Startled, John scrubbed his face dry and stared at Loki for a minute, struggling to make sense of what the god was saying through the nightmarish mess in his head. "The door...? Oh, Christ. Sorry. I didn't--"

There he halted, gulping for air like a drowning swimmer, fighting not to be pulled under. He'd given up trying to remember now; it hurt too much, and between that and the vertigo he was close to tossing his lunch already.

"I can't--head hurts," he ground out, dropping it back into his hands and rocking slightly in time to the throbbing in his temples. It was a pathetically inadequate explanation, but it was the best he could manage. Even deciding how much he wanted to tell Loki was beyond him right now, let alone trying to do it.