[After getting breath back in his lungs, and getting back to the Barge, Scott only had the energy to make sure everyone was okay - and if they weren't, to make sure they were back. Tired or not, he would have jumped over the freaking rail if anyone had been left behind. They weren't - everyone got back okay, and that was enough. He'd passed out without even bothering to shower, practically falling over his bed when he finally got in. It didn't matter that he was still dirty and sweaty - he's going to have to wash everything.
It doesn't really matter now, either, as he rolls over and just spreads the grossness around his blanket. He's just awake enough to realize that he never kicked off his shoes. He's just awake enough to hear her.
And that's not so unusual: he dreams about her, sometimes. The worst ones are when she's falling, and he's stuck and can't dive after her. The best ones are when none of this ever happened, when they're just talking or laughing.
He's not sure which one this is. It doesn't feel the same, and the fact that he's thinking about dreams makes him think that maybe he's not actually dreaming. He doesn't have lucid dreams. Which means....which means, what?
Scott pushes himself up, taking a deep breath just to remind himself that he can, that he's not going to have another asthma attack. He's himself again. It takes a moment for him to rub his eyes and fumble for the communicator, and when he does, all he can do is stare. No. No, he's dreaming. Right? He has to be dreaming. He closes his eyes tight and shakes his head, but he doesn't know how to wake himself up. He's not sure it's real. There was so much over the last few days that just weren't, but this--
He swallows hard and stands, tossing the device down on his bed - now covered in dirt - and heads for the door. There's one way to know.
When he catches her scent, he staggers. He stops and counts his fingers, because he remembers Stiles saying that was a good way to tell a dream from reality. It's real. She's here. He doesn't care how he looks, he doesn't notice that his eyes are damp, he just follows her scent like a beacon, running down the stairs to the floor below and skidding to a halt.
For a moment he hesitates - he knows this door, and it feels less like a dream, but if it's not - if it's real--
He doesn't let himself finish that thought, banging open handed on the door instead.]
Spam }
It doesn't really matter now, either, as he rolls over and just spreads the grossness around his blanket. He's just awake enough to realize that he never kicked off his shoes. He's just awake enough to hear her.
And that's not so unusual: he dreams about her, sometimes. The worst ones are when she's falling, and he's stuck and can't dive after her. The best ones are when none of this ever happened, when they're just talking or laughing.
He's not sure which one this is. It doesn't feel the same, and the fact that he's thinking about dreams makes him think that maybe he's not actually dreaming. He doesn't have lucid dreams. Which means....which means, what?
Scott pushes himself up, taking a deep breath just to remind himself that he can, that he's not going to have another asthma attack. He's himself again. It takes a moment for him to rub his eyes and fumble for the communicator, and when he does, all he can do is stare. No. No, he's dreaming. Right? He has to be dreaming. He closes his eyes tight and shakes his head, but he doesn't know how to wake himself up. He's not sure it's real. There was so much over the last few days that just weren't, but this--
He swallows hard and stands, tossing the device down on his bed - now covered in dirt - and heads for the door. There's one way to know.
When he catches her scent, he staggers. He stops and counts his fingers, because he remembers Stiles saying that was a good way to tell a dream from reality. It's real. She's here. He doesn't care how he looks, he doesn't notice that his eyes are damp, he just follows her scent like a beacon, running down the stairs to the floor below and skidding to a halt.
For a moment he hesitates - he knows this door, and it feels less like a dream, but if it's not - if it's real--
He doesn't let himself finish that thought, banging open handed on the door instead.]