Chapter Text
A split second is all he had.
It always came down to a split second. To dodge bullets or catch falling cars, less than a second was all a hero got to save lives and stop the bad guy. The world was screaming at him that he needed to move. He didn’t need to know why. He knew Jean was in trouble, and he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.
Peter acted.
His body moved before he heard the loud bang or the shattering of glass behind him. Peter hurled himself forward, maneuvering her behind him as they slid across the floor. It dawned on him after that second had passed, when the fear and worry replaced the adrenaline.
A bullet. Frank tried to kill her.
“Are you hurt?” Peter asked breathlessly.
Please be okay!
“I’m okay. I’m fine, I’m fine.”
Peter let out a small breath of relief.
She was fine. She was going to be fine.
He didn’t fail her. Not like the rest. He was going to get Jean out of the terrible building and take her someplace safe. There was nothing for either of them in this cold build of horrors. It was going to be a brand-new day for the both of them. It would be nice having a friend again.
Then he glanced down at his hand, wet with blood.
“Jean.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’m fine.”
Her eyes were growing wide as she stared at the growing red circle forming on her jacket.
Peter’s mouth went dry.
She shook her head as if it would make the blood disappear.
Then her legs gave way.
Peter caught her before she hit the floor.
Against his chest, she seemed to disappear entirely.
“Don’t go, don’t go, don’t leave, please.” Her voice was small and afraid. Jean’s hand searched for his own desperately. Peter had one hand trying to staunch the torrent of blood streaming out of her chest. It stuck to his hand and pooled all over the floor.
Please not like May. Not like Mr. Stark.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m here, I’m here,” Peter promised.
“I don’t want to die here like my sister.”
It twisted a dagger in his stomach.
“You’re going to be fine.” He lied. “It’s not that bad. Just look at me.” He took her hand into his own. “That’s all you have to do.”
Peter tried to offer a hopeful smile, but it was ruined by his tears streaming down his cheeks. They were warm and burned against his skin. It hurt worse than getting pummeled by the Hulk.
Jean tried to speak.
“Peter…please.”
“No, no, no. Just stay with me. Please, just keep talking. What’s your favorite color?”
He treated the entry wound with web fluid.
Both sides.
It went straight through.
Peter couldn’t swing her out. It might make things worse. But waiting wasn’t an option either. Who knew how long it would be before the first responders got there?
If it was paramedics and not Damage Control agents.
He would have to make it on foot. There was a hospital forty blocks from there. He could make it.
I will make it.
Peter put on his Spider-Man mask. He would have to go out a side entrance as well, staying behind cover in case Frank tried to take another shot at them.
“You’ve been in my mind, but I don’t know your favorite color. That’s weird.” He lifted her up. “Mine’s blue, like the sky. Cliché, right?”
Jean’s grip around his neck was weak. “I’m sorry…I messed up.”
“That’s not a color,” he said, and lowered them both down to the ground floor in a fluid controlled motion.
It went by quickly as they descended floor after floor of Damage Control, where he had fought through those mind-controlled ninjas. (Which was admittedly awesome.)
Sunlight replaced gray drab walls as they made it to street level. It was warm against their skin soft as a kiss.
Jean wasn’t talking anymore.
“Stay awake,” he told her. “What do you want to talk about? The color thing was pretty lame.”
Peter was running at this point as her hand around his neck went limp. He was the only thing keeping her from tumbling out of his arms.
“Hold on, Jean. Just hold on.”
New York City was stirring back to life after Jean’s hold had vanished. The bustling pedestrians were out in full force on the sidewalks, a cacophony of people talking on phones and walking accompanied by the blare of police sirens heading toward Damage Control. A woman called out his name, but he could not say who.
Peter kept on running. Then a scream cut through the air.
People turned around and began making way for him in dull understanding. The sea of people parted, allowing him to run down the sidewalk with ease. It was a quiet moment of accord. A city that had withstood an alien invasion and the Snap could come together.
A policeman got on his radio.
“Clear the sidewalks for Spider-Man.”
People could always rise up when the moment called for it.
“Thank you, thank you,” he said to no one and everyone.
The city streets he swung across every day blurred together at street level. His heart was racing in his chest. Only the hospital mattered, a hospital filled with doctors and nurses who could save her life.
Peter glanced down and ran a little bit quicker. Aunt May. Mr. Stark. Uncle Ben. The friends whom he had lost because of his recklessness. I’m not adding Jean to that list.
Self-loathing gnawed at him. He replayed it over and over again in his mind. The exploding glass and the loud bang going off again and again. Then the blood everywhere, on his hands and on the floor. He winced. Peter focused on the moment he sensed danger and every action he took and didn’t take. Was there a moment of hesitation? Is that why the bullet hit Jean?Could he have done something different? There were a thousand things he could have done and should have done. Webbed her away. Tackled her to the ground. Moved her enough that she would only be grazed.
It should have been me. It was a terrible joke that he escaped unscathed and Jean was the one half dead in his arms.
Peter knew that was true.
What if Jean dies?
Guilt strangled his chest until he could scarcely breathe.
By the time he stumbled into the hospital lobby and handed Jean off to an army of nurses and doctors with stethoscopes and clipboards rushing her inside for surgery, Peter was drowning in those regrets.
Doctors pestered him with questions. He answered them as well as he could.
“Shot in the chest. Went through. Once.”
“Next of kin? Do you know who that is?”
“I don’t know. I’ll stay for her.”
No one. She has no one except him.
All the things doctors always asked when he brought someone to the hospital. They asked if he was hurt. Peter shook his head. Nothing they could help him with.
By the time they were done, he couldn’t stay in the waiting room a moment longer. He required fresh air. There was a bench outside, and he sat down and took a deep breath. The exhaustion hit him like a truck. He wished he had someone to talk to. Peter needed a May right now. She would have known what to say.
Before the spell, he might have gone to MJ or Ned. But he couldn’t anymore. No one to call.
There had been nothing stopping him from making friends save himself. It took all of this to realize he couldn’t do this alone. You really messed up, Peter.
Then there was Frank. A fellow crimefighter he considered almost a friend.
His hand tightened into a fist that turned his knuckles wintery white. If he just waited another minute, everything was going to be fine. I got through to her. Instead, he pulled the trigger and sent them here. Frank was always too trigger-happy. But there was no one to punch. No one to hit. Frank was miles away and nowhere near the hospital.Damn it. Why did you take the shot, you broken bastard?
If she died, Peter promised himself he would take Frank in for it.
People came and went through the hospital doors for appointments or emergencies. In the far distance, he heard a police siren’s whine.
I need to get back in there.
If the government came, Peter needed to be in the lobby, ready in case they tried to take her away to some cold, sterile lab to do sick experiments. Director Metzger wasn’t the only one interested in her at Damage Control. Peter wasn’t naïve enough to believe that he was the only rotten apple from that tree. Though Peter doubted they would show up anytime soon. They were disorganized after the attack and likely didn’t even know where they were.
Not yet, anyways.
He had EV scrub them off any network, from local cameras or videos uploaded online. That would slow them down some. And a few fake videos placing them in Brooklyn to confuse them further.
Peter returned to the waiting room and claimed an empty seat.
He was not the only grief-stricken person waiting for a doctor to come out and give an update on a loved one. Though sometimes it felt like he was in his own world of grief that ended with his hands. Hands dry with blood. It felt like years had gone by since he carried Jean in. He was looking at his hands when the tall woman with a clipboard approached.
“Spider-Man, you’re here for the Jane Doe?”
He launched up.
“Yeah, I’m here for her. How did it go?” Peter tried and failed to keep his voice steady.
Peter heard every other word from the woman’s mouth. Out of surgery and alive. A huge weight fell from his shoulders and chest.
“If you want, you can follow me to her room,” the doctor told him. Alive! She’s alive.
“Of course. Yeah, let’s go.”
As they walked down the brightly lit hallways, Peter asked, “How long until she wakes?”
“Hopefully in a few hours.”
Peter stopped.
“Hopefully?”
The doctor shot him a sympathetic look.
“I’m sorry, Spider-Man. She lost a lot of blood. We did everything we could. It’s up to her now.”
Peter didn’t know what he expected to see as the doctor opened the door to Jean’s room.
The sight of Jean hooked up to an IV and all of the beeping machines made his heart drop. Her skin was as pale as the thin bed sheets over her. She looked half a corpse already. Her mind was silent. Nothing probed against his. Only a thick, unnerving silence greeted him.The sterile room reminded him of Damage Control. No, there was light coming in from the windows and chairs for family to sit in.
It wasn’t the same at all.
He wished he had some flowers to decorate the room with or stuffed animals. Though somehow Jean didn’t seem the plushie sort of girl. Peter was getting used to sitting. A rarity for him over the past couple of years. Always swinging, always fighting, or living in the past.
I haven’t been here for anyone like this in so long.
“If there is anything you need, let us know,” the doctor said.
He nodded and took up his watch as he sat in the hospital chair. He brought it closer to Jean’s bedside. She was still quiet. A day ago, and he would have considered that a relief and a job well done. Now, that’s all Peter wished to hear: the sound of her voice in his mind.
She was the only person in the world who understood what he lost and saw May for what she was. It was like she was still with him and not only a grave to place flowers over. I saw Jean too. Peter remembered. The same loneliness that smothered them and refused to let them go. A kindred spirit who needed a friend. I need one too.
The hours were long.
His stomach was hollow and growled as he yearned for something to eat. Peter couldn’t recall the last time he had eaten anything. It felt a betrayal to even get something from the vending machine down the hallway.
He didn’t want to get up and miss her waking up or if she needed help. The latter made him feel sick.
“You aren’t alone, Jean.”
Peter talked to her since she refused to wake.
“I’m not going anywhere. It’s a comfy chair, better than the one in my apartment. You’ve seen it before.” Though through another’s eyes. “Maybe you haven’t seen it. But you know what I mean.” He stammered lightly.
“Talking to the patients? I like to do that too.”
A bubbly voice came from the doorway.
One of the nurses, with a blond ponytail and a friendly smile, was someone Peter vaguely remembered. She carried with her a tray of food from the cafeteria. He could smell the coffee from the doorway. “I brought you something to eat. Figured you could use some.”
“Oh, thank you. That’s really kind of you,” Peter said.
She handed him the tray, which he placed at the foot of the bed. It still felt wrong. Maybe later he would have a bite.
The nurse hovered around the room.
“Respectfully, Spider-Man, I think the girl on that bed would want you to eat. You brought her here and saved her life.”
There was fire in her voice that made him raise a brow before shrugging his shoulders. It was too easy.
Peter sighed. “I doubt that.” He was the reason she was here, half-dead on this hospital bed.
“Idiot,” the nurse mumbled.
“You are awfully rude for a nurse. Don’t they teach you bedside manner?”
She flashed a sweet smile. “The best ones are, dear.”
And Peter decided to humor her. He took a bite out of the roll of bread and began swallowing the coffee down his throat. The sooner he ate, the sooner she would leave, and that worked perfectly for him.
“Have you tried true love’s kiss? I’m sure that would wake her.”
Peter coughed up the coffee he was drinking. The hot liquid dripped down his chin and splattered over the floor.
“What did you just say?” he asked, rising from his seat and searching her face. The nurse had a sly smirk plastered on her face and looked incredibly satisfied with herself.
“Jean?” he dared to ask.
“Hi Peter. You look terrible.”
At first, Peter was overjoyed at seeing her alive or at least hearing her voice and went to embrace her before it dawned on him.
He frowned and crossed his arms.
“I’m sorry.” Jean raised the woman’s arms. “I wasn’t going to. I understand it’s wrong, but you were just so miserable. It’s depressing.” She rolled her eyes. “I couldn’t wait for my body to fully wake, and your mind is closed off to me, even if I can feel your emotions. I’m still recovering,” she said annoyed.
“She’s a person, Jean. Not some puppet for you to walk in.”
“Well, she won’t remember.” Jean replied defensively. “And she was thinking about bringing you food anyway.”
The excuse was weak in his eyes.
It was still wrong.
“Okay, spare me your hero judgment speech about how it doesn’t excuse it,” she bit back. “I’ll get out of her. But try to eat something, okay?”
Peter nodded.
“I will. And Jean…”
“Yes, Peter?” she whispered.
“Thanks.” He smiled. “I know you meant well.”
In a flash the nurse turned dazed. “What? I don’t remember coming here Spiderman.” She rubbed her head in confusion.
“Oh, maybe you should lie down? You must be working too hard.” Peter suggested.
The nurse nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I have been working a double shift. It must be getting to me.” And quickly brushed it off.
Peter would have to have a long talk with Jean once she awoke about using her powers. With great power always came great responsibility. But that would have to wait. First, she would have to wake and he would have to decide where he was going to take her. Damage Control was going to be searching for her and she deserved better than motels or sleeping on buses like some unwanted vagaband. She deserved a life with friends and family. A chance to go to some school. If Frank didn’t shoot her he might have considered him. He nibbled some more on the food and washed it down with some coffee.
Maybe the Avengers could help her? But Peter didn’t want to get her mixed up in this life before she was ready. I need to ask what she wants too. He wasn’t trying to make choices for her.
He was not left to his thoughts for long as Peter saw Jeans eyes flutter open. There was a brief moment of panic before she saw him. “Do we have to run?” She asked bluntly.
“What? No.” Peter replied. “Not yet anyway.”
“I always have to run.”
“Not anymore. I’ll keep you safe.” He sealed his point by taking her hand and giving a reassuring squeeze.
She relaxed with no further coaxing practically disappearing into the bed. She looked so harmless while she rested.
“Then let me sleep a tad longer.” And she drifted back off as if she was never awake in the first place. Peter draped the covers over her shoulders.
It was another hour before she was truly awake.
“Don’t blame yourself.” Was the first thing she told him. “Though you’ll do that anyways. Dumb hero.” She huffed annoyed.
Peter offered a weak smile. “I’ll try.” He managed to keep his voice steady. “I’m just happy your going to be okay.”
And that pleased her. Though Jean was biting her lower lip something bothered her still. Her eyes were unreadable pools of blue. “Why are you still here?” She asked. “With me.”
“What do you mean?” Petter asked baffled. “You're my friend.” And that was something he desperately needed.
“I just didn’t think you would actually stay.” Jean whispered. “That sounded worse than I meant.”
“Have you thought about where you’ll go?”
“I guess you could swing me to a train station or a bus stop.” Jean said her tone indifferent. “That’ll get me a head start at the least.” It might have been the worse plan Peter had ever heard in his entire life and that include his plans that were more desperate last ditch ploys than anything. He almost laughed. This half dead girl wants me to just drop her off at the train station like a box of puppies.
“Stay with me.”
Peter blurted out without really thinking.
Jean stilled.
“Stay at my apartment with me. For a couple of days at least. It’ll be safe. Safest place in New York.” He promised.
“Only a couple of days?”
“For however long you want.”
And the more he thought about it the more it made sense. She could lay low while they hunted for her and what was safer than his hideout? Not a single villain had ever discovered it. Not even the Hand and they were frickin ninjas. What hope did some bureaucrats have?
Jean gawked at him uncertain. “You don’t even have a couch.” She retorted.
Peter laughed. “I can get a couch.” He reassured her. “Do you think I’m broke?”
“A little.”
“I can splurge on a couch.You know I built my own AI. I think I can afford a couch.” He feigned being wounded. “ I’ve just never had the need really. Now I do.”
She played with a strand of hair curling it around her finger as she thought it over.
“My friend or my jailor?”
Jean’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as if he were one those scientists that experimented on Sara. It made his skin crawl.
“Are you doing this just to control me? So I don’t go on some out of control rampage?”
“What do you think?” he snapped back, hurt.
For a brief, terrible moment, he feared that her answer was the latter. Then she launched her arms around his neck in a tight hug, her red strands flying in every direction. She had messy hair. Peter held her and smiled behind her back. She only let go when she winced in pain from the exertion.
“Easy.” He chided gently. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
“It’s nice to have a friend again,” she admitted. “The couch is good. It beats a motel. Not like you have a girlfriend or anything.” Ouch! That stung a little.
Peter laughed. “Exactly, I’m a complete loner. You have no competition.” Other items would have to be purchased like clothes or her favorite food. The small things to make things more livable for company especially a girl as he thought about getting some curtains for privacy. She was looking at him strangely.
“Jean?”
“What?” She reddened. “I’m just tired and your thoughts are probably stupid. Get my clothes. Let’s go now.” She barked out with a sudden sense of urgency. “I don’t like hospitals okay.”
“Are you well enough to travel?”
“Well enough to swing.” Jean said. “I heal quickly.”
Peter nodded in understanding. It didn’t take long to get her out of the bed and for her to change in her blood soaked clothes. A pang of guilt pierced his chest. The doctors would not be happy with this plan of theirs.. But Peter didn’t want to refuse her. I let her get shot. Maybe she didn’t hold it against him, but he did. I always will.
He looked the other way while she changed.
When she was done he swept her up and went out to the balcony her legs wrapped tightly around his waist and her arms around his neck. “I won’t let you fall.” He told her.
“I’m not worried.” She answered and leaned against him relaxed and unbothered as if she had done this hundreds of times.
Peter swung them both into the dark of New York City.