semifreakingnormal | ( 016 ) Ω ( VIDEO )

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( 016 ) Ω ( VIDEO )

[The video feed is shaky when it flicks on, and over the crackle of static, there is something that sounds like wheezing. It takes a moment for words to come through, and the shakycam kicks it up a notch as Scott stumbles over - he doesn't want to know. The glow illuminates his face, fuzzing in and out.

He's sweating, his hair no longer carefully gelled up falling over his forehead. The wheezing comes from him, in time with the horrible gasping his chest is doing, like he's trying to fill his lungs and just - can't. His chest is tight, distress crackles through him.]

I can't - I can't find--

[It's been so long since he had an asthma attack that he almost doesn't get what's happening. It feels like a panic attach, like he imagines they must feel. He's seen Stiles have them so often. He gasps and drops to his knees, holding tight to the communicator, though now the only decent view is of the dirt.]

Can't find - anyone--

[He feels like he's ten again, stuck in the Beaconburger with his parents, and they're arguing again, and all he wants to do is force air down his windpipe so his dad won't get angry. Every puff of the inhaler costs money. He just doesn't want them to fight anymore, he doesn't want his dad to yell at his mom because he has asthma. It's not her fault, it's his.

Yellow and gray dots are starting to dance across his eyes, but it's okay, it'll be okay. He's not a wimp. I'll breathe, he wants to say. I'll breathe, I'll breathe, I'll breathe. But he's not ten anymore, and his dad was wrong - it's not all in his head.]

Can't breathe--

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[It's not just that this is Scott - someone he's grown to consider a friend and someone he feels more or less responsible for, in that way that Bucky has of always trying to look out for the younger guys in his unit, even the replacements that everyone else had kind of tried to distance themselves from in preparation for the inevitable bloody end of some kid who was too green to know when to duck - that the sound and sight of this hits him so hard.

He's tired, he's sore, covered in dirt and not a little blood, and he still has no idea where the fuck Steve is, and the sound of someone struggling to breathe just slices through to his core, reminds him of the million times he's seen this happen before and the terror is still the same. It leaves him feeling both desperately helpless and desperate to do something.]

Scott, I know you're scared- [There's a low buzz of static, but at least there aren't any startling squawks for the time being. God, this would be so much easier if he was there, if Scott wasn't alone.] But you have to try and calm down. Don't panic, you're gonna get through this, just focus on me, alright? Can you try and sit up? It'll help, I promise.

[He's trying to listen, trying not to hyperventilate. He keeps feeling his dad's hand on his wrist, grinding his bones together, stopping him from reaching for the inhaler.]

I can - I can--

[He stops trying to talk, starts sitting up instead, pushing himself up onto his knees. But he can't stop the panic. He can't breathe (he wants them to stop fighting), he can't find anyone (just make them stop, it's not her fault it's his), he can't do anything (he'll breathe, he'll breathe).]

I'm - up--

Good, you're doing great, pal. [The relief is obvious, but it's not like he's out of the woods yet. Bucky takes a breath, tries to remember that this is happening here and now, this isn't just some hallucination of old fears that are getting dragged up thanks to the caves. He can't help if he starts getting distracted by what's real and what's not.

At least his voice is still passingly calm, even if there's still urgency there, and a lot of it.]

Is there a wall you can lean against? Don't try and talk unless you're starting to feel better, you need to keep focused on breathing, okay?

[Scott is swaying, though there's not much to tell by: the device isn't illuminating him very well, on the floor as it is. He feels like he's going to pitch forward any minute, and his head is still swimming. The spots won't go away.

Something else shows up, though. Something that doesn't wear a suit all the time yet, something that's more often seen with a bottle in his hand. And he looks angry.

The choking sounds, which has slowed with Bucky's help, start to get worse. He's still wheezing - which is good, in a way, air is still moving through his chest - but he's tipping forward again, scrabbling in the dirt for his communicator.]

What're you - it's - my fault, please--

[When he was a kid, Bucky had sometimes had a hard time keeping his own fear under control in the face of Steve's asthma attacks, because he'd never felt like he knew how to help or if he was doing the right thing or not, or if this was going to be the time when Steve would just keel over and never get back up again.

It got easier with age and experience, but there'd always been that worry, and now that old panic is really clawing back up in his throat when Scott's breathing takes another turn for the worse.

He wants to get up and go find him, but he knows the likelihood of finding him is basically nil, and all he'd accomplish is getting lost and not being able to find Helena and Morgana again, but it's still - hard. Especially when Scott starts talking.]

Scott? Scott, listen to me. Listen to me and keep breathing, alright? It's not your fault. Not at all. I'm real, whatever you're seeing [probably] isn't. Listen to me and stay sitting up, okay? It'll make it easier to breathe.

I can't - I can't--

[He's shaking his head, trying to clear the spots, but they won't go away. He's kicking up more dust, which is just making it worse, and he knows that - logically, he knows what to do, and how he should react, and so he pushes himself upright again, communicator in hand.]

Buc - Bu--[His voice - and the wheezing - get higher, and he turns the video out in front of him, shaky.]

Can - can y - see him?

No, I don't see anyone. [Not on the comm, anyway.

There's a flicker of anger that just gets worse when he starts hearing whispers of something that sounds German, and he shakes his head, trying to clear it. They're going to get out of this. Being pissed off at the Admiral and the cave and whatever else isn't going to get him any closer to Scott or help him get over the attack.] They're not here. Just keep listening to me. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth for me, nice and slow. You can do this.

Ok - okay.

[He slumps to the side, sitting as upright as he can against the wall. The device he turns vaaguely back on himself, but Scott's eyes aren't on Bucky. They're on some middle distance figure that he's trying to convince himself isn't there. Logically speaking, he knows, but every sense is telling him something else.]

He's - gonna be so mad - at me...[But he's breathing - if it can be called that - just like Bucky says. In, out, wheeze, wheeze.]

[Bucky's gripping his own comm tightly, because he has no idea how long the signal's going to last, and he doesn't think he can handle having it cut now. Not until Scott's breathing okay, or Stiles or someone appears out of nowhere like a friggin' guardian angel.]

Scott, look at me. No one's gonna be mad. Anyone gives you a hard time about this, and I'm gonna knock their lights out. [Just like he's done a million times before, and he'll do it again in a heartbeat.] Just keep breathing like that. You're doing great.

[Scott shakes his head and closes his eyes to block out the spots in his vision. He's not breathing enough. He just needs to breathe. His dad doesn't want him using the inhaler. Don't be a wimp, Scott.]

I'll breathe, [he chokes out, lifting his head and straightening his back.]

I'll--

[He stops, opens his eyes and blinks even as he labors.] Hear some--

[Times like these, you can't hesitate. Hesitation is the difference between getting out and getting blown to bits, and he has to get Scott out of here, has to get everyone in his squad out, because he's responsible for them and this is what he fucking signed up for, isn't it? what the hell had he been thinking-

Bucky swallows, ignores the hum of incoming fighters - they sound like Spitfires, but that's usually a mixed blessing, thanks assholes - and focuses back on the radio, on Scott, knowing that if he tells him to run, he could be killing him, but if he tells him to stay here and keep breathing, there's nothing there, he could be killing him, too.

Thank God Steve's away from all of this, the fucking idiot, because listening to Scott struggling to breathe is ripping into him, and he can't even begin to imagine what it'd be like if Steve was on the other end of this staticky, piece of shit radio, sitting in some muddy foxhole having an asthma attack-

In a cave. Scott's sitting in a cave, they're not in Italy. This place is messing with him.

He shakes his head, tries to suppress a shudder, and forces his voice to stay steady. It's that groove he'd been able to find that helped get people to focus on him, on orders, instead of panic, and he has to blink again to make sure he's still seeing the cave and not some half flooded hole in the ground in Anzio.]

Scott, I need you to turn the comm again so I can see what it is. [Maybe it's help. Maybe someone found him. Please.] If it's something that's gonna come after you, you're gonna need to find somewhere to hide.

[He can't say, I can't. He can't tell Bucky there's no way he could get anywhere safe. He can't say I'll stay and fight, because he knows he'd end up seeing double, and probably get a knife in his stomach for his trouble.

He doesn't know what to do, except listen. He follows orders, choking on air and turning his comm. He's shaky, struggling to steady it before resting it on his knee.

Scott can see him, hazy in the distance. A man in a tee shirt and jeans, a man who wears a scowl and stinks of alcohol, even though Scott can't smell him from here. He has a bottle in hand, but he's just standing there. Just watching, and glaring. Disapproving. Scott closes his eyes.

In reality, there's no one there. No natives. No rescue. Not until Lydia stumbles on him, at least.]

[Bucky lets out a short sigh of genuine, blinding relief - it's only short because he realizes he needs to focus and keep Scott focused, too, that just because there isn't anything there doesn't mean he's out of the woods, yet.]

There's no one there, pal, you're safe. [Safer than the alternative, anyway.] You're doing really good, you're just gonna have to hold on a little longer for me, alright? Think about how much air you are getting in.

[With a struggle, Scott turns the feed back on himself and nods instead of speaking. How much air he's getting - it's not enough, it won't last him, he can already see spots - but he doesn't point that out. For the next few seconds, he almost forgets Bucky is on the line, just breathing and staring down his father. Being stared down. He's going to lose his temper and start yelling any second now.

Scott starts to cringe when something else catches his attention, turns his head, and finally, he does choke out a word.]

Lyd--?

[He kills the feed as someone calls his name, drops down near him. Bucky might see a brief flash of red hair. He'll (probably) be okay.]

[He's spent the last couple of hours trying to put as much distance between himself and the others as possible. He can feel Void in his head, hear his voice all too familiar and all too close. He had to get away from them because he doesn't want to hurt anyone else. But his body is tired. He sits slumped against a wall, head buried in his hands.

But he hears his communicator click onto video feed. It's not a surprise. People have been on it almost constantly since this all started and Stiles has lost track of time. He's pretty sure they're all going to die down here. It isn't until he hears Scott's voice that he lifts his head.

Something in his mind registers the fact that his best friend's tone is scared, and he quickly grabs the communicator, eyebrows furrowing as he sees the way Scott is struggling. Like he's having an asthma attack.

And his next words confirm it. Fear shoots through him, and Void's voice goes silent as he focuses his attention on what's going on with Scott.]

Scottie. Hey, buddy, look at me. [He forces himself to sound as calm as possible because Scott is in trouble and that requires that Stiles be calm.]

St--[His breath comes as a wheeze, and he lifts his head, looking around before he drops his eyes down to the communicator again.]

I se-see you. Are - okay? [He's struggling to force the words out, to make his throat work, and why is this happening, it hasn't happened in so long...]

I'm fine. [He sounds fine even if he doesn't feel fine. He just hopes that the video feed is too dark for Scott to pick up on the discord.]

Good to see -- face. [Even as he speaks, he rises to his feet and grabs his pack, hauling it up onto his shoulder. He needs to get Scott calm, and more importantly he needs to find him. Immediately. He has no idea how he's going to do that, rationally, considering they've all been on the move for days now, and they haven't found each other yet. But he moves anyway, now, because he has to find him.]

[He can't focus on the communicator, so it's just as well: he can't see the disparity between Stiles' words and his appearance.]

You - too--

[He can't ad more than that, leaning against the wall instead and closing his eyes.]

[Lydia hasn't spoken with either of them in days. She's terrified and she's alone and the last person from the Barge she ran into was a cannibal. She's been running for-- she doesn't even know how long.

All she knows is that she sees a light of someone's comm and she heads straight toward them. Even if they are an inmate, she just needs to know Scott and Stiles are okay.

And then she hears someone gasping for breath. Followed by a familiar voice.

She barely has any energy left. She's tripped so many times since the batteries on her flashlight died, but she forces herself to half run, half stumble toward him.]

Scott!? Scott is that you?

[Someone's coming, and he's scared at first, scrabbling in the dirt (kicking up more dust, choking him faster) to back away. He hits the wall and has to stop, wheezes coming short and choked. He can't, he can't breathe, it's his fault, he just has to force himself to breathe right, he's being so stupid, he's going to die because he's such a wimp--

He recognizes her voice, somehow, recognizes that it's someone he knows. He's not sure if she's real - there's so much that isn't, and he blinks hard in the dim light.]

Ly - Lyd--

[He can't get past the first syllable, air whistling in and out of his throat.]

[He's been running for a few minutes now. He is tired, sweat pouring down the back of his neck from the exertion of the last few days. But he keeps moving. He has no idea when this is going to come to an end. He just prays it's soon because apparently Scott is having an asthma attack and he doesn't know where he is or how to find him anymore than he's known where he is or how to find him in the last several days.

It's by some miracle that he hears Lydia's voice, calling Scott's name in the distance. He freezes in his tracks, eyes widening. His eyes dart around in the darkness, shining his flashlight. He can't see either of them.]

Lydia? Lydia! Scott!

It's me. Scott. Shh, it's okay.

[She stops right in front of him and places a hand on his shoulder. She has no idea what is happening to him but it looks bad. He looks bad. Like he's having some kind of panic attack.

And then she hears Stiles and she pauses, looking over her shoulder in the direction she sees his flashlight.]

Stiles? Stiles, over here! [Maybe all the yelling isn't a smart idea, but they are both there and that's all she cares about for the time being.]

[The yelling is bad. And he knows it's bad because it could bring someone else running, someone they don't want, but it's hitting him in a different way, too. He'd be mumbling if he had the air for it, muttering that he shouldn't yell at her, it's not her fault. But he can't. And he can't force his lungs to fill.

He reaches up when she touches him, takes her hand and holds on tight. He's scared. He's scared, and he's trying so hard not to be. It's not working.]

I'm - I'll be--

[He squeezes his eyes shut, and he can see his mom with the inhaler, just out of reach.] I'll breathe - I'll--

[Stiles knows the yelling is bad, too, but right now he's a lot more worried about the fact that his best friend is struggling to breathe than the fact that it might draw unwanted attention. He's seen Scott have asthma attacks before, but not in ages. Not since he was bitten. It was one of the few things that Stiles knew Scott was glad about when it came to being a werewolf.

And he doubted Scott had an inhaler with him. Why would he, really?

He runs. As fast as he can toward the sound of where he's heard their voices and seconds later, he's kneeling down on the other side of Scott, glancing Lydia over and trying to see if she's injured. She looks okay, and he focuses his attention on Scott.]

Hey, man. You're okay, Scott.

[Lydia holds on to Scott's hand just as tightly when he takes it, and as Stiles approaches them, she reaches behind Scott's back and rubs it soothingly. He can't breath, he needs to stand up right so he can feel his lungs filling up.

Because hopefully it's all in his head.]

There's nothing wrong, Scott. Just focus on Stiles.

We're all okay, we're all together now.

[She looks over at Stiles, her eyes wide and she hopes he knows what to do to help Scott. She knows he will. He's Stiles. He always knows.]

[He reaches out, finds Stiles' arm, hand, shoulder, he's not sure, he's just grasping in the dark. His thoughts are wandering, at once panicked by the attack and drifting far from it. They're supposed to make him stronger but they aren't wolves; they're his pack, but how does any of it even work? They're just friends, they're just a bunch of teenagers.

He's a wimp who can't breathe. He's not a werewolf. He's nothing.

His hands tighten on both of them, and he tries to blink the gray and yellow spots from his vision. It doesn't work.]

Asthma--

[It's too hard to choke out more than that.]

[It's Stiles' arm he finds and Stiles reaches up and clasps Scott's hand with his own. Think, he orders himself. He's seen this happen before, so many times over the year that at some point he'd started carrying around an inhaler himself just in case Scott lost his. He wishes like hell he'd thought to ask the Admiral for one to stuff in his bag, but it hadn't occurred to him.

They need to get Scott calm because the panic and fear will only make the asthma attack worse.]

It's okay. It's okay, Scottie. [The nickname slips from him like they're eight years old again and Stiles has just lost his mom. He needs something, something that will calm and anchor his best friend. A memory.]

Remember when we were -- I think we were maybe six? Before my mom started getting sick. And your mom and my mom decided that while we were watching movies, they'd do some baking? Cause it was almost Christmas time. And they made that chocolate cake and it was cooling on the counter while they went outside to do something else? Remember how we decided to be helpful and icing it for them?

[He leans in closer, laying his other hand on Scott's shoulder.]

So we dragged a kitchen chair over to the counter so we could find the icing containers and we couldn't decide which one to use so we opened three different kinds so we could taste test first to see which one would work best with chocolate. And by the time they got back inside we were both covered in frosting and half sick?

[When Scott and Stiles reach for each other, Lydia steps back to give them more room and to give Scott some air. Her eyes are wide because for a full moment, she doesn't even realize Scott has Asthma. And then she remembers.

She remembers awkward Stiles and Scott in the playground when they were kids, she remembers watching Scott being unable to breathe in horror. And she remembers Stiles running back to his side with his long limbs and an inhaler in his hand, to save his best friend's life.

And now she's watching him do it again, as she's sure he's done countless times over the years as she uselessly steps back and keeps rubbing Scott's back gently, trying to soothe him.

She watches them and feels exactly like she did when they were kids. A mix of being terrified for the boy who can't breathe and jealous that he has a best friend, a brother who is there to help him. She's never had a best friend like that. Not until Allison.

But she knows she has to snap out of it. This isn't about her, or Allison.

It's about Scott and them being a pack and her reminding herself that she belongs with them now. She wants to ask Stiles what she can do to help, but he's telling Scott his story and she suddenly remembers reading that there isn't much they can do without an inhaler. Just keep him calm so he starts breathing normally again.

And that's what Stiles is going for. So she just watches him with wide eyes and nods, trying her best to be supportive because she knows she can't do much else.]

[Scott holds tight - to both of them, even when Lydia moves away. His eyes close again, and he nods when Stiles starts talking, remembers past the spots in his eyes and the tightness in his throat. Stiles is calm, and it's a good story, even if they were sugary-sick by the end. His mom had yelled in that way she has that's yelling but not really angry. She was always like that, and he misses her now more than ever. She probably still carries an inhaler for him. Just in case.

He nods, wheezing air into his lungs and back out. He remembers the colors getting everywhere. He remembers the little mountains of icing on the counter, on their hands, on their faces.

He remembers his dad being mad about the waste, and his parents arguing about it that night.

Scott tries to shake that memory free, and shifts against the wall, like there's a better position to find. He doesn't help, he doesn't magically start breathing again; his hands just flex around theirs.]

Got some - in your hair.

[He's going to choke, and he's never been this scared before, because even during those times when it was really bad and he'd forgotten, Stiles or his mom had never been far.

Now this isn't supposed to happen anymore, and there is no relief sprinting towards him on gangly legs.]

[Stiles misses Melissa McCall, too. She's always been like a second mother to him. She's probably bandaged as many of his cuts and bruises over the years as she has Scott's, has soothed his nightmares and rocked him back to sleep on more than one occasion. Even though she's always been kind of scary when she yells -- truthfully Stiles has always been more afraid of her disapproval than anything -- Stiles wishes she was there right now because she would definitely know what to do to help Scott now.

He's trying as hard as he can, he watches as Scott manages to get a breath in and let it back out, wheezing in a way that will never cease to be terrifying. But it's still a breath. And a breath means life.

He squeezes his best friend's hand, a short laugh escaping him at his words.]

In my hair, all over your face. Remember that look on my mom's face?

[Claudia hadn't been angry. She'd been amused. Tried not to laugh, actually. It seemed like no matter what kind of trouble Stiles got himself or both of them into, Claudia had just found them amusing unless one of them was seriously injured. He's barely even aware of the fact that he's talking about his mom, barely aware of the reasons why he's chosen this particular memory that is so vivid, like it was yesterday.]

Edited 2014-07-05 21:35 (UTC)

[When Scott's fingers flex around her hand, Lydia squeezes it. She remains quiet but she wants him to know she's there. There's no need for her to say anything or take his focus away from Stiles, who seems to be somewhat successful at getting Scott's attention and keeping it on him.

And then when Scott settles against the wall, she turns her attention back on Stiles.

Of course, she doesn't expect him to so openly mention his mom. Again. Stiles never really talks about her. Of course Lydia knows what happened, after the Nogitsune made them believe he was sick like she had been, she became a specialist on frontotemporal dementia. Luckily, that was all a lie. A trick.

She just hopes this trick Stiles is trying to pull is enough to bring Scott back.]

Edited 2014-07-06 00:07 (UTC)

[He can't remember the last time Stiles talked about his mom. The thought makes him want to cry, and he's not sure if the sting in his eyes is from that or panic. He never knew how to comfort Stiles, other than being there, always being there, whenever Stiles wanted or needed him. He's not sure what to do now. He's not sure if Stiles needs him to say something. He can only sort of grasp that Stiles is doing this for him, pulling up old, probably buried memories to make him calm down.

They had good memories, back then. Fewer deaths, fewer losses. No lives hanging in the balance, waiting on teenagers to make decisions. No one dying because they chose wrong.

His hands close on both of theirs, and his eyes open wide in the dark, wandering before settling on something just outside their little circle, something flaring and angry and ready to yell.]

He's gonna be--

[Scott wheezes, shaking his head without really looking away from his father.]

Gonna be so - mad at me...

[It's practically a whisper, and he swallows hard, or tries, his throat working as his wheezes pitch higher.]

Lost me - inhaler - again--

[In the deepest, darkest parts of his mind, he wishes that all that had been wrong back home was that he was sick like his mom. As terrible as it is, as scared as he'd been, at least no one else would have gotten hurt from it. Not like they'd gotten hurt because of Void.

He's pretty sure that he wouldn't have gotten through losing his mom in the first place if it hadn't been for Scott and Melissa. He'd spent so much time with them after she'd died and his dad was depressed all the time and drinking. He'd practically lived in their house for awhile. Scott might not have known what to say, but his constant presence, his unwavering silent support had been invaluable. It still is.

He glances over his shoulder when Scott fixes his gaze somewhere behind him, but he sees nothing but darkness. It only takes him a second to realize what's happening. Scott's hallucinating. And he knows exactly who he's hallucinating about. It hits him like a punch to the gut, and all the air rushes out of his own lungs because he suddenly feels like they're nine again, and Scott's upset because his dad's been yelling and god he hates Rafael McCall all over again.]

Hey, no. It's okay, Scott. We'll just tell him that I misplaced it, okay? He can be mad at me instead. It'll be fine. [He tries to smile reassuringly when it reality now he wants to cry.]

[It's a lie they came up with so long ago that Scott feels himself nodding along. His chest is so tight it hurts, his throat won't open right. He just wants to breathe, just one full breath to fill his lungs. Just one to show his dad he's not a wimp.]

You'll get--

[The breath is rattling in and out of his mouth, and he closes his eyes to block his father out, cringing. Maybe he is nine again, maybe everything since then has just been one long dream while he fights to breathe.]

--in - trouble again--

[As much as he hates taking the blame, he doesn't like passing it to someone who doesn't deserve it, either. Especially if it's Stiles. He knows how much Stiles dislikes his dad, and he doesn't want to be the reason for them to hate each other.

None of it would be like this if he could just breathe.]

[Stiles shoots Lydia a look somewhere between terror and panic before he looks back at Scott.]

It's okay, buddy. It's not a big deal. I probably did misplace it. Wouldn't be the first time, right?

[He is on the verge of tears and he struggles not to let them fall because he has to stay calm. He has to. Scott needs him to stay calm the way he'd needed Scott to stay calm back home when he'd had a panic attack. He wills breath into his friend's lungs, wills him to hold on. Prays to a god he's not sure he's ever really believed in that Scott can.]

[The sounds over the comm are strangely familiar - and yet strangely not. Steve is usually on the other end of those noises - as in, the one making them, not the one hearing them. It takes a minute to register what's going on. Then he stops dead, his own chest tightening in sympathy.

What was it, Bucky used to tell him?]

Scott. You're going to be okay. [The trick is to sound calm. Confident. Hearing someone else panic isn't going to solve a thing.] Just - slow. Breathe slow. One breath at a time. Are you sitting up?

[One breath at a time. It makes sense. It pricks at something out of memory, his mom and the doctors at the hospital telling him what to do. He hadn't pointed out then that his dad said it was all in his head. That it was just him being a wimp. He's being a wimp now, choking on, what, on some dust?]

I - yeah - getting up--[He's inching toward the wall, really, grabbing the communicator to pull with him so he can just settle on his knees and lean. He's still choking, and he hasn't had an inhaler in almost two years, and he doesn't know what to do anymore. This isn't supposed to happen anymore.]

[You're not a wimp. It's not your fault, even though he knows what it's like to feel like it is.]

Good. [Lying down makes it worse, he remembers that much.] It'll get better. But you've gotta take it slow. I know it's dusty down here. Just take your time. You're going to be okay. Trust me. You've got this.

Can't - can't argue with-- [He can't laugh, tries and just makes the wheezing worse.]

Captain Am--[It's all he can manage, and he has to stop, closing his eyes and leaning against a wall like he's trying to do a push up. Except he doesn't think he could push much of anything right now.]

[Oh, buddy. That gets a weak smile, though Scott's probably not looking.] Exactly. So don't okay? [As in,] You don't have to talk. Breathe first. Talk later. I just want you to breathe. I know you want the same thing.

[He used to try to argue with Bucky all the time. It never worked. It just made things worse.]

[He'd like to shoot out a 'sir yes sir!' but he can't. Instead, he just nods, and lets his head fall back against the wall. He just has to beat this. He just has to do what his dad wanted him to, when he was little and inhalers were expensive. He just has to make himself breathe.

He tries not to think that he never could.

Instead, he fumbles with the device, to send the briefest text.]

ty

[It's okay. And hey, Steve knows enough texting by now to know what that means!] Don't mention it. [But he's not out of the woods yet. He's still having a hard time, and these things can last forever - or feel like they are, when you've got no other way to stop it.]

You're doing fine. Just think about breathing - and now about how much you can't, okay? Think about all the air you are getting. [Mind over matter? Maybe.] Nice and slow. Slow is better.

[Scott doesn't respond, but he's still there, breathing labored but present. There's some fumbling over the static, in between, as he brushes his fingers over the keyboard, trying to find the right letters. At least typos are minimal, thanks to...mostly texting under his desk in class.]

sir yes sir

[Nothing is stopping him from getting that out one way or another.]

[Still there is what matters - still there, and still breathing.

Also, Steve is pretty impressed with your typing, because he sure as hell never tried to type while having so much trouble breathing ~~timeframe notwithstanding~~.

And he's just going to smile and shake his head.]

Smartass. You're doing fine. Just keep it up, and you'll be out of the woods in no time. [Even though he wishes, badly, that he could be there or do something other than just talk to him.]

[Scott smiles briefly, a push of his lips as he wheezes, one he can't and doesn't bother to keep up. He needs an inhaler, he knows that. He needs away from all the dust and dirt. And that's not going to happen any time soon - unless he's really lucky and the Admiral calls them all back in the next five minutes.

He's not banking on it.

He squints at the keyboard, then looks away, where he thinks he hears someone coming. His hands fumble over the keys again.]

g2g thx

[He'll worry about Steve understanding him later; for not, Scott kills the feed. He thinks he hears Lydia.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( 016 ) Ω ( VIDEO )

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Spam! Open to Stiles.

Spam! Open to Stiles.

Spam! Open to Stiles (Stiles feels so loved you guys)

PACK SPAM! ♥

PACK SPAM! ♥

PACK SPAM! ♥

PACK SPAM! ♥

PACK SPAM! ♥

PACK SPAM! ♥

PACK SPAM! ♥

PACK SPAM! ♥

PACK SPAM! ♥

PACK SPAM! ♥

PACK SPAM! ♥

PACK SPAM! ♥

PACK SPAM! ♥

PACK SPAM! ♥

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