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The first time Jean did it, it was that day.
The day Sara was taken.
Her big sister was teaching her how to hop into people’s minds in the park, and in between the time she left to get ice cream and when she controlled Jean to stay, Jean did it. It was only a few moments, a few precious seconds. She had been captivated by the little girl and her mother playing a simple game of toss and catch on the picnic blanket near them, and her heart ached so badly she couldn’t help but hop into the girl’s mind. It was only pretend and she knew it couldn’t heal her heart, but it was a comfort nonetheless.
Jean cleared her head, took in a deep breath, and closed her eyes as she performed the jump. She felt the body of the girl jerk, and opened the new eyes to see the concerned gaze of her mother. The woman set down the ball and velcro paddle before gently reaching to cup her face, asking if she was okay.
And even though it was only a few seconds, Jean felt as if she’d lived a whole lifetime. Positive memories of the girl’s mother flooded her brain and surrounded her like a fluffy pillow. Her hands were warm on her face, the love in her eyes was unmistakeable, and it almost felt like before, back when her own mother looked at her as if she was treasure instead of a problem that needed to be “fixed”.
Even though all she wanted to do was cry, Jean forced herself to smile and laugh, bringing her hands up to cover the woman’s. She smiled back, and her nose crinkled in the same way that Sara’s did when she was genuinely happy instead of faking it to be strong for her.
“Okay silly,” her mother the girl’s mother said as she booped her nose. “Now, I know what I said before,” she paused to raise her hands in the air innocently before quickly snapping them down to her lap. “But since it’s so hot outside it’s okay. Wanna get some ice cream?”
Jean found herself nodding excitedly before remembering that’s exactly what Sara was currently doing. She turned the girl’s head to look at the ice cream truck and started calculating a path of people to hop between to reach her as a surprise. She figured Sara would be so proud of her that she’d suggest hopping together into a pair of siblings next as more practice, but then everything changed.
Cars pulled up with men on the sides carrying guns, cornering Sara in, and Jean abruptly returned to her body, the pretend family time forgotten. The men swarmed her sister and no matter how many times Jean plays the memory back in her dreams, she can still never reach her in time, can never overpower her sister who valued her life more than her own.
The story ends the same way every time. Jean runs to her and tries to stop them but is overpowered and comes back to herself leaning against a tree, with Sara gone.
So is the ice cream truck.
And so is the little girl and her mother.
If she could go back she’d change it in a heartbeat, to spend the last few seconds looking at her sister’s retreating form instead of playing pretend with a stranger’s mother as she invaded her mind. She could have joined her at the truck and even if they were taken together, they could’ve figured a way out, together.
But that didn’t happen, and now she just has to rescue her and break Sara out all by herself. The guilt of the missed opportunity is overwhelming, crushing her heart and filling her up with an intense hatred for the man who stole the last remaining family she had left.
The second and third times she did it, they were accidents.
Jean avoided mind hopping for a bit after losing Sara because the crushing shame of imagining those she invaded waking up with no memory was overwhelming. The memory of her fingernails digging into the tree after she woke up herself was too fresh so she avoided using her ability altogether. Ironically, their mom would be so proud of her for refusing that part of herself.
But soon she realized that she needed to practice if she was ever going to rescue Sara, and went back to spaces that had people within close distances of each other. Parks, busy streets, big events, things like that. Never the park however, never again. Even when she finally reunited with Sara, they would never go back to the scene of where she’d been abducted.
Jean started small, and avoided children at all costs. She couldn’t rob them of precious moments they had with their family, because just like her own story, family could disappear in a heartbeat and she refused to steal any moments from them. Not to mention she would just burst into tears anyway.
It was during one of her practice sessions that she unintentionally entered a child’s mind.
The child was standing on a rock to be taller, and as she quickly hopped between people the added height fooled her, she didn’t notice the smaller build and slight frame. She would have immediately hopped to the next person, but she registered hands grasping her own. Hands that were protective. Curious, she looked to both sides of the new body, noticing a man and a woman.
The child’s body she inhabited was being held steady by his parent’s hands.
The boy’s memories felt like an assault, even though they were full of happiness and love. He trusted his parents, they’d never betrayed him. Jean opened her mouth silently, standing there in complete shock. But the boy’s mom mistook it for a fear of heights and quickly grasped him underneath the armpits and spun him around before settling him on her hip.
“It’s okay my love! See? I’m right here to catch you.”
Jean couldn’t remember the last time her own mom told her she loved her. Couldn’t remember the last time she’d held her close and made her feel safe. So she abruptly jumped to another person, not even visually checking before doing so. Her eyesight was becoming blurry anyway, and she refused to cry so she left the situation before it became worse.
But of course she jumped into the body of another child. In her defense the body was a grown adult, but still a child nonetheless; the child of the old woman using a walker next to her. In her heightened emotional state where was still reeling from the previous boy and his unfairly loving parents, it took Jean a few seconds to analyze the new memories and decipher what the daughter had been doing before she entered her mind.
Turns out the woman’s mother had dementia, and despite the sometimes rocky relationship they’d had for the past six decades, there was a strong bond between them. Like Jean and Sara, they were the only ones left in their family and the woman was deeply saddened by her mother’s inability to remember her.
But Jean would get Sara back, she would. She refused to let it remain a sad story, and she refused to let herself become distracted any longer. So she hopped out of the woman’s mind…but not before hearing her mother call out the correct name of her daughter in a frail, hopeful voice.
She was about to jump away again but turned around the body of the 25-year-old curling champion in front of them to watch the family duo. The mother’s brief moment of clarity dissipated, and Jean had been inhabiting the daughter’s mind when she said her name so she didn’t remember it.
Fearful that she’d stolen a last moment from the daughter of her mom remembering her, she jumped into the mind of the mom and repeated it again. “Viola,” she called, and the daughter’s face lit up with a smile that was almost brighter than the current purple sunset. “I love you, my sweet Vivi, never forget that.”
Jean only spoke the words she wished her mom had truly meant, the words she ached to hear again from Sara, but until that happened, the sight of Viola drinking in the joy was enough to make her smile.
The fourth time Jean did it, it was intentional.
It had been a while since Sara was taken, and one of the leads in her investigation had disappeared. She thought she’d discovered the brains behind the operation, the man who gave the orders, but it turned out to be false. The men who took her were good, and knew how to cover their tracks. Fresh off realizing the lead she’d been hunting down for months was all for nothing, she screamed as loud as she could and collapsed into herself in a back alley.
Jean didn’t know how long she stayed there, but it was long enough for the damp concrete from an evening drizzle to soak into her jeans. She swiped an arm across her face, wiping away her tears and shifted her stiff leg muscles into another position. Numbly, she absentmindedly jumped into a man walking past the alley and made her way down the street, not even truly paying attention to what was going on.
Suddenly she heard a baby crying in a building nearby. She halted the mind hopping, and stopped the jog of an adult who was preparing for a marathon later that month. She moved the person’s body to the window and peered in.
A small baby was being rocked in their mother’s arms, their own little arms flailing around in an uncoordinated fashion. The room was lit by the soft glow of a teddy bear lamp, clearly carefully chosen with care. The mother was visibly exhausted; there were bags under her eyes and her face was lined with a weariness that came from being pushed past her limit many times.
In her desperation to be comforted, Jean jumped into the mind of the baby.
In a body as young as this one, the memories were different. The language spoken to the child was not understood, the visuals were mostly blurry and discernible colors were muted and limited. But the feelings were deep. An overwhelming sense of love for the baby’s caregiver, the mother, seemed to be etched into their very DNA.
The baby didn’t understand the world, but knew that when they cried, their mother would always come.
Jean moved the baby’s fragile arms and clutched desperately to the mother’s neck and chest. She cried and cried, pouring out the emotions of her life. The pain of her mother turning against her, and the utter betrayal and disbelief of a parent doing such a thing to her own child. Jean cried for Sara, for her guilt at playing pretend before she was taken, the guilt of her inability to do anything as Sara took over her mind to save her, and the guilt of always chasing dead ends and not having gotten any closer at finding her after all this time.
During her much needed cry, the mother never once told her to stop. She never once neglected her, or set her down and left the room. She simply held her closer, and hummed comforting songs as she gently rubbed her back.
That only made her cry harder, but they were different tears. Tears of love, even if this wasn’t her mother. They were tears of being held, treasured, and cherished—even if it was fake.
The mother, ever attuned to Jean’s the baby’s behavior, noticed the different cry and pulled her away from her chest to look at her face. The mother cupped her cheek and gently wiped away the tears with her thumb.
“Oh there you go my darling, you’re okay. You’re okay my baby girl, you can cry those big tears all you want.”
The woman’s form was blurry because of Jean’s tears and the baby’s limited visual development, but Jean understood English and her words sounded like an angel’s choir. She wasn’t sure if the baby was capable of smiling yet but she thought she managed one as she nuzzled her face into the mother’s warm palm.
“My little Jeannie.”
And she immediately returned to her own body.
Gone was the warmth of the mother’s arms around her, gone was the soft lighting of the orange teddy bear lamp. Jean was crying alone in the cold, dark alley, while the other Jeannie lived the life she so desperately wanted.
The fifth time she did it, it resulted in a murder.
Sara was still gone, and Jean’s pitiful life had hardened her. Every loving relationship between family members that she witnessed—either by sight or possession—was a direct insult. It cut straight to her heart every time, and bitter rage and resentment filled her veins with each one. They never seemed to be grateful enough, to truly recognize how blessed they are to have a loving family supporting them, something she’d give anything to have back.
She was in the middle of making plans to infiltrate the Department of Damage Control when the memories of a particular person she was jumping through caught her attention.
Visions of broken bones, bloody noses, and whispered words of “tell them you fell off your skateboard again” filled her head. The person who she’d inhabited wasn’t the victim, but the perpetrator. And she’d inflicted it upon her own children.
Twins, to be precise. A boy and a girl. Thomas and Carina.
Jean stopped dead in her tracks, and quickly concocted a plan. Her drive to find Sara was important, but these children needed her and she could channel her hatred and rage for the men that took Sara towards taking this mother down. She could save them, and provide them a better life free from abuse.
Just like Sara said, a mom who treats her children in such a way isn’t a real mom.
Using her memories, she made her way to the woman’s small and ratty apartment. Her name was Gremelda Scragg, an ugly name for an ugly woman and pathetic excuse for a mother. At least she’d spared her children the same fate with their first names, but after sorting through more memories her late husband was the one to pick them.
Gremelda had always had a temper and was a clear narcissist. She’d cut off all contact with her family and isolated her husband, Casey Sterling, from his own. On their first date, he’d broken down and confessed to having been abused by his biological parents before being removed from the home and put into the care of his loving adoptive family. Gremelda heard that, and decided to manipulate him even further, lulling him into a sense of false security before treating him the same way once they were married.
One day, Gremelda discovered he was secretly building evidence of the abuse, had developed a plan to present it to the police, and would file for a restraining order and full custody of the twins. He’d been in contact with his adoptive parents and sister and knew all the steps to take based on his previous experience.
Jean nearly scratched out Gremelda’s eyes in a state of maddened frenzy when she watched the memory of her cleverly murdering Casey in a house fire before “nearly escaping herself and being devastated she couldn’t save him”. All the documented evidence was destroyed, and her husband’s family had nothing to back their claims. It was their word against the mother of the children “who was overwhelmed with grief”, and the courts did nothing to protect them.
Wrath filled Jean’s veins, and she could barely walk straight. She was so desperate to help the children that she sprinted the rest of the way back. She burst into the dingy apartment, Gremelda’s out of shape body panting with fatigue and gasping for air.
She nearly burst into tears at the sight of the twins. They had both flinched at her entrance, and straightened their bodies immediately from where they were probably completing first grade homework at the crowded kitchen table. Little Carina’s hair was greasy and matted, appearing as if it hadn’t been washed or brushed in days. Thomas had a cast on his right arm and a faded bruise covering his left eye.
Taking in a deep breath, she forced herself to remain calm. “I’m going to my room,” she said, “do not interrupt me.” They both nodded, and Thomas clutched his sister’s hand in fear.
Jean blinked more tears away and stopped herself from spiraling down a rabbit hole where she imagined being able to hold Sara’s hand once again. She would, one day soon, but that was not what her focus was currently on and she stiffly walked to the bedroom, feeling as if she was wading through quicksand.
She dodged the massive piles of hoarded items that made the cramped home—if you could even call it that—even smaller. The smell of cigarettes clung to the air, having stained the walls and previous butts littered the floor.
A still lit cigarette is how Gremelda framed the house fire as an accident.
When Jean entered the bedroom, she released some anger by swiping the useless items cluttering the desk off, ignoring the sound and hoping she hadn’t scared the twins. She most likely had, but after her plan was complete they would never be hurt by their mom again.
Jean propped the woman’s smartphone against the wall and desk, hit record, and confessed. She confessed to the abuse of the woman’s husband and children, and the murder of Casey. She detailed the pathetic and inexcusable reasons why, the inner thoughts of Gremelda as she hurt them over, and over, and over again. And most of all, Jean lied, saying that Gremelda was paranoid of Casey’s family finding more evidence and having enough to take her children away. She said that she couldn’t bear to live in prison, and was ending it before it got to that point.
Then, her anger fueling her, Jean furiously hit the end record button. She unblocked the numbers of Gremelda and her husband’s families, individually texting the video to each of them. Then she piled the twins into the car, drove to the nearest police station (she’d practiced driving while inhabiting others bodies), and told them to wait one minute before going in and telling the first officer they saw to watch the last video on the phone and call their grandparents.
Before she could stop herself, she left them with a few departing words.
“I’m leaving. I was never a good mom to you both. Your dad was always better than me, and now you can live with his family.”
Their wide and innocent eyes that were brimming with tears and confusion nearly made her stop, but she forced herself to turn on her heel and run into the nearest building. As she took the elevator to the top floor, she ran those words through her mind again, hoping it would bring them comfort. There was so much she wanted to do, so much more she wanted to say, but hugging and kissing those poor children while appearing as their despicable mother would have only made things worse.
Jean hoped the twins would eventually view their mom as she did for her own. Someone who didn’t love them, and they were better off without her. They had each other, and soon Jean and Sara would be the same. Together again. Both pairs of siblings would heal from their wounds and create a better future by each other’s sides.
The elevator dinged to the top floor, and Jean knew that by then the twins had given the phone to a police officer and delivered the message. They were probably watching the video, and no doubt some of the family had texted back or called, easily providing the police with the numbers of the family that had fought for the twins’ safety for so long with no avail.
Jean stepped out of the elevator, and casually climbed the ladder to the private roof. She knew this building, and knew the lax security wouldn’t interrupt her mission. She walked to the edge of the roof, Gremelda’s most likely cancer-ridden lungs wheezing.
Memories of frightened screams, tiny hands of brother and sister grasped together trying to comfort each other, glares meant to intimidate and control, panicked-filled and daily repetitions of “I’m sorry!!!”, and Casey’s dying words, “Don’t you dare kill my babies! I’m begging you! Please!” filled her up so much that she could barely see.
They mixed with her own memories of her mom’s smiles turning sour, the disgust on her face when she realized their powers, Sara’s hand grasping her own as they ran away, and her sister’s last—not dying—words, “I’m sorry Jean. I have to keep you safe.”
And Jean stepped off the roof.
She made sure to pick an empty spot on the sidewalk to land, and selected the person to hop into once she was within range. A satisfied smile crept onto her face as she listened to Gremelda’s terrified and confused screams, and she enjoyed every second of her falling the last 33 feet before crunching onto the concrete ground.
Afterwards, Thomas and Carina Sterling were placed under the temporary care of their father’s sister and husband before eventually being adopted by them like Casey had been so many years ago. Gremelda Scragg’s confession and subsequent suicide was labeled a horrifyingly strange, puzzling, but also relieving case by the city of New York.
As Jean continues her investigation into Damage Control, she checks in on the twins often. They are safe, and even though their grandparents are heartbroken that the cycle repeated itself, they’re grateful nonetheless that their son’s efforts to protect his children were not in vain.
The fifth time, the comfort came from jumping into the twins’ minds and feeling a lack of fear towards their new caregivers. As long as Jean was around, she would protect as many children as she could from people trying to hurt them—even if it’s their own parents.
+1
This time, it’s a little different because Peter Parker is willingly comforting her with the memory of his own dead aunt who was like a mom to him.
It doesn’t make sense. She has done nothing but try to stop him. She’s taunted him, invaded his former girlfriend’s mind to break his heart, threw her off a roof, sent everyone in the building to attack him, frozen practically the entire city of New York, and he’s still trying to help her. She doesn’t know what to do because for so long Sara was the only one she could trust, but now Sara is gone. She thought she could trust her mom but that changed and what if Peter did too?
But now Jean’s sitting on his bed, replacing the younger version of Peter and taking every word of his aunt’s speech to heart.
“You’re a really special person,” she says, and the look in her eyes is so different from her mom’s when she said the same thing it makes her want to cry. “And I would hope that that will always make you feel really great about yourself…but I know sometimes it doesn’t.”
If she wasn’t special she’d still be at home with her mom and her sister would be alive.
“Sometimes you’ll be really lonely.”
She remembers cars filled with men wielding guns cornering Sara and throwing her to the ground, all the while she has a resigned look on her face, fully accepting her fate.
“And sometimes, because you’re special…people can do dark, monstrous things to you.”
Splitting pain rattles throughout her entire body from the forced rapid jumps, and she jolts back against the chair again, and again, and again. Her exhausted body tilts back, her neck no longer able to support her head and delivering her the perfect view of the painful truth of V-Max.
“But, this is what I want you to know. You’re beautiful, and the people who love you? We love you not because you’re special, we love you because you’re you.”
Peter, who loves MJ and Ned so much that he watched them from a distance for four years, unable to force himself to tell them the truth but also unable to look away. Peter, who lost everyone he ever loved and delivers flowers to his aunt’s grave every week. Peter, who has a heart so big that he’s fought everyone she sent after him to save her.
“I want you to remember that. Even when it feels like you’re totally alone. That’s your deepest responsibility.” May Parker leans in and lifts her arms, pulling her into a hug. “Never forget that, no matter how powerful you become.”
Jean shakily brings her own arms up and returns the hug, finally allowing the tears that had been building the entire time to fall down.
But this time, May doesn’t call her Jeannie which will prompt her to return to her body and feel even worse than before, this time May disappears and Peter enters the scene. He tells her that just because she’s lost someone, it doesn’t mean that she has to do it alone. He’s tried, and he says it doesn’t work. And that she does know. She’s in his mind, she’s seen the crushing loneliness of the past four years that matches her own.
It’s not the same, because no two stories are ever the same. Even hers and Sara’s are different. Peter’s loneliness is characterized by a coffee cup filled with a letter packed with a devastating truth, and returning home battered and bruised to no one, and the lack of support compared to before makes the mental anguish even worse.
Her own loneliness is characterized by electric shocks, crushing guilt of her own abilities being the cause of her sister’s death and family’s destruction, and knowing that despite the build up and anticipation of the past few years, Sara is never coming back.
But they have each other.
And then Peter is shot.
He goes down, saying stupid things like “you’re gonna be okay” and “just go” that sound too much like “I’m sorry Jean. I have to keep you safe” that don’t fix anything. She left Sara once, and now her sister’s gone. She’s gone forever, just like Casey Sterling and Frank Castle’s wife and little children, and she will never come back. But Jean is stronger now, she’s more powerful than ever before and just like his aunt said, Peter loves her, took a bullet for her, and now her deepest responsibility is to pay him back.
He risked his life for her and now she knows she can trust him because her own mom would never do something like that. Sara risked her life for her, died in that chair without revealing where Jean was, and willingly let herself be taken to protect her and now Peter is dying for her too.
She will not abandon him. She will never again find tree bark underneath her fingernails from being desperately dug into the wood as someone she loves is carted off to their death. Peter will live because she will save him; it’s her responsibility. Damage Control tortured Sara to death and tortured her because of their powers. And Jean will save Peter not just because she has special powers, but because she’s his friend.
So she clears her vision by blinking away the straggling tears that feel weird when they drip down at this angle, concentrates, and breathes. Breathes for him. She breathes for him and keeps pressure on the wound until Frank Castle comes back, crying his eyes out and muttering incomprehensible words. She breathes for him as she tugs the mask back over his face and Frank runs to the nearest hospital. She breathes for him as she slinks away to hide in the shadows while he’s undergoing surgery.
She breathes for him until he’s finally ready to do so on his own, and carries the words his aunt said to them in her heart as she begins a brand new day.