( 016 ) Ω ( VIDEO )

[semifreakingnormal]

[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--

Comments

[semifreakingnormal]

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.]

[punched_hitler]

[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.]

[semifreakingnormal]

[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

[punched_hitler]

[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.

[semifreakingnormal]

[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.]

[punched_hitler]

[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.]

[semifreakingnormal]

[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.]