Archive of Our Own

Claire was many things.

If anyone asked her to name a quality about herself she admired she would say observant. She had to be, with her career and her life intermingled with various vigilantes. If a patient winced too suddenly or breathed too deeply she knew further investigation was required.

When a random guy in her dumpster, beaten to hell, was non reactive to light she he wasn’t telling the whole story.

Paranoid, her ex- boyfriends would call her. Never going to a guy's apartment after the first date. That one was unfair. Living alone in New York City, you could never be too careful.

Now she definitely wouldn’t call herself self- preserving. Not when someone needed help. 

She wonders if she ever got superpowers, like Matt or Luke, what she would do. Maybe she could fly, or see through walls, or something even more ridiculous. She definitely wouldn’t sit by and do nothing. She would join the good fight even if it was dangerous and stupid. Because they needed more people like Matt and Luke. There would always be too many lives at stake and too few people who gave a shit enough to do anything.

So yea, not self- preserving.

So when her burner buzzed in her back pocket (she always kept it on her, maybe her ex- boyfriends had a point), she didn’t hesitate to answer. 

Matt’s voice rang like church bells, loud and clear but sure in their meaning.

“I need a favor”

————————

12 hours ago 

When Peter woke up the first time there were several things he noticed. Many of which felt wrong.

For starters he was in his apartment, not a hospital. He noticed for obvious reasons, but his senses weren’t ambushed with too bright lights and that strong anti-septic smell. He was lying on his back on his tattered couch he had found on a street corner. It was probably infested with spiders (oh the irony) and the stains took hours to clean, but it made him feel more normal, like he was just some guy in his early 20s living alone on a tight budget.

He also noticed his body ached. Like bad.

Any words to describe the pain fell short. 

You were shot. His mind dumbly reminded him. At least he was starting to put the pieces together. His mind fuzzy from what he can only assume were some heavy painkillers.

He also wasn’t alone.

For four years the only other person to be in his apartment (while he was there) was his landlord and even that had been a quick visit. He hadn’t even let the pizza guy sneak a peek inside.

Now across from him. On his desk chair, sat Jean Grey.

She was looking at him expectantly. Not saying a word. She definitely would not be the one to break the ice.

He sat up slowly. From the pain or to not spook Jean, he wasn’t sure, maybe a combination of both.

Jean still hadn’t moved, just watching.

“Hey.” Peter whispered. Wow his throat was dry.

“Hey.” Jean said back her back straight against the chair like she was afraid of breaking it.

Peter realized this is probably the most normal conversation they’ve ever had. 

“Frank went to get food. No offense but what the hell have you been eating? I mean there isn’t even like a frozen dinner in your freezer”

Frank? Now Peter was really confused. He had a million questions. What was he even doing here? More importantly, how did Jean end up at his apartment?

“Mostly cheap pizza” he said instead of asking. His chest still hurt and his mind felt like putty. He had a feeling that if any of his questions were answered his head would start pounding.

Jean kept staring. He wondered if she was reading his mind. She definitely was because she didn’t answer any of his questions. She didn’t want to overwhelm him.

She was a good kid. He hoped she heard that. She needed to hear it.

“You should get some rest, you look like shit”

He nodded his head, too tired to speak or comment on her bluntness.

She was right, of course, he already felt his eyes drooping. He laid back down, suddenly hit with the overwhelming need to sleep.

“Don’t touch anything on the desk please”, he muttered before he was plunged into darkness.

————————

The second time Peter woke up his mind felt clearer, but the pain persisted.

Frank was here now, he could sense his movements in the kitchen. Moving what little utensils and pots Peter kept.

He smelled macaroni and cheese. A lifetime ago, when May was alive, he would come back from patrol bloody and bruised. May always waited for him on those nights, was always there to patch him up and make sure he ate before bed.

She always made Mac and cheese. It became a tradition.

Smelling it now he was overwhelmed with emotions. But now was not the time to think about what he lost and could never get back.

So instead he looked around and found Jean sitting in the same spot. Hands in her lap.

Huh, she actually didn’t touch anything. Nothing on his desk seemed out of place. It was better to be safe than sorry with his things, who knew how many of his experiments were on the brink of explosion if anyone even breathed in their direction.

“He’s up.” Jean said out loud

Frank stopped whatever he was doing and stepped into Peter’s line of sight.

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.” Frank smirked but his eyes revealed their relief.

“How long was I out?” Peter rasped. He really needed water.

Jean got up and handed him a water bottle, which he chugged gratefully.

Halfway through chugging he had the good sense to think thank you, but please stop that

Jean's eyes widened.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Peter tried to offer some comfort with a smile. He knew it was just instinct. He also knew that her powers were probably the only reason he was still alive. He was grateful for her help, but he was better now and he didn’t want her to access thoughts that were just for him.

Frank raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Instead he handed him a paper plate of mac and cheese which Peter tried not to devour in 10 seconds.

Franks grabbed his own plate and handed one to Jean. He sat on the floor. 

“Since the last time you woke up? About three hours, but we got back from the hospital yesterday.”

Peter furrowed his brows trying to remember the time between the hospital and when he passed out on the couch the first time.

Frank continued, sensing his confusion.

“You walked out on your own, remember? I delivered a pretty damning impersonation of the friendly neighborhood vigilante, which convinced the crowd well enough. You waited in my van and I caught up with you later. Drove you home.”

The memory became clearer. Seeing everyone with their signs, their overjoyed faces at seeing “Spiderman” alive and well. It made Peter’s heart swell. He would never forget that feeling.

The elephant in the room went unaddressed. Peter slowly turned his head to where Jean was sitting.

“Oh yea, her. Well she showed up late last night at your door. Wanted to say goodbye or some shit, but I told her to stay and wait to tell you when you were up. None of this Irish goodbye bull.”

Peter realized not for the first time, that Frank had a soft spot for hopeless causes. 

“You’re leaving?” Peter couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice. She was still a kid after all, and he couldn’t help feeling protective, after everything.

“Yes.” Jean answered quickly, leaving no room for discussion.

Thankfully, Peter was stubborn. “Where would you even go?”

She was quiet for a moment. “Not sure.”

“What do you mean ‘not sure’? You’re telling you we’re just gonna leave New York? How were you even planning on getting anywhere? Hitchhiking? Maybe “people- jumping” or whatever until you make it to Jersey? Please tell me you had a better plan than that?” 

He’s rambling, but he can’t help it. He told Jean he’d be there for her. Now she was running and Peter couldn’t understand why. 

Jean looked down at her hands holding her untouched food.

“I was thinking a bus” she eventually said, face pulled into an expression Peter knew all too well. Guilt. And he finally understood.  

“Leave it alone kid, if she wants to go just let her. Can’t save someone who dont wanna be saved.” 

Peter shot Frank a look. He hated that he was right. Ever the realist and despite all these years of shitty nights and worse mornings his own optimism persisted.

“You want more?” Franks looked down at Peter’s plate scraped clean. 

“Yea, please” Peter handed back the plate and Frank walked back to the kitchen. 

He looked back at Jean. Eyes still downcast. He couldn't even imagine what’s going through her head.

“When I… started being on my own. It was easy to develop unhealthy habits, you know? Less sleep, barely eating, no friends, no support. For a long time I thought that’s how it needed to be. Being alone meant keeping the people I love safe.”

Jean looked up, listening intently. 

“When my powers started acting up. It scared the hell out of me. More than I’d like to admit. I would go into these trances, became a different person. I couldn’t control it. I hurt good people. It only convinced me of what I already knew. Being alone was for the best.”

He paused, choosing his next words carefully.

“You think you’re a monster.” 

“What?” Jean's eyes widened. 

Okay maybe not that carefully. 

“You went on a pretty impressive rampage to get into the DODC. Froze half New York in a trance or something.” 

Jean stayed quiet. But she didn’t look like she wanted to murder him, so he kept going. 

“You’re not a monster. Love makes people do crazy things. I haven’t known you for long Jean but I know you loved Sara. You would fight fire for her and if it was someone I loved taken, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same thing. Property damage and all.” 

Jean hid a small smile. 

“My point is, we all do things we’re not proud of. But doing bad things and being alone is not for the best. It doesn’t work.”

Jean let his words sink in. Thought them over. By the time Frank got back, with fresh macaroni in his hands, she finally spoke. 

“I hurt you.”

“Then at least stay until I'm better. Up on my feet.” He knew it was a cheap move, but he wanted to keep an eye on her, needed to change her mind. 

“Okay, but only until you’re better”

Peter smiled at the small victory. Looking over at Frank, he did too. 

—————

When Peter woke up the third time. Something was wrong.

His chest was burning. His head matted with sweat. He couldn’t say he hadn’t felt worse pain, but this was pretty damn close. 

It hurt to breathe. He opened his eyes and looked around. It was dark and Jean was fast asleep on the floor. 

“Jean…” he struggled out. 

Jean's eyes snapped open. He must’ve looked terrible because she shot to her feet and ran to his side. 

“FRANK!” she yelled, worry clouding her features.

“What’s wrong?” Frank burst into the main room. 

“I don’t know. I woke up and he was like this.” he heard panic in Jean's voice. 

Frank got to his knees at his side. Touch his head and winced.

“Fuck, he’s burning up. Get anything frozen from the freezer NOW!”

Jean shot up instantly, running to the kitchen. Frank managed to get Peter’s shirt off and check his bandages. The look on his face told him it wasn’t good. 

“Shit he’s bleeding through.” He unwrapped the gauze to get a better look. Peter looked down, to see what Frank was seeing. He froze.

The wound was inflamed. Skin raised, blood oozing, white liquid leaking. Peter didn’t say anything, couldn’t. The pain was unbearable. 

“Fuck, fuck its infected. We have to go back to the hospital.” Frank rushed to carry Peter. 

Jean was back now carrying ziplock bags of ice cubes. “Are you crazy! We can’t take him back, you barely made it out without anyone asking too many questions. Can’t you do something?”

“What do I look like to you, a candy-striper? No, I can't do anything. Secret identities don’t matter if you’re dead.” Frank was yelling. 

“She’s right,” Peter stuttered out, breathing heavily. Shit. Even talking hurt. “I’ll be fine, I heal fast, don’t take me back.”

“Well you’re healings doing a shit job right now. This isn’t up for discussion, we’re going. Now!”

Frank was stubborn. But Peter had him beat in that department. 

They stared each other down. He couldn’t force him to leave. Frank realized that soon enough, because after a few seconds of a battle of wills Frank sighed heavily and pulled out his phone. 

Jean knew who won as she started laying ice bags along his arms, legs, and chest. Trying to calm the fever. 

“Who are you calling?” Jean asked, or maybe he did. Peter’s eyesight was getting fuzzy. It hurt to think. Arguing with Frank took its toll. 

“If this dumbass won’t go to the hospital, I'm bringing the doctor to him. Don’t even try to argue my mind is made up.” He punched in a number quickly, muttering curses as he stepped into the other room, where Peter's bed sat. 

“Yea it's me. I need a favor, no questions asked”

That’s the last thing Peter heard before his vision went dark. 

—————

Matt had had a pretty normal day. Which was saying a lot. 

No patrolling today. He stayed up late at the office working on a case that he was sure was open and shut. Unless the defense had something up their sleeve. So Matt stayed up, working every angle until he was satisfied enough to go home and get some rest. 

Normal days like this were few and far between. New York lived up to its name as the “city that never slept”, which meant Daredevil didn’t either. 

Foggy was the one to convince him to take days off. He knew his best friend was just looking out for him. But how did he explain that the guilt of knowing what he could do and doing nothing was unbearable at times. 

But he was exhausted, and he knew that he could only keep people safe if he was at his best. So, he took the day, at least to get Foggy to stop nagging. 

He was in bed half asleep, when his phone rang. As the machine rattled out an unknown number he thought ‘well that was fun while it lasted.’ 

Except he unfortunately recognized the number, he just didn’t have it saved. For obvious reasons. 

He sat up and answered the phone, without a second thought.

“Frank?” Matt answered urgently, sleep still in his voice.

“Yea it's me. I need a favor, no questions asked” 

“Well that’s never good.” He strained his ears for any background noise that could tell him where Frank was, but came up with nothing. 

“Listen. That nurse friend of yours, Claire, I need you to call her. Tell her to bring her med stuff. Now. I got a situation.”

“Are you hurt? I'm heading over now.” Matt shot out of bed.

“You don’t even know where I am dipshit. I said no questions. But no, I'm fine, a friend needs help. Write this address down, and don’t even think about tagging along, I’ll beat the shit out of you.” 

Frank said the address, then repeated it two times for good measure. It was ingrained in Matt's head by the end. 

Matt had about a million questions, but he kept them to himself. Not because he didn’t think Frank's threat wasn’t serious, he definitely meant it, but his mind lingered on the word ‘friend’. Frank didn’t have those, he wouldn’t even consider himself a friend of Franks. 

Which is how he knew this was serious. Whatever was happening, he needed to call Claire and send her the address. 

“Okay I’ll call her, but if anything happens to her Frank, I swear to god-”

Frank hung up before he could finish his sentence. 

—————

Of course Claire was going to help. Imagine after everything she had done for these assholes she told Matt, “No sorry, I'm pretty tired today, can’t help.” 

Because aside from being observant and paranoid, she was also kind. That she was sure of. 

So she packed up her supplies, as much as she could carry, and hurried out of her apartment. Walking quickly to the direction of the unknown address Matt sent her. 

It wasn’t far from her place actually, which is how she knew this building was probably also a piece of shit. 

When she got to the right street, she scanned the building's numbers for the right one. She didn’t have to search long as Frank Castle came running up to her. 

“What the hell?” She exclaimed.

“You Claire?” Frank said out of breath. 

“What the hell is going on?” 

“Im gonna take that as a yes. Follow me.” Frank basically ran back to the right apartment. Claire followed. She looked up at the brick building. Yup, piece of shit. 

“Matt told you this was sensitive? You can’t tell anyone what you see.”

“Ever heard of doctor- patient confidentiality?” Claire had to restrain her eye-roll. Did this guy think this was her first rodeo?

“You’re not a doctor.” 

Claire tried not to be offended by that. He was clearly in distress, so she forgave his bluntness. 

“It also applies to nurses” 

“Okay good, that’s good”

He led her to an elevator. He smashed the button to the top floor, then hit it a few more times when the doors wouldn’t close. Claire mentally prepared herself for what she might see. But as the elevator finally ascended, Frank filled her in. 

“Kids recovering from a GSW to the chest, he just got back from the hospital yesterday. He woke up in the middle of the night with a fever, I think the wounds infected. We’ve been trying to get the fever down, but he looks like shit. Passed out an hour ago.”

The elevator doors dinged open to the right floor. They rushed out. 

Claire reeled from the information. She wanted to ask how he got shot, why he didn’t just go back to the hospital, but realized that it wasn’t important. Help the patient now, ask questions later, she reminded herself. 

Frank opened the apartment door, and Claire burst in behind him. She saw a figure laying on the couch, and nothing else mattered. She barely noticed the young girl staring worriedly at his side. But the girl quickly sat up and moved aside. 

Claire quickly took her place and went to work. She opened her bag and took out her stethoscope and thermometer. She touched his face, his young face, her mind supplied, but she quickly ignored those thoughts when she got a good look at his condition. 

He looked awful. Definitely a fever and his heart was practically beating out of his chest. 

Her cold hands must’ve startled him as his eyes shot open and he tried to sit up, grabbing Claire's hands and pushing them away. 

“What’s… what’s happening… Frank, Jean… who are you… STOP!” He pleaded. 

The fever was making him delirious. But his surge of adrenaline quickly drained as his face was pulled into a grimace. 

“Hurts,” the boy whispered. 

Frank quickly stood in his line of sight. 

“Im right here Peter, this is Claire, a nurse friend of Daredevils, let her help you. I trust her.”

Trust. Frank definitely didn’t trust her. Calling her was most certainly a last resort. It was more likely that Frank said it to make sure the kid didn't bolt. It worked. Peter calmed down, but his hesitance was apparent. He collapsed back into the bed.

Claire got back to work. 

“Peter? That’s your name? Okay Peter, I'm gonna take your temperature now. Hold still.”

He complied, opening his mouth and letting her stick the thermometer in. 

While it did its job, Claire took a look at his bare chest. 

“Okay Peter your wound is definitely infected. I'm gonna try to clean it up as much as possible. It’s gonna hurt like a bitch but I need you to hold still as best as you can. Can you do that?”

Peter nodded, thermometer still in his mouth. Silent tears streamed down his face. 

The thermometer beeped, and she saw the number. 

103.5°

Shit. How was this kid still functioning?

“Okay you,” Claire looked at the girl. “Get more ice, the fevers not going down, wet some rags, a towel, whatever you can find.”

The girl quickly got to work. Moving towards the kitchen.

“Peter, I'm gonna give you some Tylenol. Your fever is dangerously high and if you don’t wanna go to a hospital, this is the best I can do.”

“Won’t work” Peter stuttered out.

“What? What do you mean?” Claire exclaimed, was the kid seriously rejecting over the counter medication?

“Metabolism.” he whispered, Claire barely heard him.  

She looked at Frank for an explanation. He looked stressed. Hand in his hair, clearly weighing his options about what he should tell her. 

“This won’t work if you’re not completely honest with me. Right now.” Claire's anger was rising. She didn’t care, this was life or death. 

Franks spoke, sensing her urgency. “Kids enhanced, he heals fast, but his metabolism will eat up anything you give him. Medicine like that won’t work.”

Damnit. Of course Matt’s favor involved someone enhanced. She should’ve seen it coming.  

She took a second to process the confession. Her eyes roamed around the apartment and landed on a bright blue and red piece of spandex on the kids desk. 

Oh. 

Spiderman. This kid was fucking Spiderman. The same Spiderman who was shot in the chest some days ago. In critical condition. It was all over the news. How did she not put the pieces together sooner? 

Because that doesn’t matter, her still stunned mind supplied. Process later. Help him. 

“Okay, then we give him three times the dose and hope for the best.” She quickly jumped back into ‘Nurse mode’. 

She pulled the medicine out and stuck the pills into Peter's mouth. He seemed to be in a trance. It made sense, he was probably in some serious pain. She found a half- drunk bottle of water laying on the floor beside the couch. She tipped the bottle into his mouth lifting his head to help him drink. 

“This should help.”

He swallowed them all without complaint.

The girl came back with towels and small rags drenched in cold water and a few more ice bags. She helped Claire lay them across his body. Peter shivered. 

“Once I clean the wound, we’ll try to get him under the shower, the cold water will help but we don’t want him going into shock.”

Claire finally took a second to look at the young girl. She was trying to put on a brave face, but was failing miserably. Was she his sister? Frank's daughter? None of them looked anything alike. But the way they looked at Peter, they looked just like any other patient's families at her hospital. Anxiously waiting for an answer from medical staff. 

“What’s your name?” Claire asked.

The girl hesitated and looked at Frank who just shrugged. 

“Jean” she finally whispered.

“Okay Jean,” Claire tried to look reassuring. “I'm going to do everything within my capabilities to help your friend, okay?”

She chose her words carefully. She wasn’t in the business of making promises she couldn’t keep. She’d made that mistake before and it was a tough lesson to learn. 

“He’s talking, which is good. Most people with his temperature can barely think straight. I’m sure his abilities are helping the best they can. I’ll stay here and monitor him closely once I clean him up. As long as the fever doesn’t get worse, he should be okay.” 

Jean nodded. The weight from her shoulders didn’t lift and she seemed hesitant to trust anything Claire was saying. But she understood and that was good enough for now.

“Can I sit by him?” Jean eventually said. 

Claire smiled and nodded. “Of course Jean. I’m gonna start cleaning him up, it will definitely hurt. Seeing a familiar face will help.”

Jean walked calmly over to the couch where Peter’s head lay. 

“Peter?” 

Peter looked over at her and smiled. He was trying not to scare her, Claire realized. 

“How do you feel?”

“I feel fine, Claire will fix me right up.” At the same time Peter grimaced. Terrible timing. 

“You’re lying.” Jean caught him. 

“I thought we were gonna cool it with the thought reading,” but Peter didn’t look upset. 

Jean scoffed. “Please. Frank can barely process words said out loud and even he knows you’re not ‘fine’. I’m not doing anything, promise.”

Frank just rolled his eyes at the jab but sat down on the desk chair, settling in. He knew it was gonna be a long night. 

Peter smiled fondly. “I believe you.” 

Claire looked at the two kids in front of her. Because that’s what they were. Kids. Fucking kids. She’s seen patients younger than them going through this and it never got any easier. But she can’t let that get to her. Not right now. She needed to work.

She reached into her bag and pulled out supplies. Gauze, alcohol spray, cotton pads, the works. 

“Okay, I’m gonna start. Peter, if you need to take a break let me know but I’m gonna work as fast as possible.”

“Okay, yea, go ahead” Peter nodded and braced himself. 

She sprayed the wound with the alcohol and Peter reacted immediately. 

His eyes squeezed shut and he held back a scream. He tried to move but Jean held him down.

“I'm sorry Peter. Please, I'm sorry. It’s almost done, I swear okay just close your eyes.” Jean rambled trying to be comforting but her tone of voice betrayed her. 

Claire kept going. Peter stilled eventually doing his best to not move. 

Jean offered Peter her hand, which Peter immediately rejected. 

“I can’t. I’m gonna break it. I’m alright Jean don’t worry. Just be here please, don’t go.” He said between breaths.

Jean nodded and stayed in his line of sight. He gripped onto the sides of the couch instead, the fabric immediately ripping under his strength. 

She watched Frank go into the kitchen and come back with an iron skillet. What the hell.

Claire was even more confused when he wordlessly handed it to Peter who gripped it with both hands and bent it in half. 

“Holy shit” Claire whispered. Even after all the crazy things she’s seen, it never failed to impress her. 

But she continued working. And Peter kept his face contorted in pain, gripping the metal like his life depended on it. 

Eventually, Frank couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Okay let’s take a break, the kid needs a break.” 

“I don’t need a break.” Peter immediately ground out, trying to concentrate.

“Kid doesn’t wanna stop, I’m not gonna.” Claire retorted. 

“Yea well kids not known for thinking straight. So stop.” 

“Frank for the love of god just let her wor-“ 

The words stopped and Claire's head snapped over to Peter, worried he was going into shock. 

She definitely wasn’t expecting Jean's hands on Peter’s head, eyes closed in concentration. Peter’s eyes had fluttered shut, looking bliss, unaware of the pain he was in moments ago. 

“He’s fine, just asleep. Now you can keep working and Frank can stop complaining.” Jean crossed her arms, leaving no room for discussion.

Frank just stared. “Why the hell didn’t you do that earlier?” 

Jean looked at Frank and sighed. 

“He told me not to get into his thoughts, but he didn’t say I couldn’t knock him out until this was over.” 

Frank smirked, amused. “He’s probably gonna be pissed then.” 

“Well let’s ask him, see if he has anything to say on the matter.” Jean's words dripped with sarcasm. 

The older man scoffed. “Smart ass”

Claire wasn’t sure what just happened. She also wasn’t sure what ethical line she just crossed, operating on someone who was, without his knowledge, put under. 

But now she could keep working without Peter’s pained face consuming her thoughts. 

So she did. 

———————

Peter was dreaming. Logically he knew that of course. 

The last thing he remembered before darkness was Claire working diligently to clean his chest wound. He remembered the pain all too well. He also remembers Jean looking at him trying to hide how scared she was. 

Then he passed out or fell asleep. He wasn’t sure. But he woke up in a familiar place that definitely wasn’t his apartment or the hospital and the pain he thought he could never forget was gone. He figured Jean might have had something to do with this. 

He would worry about that later because right now he was in the last place he wanted to be.

He was on Titan. 

There was no denying it. The sand at his feet, the open sky above. 

This is where he died. 

His chest suddenly felt heavy and he struggled to control his breathing. 

Logically, he knew he was dreaming, experiencing a memory he buried deep long ago. But his stupid body didn’t care that what he was seeing wasn’t real, and it reacted in the same way he did all those years ago. With fear and desperation. 

He sat down on the sand and buried his head in his hands. 

“Come on Peter, it’s not real. You’re dreaming. Snap out of it.” He tried to comfort himself.

But memories of Titan brought memories of Tony, and May, then MJ and Ned. 

He missed them dearly. Some days he really did feel like he was stranded on Titan again, but instead of having Tony and the Guardians at his side. He was alone. 

So many thoughts were racing through his head, that he didn’t sense the incoming hand now placed on his shoulder. 

“Peter.” Jean stood above him.

“Jean, what’s.. what’s going on? Why am I here?” He struggled to breathe. 

Jean sat next to him. “Im not sure, but it’s not real, I promise. This is just where your mind took you when I put you under. People say they can interpret dreams, that it’s your mind trying to tell you something. But I don’t have the answers. I can only see what’s right in front of me. For instance, right now we are in the middle of no where.” She smirked. She was trying to distract him. 

“Not nowhere.” Peter supplied “Titan.”

“Sounds cool, where’s that?” Jean asked. 

“Space.” Peter tried to concentrate on Jean's face, and not the dread he felt. 

“Woah. I remember reading about that after… oh.”

“Yea.”

“This is where you…”

“Yea.”

Jean stayed quiet for a moment. 

“This doesn’t seem like a bad place to go,” Jean looked around. “Actually quite beautiful”

Peter let himself look around. See what Jean was seeing. “Too busy fighting for my life to notice really.”

“I was with my sister.” Jean said quickly. Her sister's death, her second death really, was still fresh in her mind. She hadn’t mentioned her since he was shot. “I felt weird, I remember. She pulled me close and then… well, nothing.”

Peter processed what she said, “I was with someone too. Someone I cared about a lot. It hurt more knowing I was dying and he wasn’t, that I was leaving him alone.”

“But we weren’t alone?”

Peter sighed. “No I guess we weren’t.”

“Being alone sucks.”

Peter's chest loosened and he laughed “Yea it does.”

“We shouldn’t be alone anymore. We’ve been alone for too long. Maybe that’s what your mind is trying to tell you.”

“Yea isn’t that what I've been trying to tell you?” He emphasized. “Why would my mind tell me something I already knew?”

“Peter, I'm taking a shot in the dark here.” Jean said, annoyed. She had that face May would give him when Peter said something particularly stupid. 

Family. His thoughts supplied. She looks like family. 

“Okay geez, just thinking out loud here.” His panic was long gone and he was smiling at her. “Maybe my mind was trying to get you to understand then.” 

“Maybe.” She shrugged.

“Yea, maybe.”

They stayed quiet for some time. Admiring the view. 

Peter realized that the memories of this horrible place, the memories that kept him up at night when he was brought back five years later, would be replaced with this one. Him and Jean sharing a moment of silence. Feeling relief that they wouldn’t be alone anymore. Titan looked less terrifying with each passing second. 

“You’re gonna wake up soon.”

“Is everything okay? Am I okay?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Is all Jean said, but she didn’t look afraid, so Peter figured things would be alright. 

“Don’t think we're not gonna talk about you knocking me out without my say.” Peter exclaimed, but there was no malice behind his words.

“Quit whining. It was worth it.”

Yea, I guess it was. 

Then Peter woke up.

———————

Peter opened his eyes and looked around. 

He felt really gross. Hair and body still sticky from drying sweat. A shower sounded so good right now. 

His eyes landed on Jean, back at his desk chair. She was looking right at him. 

“Welcome back,” she smiled “Frank he’s up.”

Frank came in from the kitchen. A wave of deja-vu washed over Peter. 

“Oh thank god!” Frank didn’t even try to hide the relief on his face. It made Peter smile. 

“Aw you do care.” Peter joked. 

“Oh shut up, you know how much trouble I'd be in if you died on this couch.” Frank tried to be firm but he wasn’t very convincing. 

“How do you feel?” Jean piped up.

Oh yea. My chest. 

He took a moment to check himself over. 

His chest still throbbed but not like before. His body didn’t ache as much, so he could only assume the fever finally broke. So overall, as good as he could feel recovering from a gunshot wound. 

“I feel fine.” 

Jean eyed him, but he wasn’t lying. 

He must’ve passed her assessment because she leaned back in her chair looking satisfied. 

“Where’s Claire?” Peter suddenly remembered the woman who saved his life, he felt bad he had briefly forgotten her. 

“She left this morning, you’ve been out two days. But your chest was healing nicely and your temperature finally got back to normal last night, so I relieved her of her duties.” Frank explained. 

“She wanted to stay, but she started to look worse than you, so we sent her home to get some sleep.” Jean added. 

Peter took a deep breath, he was glad the nightmare was finally over. 

“You’re one lucky son of a bitch, you know that?” Frank yelled as he walked back to the kitchen “You're lucky I got friends in high places.”

Peter rolled his eyes and looked over at Jean. 

She looked hesitant but finally got the courage to ask: “Can I crash here?”

Peter couldn’t contain his relief. He stared at Jean for a moment. 

“Yea” he said eventually, when he noticed his silence was making Jean nervous. “Of course. Stay as long as you want.”

We shouldn’t be alone anymore.

——————

Five days later 

Peter felt infinitely better. His healing was doing its job, finally. 

The past five days had been spent lying on his couch, catching up on sleep, eating whatever meal Frank procured, and teaching Jean to play poker. 

She cheated of course. I mean she could read minds, why wouldn’t she? But Peter pretended not to notice, especially since winning made her smile.  

On the third day, after two full days of rest, Peter was finally walking around the apartment. He moved slowly at first. The first time he tried to get up and winced from the sore feeling in his chest, Frank vetoed the “walking around” idea all together and made him lay back down. 

“He’s gonna be sore Frank, just let him get used to walking.” Jean reprimanded which Peter was grateful for. 

Frank eventually let him get back up, and after the initial discomfort, he was moving around the apartment with ease. 

On the fourth day, Peter kicked Frank out. He had to, the poor guy was getting stir crazy. He needed proper rest, he doubted Frank slept as much as he did. He noticed Frank never strayed too far from the couch, always keeping an eye on Peter. He could take the day off. 

“Call me if anything alright? I better not come back and you’re dead on this couch.” Frank ever the optimist yelled as he made his way to the door. 

“Thank you for your unwavering faith in me Frank. Now go shower, I can smell you from here.” Peter jabbed. 

“Whatever. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

And with that Frank walked out of the apartment.  

“Should we do something stupid?” Jean asked. When Peter didn’t laugh, she snorted “Jesus, I'm just kidding. Lighten up will ya?”

But Peter did feel light. Lighter than he had in a long time. 

Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out the burner phone Frank left him. One unknown number in the contact list. 

He pressed ‘call’ and held the phone to his ear, waiting for Daredevil to pick up.

——————

After a lot of convincing that ‘no he wasn’t some random kid that got a hold of Frank's phone, but the so-called ‘friend’ that wanted to show a little gratitude’ Peter eventually found himself heading a couple blocks from his apartment. 

Peter didn’t think Frank would categorize walking as “stupid” and Jean definitely didn’t when he told her his plan. If he was a little winded when he finally reached his destination, well he was just glad Jean wasn’t here to read his mind. 

He knocked on the apartment door and waited. 

And waited. 

Any normal person would think she wasn’t home. Peter wasn’t normal. He heard the floorboards creek on the other side and waited some more. 

“Claire I can hear you” he probably sounded creepy, he realized.

She eventually opened the door.

“How the hell did you get this address?”

Peter can’t say he was surprised she was as paranoid as Frank and Daredevil. 

“Mutual friend.” is all he said. 

Claire sighed but opened the door wider. Peter paused, unsure of the gesture.

 “Well…come in,” she said annoyingly. 

“Oh right, thanks”

He stepped inside looking around. He couldn’t help his curiosity. 

“What can I do for you Spiderman?” She crossed her arms.

Peter whipped around and looked at her, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You know?”

“Of course I know. Your enhancements were a dead giveaway and it's been all over the news that Spiderman was shot. Not hard to put the pieces together. You should also consider hiding your costume before letting strangers in your home. By the way, the red and the blue? You look like a jackass.” 

Well yea that made sense, now that Claire spelled it out for him. He stayed quiet for a moment, mind lingering on her words. 

“Relax, I'm not gonna tell anyone. I’ve gotten pretty good at keeping secrets.” Claire sighed, she looked tired.

“I didn’t think you would. I trust you Claire. You saved my life. I didn’t come here to make sure you didn’t talk. I just wanted to say thank you.” 

Trust. Unlike with Frank, Claire actually believed him. 

Claire studied Peter for a moment. He was young, she noticed once again. 

She could ask him all the questions that were stacked in her mind during her time at the apartment. Who the hell shot you? Who is that girl who stayed loyally by your side, who could tell what Claire was thinking before she said anything? 

But she had a feeling she would be seeing him again, after today, so she kept the questions to herself. 

“You’re welcome Peter. Glad to see you’re okay.” She said instead. 

Peter nodded and smiled. He rocked on his heels, unsure of what to do now. 

“Do you need something, or-?” 

“Do you know why I swing around looking like a jackass?” He interrupted her. 

Claire motioned for him to continue, intrigued by the shift in conversation. 

“Well I was pretty young when I got my powers. I tried a black getup first, but when I looked in the mirror, I realized I looked terrifying. I imagined myself swinging at 70 miles per hour through New York. A figure in all black punching people didn’t seem very friendly. I wanted people to look at me and feel hope. So the bright red and blue seemed like a better choice, I just picked my favorite colors.”

Claire listened to his story and smiled. She’d met many super powered individuals. Many came from dark pasts with dark motives. 

But Claire looked at Peter now and couldn’t help but feel hope. 

“Well thank you for letting me in and hearing me out. I’ll leave you alone.”

Peter made his way to the door but before he opened it, Claire had made a decision.

“Wait. Just wait.” She exclaimed before turning around and looking for a pen and paper. 

She found what she needed and scribbled the same number she had given to Daredevil on the page. 

She handed it to him. “For emergencies only. Seriously. You get two free calls then I start charging.”

Peter stared at her but accepted the offering. 

“Thank you.” He said simply. 

Then he turned around, opened the door and left. 

Claire breathed deeply, the events of the past few days settling on her mind. 

She realized some time later that she had actually offered her medical services to Spiderman. 

God damnit 

Who knew what kind of trouble he would get into. Well it was too late now. 

Plus it wasn’t like she didn’t know her self- preservation skills were shit.