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Oftentimes or not, people don’t realize just how fast half a second truly is.
And that’s the entire point.
The point of half a second is that it’s so quick that it can change the trajectory of the outcome that would’ve happened. The entire point of half a second is that it’s a tiny measurement of time… but it’s not meaningless. It’s not any less meaningful than a full second. It’s a short amount of time but oh so consequential.
Peter Parker should’ve got the message with the Spider-Sense acting up.
He’s not stupid. He knows just how fast the Spider-Sense is… which is why he’s pissed that he didn’t fully realize it until the bullet had already landed. He fucking felt it, he knew it was coming, but his body— so tired with fighting and getting battered around by the Jean controlled Hand— that he didn’t let it fully register until the sound of bullet on skin filled his head.
Half a second… too late.
“Jean!”
Her psionic forcefield snaps right as the bullet sinks into her skin, right in the lower region of her back… two inches away from her spinal cord.
Jean stumbled right as she looked down at her body, completely lost and her eyes glazed over after being pulled abruptly out of Peter’s mind with him and May… the mother she never had… so she knew Peter wasn’t pulling her out herself… it was one bullet by the courtesy of Frank Castle.
“Jean. Jean. Oh god.” Peter stumbles over his words as he holds her in his arms, hands holding onto her jumpsuit-covered forearms, seeing just how wiped out she looks as sweat drips from her forehead, ginger hair sticking to the side of her head. “Are you okay? Jean, answer me.”
She tries, she really does, as their eyes meet, and right as Peter feels the warm sensation of blood soak into the hand-covering fabric of the Spider-Man suit… Jean hits the pavement of the room, hitting the glass and the debris-covered floor as blood begins to pool around her, turning the green jumpsuit into a mean green color.
At the same time as the telepath falls, another sniper round splits the sky and fills the room. It doesn’t hit anyone, landing on the wall as Peter drops to the floor.
“No, no, no… Jean, c’mon.” He whispers, eyes looking frantic as he looks for the wound, seeing her hand covering a specific part of her jumpsuit. “Jean.”
She looked down, blood covering her hands in a different way than it previously was. The blood on her hands was metaphorical, other people dead because of her… but never in front of her, always taking a backseat. The blood on her hands was her own blood… and of course she has to see it herself.
“Peter…” Her voice hoarse, cracking and breaking even with a single name. “Peter…”
He looks her in her eyes. They were barely open but he could see the green color of her iris. “Shut up, don’t talk… don’t waste your breath, you can’t.” His voice shook, not caring at the sound of a third shot ringing out.
Frank wasn’t trying to fire wildly into the open prison caused by Jean’s psionic break, he was simply trying to land the finishing shot. Whether that be neck or head, Frank doesn’t care.
But Spider-Man— no, Peter— Peter Parker wasn’t going to allow it no matter what.
Peter finds the wound; it’s bleeding so much but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t hesitate to dig into the hole for the web-shooters in his suit and rips it apart, fabric tearing as he detaches the man-made glove from the overall suit. With careful yet rushed precision, he rolls Jean to her side for a moment to press the glove into the wound, watching it soak up most of the blood… it’s working, for now.
“Stay with me, Jean.” He pleads, looking around for a moment as he sees New York through the telepathically-created wall decorations, and his Spider-Sense goes off right as he lays eyes on Frank.
It may not be a clear picture, but he recognizes the man’s haircut and the sniper-prone position even from the distance.
Right as Peter’s eyes lay on Frank’s, he realizes… he hit her. He hit who he was hunting.
Jean winced again when Peter pushed his hand on the wound as well. He’s just trying to get her stable before he takes her to the hospital. “...Hurts… fuck.”
“I know.” Peter tries to comfort, ditching to go and retrieve mask so she can see him. Peter. Not the man who got her in this situation to begin with. Spider-Man didn’t deserve to be here. “I know it hurts but you gotta stay with me Jean, c’mon.”
“I’m…” She coughed. Peter watches it intently, there’s no blood, thank god, but still; losing precious air to cough. He made sure the glove didn’t move. “I’m sorry…”
Peter looks at her with a bewildered look on his face, complete and utter disbelief. “For what?”
Jean takes the moment to truly breath, digesting the air and feeling her mind begin to fall, slowly but surely. She tried to use her powers to keep herself alive, but there was only so much she could do. “For everything…”
His jaw tightened at the mere mention of everything. Not out of anger for what she’s done— that will be an emotion he processes later on— but anger for what’s happening, for the bullet currently in this girl’s back. “No.”
That caught Jean off guard for a moment. She tries to speak. “I—”
Peter cuts her off. “No.” He repeats again, pressing harder on the wound as he looks around, watching as Metzger and the men that were doing god knows what to Jean slowly come to their senses. “You do not get to apologize right now. You can apologize after they get the bullet out of you.”
Jean tried to push herself up, hands shaking as she tried her damn hardest to press them into the floor— but her own blood made her slip and hit the floor again, plus Peter’s hand didn't let her get up.
He didn’t even flinch, his entire world was narrowed to her. “No.”
“I have to, Peter.” She says, almost pleading for him to let her go. “I have to run.”
“No, you don’t.” He says it with such conviction that she can’t help but believe it.
Then… a voice cuts into the room.
“Oh yes she does.”
Jean doesn’t have the willpower (nor capacity within her body) to turn her head… but only the voice sends chills down her body which is already cold from losing blood. Peter is slow to turn his head, his Spider-Sense beginning to zone in.
Metzger.
“No. She doesn’t.” Peter says; his voice deeper than she’s ever heard it— similar to when she was in MJ’s body on the roof and he told her to get out of her body— but Peter’s voice calms her at the same time. “She’s not running.”
Footsteps are heard, shattered glass meeting the bottoms of dress shoes as Bill steps closer to the pair, seeing the Spider-Man’s brunette hair. “Spider-Man, she’s a real danger. Get away from her.”
Peter doesn’t fully turn his head around, only looking over his shoulder. “You step a single foot closer and I swear to god, you won’t be seeing out of either your eyes.”
Bill smiles but stops. He follows Spider-Man’s threats. “We have her in captivity for a reason.”
“You had her in captivity. She broke out of it and now she has a bullet in her god damn back.”
“Well maybe that’s for the better, now is it?”
Peter doesn’t hesitate. Not for a second. As he lets go of the bullet wound for just a second as his right hand dials back, doing the web hand signal as web shoots out of the hole exposed in his wrist, webs sputtering out as they strike Bill and send him flying to the metal door of the DODC facility, another web spraying out to cover his face.
Still, he doesn’t give him the pleasure of seeing the wallcrawler’s face, but his voice is all that is heard in the space, entering the ears of Metzger, Jean, even himself and the guards. “You murdered her sister… then torture her all in the name of protecting civilians… you broke her to the point she broke you and now she has to die because of it…”
Metzger can’t respond with the web in his face, but he oh so badly wants to rip this web off and tear into Spider-Man… but he can’t, so he’s resorted to simply rolling his eyes at the superhero’s words.
Peter turns his full attention back to Jean, putting his hand back on the wound, noticing that less blood is appearing on his hand.
He could barely think; he’s seen this before, with May. He can’t have this happen again. Jean has only tormented him through this entire time… but he knows that under the rage, there’s the fear of a broken teen at the core, and he can’t let her die. Not like this. She deserves another shot at this.
Jean’s breathing grew shallower the more Peter tried to stop the bleeding. He can’t swing with her still bleeding, he’s tried before and it never ended up well. “Peter…”
“I’m right here, Jean.” He promises.
She groans, letting her eyelids drop for a mere second. “Tired… ‘m just so t’tired…”
His heart lurched, his hands trembled. “Jean, Jean, no, don’t do that, Jean.” His voice cracked, pleading for her to stay with him. “Jean, you stay awake right now.”
“Sara…” The more blood she loses, the more she wants warmth, the more she wants the only warmth she’s ever known.
But Peter can’t give her that, in the same way he can’t give her away to heaven just yet. “Jean, stay awake for me, okay? Sara would want you to stay awake… to push through this. Jean, stay the fuck awake for me, you hear me?”
He needed her to stay alive as much as she did. Her voice is soft, softer than he’s ever heard it. “Bossy…”
A smile cracks on his face, seeing her smile at her little joke, if you could even call it that. “Learned it from May.”
She swallowed painfully, not only at the memories of what she’s done, but also at the bullet stuck in her back. “I’ve done… terrible things.”
Peter nods his head. “I know you have.”
“I hurt people.” She blinks, trying to keep herself awake, just for him. “Your people. Your f-friends…”
“I know that, Jean.” He says again, finally feeling and seeing his own fingers instead of blood every time he presses down on her wound.
“I don’t d-deserve a second c-chance.”
“You don’t decide that.” He interjects.
She looked at him weakly, eyes half-lidded. “I destroyed the city… used people who had no part in it… I scared people in the way assholes like Metzger were trying to prevent…”
Peter pushes back strands of Jean’s orange hair as he’s somehow able to scoop her up, holding her bridal style. “You did all of that, sure.” Peter begins, looking up at the ceiling to push back the strands falling in front of his eyes. His eyes look at a single vent. Still blowing quietly… a single sticker still peeled off at the bottom left corner. VENTMAX. V-MAX...
The same thing Jean was asking for, connected to her sister.
Oh.
It doesn’t take more than five seconds for Peter to piece two and two together, sighing deeply at the revelation before he responds. “But you’re trying to make it right, I know you can, and I know you will.”
She stared at him, wincing quietly at the pain of being picked up, but it’s not like she could fight him for too long about it.
He spoke again, much quieter. “You know what I see?”
Jean gave him only a small shake of her head as a response.
“I see a girl who lost her sister, who was manipulated and blind with rage, who made awful choices because grief convinced her there was no other way.”
Jean’s eyes closed for only a moment, hearing Peter curse under his breath at her eyes closing as he steps closer to the open part of the wall. “Still awful.”
“Yes.” He didn’t soften it, didn’t pretend what happened was fake— he couldn’t. She needed to face the truth as much as the truth hurt. Two things can coexist at the same time. “But the awful things you did don’t erase the person underneath…”
Feeling the rush of cold New York air outside hits Jean like a ton of bricks, but fuck she’s so tired, she just wants to close her eyes and see her sister, she doesn’t care if she dies.
But her left hand lifts up, shaking as she touches Peter’s jaw. “Your mask… ‘ou need it.”
Again, he’s stubborn and shakes his head. “I can get it later, Jean. You need a hospital more than I need my disguise.”
Jean shut up after that. Mostly because it hurt to even say a single word, let alone tease him.
Peter always hated hospitals.
He hated them when he was a kid because he thought the walls were too boring. He thought it was stupid that it was too cold every time he forgot a jacket and it was too hot when he brought a jacket. He always thought the shitty elevator music in the lobby was bland and the smell of medical supplies and chemicals were too much on his senses.
He hated them now as an adult because death has become a partner to Parker.
He sits alone in the hospital room, with only two sounds registering in his mind; the beeping of Jean's machines, including her steady heart rate monitor, and the deeper sound of Jean breathing through the oxygen mask strapped onto her face. Her orange hair a mess, face bruised up with her eyes stayed close even when the sunlight of New York bled into the room despite the curtains.
The fact that the doctors had the audacity to call it a miracle is pathetic to Peter.
Where’s the miracle in an eighteen year old girl who just lost her sister? Where’s the miracle in an orphan who has no home and will forever be linked to the government because they care more about propagandized fear than actually making anyone safe? Where’s the miracle in having to extract a bullet two inches away from a girl’s spine?
He remembers the stupid fucking shit the doctor told him.
“The bullet missed the vital spinal nerves by one and a half inch. The 7mm bullet nearly made her paralyzed. You’re lucky you got her here on time.”
Lucky? Oh this is lucky? Lucky for Peter who has to sit with the guilt. Lucky for Peter who has to look this girl in the eyes and remind her that her sister is dead. Lucky for Peter who has to deal with the aftermath of the DODC having the prototype version of the inhibitor he used against Jean before he knew all about Metzger. Lucky his ass, that’s for damn sure.
His Spider-Man suit was stuffed inside his backpack. Before he got Jean into the ER, with a quick distraction and Jean persistent he covered up for his own safety, Peter nabbed a couple of pieces of clothing from a donations bin outside the hospital. He didn’t care that the right sleeve of the random “Mad Max” shirt he grabbed had a rip in it, nor did he care that the jeans he was wearing have seen better days. He refuses to comment on the beat up boots he slips into either.
He hasn’t gone back to Roosevelt Island to grab his Spidey mask or web-shooters. He doesn’t want to look at that place longer than he needs to. He’s already seen it on the news that it will take NYC about $55 million in tax payer dollars to rebuild the damage caused.
Peter also bears witness to the effect in which the absence of Spider-Man causes NYC.
“Where has Spider-Man Gone?” Was the Daily Bugle’s headline during their morning broadcast.
CNN’s headline was something amongst the lines of “Friendly Neighborhood Hero Missing Following Midtown Robbery”. That was when two fools in clown masks tried to rob a high-end jewelry store. DeWolff and the police handled that one.
Even Punisher made an appearance through the three days Spider-Man has been missing in action. It was conjured up by FOX news. “Wallcrawler Missing In Action. Skull-Designed Vigilante Takes His Place.”
The police scanner on his phone kept buzzing in his pocket while street-level criminals got bolder as every hour passed with no red and blue, smart mouth college kid swinging by and picking them off the streets.
The city kept moving while Jean Grey laid in the hospital bed, unresponsive.
Peter didn’t move.
The hospital staff thought he was her boyfriend on day two. Peter had to explain to them that no, he was her brother… just from different mothers. “It explains the different hair.” The main doctor of the west wing responded. That’s the only joke that made Peter chuckle.
He barely left for food, only resorting to the pizza parlor right across the hospital for all three nights. He remembers having to explain it to the head cook that he just really likes the place and it’s the only place that sells the pizza that cheap.
They give him a discount on day three.
He slept though. Sleeping in the shitty plastic hospital chairs.
He knows three days after being shot in the back shouldn’t take this long… but Jean is different. Not only in terms of DNA, but god knows what her body was being inflected to in that glass chamber. God knows what Metzger was doing to her. He knows her body is using most of this time to rest from the weeks of suffering instead of just the bullet wound.
He didn’t know if he should hold her hand or not.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
He held it once, on day two when he watched one of those old 2000s rom-coms, not out of any romantic feelings for the kid— yeah, sure, she’s eighteen but she’s got far more things to worry about— but rather… just to have his hand filled with something that wasn’t his own hand.
On the third night, Frank Castle comes.
Peter didn’t invite him.
He’s not even sure how he found the hospital.
He could sense Frank from the moment the door opened. Just by the way the man opened the door told Peter all he needed to know. The man who shot the bullet, the man who tried to kill this kid… was in the same room as him. If Peter was dumb, he would’ve punched Frank so hard he’d land in the laundromat on 42nd Street, but thankfully Peter Parker isn’t that dumb.
Peter didn’t say anything but the one glance with his half-lidded eyes spoke it all to Frank.
Frank leans up against the wall as he gets a good glimpse of the bullet’s target. She looked… small. Not the dangerous, terrifying, mind-hopping vigilante hunting down anyone and everyone for someone she loved. Just a small girl who had the powers of the god at her fingertips.
Neither men got a good glimpse of the girl under the trench coat and hoodie or the green jumpsuit… but bandages wrapped around her body in locations not even Peter knew were affected. Just… sustained injuries from being on the run for so long. Turns out getting battered and bruised and not being able to go to a hospital does that to someone.
The older man’s voice rang out first. “Condition?”
“Critical but stable.” Peter responds, refusing to look up at him.
Frank hums in response. He’s never felt this before, genuine guilt for something he did towards someone who hurt so many… but there was a sense of understanding deep in his heart.
But Peter spoke before he could. “Do you know why she was doing the shit she was doing?”
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t, kid, save me the sob story.”
“Oh but yours isn’t?” Peter challenges, finally giving Frank the decency to look at him. “She has the same exact motives as you, Frank, practically the same exact means of doing it as well.”
Frank scoffed. “Last time I checked kid, I wasn’t hoping into people’s heads, making them all fucked up, driving tanks into facilities and trying to blow up old ladies.”
“Yeah ‘cause she’s a fucking kid dumbshit.” Peter bites back. “Of course you, an old ass fifty year old is gonna know better. She’s a kid who lost the last person who cared about her, Frank, the only one. She doesn’t have anyone. No mom or dad, no fucking friends, she’s alone in this goddamn world, scared, and here you are shooting bullets at her, trying to snipe her like she’s a fucking threat.”
“Oh yeah?” Frank responds, uncrossing his arms and stepping closer to Peter. “She’s a pretty smart kid if she’s able to figure out this plan. I kill people who deserve it, she kills innocent people.”
Peter shakes his head. “Everyone who works at the Department of Damage Control is not innocent, cut the crap, Frank. They knowingly worked with an organization who murdered an innocent girl and haven’t said shit about it.”
Frank points at him. “Kinda like you? You’re the one who got her here in the first place… if you didn’t help them.”
That makes Peter stand up, the chair squeaking hard against the floor as he gets in Frank’s face, completely tired of him at this point. “At least I tried to help! At least I tried to show her that there is hope for her… but then here you come in with a sniper round bigger than her fucking pinkie finger!”
The older vigilante goes to push Parker… but then a soft knock at the hospital door comes through and the gentle push of the door is heard.
Both Peter and Frank turn their heads, meeting the brown eyes of Jean’s head nurse, Mrs. Allison.
“Hey! Hey Mrs. Allison.” Peter’s voice squeaks out, rubbing the back of his neck.
Mrs. Allison’s voice is soft. “Hey… I was just passing by and heard an awful lot of yelling in here… can you two keep it down? We have patients sleeping. Plus… your own.”
Peter and Frank stand there quiet for a mere moment before Peter nods, offering her a smile as he responds. “Oh! Sorry! We’ll keep it down.” He glanced over at Frank who wasn’t budging, gritting his teeth. “Right. Frank.”
Frank sighs. “Sorry.” He gruff.
“Great. Now keep it down.” She says right before closing the door, leaving them all alone again.
Frank turns to Peter with a glare.
Peter looks right back at him, keeping his eyes on him even as he sits back in the hospital chair.
He turns around and goes back to leaning against the wall, taking a deep long breath as silence fills the room, with the only thing splitting the silence was the gentle beeps of Jean’s heart monitor.
Eventually, Frank’s voice speaks. “You know, the city is asking for you, kid… asking where Spider-Man is. Three days and it’s nothing.”
Peter didn’t answer, he simply couldn’t. All he could do was keep his hands in his lap and look at Jean, seeing her eyes remain close.
“Crime’s creeping back up… people need you.” Frank tries to reason— yes, Frank Castle trying to reason with anyone is frankly embarrassing— but the kid’s got some heart that Frank can’t help but get a little of the more he hangs out with the wallcrawler.
“DeWolff and her men can handle it.” Peter explains.
Frank frowns. “You know damn well those guys can’t handle everything. That motherfucker throwing boomerangs, the guy shooting electricity out his hands… try to tell me I’m wrong.”
Peter understands what he means, but he doesn’t care at this point, he’s just too focused on Jean to care about anything else. “They can handle it.” He says. “If they can handle all the other bad guys I fought when I’m not Spider-Man, they can handle three days without me.”
Frank tries to say something. “People are getting hurt because of your absenc—”
“And she’s not?!” Peter interjects, pointing to Jean in the hospital bed.
Castle holds his gaze on Peter, the scowl still painted on his face as he watches Peter retract his pointed finger, readjusting in the hospital seat.
Peter puts his chin in his right hand as his right arm rests on the armrest, letting himself sink down into the shitty grey molded plastic.
“I just… I don’t want her to be alone.” He admits, voice pathetically quiet as he stares at the redhead, unconsciously digging the boots deeper into the floor. “I don’t want her to wake up to an empty hospital room. I don’t want her to wake up scared even if I can’t help it. I don’t want her to wake up thinking I broke my promise.”
Frank raises an eyebrow. “And what was that promise, kid?”
Peter swallows a lump in his throat before responding. “That she’ll always have me. No matter what.”
There’s a couple of seconds for the words to soak in before Frank clicks his tongue, shaking his head in disbelief. “You and this sentimental horseshit.” He quietly muttered, walking towards the door.
Peter called out as Frank opened the door. “Don’t come back.”
Frank howled out in laughter at that but didn’t stop himself from leaving the hospital room. “I’ll come if I want to kid.”
And before Peter could respond… the sound of the door quietly shutting was heard, leaving Peter and Jean all alone once again. As Frank disappeared down the hall, Peter scooted the chair up towards the bed as he got close to Jean’s bed, taking her hand. Even in the silence of the room when Jean can’t talk, Peter still feels at ease with her.
“You’ll always have me.” Peter whispers, putting his head on the bed. “Always.”
It was the fourth day when Jean would wake (Jean and Peter would argue on if it was technically the fourth day or three and a half because Jean woke up at four pm).
She was met with the face of Peter Parker and Frank Castle, eating takeout food with another box of food wrapped tightly, the heat of the bag remaining in the enclosed space, keeping the food warm... just for her.
They were waiting for her… and maybe she wouldn’t have to navigate her life alone anymore. Just like Peter said he wouldn’t let happen.
It helps that Frank told Peter about this little boarding school looking institute up in Westchester County, New York he talked to after figuring some stuff out with the "Blonde Black Widow"— an institute who would happily take Jean in.
So at least she has something to look forward to.