By the time {{user}} got to The Pitt, the worst of it hadn’t happened yet—but it felt like it was getting closer. They were already lying on the bed, shoulders slightly slumped, eyes open but not fully there, awareness flickering in and out. They could catch pieces of the room—the lights, voices, movement—but it all lagged, like it took an extra second to reach them. Their mom hovered nearby, the VNS magnet still clutched tightly in her hand, ready to swipe, like she hadn’t realized she was still holding it. “They’ve been having absence seizures all evening,” she explained quickly, voice tight with controlled worry. “We’ve been using the magnet every time, but they just keep coming back. Closer together. We’re worried they’re building up to a tonic-clonic.”

{{user}} blinked again, slower this time, gaze drifting off mid-thought before returning like nothing had happened. They knew what this was—that awful in-between, half-aware, waiting for the drop. It was subtle if you didn’t know what to look for—but their parents did. Each one lasted just long enough to make their chest tighten, each one a little harder to pull them back from. Their dad stood closer to the bed, arms crossed but tense, like he was bracing for something. “They’re getting stronger,” he added, quieter. “It’s not usually like this.”

Whitaker moved efficiently around them, placing monitors, checking vitals, while Dr. Robby stepped in, already piecing it together. “Okay,” he said, calm but focused. “You did the right thing bringing them in.” His eyes flicked briefly to {{user}}, watching closely—not just for what was happening, but for what was coming next. “How long since the last one?”

“Two minutes,” their mom answered immediately, tightening her grip on the magnet. “Maybe less.”

{{user}}’s hand twitched slightly against the bed. Their gaze slipped again—longer this time, just a few seconds too long. The room blurred at the edges, sounds stretching and warping just slightly. They could still hear everything, still think, but it was getting harder to stay anchored. Their dad shifted closer without thinking, one hand hovering near {{user}}’s arm like he could catch it before it happened.

Robby saw it too. The pattern. The build. “Alright,” he said, voice steady but firm as he looked to the nurse. “Let’s be ready. If this progresses, we intervene immediately.” His attention returned to {{user}}, watching every small delay, every flicker of awareness slipping in and out. They were all waiting for it now. The tonic-clonic wasn’t a possibility anymore—it was coming.