1
ASTHM

A/N: So uh, sup. Long time no write? I know most of you are Hetalia readers, and I appreciate that so much! I promise y'all, I'll keep at least three of my stories going. For now, though, I sincerely warn you that I will be uploading a lot of Homestuck. But I am pretty sure that's okay because I've noticed a lot of Hetalians are also Homestuckians?

Anyway, brief summary of what the hell this piece of shit is: basically, OVCMPNSTN was born when I decided I wanted to write a series of oneshots about the various different reasons Dave (or Dirk) would have to act cool as overcompensation (OVRCMPNSTN) for. Generally, the titles will in fact be written without vowels :/ But it's usually stated what the balls is going down somewhere in the beginning in the chapter. And while most of these I don't have myself, I know someone who can help me with the finer details of, say, diabetes or Scoliosis (here's a spoiler: only one of those will actually show up.)

Asthma, however, is a bitch I have personal experience with. Anyway, enjoy! And be sure to click subscribe if you like the idea of Striders being just as normal as everyone else.

[+]

Dave Strider was a cool kid. Sometimes, his best friend-who-happened-to-be-a-chick (because best bro was reserved for John Egbert), Teresa Pyrone would call him that rather than his name. Usually, though, it was just a fact of life.

Sometimes, when Dave was home alone, as was common, and he let his facade fall for a while, he'd find it hilarious how he had come to be seen as one by the student body at his high school. He did the things cool kids did. Missed loads of school but passed, dangling by a C. Skipped gym. Was most teachers' favorite and rarely got in trouble when he refused to participate in activities. He was so high up the popularity heirarchy, that his God Tier could be King of Cool.

Except that would be stupid because god tier isn't a thing that normal people have, and Dave was normal.

Or at least, those who knew, tried to convince him as much.

[+]

Teresa and Dave were the only two present that day for gym. Often, kids who didn't have to participate were free to go to the library and get on the computers. Teresa and him were the only ones who had decided to skip out on a chance to peruse the interwebs.

Dave was leaning back in the upper seats of the gym's stands, where fans usually sat during the school's basketball games. His hands were behind his head, his feet kicked up on the seat below him. His eyes were closed behind his shades, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath. Only Teresa, with her hyper-active senses due to lack of eyesight, and her close proximity, was able to detect the subtle wheeze underneath his breething.

Teresa Pyrone, with her retro red-tinted shades, messy brown hair, and legal blind status, would normally have been an easy target for vebal bullying. However, she was a surgeon when it came to smacking people with her cane, and was generally labeled as "batshit insane."

The friendship was born from a simple compliment of her shades one gym period in the library. She paused in her chalk drawing, took a deep breath in and out of her nose, and, without turning to face him, said "Red's the most delicious color. Anything so deliciously candy-apple is automatically something I like, hehehe." Her tone implied so much that Dave, with his candy-apple eyes, decided he'd continue the conversation.

She was sitting behind his seat, on the floor above his row. Her legs were crossed and she was leaning against Dave, back to back, and had previously been mouthing gleefully as she toyed with her scalemate keychains. However, at this moment, she was frowning.

"It's pretty hot today, don't you think, Cool Kid?"

He knew what she was implying. He didn't show it. " 'Course it is, TZ, where do you think we are, fucking Canada?" Dave snorted, folding his hands across his stomach.

She rolled her eyes, her voice even more sharp next she spoke. "Is your asthma acting up? I know it gets pretty bad around this temperature."

He mentally winced. "I'm fine, Teresa, fuck."

"Objection."

"The judge overrules you objection, Miss Redglare."

"Dave I will tattle, I will call Dirk right now and tell him you are dying and you KNOW he will drag you home by your banana creamsicle hair." It was a little more than embarassing that Bro always handed out his number to Dave's friends. If they didn't know about Dave's asthma, Dirk would simply say it was for 'just in case.' He couldn't really hold a grudge against Bro for it, though, since after John broke his wrist and Jade had panicked without knowing what to do, John's dad made sure Rose, Dave, and Jade had his number memorized.

Dave groaned, tiling his head back, blonde resting on brunnette. "TZ, shit, it's just a little pressure. Bronchial tubes tightening and all that shit. I doubt a little extra sun will murder me."

She grins in thought, swinging her keychain around her finger. "I wonder how that would hold up in court, hehehe."

"I believe you have a few questions for the accused, Legislator Redglare?" Dave was game for a little verbal roleplaying. It, naturally, meant he could divert the conversation away from this unsavory topic.

"Mister Sun, although deliciously lemon flavored, I believe you to have murdered dear Dave Strider. As many may know, lemon does not taste well with strawberry and banana. Where were you at eight-twenty AM two weeks ago?"

"Hey, wait wait wait, why the fuck am I some feminine smoothie?" Dave frowned, sitting back up and opening his eyes. Teresa cackled behind him, turning to sit on her knees and sling her arms around Dave's shoulders.

"You make me want to go to Braum's every time I smell you, David. You are the most delicious of strawberry banana smoothies." Teresa leaned down and dragged her tongue across his cheek.

"Fuck, TZ, don't start this."

She flicked her tongue across his freckled nose. "With caramel sprinkles."

"TZ, I swear to gog—"

She grinned and stuck her tongue out, practically crawling on top of Dave in an attempt to get at his shades, which he defended with his life. The two were practically sprawled over the seats by the time John Egbert returned from the library. "…most delectable of black licorice, Dave, you have to let me have just one taste!" Teresa was half-whining, half-cackling.

"Teresa, no, no one touches the shades, not even the best of girl friends."

John grinned. By now, he knew that the emphasis on friend meant Dave was far too occupied to think of a better way to word himself.

"Oh wow, Dave, you finally admitted that you and Teresa are a thing?" John asked, walking up to them, blue-casted wrist stuffed inside his hoodie pocket. Teresa snickered and used Dave's shock to her advantage, tonguing Dave's glasses.

Dave groaned, giving up, simply laying there awkwardly across two seats. "Forget it, the sun can go ahead and murder me." John was confused, but he chalked the sentence up to The Big Secret that Teresa Knows but Not John. The two of them tended to refer to it alot.

Teresa looked affronted and slapped Dave's shoulder. "I will call Dirk. He is my speed dial three."

Dave frowned. "It's still gross how you and him are friends."

Teresa rolled her eyes and John laughed as the bell rang for next period. "But Dave, Bro and me are friends, too!"

"You both watch enjoy watching lame movies, that's different."

Teresa had pulled out her phone, holding it out to Dave. "Don't make me push call. So help me, I will, Cool Kid."

Dave snorted as he stood up to finally leave the gym. "Fine, TZ. I take back saying I wish a ball of gas, in a galaxy far, far away, would murder me."

"Dave, the sun isn't the same as Star Wars."

"Egbert, I swear—"

[+]

As the day progressed, however, the temperature only rose. Dave started walking slower in the halls between passing periods, lest any remote level of exercise aggravated his asthma even worse.

One or two teachers called him up to speak out in the hall about his tardy, while the class was preoccupied. However, Dave simply had to say the magic words "trouble breathing because of the stupid heat," and they gave him that understanding look that always felt like pity. His niece, Rose Lalonde, gave him that same look during lunch when he said to their little group of friends that he'd prefer to stay inside than the courtyard.

Rose was one of the few people who knew he had asthma despite him not wanting them to. Teachers? If they knew, he got out of having to sit under heaters and was allowed an infinite amount of trips to the water fountain out in the hall. Teresa? Well, she generally stroked his ego more when he was having mild difficulties, and knowing she could call Bro if Dave had an asthma attack generally eased his mind. Bro and their sister (although she was older than Almost Thirty Dirk), Roxy? They knew how to administer his inhaler or, if need be, a breathing treatment, and had the equipment for such an occaision on hand.

But Rose?

She came with the knowledge and none of the progeleges, plus an extra pinch of pity. Her and Bro had been the only ones in the surviving Lalonde-Strider family who had escaped the asthma genetics. Most likely through her mother, she had found out the true reason Dave despised the summer, besides simple temperature discomfort.

"Would you like me to call Mother?" She questioned while she stood with him by the vending machines. Her, Jade, and John all had daily packed lunches, while Dave received a twenty to last him the week.

He focused on the buttons of the soda machine as if he was a seven-year-old Mexican girl, not sure if snow shoes or a snorkel would benefit her and her monkey companion to navigate a magic castle better. Finally, he practically punched the topmost button, and a Diet Sprite tumbled down to the tray. While it tasted like shit, it was the lesser of the many evils that the public school system served under the guise of "healthy and delicious carbonated drinks." Rose sighed and crossed her arms as he proceeded to continue ignoring her, repeating the heavy debate of what to get from the packaged goods machine.

Dave looked up, a sarcastic look of shock on his face. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you had asked me a bullshit question. Clearly I was mistaken."

Rose sighed again, the look of pity now buried under distaste and muted concern. "You do realize that our friends connect through the rumor mill, yes?"

He faltered as he moved to punch in D6, his finger hovering over the numberpad. However, he punched in the digit with determinsion after a moment of thought. "Teresa wouldn't blab to people about me. She kept Vasquez's albinism under wraps until he spilled the beans himself."

"I hope you recall that Carson Vasquez had been her boyfriend at the time."

"Are you implying my best friend in the dame department will sell my soul to the highest bidder simply because we don't have sloppy make-outs under the bleachers during football games? Because, ask John, she was damn close today."

Rose sighed and held up her hands in surrender. "Strider, I will let this topic drop simply because we have wandered away from more important matters. Teresa told Veronica Spinneret, who told Terrence Nilsam, who told Gamzee Makara, who told Carson Vasquez, who told Anaya Mirian, who informed me that you 'tasted like stale air and rotten fruit all morning because of the heat.'"

Dave raised an eyebrow without looking at her, preoccupied with deciding whether a rice crispie treat and bottle full of liquid nausea would sate him until he could order take-out that night. "Any time Carson or Veronica get pissy, she says the same color-coded shit. Which, by the way, is fucking always." They began heading back towards their table, where John was pretending to have not been curiously eyeing the Stri-Lal family, and was attempting to immerse himself in the amiable story Jade was chattering on about.

Dave rolled his eyes. John was obvious.

"Well. My offer still stands, and you know you can call hers yourelf any time you may need her."

Dave snorted, but said nothing until they sat back at the table. "Ever need the drunken broad? No thanks, yo."

[+]

Dave's class period after lunch was hellish. As soon as he stepped inside, his facade broke for a moment and he felt the oncoming dread that generally accompanied more-than-mild chest pressure. It only got worst as the minutes dragged on, breathing becoming more and more difficult.

Heat-induced asthma was a horrible thing to bless upon a baby born in Houston, Texas. At first a simple shortness of breath, Dave could feel his control on the situation quickly spiraling out of his grasp. He was close to hyperventilating, which was something he knew would only make things worse. He had to keep his cool. The whole reason Bro had taught him to keep his cool was this right here. Fear led to panic led to hyperentilating led to no air intake led to asthma attack. And his fast-acting inhaler was on his dresser at home.

Fuck Bro for making Dave attempt to get to school on time. Fuck him up the goddamm ass with a spiked metal-smuppet's nose.

It was becoming blatantly obvious that he wouldn't survive twenty more minutes of broken air conditioning. He pulled out his cell phone as slyly as possible in his condition and quickly shot out a text to Teresa, the only number he had on speed-dial sans John.

[+]

Teresa was in the library, doing her library aid duties, which consisted of absolutely nothing, when her phone vibrated. She frowned, pulling it out and opening up the read-aloud app, sliding her bluetooth into her ear.

"One new message from Pink Banana Kool Aid. Read?" Teresa rolled her eyes. Dave was going to get in trouble texting her during class.

Nevertheless, she held her phone to her mouth and spoke. "Yes." Her voice command repeated "yes?" to her, confirming what it heard. Teresa did nothing for a moment, which the program accepted as confirmation.

"Message sent one minute ago. Reads 'tee zee call bro.' Respond?" Teresa frowned, curious and slightly worried.

"One new message received. Message from Pink Banana Kool Aid, sent two seconds ago. Read?"

"Yes."

"Message sent five seconds ago. Reads 'please'. Respond?"

Dave said please. Cool Kids never said please.

"Speed-dial number three."

"Would you like to call Mister Orange Creamsicle?"

Teresa never hated the fact she was blind. She had been this way most of her life, ever wince a childhood accident involving a magnifying glass, the sun, and one Miss Veronica Spinneret. Her mother was blind herself, and Teresa soon found she was gifted with color hypersensitivity.

Being blind was part of being Teresa, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

Sometimes, however, her voice command program felt like a handicap she could do without.

[+]

By the chain of events that was the clusterfuck of bad luck, Dirk Strider wasn't able to take off work. He gave Teresa Roxy's number and told her to have her pick Dave up.

After it was all said and done, it only took two minutes for Dave to receive three texts. Teresa, informing him "H3LP 1S ON TH3 W4Y D4V3," Roxy, telling him she'd "swong by witnin a few min h oney xoxxo," and Rose declaring, "Mother has informed me that I must come and retreive you from class to supervise your condition out in the hall. Remain calm, Strider, and try to hold off on losing respiratory abilities until you are safely in Mother's care."

He was close to doing the exact thing Rose told him not to do. The longer he dwelled on his difficulty breathing, the more close to panicking he was. He flexed his fingers on his desk, the skin under his fingernails beginning to gain a faint blue hue. Rose appeared within the minute of her response, a pass in her hands. The teacher let him be excused, and it took nearly all of Dave's remaining strength to not abscond at the speed of lightning.

After Rose lead him as close to the front doors of the school as possible, speaking kind and calm words of encouragement and basic asthma advice, they finally stopped in the hall that contained the front office, where Roxy would have to go to check Dave out of school. Dave practically collapsed on the floor, his lips blue and his breath coming in gasps despite the halls' slightly cooler temperature, and with Rose's help was able to sit leaning against the wall. As Rose tried and failed to get Dave to breathe in and out, the professional sound of heels on hard flooring was to be heard, and within moments, Rose's mother was instructing Rose to get Dave standing.

The sight of her helped him calm down enough to stand and make it outside, but as the sudden barrage of heat hit him as he left the barely air-conditioned school, he began hyperventilating. He was barely able to walk, much less to her car, which felt miles away, despite being parked at the curb a few feet away.

Roxy scooped him up and carried him to her car, despite the fact he was a sixteen-year-old boy fueled by pizza and apple juice. She didn't bother buckling in, instead tucking him into the back seat and instructing him to focus on breathing. The car ride was a blur of brisk driving and Rose's mother instructing him to breathe in and out.

Panic was not something easily quelled once it began, and Dave was barely getting air into his lungs. Each breath was like sucking molasses through a straw, and he was swimming on the fringes of consciousness.

Dave couldn't remember how it happened, but he found himself sitting by Rose's front door, the faint whir of a nebulizer from beside him. Roxy was kneeling in front of him, and she informed him, slurred but stern, that he had to open his mouth.

He obeyed, and the cool and humid taste of albuterol flowed across his tongue the second he breathed in after wrapping his lips around the mouthpiece.