Chapter Text
The words on the screen won’t hold still.
Intel on the Flag Smashers hadn’t been great, which makes it even more important for John to properly analyze what they do have. He blinks hard, once, twice, but the lines of text keep swimming, sliding away when he tries to pin them down. He rubs his temple with the heel of his hand, but it only grinds the pain deeper. It’s fine. He just needs to power through. He’s been through worse: gunfire, grenades, concussions.
A headache isn’t going to take him down.
Except—
It’s so hard to even think.
Lemar grabs him by the arm. “We should head back.”
“No, no,” John tries to insist. He’d wanted to speak to Lemar about the serum he’d managed to get, the last vial that Zemo hadn’t destroyed, and get his opinion on taking it before he came to a decision—but he’d honestly inject himself now to make the pounding behind his eyes go away. It’s only the pragmatism drilled in by his military training that keeps him from obeying that impulse. “I have to…”
I have to talk to you, he wants to say, if he could just focus his thoughts enough to get the words out of his mouth. I have to tell you what I’ve got. I have to know if you’ll think less of me for even considering it. I have to hear you say it’s worth it, that it’s the right call, because otherwise I might not be enough.
With the Flag Smashers getting bolder every day, John knows he needs to be taking advantage of any edge he can get. Civilians are already getting caught in harm’s way. How many more people will die because he can’t keep up with super soldiers? What kind of Captain America would John be if he’s not strong enough to keep people safe? Carrying the shield is the first time he feels like he’s doing something right, but—
“You have to stop, man,” Lemar says, and John shakes his head, but the movement spikes his vision, black spots dancing at the corners. He wants to argue—that they don’t have time, that every second he rests is a second Morgenthau gets further ahead—but the words dissolve into a hoarse sound. His legs want to give out. “This isn’t sustainable. You’re running yourself into the ground.”
John can’t manage a protest at that.
He doesn’t remember the walk up the street as Lemar got him back to the hotel, either. His boots feel too heavy, his body pulled in the wrong direction, and the uniform he’s been given has never felt more suffocating. He struggles with the shield on his back and means to set it down gently, but he misses the angle on the dresser and it clatters with a loud clang.
The sound cuts straight through his skull.
John has to grab the desk just to keep from folding in half. His nausea worsens, and he curses this stupid fucking hotel room for its furniture arrangement. Usually, they’d be stationed at a base, everything structured, orderly, with medical on standby and a clear chain of command above them. But acting as Captain America had no such safety net, just a hotel room in a foreign city, and the weight of an entire country’s expectations pressing down on his shoulders.
At least he has Lemar, steady as he’s always been.
The only thing between John and the freefall.
“John,” his partner says, close, concerned. “Hey. Sit down.”
“No, I—” The word scrapes raw out of his throat. He wants to argue, but the thought scatters halfway through forming. He tries again. “We can’t—Morgenthau—” His vision stutters, white spots pulsing with each beat of his heart. The hotel room looks wrong, like it’s leaning away from him. He pushes forward anyway, palms pressed to his face, but even that feels unsteady, like his own hands might slip off. “We can’t afford—”
“John,” Lemar says again, more insistent. “C’mon—”
His hands are on John’s shoulders now, steady and solid, the only thing in the room that isn’t moving. John doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say anymore. He just knows if he lets go, if he gives in to this, then he’s failing. And he can’t fail. But Lemar’s grip is firm, guiding him toward the bed until he collapses onto the mattress. He closes his eyes for a fraction of a second, less than a moment, but it’s enough for his mind to betray him.
His consciousness slips. He sleeps.