Chapter Text
Peter lay in the hospital bed, the steady beeps of monitors filling his ears. The thin cotton gown clung uncomfortably to his skin. Each breath came slow and measured, as though someone else controlled the rhythm. He didn't know Jean Grey sat on a park bench nearby, her green and yellow hoodie pulled low over her face. She breathed for him, her mind locked with his, keeping his lungs moving while she replayed every moment.
She remembered Peter shielding her body with his own. His kind eyes meeting hers. Blood on his hands. His body collapsing. She saw him fall again and again. Her enemy. He tried to stop her revenge. She imagined her sister dying in a plastic box, tortured into using her gifts. She hadn't witnessed it, but the image wouldn't leave. Her rage thrummed under the surface an ever present hunger she needed to show him her power so he would know exactly who he was dealing with. And then he pulled her in and then he was falling.
No this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. That bullet was for her she knew it. But Peter. Stupid selfless Peter was on the ground, his heart still pumping, each beat pushing more blood from his open wound.
She collapsed beside him, crying, begging him to hold on. His words came through blood,
"It's ok. Everything is gonna be ok. It's ok."
She forced herself to be calm and focused her gift through her tears. And she pulled in a breath, a little shaky and hoped.
She didn’t know if it would work. After all, he was immune to her control. Surprisingly, he copied her action. He let her in. She realized. That must be why.
She breathed again, steadier. He followed, less shaky. Again. Slow. Until they synced completely. She sat there with him unaware of her surroundings. Because nothing mattered. The whole world was holding its breath and she had to breathe. She didn’t know when the man known as the Punisher, Frank Castle ran in. His hands tremble slightly. He’s talking. She realizes. At Peter. His eyes are red and wet. He sees his chest move. Frank looks between them tears threatening to roll down. He holds it.
“I don’t know how you’re doing that but keep doing it. We have to get him to the hospital. Follow me.” He demanded, lifting the boy he shot gingerly, he held him close, stabilizing him. The punisher turned to the exit, the red haired telepath on his heels.
It was chaos.
Pure chaos greeted them as soon as they got out the car.
Frank Castle carried Spider-Man through the hospital doors. His blood covered the man, his breaths getting weaker despite her efforts. He needed a doctor. She looked around searching for someone. Anyone.
The ER was packed, no doubt because of her. Jean didn’t let herself dwell in the guilt. It was too selfish. She could indulge later. For now, Peter was the only thing that mattered.
Metro-General hospital was loud, nurses and doctors moving diligently doing triage unaware that the very girl who caused it was walking next to The Punisher, and in his arms was the hero of New York.
“IT’S SPIDER-MAN!” A young voice exclaimed. A boy. He was clinging his mother, a pretty brunette who was having her arm bandaged up by a nurse. Jean reached out and pulled the most skilled doctors and nurses to them, sending a quiet apology to the people in the ER.
Doctors and nurses rushed forward, easing him onto a stretcher. Bandages were quickly soaked through. Shouting for blood. For an OR. They were moving Frank and Jean followed, Jean kept anyone from questioning it. For now she was his lifeline. Jean was his breath. His very life. He had to live. It was all her fault.
—
A day after Peter woke, Jean was gone.
Peter hunched over the battered console in the converted storage space, the hum of scavenged servers filling the air. E.V.'s holographic display flickered with search algorithms, tracing Jean Grey's last known movements. His fingers tapped nervously against the metal desk. Every ping of the system tightened the knot in his stomach. He needed to find her.
His mask lay haphazardly next to his fountain drink. His eyes locked on the glowing screen, depicting a young red haired girl she was swallowed up in a green hoodie the yellow hood obscuring most of her face but he’d recognize those green eyes anywhere. Her name, Jean Elaine Grey. She was last seen at a bus stop a few blocks from the Metro-General Hospital he was staying at.
She boarded a bus out of New York.
Peter missed the girl. He wished he'd seen her at the hospital. Frank told him she used her powers to keep him breathing. Even with his accelerated healing there was a high chance he was going die without Jean’s interference.
He had to find her. He would find her.
Right now, she was isolating, trying to keep herself from people in general. Handle everything on her own. He’d done the same for four years. His was a punishment built from his own mistakes. His choice affected the two closest people to him after Aunt May. Ned and MJ.
MJ
He sighed, leaning his head back, listless. She moved on. The love his life didn’t remember him. She didn’t love him. Worse, her trust was broken. He distanced himself from her to protect her from Spider-Man. For four years.
It was torture.
Four years of watching MJ and Ned live their lives unaware of the hole, the missing piece to a trio that was Peter Parker. It was too much to hope their reunion would be happy. After all, his decision was selfish. Frank helped him realized that.
Peter stood, fitting his mask on.
He had no right to make her relive moments that meant nothing to her now. He would continue as he was.
Just a friend.
She would know a new Peter. Not her boyfriend. A stranger. Just a guy who happened to be Spider-Man.
His mind circled back to Jean.
He had to find her. Be there for her the way Aunt May had been there for him. Like Tony. After years of self-imposed isolation, he knew how much it hurt. Jean had no one. Her sister was gone, used and discarded as a mere experiment for an organization he supported. His stomach twisted. He helped them he might as well have been their mascot the way he grabbed enhanced criminals—who’s to stay they weren’t forced into committing those crimes?— and handed them over on a silver platter. He did it with Jean. He didn’t even question it.
He was reminded of Metzger talking about using the hand members, how he referred to them as kids who needed to redirect their energy. Peter clench his fist, his brown eyes narrowed in the mask.
He would make it right. Spider-Man wasn’t for hire. Damage Control was nothing now. Under investigation and according to EV, all of their assets were frozen for the foreseeable future.
He heard whispers Stark Industries was involved. Happy probably. Maybe Ms. Potts. His heart ached remembering his former extended family. They didn’t know him. That was fine. Tony was gone. No one else needed to know.
He took a deep breath.
“EV give me the route for that Bus.”
“Tracking an enemy?” EV chirped.
That just left Jean. He couldn't let her face it alone. He had to find her.
“No. She’s a friend.”
A location pinged.
Outside New York.
Predictable.
He stretched, letting his flexible body move free from prying eyes. He was incredibly flexible thanks to his arachnid DNA. It let him swing without a care. It was going to be a long way. He crouched low, the familiar stretch of the suit against his skin grounding him. He swung through the night air, landing silently on a rooftop overlooking a dimly lit park.
—
He found her a few hours later. It wasn’t easy she ditched the bus and walked. What was she thinking? Walking alone at night. Peter knew the terrible things that could happen to a woman at the mercy of predators under the cover of night. He saved countless women on his patrols. Sometimes, he wasn’t so lucky. He clothed them as best he could, carrying them to a nearby hospital knowing their wounds went far deeper than the physical.
Peter swung landing on the side of the building.
Jean stood on the path, facing three men who circled her like wolves. Peter stayed back, watching. She spoke calmly, her voice carrying even from this distance. The men shifted, their postures changing. One by one they turned and walked away, muttering about heading home, about never touching another woman again.
Peter blinked. He hadn't expected that.
He lowered himself from the wall, landing lightly on his feet. "Nice trick. You always talk people into doing the right thing, or is that just a special for me?"
Jean turned. Her expression shifted from surprise to something guarded. "Peter."
He stepped closer. "Why'd you leave? I woke up and you were gone."
"I'm fine," she said. "You don't need to worry about me. Go live your life." She was closing herself off. Peter couldn’t let her.
Peter moved forward, concern pushing him. "Jean, I—"
The air split with a mechanical hiss. Scorpion dropped from a fire escape, his suit gleaming with new plating, segmented armor that moved like living metal. Peter turned, facing the foe head on while shielding Jean behind him. She snorted.
"I've got a message from Metzger," Scorpion said, his voice flat. "He'd like to thank you for testing this out for him."
“I don’t think so.” Jean said flatly. She reached out the familiar power seeking another mind and screamed.
She fell back and would have fallen if Peter didn’t catch her. Peter brushes her hair strands away. Her eyes were shut, clearly in pain. She cried out.
“Jean!” Peter roared.
The blue light hits them before Peter can react. The Scorpion's machine pulses, flooding the alley with a harsh glow that warps the air around them. Peter lunges forward, wrapping an arm around Jean's waist as his spider-sense screams. He fires a web-line and yanks them upward, swinging hard between the buildings. The light follows, stretching, pulling at their bodies until the city itself bends and tears.
They crash onto damp grass. Peter lands on his back with Jean sprawled across his chest, both of them breathing hard. His suit is torn at the shoulder. Her red hair spills over his mask. He sits up slowly, scanning the trees. The skyline looks…wrong.
It was taller, darker, the buildings coated in grime and old soot. The park is still Central Park, but the air feels heavier, the paths narrower, the people on the benches staring too long.
Peter shakes Jean's shoulder. "Jean. Wake up."
Her green eyes open, sharp and alert. She pushes off him, standing a few feet away, brushing dirt from her jacket. "What the hell just happened?"
Peter stays low, mask lenses sweeping the area. A couple walking their dog gives him a wide berth. A man on a bench lowers his newspaper to stare. Peter's spider-sense prickles along his spine. He steps in front of Jean without thinking, body angled to shield her.
Jean frowns. "What are you doing?"
"Something's off," he says quietly. "Stay close."
She exhales through her nose, annoyed. "I don't need a bodyguard, Peter. What the hell was that? Metzger is involved? Why is that creep still walking free?” She said angrily.
Peter let out frustrated breath. His senses wracked at him calling him to fight. But fight what? He didn’t understand.
“I don’t know, ok? Last I heard, he was off the grid. The Scorpion should be in prison. There’s no way he could have linked up with Metzger of all people.” Peter walks moving to the edge of the park. He finds a cluster of trees. Perfect. He quickly changes out of his suit wearing a black T-shirt and soft cotton pants. He comes out holding his suit close. Jean gives him a look. He makes a sheepsih expression.
He gestures for her to follow him again.
And she does, irritation clear in every step. They reach the street and Peter leads them to the nearest building.
The library.
The marble steps are cracked. The brass doors are dull. Inside, the smell of old paper mixes with mildew. The layout is familiar but wrong. The reference desk sits on the opposite wall, the staircase curves the other direction, the lighting is dimmer. Everything is duller he realizes. Jean looks curiously around, she felt something off. It was in the minds of the people. They were less trusting. More guarded. Different.
A red haired woman was at desk. Her hair was similar to Jean’s, Peter realized.
No, it was a little darker with more waves and she wore it down. She wore black rimmed glasses. And her eyes were also green. Lighter. Not as captivating as Jean’s.
“Hi, welcome to Gotham City Library. I’m Barbara. Did you want to sign up for a library card?”
It was all wrong.