Scott looked behind him for what felt like the hundredth time since he left school in a huff over a half hour ago, sky dimming with the onset of sunset. The rain was starting, but the cold had been there all day, temperature dropping exponentially as the sun moved westward. The entirety of that afternoon's lacrosse practice had been endless running drills that had left Scott's legs and lungs aching, and he couldn't wait to get home and just relax on the couch.
But the overwhelming sense that something was following him shadowed the soreness, stretches of the Preserve that paralleled his walk only deepening his urge to shape shift. The sudden increase in the amount of rain falling caused Scott to pull his hood over his soaking hair, arms crossing as he began to shiver from the October chill. He watched his breath cloud in front of him as he dragged his feet across the wet pavement, eyes lifting only to catch the street signs.
But then there was a whoosh of wind beside him and what felt like a heavy hand on his shoulder, and though Scott wasn't afraid, he found himself running, attempting to shape shift in order to move quicker. Feeling the tips of his fingers against his palm, he realized it wasn't happening. In fact, he couldn't feel the fur on his face or the sharpness that typically appeared in his teeth either.
Still, he ran. For six blocks and straight up the front steps until he reached his house where he locked the door behind him, breath coming in short, high pitched pants and inhales. It wasn't until he slowed down, tried to take a few steps towards the stairwell, that he realized he couldn't breathe. He let his backpack fall to the floor as he leaned against the door, wet sweatshirt meeting it and slowing his slide down.
"Scott," he heard his mother yell from the kitchen. "I have to run, but there's pizza in the fridge for you." His inhaler met his lips and he took a puff, back still straight against the door as she asked, "Do you have plans for tonight?"
"Yes," he whispered, but it was too soft to travel the length of the house.
"Scott?" she asked, but he was still calming his breathing down and his wheezy yes had barely made it past the foyer. "Scott?" she asked again, voice turning slightly worried as he heard her sneakers padding quickly against the wood of the hallway. She's totally going to freak, Scott thought as his mother appeared and squatted beside him, eyes narrowing with worry when she realized what was going on. He took another puff and watched as she forced her rising hand, which he knew was going to feel his forehead, down. "You walked home in the rain?"
"Y-yeah," he wheezed, uncapped inhaler still in his hand as he worked to relax his lungs.
"Why didn't Stiles drive you home?"
"Had to…meet his dad." Scott stumbled over the words and coughed a few times, hand rubbing at his aching chest as he pictured Stiles backing out of his parking space an hour earlier, the way he didn't peel out in anger, but with a slow concentration. Why was I so selfish? I should have stopped myself. There was a sudden tugging in his chest, but it wasn't from the asthma.
"You want to start a treatment?"
"Later. Just need a hot shower," Scott said as he closed his eyes and sighed heavily, wondering if he'd taken it too far in the parking lot. The two had never fought like this before, and without their friendship in decent standing, Scott wasn't sure what to do.
"You sure you're feeling okay? That's some wheeze you've got going on." Instead of answering, Scott just let his head lean back against the door, eyes still shut. Concerned, Melissa pulled the inhaler from Scott's fingers and inspected the number on the counter.
"How many puffs have you been taking a day?" There was a harshness to her mother's voice with a small side of gentle. It made the tugging that had gone away just seconds before return. He knew he couldn't lie, not if the counter was going to work against him. But if he told her the truth, he knew she'd put the baby monitor back on his nightstand, which he was surprised she hadn't done already. "Scott," she warned.
"I don't know, I take it every six hours like I'm supposed to. And when I don't feel well."
"This inhaler is three days old, Scott. You've already gone through thirty-five puffs. There is such a thing as overdosing on-"
"I'm…I'm just trying to get back on my feet, Mom," Scott tried to reassure her, but he could sense it in her eyes, the way they didn't seem to work with the smile on her lips, that she didn't believe him.
"I don't want to leave you like this, but my shift starts in ten."
"I'm fine, Mom. Promise."
"I'm worried about you," she whispered.
"You're always worried about me."
"Keep your phone on?" Her voice was still low, but her eyes were avoiding his.
"Sure."
"And do a treatment. It sounds like you're getting bronchitis and you know how fast-"
"I know."
"Eat some pizza, get your homework done."
"Okay," Scott said, knowing his mother was stalling, some kind of motherly instinct taking over and pleading with her not to leave him.
"Did you say you had plans tonight?" Finally, she looked up.
"Allison's coming over to study,"
"Study, huh?" There was a laugh, but even Scott knew it was forced.
"I am failing English…"
"Right. I'll see you in the morning?" She helped Scott up and kissed him on his forehead before grabbing her purse from the hook on the wall and pulling on the locked door. Without so much as a questioning glance as to why it was locked she unlatched it and left, Scott waiting for the absence of his mother's tires on the wet road before heading for the stairwell, backpack in hand.
The books were scattered on the carpet of Scott's room before the door even shut, Allison's right hand gripping the neck of Scott's grey sweatshirt so that she could pull him to the bed. His knees bent, body crawling over Allison's until their lips finally met. Scott led a trail of kisses down her neck and onto her exposed shoulder, pink t-shirt crooked from their movement. He took in her lavender perfume, Allison whispering that tickles as she squirmed beneath him. But instead of smiling back, Scott's mouth hung open, wide and pulling in air as best he could while his focus shifted to the sudden heaviness in his chest. He scooted backwards until his hand felt for the end of the bed, where he froze to keep from falling off.
Allison sprung up and pushed her hair behind her ears in embarrassment, unsure of whether or not she should say something or let Scott speak first. She thought maybe he had been turned-off by something, but when she realized that he was moving his lips, a strangled sound coming from him with each breath, she came up beside him and lay her hand on his shoulder.
"Scott, what's going on? Are you okay?" He closed his eyes and shook his head as Allison got face to face with him, his hands searching the pockets of his jeans and coming up with nothing. She doesn't know me like this, he thought, and now she's going to.
"A-asthma," he managed, carefully sliding to the floor so that the bed was supporting him. "Get my…backpack," he wheezed as his lungs continued to spasm, arm reaching out to direct Allison.
"Should I call your mom?" Allison's voice shook, something Scott had never heard before. He knew her to be calm in extreme situations, and watching her fumble with the multiple zippers on his backpack, eyes looking from the bag to him, made his throat tighten. Just give the whole thing to me, he wanted to yell, but this attack had come on fast, and he could sense that it was going to be relentless for that very reason. His eyes caught the tangle of wiring and thin tubing from his nebulizer on the floor next to his nightstand and he imagined the relief he would feel if he could get a treatment started.
But Allison wouldn't know how to and Scott was sure he didn't have enough air to talk her through it. And his fingers were tingling, the mix of anxiety and lack of oxygen enough to make him wonder if he was going to pass out. It was the lavender, he remembered as he caught another wave of Allison's perfume, the cool plastic of the inhaler finally in his hands.
"Stiles," Scott whispered after taking a puff, knowing that it wouldn't be enough to stop the attack. He pushed his phone across the carpet and inhaled another puff, Allison's fingers meeting his for a brief second before separating.
