Chapter Text
The first time Peter dreamed of Jean Grey, it had only been about a week after his release from the hospital.
Already that week, his nights had been a bit restless; spending so much time with his mind literally occupied by another person had left something of an impression, it seemed. His dreams were often fitful things, plagued by scattered memories of a life that wasn’t his, snatches of conversation with familiar strangers, images of a woman with a painful and bitter yearning attached to her. And always, a jolt of sudden, hissing wakefulness when he rolled over, shifted wrong, or otherwise disturbed the still-healing gunshot wound.
Damn it, Frank…
At least he could officially add getting shot to the list of catastrophic injuries he’d sustained, right up there with getting a building dropped on him or hit by a train.
If only there was a bingo card somewhere.
He lay for a moment in the dark of his apartment, listening to the never-ending rush of New York City drift in through a cracked window while waiting for sleep to return. The lancing pain from his healing wound had sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through him, however, dragging his mind to a foggy wakefulness that wouldn’t shake so easily. Slipping out from under the covers he crossed through the gloom to his kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water and taking a sip while checking the clock. It was the kind of late that was still more night than morning, where deciding to commit to being up became an all-nighter and not simply an early start. It would behoove him to get some rest; sleep-deprivation had proven in the past to be rather detrimental to Spider-Manning.
That clip of him getting pancaked into a wall by the Rhino still surfaced in the occasional Reddit thread, and it was a real day-ruiner.
He set his glass in the sink and made his way back to bed, flopping onto the mattress and willing himself to just get back to sleep. The doctors had told him that rest would help with the healing process, and so far, he had been doing a very poor job of that. His enhanced healing factor was most definitely the only reason he wasn’t in debilitating pain right now.
97...89…83…79…73…
He realized he was dreaming when he was back at Midtown. The hallway was fuzzy in that dreamy way, the lockers indistinct and the trophy case filled with a muddle of glinting trophies and ribbons that seemed to shift and morph as he looked at them.
Then he was speaking, or rather his voice was, from somewhere near where his dream-mouth would be.
“It was not cool, especially be…because I…like you…”
Peter glanced sidelong to his right, and there was Liz, Liz Toomes, smiling at him and looking so young through the lens of his memories. It was a familiar scene, one that filtered through his dreams sometimes or even during his waking moments when he let his mind drift while swinging. The memories seemed to crystalize around Liz, the hallway washing out until it was just her, standing there and tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear.
“I’m sorry, I…I don’t know you,” she said, and Peter felt a drop in his stomach. That was new. And yet the words felt horribly familiar, crushing as they were the first time MJ had uttered them to him and quashed the reluctant and almost shameful hope he’d felt at seeing her clutching the letter and staring at him with eyes full of realization…
What had he been thinking? That reading a letter would just undo a reality-bending spell that had obliterated her memories? That she would just pick right up where they’d left off after four years of life without each other? Bad enough that he had already had the possibility dangled in front of him by –
“Wow, you really are kind of a masochist, aren’t you?”
Peter jolted at the voice. Liz had gone, and in her place, peering up at him with a bland expression and a quirked eyebrow, was Jean Grey herself. She looked better than the last time Peter had seen her, like she’d actually gotten a good night’s sleep and a few decent meals in her. She wore a Midtown Academy hoodie that looked just like the one Peter had once kept in his locker.
“…Jean?” Peter asked. “Wait-wait, is this really you? Or am I dreaming about you?”
“Do you dream about me often?” Jean asked with a quirk of her lips, looking around. As she did, the school seemed to pull itself together around them, the trophy case now resembling something quite a bit less nonsensical, the numbers coming into focus on the lockers. “You went to school here?”
“Yeah, um…Jean, is everything alright?” Peter asked. “It’s just, this is my dream, and…”
“Oh, did you wanna go back to getting dumped by your first date before it even starts?” Jean asked, turning away to stroll up to the trophy case and inspect it. “But wait, this is the remix version where you come to terms with the fact that she doesn’t even remember who you are now.”
“Jean, c’mon,” Peter said. “I’m kinda going through some stuff right now, and I haven’t been sleeping so well.”
“What do you think you’re doing now?” Jean asked, looking up at him with that same unreadable expression in her blue eyes.
“…Oh, um…thanks,” Peter said, and Jean shot him a little smirk.
“You’re welcome,” she said, ambling away and down the hall. Peter hastened after her, following as she wandered through the school. She seemed to be constructing it as they went, each section of hallway and each classroom pulled straight from his more vivid recollections. The result was a school that shifted through seasons with every step, a poster for a Christmas talent show that he’d attended plastered on one wall before they rounded the corner to a massive banner wishing everyone a good summer. The sight had Peter contending with a vivid memory of that first summer after freshman year, mere months after being bitten by the spider that had changed everything. Uncle Ben’s death, meeting Tony, flying to Berlin and fighting with actual Avengers…
But Tony was dead. Uncle Ben was dead. Aunt May was dead. And none of the people he’d shared these halls with, the classmates and friends he’d known his whole life, even remembered who he was.
Not even MJ. Not even Ned…
“So…did you just…decide to visit?” Peter asked, desperate to distract himself from another spiral. Next to him, Jean was studying a poster for the chess club, hands stuffed into the pockets of her sweater. At his question, she looked up at him with a thin-lipped expression that looked to be fighting a smile.
“You mean, did I just decide I was bored and I wanted to hop into your head and say hi?” she asked. “Your bitter self-loathing isn’t really the ideal vacation spot, Peter.”
Peter rolled his eyes, and she finally lost the fight against the smile, letting a single little laugh.
“Our brains are still a bit synced up, I think,” she said, waving a finger around her head in a vague gesture. “Surprise, spending days in someone’s skull and keeping their vital organs moving for them can make you a bit comfortable inside their mind.”
“Is that why I’ve been dreaming about your memories?” Peter asked. “Have we been…dreaming together?”
“You’ve been grazing my dreams,” Jean said, leading him along again. “I’ve felt it the past few nights, kinda like bumping into someone on the sidewalk or something. Tonight, it’s like you got shoved into me.”
“Well…thanks for helping me sleep, at least,” Peter said, and Jean peered over her shoulder at him with a catlike smile.
“Well, I’d hate to have spent all that time keeping you breathing just for you to get flattened by the Rhino again,” she said.
“Oh, come on!” Peter said with snicker, and Jean let a laugh that echoed down the quiet hallway. Peering up at him, she canted her head to the side.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” she asked.
“…Um, same thing I do every day,” Peter said. “Spider-Man stuff.”
“That’s depressing,” Jean told him. “You should at least eat a good breakfast, though. Open the door.”
“What?” Peter asked.
And then he was awake, sunlight peeking into his apartment from behind the drawn curtains and casting everything in a dim morning glow. Blinking blearily, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. His body felt heavy in a pleasantly sleepy way, his mind alert like it hadn’t been for…years… He and Ned had once joked that coma patients must wake up feeling the most rested they’d ever felt.
This felt like coming out of a coma.
As he was standing, a knock sounded at his door, and he shook his head before he made his way over and opened it. Jean stood there with an expectant look on her face, smirking as her eyes darted up and down him.
“Nice boxers,” she said, and Peter hastened to cover himself while she snorted at him. She held up a bag that smelled faintly of breakfast burritos from a nearby bodega. “Breakfast?”
“…Yeah, okay,” Peter said.
(][][)
“So, that was…Liz?”
“Yeah, Liz Toomes,” Peter said through a mouthful of burrito. It was a chorizo-laden masterpiece from a place two blocks over, one Peter had swung through on more than one morning after an all-nighter.
He wondered if Jean had seen it while she’d been in his head, or if she’d simply found it on her own and become a fan.
“What happened with her?” Jean asked. She was perched cross-legged on Peter’s bed, digging into her own burrito and occasionally reaching for a to-go cup of coffee. Peter had dragged his single chair over and sat across from her, feeling a small stab of embarrassment at the sparse furnishings.
He didn’t exactly entertain much.
“I… Spider-Man got in the way,” Peter says. “Her dad was the Vulture, and I had to stop him. She and her mom moved away to get away from the drama.”
“Wow, of all the girls,” Jean said with a wry smile, and Peter let a single hum of amusement.
“Yeah, I know to pick ‘em,” he said, looking up to see those blue eyes peering at him. “You decided to stay in the city, then?”
Jean was quiet at that, her gaze darting away before she reached for her coffee again and took a sip.
“What can I say, you worm into enough heads in this city, you start to feel like a native,” she said. “But also, wow, New Yorkers have some serious loyalty to their city. Two alien attacks, the sky cracking open, that big depression shadow…”
“Yeah, that shadow thing was not a good afternoon,” Peter muttered.
They finished their burritos, and just as Peter was downing the last of his coffee, E.V. spoke from his desk.
“Good morning, Peter. The Tarantula is currently attempting to rob a jewelry store in Manhattan.”
“…Oh,” Peter said, tossing his coffee cup at the trash can nearby and hurrying to collect his suit. “Uh, set a course and check the cameras, see if you can get eyes on his crew.”
“Of course, Peter. I hope I haven’t disturbed your time with Miss Grey – “
“No, E.V., you didn’t,” Peter cut the AI off, glancing over to see an amused Jean already getting to her feet. “Uh, sorry, I gotta go.”
“I could go with you, you know,” Jean said with a shrug. “Help.”
“What?” Peter asked, ducking into his bathroom to quickly change into his suit. “Jean, I dunno, I mean…if someone recognizes you, you’re still wanted by Damage Control, aren’t you?”
He stepped out of the bathroom moments later, pausing on the way to grab his mask at the sight that greeted him.
Jean held his mask out to him, but another of his old ones was already pulled over her head. She canted her head at the look he gave her.
“Spider-Woman,” she said, striking a little pose. “C’mon, piggyback, let’s go.”
“It’s dangerous, Jean, I can’t just – “
“Peter, would you just let me do something good for this city for once?” Jean cut him off. “Anyway, unless someone’s trying to pop me with a sniper rifle, I’ll be fine. And if they do, this time, maybe try to get me out of the way without taking the bullet for me?”
Peter sighed, staring at her for a long moment before snagging the mask from her hand and pulling it over his face before heading to the window.
“I’m not doing a piggyback – “
“Oh, yes you are – “
“I will carry you, I don’t do—oof!”
Peter felt her collide with him, wrapping her arms and legs around him like some sort of infuriating redheaded barnacle. Thankfully, he didn’t knock over easy.
“Jeez, you’re like a statue,” Jean muttered as she clung to him.
“Alright, piggyback it is,” Peter sighed, launching himself out his window.
(][][)
Jean Grey was a much more enthusiastic passenger than MJ had ever been. She clung to Peter in ways that he tried very hard not to think about while zipping between buildings and also still fine-tuning the use of his organic webbing, and her head seemed to swivel constantly around, the occasional breathless sound of awe escaping her.
Peter was infinitely grateful for DeWolff’s call.
“DeWolff, didn’t I put this guy away already?” he asked as he swung.
“Well, that’s the funny thing that happens when you crash an armored truck into a prison compound,” DeWolff told him. “Some of ‘em go and escape.”
“Oops,” Jean muttered into his ear, sounding only slightly contrite.
“Alright, I’m enroute,” Peter said.
“I don’t suppose anything I say is gonna convince you to sit this one out and rest?” DeWolff asked him, and Peter chuckled.
“You know me better than that, Jean,” he said.
“Unfortunately,” DeWolff said. “Just be careful, Spidey.”
“Her name is Jean, too,” Jean said idly as they swung.
“Small world, huh? E.V., what’ve you got?”
“Security cameras in the store indicate that Anton Rodriguez, alias the Tarantula, is working with a crew of seven armed individuals,” E.V. said. “It looks like they’re about to attempt an escape.”
“They have seven arms?” Jean asked.
“Jean,” Peter sighed.
“That’s very amusing, Jean” E.V. said. “I hope you’re enjoying your outing with Peter – “
“E.V., just tag ‘em on the way out!” Peter said as they swung in for a landing on the roof of the building. Jean climbed down, working the stiffness out of her joints and stretching her arms over her head.
“Of course, Peter,” E.V. said.
“Peter, do you want me to – “
“Just stay here,” Peter said, rushing to the edge of the building. The sounds of shattering glass drifted up from below, followed by shouting and screams as Peter leapt over the side. Sticking a hand out, he shot a web up toward a flagpole jutting from the building, gripping it to slow his fall to a gentle landing in front of the Tarantula, who stopped dead at the sight of him.
“Anton, where’s your costume, bud?” Peter asked, webbing a bag of diamonds from his arms. “You had a whole mask and everything, it was kinda cool.”
Anton didn’t say anything, merely withdrawing a gun from his belt…and setting it on the ground. Behind him, his entire crew did the same, disarming themselves and dropping their bags before raising their hands.
“We surrender,” they all said in unison. “Spider-Man is too amazing for us to beat.”
“You gotta be kidding me,” Peter said, palming his face. Behind him, the sounds of distant sirens grew closer, and he turned to see several police cruisers skidding to a halt outside of the bank before disgorging a few officers. They raised their guns, only to look bewildered as the entire crew moved in an orderly line to lie face-down on the sidewalk, arms behind their backs.
Peter simply gestured at them.
“All yours, fellas,” he said before webbing his way back up to the top of the building. Jean was there, and though she still had the mask on, Peter just knew she was smirking at him.
“Wanna get home?” she asked. “You do need your rest, don’t you?”
“The unison chant was a bit much,” Peter said as she climbed onto his back. “Kinda creepy.”
“I called you amazing,” Jean said with a smile in her voice. “Doesn’t that count for something?”
“…That was kinda nice,” Peter said, webbing away.