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DEATH was not an unnatural part of Jean Grey's life. If anything, it was the only thing she was intimately familiar with. It wasn’t until she met Peter Parker that she learned he too was just like her.
Intimately familiar with DEATH in all her glory.
So, when he let her into his mind, she was surprised when she didn’t just see May. She saw them.
All of them.
Benjamin Parker, Tony Stark, Quentin Beck, May Parker, Ned Leeds…Michelle Jones, Morgan Stark.
Unbeknownst to the host.
It seemed anyone who dared care for him, dared love him, met the worst possible fate, and it ended the same way. Peter would never be in their lives again. The only difference was whether they forgot him or were six feet under ground.
But that was nothing, nothing compared to what she saw, what she felt, what she heard when she turned to him.
“I don’t wanna go. Please.” His voice echoed in her mind, so soft and in so much pain. It felt as if something was separating him yet putting him back together all at once. It felt painful. It seemed painful.
She could feel his desperation, his need to stay alive, his want.
Unlike her, he wanted to live another day, and unlike her, he couldn’t.
Jean continued to breathe. She continued to focus on him, to ensure he was breathing, even if his body gave up.
But that didn’t unnerve her. What unnerved her was his lack of desperation. He wanted to live so badly, so what changed?
“It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.”
‘He wasn’t, and he is a liar,’ Jean concluded. So she continued; she continued to focus on him, to breathe for him. To ensure his life would continue even when his body attempted to succumb to the darkness, when his mind wanted to collapse. She was not an idiot; she could feel it. His wanting to simply slip away. But she would not let him.
She continued, knowing she didn't care if, when he returned, every day felt like hell once again.
Because Jean Grey refused to live in this world alone. Not when she finally found someone who cared. Who could ensure some form of connection, protection... maybe even affection.
Was it selfish? To an extent. But Jean Grey never claimed to be a saint, and she would be damned before she ever tried.
Peter felt the same way.
“I just want to kill you myself.” No, Peter Parker was just as dark and twisted and monstrous as her. The only difference was, he could control it.
“I want to tear him apart.” Yes, that is what seemed to separate them. Jean had no qualms about killing, about controlling and violating a person’s mind. Peter did, and if anything, he treated his abilities as a responsibility rather than a gift. Jean supposed it was Aunt May who did so, after all; with great power comes great responsibility.
But even so, he failed. “Would you just wake up and talk to me, please?” He failed his Aunt May, his uncle Benjamin, and more importantly, himself.
“Mr. Stark… We won. You did it, Sir. You did it.” Jean wondered how it felt to carry the burden of their souls. To carry the burden of not only their existence but both their virtues and sins. To constantly remember them so that nobody else may forget.
“Make everyone forget Peter Parker, make everyone forget me.” She wondered if anyone would ever be willing to do a quarter of what he did. She wondered if anyone would ever succeed. Maybe this is why she was so desperate to save him, for he had this inherent goodness instilled in him. An inherent goodness that seemed to destroy him from the inside out.
In and out.
In and out.
In and out.
“I don’t love you.” MJ’s voice echoed. Jean clutched her chest; it was as if something or someone was squeezing her heart. It hurt; it almost brought tears to her eyes. But that was fine because Jean could love him. Jean would love him. Jean did love him, and she would do so until Peter Parker could finally understand who he was.
A hero.
And heroes need more than just applause; they need human connection.
People need people, even heroes.
By extension, that meant they require love too.
Jean Grey had love to give in the absence of Sara, and who better than to give it to Peter Parker, a man who needed love more than anything else.
But first, she had to save him, and so she breathed.
In and out.
In and out.
In and out.