semifreakingnormal | ( 016 ) Ω ( VIDEO )

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[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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[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.]

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