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Chapter Text

Conrad stared at his phone screen, reading Jeremiah's latest message for the third time. The timestamp showed 3:47 AM.

"just finished reorganizing my entire room by color spectrum did you know that blue has the shortest wavelength but carries the most energy? thinking about energy a lot lately. anyway how are classes? mine are AMAZING every professor is basically a genius and i'm learning so much my brain feels like it's expanding"

This was the seventh text in the past two hours. Conrad scrolled up through their conversation, watching the gradual shift that had been nagging at him for weeks. Two months ago, when Jeremiah first left for his sophomore year, his messages had been normal. Funny. A little homesick.

"miss cousins already. roommate plays death metal at 6am but at least he's not steven lol"

"dining hall mac and cheese tastes like sadness. actual sadness."

"prof assigned 200 pages of reading for tomorrow. pretty sure she wants us all to fail"

Then, gradually, they'd gotten shorter. Sadder. Conrad had chalked it up to the usual adjustment period, maybe some seasonal depression as New England's harsh winter set in.

"everything's fine"

"just tired"

"school's whatever"

For two weeks, Conrad had barely heard from him at all. Which wasn't like Jeremiah - even at his lowest, he usually rambled. Radio silence was worse than complaints.

But now this. This was something else entirely.

Conrad's phone buzzed again. 4:23 AM.

"i've been thinking about mom a lot lately but not sad thinking PRODUCTIVE thinking like what would she say about parallel universes? because i think she'd get it. death isn't an ending it's just a frequency change we can't perceive yet. i'm going to write a paper about it for philosophy class except i'm not taking philosophy but maybe i should add it last minute can you add classes this late in the semester?"

Conrad sat up straighter in his desk chair, abandoning his half-finished essay. The text was stream-of-consciousness, manic. Jeremiah never talked about their mom like that, with that strange, detached intellectualism. When he talked about Susannah, it was with warmth, with grief, with love. Not like she was a physics problem to be solved.

His phone buzzed again before he could respond.

"also i think i might be in love with my RA but not romantically just like conceptually? she has really great energy and yesterday she said my aura was 'electric' which makes sense because i've been sleeping like 2 hours a night but feeling MORE rested than ever. sleep is probably just a social construct anyway"

Conrad's stomach clenched. He speed-dialed Jeremiah's number without thinking, but it went straight to voicemail. He tried again. Same thing.

He scrolled back through two weeks of his brother's messages, his chest tightening as he started to see the pattern. The gradual increase in frequency. The racing thoughts spilling out in endless, punctuation-less sentences. The grandiose ideas about quantum physics and parallel universes. The claim about barely sleeping but feeling "MORE rested than ever."

Conrad had taken enough psychology classes to recognize the signs, but seeing them in his little brother's words made his hands shake.

He tried calling again. Voicemail.

At 5 AM, another text arrived.

"forgot to eat yesterday but who needs food when you're running on PURE INTELLECTUAL ENERGY right? just kidding i had some crackers i think. time feels really fluid right now which is either terrifying or amazing i haven't decided yet. maybe both. definitely both. everything is both."

Conrad grabbed his laptop and pulled up Jeremiah's social media. His Instagram story from six hours ago showed a dorm room that looked like a tornado had hit it - books everywhere, papers taped to the walls covered in barely legible handwriting, clothes in random piles. But Jeremiah's caption was cheerful: "reorganizing my life and my MIND! new year new me except it's february but time is fake anyway!"

The comments were mostly from friends saying things like "dude lmao what" and "ok king go off i guess" and a few concerned like "maybe get some sleep?"

Conrad's phone rang. For a split second he hoped it was Jeremiah, but the caller ID showed Belly's name.

"Conrad?" Her voice was thick with sleep. "Sorry to call so early, but I just saw Jere's Instagram and... is he okay? Like, really okay?"

"You saw it too." Conrad rubbed his forehead, where a headache was starting to bloom. "I've been getting these texts all night. Belly, I think something's really wrong."

"What kind of texts?"

Conrad read her a few of the more coherent ones, editing out some of the more concerning details about their mom. He heard Belly's sharp intake of breath.

"Oh my god. Conrad, that doesn't sound like him at all."

"I know. I've been trying to call but his phone goes straight to voicemail. He's hours away and I have three midterms this week, I can't just drive up there." The words came out frustrated, helpless. "But I can't just ignore this either."

There was a pause. Then Belly said, "Steven and I could drive up. It's only like two hours from here, and we don't have classes tomorrow because of some campus event."

"Would you?" The relief in Conrad's voice was palpable. "I mean, I barely know what we're even looking for, but—"

"We'll figure it out. And we'll keep you updated constantly. Every hour, I promise."

Conrad closed his eyes, feeling some of the tight panic in his chest loosen slightly. "Thank you, Belly. Really. I just... I have this feeling that if we don't do something now, it's going to get worse."

"We'll leave in like three hours, as soon as Steven's awake. Conrad?" Her voice was gentle. "He's going to be okay. Whatever this is, we'll figure it out."

After they hung up, Conrad sat in the growing dawn light, staring at his phone. Another text from Jeremiah had arrived while he was talking to Belly.

"i love you all so much it feels like my heart is going to explode but in a good way like fireworks inside my chest. is this what enlightenment feels like? i think i'm becoming my best self. my TRUEST self. everything makes sense now."

Conrad had never been so scared of a message that sounded so happy.

Chapter Text

Steven squinted at the GPS as Belly navigated through the winding mountain roads. They'd been driving for two hours, stopping twice for coffee and once for Belly to call Conrad with updates.

"Okay, so Conrad said Jeremiah's been texting nonstop since like 3 AM," Belly said, gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. "But he also said the texts have been getting... weird... for like two weeks."

"Weird how?" Steven was scrolling through Jeremiah's recent Instagram posts. "I mean, look at this stuff. This post from three days ago has like fifteen hashtags and they're all random. #quantumphysics #motherslove #sleepisforsuckers #enlightenment #bestlifeever. That's not normal Jere behavior."

Belly glanced over at the screen. "And look at that picture. When has Jeremiah ever posted a blurry photo of his textbooks at 4 AM with a caption about 'feeding my expanding consciousness'?"

"Never." Steven kept scrolling. "But honestly, I don't really know what we're supposed to be looking for. Like, what if he's just stressed about school? What if we're overreacting?"

"Conrad doesn't overreact about Jeremiah. Ever." Belly took a sharp turn, following the GPS's directions toward campus. "He said... he said some of the texts mentioned their mom in a way that didn't sound like Jere at all. Like she was a science experiment instead of, you know, his mother who died of cancer."

Steven winced. "Yeah, okay, that's definitely not normal."

They found parking near Jeremiah's dorm, a brick building that looked like every other college dorm in New England. Belly checked her phone - three new texts from Conrad, all asking for updates, and one from Jeremiah.

"Oh shit," she said, showing Steven the screen. "It just says 'i can't wait to tell conrad i figured it out the universe is just love in different frequencies mom transcended cancer by becoming pure energy i can feel her in everything if i tune it right'"

Steven stared at the message. "Okay, that's... that's really not normal."

They climbed three flights of stairs to Jeremiah's floor. The hallway was typical college chaos- dry-erase boards on doors covered in messages and doodles, the faint smell of ramen and laundry detergent, someone's music playing too loudly behind a closed door.

Jeremiah's door was slightly ajar.

Belly knocked softly. "Jere? It's Belly and Steven."

"BELLY! STEVEN!" Jeremiah's voice was bright, maybe too bright, and definitely too loud for 11 AM in a dorm hallway, greeting people he didn't know were coming. "Come in, come in, you have to see what I've been working on!"

They exchanged a glance before pushing the door open.

The room was chaos. Not the usual college mess of dirty clothes and empty pizza boxes, but something more crazed. Books were open everywhere, some stacked in towers that reached nearly to the top of the desk. Papers covered every surface, filled with handwriting that seemed to start orderly and dissolve into barely legible scrawls. The walls were covered with torn-out notebook pages, taped up in no discernible pattern, covered with diagrams that might have been physics equations or just random words connected by arrows.

And in the center of it all was Jeremiah, sitting cross-legged on his bed, wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing in his Instagram story from the night before. His hair was messier than they'd ever seen it, and his eyes were bright in a way that didn't look quite right - like he'd been drinking too much coffee, or not sleeping, or both.

"Guys!" He jumped up with an energy that seemed to vibrate through the room. "I am so glad you're here, you have perfect timing. I just figured out the connection between quantum entanglement and human emotions, and I think it explains everything about why we feel so connected to people even when they're far away, like how I can feel Conrad worrying about me even though he's at school."

The words came out in a rush, barely pausing for breath. Steven and Belly stood frozen in the doorway.

"I've been up for like thirty-six hours but I feel amazing, like I've never been more awake in my entire life. Sleep is just a habit, right? Your brain doesn't actually need it if you're operating at a higher frequency." Jeremiah gestured wildly at the papers on his walls. "Look, I've been mapping out all the connections. Mom's cancer wasn't random - it was her body preparing for transcendence. She became pure energy, and now she's communicating through quantum fields."

Belly found her voice first. "Jere, when's the last time you ate something?"

He waved the question away. "Food is just fuel and I'm running on something better right now. Pure intellectual energy. Pure emotional energy. I can feel everything so clearly, Belly. I can feel how much Conrad loves me, how worried he is, but he doesn't need to be worried because I've never been better."

Steven stepped closer, trying to get a better look at Jeremiah's face. There were dark circles under his eyes despite his claims of feeling "amazing," and his hands were shaking slightly. "Dude, you look like you haven't slept in days."

"Because I haven't! And it's incredible. I'm getting so much done. Look—" He grabbed a notebook from his desk, flipping through pages covered in dense writing. "I started writing a novel about Mom, but then it turned into a physics treatise, but then I realized they're the same thing. Love and physics. Energy and transcendence. It's all one big equation."

Belly and Steven exchanged another look. This definitely wasn't normal Jeremiah behavior. Normal Jeremiah was happy-go-lucky, excitable, warm, but not maniacal. This version of him was like someone had turned all his usual qualities up to eleven and added a dose of something that made everything seem urgent and cosmic and connected in ways that didn't quite make sense.

"Jere," Belly said gently, "have you talked to any of your friends here? Your roommate? Your RA?"

"My roommate moved out last week, said I was keeping him awake, but that's fine because I need the space for my projects. And my RA is amazing, she totally gets it. She said my aura has been really intense lately, which is good because intensity is how you change the world."

"Moved out?" Steven's eyebrows shot up. "In the middle of the semester?"

"People don't understand creativity, Steven. They don't understand what it means to have your mind operating at full capacity. But you guys get it, right? You understand that sometimes you have to break all the rules to find the truth?"

Belly pulled out her phone and quickly typed a message to Conrad: Found him. He's... not okay. Very manic, not sleeping, talking about quantum physics and your mom transcending cancer. Roommate moved out. We're going to try to get him to eat something and I'll call you in an hour.

"Jere," she said aloud, "why don't we go get some lunch? You can tell us more about your projects, but maybe we could grab some food first?"

"I'm not really hungry, but—" Jeremiah paused mid-sentence, his expression shifting slightly. For just a moment, the manic brightness in his eyes flickered, and something else showed through. Something that looked almost scared. "Actually, yeah. Yeah, maybe that's a good idea. I keep forgetting to eat, and yesterday I got really dizzy in my philosophy class. Well, I'm not actually taking philosophy but I've been sitting in on lectures because the professor has really interesting theories about consciousness."

The vulnerability in his voice, that brief crack in the manic energy, made Belly's chest tight. This was still Jeremiah underneath all the racing thoughts and sleepless energy - Jeremiah, who was scared and probably didn't fully understand what was happening to him.

"Come on," Steven said, reaching out to put a gentle hand on Jeremiah's shoulder. "Let's go get some real food, I'm starving. And maybe you can call Conrad? He's been really worried."

"Conrad worries too much," Jeremiah said, but he was already grabbing a jacket from the floor. "But yeah, I should probably call him. I've been texting but I know he likes hearing voices better than reading words. Words can be tricky - they don't always carry the right energy through screens."

As they walked toward the dining hall, Belly noticed how Jeremiah's energy seemed to cycle. One moment he'd be talking rapidly about the "cosmic significance" of the way sunlight hit the snow, and the next he'd go quiet for a few steps, looking almost lost. Like part of him knew something was wrong, but the manic part of his brain wouldn't let him hold onto that awareness for long.

She sent another quick text to Conrad: Getting him food now. Steven's right, this isn't just stress or sadness. He needs help, and probably soon.

Chapter Text

Conrad's phone had been buzzing nonstop for three hours. Updates from Belly, worried texts from his roommate asking why he'd been pacing their room since 6 AM, and seventeen new messages from Jeremiah that were getting increasingly difficult to parse.

"belly and steven are here and they're worried but they don't understand that worry is just love at the wrong frequency i'm trying to explain quantum entanglement to them over grilled cheese which is honestly the perfect metaphor because cheese becomes something entirely different when you apply heat and pressure just like how love becomes worry when you apply distance and time"

Conrad read the message three times, his hands shaking slightly. The earlier texts had been concerning, but this one scared him in a different way. There was still the manic energy, the stream-of-consciousness rambling, but underneath it was something that sounded almost... fragmented.

His phone rang. Belly.

"Conrad, we need to talk," she said without preamble. "Steven and I got him to eat something, and he called you twice but you didn't answer—"

"I was in class, I'm sorry, I turned my ringer off for my midterm and forgot to—"

"It's okay. But Conrad, listen to me. This isn't just sleep deprivation or stress. His roommate moved out last week because Jeremiah was keeping him awake. He's been sitting in on classes he's not enrolled in instead of going to his own. He told us that your mom transcended cancer by becoming pure energy and he can feel her presence in quantum fields."

Conrad's blood went cold. "He what?"

"He seems like he really believes that the universe is just love in different frequencies, and that Susannah transcended cancer and became pure energy, and if he tunes into the right frequency he can feel her presence." Belly's voice was tight with worry. "Conrad, I don't think he's just manic. I think he might be having some kind of... I don't know, psychotic episode? Is that the right term?"

Conrad sank onto his bed, running his free hand through his hair. "Did he seem scared? At all? Like, does any part of him think something might be wrong?"

"Sometimes, for like thirty seconds. But then he goes right back to talking about cosmic truths and quantum physics. He seems completely confident that he's figured out some amazing secret about reality."

"Shit." Conrad closed his eyes. "Belly, I think he might be having a manic episode with psychotic features. Like, a serious one. I've been reading about it online between classes and... everything fits. The decreased need for sleep, the grandiose ideas, the rapid speech, the delusions..."

"What do we do?"

Conrad was quiet for a moment, thinking. "I need to call Dad. And Laurel. And John. We need to get him help, like professional help, but he's not going to want it. People in psychotic episodes usually feel like they've discovered some amazing truth - they don't think anything's wrong."

"He keeps saying he's never felt better in his life, that he's finally seeing clearly."

"Exactly. Which means convincing him to see a doctor is going to be..." Conrad trailed off. "Actually, can you put me on speaker? I want to talk to him, but I need to be really careful not to challenge his delusions directly. That can make people more defensive."

He heard shuffling, then Belly's voice saying, "Jere, Conrad wants to talk to you."

"CONRAD!" Jeremiah's voice was bright and loud, carrying that same manic energy that had been coming through in his texts. "I was just telling Belly and Steven about this incredible realization I had about parallel universes and how Mom didn't really die from cancer, she just transcended to a higher dimensional state, which means she's never really gone, she's just operating at a frequency we can't usually perceive—"

"Hey, Jere," Conrad interrupted gently. "How are you feeling? Like, physically?"

"Physically I feel incredible! I have so much energy, Conrad. I feel like I could run a marathon or write a symphony or solve world hunger. Maybe all three at the same time. Did you know that most people only use like 10% of their brain capacity? I think I figured out how to access more."

Conrad closed his eyes. The 10% brain capacity thing was a myth, but explaining that right now wouldn't help. "Ok. When's the last time you slept? Really slept, for more than an hour or two?"

"Sleep is overrated, Con. I've been getting by on like two hours a night and I feel more rested than ever. It's like I've unlocked some kind of superpower. Maybe this is what enlightenment feels like."

"Jere... I'm worried about you. The things you're describing - not sleeping, feeling like everything is connected, having all this energy - those can be symptoms of something that needs medical attention."

"Symptoms of what?" Jeremiah's voice was still bright, but there was a slight edge to it now. "Conrad, you aren't getting it. I'm not sick. I'm the opposite of sick. I'm more awake and aware than I've ever been in my life."

"I think you might be having a manic episode. I think you might need to see a doctor."

"A doctor?" Jeremiah laughed, but it didn't sound quite right. "Conrad, doctors are trained to pathologize enlightenment. They don't understand what it means to operate at a higher frequency. They'd just want to drug me back down to normal levels of consciousness."

Conrad's heart sank. This was worse than he'd thought. "Jere, what if I'm right? What if this isn't enlightenment, what if it's your brain being in overdrive?"

"Then I don't want to go back to how I was before. Conrad, I can see everything so clearly now. I understand Mom's death, I understand quantum physics, I understand the nature of reality itself. Why would I want to give that up?"

"Because your roommate moved out. Because you're not eating. Because you're scaring the people who love you."

There was a pause. When Jeremiah spoke again, his voice was smaller, more uncertain. "I'm not... I'm not trying to scare anyone. I'm trying to share this incredible discovery."

"I know. But Jere, what if the discovery isn't real? What if your brain is creating connections that aren't actually there?"

"No." Jeremiah's voice was firm again. "No, that's exactly what they want you to think. The medical establishment, the pharmaceutical companies - they profit from keeping people at lower levels of consciousness. But I've broken through, Conrad. I've accessed something beyond normal human awareness."

Conrad heard Belly saying something in the background, then Jeremiah's voice getting more agitated.

"They're trying to convince me I'm sick, but I'm not sick! I'm more alive than I've ever been! Mom didn't die of cancer, she evolved beyond physical form, and now I can communicate with her through quantum fields!"

The line went quiet except for the sound of Jeremiah breathing hard.

"Put me back off speaker," Conrad said quietly.

"Conrad?" Belly's voice was shaky.

"We need to get him to a hospital. Now. He's lost insight completely - he doesn't think anything's wrong, which means he's not going to go voluntarily."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we might need to have him evaluated involuntarily. Dad needs to get up there now, and someone needs to call the campus police or a mobile crisis team."

"Did he say hospital?" Jeremiah's voice was sharp, scared for the first time all day. "You want to put me in a hospital? Conrad, please don't do this. I'm not sick. I'm not dangerous. I'm just... I'm just finally understanding everything."

Conrad's heart broke at the fear in his brother's voice. "Jere, I love you so much. And I'm scared because I don't think you can see how sick you are right now. But I promise you, we're going to help you get better."

"I don't need to get better! I need people to understand what I've discovered!"

The line went quiet for a moment, then Belly came back on.

"Conrad, I think you should call your dad now. And maybe someone at the school? Jeremiah's getting more agitated and I don't know what to do."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm calling Dad right now. Don't leave him alone, okay? Just... try to keep him calm until help gets there."

After Conrad hung up, he immediately called his father. Then Laurel. Then he looked up the number for Jeremiah's college and asked to be transferred to campus security.

Within an hour, a plan was in motion that no one wanted but everyone knew was necessary.

Chapter Text

The campus security officer was patient and gentle, but Jeremiah saw conspiracy in his kind eyes.

"I understand you've been having some trouble sleeping," Officer Roland said, sitting across from Jeremiah in the health center.

"I don't have trouble sleeping. I've transcended the need for sleep. It's a higher state of consciousness." Jeremiah's voice was getting more rapid, more pressured. "You people don't understand. I've accessed a level of awareness that most humans never reach."

Adam Fisher arrived as the campus counselor, Dr. Rodriguez, was trying to explain why she thought Jeremiah needed medical evaluation.

"Dad!" Jeremiah jumped up when he saw Adam. "Tell them I'm not sick. Tell them I've just figured something out that they can't understand because they're operating at lower frequencies."

Adam's face went pale as he took in his son's appearance - the manic energy, the bright eyes, the way he couldn't seem to sit still.

"Jere," he said gently, "you look like you haven't slept in days."

"Because I don't need sleep anymore! Dad, listen to me. Mom didn't really die. She transcended cancer by evolving to a higher dimensional state. I can feel her presence in quantum fields. I've been communicating with her through consciousness expansion."

Adam sat down heavily. This was worse than Conrad had described on the phone.

Dr. Rodriguez spoke quietly. "Mr. Fisher, based on my evaluation and the reports from his friends and brother, I believe Jeremiah is experiencing a manic episode with psychotic features. He's lost insight into his condition and isn't able to recognize that he needs help."

"What does that mean?" Adam asked, though he was afraid he already knew.

"It means we need to have him evaluated by a psychiatrist, and if he won't go voluntarily, we may need to pursue involuntary commitment for his safety."

"Involuntary commitment?" Jeremiah's voice went high with panic. "You can't do that! I haven't done anything wrong! I'm just trying to share a scientific discovery!"

"Jere," Adam said, reaching out to touch his son's arm. Jeremiah jerked away.

"Don't touch me! You're all trying to suppress the truth! The medical establishment doesn't want people to access higher consciousness because it threatens their power structure!"

Belly and Steven stood by the wall, looking scared and helpless. This wasn't the Jeremiah they knew - this paranoid, agitated person who saw threats everywhere.

"Son, please," Adam tried again. "Just come with me to see a doctor. Just to make sure you're okay."

"I'm better than okay! I'm enlightened! And you want to drag me to some psychiatrist who'll pump me full of chemicals to bring me back down to your limited level of awareness!"

Dr. Rodriguez stepped forward. "Jeremiah, I understand this is frightening. But I'm concerned about your safety. You haven't been sleeping, you're not eating properly, and you're experiencing thoughts and perceptions that are concerning your family."

"My family just doesn't understand yet. But they will, once I explain it properly." Jeremiah turned to Belly and Steven. "You guys saw my room, saw all my research. Tell them it makes sense. Tell them I've discovered something important."

Belly exchanged a look with Steven. "Jere," she said softly, "I think you should listen to the doctor. I think you should go get checked out, just to be safe."

"You too?" Jeremiah's face crumpled. "I thought you understood. I thought you could see that I'm not sick, I'm just... I'm just more awake than everyone else."

The crisis intervention team arrived twenty minutes later - two EMTs and a social worker who specialized in psychiatric emergencies. Adam had to sign papers he never wanted to sign, authorizing them to transport his son to the hospital for psychiatric evaluation against his will.

"This is a mistake," Jeremiah said as they gently guided him toward the ambulance. "This is all a mistake. I'm not sick. I've made a breakthrough, and you're treating me like I'm crazy."

"We just want to make sure you're safe," the social worker said patiently. "The doctors at the hospital are going to evaluate you and help figure out the best way to help you feel better."

"I already feel better! I feel the best I've ever felt! Why won't anyone listen to me?"

Adam rode in the ambulance with Jeremiah, holding his son's hand while Jeremiah alternated between pleading and explaining his theories about quantum consciousness and Susannah's transcendence.

"Dad, please, you have to believe me. I know how this looks, but I'm not having a breakdown. I'm having a breakthrough. Mom is trying to communicate with us through quantum fields, and I'm the only one who's learned how to listen."

"Okay," Adam said quietly. "Tell me more about that."

For the next twenty minutes, Jeremiah spoke rapidly about parallel dimensions and consciousness expansion and energy frequencies. His eyes were bright with conviction, his hands gesturing wildly as he tried to explain concepts that seemed to make perfect sense to him but sounded like word salad to everyone else.

When they arrived at the hospital, Jeremiah balked at the psychiatric unit doors.

"No," he said, digging in his heels. "No, I'm not going in there. That's for people who are actually sick."

"Jere," Adam said, his voice breaking slightly. "Please. Just let them help you."

"I don't need help! I need people to listen to what I've discovered!"

It took three orderlies to gently but firmly guide Jeremiah into the psychiatric unit, his voice echoing down the hallway as he tried to explain to anyone who would listen that he wasn't mentally ill, he was mentally evolved.

Adam stood in the hallway outside the locked doors, crying for the first time since Susannah died.

Chapter Text

Jeremiah had been in the psychiatric unit for seventy-two hours, and his delusions had only grown more elaborate.

Dr. Michaels, the attending psychiatrist, explained to Adam and Conrad during their family meeting that this was unfortunately common.

"When someone is experiencing psychosis, especially with grandiose delusions, they often incorporate challenges to their beliefs into their delusional system," she said. "So when we tell Jeremiah that he's having a mental health crisis, he interprets that as evidence that the medical establishment is trying to suppress his 'breakthrough.'"

Conrad rubbed his forehead. "So he thinks being in the hospital proves he's right?"

"Exactly. In his mind, the fact that we're concerned about his mental state confirms that he's accessed some kind of forbidden knowledge that threatens the system."

Adam looked through the window of the family conference room at Jeremiah, who was in the common area explaining something animatedly to another patient. Even from a distance, you could see the manic energy radiating off him.

"How long does this usually last?" Adam asked.

"It varies. For some people, antipsychotic medication can help clear the psychosis within a few days. For others, especially with severe mania, it can take weeks. And Jeremiah is... resistant to treatment."

"Resistant how?"

"He won't take medication voluntarily. He believes we're trying to 'suppress his consciousness' with psychiatric drugs. We've had to give him involuntary medication twice, but he's fighting us on it."

Conrad winced. "Can you do that? Give someone medication against their will?"

"When someone has been committed involuntarily and is deemed unable to make rational medical decisions due to their mental state, yes. But it's not ideal. Treatment works better when patients are cooperative."

Dr. Michaels pulled up Jeremiah's chart on her computer. "The good news is that his physical health is stable now - we've got him eating regularly and sleeping more. The concerning news is that the psychotic features are quite prominent. He's told multiple staff members that his mother is communicating with him through the hospital's electrical system."

Adam closed his eyes. "What?"

"He believes that Susannah has learned to manipulate electromagnetic fields and is sending him messages through the lights, the TV, the intercom system. When a light flickers or there's static on the TV, he interprets it as her trying to communicate with him."

"Jesus," Conrad muttered.

"He's also developed some paranoid ideation about the hospital staff. He thinks some of the nurses are government agents sent to monitor him because of his 'discoveries.' He's been refusing to eat food prepared by certain staff members because he believes they're trying to drug him."

Adam barely suppressed a frustrated sigh, and Dr. Michaels turned to face them directly. "I want to be honest with you about what we're dealing with here. This is a severe manic episode with significant psychotic features. Jeremiah has completely lost insight into his condition. He genuinely believes that his delusions are reality, and any attempt to challenge them just reinforces his paranoid thinking."

"So what do we do?" Adam asked.

"For now, we continue with involuntary medication - a combination of a mood stabilizer and an antipsychotic. We try to keep him safe and as comfortable as possible while we wait for the medication to take effect. We try to maintain a therapeutic relationship even though he sees us as adversaries right now."

"How long will he have to stay?"

"Legally, we can only hold him involuntarily for a limited time unless we can demonstrate ongoing danger to himself or others. But realistically, he shouldn't be discharged until he has some insight into his condition and is stable on medication. By my estimate, that could be anywhere from one to three weeks."

Conrad leaned forward. "What can we do to help?"

"Keep visiting. Keep being consistent and supportive, even when he says things that don't make sense. Don't argue with his delusions directly, but don't validate them either. Try to redirect conversations toward reality-based topics when possible."

"What if he never gets better?" The question slipped out before Adam could stop himself.

Dr. Michaels' expression was kind but realistic. "Most people do recover from their first manic episode, especially with proper treatment. But recovery is often not linear. There may be setbacks, medication adjustments, periods where he seems better and then relapses slightly. The key is establishing a long-term treatment plan and support system."

That afternoon, Conrad and Adam visited Jeremiah together. They found him in his room, writing furiously in a notebook.

"Dad! Conrad! Perfect timing!" Jeremiah looked up with that same manic brightness that had been present for weeks now. "I've been documenting all the ways Mom is trying to communicate through the hospital systems. Look—"

He held up pages covered in dense writing, diagrams showing electrical circuits, timestamps marking when lights had flickered or the TV had static.

"Every time there's an electromagnetic disturbance, it's her. She's learned to manipulate energy fields from her transcended state. The nurses think I'm crazy, but they just don't understand quantum mechanics."

Conrad and Adam exchanged a look. Dr. Michaels had warned them about this.

"Tell me what you've been writing about," Conrad said carefully, not agreeing or disagreeing with the delusions.

"It's all connected, Con. Mom's cancer wasn't random - it was preparation for transcendence. Her cells were already learning to exist in multiple dimensional states. That's why the treatments didn't work the way doctors expected."

Adam sat down on the bed next to Jeremiah, trying to keep his expression neutral even as his heart broke.

"How are you feeling physically?" Adam asked. "Are you eating?"

"I'm eating enough. Food isn't as important when you're operating at higher frequencies. But the medication they're forcing on me is dulling my receptivity to Mom's signals."

"What medication?"

"Antipsychotics," Jeremiah spat. "They want to cut off my connection to expanded consciousness. But I've figured out how to metabolize them faster by increasing my vibrational frequency."

This was new information, and concerning. Conrad made a mental note to mention it to Dr. Michaels, and decided to probe just a little further.

"Jere," Conrad said gently, "what if the doctors are trying to help you feel better, not suppress anything?"

Jeremiah's expression darkened. "Conrad, please don't tell me you're falling for their propaganda. You're smarter than that. This is exactly what they did to people throughout history who discovered truths that threatened the established order."

"What if you're wrong?" Adam asked quietly. "What if this is illness, not enlightenment?"

"Then explain this," Jeremiah said, jumping up and pointing to the light fixture above his bed. As if on cue, the fluorescent bulb flickered slightly. "See? She's here. She's trying to tell you that I'm right."

The light did flicker again, probably due to the building's old electrical system, but Jeremiah interpreted it as validation.

"Mom, tell them," he said to the ceiling. "Tell them I'm not sick."

Adam had to excuse himself and step into the hallway. Conrad found him there a few minutes later, crying quietly.

"He really believes it," Adam said. "He really, truly believes that Susannah is communicating through the lights."

"I know."

"What if he never comes back from this? What if this is who he is now?"

Conrad put his hand on his father's shoulder. "Dr. Michaels said most people recover from their first episode. We have to hold onto that."

"But what if he doesn't?"

Conrad didn't have an answer for that.

Chapter Text

Two weeks into Jeremiah's hospitalization, there were small signs of progress. The medication was starting to work - he was sleeping more regularly, his speech was less rapid and pressured, and some of the manic energy was beginning to fade.

But the delusions persisted.

"I know you think I'm getting better," Jeremiah told Dr. Michaels during one of their sessions, "but I'm just learning to hide my abilities. The medication makes it harder for me to access the quantum field where Mom exists, but I can still feel her presence."

Dr. Michaels nodded. "Tell me more about that."

"She's frustrated that you won't listen. She wants everyone to know that she's okay, that she evolved beyond cancer, beyond physical form. But you keep trying to convince me that my connection to her is a symptom of illness."

"Jeremiah, what would it mean to you if your connection to your mother was actually your brain's way of processing grief and loss?"

"It would mean you don't understand the nature of consciousness or death or love." Jeremiah's voice was still elevated, but less frantic than it had been. "It would mean you're trapped in a materialist worldview that can't accommodate the reality of transcendence."

Dr. Michaels made a note. The grandiose thinking was still there, but it was less intense. The medication was working, slowly.

"What if both things could be true?" she asked. "What if you love your mother deeply and miss her terribly, and your brain is creating experiences that feel like contact with her?"

"That's not..." Jeremiah paused, looking confused for the first time in weeks. "That's not how it works. She's really there. I can prove it."

"How can you prove it?"

"The electrical disturbances, the patterns in the static, the way she responds when I talk to her."

"What if those things have other explanations? What if old buildings have electrical problems, and our brains are very good at finding patterns even when they're random?"

Jeremiah was quiet for a long moment. "You're trying to take away the only connection I have left to her."

For the first time since his episode began, he sounded sad instead of manic.

"I'm trying to help you find healthy ways to maintain your connection to your mother's memory," Dr. Michaels said gently. "Ways that don't require you to believe things that might not be real."

"But what if they are real? What if I give up this connection and I lose her forever?"

"Jeremiah, your mother lives in your memories, in your love for her, in the way she shaped who you are. Those connections are real and permanent. You don't need electromagnetic fields to maintain them."

That night, for the first time in weeks, Jeremiah didn't document any "communications" from Susannah. He sat in his room, staring at the ceiling, looking lost.

When Conrad and Adam visited the next day, they found him quieter, more subdued.

"How are you feeling?" Adam asked.

"Confused," Jeremiah admitted. "Dr. Michaels keeps saying that Mom isn't really communicating through the electrical systems, that it's my brain creating patterns that aren't there."

"What do you think about that?"

"I don't know anymore. Sometimes it still feels so real, like she's right there trying to talk to me. But other times..." He trailed off.

"Other times what?"

"Other times I remember that she's dead. That she died of cancer two years ago, and nothing I believe or experience is going to bring her back."

It was the first time since his episode began that Jeremiah had acknowledged the reality of Susannah's death without reframing it as transcendence.

Conrad felt a wave of relief so strong it made him dizzy.

"That must be really hard," Conrad managed to say.

"It is. When I thought she was still here, still communicating with me, it didn't hurt as much. Now it hurts again."

Adam reached over and took Jeremiah's hand. "I'm sorry it hurts. But I'm glad you're starting to remember what really happened."

"Was I really sick? Like, really mentally ill?"

"Yeah," Conrad said gently. "You were really sick. But you're getting better."

"I said such crazy things. I thought I had figured out quantum physics and consciousness and the nature of reality." Jeremiah laughed, but it sounded hollow. "I must have seemed completely insane."

"You seemed like someone whose brain was working differently than usual," Adam said. "Not insane. Just... sick."

"What's going to happen now?"

Dr. Michaels answered that question during their family meeting the next day.

"Jeremiah is showing significant improvement. He's gained insight into his condition, he's acknowledging that his delusions weren't based in reality, and he's cooperating with treatment. I think he'll be ready for discharge within the week."

"What about outpatient care?" Conrad asked.

"He'll need ongoing psychiatric care, therapy, and medication management. He'll also need a strong support system as he readjusts to normal life and processes what happened during his episode."

"Is he going to be okay?" Adam asked.

"Recovery from a first manic episode is usually very good, especially when someone has family support and accepts treatment. But this is a chronic condition - he'll need to be on medication long-term and be aware of early warning signs for future episodes."

"Future episodes?"

"Bipolar disorder is typically a lifelong condition with recurring episodes if untreated. But with proper medication and therapy, many people go years or even decades without significant episodes."

That afternoon, Jeremiah asked to speak with Conrad alone.

"Con, I need to know something, and I need you to be honest with me."

"Okay."

"How bad was it? Before I came here? How scared were you?"

Conrad considered lying, softening it, but decided Jeremiah deserved the truth.

"Really scared. Terrified, actually. You weren't sleeping, you weren't eating, you thought you could hear Mom in radio static. Your roommate moved out. You tried to buy a plane ticket to Tibet with money you didn't have."

Jeremiah winced. "I don't remember the Tibet thing."

"You wanted to study quantum Buddhism at a monastery."

"Jesus." Jeremiah was quiet for a moment. "Conrad, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I put you through that."

"You don't need to apologize for being sick."

"But I do need to apologize for not listening when you tried to help. For thinking I knew better than everyone who loved me."

Conrad squeezed his brother's hand. "The person who wasn't listening wasn't really you. It was the illness."

"What if it happens again?"

"Then we'll handle it. We know what to look for now. We know how to get help quickly."

"What if I don't want help next time? What if I fight you again?"

"Then we'll do what we did this time. We'll get you help anyway, because we love you."

Jeremiah started crying - the first real tears he'd shed since his episode began.

"I miss her so much, Conrad. I miss Mom so much, and for a few weeks I got to believe she was still here. It felt so real."

"I know. I know it did."

"How do I live with missing her this much without going crazy again?"

"With therapy. With medication. With family. With time." Conrad put his arm around his brother. "And by remembering that missing her means you loved her. The grief is proof of the love, not proof that you need to create fantasies to escape it."

"Does it get easier?"

"It gets different. You learn to carry it better."

They sat together in comfortable silence, both of them thinking about Susannah - not the transcended energy being from Jeremiah's delusions, but the real woman who had loved them imperfectly and completely, who had died too young, who lived on in their memories and their care for each other.

Chapter Text

Jeremiah was discharged from the hospital on a Tuesday morning in March, after eighteen days as an inpatient. He walked out carrying a small bag of belongings and a folder full of discharge instructions, appointment schedules, and medication information.

The world outside felt too bright, too fast, too much after weeks in the controlled environment of the psychiatric unit.

"How do you feel?" Adam asked as they drove home.

"Weird. Like I've been away for months instead of weeks. Like I'm not sure how to be a normal person anymore."

"That's understandable. Dr. Michaels said it's common to feel disoriented after a psychiatric hospitalization."

Jeremiah was quiet for a while, looking out the window at the familiar landscape of home. "Dad? What do I tell people? About where I've been?"

"Whatever you're comfortable telling them. You don't owe anyone an explanation about a medical situation."

"But people are going to ask. My friends from school, people from home. They'll want to know why I suddenly disappeared in the middle of the semester."

Adam pulled into their driveway and turned off the car. "Jeremiah, mental illness isn't shameful. You had a medical emergency, you got treatment, and now you're recovering. That's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"But what if they think I'm crazy? What if they're afraid of me?"

"The people who matter won't think that. And the people who do think that don't matter."

Inside the summer house, Laurel had prepared a small "welcome home" meal - nothing overwhelming, just Jeremiah's favorite soup and fresh bread. Conrad had driven down and was waiting in the kitchen.

"How does it feel to be home?" Laurel asked, pulling Jeremiah into a gentle hug.

"Good. Scary. I don't really know how to answer that."

"You don't have to know. You just have to take it one day at a time."

The first few days were an adjustment. Jeremiah was on a strict medication schedule - mood stabilizer twice a day, antipsychotic once at night, plus supplements to counteract side effects. He had to relearn how to structure his days without the hospital's rigid schedule.

He slept a lot - ten, twelve hours a night plus naps. Dr. Michaels had warned them this was normal as his brain recovered from weeks of mania and the stress of hospitalization.

"I feel like I'm sleeping my life away," Jeremiah complained to Conrad during one of their daily check-ins.

"Your brain needs rest. You put it through a lot."

"But what if this is what the medication does to me permanently? What if I never have energy again?"

"Dr. Michaels said the sedation usually decreases as your body adjusts to the medication. And if it doesn't, you can work with her to adjust the doses."

The hardest part was processing what had happened during his manic episode. In the hospital, focused on stabilization, there hadn't been time for much reflection. Now, with his mind clear, the memories were flooding back.

"I really thought I could communicate with Mom through electrical fields," he told his new therapist, Dr. Coleman, during their first session. "It wasn't like I was pretending or wishful thinking. I completely, genuinely believed it was real."

"That must be frightening to realize."

"It is. Because if my brain could create something that felt so real, how do I know what else it might create? How do I trust my own thoughts?"

"That's a very common concern after a psychotic episode. The good news is that insight is protective. The fact that you can recognize that your thoughts during the episode weren't based in reality means you're much less likely to lose that perspective again."

"But what if I do? What if I have another episode and I can't tell the difference between real and not real?"

Dr. Coleman leaned forward. "That's why you have a support system. That's why you have family members who know the warning signs. That's why you're on medication and in therapy. We're building multiple safety nets."

Slowly, Jeremiah began to rebuild his life. He officially withdrew from the spring semester but made plans to return to a more local college in the fall. He started volunteering at the library, giving himself structure and purpose without overwhelming pressure.

The medication side effects were manageable but present - some weight gain, hand tremors, the need for regular blood work to monitor lithium levels. The tremor was particularly frustrating for someone who loved to write.

"Look at this," Jeremiah said, showing Conrad a page of handwriting that was shakier than usual. "I can barely hold a pen steady."

"Have you talked to Dr. Michaels about it?"

"She said it's a common side effect of lithium. She can add another medication to help with the tremor, but that means more pills, more side effects."

"What do you think you want to do?"

Jeremiah was quiet for a moment. "I think I want to try to adjust to it first. Because you know what's worse than shaky handwriting? Thinking I can hear dead people in radio static."

Conrad smiled. "That's a pretty healthy perspective."

"Yeah, well, I'm working on healthy perspectives these days."

Three months after his discharge, Jeremiah had settled into a routine. Morning medication with breakfast, therapy twice a week, volunteer work at the library, regular check-ins with Dr. Michaels to monitor his mood and adjust medications as needed.

He was writing again - not the manic, cosmic breakthrough novels of his episode, but thoughtful short stories about family and loss and recovery.

"I'm working on a story about a family dealing with mental illness," he told Conrad during one of their Sunday calls.

"How's that going?"

"Hard. But good. I'm trying to write about what it's really like, not the romantic version or the tragic version, just... the real version."

"What's the real version like?"

"Messy. Scary sometimes. But manageable. Like, it's this thing that happened to us, and we figured out how to handle it, and now it's just part of our story."

"I like that framing."

"Me too. It's not the story I would have chosen, but it's the story we got. And we're doing okay with it."

Conrad found himself smiling. "Yeah, we are."

The most surprising thing was how normal it all became. Jeremiah's medication was just part of his morning routine, like brushing his teeth. His therapy appointments were just part of his weekly schedule, like grocery shopping. His check-ins with family about sleep and mood became just another way they cared for each other.

"I used to think having a mental illness would define my whole life," Jeremiah told Dr. Coleman during one of their sessions. "But it turns out it's just one part of my life. An important part that requires attention and management, but not the only part."

"How does that feel?"

"Liberating, actually. I was so afraid of being 'the mentally ill brother' or 'the person who had a breakdown.' But I'm still just me. I still love writing and hate mushrooms and laugh too loud at Steven's jokes. The illness didn't erase who I am."

"And who are you?"

Jeremiah smiled. "I'm someone who has bipolar disorder and takes medication and goes to therapy. I'm also someone who writes stories and volunteers at the library and has a family that loves him. Both things are true."

Six months post-discharge, Jeremiah was preparing to start classes at a local college in the fall. He'd chosen a school close to home, partly for the support system and partly because starting fresh felt important.

"Are you nervous about going back to school?" Adam asked over dinner.

"A little. But also excited. I feel ready in a way I didn't feel ready before."

"Ready how?"

"I know myself better now. I know what to watch for, what to do if I start feeling unstable. I know how to ask for help before things get scary."

"What if people ask about the gap in your education?"

"Then I'll tell them I took time off for health reasons and got the treatment I needed. I'm not ashamed of getting help."

Conrad felt a wave of pride for his little brother. "I'm proud of you, Jere. For everything - for getting through the crisis, for accepting treatment, for building this new life."

"Thanks. But honestly, I didn't do it alone. None of us did. We figured it out together."

That night, Jeremiah called Conrad from his room.

"Con? I wanted to tell you something."

"What's up?"

"I've been thinking about Mom a lot lately. Not the quantum physics, transcended energy version from my episode, just... Mom. The real person."

"What about her?"

"I think she would have been proud of us. For recognizing that I was sick, for getting me help, for not giving up when things got scary."

"I think so too."

"And I think she would have wanted me to get better. Not because mental illness is shameful, but because she loved me and would have wanted me to have the best possible life."

"Definitely."

"I miss her, Conrad. But not in the desperate, I-need-to-create-fantasies-to-cope way. Just in the normal, healthy way that people miss people they love."

"That sounds like progress."

"Yeah. It is."

After they hung up, Conrad sat in his apartment thinking about how much had changed. A year ago, he'd been terrified that mental illness would define his family's story. Now he saw it differently - it was part of their story, but not the whole story. They were still a family that loved each other, supported each other, and showed up when things got hard. They just happened to be a family that also understood medication schedules and therapy appointments and early warning signs.

It had made them stronger, not weaker. More honest, not more fragile. More connected, not more distant.

Conrad opened his laptop and started working on his own essay about the experience - satisfying a requirement for class, but mostly for himself. A way of processing what they'd all been through and what they'd learned.

"Mental illness," he wrote, "is not a tragedy or a failure or a shameful secret. It's a medical condition that requires treatment and support. It's part of our family's story now, but it's not the end of our family's story. It's just another chapter in a long book about people who love each other enough to get help when help is needed."

He thought that sounded about right.

Chapter Text

Jeremiah's dorm room at his new school looked nothing like the chaos of his manic episode. Books were organized on shelves, papers were filed in folders, clothes were folded in drawers. It was neat without being obsessive, lived-in without being chaotic.

He'd been stable for eight months now, taking his medication consistently, attending therapy regularly, maintaining good sleep habits and social connections. His grades were solid, his friendships were genuine, and he was writing again - thoughtful, grounded stories that drew from his experience without romanticizing it.

The adjustment hadn't always been easy. There had been medication changes, therapy sessions where he cried about the time he'd lost, moments of wondering if he'd ever feel "normal" again. But gradually, a new normal had emerged.

Conrad called every Sunday, and they'd maintained their ritual of checking in about sleep, mood, stress levels, social connections. What had felt clinical at first had become just another way of caring for each other.

"How was your week?" Conrad asked during their most recent call.

"Good. Really good, actually. I joined the campus literary magazine, and I'm working on a short story collection for my creative writing class."

"What are the stories about?"

"Family, mostly. Love and loss and mental illness and the way we take care of each other." Jeremiah paused. "Actually, one of them is about Mom. Not the mystical, quantum physics version that I was obsessed with during my episode, but just... Mom. The real person who loved us and died of cancer."

"How does it feel to write about her?"

"Sad. But good sad, if that makes sense. Like, I'm sad because I miss her, not sad because I'm afraid I'm going to lose touch with reality again."

"That makes perfect sense."

"Conrad? I know this is going to sound weird, but I think getting sick was maybe one of the most important things that ever happened to me."

"Explain."

Jeremiah was quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "I spent so much time being afraid of mental illness, afraid of ending up like the tragic cases you read about. And I did get sick - really sick. But I also got better. I got help. I learned that having bipolar disorder doesn't mean my life is over or that I can't be happy or successful."

"And how do you feel about that now?"

"I feel like I can handle whatever comes next. Not because I'm invincible, but because I know what resources are available. I know what early warning signs look like. I know that my family will help me get treatment if I need it again."

"Are you worried about having another episode?"

"Sometimes. But Dr. Michaels says that people who stay on medication and maintain good self-care often go years without significant episodes. And even if I do have another one, it probably won't be as severe because we'll catch it earlier."

After they hung up, Conrad sat in his apartment thinking about how much had changed. Jeremiah sounded more like himself than he had in years - not the manic version of himself, not the depressed version, just himself. Thoughtful and creative and caring, but with the stability that medication and therapy had provided.

Adam had continued his own therapy, working through guilt about not recognizing the signs sooner and learning how to support Jeremiah without becoming overprotective. The whole family had developed a new vocabulary around mental health and a deeper understanding of how to recognize and respond to crisis.

Belly had decided to pursue a psychology degree, partly inspired by watching Jeremiah's recovery process. "I want to understand how the brain works," she'd told Conrad. "And I want to help other families navigate what we navigated."

Steven had become fiercely protective of Jeremiah while also treating him normally - a balance that took skill but that he'd mastered with typical Steven determination.

The remarkable thing was how routine it had all become. Jeremiah's medication was just part of his daily schedule, like classes or meals. His therapy appointments were simply part of his self-care routine. The family's awareness of mental health warning signs was just part of how they looked out for each other.

They looked like a family that had been through something difficult and emerged stronger. Not unchanged - they'd never be the same people they were before Jeremiah got sick. But they looked like people who had learned how to take care of each other, how to recognize when someone needed help, how to navigate crisis together.

Conrad kept a photo on his desk from last summer - the whole family at the beach house, looking genuinely happy and relaxed. Jeremiah was healthy and stable, laughing at something Steven had said. They looked like a normal family enjoying a vacation together.

Which was exactly what they were.

Conrad's phone buzzed with a text from Jeremiah: "finished my short story about the family dealing with mental illness. want to read it?"

"yes. send it over."

"it's not dramatic or tragic or anything like that. it's just about how they learned to handle it and how it became part of their normal life. regular family stuff."

"those are the best kind of stories."

"yeah. I think so too."

Conrad opened his laptop, ready to read his brother's words - not about cosmic breakthroughs or tragic breakdowns, but about the ordinary, extraordinary work of loving someone through illness and recovery.

The story was beautiful. Honest and hopeful and real, full of specific details that made the characters feel like people you might know. It was the kind of writing Jeremiah had always been capable of, but now he could access that capability from a place of stability and insight.

Conrad called him back.

"Jere? It's perfect. It feels so real."

"Really?"

"Really. You captured exactly what it's like to love someone who's mentally ill."

"Good. That's what I was going for." Jeremiah paused. "Conrad? I love you. And I'm proud of all of us. For figuring this out."

"I love you too. And yeah, I'm proud of us too."

They were quiet for a moment, both of them probably thinking about everything they'd been through to get to this point - the crisis, the fear, the treatment, the slow process of building a new normal that included mental illness as a manageable part of their lives.

"See you next weekend?" Jeremiah asked.

"Wouldn't miss it."

"Good. I want to read you the rest of the stories. And I want to hear about your classes. And I want to eat way too much of Laurel's cooking and play board games and just... be a normal family."

"We are a normal family, Jere. We're just a normal family that happens to include bipolar disorder."

"Yeah," Jeremiah said, and Conrad could hear him smiling. "I like that."

After they hung up, Conrad looked out his window and thought about tides - how they come in and go out, how they're predictable but also constantly changing, how you can learn to work with them instead of fighting them.

Jeremiah's illness would probably always be part of their lives. There might be other episodes, other medication adjustments, other periods of recalibration. But they'd learned how to recognize warning signs, how to get help quickly, how to support each other through difficult times.

They'd learned that mental illness didn't have to be a tragedy. It could just be one more thing they navigated together, like grief or growing up or any of the other challenges that families face.

Conrad opened his textbook and got back to studying, his phone close by in case Jeremiah needed to talk. But he wasn't worried anymore - not in the anxious, hypervigilant way he'd been worried during the crisis. He was just present, available, part of a family that had learned how to take care of each other.

The tide was predictable now, manageable. And they were all okay.

Chapter Text

Two years after the first episode

Conrad's phone buzzed at 2:17 AM on a Tuesday. He rolled over, half-awake, squinting at the screen, expecting maybe a drunk text from Steven or a late-night anxiety spiral from Belly about an exam. Instead, he saw Jeremiah's name.

"hey con you awake? can't sleep again. third night in a row but feeling really good about it actually. getting so much writing done. finished two short stories since sunday and started outlining a novel. think i'm having a breakthrough creatively"

Conrad sat up immediately, his stomach clenching with familiar dread. He scrolled up through their recent conversations and his brother's social media, looking for other signs he might have missed. There - four days ago, a text at 1 AM about how inspired Jeremiah was feeling. Three days ago, a rambling message about a new story idea that "connected everything." Yesterday, a photo of his desk covered in notebooks with the caption "productivity mode activated."

Conrad called immediately. It went to voicemail.

He tried again. Voicemail.

Conrad → Jeremiah (2:19 AM): "Jere, I'm worried about the not sleeping thing. Can you call me back? It's important."

Jeremiah → Conrad (2:21 AM): "don't worry con i'm fine! better than fine actually. brain is just firing on all cylinders right now. you know how it is when the creative energy hits. remember when mom used to stay up all night working on her art projects? maybe it's genetic but in a good way"

Conrad's blood ran cold. Jeremiah hadn't mentioned their mom's artistic periods in over a year, and never with that kind of casual, manic energy.

Conrad → Jeremiah (2:22 AM): "How many hours of sleep have you gotten in the last three nights?"

Jeremiah → Conrad (2:24 AM): "sleep is overrated when your mind is this active. maybe 3-4 hours total but i feel AMAZING. like my brain has finally unlocked its full potential. dr michaels always said creativity and mental illness go hand in hand right? maybe this is just me accessing my creative side"

Conrad → Jeremiah (2:25 AM): "That's not what Dr. Michaels said and you know it. I'm calling her first thing in the morning."

Jeremiah → Conrad (2:27 AM): "conrad please don't overreact. i'm not manic. i'm just inspired. there's a difference. i'm eating, i'm showering, i'm going to classes. i'm just also writing a lot and sleeping less. that's normal for writers"

Conrad screenshot the conversation and immediately started a group text with Adam and Laurel.

Conrad → Adam, Laurel (2:30 AM): "Emergency. Look at these texts from Jere. Third night of minimal sleep, grandiose thinking about creativity, comparing himself to Mom's artistic periods. I think he's cycling up again."

Adam, despite the time, called within two minutes.

"How bad is it?" Adam's voice was edged with sleep but tight with controlled panic.

"Bad enough that I'm scared, not bad enough that he can see it yet. He thinks he's just having a creative breakthrough."

"Should I drive up there tonight?"

"Let me try calling him again first. Maybe if I can get him to go to the health center voluntarily..."

Conrad tried calling Jeremiah again. This time, he answered.

"Con! Perfect timing. I just finished another story and I need to read it to someone. It's about quantum entanglement but as a metaphor for family bonds. Really beautiful stuff—"

"Jere, stop." Conrad's voice was firm. "How many hours did you sleep last night?"

"I don't know, maybe two? But Conrad, listen to this opening line—"

"No. I need you to listen to me, Jeremiah. You're showing early warning signs of mania. The decreased sleep, the grandiose ideas about your writing, the comparing yourself to—"

"I am not manic!" Jeremiah's voice got sharp, defensive. "I'm inspired. There's a huge difference. Just because I'm being productive doesn't mean I'm sick."

"Three hours of sleep in three nights isn't inspiration, it's a symptom."

"You're being paranoid, Conrad. I'm fine. Better than fine."

The line went quiet for a moment.

"Jere, please. Just go to the health center tomorrow morning. Get checked out. If I'm wrong, the doctor will tell you I'm being overprotective."

"And if you're right?"

"Then we catch it early this time. Before it gets scary."

Another pause.

"I don't want to go back to the hospital," Jeremiah said quietly.

"You might not have to. If we catch it early, they might be able to adjust your medication as an outpatient."

"What if I don't want to change my medication? What if this is just who I am when I'm not medicated into numbness?"

Conrad closed his eyes. "Jere, you're not medicated into numbness. You've been stable and creative, and happy for two years. This isn't your baseline - this is illness."

"I have to go. I want to finish this story while the inspiration is still flowing."

The line went dead.

Conrad immediately called Adam back.

"He hung up on me. He's defensive, thinks I'm overreacting. He's planning to write all night again."

"I'm driving up there. It's only three hours - I can be there by sunrise."

"Wait, let me try Belly and Steven first. They're closer, and he might be more likely to listen to them."

Conrad started a new group text.

Conrad → Belly, Steven (2:45 AM): "Code red. Sorry, I know it's late, but Jere is showing manic warning signs. Three nights of minimal sleep, grandiose thinking, defensive when confronted. Can either of you get to his school first thing tomorrow?"

Steven replied immediately.

Steven → Conrad, Belly (2:47 AM): "Shit. I can drive over tomorrow morning. Have calc at 9 but can skip it."

Belly → Conrad, Steven (2:51 AM): "I have a paper due but fuck it. This is more important. Should we coordinate with your dad?"

Conrad → Belly, Steven (2:52 AM): "Dad's planning to drive up too. Maybe Steven goes early to assess, Belly comes as backup, Dad comes if we need to escalate to hospitalization?"

Adam → Conrad, Belly, Steven (2:55 AM): "Added myself to this thread. Conrad's plan sounds good. Steven, can you get there by 10 AM? I'll leave NYC at 8 and be there by 11 just in case."

Steven → Everyone (2:56 AM): "On it. Will text updates every hour once I get there."

Conrad tried to sleep but couldn't. Instead, he lay awake monitoring his phone, waiting for more texts from Jeremiah. They came steadily.

Jeremiah → Conrad (3:23 AM): "finished the quantum entanglement story. starting a new one about parallel dimensions and how mom might exist in all of them simultaneously. feeling so connected to her creative energy right now"

Jeremiah → Conrad (4:15 AM): "you know what's interesting? time feels different when you're in this headspace. like i can feel past and future simultaneously. maybe this is what true consciousness feels like"

Jeremiah → Conrad (5:02 AM): "watching the sunrise and thinking about energy and light and how everything is just vibration at different frequencies. the trees are practically humming with life energy"

Conrad screenshotted each message and forwarded them to the group chat.

Conrad → Everyone (5:05 AM): "Getting worse. He's talking about time feeling different, parallel dimensions, feeling connected to Mom's 'energy,' seeing energy in trees. Full psychotic features developing."

Adam → Everyone (5:07 AM): "Jesus Christ. I'm leaving now. Steven, how soon can you get there?"

Steven → Everyone (5:08 AM): "Already in my car. Should be there by 9:30."

Belly → Everyone (5:10 AM): "I'm coming too. Leaving in an hour. Conrad, are you driving out?"

Conrad → Everyone (5:12 AM): "Already booked a flight. Land at 2 PM. This is moving too fast to drive."

At 6 AM, Jeremiah's texts took a more concerning turn.

Jeremiah → Conrad (6:03 AM): "conrad i think i figured out why mom had to die. it wasn't random. it was so she could become pure energy and guide us toward higher consciousness. her cancer was preparation for transcendence"

Jeremiah → Conrad (6:07 AM): "i can feel her presence right now. she's in the electromagnetic field around my laptop. the screen keeps flickering and i know it's her trying to communicate"

Jeremiah → Conrad (6:12 AM): "she's proud of me for accessing this level of awareness. she says most people aren't ready for these truths but our family has special sensitivity to quantum consciousness"

Conrad called him immediately. No answer.

Conrad → Jeremiah (6:15 AM): "Jere, please call me back. I'm really scared."

Conrad → Everyone (6:16 AM): "He's having hallucinations about Mom. Says she's communicating through his laptop screen. We need to move fast."

Steven → Everyone (6:18 AM): "ETA 90 minutes. Should I call campus security to do a welfare check?"

Adam → Everyone (6:19 AM): "Not yet. Let's try the soft approach first. If he's already paranoid, police involvement might make him run."

Belly → Everyone (6:20 AM): "What if he runs anyway? What if he's not in his room when Steven gets there?"

Laurel → Everyone (6:22 AM): "Adam added me to this chat. I'm calling Dr. Michaels now to give her a heads up. She might want us to bring him straight to the ER instead of her office."

At 7 AM, Jeremiah's texts became more erratic.

Jeremiah → Conrad (7:03 AM): "the revelation is expanding con. i understand everything now. mom's death, quantum physics, the nature of reality itself. i need to document this before the knowledge fades"

Jeremiah → Conrad (7:08 AM): "they're going to try to stop me. the medical establishment doesn't want people to access higher consciousness because it threatens their power structure. but mom is protecting me"

Jeremiah → Conrad (7:14 AM): "i might have to disappear for a while. go somewhere they can't find me and suppress this breakthrough. don't worry about me. worry about the world losing this knowledge"

Conrad → Everyone (7:15 AM): "Fuck. He's talking about disappearing. Steven, you need to get there NOW."

Steven → Everyone (7:16 AM): "Hit construction. 40 minutes out. Calling campus security for backup."

Adam → Everyone (7:17 AM): "Good call. This has escalated beyond what we can handle alone."

Steven made it to campus, stopped at the security office, parked, and finally arrived at Jeremiah's dorm at 8:10 AM to find campus security already in the building. Jeremiah's RA had called them after other students complained about him pacing the hallways at 6 AM, talking rapidly to himself.

Steven → Everyone (8:25 AM): "He's not in his room. RA says he left around 8 AM with a backpack, talking about needing to find a 'safe space to document his discoveries.' Campus security is searching the building."

Conrad → Everyone (8:27 AM): "Try the study lounge or the library. He always goes there when he needs to think."

Laurel → Everyone (8:50 AM): "Steven? Any updates?"

Steven → Everyone (9:30 AM): "Sorry. Finally found him. Third floor of the library, corner table covered in notebooks. He's writing frantically. Doesn't look like he's slept at all."

Adam → Everyone (9:32 AM): "How does he seem? Agitated? Paranoid?"

Steven → Everyone (9:35 AM): "Both. He keeps looking around like he's being watched. When I approached, he asked if I was 'really Steven' or if I was 'one of them.' He's lost a lot of weight since I saw him last month."

Belly → Everyone (9:37 AM): "Oh god. He's paranoid about family members now. That's new."

Steven → Everyone (9:40 AM): "Trying to convince him to come with me to get breakfast. He says food is 'too dense' for his current vibrational frequency. This is bad, guys."

Conrad → Everyone (9:42 AM): "Don't push too hard. Just stay with him until Dad gets there."

Steven → Everyone (9:45 AM): "He's showing me his notebooks. Pages and pages of diagrams about 'quantum consciousness networks' and 'electromagnetic communication protocols.' The handwriting gets more illegible as it goes on."

Laurel → Everyone (9:47 AM): "Dr. Michaels says bring him straight to the ER. Don't try to take him to her office first. He's too unstable for outpatient intervention."

Adam → Everyone (9:50 AM): "I'm 30 minutes out. Steven, whatever you do, don't let him leave the library."

Steven → Everyone (9:52 AM): "He's getting agitated. Says he can 'sense hostile energy' in the building. He thinks the librarians are 'monitoring his research' on behalf of 'the suppression network.'"

Belly → Everyone (9:55 AM): "Steven, don't argue with the delusions. Just try to keep him calm."

Steven → Everyone (9:58 AM): "Too late. He's packing up his notebooks. Says he needs to find somewhere 'electromagnetically clean' to continue his work. I'm following him but I don't know how to stop him without making it worse."

Conrad → Everyone (10:02 AM): "Where is he going?"

Steven → Everyone (10:05 AM): "Walking toward the science building. He says the physics lab will have equipment he can use to 'amplify Mom's communications.'"

Adam → Everyone (10:08 AM): "Call campus security again. We can't let him get into a lab in this state."

Steven → Everyone (10:12 AM): "Security is here. They're trying to talk him down but he thinks they're part of the conspiracy now. He's demanding to speak to the physics professor about his 'breakthrough in consciousness research.'"

Belly → Everyone (10:15 AM): "This is so much worse than last time. Last time he was manic but still trusted us."

Laurel → Everyone (10:18 AM): "Dr. Michaels says the paranoid features make this a more severe episode. He probably needs inpatient stabilization regardless of whether he goes voluntarily."

Adam → Everyone (10:22 AM): "Just arrived on campus. Where are you?"

Steven → Everyone (10:25 AM): "Physics building, first floor. He's really scared. He keeps asking why we're all working together to 'suppress his research.' He doesn't understand that we're trying to help."

Adam found them in the hallway outside the physics department, Jeremiah surrounded by two campus security officers and a small crowd of concerned students. His son looked thin and wild-eyed, clutching a stack of notebooks to his chest.

"Jere," Adam said gently, approaching slowly.

"Dad?" Jeremiah's eyes filled with tears. "Are you really here, or are you another hallucination? I can't tell anymore what's real."

It was the first crack in his delusions Adam had heard - a moment of insight breaking through the psychosis.

"I'm really here, son. And I'm really worried about you."

"I think... I think something's wrong with me," Jeremiah whispered. "I thought I was discovering cosmic truths, but now I can't tell if Mom is really talking to me or if my brain is making it up."

Adam stepped closer, relief flooding through him. If Jeremiah could acknowledge doubt, maybe this wouldn't require involuntary commitment.

"Let's go find out together, okay? Let's go talk to some doctors who can help us figure out what's real and what isn't."

Jeremiah looked around at the crowd of people watching him, then back at his father.

"I'm really sick again, aren't I?"

"Yeah, you are. But we caught it faster this time. And we're going to get you help."

Adam → Everyone (10:45 AM): "He has insight. We're going to the ER voluntarily. Steven riding with us, everyone else meet us at the hospital."

Conrad → Everyone (10:47 AM): "Thank god. Boarding my plane now. Be there in 4 hours."

Belly → Everyone (10:50 AM): "On my way. I love you all."

Laurel → Everyone (10:52 AM): "Dr. Michaels will meet you at the ER. You did everything right. All of you."

In the ambulance, Jeremiah leaned against Adam's shoulder, exhausted and confused.

"Dad, I was so sure Mom was trying to tell me something important. It felt completely real."

"I know it did."

"How do I trust my own brain anymore if it can create experiences that feel more real than reality?"

"You don't have to trust it alone. That's what family is for. That's what doctors are for. That's what medication is for."

Jeremiah closed his eyes. "I'm scared I'm going to lose myself again. Like last time."

"Last time you came back to yourself. This time we caught it earlier. You're going to be okay."

Adam → Everyone (11:15 AM): "At the ER. Jere is stable and cooperative. Admitting him for observation and medication adjustment. Crisis successfully managed."

Steven → Everyone (11:18 AM): "He's asking for everyone to come visit when they can. Says he wants to apologize for scaring us."

Conrad → Everyone (11:20 AM): "Tell him he doesn't need to apologize for being sick. Tell him we're proud of him for recognizing he needed help."

Belly → Everyone (11:25 AM): "We're getting good at this crisis management thing. Not that I want to get good at it, but we are."

Laurel → Everyone (11:30 AM): "You're all incredible. Jeremiah is lucky to have a family that responds this quickly and effectively to mental health emergencies."

Adam → Everyone (11:35 AM): "We're lucky to have each other. All of us. That's what got us through this."

As Jeremiah was admitted to the psychiatric unit for the second time, the family gathered in the waiting room, exhausted but relieved. They'd caught it early this time. They'd worked together. They'd gotten him help before it became a full crisis.

It wasn't the outcome any of them had wanted, but it was better than the alternative. And they knew, without having to say it, that they'd do it again if they had to.

Because that's what family means - showing up, paying attention, and never giving up on each other.