Seven months ago.

Peter didn't know where he he was going. Supposed at this point, it didn't really matter. Not when he could still see her eyes, all red. Not when no matter how far he got he could still hear her screaming at him to get out and never come back. And the look on her face when those spiders had stopped short of swarming him, like they couldn't bare to go any further. It Almost made him laugh. Guess Cindy'd been right. He really was the King to her Queen.

He could still hear her voice. She was talking, like she was right in his ear, right next to him. Fucking telepathy... "You know, I guess the Bugle was right about you," she said, all-casual, conversational. "That article they printed after George Stacy died? 'Spider-Man –Murderer, Menace, Monster!' You know, that one?" She laughed. "'Spider-Man Robs Teenage Girl of Her Loving Father'. 'Spider-Man Murders Captain George Stacy'." She let it hang, let the gutpunch sizzle and burn and the kick to his teeth sink in. "Spider-Man… Menace, killer… Yeah," she hissed. "Sounds about right."

He kept moving. Was night now. Managed to hoof his way to some place, some ugly, slimy back alley where the only lights were red and flickering. Trash was everywhere, the streets shiny with rain, sound of cars going to and from some place on streets in a city he didn't know. He could see perfectly in the dark, was almost instantly aware of just how many arachnids there were around him. 27.

The building to his right was boarded up, condemned. Barely pausing to make sure he was alone he leapt up to a window and pushed the boards back like they weren't nailed in and crept inside. Third floor, 86 spiders. Had to be past 11 o'clock at night but he hadn't slept in since 9 in the morning. Two days ago.

The place was rife with cobwebs. Third floor had somewhere between 40 or 50 spiders… 49, one just ate the other. Webbed it up and sank its fangs right into it. Just when he was about to fall asleep, she started talking again, knowing exactly what she was doing.

"Remind you of something, doesn't it?" She asked brightly. "Because it reminds me of something. Ripping him out of so much webbing… and seeing what you did to him. I honestly don't know if he died from asphyxiation or blunt physical trauma, you know," she said, then her voice lowered and she hissed. "But I do know It should have been you."

He tucked into his jacket and tried to go to sleep. Bit of a hard sell, considering. He rolled to face away from the wall and, eyes wide open, he could see the room like it was lit up. Could see the silhouettes of the spiders crawling toward him too. It raised the hairs on the back of his neck, tickled something primal in him seeing all of them like that, so many legs. They stopped, but the voice in his head didn't. It just kept talking.

"Aw, is Spider-Man afraid of spiders? Do you just want to punch one, an old, one, to death? Huh?" Cindy taunted. He tried to tune her out. "All Ezekiel wanted to do was help you, Peter. All I wanted to do was help you." That was a lie. "Then you should have taken his place, found another way! You're a hero, aren't you?! 'Spider-Man'? You should have saved him-" her voice quieted. "Oh, wait, that's right. Said it yourself- not so good at the hero thing, are you? Bad habit of letting people down? I guess I should have believed you, instead of believing in you. Because you let me down, Peter. Just like you let everyone down."

Maybe going to sleep was a mistake. Just like everything else.

He could see Cindy sneer just before he hit the mute button in his head, hard. All muffled and garbled and barely there, he heard the noise hiss, "Yeah. It was."

He was pretty sure he was in Kentucky now. Or Ohio, somewhere around the border. It only registered to him because the last time he heard It was back at the start of Pennsylvania. Jersey had been as fun as he'd imagined. It'd been a few weeks since then. Eight? Nine?

Peter was looking through his pockets—dirty old coat that fit his new stature now, dirty old shoes, dirty old jeans. 'Look like a fucking hobo…' he muttered, then grunted. Not eight, not nine. Just five bucks left—not even in a single bill. Sad chump change between coins and a couple of bills.

He heard It garbling in like a bad radio transmission. Wasn't the first time, just the first time that it was so clear. Wasn't a transmission he was interested in heard for exactly the 123rd time unless It'd be broadcasting vaudeville runs of Burns and Allen. He doubted that.

"…Peter?" He took sifted through jingling coins in his pocket, took them out to count. A couple quarters—maybe he'd be able to scrape a drink and lunchmeat without looking like a complete sad-sack…"Peter, I know you can hear me."

The real question was if he wanted to go for high society cuisine or not. Spring for the designer lunch meats like turkey and a bottle of coke, or play the long game and stretch between bread, a gallon of water, and bologna? "Peter." Choices, choices.

"Peter, I- just… Just come back, okay? We can- It'll be alright. It'll be okay. You don't have to do this anymore. I... I'm sorry."

Fuck, why not splurge? Get some mustard to go with it. He was going to run out of cash anyway, why not have a serviceable last meal before that?"Don't make things hard on yourself, don't-"

He counted one last time, then started walking to the nearest store—an all night 7-Eleven down on the corner. Last he'd been there, the staff looked at him like he was more inclined to bump the place over instead of buy anything. Couldn't really blame them-even though he wasn't sure if it was because his clothes were ratty or because he hadn't had a bath in over a week and the dirt was starting to crust up his face, or because he had the shaggy hair and face of a box car druggy. Probably all of the above.

The hairs on the back of his neck and forearms prickled. He stopped short. Slight buzz in the back of his head—little threat, nothing major, maybe even a drunk driver about to hit him. He looked across the street and spotted them; a group of schmoes on the opposite corner palling around like old friends—behind the streetlight and in the dark where it'd be hard for anyone else to see them.

He kept walking, all casual, and they walked across the street, just as casual. Maybe it was a bad thing to profile, but it wasn't his -10 on the self-worth scale that told him they weren't happy to see him. When he'd reached the small parking spaces outside they'd cut him off, backed him away from the security cameras and into the dark

One reached into his pants and Peter grimaced at the sight of a handle coming from inside the guy's boxers. He didn't want to know what the fuck the gun had seen, but was pretty sure you're not supposed to pack heat where you pack your meat was a bad idea—but so was backing him into a corner with no prying eyes. If he said to the cops he had tried backing up and avoiding a fight, it'd be falsifying a police report. He hadn't been raised to do that.

One of them made the universal gesture for whatever he had on him—a gun in the face. A slight grin started to tug at his mouth, a feeling in his gut. Could hear the blood between his ears while the world seemed to get slower. Didn't know what it was, but he was beginning to enjoy it—this feeling before a fight, during it, and after—the adrenaline that, before, back in New York, it made him hazy and nervous. Now it was just stone cold focus and fuel.

And It wasn't like he had be around when the cops came, not when these guys were obviously just like well-seasoned entrepreneurs interested in sharing wealth. No, no need for cops here.

The gun in his face popped off a few seconds after he spit on one of their shoes. He moved to the side, barely, ears ringing and chest heaving with the start of excitement, was spoiling for a fight now like it'd made his night.

Took a bit for their shock to wear off, apparently. By the time he crunched the metal in his hands like an eggshell they hadn't moved. When he crunched the guy;s forearm, he screamed and Peter could see the looks on their faces. One backed up when he grinned and he could see the red pinpoints of his eyes in theirs. He could barely hear It now; all there was was that feeling, that rush of something heavy and irritating that made it too easy to get angry and keep on hitting… He hadn't been bothering anyone, and they put a gun to his head. Was gonna kill him, just like Ben,

He grabbed one and lobbed him across the street. Barely heard the dull thud of a body hitting a brick building because he was moving to the next. The fight was over before it started though, with the phantom sensations of the smack and feel of his fists hitting flesh and the sound of them crying out while he tossed them like ragdolls just making the feeling heavier, better. Worse.

Now they were just bodies around him. Breathing, but barely. And it felt good. Not good enough to finish the job, no, not like the last time. "Peter I am so, sor-" The voice in his head trailed off, broken sounding. "That feeling… it's called chaotic energy. Just thought you should know." Then, It went away.

In the dark he rifled their stuff. Four hundred dollars. Was gonna eat good tonight, definitely gonna get that coke. He started to walk to the 7-11 again high on the feeling. Chaotic energy, huh? Not bad. Not bad at all.

Then he stopped, turned, and helped himself to a mostly new, slightly spat on pair of shoes.

Backwardly Therapeutic Part 1

Catching up.

Jessica listened. Right there, on the couch with the TV off, with no noise but the sound of Peter's voice and the occasional siren outside.

In the back of her head she thought it was weird how Peter wasn't instantly moving to see what the hubbub was, like she would've had the inclination to if he wasn't there, like she knew he used to. But he used not grimace at the mention of Spider-Man, cringe while being called that, It made her think, play connect-the-dots in her head and picture that was starting to form didn't do her afterglow any favors, just the pit in her stomach.

The look on his face while he told her, all casual—like it was no big deal… Nobody wrote a book on how to recite the events of being disowned. At least, she didn't think anyone had– had never thought there'd be a reason for her to read up on that subject. Peter always had that ugly, vague thought in the back of his head. Jessica was able to look back without his worries and worry for him. She knew his mind just as well as she did hers—no one knew Peter like she did.

She knew that doomsday scenario of his involved a lot of yelling, a lot of grounding, maybe even some fainting with a distinct "No more fighting crime for you, young man!" Not… not this. Not kicking him to the curb and... Just imagining it brought back phantom pangs of unease in her gut. Just knowing it made her… angry.

Angry? At Aunt May? It was just as laughable as knowing Peter to the curb. After everything that he'd done.

The picture started to get downright ugly when Peter told her of how it'd been after she left, when she'd booked it so fast out of Queens that she'd been to Maryland within the week. But Peter… Peter had been in an empty house with nothing but his the result of his bad luck and his nightmares, Stuck with all the awful thoughts in his head that Jessica knew could pop up,

The bitter icing on the cake was that she'd figured that he at least would have had Gwen or Harry around to pick him up, or something. It wasn't until she'd gotten access to the internet that she realized they were dead too. Back in the zoo, with her 'siblings', they didn't exactly get TV time before bed. No, they just got an IV-drip of sleepy-time when it was time for lights out.

And the thing that broke them out, that Carnage, that chimera? Jessica hadn't known that it'd been the thing to kill Gwen. Hadn't realized just what it had meant for Peter to see it come back around like some living nightmare- only that she'd managed to sweep him away when things were getting really, really crappy that night.

Only to get him into another fight. Where he got to watch himself die. And then leave him with the aftermath. That night, the chimera, and the clones, her… everything. They were all just his bad luck, but now here they were. No way in hell did she deserve any sort of sister of the year prize. Not even 'kind of okay sibling of the week' consolation prize. Hell no.

Jessica kept an expressionless face when he told her about Cindy Moon, the adjectival Asian pervert mutant spider-girl—who sounded like a stalker with boundary issues, honestly. She tried to smile when he told her about what happened with Kitty with no pause, no awkwardness. Jessica could feel it. That ease, that complete openness that let him talkto her just like she could talk to him.

Recalling how he'd dry humped the girlfriend she'd pretty much stolen his virginity away from, if not him, was the only time he'd laughed.

Then he told her about getting out of town. Peter told her about life on the road. Baltimore, Philly, Massachusetts, a bunch of places in between. All within the first month. She'd been in Baltimore around that one point, wondered if they'd been in the same place and hadn't even known it.

He told her how Cindy got rid of his nightmares and how that was… fantastic, but the pit in Jessica's stomach got worse, dense and ugly. She hadn't seen Peter in almost nine months, didn't want to ask about what happened after – and that's when she remembered his crack about drinking. He'd been joking. Right?

He'd said he was homeless. Said that he dreamt about people dying when he wasn't dreaming about… this. Them. Her, because apparently he'd been just as thirsty for her as she was for him, and had gone through the entire 'Am I a narcissist' because of it.. But Jessica was having a hard time feeling any kind of pleasure or pride from that. She wasn't that great and those didn't sound like good dreams to her.

They'd moved from their position on the couch, her laying atop of him, to something more solemn. Jessica had her legs crossed and sat in front of him and Peter, with his long arms, had one stretched behind the couch, legs splayed casually. Bothered her that he was so casual about this, because he shouldn't have had to be. Another dot, another pic, another thing that he'd had dealt with on his own.

She decided to rip it off like a band-aid, and almost instantly bit her tongue because of it. "Do you…" she started, trying not to wince. "You still have bad dreams?"

Peter didn't answer. Then he shrugged. "…Eh."

"Peter."

Like he could sense what she thought about that, and he probably could, Jessica felt a tickle like the one he described—it was all tingly and warm and completely the opposite of how she felt about herself right now—Peter tried to play it off. "Not with you around," he said. "It wasn't... that bad, Jess."

Jessica wondered what his definition of 'that bad' was, but then realized she didn't need to wonder. She knew, and knew that he needed to open a dictionary every once in a while. She scowled. "Before I say, 'That's a load of crap'," she said, breathing in slowly, "Define 'wasn't that bad', please."

Peter made a face, like he knew it was a dumb thing to say. He did, and Jessica knew he did. She knew he had a habit of downplaying his problems. "…I'm used to it," he corrected, finally, after a few seconds of her waiting. Then he made another face.

Jessica's mouth opened to let loose one hell of a retort, "How is that any better-!"

He stopped her. "It's fine, Jess."

"Fine, not better. Then how is it fine? It is not fine!" She almost yelled, and started to count her fingers. "You said you had dreams of people dying, Peter. You said you were homeless, you were drinking…"

He clenched his jaw, rubbed his forehead. "Told you this was a bad idea…" he muttered.

She scoffed. "No, you said you'd rather go at it again than talk about it. That it'd be good to get off your chest." She stretched a smile on her face. "So come on. Let's be therapeutic together, brother."

"Jess, my therapy is having sex with you," he said bluntly, catching her off guard. "I love it, it feels great and makes me feel so much better. You make me feel better," he said, looking at her hard. "That's all I need."

She bit her lip, not sure how to respond other than a lame 'Ditto' that she had to chomp down on her tongue to keep inside. "You said you were drinking."

"I was joking."

"You weren't joking," she said, and slapped his knee lightly. She didn't punch him, would never do that. She wasn't some dumb girl without a handle on her emotions. Jessica knew exactly what she was feeling. Pissed off at the world and protective of Peter, and she was at home with that. Because just like she remembered, her twin had a bad habit of caring less about himself than he should have.

"Then I was stupid," Peter retorted quickly. "I was a dumb, angsty teenager stuck up in and angry at my own problems-"

"Newsflash: you are a teenager! And you have every reason to be angry!"

"I don't look like teenager Jess!" He snapped, then calmed himself, shook his head. "Not like I used to... and I'm fine with that. So fine because I haven't-" he swallowed. "Never mind."

He moved to get up, but Jessica stopped him. She stood up and stood over him, well aware that if he stood up he could pick her up like a toy, one handed. He looked up at her and she didn't need twin-ESP to see his mind was changing on this. Not this, them, but being just being open and talking. With her. That didn't feel so good.

"No, no. No never mind. We're getting through this. Together. I'm not leaving you alone with this. Not again." A moment passed. Jessica knew his mouth was opening to shut down her idea that she ever left him with anything, and she stared at him hard enough to shut that down. Her determined scowl melted down to something weak. "Come on, Pete… please."

Peter laughed. The sound alone of it made her reach out and grab his hand. To make her or him feel better, Jessica didn't know. But it worked, so points for innovation. "Right, right…" Peter said. He breathed in. "Was gonna say that teenagers don't do the shit I did." He snorted. "Yeah, bullshit. They drink, smoke, do drugs. I wasn't that that stupid. Don't like drinking either, just… it was something, I guess."

"Coping," Jessica said quietly.

Peter rolled his eyes, "Don't tell me you know stuff about psychology too…"

With a weak smile, Jessica pointed at herself. "Hello? Kind of have to." The smile faded. "I still remember the things you do. Some of them, and what they meant, how it made you feel. So yeah, kind of have to."

Peter cringed. "It doesn't need to have 'felt' like anything," he said, almost shivering in disgust. "It happened. I got up. I fall, I get up."

Jessica gripped his hand tight, though hers could barely cover his. "Yeah, I remember that too. Uncle Ben would have wanted you to at least put some alcohol on the scraped knees and everything. You know," she said with a sardonic smirk and nod. "Not drink it."

Peter let out a weak laugh. "Yeah, well… alcohol burns. Tastes like crap, too. So does whiskey. Don't even get me started on corner store beer. Think they still call it hootch? I mean-"

"Pete. You're rambling."

He grunted. "Yeah… Yeah, I am."

He got up. The symbolism wasn't lost on Jessica. Peter looked… tired. Resigned. He sighed and walked from the couch to the bedroom where the newest member of their Weird alternative family slept. She held onto him the whole way and Peter rubbed her knuckles with his larger fingers even though he walked like a death march.

They walked into the room and Jessica followed his eyes as he looked up to the ceiling. "What- oh," she said, seeing two duffel bags webbed there. In between the sex and looking for clothes to wear, she hadn't spotted them earlier.

Peter extracted his hand from hers. "Gimme a sec," he said, and it was just that. He was so tall he almost didn't need to crawl to the ceiling, but Jessica saw why he did. He worked his fingers like knives through the webbing, plucking them like cords and they popped and gave way. He caught them before they hit the floor and woke up their very own Mexican Jean Grey-girl—with authentic telepathic capability.

Peter took the bags out of the room and tossed them like paper balls onto the couch. They landed heavy, fat with something. Her awkward-mode trigger wondered if it was a jumbo-size fly-burger he was trying to woo her with. Then Peter went over and opened one. Money spilled out onto the couch like stuffing from a ripped teddy.

"I took these right before we met up," he said simply, honestly. Jessica appreciated it, even while her mind was reconciling what her eyes were seeing, counting the wads of cash. Enough to fill up a bathtub, at least. Enough to be over a couple million in one bag alone. Peter smiled thinly. "I was in this bar- yeah, drinking. And this asshole comes in acting like he and his friends on the place. Not exactly an altar boy troupe, so I follow them, of course I do because I can't mind my own fucking business…" he hissed to himself. "Figure it could be drugs, could be guns. Don't care. I see the money. I wanted it, so I took it."

"It wasn't drugs, was it," Jessica said, not asked. She didn't hesitate to look from the money to Peter, gluing her eyes to his opposing ones. "It was her. This money was for her and the bodies at the docks…"

"Yeah, it was for her, The rest is history. Take her to the hospital, meet you. We fucked," he smirked, waiting for her to alleyoop the joke, but she wasn't biting. His smirk faded beneath her stare. Jessica was frowning at him. "…Things with Cindy… didn't work out."

"I can see that," she muttered, and hated herself for how sarcastic it came off as.

"Yeah, well, Ezekiel took her in when she had nothing. No family, no friends. Her folks aren't the biggest fans of mutants—she kept the voicemails." Peter shrugged. "He was family to her, Jess. Betterthan family because he didn't abandon her."

Jessica looked up. Peter looked her in her eyes. "I was just some idiot she admired, but Ezekiel was her hero. Her fucking Superman, Jess. Remind you of anyone?" George and Gwen Stacy came to mind. "Yeah, well...," Peter trailed off, "To nobody's surprise… I got him killed too."

"…Come again?" Jessica asked intelligently.

Peter's face was blank and still. "I got Ezekiel Simms killed. Or killed him, depending on who you ask. Probably more accurate that way."

Everything clicked into place. A jigsaw puzzle that felt as ugly as it looked. Jessica could have sworn she heard someone talking. Just a soft, barely audible, "I'm sorry."

Peter shook his head, clearing cobwebs that weren't really there. "After that, I was dropping drug dealers and gang members before I got here, Houston. Just to get something to eat." He worked his jaw, "Because you know, killing someone's father figure makes you a bit of a persona non grata." He gestured to the money. "And when I got tired of that, I did this."

He sat down, heavily at a stool in the kitchen, head down. Then he looked up, eyes more angry than they were glistening, but Jessica could see a reddish tinge there before he looked down again, barely able to look at her. "And Ezekiel wasn't the only one. That Salamander fuck—at least he didn't have anyone to mourn him. Probably."

He breathed deep, swallowed thick. "Bunch of other stuff. Stupid, mystic shit, but there's the important crap. You wanted to know how I got here—there you go… So, still feel like sticking around?" Peter laughed. "Hey, you were right. This is therapeutic."

Jessica was already on her feet. In a second she went from the couch to the kitchen and wrapped her arms around him hard enough to crack his spine. She jostled him, squeezed tight. He didn't hug her back, so she squeezed tighter until he did. Near foot of height on her or no, she still had spider-strength. She buried her face into the crook of his neck and shook, seeing the scar-tissue of the bite marks. The vampire bite.

'Fuck,' she thought. 'What kind of life are we living?'

When Jessica pulled away she planted her forehead to his and shook her head again and again, like that'd get the bad thoughts away. She could feel those now, wondered if she was the latest symptom of whatever he had on his brain to attract mind readers, but that didn't matter. Cindy Moon didn't matter, Jean Grey didn't, none of them.

She climbed into his lap, feeling comfortable and at peace there, and they sat like that for minutes. Soft sounds of her breath against his. Her arms around his neck, his hands falling to the small of her back. No kissing, no nothing. Just her trying to be the good sibling for once, because god, she had a lot to make up for.

"I was a waitress," Jessica said finally. "A few times, between states. To make enough money to get a room at a motel. There were these bikers, regulars, that'd pull into an IHOP I was working at. Just a couple week long gig, They'd bothering my manager, threaten him and the staff. He was a nice guy, a 'kid' our age working his way through college," she said pointedly. "My last day there, I tracked them down, en homme, and beat the stuffing out of them. All of them. I took their money and added it to the tip jar when no one was looking."

Peter let out a short snort, "Having trouble seeing how that makes you as bad as me," he said, looking anywhere but her.

She made him. Jessica grabbed his hands and looked at him until he looked back and their mismatched eyes were meeting. "You didn't do it for fun," she said, not asked.

Peter shook his head. "…No."

Jessica nodded , rested her chin on top of his head. Could feel the heat of his breath against her collarbone and she was fine with that as she rubbed his scalp. "You didn't actually think I was going to leave, did you?" He didn't answer. "Pete, I-" She closed her eyes. "No. Just… no. Pete, you're not a monster," she said vehemently, looking him in the eye.

"Menace, monster. Differing schools of thought on that," he snarked.

"Don't care," she hissed. "You. Are not. A monster. Not a murderer, not a killer or some cold, unfeeling thing. Monsters don't worry about being monsters, Peter. And even if you were? I'd either bring you back or be one right with you," she said fiercely. "Because where you go, I go. That's never gonna change."

She pressed her lips to his, all soft, all chaste and innocent like that's what either of them were on their best day. Then to his chin, her hands on his face, and then everywhere else from his shoulders to the bite-mark on his neck to drive it into his thick, shaved head that she wasn't about to walk away or push him away. Not like May, not like Cindy. When she was through she wrapped her arms around his neck and settled into his lap again.

He was quiet for a bit, cleared his throat. "I didn't- what makes you think I thought that?"

"Because I know you," she said, like the answer was obvious. It should have been. She cleared her throat and poked him in the chest. "Dork. And twin-ESP goes both ways, remember. It's Weird like that."

"Yeah… Weird," Peter said. He dropped his head into the crook of her neck, all energy gone save for what it took to kiss up to her jawline. Soft, chaste pecks that trailed to her lips where it was half kiss, half sigh.

Jessica rotated in his lap, her back facing his front, and crossed her legs in his lap. They sat like that and she wasn't about to ask him to continue because he didn't need to, it wasn't going to change anything for her. If he wanted to keep going, she'd be going with him. She wasn't going to go away and would repeat that until he understood. To help with that, she wrapped his arms around her waist, put his hands at her stomach.

"Ezekiel," Peter said, "he… tried to kill me. Or get me killed. End result's the same, I guess."

"Then he got what he deserved," Jessica said vehemently, protectively.

He nestled into her chest and she closed her eyes, faintly aware of the baritone of his voice meaningfully sounding out, "Thanks, Jess," while she lounged against him, humming a contented, "Mmhm…" as if that was all that needed to be said, because it was, but Peter continued. "… Asshole gets his powers from a ritual, or something. Wasn't born with them like Cindy. Like you."

Jessica blinked, looking down at him. "I- Was that a backwards compliment?"

Peter shook his head against her torso. "It's a fact. You're a person, Jess, you all were. Not a science projects. You were born just like everyone else." He didn't even need to see the look on her face. Jessica felt him kiss her chest. "Twin-ESP goes both ways, 'member?"

She rapped at his head with her palm, smiling softly. "Show off."

He let out a contented groan. "Yep, that's me… So, like every supernatural horror movie'll tell you, rituals for power, for a deal, or some stupid shit…"

"Bad news?" Jessica finished.

"Try a shitshow."

"Shitshow," she said dramatically. She felt silly. "Ah, I am so not good at cursing."

"Just need practice, Stick with me and you'll learn something."

"Foregone conclusion-"

He laughed. It sounded better than before, more relieved, and he went on with more levity in his voice. Jessica felt better hearing it. "Rituals come with a price, apparently, and to the Asshole's- Ezekiel's surprise-"

"No, no, Asshole is good. I'm putting my vote in for that."

His body jostled beneath her with a quiet chuckle. "Unanimous then. To Asshole's surprise, real life isn't as Hollywood with them. Got his powers from something, on a rental. It wanted them back. So he tells me that lives are at stake. How's a city full of every spider from the smallest to the most poisonous sound?" Jessica grimaced. "Yeah. Lives are at stake. His, Cindy's. Not even she could stop it. He needs help. Needs a…" he trailed off.

Jessica felt the word on the tip of his tongue like it was on hers. "A hero?"

"Try an idiot," Peter grunted with a small frown. Instead, she kissed him again. The frown went away. "So he gets one. Says he needs someone familiar with our powers—Cindy never tried, neither did he—wasn't dumb enough—but with my track record…" he sighed. "Still, I figure it's the least I can do. Then there's a syringe in my neck.

Jessica hissed. "What?"

"Yeah. I wake up on this altar and then there's thing—big, ten foot tall spider… Man-thing," he said, and Jessica could see him grimace at the name. "And there I am, stuck to an altar in this weird BDSM dungeon Batcave ripoff that he keeps in the basement beneath his fucking basement, and this thing bites into me like a fucking hamburger."

Jessica closed her eyes. "Are you sure he's dead?"

He patted her head and actually laughed. "Down, Jess."

She huffed. "Well, at least you're looking good now," she said, to his, "Ditto.' "Just …What the fu-" she started, flatly. "No, let me rephrase that. What type of life were you living without me, dear brother?"

Peter wrapped his arms around her midsection and she held onto them. "Good save," he said.

"Well someone has to set a good example for you. Not like I have any money for a swear jar."

"Would you like an allowance?" he asked.

Jessica hummed. "…I think I'd prefer it if you spoiled me, brother."

He smiled. "I can do that," he said, and sighed. "In retrospect, it's been a pretty crappy one. " He rolled her against his lap slightly, and she rolled with him. "After that it's a blur. I go through this thing. A Gauntlet, or something. Quasimodo. Tarantula they're there. So that was… good, if you can call being on-call dicks for some kind of… spider-lady deity in the afterlife fine-" Jessica raised her hand. "Yeah?"

"Quick repeat question?"

"Go ahead."

"What?"

"Apparently my dead brothers lost their virginities before I did," he said, helpfully.

"Our dead brothers lost their virginities before we did. After they died." Jessica rolled her eyes. "Guess we should have met up sooner. Or you should have spent more time with Kitty. Think we can get away with technical masturbation as an excuse?" she asked.

"I think Mexico is a better answer, honestly, but… Think I've been running too long, too," he said. "Anyway, the thing attacked me, changed to look like them, like me, and like you. And after getting eaten, I really was not in the best mood."

"I can imagine. Maybe you just didn't get eaten the right way-" He looked at her. "Please, get your mind out of the gutter, brother."

"You're starting to sound like Cindy."

"I am insulted. Give me some credit. I managed to make a completion with you and take your virginity. And sit on your face!"

"At least you have your priorities straight," he said, in no uncertain terms telling her what she should be doing. Jessica ground her ass into his crotch, feeling his hands roam up to her beestings in retaliation. She lolled her head back to his shoulder. "So, we fight. I see us, I see me, but… older, a bunch of weird shit. Was actually where I got that suit idea from; that lasted about three seconds."

"I think I prefer the hood look," Jessica said, tugging at the blue of her hoodie. She looked into it, where her tits were pressing through the bodysuit, her nipples hard and waiting to be sucked and found, unsurprisingly, that she was alright with that. "We look good in hoods."

Peter smirked. "Half right," he said, looking at her. "I was seeing… red. When I started hitting, I didn't stop. Next thing I know it's dead, and I'm back in the Asshole's Batcave—like I said, no loopholes. The altar's broken into bits, spiders everywhere. Ezekiel's-"

"Asshole's," Jessica corrected, feeling the word on her tongue.

Peter smirked. "Asshole's cocooned in webbing with spiders swarming him and…" He grimaced. "And Cindy's right there, watching it all. The spiders carrying him away, me, like this," he gestured at himself."

Jessica's breath hitched. She heard the voice again, barely over her own. "Pete…, I am so, so sorry."

He shook his head. "You got no reason to be, Jess. But… man, you should have seen the look on her face. And there I was thinking I took it bad when Uncle Ben… so yeah. So that wasn't fun. And it went from zero to shit real quick." he swallowed, trying to stay all casual. "…I'm not good at keeping friends, Jess. Seems like I'm pretty fucking good at losing them though."

"Well you're not going to lose me," she said, softly tilting his chin with her finger so she could look into his eyes again. "You know that," she said, not asked.

"I got a hunch."

"Nope," Jessica corrected, putting her mouth to his. "You got me."

For a second they languished in that, a lazy kiss. She could feel his hands drop and she smiled into it, sucking his lip in and rolling her tongue over it, both of them just relaxing against each other. Then-

"Peter?"

Blinking, they turned around as one. Behind the couch was the girl, cumcrusted covers in tow. It took a second for Jessica to realize she still didn't know her name. Another to realize that they were caught all close-like and intimate, and neither caring. Another to bemusedly realize that being interrupted by telepaths was becoming a trend for Peter, something he already realized and started to groan about. He stopped when they both saw she was crying.

Standing there in her hospital gown, her hair sort of frazzled with bedhead and her steps unsteady, stumbling and bracing herself against the doorframe to the room, she had tears streaming down her cheeks.

They got up together, hesitantly, and Jessica knelt down in front of her. She wasn't that much shorter than Jessica herself, but Jessica didn't know what else to do, and gently touched the girl's shoulder. A crying girl wasn't something she knew how to handle, but a crying telepathic girl was out of orbit to what she knew how to handle. Peter looked just as clueless when the girl still flung her arms around him so he had to be doing something right. He looked at Jessica, but she shrugged, just as lost as him.

The girl started to sob into him,, wiping her face and tears into his hood. She wailed things in Spanish. Jessica wasn't anywhere near fluent enough to translate so quickly and only picked up things like hurt, pain, spider, champion, nightmare, and Peter. Dos Peter.

Jessica blanched. "Maybe she's… If she's a telepath, could she, I don't know, form a connection or something?"

"In my experience telepaths can just pop into your head when they want," Peter grunted, bemusedly. "Last thing I need is for another one of them to get me on fucking speed dial. …Aaand it's probably already happened, hasn't it."

Jessica snickered. He glared at her and she started to laugh. "Maybe you do have something written on your brain. In big neon letters."

"Don't joke about that. That's not funny."

The girl flung her arms around Peter's neck, her eyes shut tight, her sobs letting up, and Jessica wondered if she'd been crying in her sleep after Peter had been in a… not a happy place. "I think she was able to feel you just now? Like she's imprinted on you, or something."

Her twin looked uncomfortable with the thought and looked down at the girl, but she was fast asleep now, smiling and snoring softly into him. "What are you, some kind of narcoleptic?" He groaned, and Jessica smiled as his look softened. "An empathic… narcoleptic… telepath. Do those even exist?"

"Either or," she said, "and I guess they do now. You just told me about a girl born with spider powers and telepathy, and then there's Jean Grey. Weirder things have happened, right? Like us." He looked adorably uncomfortable with that too, and with how the girl was clinging to him. "She's like, connected to you. Emotionally."

Peter growled. "Great…"

"Kind of hard to be jealous of her though," Jessica said softly. She brushed hair out of her face as she murmured in her sleep. It was remarkably easy to fall asleep with Peter. Like a big, semi-habitually frowning bear. Or wolf-spider, for the nearest, relevant animal kingdom equivalent. "She's been through a lot, right? You both have."

"I haven't," Peter frowned. He leaned against the back of the couch and the girl moved with him, and Jessica rested her head on his shoulder. "I haven't been through anything close to what she's been through."

Jessica smiled softly at his selflessness. "Just…" She sighed. "You saved her. She called you her champion. You're her hero, Peter. That's enough, isn't it?"

Peter looked even less uncomfortable with that and skeptical, disbelieving, "Don't feel like one," he muttered honestly. "Not enough for her to- this. Imprint on me like a-" he grunted, but Jessica saw a small disbelieving smile tug at his lips. "Like a dog. We have a dog, Jess."

She put her hands out. "Yes, we have a dog," she smiled, and gently rubbed the girl's hair like she was a puppy. It wasn't the Weirdest thing she'd done all day, but it made her feel good.

"Like a Mexican hairless," she and her twin said at the same time. She had an idea, and acted on it. Jessica bit her lip as she brushed up the girl's hospital gown. Perfect white panties, no doubt supplied by the hospital, were under there beneath her gown. She peeked into them. "Okay…" she said. "Mostly hairless."

Peter looked at her flatly. "Really?"

"It's not like she's opposed to it," Jessica said, defensively, again realizing that between the two of them, she was the pervert. "Dude, she's kind of holding your sperm-sheets."

"I was trying to forget about that."

"I have your best interests at heart," she said primly.

"Thank you so much my perverted sister."

Snickering, Jessica saddled up to him. When she did the girl wrapped her arms around them both. She looked at the girl's outstretched arms, "You never even have to ask, brother. Btw, I think you're stuck with us."

"Another freeloader. Woo."

"You know, I think she'd probably be more than okay with the same forms of payment that I am-"

"-Thank you, Jess."

"And you got the money for it..."

"And I'm not giving it back."

"Wasn't even a thought in my pretty little head."

Peter smirked easily. "Someone has a high opinion of themselves."

Jessica kissed him. "It's a contagious line of thinking. Wonder who I caught it from."

Peter snorted. He was thinking the same thing she was, Jessica knew. They'd have to buy her a toothbrush, some toys—whatever the telepathic kids liked nowadays. Something to distract her. The fidget spinner or whatever was a thing still, right? They'd need to name her too. Maybe the 'Mexican Grey'. Like the Mexican hairless, except telepathic. And prone to interrupting. "You think you can get her name?"

Peter tapped the girl's head. Jessica rightly figured the girl was talking to him telepathically because he rolled his eyes a second later. "Her name is… Aracely. She… says she likes puppies. And she wants to stay with us. …Pretty please."

Jessica nuzzled against him. "Well? Pretty please?"

He sighed. Jessica's giggles turned into a cheer as Peter brought the cover over them all. "G'night Jess," he said.

"G'night, Pete."