Chapter Text
Jean
Jean Grey sat on the worn park bench outside the hospital, her eyes shut. One hand rested lightly against her knee, which bounced restlessly as she concentrated.
Inside the hospital, Peter Parker lay motionless in a bed, his face pale, his breathing shallow and uneven. Frank Castle sat nearby, half-asleep, one hand never straying far from the sidearm at his hip.
Jean had slipped past the noise of the city and into Peter's consciousness and at first, there had been almost nothing there. Just darkness, scattered thoughts, fragments of memories, and beneath it all, the faint, unstable rhythm of his nervous system.
Jean finally found his lungs. Breathe.
She pushed gently, not enough to take control, not enough to overwhelm his mind, but just enough to remind his body what it was supposed to do.
Breathe.
His chest rose. Jean waited. It fell and then rose again.
His pulse steadied, and somewhere beneath the darkness, she felt the faint flicker of his consciousness beginning to return. Only then did she carefully withdraw, lingering for another moment to make certain his body could maintain the rhythm without her.
When she opened her eyes, her shoulders loosened in relief. Then instantly tightened again because…
The park was gone. Cold starlight stretched in every direction; the bench had somehow transported with her. Barren cosmic space surrounded her on all sides, vast and beautiful.
And standing between Jean and the stars was a massive black figure, two enormous white eyes stared down at her, each seemingly large enough to contain entire galaxies.
Jean was on her feet instantly and telekinetic energy rippled around her, instinctively gathering at her fingertips. She had no idea what loomed before her and, for perhaps the first time in her life, she wasn’t even sure if she could fight against whatever it was.
“Who the hell are you?” Her voice came out far sharper than she'd intended, “Where’s Peter? What did you do?”
The enormous figure regarded her without moving.
“I am the Watcher.”
His voice wasn't loud, yet it seemed to come from everywhere at once.
“I observe the many universes that make up the multiverse. I record their histories. I do not interfere…” His eyes remained fixed upon her. “…except in the rarest of circumstances.”
Jean's eyes narrowed and she reached for his mind to see if he was telling the truth only to find nothing.
She pushed further. Still nothing.
It was like trying to grasp an ocean with her bare hands.
Jean slowly withdrew, unsettled. “Put me back. Now.”
"You are not in danger."
"That's not what I asked."
The Watcher regarded her for a moment.
"Nor is Peter Parker."
Jean's expression softened for half a second.
Then suspicion returned.
"Then why am I here?"
"I brought you here because there is something you must see."
He paused.
"I offer my sympathies for the pain you have endured. I have watched every life you have lived across the multiverse. Every variation of Jean Grey. Every path you might have taken and-"
Jean went completely still. For several seconds, she simply stared at him, as though her mind had stopped processing what he had said. “Every variation?” she finally asked, her voice quieter than before. The Watcher’s silence was enough of an answer. Her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of it, but the more she thought about his words, the more they seemed to unsettle her. Other Jeans. Other versions of herself living lives she could never know existed. “How many are there?” she asked.
“There are more than you could comprehend.”
Jean's expression faltered. She took a slow step backward, shaking her head.
"There are other me's."
"Countless others."
Her breathing became unsteady as the reality of what he was saying began to settle in.
Different lives.
Different choices.
Different endings.
There were other versions of her who had made different choices, grown up in different circumstances, met different people, perhaps becoming completely different women. Some could have lived happier lives. Others could have suffered things she had never experienced. There might even be versions of herself who had never met Peter, never lost her sister, or never became the person standing before him now. “So, all of this…” she murmured, glancing around at the endless void surrounding them. “You're telling me there's another me somewhere? And another? And another?”
“Yes.”
She ran a trembling hand through her hair and looked away, her thoughts spiraling faster than she could organize them. “Then what am I supposed to do with that?” she asked, her voice rising slightly. “I've spent my entire life trying to accept who I am, what I'm capable of, what choices I could have taken to save my sister, and you're standing there telling me there are countless versions of me who made different choices and even possibly been happier than me?”
She let out a strained breath and shook her head again. “How am I supposed to know which choices actually matter if somewhere else there's another me making completely different ones?”
For a moment, Jean said nothing. The anger and confusion that had seized her seemed to slowly give way to exhaustion as she fought to steady her breathing. The powers she had instinctively summoned remained at the ready, flickering faintly around her, but she made no attempt to use them. She simply stood there, studying the Watcher as though searching his expression for some indication of what he wasn't telling her. After a long silence, she finally asked, more quietly this time, “What about the others?”
The Watcher remained silent, seemingly not comprehending.
“The other Jeans,” she clarified. “Did they have to go through what I did?”
“Each one has a different path.” The Watcher said, “Some happy, some tragic. Most fall somewhere in between.”
Jean remained silent, letting his words settle. Her expression was still troubled, and for a while she said nothing, simply staring into the endless darkness around them. The idea still felt wrong somehow. There were countless versions of her scattered throughout the multiverse, each one shaped by different choices, different circumstances, different people. She couldn't pretend that didn't unsettle her. Part of her wanted to reject the entire idea, to insist that there could only be one Jean Grey, one life that belonged to her. But she knew better than to argue with something she had already seen proof of.
Slowly, Jean let out a breath and lowered her gaze, she wasn't comfortable with it, not yet, but she could at least accept that it was true.
Perhaps that was simply how the multiverse worked. Different lives, different choices, different outcomes; she didn't have to understand all of them to understand her own.
“I suppose…” She hesitated, still visibly processing it. “I suppose the balancing makes sense.”
Her gaze drifted past the Watcher and she thought of Peter, of one of his memories she'd seen before the memory wipe. Peter lying on a rooftop with his friends, laughing, surrounded by people who knew him. He hadn't been Spiderman; he'd simply been Peter. Jean wondered what he would have thought of this place.
Her expression softened slightly as she thought of Peter, and for a moment the unease surrounding the multiverse faded into the background. Then curiosity overtook it as she wondered about Peter’s future.
Curiosity wormed its way into her and she asked the entity, “What about Peter? Does he at least get a happy ending?”
The Watcher did not answer. Jean’s gaze turned back to it. Suspicion sharpened her features, Peter deserved happiness more than anyone else, “I said, what about Peter?”
Still nothing.
“Watcher.” Her voice rose, “What happens to Peter?”
He raised one enormous hand in response. Reality bent like a wire and millions of screens appeared around Jean blooming into existence around them. Countless Spider-men, different suits, different ages and different worlds. Every single one of them carrying the same expression. Grief.
Jean stared, one Peter lost someone he loved, another lost his family, another stood alone among the ruins of his city, another sat silently on a rooftop, staring off into the distance his facial expression numb.
They lost people. Over and over and over again. Friends. Family. Lovers. Entire cities. The weight barely ever seemed to lift for any of them, and while some endured it, some broke beneath the pressure. All of them suffered.
Her gaze caught on a familiar face, and her breath hitched. There was her Peter. His telltale messy brown hair was disheveled, strands falling messily across his forehead, his bloody face contorted by a grief so raw that Jean felt it as if it were her own. He was kneeling on the pavement beside Aunt May, his hands trembling as he gently cradled her face, trying to put on a brave face. Blood stained her clothes, stark against the familiar figure Jean had come to associate with warmth and kindness.
May's eyes remained open, but there was nothing behind them. They stared past Peter, unfocused and utterly still, as though some vital part of her had already slipped away. Peter seemed to be unable to accept it. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks as he brushed his fingers softly along her face, almost tenderly, as though he could somehow comfort her even now. His lips moved, but whatever words escaped them were drowned beneath the chaos around him.
Jean's heart sank. God, Peter.
“Spiderman,” The Watcher said quietly, “Is the only true anomaly I have ever observed. In every universe. Every branch. Peter Parker finds happiness and then he loses it.”
Jean stared at the cascading images, the color draining from her freckled face.
“What happens to my Peter?” she asked, almost whispering.
The Watcher looked only at her.
“In a few years’ time, Ned Leeds will die in a collapsing building between a fight between Spiderman and Scorpion. Spiderman loses himself and kills Scorpion. He will blame himself for Ned’s death and agonize over it for years.”
Jean's head slowly shook, her mouth coming up to cover her mouth in horror.
“He will be persecuted as a hypocrite and a failure as a hero. He will consider abandoning his life as Spiderman. Michelle Jones will also blame him, and they will drift apart breaking his heart even more in the process and leaving Peter more isolated than before.”
The Watcher turned his gaze upon Jean, gauging out her reaction.
“And a few years after Ned’s death,” the Watcher continued mercilessly, “Michelle Jones is murdered by Wilson Fisk, also known as Kingpin, as a way to get back at Spiderman for foiling a vibranium smuggling operation.”
Jean's eyes widened to unbelievable proportions, “What?”
“Peter will spiral further. He will bury himself in his work, hunting every remaining threat he can find. He will push himself beyond his limits until there is almost nothing left of the man beneath the mask.”
The images on the screen changed: Peter fighting viciously, Peter bleeding, one arm broken, Peter all alone on a raining rooftop.
“He will put nearly every threat behind bars or kill them himself. Eventually, he will entrust New York to the Fantastic Four, to the Punisher, to you Jean Grey.”
Jean stared at him in confusion.
“Why?”
The Watcher didn't answer.
Jane’s stomach twisted even further than it had during the Watchers description.
“And then…” The Watcher's voice came out slowly.
Jean's heart began pounding loudly, the beats echoing in her eardrums, “And then what?”
Silence.
“Watcher.”
The Watcher's enormous eyes remained fixed upon her, with a hint of something almost sorrowful in them.
“Peter Parker will face an enemy he cannot beat and end up perishing too. Himself”
Jean didn't move. For several seconds, she didn't seem to breathe.
“No.”
Her voice was barely audible, and she looked toward the flickering screens. Towards her Peter falling down and slowly killing himself.
The Watcher remained silent.
"No."
This time, louder.
“No, he won’t!” Jean’s scream ripped through the void. The bench behind her shattered beneath a burst of telekinetic force, fragments scattering into the darkness.
“Why can’t Peter just be happy?” Her voice cracked. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she made no attempt to wipe them away. “Just once. Why does it always have to be taken from him? Why does he have to suffer for everything when he’s done nothing to deserve it?”
The Watcher regarded her without flinching, his eyebrows slightly knitting being the only sign of his sympathy.
“Peter Parker can have something nice,” he said comfortingly, “He often does. But it is always stripped from him. If Peter Parker is allowed to remain truly happy for too long, it unravels the very seam of reality. Joy in him becomes a fracture, and the balance fails.”
Jean's breathing became uneven and she stared at the Watcher, “Why?”
“Something about Peter Parker resists the natural order. Every time the universe allows him lasting happiness, something eventually pulls him back toward suffering.”
Horror settled over Jean’s features. She stared at the million grieving faces still flickering around them, her gaze settling on her Peter again. His normally carefree face contorting with grief and anger.
Then, quieter still, “Why am I here then?”
The Watcher's eyes softened.
“Because this version of Peter Parker's life is worse than any I have observed. Most versions do not reach the end he will. But yours will. And you…” Jean's eyes lowered and The Watcher gestured toward her. ““You are one of the few who knows and understands who he truly is. You have seen the weight he carries. Whether it be platonically or romantically, you care for the man beneath the mask. He kept you alive, in his own way. Now I am asking you to keep him alive in return. Change the ending for once, I will allow it and prevent your universe from collapsing.”
Jean's expression hardened in disbelief; nothing ever came this easily. “You're asking me to interfere with his future."
"I am."
"And you'll allow that?"
"For this Peter Parker."
"Why this one?"
The Watcher looked at her, but she felt like his eyes were spacing out.
“I have watched your Peter Parker since he was a boy.”
The screens shifted around them, showing Peter at different points in his life. Peter as a teenager. Peter learning, growing, losing people, and somehow finding the strength to keep going. Again and again.
“And I have never seen a Peter Parker quite like him.”
Jean lowered her eyes. She didn't know what to say to that.
“He has and will suffer more than most.”
The images slowly faded until only one remained.
Peter.
Alone, but alive.
Jean stared at him for a long moment. Then the Watcher spoke again.
“Perhaps it was coincidence that brought you into his life. Perhaps it was something more. I cannot say.”
His gaze settled on her.
“But whatever the reason, I believe he deserves the chance to choose his own ending.”
Silence filled the void and Jean looked down, then back toward the image of Peter, resolve replaced the sorrow as she saw the future Peter would fall into if she wasn’t there.
She lifted her chin and her eyes shone with not yet spilled tears for her future Peter.
“I don't know how I'll do it.”
The Watcher said nothing.
Jean looked directly at him, her eyes still wet but her voice steady.
“But I'll find a way.”
She glanced back at Peter one last time.
“I'll save him.”