Chapter Text
Chapter One
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
It’s all Peter had been hearing for a while now: that, and the voice of what was his ‘enemy’ in heavy quotations. She, Jean, was the cause of many of his problems that week. But then again, it wasn’t her fault either, at least not entirely. Metzger and damage control...they were every part to blame, just as she was.
Jean.
Peter thought once more, letting his fingers brush through his messy hair. Another breath escaped him as he thought about the red-haired telepath. According to Frank, she had been gone before he even reached there, but she kept him alive with what the gunman described as Voodoo. But Peter was sure she occupied his mind and assisted him in whatever it was that he was meant to be doing.
The only problem was that with sending her away, he never got to say thank you, and that was something that seemed to bother him. Especially with the way she stayed on his mind recently.
“Shots fired...” E.V reported. The rest was filed deep away in his memory somewhere. The hairs on his head stood up for a quick moment; his suit was calling to him. Still in the trapdoor on the ceiling. It had been days since the people had seen Spider-Man and even longer since he’d felt like Spider-Man.
Now the big question? Was he fully healed?
“E.V., how am I feeling?”
“Body is only 65 percent recovered. Meaning sharp turns and extra acrobatics are likely to reopen your wound—”
“That’s good enough,” Peter mumbled to himself.
“I was not finished,” the AI quickly cut in. “It also means taking severe hits could leave you in worse shape than before. My suggestion? Considering the exchanged fire is between two rival gangs, let the police handle this situation, as many are already on the scene.”
While E.V. spoke, Peter had already gotten his suit down and held it up, giving it a good sniff. “What factions?” He asked as he slipped his feet into the suit.
“One of them is Tombstone’s men...but the others belong to one called Hammer Head.”
Peter paused, sliding his right arm into the suit. “Hammer Head?”
“The name was derived using the naming database you installed—”
“I know, I know!” he waved off to the AI. “I mean,” he slowed down, sliding his injured arm into the suit. “I mean...where did he...” Again, he paused, this time to accommodate a wince. “...you know? Where did his arc start?” he questioned, finally being covered by his usual blue and red.
“Over a week ago, after the freezing of half of New York. I picked up on several scanners that several stash houses belonging to DODC were getting targeted by both Tombstone and a mysterious new figure, Hammer Head. Several radios and reports referred to him as having a metal skull, with one stating he took a blow from Tombstone head-on. Literally.”
“Okay,” Peter said, moving to the desk. “How hard do you think his head is?”
“Above 10000 pounds, Peter”
A whistle left the hero’s mouth, and he picked up his mask from the desk, quickly sliding it over his head and letting E.V. load. 10,000 pounds? He could lift that, perhaps, maybe; at least not like this- he couldn’t. Not with nothing but a functioning arm.
“Peter,” E.V. called once more. “I suggest you stay at home and recover. Calculations reveal that if you sustain one blow from Hammer Head, your wounds could very well reopen. Additionally, you could end up with way more broken bones”. Peter sat on these words for no longer than a minute and quickly picked up his web-shooters and fixed them on top of his now-natural spider-web holes—weird thing to call them. “Once again, I do not recommend field tests on these types of enemies, especially due to fitness. Risk of failure is at 20 percent and could rise,”
Parker math meant there was an 80 percent chance he would be successful, and for Spider-Man? That was much higher than the 15 percent threshold he had given himself. So without any more words, Peter Parker was no more, at least not for a few hours. The man in red and blue was finally free.
That first thwip of the web latching onto a building hit like a crack—not like he’s done any of course, but you get it? Maybe, probably. “Warning: too much weight being distributed to left side; quickly adjust to avoid reopening,” E.V. warned, earning a groan from the webslinger. To obey the whines of the motherly AI he created, Spider-Man shot more webs from his right and ran along the windows of New York. Perhaps he needed to think about web wings again.
For now? He would have to enjoy the feel of cold air against his face as he dived down. “Warning: Avoid deep drops that would lead to abrupt jolts and jerks, once again to avoid opening the wound.” E.V. berated once more.
The hero could only sigh at what he knew was going to be a very long swing.
**
“You have me.”
Jean heard that phrase on repeat for what had been at least a week since what happened at Roosevelt Island. No matter what she did, where she looked, she saw his face, smiling back at her like she had not committed all these heinous crimes. Like she hadn’t just tried to kill him. He opened up his mind to her, let her talk to the only thing that he held dear; he let her witness a memory that she had no right to see.
Then he got shot by a bullet, a .50 cal that only he could sense. As far as she knew, half of New York had been frozen. So she hadn’t expected it, but who expects death? If he hadn’t stepped in the path of the bullet, she would have been bleeding out on the floor instead of him. But he took the bullet for her, someone he did not know, and then he told her to leave...to run. Like he wasn’t just dying on the ground.
She didn’t.
She couldn’t.
She stayed with him, trying her best to keep him alive. That involved keeping herself deep within his mind, and for a very long period of time. Even after the Punisher had picked him up, she wasn’t too far. She stayed close, making sure he would live until the very end. After all, she couldn’t have him die for her mistakes. And she didn’t. He survived; she felt him wake up and knew immediately that he was fine.
From then on, she should have left the city. Run far away from this mess. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Every time she did, she felt a pang in her chest. Every laboured breath he’d take, she’d felt him take it. And it had been like that for the past few days. Sarah had briefly mentioned not to stay too long in another’s head. And how it had consequences. She didn’t think she had stayed too long in his head, but clearly she was wrong. This sensation that went through her chest didn’t hurt per se; it was more like she had injured her thumb while sewing. Or she got a paper cut. It wasn’t enough to keep her here, and her staying would only lead to her getting caught.
So she made her decision to leave, to honor both his wish and then to free New York of her blemish.
“Hey, lady,” the cashier groaned. “I said it's $4.99”
But first, she needed a meal, even if it was just a coffee. The cashier had his arms crossed while staring suspiciously down at her. It wasn’t every day that a dirty girl walked into a cafe to order something, especially not when she looked this homeless.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, sending a message into the cashier’s head. Nothing too dangerous, just the fact that he would cover that bill for her. She repeated it a few times and then looked at the cashier again. He was now warmly smiling at her. With a fake smile of her own, Jean took the bag and coffee and slowly stepped out of the cafe.
The cold air caused her to sniffle a bit, and unfortunately she let out a little sneeze. Well, she thought it was small, but the recoil had thrown the hood off her head, leaving the whole sidewalk seemed to freeze at her. Hell, even those at the opposite end were staring at her. Some even started pointing. Had she been recognized? Had that sneeze given her up? It worsened when she saw two cops running towards her.
No, she frowned. Stay back
They were still coming. She dropped her meal. She really didn’t want to hurt anyone, but she can’t herself get caught again. As the men drew nearer and nearer, her palms opened widely; a little power flared up inside her. ‘Be calm,’ she told herself. ‘Just push them away,’ she continued, slowly raising her arms.
Then, the cold suddenly disappeared. Replaced by a warm, calming sensation. One guard flew back onto the street. She hadn’t done that. The other was stuck in place too, but she hadn’t done that either. Before she could process what was happening, she heard it. THWIP. And then a blur of red and blue swept her off the ground within seconds.
“Peter,” she murmured more out of recognition than realization, as time slowed down. Her feet, once on the ground, were now quite a way in the air, and the place where she was standing had been destroyed by falling debris. His arms wrapped around her tightly as they slowly rose higher and higher.
“Peter,” she repeated. This time, clear enough for him to hear.
“Whoa,” he said, landing on top of a building. “Jean?” he finally said, taking a look at the redhead. “I thought you left the city? Are you okay? Why haven’t you—” his questions were stopped when the blaring of car horns started to increase in number. “Ugh,” he groaned. “A moment,” he said before leaping off the building.
Jean stood there for a moment, watching as he landed at the side of the building. It was only then that she was able to nod her head to his questions. Jean’s feet moved towards the edge of the building, watching as several men in tuxedos were sent flying into another vehicle. One man came out of the smoke, square-headed and huge, angry, very angry, and surrounding him were several similarly dressed men, some holding guns and the others rockets.
**
“Warning, possible stitch removal,” E.V. complained. However, Peter knew it wasn’t possible; there was certainly a removal. It was too sharp a turn for him to make at that speed. But it was either his stitches or some girl's life. The answer was always going to be the latter; however, he never expected it to be Jean.
“Spider-Man,” Jean DeWolf groaned through the intercom. “You need to shut this down immediately!”
“Way ahead of ya,” He groaned.
He leapt off the side of the building and landed on the lamp post. “Hey, Hammer Head,” he greeted, staring down at the finely dressed man. “I got a joke that I’ve been waiting to nail on somebody.”
The villain did not respond; instead, he ordered his men to fire at the hero. Spider-Man, however, was far too quick for their advances; first, he fired a web directly at the man holding a rocket. Once he had zipped towards him, he knocked him out with one kick to the head. The next one ran at him, swinging the gun. Peter caught the gun with his right hand and kicked the man back into a nearby pole and webbed him up with his left. The rest all lunged at him, taking their turns one by one, but they weren’t good enough. Each of them ended up out of breath on the ground or webbed to some sort of surface.
Webbed to the side of a building once more, he looked towards Hammer Head, who was boiling with anger. He shot a few web lines towards the wall behind the villain. With a strong tug and pull, he flew at the villain. He needed to hit him with force and a lot of it, enough to at least put him down. With this distance and force, he was convinced he could do it. At least that is what he told himself. Hammer Head just smiled and stiffened his posture, like he wanted him to connect. Still, Peter was confident, perhaps too confident.
That confidence was immediately thrown out the window once his head erupted. His spider sense. Informing him of danger, but where? Time slowed and allowed him to briefly look around, but he couldn’t see anything, absolutely nothing at all. And yet his stomach still turned as he drew closer to Hammer Head.
But he suddenly stopped. Abruptly, mid-flight, he just stopped. It gave his bones a good jolt, but there he was, floating midair, confused. ‘Web him up,’ he heard in his head.
Jean? He questioned, turning his head back to the roof.
‘Quickly,’ she groaned. ‘You’re too far.’
“E.V.” Peter called hastily. “Activate impact settings immediately.”
He heard a click and immediately fired three webs. One sent Hammer Head back a pace; the second completely sent him flying into the wall. And the last hit him and spread extremely thick webbing that covered both him and the wall.
Spider-Man fist-pumped the air in celebration, only to come crashing down into the pavement. Right on time, the police and his favourite detective arrived on the scene. She turned to the wall that now had several cracks growing across it and then turned back to him. As if to say, ‘Really?’
When he landed back at the building, Jean was slowly making her way down the fire escape. Once she hit the alley, he landed softly beside her, ignoring E.V. and her warnings.
“Jean?” he asked, unsure, even though he had just seen her.
“Peter,” she replied, looking down at her feet.
“Hey,”
“Hi,”