped to lure her son out of his room with pizza and a movie. Surely that would get him to put down his guitar and spend some time with his folks. It'd been way too long since they'd all spent some time together without it turning into a shouting match.

Mrs. Patterson's feet padded down the hallway, crossing over the plush carpet. She stopped in front of Luke's door and rapped a knuckle beside the poster of some band she'd never heard of. She waited until she heard Luke's mumbled "come in" that sounded more like a grunt before pushing the door open.

Unsurprisingly, she found her son sitting at his desk chair holding his blue guitar, a pen and open notebook resting on the desk beside him. He had a guitar pick held between his lips, which was probably the cause of the mumbling. Good. Maybe he's in a decent mood, she thought.

He gave her a head nod in greeting without taking his eyes away from his strumming.

"Hey. Have you been doing this all day?" she asked. She cringed internally when Luke rolled his eyes at her. Maybe that wasn't the best way to start the conversation. Her point was to avoid an argument, not start one. "I mean, have you even left your room at all today?" She tried again, but failed.

Luke finally looked up at her, his expression hard. He took the pick from his lips. "Geez, Mom! You can spend all day on your hobbies, but I can't do mine? The hypocrisy!" He gestured wildly with the hand that wasn't hold up his guitar.

Emily sighed. "That's not what I meant." Luke avoided her gaze. "I meant. . . you should take a break and spend some time with your father and me. We're going to order some pizza. . .your favorite! And your dad went to Blockbuster to rent that movie you'd been wanting to see. You know, that action one with. . . .what was that guy's name again?" She was trying too hard. But things had gotten so strained between them lately that she hardly knew how to act around him anymore.

"I dunno. I'm not really in the mood," He answered, not looking up. "Besides, I've been working on this song all day and I'm so close to finishing it. Just a little more time and I'll—"

"No!" Mrs. Patterson interjected. "I'm tired of music getting in the way of everything! It's taking my boy away from me and I won't have it!" She placed her hands on her hips.

"No, it's not, Mom. It's just something I love and I wish you could understand that. Music is my life." He looked up at her, his expression much calmer than she felt.

"Your life? Your LIFE?" Her voice got louder as anger coursed through her. Arguing was inevitable, it seems. "I'll tell you what your life is! You're going to finish school, get into college, and get yourself a respectable career and settle down like a normal human adult, not get caught up in this nonsense and throw your life away like some wild animal!"

"Wild. . . ." Luke's eyes widened before narrowing into slits. "This is why I can't talk to you. Always jumping to these ridiculous conclusions. You don't even listen to me. You don't even listen to my music!"

"I don't want to encourage that behavior, Luke."

"Yeah, you'd rather put me down instead." He set his guitar onto the floor and leaned it against his desk.

"I want to support you, Luke. I just can't support your devotion to music. It's not going to get you anywhere. It's a big waste of time."

Luke stood up quickly and wavered on his feet. He placed a hand to his head. "You won't even give it a chance. That's all I ask." He rubbed his temples with both hands.

"What is it?" she asked, concern seeping into her tone. She took a step toward him.

"Headache. Your yelling is only making it worse." His hands dropped limply at his sides.

Emily looked at her son. He seemed. . .different. His faced looked pinched. His eyes hazy. He seemed to zone out as he stood there, still wavering slightly as he stood there refusing to look at her.

"You okay? You look a little flushed." And he did. His cheeks were pink and he had sweat beading along his brow.

"I'm fine. Just tired." He rubbed his eyes as if to emphasize his point.

"Well, maybe. . . ." she trailed off, a new thought crossing her mind.

"What?" he questioned, squinting at her.

She shook her head and took a step back. He couldn't. He wouldn't. Her Luke would never do drugs. He was better than that, right? Of course he was. It's not like he'd been acting strangely before now. She couldn't smell anything in his room or on his clothes. If he was doing drugs, she'd be able to smell it, right?

Stupid music! If he'd never gotten into it, she wouldn't be questioning herself if her son was doing drugs! Who knew what he got up to when he wasn't home or what kind of people he associated with. She'd like to think he wouldn't get pulled down to that kind of stuff, but she felt like she hardly knew him anymore.

"What, Mom?" he asked again, waiting for an answer.

"Are you doing drugs, Luke? Answer me! Be honest," she questioned, her eyes wide, afraid of the answer he'd give.

"Drugs?! Why would I—" He cut himself off as he clutched his head again, letting out a soft whimper.

"Are you?" She demanded, feeling the anger rage again.

"No, Mom, why would you even ask that?"

"Because you're acting strange and I don't know what sort of things you get into when you're off doing your music stuff. How long have you been doing drugs?"

"Drugs? Why. . .why are you asking me about drugs?" One hand still rested on his head, the other came down steady himself on his desk. He wobbled as if there was an earthquake. "I don't. . .what were you saying?"

"Are you high right now? Unbelievable! You can't even stand up straight or follow a simple conversation!" She looked at him, waiting for him to defend himself, but he only stared past her with unfocused eyes. "Just wait until your father gets home. You're in so much trouble." Her hands were balled into fists at her sides.

"But. . .what. . .I didn't—" Luke looked genuinely confused. He took a step toward his mother, but he wobbled and went crashing down to his knees.

"Luke?"

He opened his mouth to say something, but instead, he lost his balance completely and fell to the ground at his mother's feet.

Emily knelt down beside her son. "Luke?" she called his name while shaking his shoulder. His eyes were open, but he was out of it. He didn't acknowledge her at all. "Luke, honey?" The only response she got was his eyes slipping closed.

She didn't know what to do. Had he overdosed? She never thought her son would have a drug problem. He was never a bad kid, except when it came to music. Music made him unpredictable. He was never home anymore.

She shook her head. That didn't matter right now. She needed to act. She should call an ambulance, but she wanted to know what she was dealing with.

She glanced around his room. He had some clothes strewn about, but it wasn't too messy. She looked under his bed and in his dresser. Nothing. What was she even looking for? A lighter? Bags of powder? A syringe? Who knew what kind of drugs he was doing? And heaven knew he knew better than most how to use a syringe. He'd beginning giving himself insulin everyday for the last few years.

Emily froze. Cold dread filled her chest, almost leaving her breathless.

Luke said he'd been in his room all day, writing a song. She knew how focused he could get when he was passionate about something. She was the same way. But surely he wouldn't just forget to eat. She knew he kept granola bars in his room, but she also knew how single-minded and forgetful her son could be.

She scanned his room, her eyes finding his meter sitting on his bedside table. She dashed for it. She grabbed one of his limp fingers and tested his blood sugar.

No, no, no! She had to have done it wrong! It couldn't be that low!

She tried it again, but got the same results, that same small number taunting her. How could she be so stupid? How horrible of a mother was she for thinking her son did drugs when she had neglected to make sure he was taking care of himself? She felt ashamed and guilty.

"Luke?" She shook him vigorously. "Luke, honey. I need you to wake up." Normally, she'd be able to get him to rouse enough to sip some juice, but she was getting absolutely no response. He was limp. If she didn't see his rising chest or feel his racing heart, she'd think he was already dead.

There was only one option left. If he couldn't eat or drink, she'd have to get his glucagon. She knew he kept it in his backpack so he'd have it whenever he left the house. She scrambled for the bag and tore it open, searching for the red case.

She found it at the bottom. She opened it and grabbed the syringe, but when she saw the vial, her heart stopped. Instead of powder, it was filled with a cloudy liquid. This glucagon had already been used. It was now old and unusable.

When had he needed to use his emergency glucagon? Why hadn't she been told about it? If it had been used, that meant they needed to buy a new one to replace it, but since she hadn't known, she hadn't bought one. It wasn't safe to not have glucagon on hand. Why had he hidden this from her? How? It's not like he could've administered it on himself.

There were too many questions and no answers. This line of thinking was going to get her nowhere. Right now, she needed to focus on Luke. With no emergency medicine, her only option was to call 911. She just hoped they'd get there quickly.

She bent down and kissed his cheek. She stroked his damp, sweaty hair and got to her feet. She ran to the kitchen and picked the phone off the cradle. She dialed 911. The second the dispatcher picked up, she rambled out her address and explained the situation. She was speaking too fast and getting out of breath, but it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was getting help for Luke.

"Ma'am, calm down. We're sending an ambulance to your home right now. If you could just stay on the line, I—"

Emily slammed the phone back down on the cradle. It missed and crashed down to the floor, but she didn't care, even though the dial tone screeched at her. If she stayed on the phone, she wouldn't be able to reach Luke. The cord could only reach as far as the fridge, and she needed to be with him.

She kneeled next to him. He was definitely still unconscious and was looking paler than before. They needed to hurry. She didn't think she'd ever felt so useless in her whole life. There was nothing she could do but wait. She gripped his hand tightly in both of hers.

His fingers twitched. She looked down at him, hopeful that he was waking, when his whole body began trembling. His limbs jerked uncontrollably. She let go of his hand and backed up.

He was seizing.

He was having a seizure and the was nothing she could do about it. She glanced at her watch, trying to time it.

The front door opened and a voice called out. "Honey? I got a couple of those movies we'd been wanting to see. I also got—"

"MITCH!" she screamed. "Come here!"

She heard a plastic bag being dropped, followed by her husband's heavy footfalls as he ran across the house to find her.

"What's going—" He stood in the doorway to Luke's room. All the color drained from his face when he took in the scene before him. "What happened?" He rushed to kneel beside his wife.

"He was acting strange and then he fell. . .I'm such a bad mother! I thought he was doing drugs but his blood sugar was too low. And the glucagon's gone! I don't understand. And then he started seizing and—" The tears finally began falling down her face. The events had finally caught up to her and she couldn't hold it in any longer. She might lose her son. She might lose him and the last interaction they had was an argument. She was accusing him of doing drugs! Luke doing drugs. . .how could she be so stupid? He wouldn't do that and now she might not be able to apologize.

Mr. Patterson wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. "Hey, it's gonna. . .I think the seizure stopped."

Emily pulled away. Sure enough, the tremors were subsiding. She checked her watch. A minute and a half. Was that all it'd been? It felt like an eternity.

"Did you call for help?" he asked her, his gaze sliding from Luke's still form to her. She nodded, unable to form words. "Okay. Good."

A loud pounding came from the front door, making Emily jump. Mitch got up quickly to let in the EMTs. They rushed in and swarmed over Luke in a flurry of activity. They spouted off things that Emily couldn't comprehend. She and Mitch could only try to stay out of the way while they worked.

Before she knew it, they were already loading him onto a stretcher and wheeling him out to the ambulance. She climbed into the back without waiting for permission. Mitch stayed behind to follow in his car.

The drive went by in a blur while they tended to Luke the whole way. At the hospital, they took Luke away from her and made her stay in the waiting room. She felt crushed. Defeated. She just wanted to be with her boy. To know that he was going to be alright.

She felt arms wrap around her. Mitch held her tight and whispered that it would be alright.


It was the next day. Emily sat at her son's bedside. He was doing much better now. He spent most of his time asleep rather than awake as his body recovered. But he would be okay. He already looked so much better.

She was flipping through a magazine when she heard a knock on the open door. She looked up to find three teenage boys standing there. Two of them she knew. The other looked familiar, but she couldn't think of his name. These were Luke's friends. But they were also the boys he made music with. She used to think they were sweet, but now, she wasn't sure. What kind of influence had they had on her boy to make him so focused on music that he neglected his own health?

"May we come in?" the tall blond asked. Alex, her brain supplied.

"Sure," she said, dropping the magazine on the side table. They pulled up chairs on the opposite side of the bed.

"We're sorry about what happened. Is he going to be okay?" asked Roger. . .no, that wasn't it. Reggie.

"Yeah. They'll release him in another day or two. He's just really tired at the moment." She wasn't even sure how they knew about him being in the hospital, but it was nice that they came. Maybe the weren't so bad after all. "Hey," she started, a thought coming to her. "Do you three have any idea why his glucagon had been used? He needed it yesterday, but it'd already been used. He never said anything about it." She watched as all their faces dropped. So they knew.

"We're sorry, Mrs. P. That was. . .what two or three months ago? He seemed perfectly fine after we gave it to him, so I guess he didn't—" Alex was cut off.

"You gave it to him?" She questioned and Alex nodded. He had an expression like a kicked puppy. "Why wouldn't he have told me? That means he didn't even get checked out by a doctor or—"

"Sorry to interrupt Mrs. Patterson, but we stayed with him all night. We checked his blood sugar every couple of hours, just to be sure. We were worried about him."

"I'm sorry. You are. . . ."

"Oh. Bobby. Bobby Shaw," he answered. That's right. Luke had met him in high school. He'd known the others since elementary.

Then his words seemed to sink in. They'd watched over her boy all night long. Maybe they weren't so bad. "You guys really did that?"

"Yes, ma'am. We care about him." Reggie this time.

"Don't worry, Mrs. P. We'll be sure to tell you about it if it ever happens again. Of course, it won't. I mean, I hope it won't," Alex rambled, his anxiety rising.

"Thank you, Alex." She looked at each of them. "Thank you all for watching out for him. Even though he's hardly home anymore, at least I know he's with friends who care about him."

And it was true. She may not approve of his music and how he spends his free time, but at least she didn't have to worry so much about him. These were good boys and they seemed to care about her son as much as she did. Maybe she should cut him some slack. There were worse things that he could be doing. And at least he had the sense to surround himself with such good friends.

Thank you for reading! Please leave a review! :)