Chapter Text
At first, John thinks it’s a panic attack. He gets them often enough to recognise the pattern- racing heartbeat, ringing ears, the world tilting sideways. Admitting he has a problem had taken him time, but admitting it meant he could fix it. All he has to do is navigate through it. Bucky's words. So he does.
And then he notices: the war is over. Good. No gunfire. No shouted commands. No boots hitting pavement. Good.
What isn’t good is where he is: in the middle of a military gym in Georgia. Cinderblock walls. Flickering fluorescent lights. A flag hangs limp in stale air. A moment ago, he was mid-rep, knuckles white around cold steel, working out to Ava’s playlist. She made it for him. The Thunderbolts always said his music taste was terrible. A moment ago, it was 2027. This is odd, he thinks. Very peculiar timing. His theory shifts from panic attack to a shame room. That is bad, very very bad, he thinks.
His ears ring like he’s been struck by a bell. His sight splinters. He notices his old phone skids across the floor. He’d gotten rid of this one-the screen is cracked differently. The date is wrong.
May 4, 2012.
John’s breath stutters. His chest tightens. That familiar pressure blooms behind his sternum. Cruel. He staggers to the wall, presses his palm flat against it. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Steadying himself slowly, he hears sirens- Usually, he would've been able to pick them up from miles away. His ears can't pick up on anything now- the serum- he hadn't taken it yet. Even teh sirens feel foreign, as though mocking him. They're not the clean, modern tone he knows he knows too well-but the raw, older sound. And there are loads. An alarming amount, really.
His mind darts towards the television screen.
ALIEN INVASION IN NEW YORK CITY.
THE AVENGERS CONFIRM THREAT NEUTRALIZED.
ASGARD GOD IN CUSTODY.
John slides down the wall and sits hard on the floor.
“No, no way. What?” he whispers, like the word might negotiate. It makes no sense. This can’t even be a shame room- the New York attack awakened the will to fight for him, but it was not nearly as significant as all the other shit the void’s shame rooms put him through. Oh- the sinking feeling of realization hit him.
His weak, mortal body already knows.
Time has folded him backward and left him intact enough to feel it. Time travel. Back to New York.The Battle of New York. His hands begin to shake. He presses them together, interlacing his fingers like he was taught. Breathe in for four. Hold. Out for four. The military’s answer to everything: control yourself or become a liability. It doesn’t help.
Because John Walker knows what comes next. He knows a man named Loki is about to be taken from a tower of glass and steel and judgment. He knows every inch of that tower by now. And to think him and Yelena used to complain about there being nothing else to do once-
And for reasons he doesn’t yet understand, his chest aches like grief. Time travel to 2012 means his son hasn’t been born yet. The future is waiting for him, fragile in ways he cannot touch. Olivia’s voice echoes faintly, lecturing, frustrated. How many times had he failed to respond, to notice, to just be? How many times would history remind him? His mind falters, then comes back- Yelena, the red room? Is he even sure? The Thunderbolts were only just starting to know each other better. He’s not sure. about yelena, at least. Alexie must be in prison- Bob, God knows how high, and Bucky- oh, Bucky. In 2012- Hell, he's probably in a Hydra lab this very moment-
John stares at the TV until the screen blurs.
For the first time since the world broke and remade itself around him, something steadies in his chest. A heavy recognition. Whatever has happened, it didn’t happen to him alone. Surely not- John has never been all that extraordinary. He sure has been unlucky, though. They never really knew the full extent of Bob’s powers. It’s a pity he can’t remember where he was before landing out of time. Had he said something wrong to him? Had they been fighting? Bob would always get twitchy when the Thunderbolts would scuffle in front of him.
Outside, the sirens keep crying. And somewhere north, a tower holds, and history is about to lock itself into place, a new one, whether he likes it or not. So John Walker breathes. So John Walker sighs. So John Walker gets to his feet.
If time wants to test him again, he won’t cower.