Chapter Text
"Get the hell away from him."
The Damage Control agents froze in place as a girl walked out of the apartment bathroom to face them. Her long red hair was in a braid down her back, and she was wearing a nightgown with bunny slippers. It was cute and fitting for someone in their late teenage years, but her eyes were those of a war veteran. Without even letting the trio respond to her interrupting their plans, she jumped. Her mind bounced from body to body, making the men turn their weapons onto themselves and take their tazers to their crotches.
They collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain and she lifted a microwave from inside the kitchen to throw at them. Slamming it down on each of their bodies until they became a bloody, whimpering mess. She scowled at the display. They had just gotten this hotel room and Peter had already been ambushed by the world's worst recon team. The man in question was getting off of the mess of glass and wood that used to be a coffee table. They had thrown him onto it. Catching him by the ankle mid-swing and slamming him down right before her eyes. She wanted to pummel them.
"Jean. Leave them and get your things." He must have seen the bloodlust in her eyes as he coughed and got up from the ground. Shaking his head no.
This irritated her to no end, as they needed to finish these men off if they were to survive. Still, she obeyed his command and watched as he webbed the men up and bound them tight enough that they'd have to be cut free. This was an endless routine as of late. Ever since they left the hospital and went on the run, they never had a second of peace. She felt bad for her part in messing up Peter's brief peace but he always reassured her that it wasn't her fault.
That Damage Control or someone else was always bound to go after him due to his role as a vigilante. Meeting her only sped up the inevitable. Though the glares and not-so-subtle threats she got from the Punisher told her how pretty much anyone else would think otherwise. Spider-Man was missing, and everyone noticed. It wasn't too hard to connect the dots.
Throwing on her hoodie, Jean met Peter at the front door and grimaced. "It's thirty degrees outside, and we have to go out in pajamas."
"It's too risky to get dressed with them here," The brunette gestured to the men who were screaming in agitation under a thick layer of webbing. "The bus should have heating."
The bus, in fact, did not have heating, as the pair huddled together in the back to avoid being seen. Jean couldn't believe this was her life. She had lost everything and had nearly shattered her own brain in an attempt to regain it. Now, she had Peter. Someone who had gone through the same immense grief in his own way but who had a different outlook on life from the loss.
She was angry, simmering with negativity as the bus took them further into New Jersey. They had left New York for a week to lay low before heading to the mutant sanctuary she had heard of. Once the coast was clear, they'd crawl back in and hopefully not get spotted immediately by Spider-Man super fans eager to snap a picture. The difference in location was meaningless to her as the world was just beige and cold. The only spark in her messy existence was her partner in crime.
"We need a car." She instructed, not asked, the spider as they got off the bus and waited with a handful of passengers at a decently furnished rest stop.
The brunette frowned as he helped finger-comb her unbraided hair in the bathroom they shoved themselves into. "A car would draw more attention."
"Two people in pajamas wearing muddy slippers riding the bus up and down the city all day draws attention." She grumbled as he put her hair in its signature ponytail.
Peter squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. "Jean. Get some sleep."
The arachnid went to contact his black widow friend as she strolled around the building. There was a near-empty parking lot with a couple of cars left by drivers who had boarded the bus already or were preparing to, with luggage in their arms. Jean thought about how comfortable she would be sleeping in those back seats with the heat turned up, and the outside world blocked out. How they could avoid spending what little funds they had on bus tickets and actually have some privacy.
She stared for a long time, Peter's whispers serving as ASMR as she felt that familiar buzz of her powers come forth. The girl yawned as she saw a nice couple in their late fifties pull in. Their car looked nice, and they definitely were the type to be responsible on a trip by filling the entire tank before heading on their way. Without leaving the rest stop or even moving her mouth, she decided to ask for a favor.
Peter walked back over after a bit, and immediately his face dropped. "Jean."
She turned back to him, ignoring the older couple seemingly abandoning their car, dropping the keys lazily on the ground and running into the street. "I got a car."
◇◇◇
Jean could tell Peter was still a bit peeved about her mind-controlling that couple to steal their car. Her strawberry waffles tasted a little mushy as she ate and watched him stare at his own plate. She sighed and wondered if she should take a peek into his brain to see what was up with him. If he was going to be anti mind hopping this entire trip, she had no idea how he'd take the school.
There was bound to be people jumping from body to body there with a lot less hesitation than she had. Still, the girl felt guilty seeing the spider so mentally torn up about something he was really a bystander to. She wanted to cheer him up. Make him smile for once on their impromptu road trip before things got too depressing and he got all passively suicidal again. That would be a bother.
Not even looking up from her plate of waffles and sausage links, she turned on a nearby jukebox and played a song from his memory. Just like a childhood tune she overheard when combing through his massive brain. His eyes widened, and he looked over at the machine that was across the building, sparking to life with the speakers blasting the song. As the staff muttered about how it came on without anyone paying, she whispered to him.
"Enjoy it. We're going to get a meal and a show." Jean reassured him as she stuffed more of the food into her awaiting mouth.
His spidey sense must have been tingling as he froze and whispered back. "Jean, don't you dare–"
But she was already tickling the brains of everyone at dinner, even though it caused her to lurch and nearly puke up everything she just ate. She understood that controlling people upset Peter but it felt right. It sated a dark urge inside of her to know that she had the power now, not the adults who abandoned and used her. Not the people who killed her sister and could have easily tortured her the same way. Jean took that strength and went wild with it in any way possible that didn't kill.
It was harmless after all. Everyone was dancing, two-stepping to the song from Peter's memories the exact way his aunt and uncle had. Mimicry was fun to experiment with, potential enemies turning into paper dolls for her to play with. The arachnid wasn't happy, though. He had stopped eating and was giving her a look that wasn't exactly disappointment but was close enough. Jean didn't stop, though, as they had a lot to talk about anyway, so keeping these people under her possession was better for their privacy.
"We're mutants, Peter. Everyone will come after us and try to hurt us now that Damage Control has a check attached to our names. This is better than me having to kill someone who noticed our faces and decided to report us for the reward." She argued to his silent scolding, cutting her food.
The older mutant shook his head and put a hand around her wrist to force her to focus. "I still think you shouldn't bounce from head to head, even if you are doing it for my sake. This is wrong."
"They aren't aware," She sighed and watched as the jukebox stopped to rewind. "I made it so once they wake up from this, they won't even remember us being here."
It was better that way, and she wished Peter would understand. He was just pure that way. No matter what life threw at him, he never gave up, and he always saw the best in the world. He had lost everyone, all his safety and support, but he kept fighting to protect a family who forgot him. Jean admired that about him even if she initially found it to be stupid. Delusional, really. It's what kept the telepathic bond between them so raw, as she knew Peter wasn't lying when he said he cared. That even the staff at Damage Control had his empathy. She would have to learn to live with that.
"Then stop puppeteering them," He bargained as his face scrunched up in discomfort and his voice became colder. "Have everybody stop dancing and just behave normally."
She looked at his grip on her wrist and knew that if Peter didn't like her, she would be thrown easily into a hole. Subdued with his organic webbing, those Bambi eyes turned pitch black, and his spider marked her as an enemy. They really should be. Jean didn't feel bad for what she was doing. She didn't feel the guilt she should feel for rampaging an entire city for weeks and stealing the lives of various people for so long. Something was broken. From her grief and her loss. And being on the run with Peter was the only way to fix it, so she needed to play pretend for his sake.
"Done."
Immediately, everyone stopped moving. The jukebox turned off, and the radio flickered back to some late 2010s country rap song that had been playing when they came in. Like clockwork, the entire restaurant returned to what they had been doing before. Acting like for the last ten minutes their minds hadn't gone blank, and a cage had been formed over their frontal lobe to keep them well-behaved. Jean hadn't lied about letting them relax in a happy memory. She just wasn't too sure if the feeling of being controlled didn't linger even with the memories being overwritten.
No matter, she did what Peter wanted, and he was relieved by the way he tagged in the seat. "Thank you. Don't do that again."
"I can't promise that I won't use my powers if we're in danger." They were wanted criminals running to sanctuary. All morals should be off the table.
He would never get that. "Jean–alright. Fine, you can use them as long as you don't overdo it."
At that moment, a little trail of blood left her right nostril and she grabbed an unused table napkin to clean it up. He did have a point about overshooting with both telekinesis and telepathy. She mainly relied on her mind hopping, so her ability to move objects and people with a simple look wasn't as strong.
Leaving her to suffer a migraine and light nosebleed that stuck with her the rest of that day. Even as they left the dinner and paid with cash, she had to wear sunglasses to keep from wincing in pain as they bought new clothes. With their day of brief disguise shopping ended, the pair retired to a hotel room.
One twin bed they scrunched up on, Jean in some brand new sweats and her usual shirt. Peter in boxers and a sweatshirt from school. One from his life before, with the school name having flaked off years prior. The redhead was quiet as she watched him make sure the door was secure and chat with his portable version of E.V. before sleeping. They didn't get too much as they were going from hotel room to hotel room every day. Just enough that they could pass as a pair of young adults wearing trendy styles with a permanent place to stay. Not unwashed, uber dangerous bums.
Constant hiding and dodging from the authorities and government dogs exhausted her. From the beginning of the trip to now, she had slept maybe five total hours. Peter was even worse, and they both had to swallow their anxiety about letting their guards down to fix that habit.
His body especially seemed to need more energy than the normal human with the mountains of food he ate. As he crawled into bed with her, she swung her legs over his body and wrapped them over so he was stuck. He gave her a look of brief confusion before giving in, the man sagging as he slept. Falling into dreamland hard as a goddamn rock.
'He deserves it.' She thought as she watched his chest go up and down. Connecting so they breathed together. 'He gave everything up for me.'
With only Peter's heartbeat to keep her company, the teenager was able to settle down and think of all that had happened. In such a short amount of time, she had found out her sister was dead, that VMax meant nothing, that a school existed for people like her, and that she held power that could level the world. She was sleeping in a five-dollar hotel when she could weasel her way into the Ritz-Carlton if she wanted to.
The allure of letting lose like she had in her grief buzzed underneath her skin and she had to bury her face in Peter's chest to remain grounded. She was going to try for him, but she had a feeling eventually that buzzing would cloud her willpower and push her into giving up all her barriers to fight back.
Fight back against who or what exactly- Damage Control or bigotry against mutant kind- she wasn't too sure. There was a lot she didn't know yet about how many organizations and people wanted to control her exactly. All she was sure of was that Peter had done a lot for her and basically gave up the fragile safety net he had built to protect her. He was sticking his neck out for her, and she was determined to keep them both not only alive but in one piece.
In her view, it was them versus the world. Sure, Peter had allies and friends, but they were human. Flesh and blood, with not even a temporary enhancement being utilized when dealing with bloodthirsty threats. They were different, and she found that it was hard to really connect with them on a deeper level. That part of her was missing.
It used to be there when she was younger. The need to protect those she viewed as innocent and kind had been locked into place. Then those bastards ruined it all. Ripped it out of her brain and replaced it with a need to destroy anything in her path to finding Sara. As she lay in bed, the teenager could feel that image of sisterly love shift into something else.
Something a little bit more intimate. The need to keep Peter, someone she assumed would just be a confidant, safe from all possible harm. A faint crush that she wondered about but ignored up until now. Their skin surface to surface, his hot breath against her forehead. It was different to anything she had ever felt for a boy before.
"Peter," She muttered more to herself than the man, as she knew he was in a deep sleep. "I like–"
The private love confession ended as the window behind her burst, and the spider instinctively jumped out of bed. He grabbed her by the waist, hoisting her into the air as they stuck to a corner of the ceiling away from the shattering glass. From what she could tell, he wasn't even awake, but his spidey sense was working to protect them both. Jean growled. She could feel that their attacker wasn't that close, hiding like the coward they were on a nearby roof.
A sniper had been sent after them. She chuckled at the absurdity of someone trying to shoot her that way again. Then the humor turned to cold rage as she realized that Peter could have been hit again. The bullet had shattered an entire medium-sized window into Itty bitty shards. What would it have done to his chest? His brain? Jean wasn't going to test it.
Without even turning away from the slowly waking man, she thrust out her hand and pulled. A loud pop echoed in her head as she felt someone get trapped in her invisible grasp. They attempted to reload their weapon and aim at her, but she was already puppeteering their pathetic mind. A man in his mid-forties with two teenagers trying to kill her- how depressing.
This was apparently his final mission before being transferred to a cozy desk job. Jean licked her lips as her chest ached from the amount of strain she was putting on herself. No desk job would be had as the muzzle of the gun redirected from her back to the bottom of his neck. His eyes widened. He was still aware but trapped, unlike the dinner patrons. Good.
'Oh? You're scared?' She said to the man, though she wasn't too sure he could hear her.
Either way, he was trying to stop her, gasping for mercy as his fingers dangled above the trigger. Flashes of his family, his wife, came into her mind as if to sway her to spare him subconsciously. The teenager didn't care, though, as she felt Peter shift and begin to ask what was going on. Her head ached, and she slouched into the older man's hold right as the gun went off.
A scream that resembled an injured deer in the middle of the highway cut through the air, and Peter cursed. He looked at her and the state of the room in slow understanding of what must have happened. Jean waited to be scolded. To be called a monster. But it didn't happen. He scurried down and began to furiously check her body for any injuries. Pulling at her sleeves and lifted her ponytail to make extra sure that she was okay.
"Peter. We have to go." Jean said as she panted. She was flushed from the sudden attention and the migraine from her powers.
Which Peter noticed even with his black eyes and spider-like behaviour. He nodded and hoisted her onto his back as he hurried to gather their things. He moved like an animal with his limbs all wiggly, and the man got on all fours multiple times as he webbed their things into one mound. They pratically threw their room key onto the receptionist desk as they ran to their stolen car.
Not wasting a single moment for the sniper's backup to arrive and go hog wild with their shots. Jean was pushed into the backseat next to their clump of belongings, and Peter slammed the door shut before she could even blink. He was acting on pure adrenaline, not even talking to her as he pulled out of the parking lot without his seatbelt on. All he cared about was getting away, and she groaned from mild car sickness before speaking again.
"I'm not sorry for killing him," The redhead said as she slid around the backseat. "It was him or us."
Peter grumbled, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he digested her words. In the car mirror, she could see his face fall, and he sighed. "You panicked."
"I didn't. I got him first, that was it." She corrected him as she managed to put on her seatbelt and positioned herself to look directly at him.
He was frowning, his black eyes reminding her of a wet cat with how frustrated he was. "You didn't have to kill him."
"I could have shot him in the eye, knee, or the chest. But that would have given his buddies plenty of time to patch him up and then find out what we look like. Where we ran to, what our license plate is. Killing him was the only option." Jean said, and they stopped talking for the rest of the ride.