Five times Jeff Winger passed out at Greendale, and one time somebody noticed.

Or: An overdone trope used as a shameless excuse to brutalize Jeff in a fanfic.

W/N: I'm aware Jeff canonically gets knocked out by the original Anthology teacher but I'm not counting that because he was actively knocked out and this about him passing out. (Shut up it counts.)

He'd always insisted he wasn't sick. Jeff took care of himself; he was like a fine car, well cared for, keeping himself at the top of his game without any intros. But passing out had just… happened. There was always a reason, in his mind. They only started happening after his dad left. Sometimes with a gap as big as a year; sometimes several in six months. But they'd stopped after he'd become a lawyer. There was a big gap. Seven years - and he only passed out once, wakening in his office, smears of blood on his paperwork. Easily covered up. Nothing in any of the tests he'd taken over his lifetime had shown up a reason for him to pass out, and he'd just accepted it as part of his reality. It was lucky it had never happened while he'd been driving. It wouldn't stop him from becoming a lawyer - it hadn't - and now that he'd been disbarred, he hadn't even considered the fact that there might be a recurrence of his little… problem.

Of course, the drama was starting in his very first week. In his attempts to get in Britta's pants, he formed a study group, almost destroyed it, rescued it. Then basically got shot in the face by her. Hot blonde named after a water filter, and he failed to get in her pants. What a pain in the ass. This was going to be more work than he expected, but maybe it would be an interesting little sideline to stop him from dying of boredom while he tried to claw his way through this school for four years. Heading home to his expensive apartment, Jeff sighed as he climbed up the stairs. It was late - almost midnight - but the cramming session had been fairly successful and he felt like maybe he had a chance at passing the test. Things were looking up.

It was as he walked in the condo, eyes flickering around, that he felt the familiar foggy sensation in the back of his head. "Ah, fuck." he hissed, dumping his jacket on the back of his chair. Trying to get around to the front of it before he passed out; too slow. Jeff came to laying on his thick rug, eyes flickering open with a groan. Sitting up, he checked his nose first. Blood free. Good. With an aching arm and elbow (so he'd landed on it) Jeff sat up slowly, taking deep breaths. Ten minutes later and he moved around the condo, as if nothing had happened, just another event brushed under the carpet in the life of Jeff Winger. The next day he went to school, as if nothing had happened, thinking to himself about the previous night. If this was going to start happening again? He could hardly bear to imagine the embarrassment of passing out in a class, and he couldn't go picking a fight every time he got woozy. So he just kept a packet of tissues in his pocket and hoped that it wouldn't happen again for a good few years.

Unfortunately enough, he was wrong.