Chapter Text
The change in Ryan didn’t go unnoticed for long.
Within the hour, Neuro was called in.
A neurologist stepped into the ICU room, calm but focused, followed by a nurse preparing equipment. Sam stepped aside—but not far—watching every movement with sharp attention.
“Alright,” the neurologist said, stepping up beside Ryan. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
Ryan’s eyes were open now, but still unfocused, drifting in a way that didn’t quite match the room.
“Ryan, can you hear me?” the doctor asked.
A pause.
Then—slowly—Ryan’s gaze shifted.
Late.
But it did.
“Good,” the neurologist murmured. “Can you follow my finger?”
A hand lifted, moving slowly in front of Ryan’s face.
Ryan tried.
His eyes tracked—jerky, delayed, lagging behind the motion before catching up.
Sam’s chest tightened.
“Delayed tracking,” the neurologist noted.
He continued, methodical. “Squeeze my hand.”
Ryan’s fingers twitched.
Weak.
Not coordinated.
“Okay… lift your right arm.”
Ryan tried.
It moved—barely—shaking slightly before dropping back down.
“Left?”
Same result.
“Any history of neurological issues?” the neurologist asked without looking away.
“No,” Sam answered immediately. “This is new.”
“Timing lines up with the sepsis,” the doctor said. “We need imaging to rule out complications—stroke, inflammation, anything structural.”
Sam nodded. “CT first?”
“Yes. Possibly MRI after, depending on what we see.”
Ryan made a faint sound—frustrated, strained.
Sam leaned closer. “Hey… they’re just checking your brain, okay? You’re doing good.”
His eyes flickered toward her.
Still not fully focused.
But trying.
—
A little while later, Ryan was wheeled out for imaging, monitors and IVs traveling with him.
The ICU room felt emptier without him.
Too quiet.
Blythe sat down slowly, hands clasped tightly together. “He woke up… but it’s not right.”
“No,” Sam said quietly. “But it’s something we can work with.”
Don nodded. “We just need answers.”
—
Down the hall, Blue leaned against the wall, phone pressed to his ear.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then—
“Hey!” Taylor’s voice came through, light at first. “You better be on your way because if you’re late again—”
“Taylor,” Blue cut in gently.
She paused immediately.
“…What’s wrong?”
Blue exhaled slowly. “I’m not gonna make it tonight.”
A beat.
“Okay… is everything alright?”
Blue ran a hand through his hair. “It’s Ryan.”
Silence.
Then softer—worried—“What happened?”
“He got worse after the call,” Blue said. “Like—way worse. He’s in the ICU.”
“…What?” Taylor’s voice dropped.
“Sepsis. He seized. He was unresponsive—” Blue stopped, swallowing hard. “He’s awake now. Kind of. But something’s wrong neurologically.”
Taylor didn’t hesitate. “I’m coming.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m coming,” she repeated firmly.
Blue let out a breath. “…Okay.”
“I’ll grab Roxie too.”
“Yeah,” Blue said quietly. “She’d want to know.”
“We’ll be there soon.”
The call ended.
Blue lowered the phone, staring at the floor for a second before pushing himself upright.
—
About twenty minutes later, footsteps approached quickly down the ICU hallway.
“Blue!”
He turned.
Taylor.
Roxie right behind her.
Taylor didn’t slow—she went straight to him, pulling him into a tight hug.
“Hey,” she murmured. “I’m here.”
Blue exhaled into it, tension easing just a fraction. “Yeah…”
Roxie stepped up next, her expression serious. “How is he?”
“He woke up,” Blue said. “But… not fully. They’re running neuro tests now.”
Roxie nodded slowly. “Okay.”
Taylor glanced toward the ICU doors, then back at him. “Your parents?”
“Inside. Sam too.”
As if on cue—
the ICU doors opened.
Sam stepped out first.
Ryan’s doctor beside her.
Everyone straightened immediately.
Don and Blythe moved closer.
Blue, Taylor, and Roxie joined them.
Sam’s expression said enough before she even spoke.
Tired.
Worried.
Controlled—but just barely.
The doctor looked at all of them, then took a breath.
“We have some answers.”
The hallway went still.
“Ryan’s brain imaging shows no stroke or bleeding,” he began. “That’s the good news.”
A collective exhale—small, fragile.
“But,” he continued, “there are signs consistent with septic encephalopathy—brain dysfunction caused by the severe infection his body went through.”
Sam nodded faintly. “That explains the delayed responses… coordination issues…”
“Yes,” the doctor said. “His brain was under significant stress—high fever, inflammation, metabolic imbalance. It can affect cognition, awareness, motor control.”
Blythe’s voice trembled. “Will he recover?”
A pause.
Careful.
“We expect improvement,” the doctor said. “But it may take time. Days… possibly weeks. In some cases, there can be lingering effects.”
Blue swallowed hard. “Like what?”
“Confusion, memory issues, slower processing, coordination problems,” the doctor answered. “We won’t know the full extent until he’s more awake and stable.”
Silence settled heavily over the group.
Taylor reached for Blue’s hand, squeezing it gently.
Roxie crossed her arms, jaw tight.
Don nodded slowly, grounding himself in the facts. “What’s the next step?”
“We continue treating the infection,” the doctor said. “Support his body. Monitor his neurological status closely. Once he’s stable enough, we’ll begin more detailed assessments.”
Sam exhaled quietly. Not the worst-case scenario, but not easy either.
Inside the ICU, Ryan was being wheeled back in, the quiet hum of machines greeting him again.
This time though his eyes were open.
Not fully aware.
Not steady.
But open.
Sam stepped in beside the bed immediately as the nurses reconnected the monitors and adjusted his lines. The ventilator was still in place, breathing for him, but his chest now tried—faintly—to follow along.
“Easy,” she murmured, her hand finding his again. “You’re back in your room.”
Ryan’s gaze drifted toward her.
It lingered a second longer than before.
Recognition flickered—faint, fragile but still there.
Sam felt it like a spark.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “It’s me.”
Behind her, the others filtered in more cautiously this time.
Don first.
Then Blythe.
Blue hovered behind the glass, Taylor beside him, Roxie just behind—none of them wanting to overwhelm him, but none of them willing to stay away either.
Ryan’s eyes moved again.
Slow.
Delayed.
They landed somewhere near Don.
“…Ryan,” Don said softly, stepping closer. “Hey, kid.”
Ryan blinked.
His brow furrowed slightly—like he was trying to match the voice to the face.
Then—
a faint twitch of his fingers.
Sam noticed immediately. “He’s responding more.”
The neurologist’s words echoed in her head: It will take time.
Ryan shifted slightly, discomfort flickering across his face.
The tube.
He felt it now.
Really felt it.
His breathing stuttered against the ventilator, panic rising again.
“Hey—hey—no, don’t fight it,” Sam said quickly, her tone calm but firm. “You’ve got a breathing tube in. It’s helping you.”
Ryan’s eyes widened slightly.
His hand moved—uncoordinated—but purposeful.
Trying to reach his face.
Don stepped in gently, catching his wrist. “Easy. You don’t want to pull that out.”
Ryan made a strained sound around the tube—frustration, fear, confusion all tangled together.
“I know,” Blythe whispered, tears in her eyes. “I know, sweetheart…”
She shifted closer now, unable to stay back any longer.
Ryan’s gaze flickered again.
This time toward his mom.
It didn’t land cleanly—but it tried.
Blythe swallowed hard. “You’re doing good, sweetheart. Just… keep doing that.”
Ryan’s breathing remained uneven.
The monitor ticked upward.
Sam reacted quickly, brushing her thumb over his hand. “Focus on me. Just me.”
His eyes struggled—but slowly came back to her.
“Good,” she said softly. “Just breathe.”
It took a few moments— but the panic eased. It wasn't gone but controlled.
Ryan’s body settled slightly against the bed.
Exhaustion crept back in almost immediately after.
His eyelids drooped.
Heavy.
“Let him rest,” Sam said quietly.
Don nodded, stepping back just a fraction.
Blythe wiped at her eyes, though she didn’t let go of the edge of the bed.
Blue stayed glued to the glass, arms folded tightly, watching every small movement like it mattered—because it did.
Taylor leaned lightly against him, grounding.
Roxie stood silent, observant—but her eyes never left Ryan.
After a minute, Ryan’s eyes slipped closed again.
Not unconscious this time.
Just… resting.
His hand still loosely held in Sam’s.
—
Time passed slower now, measured in small things. A longer moment of eye contact, a slightly stronger hand squeeze, and a less delayed response.
Each response was noted and held onto.
Later, a respiratory therapist stepped in, checking the ventilator.
“He’s initiating more breaths on his own,” said the therapist.
Sam looked up immediately. “That’s good.”
“Very,” the therapist nodded. “If this continues, we can start thinking about weaning him off.”
Hope.
Careful.
But real.
Across the room, Don let out a quiet breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
Blythe squeezed his arm.
Blue glanced at Taylor, a small, fragile smile finally breaking through.
Roxie nodded once, satisfied—for now.
Sam looked back at Ryan.
Still pale.
Still weak.
Still not fully himself.
But fighting.
Still fighting.
She brushed her fingers lightly through his hair again.
“One step at a time,” she murmured.
And this time—
it felt possible.