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--
no subject
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.]