Chapter Text
The Toronto summer heat sat heavy against the windows, thick and golden and sticky enough that the Hughes house smelt faintly of suncream and Ellen's half-cooked pasta sauce all at once.
Luke sat cross-legged on his bed beneath the open window, Snoopy tucked tightly under one arm despite the sweat dampening the plush’s white fur. The fan beside his wardrobe clicked every few rotations, moving hot air around more than cooling anything, but he liked the noise. It gave him something steady to focus on.
Downstairs, Quinn’s voice carried easily through the house.
“—and if I can get into player development next summer, then I’d already know half the systems before camp even starts.”
Jim laughed, “You’re fourteen, buddy.”
“Exactly,” Quinn replied immediately, like that proved his point.
Luke smiled faintly to himself.
Quinn had been talking about hockey basically nonstop since William Nylander left two days ago. Not that Jack had shut up either.
Jack was currently kneeling on the floor beside Luke’s wardrobe, shoving armfuls of clothes into a laundry basket with absolutely no care whatsoever.
“Well, I still beat Willy,” Jack announced for probably the fifteenth time that day, “every single arm wrestle.”
Luke looked over slowly, "You did not.”
Jack scoffed, “I literally did.” He rolled his eyes as if he was proving a point.
Luke rolled his eyes back, “He let you win.”
“No he didn't! I beat him!”
“He let you beat him ‘cause he stayed in your room,” Luke mumbled, “He felt bad.” It was obvious - he didn't get how Jack didn't realise.
Jack threw a sock at him, "Shut up, Lukey.”
Luke wrinkled his nose, clutching Snoopy tighter.
Willy had stayed in Jack's room for weeks after getting drafted by the Toronto Maple Leafs. Jack had been moved into Luke’s room temporarily, which Jack had hated approximately as much as Luke had loved it.
William had been nice.
Really nice.
He’d brought Luke chocolate milk after practice sometimes and let him sit beside him whilst he played video games and never complained when Luke asked too many questions. He’d even signed one of Luke’s mini sticks with a dramatic flourish that had made Jack roll his eyes so hard Quinn thought they might stick.
But now Willy was gone, and Jack was reclaiming his room like a territorial raccoon... Which apparently included throwing Luke’s belongings across the room every time he found something that belonged to him mixed in with his stuff, (which was quite often).
“This stupid thing is yours too,” Jack muttered, flinging a toy car across the room.
It bounced off Luke’s mattress beside his leg, “Jacky, stop.” He hated when Jack made fun of his toys, especially since Jack had only stopped playing with him a few months ago.
Jack just ignored him.
Another handful of things landed near the bed and Luke swallowed. The room felt weird. It was too bright, too loud.
The sunlight pouring through the window stabbed against his eyes hard enough to hurt. He blinked several times, but it didn’t help. His stomach twisted unpleasantly.
He adjusted his grip on Snoopy, the fuzzy ears rubbing comfortingly against his wrist. Snoopy made him feel better most of the time, but today his head still felt wrong - stormy, like static was fizzing under his skin.
Jack kept talking, words tumbling together too fast, “I can’t believe Mom made me sleep in here all summer. You literally kick in your sleep.”
“I don’t.”
“You do! And you snore.”
Luke frowned weakly, “Do not.”
“Do too!”
Another toy came flying.
This one hit Luke in the shoulder. It wasn't hard, but it still hurt all the same.
“Jacky,” Luke said again, smaller this time, "Stop.”
Jack huffed loudly and shoved another drawer shut with his foot, “You could at least help me move my stuff back.”
Luke opened his mouth, but nothing came out right away. The dizziness rolled harder suddenly, thick and nauseating, his vision blurring strangely around the edges.
The room tilted, like he was falling to the side, even though he was pretty sure he was still sat up straight. Right? He squeezed Snoopy tightly enough to bend one of the plush arms. Something was wrong.
Something was really wrong.
He knew this feeling. He knew the familiar bile in the back of his throat, buzzing in his brain, underwater, yet also spacey feeling taking over his mind, in his ears, his nose, his mouth.
The sounds downstairs blurred together now, Quinn still talking, pans clinking in the kitchen, Ellen humming softly. Jack muttering. Too many noises.
Too bright.
Too hot.
Luke’s fingers twitched around Snoopy, “Jack…” he managed to force the word out, his tongue so heavy, his mind so blank, yet racing so fast.
Jack groaned dramatically. “What now?”
Luke tried to answer. He really did, but the words tangled somewhere before they reached his mouth.Then the world snapped sideways.
One second he was sitting upright, and the next, the storm swallowed him whole. His body jerked violently, Snoopy slipping from his grasp immediately and tumbling off the bed to land beside Jack’s knee.
A horrible choking sound ripped from Luke’s throat and Jack froze. For half a second, he just stared. Because Luke wasn’t joking. He wasn’t messing around, or trying to annoy him. This was real.
His little brother hit the mattress hard, limbs thrashing uncontrollably, heels drumming against the bedframe with sickening force. His head twisted sharply sideways, face already going frighteningly red as another choking gasp escaped him.
“Luke?” Jack’s voice cracked instantly.
Luke didn’t answer.
His arms jerked violently again.
“Dad!” Jack shouted suddenly, panicked enough his voice broke entirely, “Dad! Mom!"
Downstairs, Quinn stopped talking mid-sentence, the entire room falling silent.
Heavy footsteps thundered immediately.
Jack stumbled backward away from the bed so fast that he nearly tripped over Snoopy.
“Dad!” he screamed again, "he's seizing!"
Jim reached the doorway first, everything changing on his face the moment he saw the bed. “Quinn, get your Mom,” he barked instantly.
Quinn appeared behind him anyway, skidding to a halt so abruptly he slammed into the doorframe.
Luke convulsed hard against the mattress and Quinn went white, “Oh my God.”
Jack stood rooted beside the wardrobe, breathing too fast, “I didn’t- he just-”
Jim was already moving. He wasn't listening to Jack, or to Quinn, or even to Luke's breathy choking sounds. He was laser-focussed, acting exactly how he did every time. Exactly how the nurses had told them when Luke was just a baby.
He crossed the room in two strides, turning Luke carefully onto his side as another awful choking noise escaped him.“It’s okay, buddy,” Jim said immediately, voice calm despite the urgency underneath, “You’re okay. You're doing a good job.”
Luke’s body jerked again and Jack flinched hard. He'd seen countless seizures before - this wasn't anything new, and yet somehow it felt worse, raw somehow. Like he'd caused it. Like he'd pushed too hard and now Luke's brain was turning to mush inside his skull.
Luke’s eyes weren’t focussing. His arms kept snapping violently against the mattress. There was spit at the corner of his mouth. Jack felt sick. This was all his fault.
Ellen rushed in next, bag in hand. She dropped it on top of Luke's bedside table as she ran in, her eyes never once leaving Luke, "Oh Lukey."
Jack knew what was in the bag - it was Luke’s rescue meds, for in case the seizure didn't stop, but he didn't want to think about that. He didn't even know how long Luke had been seizing for, hadn't even thought to count.
Quinn hovered in the doorway again, pale and frozen, and Jack realised that he hadn't even noticed him leave to get their mom. He hadn't noticed anything other than Luke. Luke who was still convulsing.
Ellen crouched beside the bed immediately, one hand going to Luke’s damp hair while Jim checked the clock automatically. Okay, good, he was timing it.
Jack couldn’t move.
His ears rang.
The room felt too small now.
Too hot.
Too loud.
He looked down to where Snoopy lay crumpled beside his foot, one floppy black ear bent awkwardly underneath it. He swallowed hard.
“I didn’t know,” he whispered.
Nobody answered. Not because they were angry, but because all of their attention stayed fixed on Luke.
The seizure kept going. Each jerk of Luke’s body looked painful, violent enough that Jack’s stomach twisted harder every time.
“Come here, Jack,” Ellen said softly without looking away from Luke.
Jack shook his head immediately, his throat burned, and he didn't know whether it was from shame, guilt, anger, or all three. “I threw stuff at him.”
Jim looked up briefly then, expression tight but controlled
“This is not your fault.” Ellen said slowly, smiling slightly, although Jack could still see the fear in her creased brow.
Luke made another awful choking sound and Jack felt tears sting his eyes instantly, “He said stop!" He was near wailing now, tears streaming down his face. He didn't remember when he started crying, but now that he had started, he didn't seem to be able to stop.
Quinn finally moved further into the room, hovering near the wall with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. He looked terrified too, though trying not to show it. Quinn wasn't crying. Quinn never cried, so why was Jack?
Luke’s movements finally started slowing after what felt like forever, the violent jerking weakening into smaller tremours, and then finally, stillness.
He was so still that Jack’s heart lurched as Luke lay limp against the sheets, breathing ragged and wet, eyes half-open but unfocused.
Ellen brushed sweaty blonde curls back from his forehead carefully. “There you go, baby,” she whispered shakily.
Jim exhaled slowly for the first time, as did Quinn, the two of them sharing a relieved glance. The bag of rescue meds on his bedside table lay untouched, thankfully.
Jack still couldn’t stop staring at Snoopy on the floor. At the plush that Luke always carried when he didn’t feel good, the plush that Jack had called babyish maybe an hour ago.
Luke stirred weakly, a tiny noise escaping him. He seemed so small, so confused. He was only ten.
Ellen’s entire face softened instantly, “Hi sweetheart.” Her voice was soft and syrupy, whispered quiet enough not to make Luke flinch or cry.
Luke blinked sluggishly. He looked exhausted, disoriented, sick. Jack often forgot that his baby brother's brain could backfire whenever it wanted. Luke's gaze drifted unfocused around the room before landing vaguely near Jack, "...Jacky?”
Jack’s chest hurt. He's crossed the room before he even realised he’d moved at all, dropping beside the bed hard enough his knees ached against the carpet. “I’m here,” he said quickly.
Luke’s eyes fluttered slowly, “Tired.”
“I know.”
Luke’s hand twitched weakly against the blanket, and Jack grabbed it immediately, his own hand still trembling a little against his baby brother's.
Luke frowned faintly, “Head hurts.”
Ellen smoothed his hair back again, “I know, honey.”
Jack looked down at their joined hands, then at Snoopy still lying abandoned near the wardrobe. Quietly, without letting go of Luke, he leant over and picked the plush up from the floor. He tucked it carefully back under Luke’s arm.
Luke clung to it immediately without even fully waking up, and Jack suddenly felt so unbelievably awful he thought he might throw up.