Work Text:
John started to lose count of how many times Lemar’s skull shattered against the concrete pillar.
He’d known, of course, that coming in here would dredge up some bad things. The house fire as a kid, his tours in Afghanistan. All of the fellow soldiers and the innocent civilians he’d failed to save along the way. And yes, he’d known that Lemar would be here too… but he still wasn’t ready.
The first few passes through the room, John had been able to ignore it. Ignore the sounds of fighting, the crack of Lemar’s spine snapping in half against the pillar. The phantom pains along his own muscles as he remembered the burning sensation from the recently administered serum. John tried to avoid the phantom gazes of Sam and Bucky as he scoured the walls of the room, trying in vain to figure out how to move onward.
But there were only so many times John could remain passive as his best friend ever - his brother - died in the corner. His enhanced sense of hearing meant he could hear every little snap and crackle of broken bone, tendon, and nerve tissue. The last struggling beats of Lemar’s heart in his chest. And when that sound had already haunted him in his dreams for years, enough to have him morphing into something monstrous that drove away his family… well, it was bound to get to him sooner or later.
So John started paying attention. Started darting into the frey, placing himself between Karli and Lemar only to be knocked to the side by a force even stronger than what a super soldier should be. He tried to place himself between Lemar and the pillar, but his friend would get punched into a different wall, or be beaten to death in Karli’s hands. In one moment of desperation, John even found his gun and tried to shoot Karli in the head, but the bullet somehow deflected and hit Lemar instead, a splatter of bone and brain matter that had John gagging.
Nothing worked. Every single hit was blocked, every effort thwarted. The cracking sound was boring into his skull, now decorated with a gurgle of Lemar’s sliced throat from a knife John hadn’t seen, or the crunch of his lungs in his chest when the man who had held him back stomped on his friend’s chest in a cruel mockery of what John had done to him.
Can’t you see that it’s pointless?
“Shut up!” John screamed up at the roof, panting and sweating, tears pouring down his face. He blinked and the scene had reset, a sob tearing itself from his mouth when he saw his own struggling form, Lemar’s stupid ass throwing himself directly in the line of fire. A strangled moan left his throat and he pulled at his hair when Lemar fell into a tangled heap once again, blood sliding down in a starburst from where his head had connected with the pillar.
The next time the scene reset John tried again, rushing to wrap his arms around Karli’s form to stop her momentum. His heart jumped when he briefly managed to stall her, but more hands grabbed him from behind, tugging him away. John roared in anger, but faltered when he turned and saw Sam and Bucky, faces blank but eyes filled with condemnation.
Fake. Arrogant. Prideful. It’s all your fault that he died, isn’t it John?
“I know it is.” John growled, throat burning and sight blurred from tears. “Goddamnit, I know. Just-” John knocked his arm back into both mens’ stomachs and rushed forward just in time to meet Lemar at the pillar, stretching one arm out desperately. It stopped his friend’s head from connecting but the rest of his body still crunched under his body armor from the force of it.
“I’m sorry.” John cried. “I’m sorry. God, Lemar, I’m so sorry.”
Lemar’s dark eyes stared up at him, empty. God, John would have cut off a limb just to see something in there. Fear, or rage. Disgust. Anger, at him. All of it would have been deserved.
“Please, say something.” John begged, crouched down beside him. “Lemar, please. I know it’s my fault. I know it. I’m so sorry. Just say something.”
He won’t, because he knows what you did.
No, Lemar wouldn’t speak, but that wasn’t the reason. It was because his stupid, naive, heart-of-gold brother would never condemn him. Even in his darkest moments, Lemar had always been gentle. A guiding light. Never the raging fire or that swinging fist that John deserved.
“You idiot.” John sobbed, near-collapsing in on himself and tugging Lemar’s body closer. “It should have been me, you know that. I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please forgive me.”
Forgive him for all of his arrogance, for all the stupid calls. The calls that got people killed, that alienated Lemar from the heroes they were supposed to have worked with. For taking that fucking serum and thinking he could ever be something as wonderful as Steve Rogers, and for dragging Lemar down with him.
Lemar’s heart stopped beating, and John rocked his body back and forth, sobbing and begging for a forgiveness he did not deserve and would never receive. He waited for the scene to reset, and braced himself to hold onto Lemar’s body tighter when the gentle touch of fingers reached for his shoulders. But the voice that spoke was not one that he expected.
“O, moy mal’chik,” the voice, a rumble gruff with tears, crooned to him. The large hands were warm, one cupping the back of his neck while the other continued to gently tug him away from Lemar’s body. “This is not real, Captain. You must leave this place.”
“It’s real.” John croaked, still half-blinded by tears and reeling. “I did this to him. It’s my fault-”
“We have all made mistakes, John.” The voice said, and John was turned and pressed tight into a large, warm body. Strong arms surrounded him and for a moment, just a moment, John felt like a child again. When he blinked and came back to himself, shuddering, he looked up and saw Alexei’s face blinking down at him. The Russian gripped his shoulders tight and knelt a little until he was eye level.
“Look at me, Captain.” Alexei said sternly, and when Lemar cracked into the pillar beside them the man pressed one hand to the side of his head to block the sound. “This place is not real. We have mission to complete.”
“But Lemar-”
“I have lost comrades too.” Alexei said softly, and in that moment John saw the same loss in his eyes, the same weariness. Maybe moreso, since the soldier standing before him had years of battles and grief weighing on him that John could not match. “We must move on. Cannot live in the past, da? We must find Bob and the others.”
“Bob.” John blinked, and it suddenly occurred to him that Alexei was here, in this room. “How did-”
“I find crack in wall. The Red Guardian is very strong, it was no problem breaking through.” Alexei released him to pound on his chest with a short, weary laugh, but still blocked John’s head from turning when the fighting looped itself beside them. “We will escape this place together.”
“Right.” John shook himself, tried to center his mind. This was fake. This was all part of Bob’s shadowy… persona. Dark side. Whatever. He shut his eyes against the resounding crack that echoed through the room, and silently thanked Alexei when the larger man grabbed his shoulder again and helped steer him away. Sure enough, Alexei wasn’t wrong about the walls being thick - with a roar and the slam of a shoulder, the two of them were tumbling into an entirely different room.
Whatever horrors awaited them here, John wasn’t very excited to see. But it was comforting to know that the two of them, both soldiers, both rejected by their governments and their homes, had some common ground to help center them as they moved forward. He never would have expected to find that with someone like Alexei of all people.
And when all of this was over, maybe he’d finally, finally find a way to get some closure. Visit Lemar’s grave. Stop ignoring poor Mrs. Hoskins, who had been trying to reach out to him for years. And then he’d buy Alexei some of the best vodka he could find, and maybe ask about some of the comrades the Red Guardian had left behind.