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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[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.]

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