Scott McCall (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
semifreakingnormal) wrote2014-06-26 10:03 pm
semifreakingnormal) wrote2014-06-26 10:03 pm
( 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--
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--
PACK SPAM! ♥
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--
PACK SPAM! ♥
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.]
PACK SPAM! ♥
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.]
PACK SPAM! ♥
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.]