Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So… Peter?” Jessica Jones glanced up from her disorganised desk to the boy. He looked fresh out of high school, with a skateboard by his side that seemed to have been pieced back together with a halloween patterned tape. At the sound of his name, the boy’s head bobbed back up from his phone - a soft earnestness that Jessica hadn’t seen in quite some time. 

His hair was shaggy - clearly in need of a cut. Clothed in dark blues and greys, except for the dull brown jacket he had thrown on overtop. On the jacket there were two badges - one with the Daily Bugle logo engraved on it, the other a simple round badge with a teddy bear drawn on rather well. He clearly favoured the drawn badge. It looked old but preserved in comparison to the other, clearly repeatedly laundered one.

Before the meeting had even been arranged, Jessica had researched Peter Parker. A whiz in school, graduating with a ridiculously perfect GPA to move on and do biochemistry with a side of philosophy at Empire State University, right in his home of New York. His girlfriend, Gwen Stacey, had tragically died the previous summer - leaving Peter Parker to vanish his presence from the internet, and start working for the Daily Bugle (at first as an intern over the summer, but soon as a freelance photographer).

As far as Jessica knew, he still lived with his Aunt in a two bedroom flat that had previously held a third tenant. 

A cousin. The reason Peter was here. 

Rachel Roth Parker had been the opposite to Peter. Where he excelled and achieved good grades and even better opportunities, she simply didn’t. Her record showed she’d run away from home seven times before she’d even turned twelve. Her father was non-existent, her mother a teacher who died by her own hand when Rachel was fifteen. She stayed with her grandmother for a couple years until her Aunt legally adopted her and she moved into the Parker household. 

That’s when the script picks up. Her grades get higher, she’s in the local news for her campaigning around New York - from stopping trees being cut down to helping fight for buildings to be declared national landmarks. Whereas Peter sticks to science, her head stayed in the clouds, obsessed with keeping everything the same. 

And then, December 2014. Rachel Roth Parker had been working at a gallery in Queens only fifteen minutes from her home. Her aunt didn't hear her go to work and Peter didn't see his cousin in bed when he got home.  

Peter had started this meeting by explaining to Jessica that his cousin wasn’t normally a flight risk. That she had been acting normally until around a month before. 

His cousin had been working later, going out with ‘friends’ more and keeping odd hours. He helped her cover it up and told her to stay safe and she promised. He assumed she just needed to blow off steam. She promised him that day that she would be home for dinner. She never showed. At nine-thirty PM, May Parker called the gallery to ask if Rachel was still there, or if she had mentioned going somewhere and forgotten to let her family know. 

The gallery employees revealed awful information. She had left with her boyfriend, a charismatic man that none of her colleagues could stand and that she seemed infatuated with. He picked her up five, half an hour before her shift ended. 

They’d tried calling her, but her number was gone. They’d tried looking but there was nothing. She wasn’t using any of her cards.

“I don’t mind if the news isn’t great, Miss Jones.” Peter said to her after he’d explained the story, still refusing to call the Private eye by her first name. He said he would but he seemed content in the formal. She didn’t budge it. “I just want to know if I need to buy her a gravestone too.”

Jessica flashed back down to her notes, rolling the USB Peter had given her with the information between her fingers. 

“If the police haven’t been able to find her, what makes you think I can?” She finally asked, watching the boy’s reaction carefully. This type of case was always one she preferred to do without the family hanging off her, constantly calling and showing up at her office. One look at Peter told her that he wouldn’t leave her alone until she found something. 

“Because you’re the only PI I can afford.” Peter quipped, nervous smile. “And because,” he added with seriousness, “I want someone who actually cares. Not one of those PI that just collect your money and take random pictures, don’t do shit. I’ve seen two of those.”

Jessica had seen. One of them seemed rather pissed with the college student (which had been part of the reason why she bothered to see him). He’d contacted her before Peter had to warn her against him. 

But she liked him. And his blind panic reminded her of how Trish had been when she’d found her. 

“Alright. I charge hourly plus expenses It’s 300 upfront. I’ll get a standard contact to you.” She stood and motioned for the door, prompting the boy to hurriedly collect his things, swinging two knapsacks over his shoulder. She lead him to the door, the boy nodding and mumbling about getting her cash soon (a method of payment she didn’t oppose but was curious about). 

She moved the broken door out of his way, raising a brow when he stopped to gawk at the cardboard covering the broken glass. 

“Thank you, Miss Jones. I’ll drop the money in on Monday, let me know when you have anything.” He nodded a final time and began the walk down the corridor, flinging his crappy headphones on. 

“Wait, kid!” Jessica called out, nearly regretting her words as she spoke. He turned back suddenly, nearly dropping the skateboard as he pulled off his headphones.

“Yeah?” He asked, a wince across his face at how desperate it had sounded.

“The badge. She made it for you.” It wasn’t a question. She knew the answer. But she wanted to hear him confirm her suspicions. 

“Yeah. She got a badge maker from May for Christmas and went haywire. She ended up selling most for money to go to the soup kitchens.” He smiled softly at that memory. It had to be one of his favourites of this cousin he was so fond of. He fought for her like a brother.

“And she mended the skateboard.” Jessica added with her usual monotone and neutrality. 

“Yeah. It broke when I was out… skating. And she had this halloween shit left over from… some things she did, so she just pasted it back together. It’s lasted a long while.” He slapped the board once to confirm its strength. Jessica half-smiled at that - it was so simple. So human. With the chaos of her surroundings, of dragging an addict to the right apartment to then be hounded by the creepy twins upstairs… it was nice to see someone so raw.

Not that the boy clearly didn’t have his secrets. A girlfriend killed by an ex-best friend who turned into a mini supervillain. He clearly had skeletons. She just hoped his cousin wasn’t taken away by them. 

Chapter Text

The door clicked locked behind him - still three more locks to be done now he was inside. 

May’s paranoia… it was enough to be concerning. It was why he knew she could never know about his side gig. She was already dealing with one missing kid. The other being a superhero… it would be hard to digest. Especially with all the shit about about sticking people with gifts on a worldwide roster. 

May was vehemently opposed, very clear to Peter that people with powers should be allowed to stay hidden, and that their secrets should be repeated but that they should have someone to talk to who knows. At the time Peter had been sure she knew. And then nothing happened. So, after several of careful months, it was clear she didn’t know. 

Rachel did. She’d been his biggest confidante. Closest ally. 

After Gwen… when he’d dropped the suit and the name and given up, she’d taken his slack. Even though she hated it. Even though her gifts weren’t ones of science like his. She’d dealt with it until he had finally gotten the strength to put back on the mask. 

When she’d started acting off, he should have looked more. Should have forced her to be honest with him. He hadn’t heard of the secret boyfriend until her work had said about it. That he always sweet talked them into letting her leave early. 

The gut-wretch that was, to find out this faction of her life she’d hidden to not hurt him… it broke him in two all over again. And gone was the person who had carefully pasted him back together. 

Even the criminals he arrested commented on his lack of quips. It was that tragic. 

Peter turned from the door, knowing May would be there. She was stood in the doorway across the hallway, arms crossed over her chest and worn look in her eyes. 

“What did she say?” May asked, signalling for Peter to come in. She helped him put down his bags and took him through to the kitchen - turning on the stove to boil the kettle and make him a cup of tea. May had seen a British comedy show when he was little and had become obsessed with the idea that British tea cures all ailments. 

Since, whenever he came home at odd hours or bruised or grumpy, she would make them cups of tea and they’d talk it out. It helped. More so than he would ever admit to her.

“She’ll take the case. It’s 300 for a down payment, but I can get that out and-”

“Can you afford that?” May asked, knowing on her lip. Their finances had dipped in their search and Peter knew May couldn’t afford to help out. So he would always lie. No one needed to know he was in his overdraft and would need serious cash soon to fix his finances.

“Yeah. I got a bonus for a Spiderman photo that JJ could use in his newest tirade against New York heroes.” May rolled her eyes, sighing at Peter’s bosses antics. Ever since Sokovia, J Jonah Jameson had grown exceptionally anti-superpowered people - his paper reflecting such. 

It was somewhat ironic that he considered Peter one of his favourite employees. 

“Alright. Let her know that I’m here for questions or if she wants to look at Rachel’s side of your room.” May nodded, moving to the now whistling kettle to pour the cups.

“I will do when I drop off the money.” Peter nodded, wincing through his exhaustion. From studying at Empire State, to patrolling, to putting up fliers and calling up leads… he was bone weary. 

But he would never complain. Not when his person that he never felt selfish for complaining to was gone. Without her… how was he meant to be a person? She had fit right into his life, always matching his humour and coaching him through his rough patches. He couldn’t lose her. Not when he had already lost family. Not when he’d lost Gwen too. 

“Alright then. Drink your tea.” 

Chapter Text

The money had come in at lunchtime on Monday. The knock woke Jessica up. 

If he was phased by her answering the door, clearly hungover (if not still slightly drunk) and only wearing a tank top and underwear, he didn’t show it. Instead asking her if she wanted five to solve the mystery of her missing pants. She laughed sarcastically at that and told him to wait by her desk. He complied easily, moving there speedily and looking away from her room as she moved towards it. After a minute or so, she entered the main of her apartment again and saw that he was looking at papers on her desk. Papers about the case. 

“See any gaps?” She asked, thinking it would surprise him given his focus on reading something. He didn’t even blink. He’d somehow heard her come back in, which was surprising because she hadn’t even walked on the creaking floorboards. 

“You haven’t spoken to her work yet.”

“That’s my plan for tomorrow.” She confirmed, crossing her arms and leaning on the wall. He smiled a little at that gesture - clearly familiar and sentimental to him. 

“I’d ask to come but they’re sick of me.” He laughed faintly, trying to seem more lively than he was. 

“Smarter to go by myself. Different face. Might jog a few new details.” Jessica moved slightly, willing the room to stop spinning. “I’m going to look at her things today. Will your aunt be in?”

“Yeah. She’s waiting for you. Let me know if you know anything later?” He smiled through pursed lips and made his exit, leaving Jessica to either sober up enough to work or drink enough to ignore the hangover splitting her skull. 

She picked the latter option.

Which is how she ended up outside the Parker apartment, fist primed to knock a hello. May answered the door with a warm hello, offering tea or coffee or food. Jessica declined as politely as she could. 

“Start at the beginning. Every detail.” Jessica prompted the woman once they were both sat and her recorder was out and prepared.

“It took me two years to adopt her, you know?” May smiled warmly, talking about the missing girl as though she were only in the other room. “By the time I could, she was seventeen. I figured she was done with parenting. And yet, she listened. And she tries so hard to improve herself. To move past her past and be the person she wants to be. And I’m so proud of her. She didn’t get the grades for college, but I have a friend who paints for the gallery, so I managed to get her a job there. And she’s always telling me how much she likes it there.”

The woman smiled fondly, her eyes crinkling. 

“What happened to her, before she went missing? Peter said she had been keeping odd hours.”

“She kept saying she was out with friends, or working late. I wanted to believe her. But I think we all knew it had to be a boy. I just wish she had felt like she could talk to me. If I could have talked to her… met this boyfriend.” May sighed, taking a sip of her tea with a shrug. “The past is done. I just want her home now.”

With that, Jessica excused herself to look at the bedroom. It was shared with Peter - Rachel clearly having taken the top bunk. It was neatly made, clearly washed by May post-disappearance. Peter’s bunk was a mess of bedsheets and random shirts he must have tried on and dropped. 

The room was clearly divided into two halves. One half with posters and notes all scientific - clearly belonging to Peter. Equations were scribbled on everything, with red yarn attaching random sheets and ideas. There was mess everywhere, but mess that clearly changed as it reached Rachel’s half. She had posters of vintage art and some clearly original pieces and sketches. They were oddly haunting, depictions of people in ranging emotion; grief depicted in its most raw next to silly little doodles of lightsabers. 

She was a bit of a dork like her cousin. Her wardrobe contained T-shirts for indie bands and blockbuster movies alike, with a hidden shoebox wedged between two bags. Jessica shifted it out and opened it to reveal the contents. A grinder, bong and assorted weed paraphernalia. She decided fairly quickly to leave the items in the box and tuck it back in its hiding place. It didn’t hurt anyone and it wouldn’t help to blab that secret. 

“We all have our vices.” She muttered to herself. 

Rachel's mess was similarly clothes and papers like her cousin, yet distinct. Her fashion seemed more red and navy compared to his blue and grey. Lots of random brighter colour scattered through muted tones. 

There was a couple of pictures of her and her cousin on her desk. Her hair colour ranged from blue to brown to red to purple. The purple seemed most recent, looking brand new in a picture of her and Peter snapped on a polaroid. She was a cute looking girl - a little baby faced and a few inches shorter than her cousin. Always beaming smiles in her photos, save for the last few. 

Jessica supposed the brown and purple hair had to be most recent, given she had the same double lobe piercings and look of exhaustion in her eyes. The smile never quite reached them. 

Jessica riled through the drawers, pulling through layers of clothes and art supplies. Hoping… that maybe the girl was smart enough to leave a clue. And then, Jessica found it. A receipt for lingerie purchased the day before she went missing. 

Jessica hunted through the random hidden stores in the wardrobe before she found the right bit. Namely; a satchel containing several nice pairs of underwear and bras. And… a green tank top. Jessica pulled the shirt out to inspect it and nearly gagged. Across the front was a whiteish stain. 

There was no need to inspect it; she knew what it was. Jessica bagged it, deciding to hold onto it for Peter to deal with later. It could have been an accident, or something she’d been meaning to wash… but Jessica’s gut told her different. This was evidence the girl had collected, waiting for it to all be found. 

Though May Parker seemed very kind, she was entirely too worn out to handle this news. It was one thing to learn a kid in your case has a secret boyfriend, and it’s another to see the evidence. 

There wasn’t anything too suspicious within the missing girl’s things. A few movie ticket stubs, numbers on receipts from when she’d gone out. 

Aunt May popped in briefly to ask if Jessica needed help, to which the PI declined the offer. She resumed the search. 

It was when she fudged a wedged desk drawer open that she reached the jackpot. 

A sketchpad. 

Chapter Text

Peter was entirely too tired to go into work today. Especially when JJ was on one of his anti-hero tirades. 

Post the events of SHIELD turning out to be overrun with Nazis and powered people stopping it but blowing up some of DC; Peter’s boss had made his side in the debate clear. He was so opposed to superheroes that it was mildly concerning. At least the media mogul was more of a waiting around for someone else to find or fix evidence than a fixer himself. 

On this Tuesday morning, JJ was ranting about a female superhuman who held up a car and threatened to boil some dude’s insides with her later eyes. Technically, since there was no proof and the man was issued a summons for a criminal case, JJ couldn’t print it. But he was angry. 

So, Peter kept his head down. He organised his pictures, selecting the best ones for different articles and offering them to the writers and the editors to pick their favourites. He drank four cups of coffee and dealt with the sympathetic glances from his colleagues as they told him not to over-work himself. 

Two weeks prior he had put a notice in the paper about his cousin. Asking her to come home. Since then it had been clear that everyone at work pitied him. 

He couldn’t blame then - he’d probably be acting the same if it was someone else’s cousin that had gone missing. 

“Parker!” A voice boomed across the office. Peter looked up to see his boss motioning for him to join in the office. Peter obliged quickly - being faced with a smarty dressed man sat in the chair opposite the desk. He looked oddly familiar, though Peter couldn't place it. Especially when the man refused to look at him. 

The office of J Jonah Jameson was a whirlwind of papers and scraps of information to be traded at a later date. Every time Peter entered, he tried his hardest not to look at the mess, lest he learn something he couldn’t forget. 

“Yes, sir?” The door was shut behind him as Jameson made his way to the mess of papers central to the desk. 

“I’ve found some interesting information and I want you on the hunt for pictures. A PI working for that lawyer, Hogarth. Potentially powered and using it to do her job.” Jameson passed Peter a sheet with scribbles about the event the night before. He scanned through it, keeping a straight face despite the humorous details. This man believed in laser eyes. 

“What pictures?”

“The car. See if she dented it. Get me the pictures ASAP.”

Peter nodded and fled the office - with a brief nod to the silent man in the chair - prepping his day mentally. He already had class in the evening, now with this and his patrol later… he needed a day to crash or he would surely feel it catch up soon and it would crash him. 

It was times like this that the boy hero thought of one of the last things his uncle told him. That great power came with great responsibility. But the phrase missed something off, he found. 

The responsibility was the biggest part if it all. If anything, the great responsibility had a power of its own. And Peter was tired of wielding it. 

Chapter Text

It was another night of PTSD induced drinking that led to Jessica being propped against a lamppost outside a fancy art studio in Queens. It was ridiculous compared to its surroundings. A clear sign of impending gentrification. 

She entered, taking note of the lax security, glass windows and open spacing. It was designed to be seen into. Similar was the type of uniform worn by those working in the gallery. There were two young and pretty girls in short skirts and busty shirts and blazers walking around with name tags. That was Rachel’s job. 

So, Jessica talked to those girls first. 

“Her boyfriend was so fancy. I was so jealous.” The ginger, Taylor, told Jessica. The other girl, a brunette named Annie, giggled along with it. “She refused to tell us how they met, told me it was embarrassing. I think it was a sugar site.”

“Sugar site?”

“Sugar babies, sugar daddies. You go on it, create a profile and then you can arrange dates and get paid for it. She joked about doing it a few months ago and then met him soon after. It felt… too suspicious.” Taylor shrugged. 

“I think you wanna talk to Georgia about it. Our boss. She spoke to him quite a few times. Even sold him some art!” Annie added on, prompting for Jessica move on for her next interview. 

The two girls, though sweet, were ultimately unhelpful. It appeared that Rachel had been not as open with them as they wanted her to be. Jessica respected that, though wished Rachel had been a bit more of a tell all. 

The night before, Jessica had taken Rachel’s sketchpad (she hadn’t told May this fact) and sat to pour over it. The work inside was messy and hard to look at. Filled with backgrounds too dark and pages too ripped, words scribbled madly across drawings of fearful eyes and purple sunrises. 

Now, Jessica had never been an art critic. She had never cared. And she was aware that fancy art people wouldn’t pay top dollar for this shit. And she didn’t care. It had hit her so hard, she’d drunk the night away to recover and buried the sketchpad under a pile of other information. She’d even left the house, opting to self destruct even more than usual. 

After searching for a second, she found the office of Georgia Taffe - co-owner of the gallery. 

It was a middle aged woman with enough botox and filler to look uncanny valley - clearly desperate to retain youth. Her hair was dyed blonde, her clothes simple but clearly expensive. 

After a brief and awkward hello, the woman had laughed when Jessica introduced herself.

“You a PI? That’s like the third one that kid’s hired.” The woman spoke with disbelief, shaking her head slightly as though disagreeing with the choice. 

“He just wants to find her.”

“I kept saying to the police, girls like her don’t want to be found.” She tutted, putting down her pen to lean back in her chair, as if in thought. “Tell you something, that man of hers was a sweet talker. I’m still surprised the police didn’t try anything with him. Such a sweet talker.” Georgia Taffe sighed.

“How so?” Jessica asked, moving to sit opposite the woman. She turned back to Jessica, and shook her head slightly. 

“I run a tight ship here. I don’t like people without a work ethic - it was why I liked that girl. She was a hard worker when she found the things she liked. She would clean the bathrooms without complaint and help to move the artwork around and pack it up for shipment after auction. That is, until that man of hers came around. 

“I don’t know how they met, but he was bad news.” The woman grumbled. “He was this fancy British man in ridiculous suits. He’d drop her off late and tell me it was fine and I don’t know… he was just so dreamy I suppose I just went along with it. Especially when he bought a couple paintings just because she liked them. It was so romantic. I suppose I wanted her to live in the romance for a bit. That night she went missing, he got her off work early for their anniversary dinner. At-”

“Il Rosso.” Jessica filled in with a grimace.

“Yes!” The woman exclaimed. “I thought it had closed but he promised it would have his favourite pasta. He wanted to treat her to it.” Her eyes were dreamy, clearly remembering the man. For her, he was a fantasy. For Jessica, he was a bloodied nightmare. Her blood was ice and her stomach felt sick. Because this description rang familiar. “She dyed her hair purple as a present, bought him a lovely tie too.”

“What colour suits? These ridiculous suits, were they purple?” Jessica demanding, startling the woman with her urgency. 

“Yes? Why?” The woman demanded right back. 

“How exactly did he charm you? Did you want to let her off with getting in late or leaving early with him?”

“Well… not exactly. I found it a nuisance when I woke up the next day, but then it would happen again and I kept letting it slide.” Georgia grumbled. Jessica swallowed hard. 

“I have to go.” Jessica suddenly announced, leaping from her chair and dashing from the room before the woman could even call out for her. She kept moving, repeating that list in her mind. Birch Street, Higgins Drive… fuck!

Chapter Text

Peter hadn’t been expecting a call until much later. He figured Thursday at the earliest. None of the previous PI’s had been skilful. But they had been cheap. The bad kind of cheap, but still. 

At the sight of Jessica’s name flashing on his caller ID, Peter excused himself from his lecture and ran outside. They’d gotten used to his spotty attendance, but couldn’t complain on account of his near perfect grades. 

He’d gotten to his lecture late too, having been held up by the asshole who’s car got lifted. There were clear imprints from it - easy to photograph and send off to J Jonah from his laptop, before dashing to class. That is, if it weren’t for the guy complaining and bitching to Peter about how everyone was too sensitive now and how he wished ‘it’ hadn’t been picked up as a pro bono case. 

“Miss Jones, what’s up?” Peter spoke into the phone, ignoring the glances as he walked through the almost silent corridor.

“Who gave you my details?” She asked harshly, the phone crackling from the wind around her.

“What?” 

“Who recommended me to you? Who told you about me?” This was urgent. His spidey senses were in overdrive - nearly as bad as the night Rachel had gone missing.

“This guy in the police station. I went in to ask about the case and this fancy guy gave me one of your business cards and told me to look you up. So I did.” He replied. On the description of the guy, he heard her breath hitch. Something was very wrong. 

“British?”

“Yeah. What is this?”

“Stop looking. Just go back to your life and leave it.” Her voice was harsh, emotionless and raw all at once. It was painful to hear. 

“Why? What’s wrong? Do you know what happened?”

“Don’t let anyone near you. Just… don’t approach the British man again.”

With that, there was a click and the call ended.

Peter was too dazed to go back to a hardcore lecture on serious chemical principles. He was lucky he’d picked up his stuff - easily able to organise it and get moving. 

Not when the cogs in his brain were finally turning and the pieces had clicked together. The man in the office today. It was the same one that had given him the number. Peter mentally chided himself for being so dense it had taken him that long to realise they were the same man. A man that Jessica Jones was apparently afraid of. 

He made his way to Jessica Jones’s office/apartment, ferrying over and swinging his way through the city to get there quickly. Her door was broken. He remembered that vividly. 

That was his entrance once a brief pause in the corridor confirmed Jessica was still inside. He wasn’t letting her go until she explained. He had to know. He had to. 

Knowing the worst was better than this. Than the dread. Because you can always imagine worse than reality. 

“Okay, then I need a loan.” He heard Jessica say as she paced around her room. He crept through the apartment, careful not to make noise as he reached her desk, beginning to sort through the papers. “I don’t have any goddamn friends.” They were the same ones as those this morning.

This information, this revelation… it was so fresh she hadn’t written it down. 

And then he found it. A sketchpad plastered in random stickers ranging from glittery cats to rocket ships. 

It had to belong to Rachel. He hesitated for a moment before opening it, remembering all her whines whenever he’d look at her art because she hated it and thought it was too ‘art student pretentious’. He would have bet on her to get into art school, had she applied. 

The art was overwhelmingly purple. And it was dark. Desperate, pages ripped by the force of the line-work. Ghoulish figures and creepy eyes - splatters and strikes of paint that seemed to be there to calm the pieces. They failed. 

It was an overwhelming display of desperation. As if she could only communicate through her art and couldn’t even show it.

Too long ago, right when Ben had died and the grief weighed him down and made him hunt for that blond with the star tattoo… he had said to himself ‘this has to be the worst it can get’. He hadn’t realised then that he’d cursed himself. He did now. That simple thought had cursed him to a lifetime of worse things happening to him and those he loved. 

He heard Jessica move to exit the room and shuffled so he was stood taller in the space. When she reached sight of him, she seemed genuinely shocked. 

“Your door’s broken. You should get that looked at.” Peter spoke, trying to keep his cool. “What the fuck was that call?”

“I don’t owe an explanation.” Jessica huffed, moving towards the desk to grab her jacket as she crammed her phone in her jean pocket. 

“I think 300 dollars suggest you do.” Peter bit back, blocking her way.

“Don’t try that kid. I’m stronger than you think.”

“So am I.” He spat back, waiting for her to do something. She looked like prey in a trap, pretending to be brave as it waits out death. 

Whatever she had learned… it wasn’t just about Rachel. It was about her too. The PI had a personal stake in the case. 

“I have to go.” Jessica spoke with strange softness. Anger was stricken across her face, but there was a hint of vulnerability within. Of a woman nearly unravelled. “I’ll give you the money back.” She moved into a draw and pulled the envelope out.

“Fine.” Peter sighed, bringing a hand to his temple with a wince. He wished he was too proud to accept the money, but he needed it for the next guy. Because this was yet another lead that refused to pan out. Though, this one knew something new. “But please, just tell me where she is. I can get her myself. Or… do what needs to be done.”

“You can’t help her now.”

“Says who? You?” He laughed with derision. “I found her sketchbook on your desk. All cries for help. Why would I stop now that I know she wants to be found?”

“You don’t know that.”

“Did you look?” Peter snapped, pulling up the art to flick through it for the PI. “It’s never been this dark before. Nor this inconclusive. It’s messy,” he flicked a page showing an ominous figure in a sharp suit looming over a cloud of green and grey, “and she has never been messy. She plans out her art, always traces the lines onto a new piece so it’s clean. Never this.” He sighed, dropping the paper onto the desk. “She tries to throw away sketchbooks if she messes up a single drawing. I always have to save the rest of it. I’ve got a drawer full of her stuff, none of it that clawing and desperate.”

“I’m leaving. I promise I’ll call you later.” Jessica tried to walk through, but Peter was suddenly there and blocking her exit. She didn’t know how to tell him to stop, lest something bad happen - too dizzied by the situation. 

“No.” Peter exclaimed, frustration sewed through his brow. “I don’t care what this means to you. This is my family and if you know she’s suffering, why aren’t you helping?”

“Because I don’t want to get involved!” She snapped, moving past him. “Once I’m out of the city, I’ll email you all the information I know. In the mean time… feel free to take the papers.” She signalled to the desk and he scowled slightly. 

He knew it was fruitless. That the PI had already made up her mind and he would be back alone on the case. 

The police had said that since she was an adult, she could just go. They were useless. Especially when they found out about the boyfriend, deciding that she’d just run off with him. They’d explained that she wouldn’t do that, that family meant so much to her and she liked her life as it was. It didn't matter. 

Not when the cops had already decided the narrative and refused to even find this boyfriend. They’d promised they would and then never did, citing it as a ‘waste of time’. 

For what wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last time in his life, Peter was out of quips. It had been happening more and more recently, reminding him just how bleak the world was getting. 

Jessica slammed her door behind her, moving towards the elevator. Leaving Peter in her wake, staring at the disorganised apartment before diving in and collecting the evidence about Rachel’s case. 

At least this time, he had something promising. With the way Jessica was acting, there were two truths he knew in his heart and mind.

First: that Rachel was definitely not dead. If she were, Jessica would have just said. It would have been her ammunition to get him to stop looking. 

And the second truth, the more frightening twin to the other: if Rachel was still alive, she had been taken. And apparently this person had done something to Jessica too. 

He was enough to frighten the stone cold PI. 

But he wouldn’t be enough to frighten Spider-Man.

Chapter Text

Climbing up an apartment building was easier in theory than practice. Even with the jumps that Jessica would do. 

It was an awkward clamber and struggle to get onto the balcony. Luckily, Trish had seen her and had sent off the people in her apartment as Jessica gained her footing. 

Soon the famous blonde was opening the balcony door, moving out onto it with her arms crossed against herself in face of the late January chill. 

“You could’ve used the door.” Trish sighed, leaning against the door as she glanced over her sister. Jessica looked like shit. She was nervous, smelled like cheap booze and fear. Jessica didn’t need to be a genius to know that Trish knew something was up. It was probably the only reason why she hadn’t snapped yet. 

Trish had always been the sunshine to Jessica’s nighttime. Where Trish was blondes and pale greys and whites, Jessica was dark coats, darker hair and reworn tank tops and denim. In the time since the two had seen each other, they had both clearly been worn down. Trish looked tired, a lack of botox in her forehead despite her mother always encouraging it. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d answer.” Jessica. “It’s important.” She added on, wincing at how desperate she sounded. 

“It must be.” Trish responded dryly, a raised eyebrow at the audacity.

“It’s for a case.” 

“Right.” Trish looked away briefly in thought. “You became a uh… private eye.” She looked back to Jessica, a peculiar softness present on her face. Despite it all, despite the previous fights and Jessica’s constant radio silence… she was worried. 

“You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

“Making sure you weren’t dead, since you never called.” Trish spoke with a firm voice. 

It was clear there was no skirting around the issue. Trish wasn’t there to listen to Jessica beat around the bush. 

“I need money.” Jessica sighed after a moment of silence, prompting a scoff from Trish.

“Wow… uh,” Trish moved to lean against the doorframe, looking away from Jessica as she processed. “I don’t even know what to say.” She sighed.

“It’s important.” Jessica tried to clarify but Trish bit back. 

“You said.” She raised an eyebrow. “But I don’t hear from you for months - six months, actually-”

“I needed breathing room.”

“You shut me out! And now you show up here asking for money?”

“This was a bad idea.” Jessica moved to climb back down off the balcony, but Trish moved forwards to confront her. 

“No. You talk to me. Right now.” She moved right next to Jessica - respecting her personal space but still unavoidable. “You tell me what the hell is so important.” 

Jessica paused briefly, looking over the edge, finding the strength to utter the words. Before she could talk herself out of it, she turned around and faced her sister. 

“He’s back.”

Trish sighed, looking down as she thought over her next words.

“It’s been a year, Jess.” Trish spaced out her words. “You saw him die. You saw his death certificate. This is just your PTSD-”

“It is not my goddamn PTSD!” Jessica snapped. 

“Are you still having nightmares?” Trish responded with a knowing look. “Flashbacks?” 

Jessica didn’t respond. Instead she looked away, wishing very much to be anywhere else in that moment. It was painful not to be believed - especially by someone who had always been on her side. Or at least, had recently always been on her side. It was made worse when Trish sighed and asked if Jessica had been to this therapist recently. 

Which led to another argument about the bullshit that therapy had been. 200 dollars to be taught to spout her childhood roads. 

“He’s back!” Jessica exclaimed, and then sighed, trying to explain the situation as calmly as she could before it turned into a screaming match. “He sent clients to me. This kid and his aunt. He took this girl, the kid's cousin, and sent the family to me. They live right in Queens.”

“Why her?” Trish asked. “Is she gifted?”

“I don’t think so. Gifted artist, maybe. Next best thing? I don’t know.” She exhaled sharply. The Parker family seemed to have their share of trauma and secrets. Rachel Roth had her skeletons. Just like she'd had, Jessica thought with a sigh. “But remember I told you he had that one month anniversary night? And then, one month from meeting the girl he does the same shit. The lingerie, the gift, the restaurant.”

“The hotel?” Trish asked nervously. And then, upon Jessica’s silence, “I’m calling the police.”

“They can’t help, Trish.” She stepped closer. “You know what he can do. You know what he made me do.” 

“So you’re running.” 

“Yeah, I sure as hell am!” The two exchanged a soft glance. “If he gets a hold of me again… Trish.” Jessica pleaded.

“If you leave that girl alone with him, and-”

“What would you have me do?” Jessica bit back, exasperated. “What exactly should I do?”

“We’ll figure out a way to protect you,” Trish pleaded, always so desperate to see the hero in Jessica and not the coward.

“We? He’s coming for me, not you.” 

“I know!”

“You don’t.” 

This conversation was one so constantly had; it grew weary. Because Jessica wanted to be swallowed by it and Trish wanted to help dig the trenches by her side. It was tiring. For the both of them. 

“I know one thing,” Trish spoke (in a tone uncomfortably matching that of her mother), “you are far better equipped to deal with that animal than some innocent girl from Queens.” She stepped towards Jessica, prompting the woman to retreat and glance over the New York skyline. So many people… so much space that the girl could be anywhere. “You’re still the person who tried to do something.”

“Tried and failed. That’s what started this.” Jessica shook her head, knowing that some irreplaceable part of her bond with Trish had broken those six months prior. There was no saving this. “I was never the hero that you wanted me to be.”

With that, Trish left to get the money - Jessica left cold on the balcony as she watched her final bond breaking. 

Chapter Text

The city never sleeps apparently. 

Neither does the crime. Which sucks. Especially at the end of a brutal day. Peter had gnawed his nails down to stubs with stress, prompting a concerned talk from May. 

He had told her everything Jessica said. Of course he had. She deserved to know what had happened to her niece. After she had processed the information, she decided to give him advice. 

“Don’t strain yourself too hard. You’re working three jobs, from school to the Bugle to… searching so valiantly for Rachel. I can share the load. So can other people. And Jessica can handle her share… whatever it may be.” 

After that she had gone to bed, leaving Peter to sort through his missed classwork and make sure he was up to date. It took longer than usual, starting his patrol an hour later than planned. And once it started, it made his day even worse. 

He stopped three robberies, two muggings and seven catcalls within the first hour. Sometimes the rush was run. Adrenaline would spike and he’d feel refreshed. The key word is sometimes. 

Today it was worse than ever before. Though his body was by no means over-extended, he was tired. He was emotionally drained and unsure of how to keep going when he didn’t know how to find her. 

But New York didn’t care about that. He was the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. He wasn’t allowed a bad day. Especially not with the shit of the Avengers happening too close for comfort. 

A storm was brewing. New York being their residence was grating on its other inhabitants, especially when their superhero gadgets would blow up or they’d have alien fights in people’s backyards. Though it wasn’t necessarily the Avengers fault that New York was first targeted, it didn’t matter to the people whose cars the Hulk threw at aliens and who’s buildings have arrow shaped holes in the side. 

By midnight, Peter wanted very much to go to bed. He wanted an excuse to sleep. 

He didn’t want the ATM robbery on the corner by his favourite sandwich place. He definitely didn’t want the people to have weird guns and too much audacity. 

Or Avengers masks. Huh. Funny. 

He made a few of his classic quips. A ‘heard you guys through the web’, ‘thought the Hulk was taller’, and a cheeky ‘except I have the dignity of knowing I've never carried a man-purse’ upon seeing the several bags that had clearly been stolen flung over one guy’s shoulder.

He fought them for a bit, experienced enough now to fight them off easily and remove the weird guns for the occasion. And then he webbed them up, left them for the police and made sure the guns were properly secured for evidence (but not before investigating them and noting the power cell capabilities being alien). 

Nights of fighting crime include large chunks of waiting. In those chunks, you get in micro-naps. Peter was incredibly good at falling asleep rapidly when tucked in a safe corner or on a roof in a nice spot. The unnatural senses that came with the spider bite warned him before anything could happen. One time he woke up to catch a ball that would have hit him. He gave it back to the kids, even played catch with them for a while before he had to go deal with another crime. 

It’s never ending. He’d realised that when Gwen died. It just never stops. There’s always another friend to betray you, a mad scientist to hurt you, a loved one to lose. He could never decide whether he was prepared for Rachel to go missing because of his previous loses, or if he knew it was a matter of time. 

That last month… May and him hadn’t looked close enough. She’d been distant but they’d figured it was stress. Her work getting busy and her needing some time with friends to feel like a teenager. It was difficult for the two cousins to act their age. Peter had far too much responsibility on his shoulders and Rachel had spent too long parenting her own mother. So Peter had figured this was just Rachel finally being a teenager. He had worried, sure, but he hadn’t been too worried. 

As he sat on a rooftop, inspecting the streets below as a radio rolled out police chatter in a steady drip, Peter Parker looked the drawings again. 

His rant to Jessica had been one built on years of adoring his cousins art. Since they were kids and she’d send him drawings through the post for his birthday. She was always self-deprecating about it - never sending it out for competitions unless forced. And it was always neat. 

And it was never purple. In fact, Peter didn’t think he’d ever seen his cousin really use purple. Not further than just accents or things in the background. Even her art for her nightmares wasn’t purple. It was overwhelmingly and suffocatingly red and burnt looking. She’d never tell him exactly what the nightmares were about, but he knew it was something to do with her father. 

“Code 10-13.” Rumbled through the radio, distracting Peter from his spiral. 

Officer needing assistance. 

The Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man was on his way. 

Chapter Text

Lights hazily glittered the route away as Jess held the envelope of cash. The cab was travelling gradually, forcing her view of the city to be the people.

Friends cheering in the street, people hurrying home or to bars and clubs. 

Her lack of presence would effect nothing. Hogarth could get a new rogue investigator, her building would replace the door and move someone inside her apartment. No more annoying twins. No more addicts eating her peanut butter. 

But Trish’s words gnawed at her. She had been the person that tried to do something. What was one more thing to ease a guilty conscience. 

“I need to make a stop uptown. 59th and Fifth.” She told the driver, leaning harshly against the seat, hoping that maybe her luck would change and it would swallow her up. 

On the way she called up Peter. 

“I’ve found something.”

“About Rachel? What?” The boy breathed over the phone, voice filled with nervous anticipation. There was street chatter muffled in the background, too close to be from his apartment. 

“I’m on my way to a hotel now. If I’m right, I’ll swing by yours on my way back. And I’ll tell you everything.”

“Alright. I’ll be expecting you soon.”

On arrival, she was greeted by name by the doorman. His politeness was grating and she silently made her way inside, following the too familiar route to the final room along the corridor. 

She rang the fire alarm, watching the door in case someone would exit. It had been a month since that one month anniversary and she knew that likely someone else was staying there and this entire thing would be fruitless when she looked around the room to find no evidence of Kilgrave ever visiting. 

She stalked the corridor, ignoring the yells of guests as they fled the building and the flashes of purple in her mind as the all-too-familiar voice taunted her. 

The door broke open easily, allowing Jessica the ability to stalk the space. It was dark and lightless everywhere, save for a lamp in the hallway leading to the bedroom. 

She moved through carefully, not liking how quiet the place was. It wasn’t tidied. Not for a while. There was dust forming on the windowsills and drawers. Things thrown about - sheets on the floor stained dark. Jessica didn’t dare to look too closely, instead opting to take pictures with the flash on and hope she would be able to check them out later. 

Her hand was on the bedroom door-handle. The door was partially ajar, leaving a sliver of view at the bedside table - still with a half-drunk water glass - and part of the unmade bed.

Jessica swung the door open and stepped inside, mentally preparing for whatever sight would await. 

The entire room was messy. There were scratches like someones nails had clawed at the headboard to get away. Pillow ripped in half and feathers covering the sheets. 

But the worst sight of all was at the foot of the bed. The area had been swept clear of feathers, a blank space carved out for the showstopper. 

It was a pair of bloody white underwear on the bed, preserved in a clear plastic bag. It looked new - the blood still red and fresh. 

Wordlessly, Jessica snapped a picture of the scene, walking around to get all the angles. Then, once confirming she had photo proof, she picked up the bag and pocketed it. 

There were no notes anywhere. No words from Kilgrave’s mouth. Only silence. She couldn’t tell if she was relieved or if it felt like a kick to the gut. 

As she moved from the room, she heard the main door open. A sharp inhale, careful footsteps around the corridor to investigate. 

Instead of seeing or hearing evil, she was greeted by a boy in a hotel uniform, dragging a cleaning cart behind him. 

“Hello?” The boy jumped with fright, spinning to face Jessica - a look of relief at the sight of her. 

“Cleaning ma’am.” The boy announced.

“But it’s nighttime.”

“I have to clean the room, ma’am.” The boy pressed, pushing further into the space to set up his cart and prepare.

“Why?” Jessica asked, noting how the boy frowned at that.

“I… he said I had to clean the room.”

“Who?”

The boy looked to the hallway nervously, eyes darting back to Jessica with worry. 

“Hotel policy, ma’am, I can’t really say.” 

“Is he here?” Jessica demanded. 

“No ma’am. Only came to give us orders. Said to clean the room if you were spotted in the building. Told me to tell you that, and then left in his fancy car with his girl.”

“His girl?”

“The one with the purple hair? A lot younger than him, and a little bit timid. But she’s nice to staff, so-” he shrugged, moving about to start his round. 

Instead of trying to talk to the boy some more, to rationalise the Kilgrave order so he didn’t have to clean the room immediately and she could try to summon the police and get them to test it all… she left. 

There were people waiting on her and she didn’t want to disappoint.

Chapter Text

Peter answered the door with far too much energy for a boy with eyebags that dark. He looked one night of overworking away from falling into a coma. 

Not that Jessica could blame him. She was fairly certain she looked the same. 

“Come into the kitchen. May’s there with tea.”

Jessica nodded, following him through the house until May greeted her by sliding a mug of tea across the counter. Jessica didn’t touch it but smiled faintly. 

The woman looked like Peter had woken her up from an intense dream - bleary eyed and messy-haired. 

“What did you find?”

“Where did you go?”

The two Parkers spoke at the same time. 

“I went to a hotel. I found a sample that’s a month old and bagged that needs to be tested.”

“What sample?” May asked, a hitch in her voice from nerves. 

“I have two. But one I found in her room. I don’t want to get your hopes up.”

“What hopes?” Peter laughed dryly. “You think I still have hope? It’s been a month. She missed Christmas. I just want to know if she’s still alive.”

“She is.” The two gasped at that - Peter gripping the counter so tightly Jessica could swear it was bending.

“Are you sure?”

“Purple hair right?” They nodded. “She was spotted today, with the man who took her. I hoped there would have been more there!” Jessica exclaimed - her exasperation making the air tense.

“More where?” Peter asked nervously, scanning the woman to see if she was alright. His gaze flickered to Aunt May, who seemed to feel the same. Nervous. Worried. 

“The hotel. The month anniversary hotel. He’d bought the room for it, a month ago. The night she went missing.”

“Month anniversary? Do you know what happens after?”

“He has her.”

“Who?” Peter yelled, desperation leaking into his voice. 

“Kilgrave.” 

“Who is ‘Kilgrave’?” May asked, concern knitted through her brow.

“He’s powered. His voice commands people. They do whatever he says, as long as he stays close to them and keeps them under his thrall. I’m so sorry but he has her.”

“So then how do we get her back?” Peter asked. “We’re not quitting on her.”

“Should I try the police again. See if they can-”

“No police.” Jessica shook her head.

“But-” May began, quickly interrupted by Peter.

“That’s fine. I can get access to a lab at my university. We can test things there.”

“It’d be better if you didn’t see it.”

“Do you know how to test samples? Especially ones that are older.” Peter squeezed the bridge of his nose. “You need me.” He declared once he looked her back in the eyes. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. 

And as much as she hated to admit it, they needed to see all the evidence. 

“Come to mine tomorrow. Both of you. I’ll show you everything. I promise.”

Chapter Text

Sunlight was streaming through the curtains, directly across his face. Peter hadn’t been sure he’d be able to sleep post the revelations, but the second his face his his pillow he was out cold. It wasn’t exactly restful - his dreams were more nightmares with Rachel falling from the clocktower into purple smoke, so thick he couldn’t even try to save her. He watched her fall just as Gwen had so many times he lost count and woke up to sunlight and sweat coating his bedsheets. 

He showered, made tea and breakfast for May, and went to drop off his new Spider-man pictures. Jameson was holed in his office over the powered woman incident, yelling at someone sat opposite him who looked like he wanted to shrink into his chair. 

Peter tried to stay out of Jameson’s way - ever nervous the man would one day realise the reason why Peter’s Spider-Man shots were so much clearer than everyone else’s. When he’d first started with the photos, Jameson had surprisingly taken him on as a freelancer immediately. His anti-hero speeches in the office and yelling when Peter’s photos made Spider-Man look too good for the libellous headline he wanted… it made Peter want to quit. But they needed the money. And Peter had been gradually trusted beyond the Spider-man shots. He was trusted to take pictures for things Jameson didn’t want the whole paper knowing. In fact, were Jameson not such an arsehole towards him sometimes, Peter would be half-sure Jameson actually liked him. 

Empire State was next on the stops, with Peter making the rounds and apologising to his professors yet again for missing class. 

He was lucky professor Banner was in his office that day. The Biochem professor (who refused to answer any Hulk related questions or any about gamma radiation) was one of the few who seemed to get it. Which was difficult, given he seemed to never be in his office.

And what an office it was. Though Peter rarely saw the professor in its walls, it was always at a different level of mess. Today it was papers covering his desk and books stacked in piles around the floor and on any available surface. Including the chair. The door was wide open but Peter knocked anyway to be polite.

“Peter!” Banner exclaimed as the boy walked into his office. “You missed my lesson on medical biochem yesterday. I discussed metabolic and signalling pathways.” He spoke with warmth despite his usual stressed demeanour. That was the thing with him, Peter had noticed. The man looked one too many sleepless nights and three coffees away from dropping into a coma. He always looked like that. At first, Peter had been incredibly concerned the man would drop dead from stress. But here they were, months into the academic year, and the professor was still kicking. 

“Yeah sorry. There was a lead in my cousin’s case. I actually might miss some stuff around lunch ‘cause we’ve got a meeting with this PI.” Professor Banner was one of the few people he was honest with. Save for the Spider-Man thing, naturally. 

“Don’t worry about it. Just make sure you’ve caught up.” He smiled, though a little strained. 

“I did, don’t worry.” Peter reciprocated the awkward smile. 

“And don’t let it get too much. I know I’m not always in the office but…” he started searching through the papers on his desk until he found a small piece of card, which he held out for Peter, “never hesitate to call me. I know people say that, but I also know you Peter. You don’t seem to ask for help. I do the same, but… the people around me are smart too. They know when I need help.”

“You suggesting I do?” Peter tried to joke, laughing weakly. Banner looked at him softly, dropping his hand slightly, though still holding the card. 

“Please, Peter. Ask for help.” He sighed, seriousness in his voice. Peter hadn’t expected that. He knew the professor liked him, but he didn’t realise that he worried too. So, Peter stepped from the entrance, moved to the desk and accepted the card, sticking it in his pocket with his phone. 

“I’m working on it.” He nodded, dropping the sarcasm and accepting the gesture. 

“Thank you.” He seemed to genuinely mean it. The man visibly relaxed, nodding back at Peter. “Haven’t you got Warren’s class now? Don’t want to piss off that guy.” He stuttered the final sentence to himself, prompting a genuine laugh from Peter, which apparently surprised the professor. 

“Yeah. I don’t want to come in late again and hear him recite the speech about how his time and knowledge is too valuable to be wasted on people being late.” Peter rolled his eyes at the memory, prompting a chuckle from Banner. 

With that, he bid a goodbye and made his way to class. He got in as everyone else was being let in the hall, much to his relief. After two hours of waffling about how cloning was the future of medicine and how Warren was apparently paving the way (despite having no published research since 2005) Peter made his way to Jessica’s. She had told them to swing by at midday so the two had took that to mean twelve on the dot. May had promised to meet him outside the building and was sure enough waiting outside for him.

He smiled on sight of her. She had three coffee cups on a tray and offered him one as he reached her. He thanked her, and took a sip; the two heading inwards. 

Once they reached Jessica, it was clear midday apparently meant 3 PM. She was in her classic tank top, jeans looking like they’d been crumpled on her floor, and looked like they’d woken her up. May offered her a coffee (and pretended not to notice her pouring booze in it when she excused herself to go to the kitchen) and sipped on her tea. 

“So,” May began, once the three were sat around the desk, “what did you find out?”

Jessica explained the details. About the tank top she’d found in Rachel’s things, how she’d gone to Rachel’s work and known who the boyfriend was (though she never said how she knew) and how she’d gone to the hotel and found bagged underwear on the bed with blood on it. How she didn’t know where Rachel was now, but she knew how Kilgrave worked and that she was pulling at web threads to find her. Peter laughed slightly at that, wanting to tell her he’d been literally doing the same. 

Afterwards, May thanked Jessica for her help, told her they would keep paying her, and told Peter she was getting fresh air and to come outside when he was done. 

“Is she alright?” Jessica asked with her usual dry lack of emotionality - though it was underlined by real concern. 

“It’s a lot to hear. Are those the samples that need to be tested?” Jessica nodded. 

“When can we go to test them?”

“Whenever. I’ve got class this afternoon from two to three; swing by Empire State at three and I’ll meet you. There’s a lab run by this professor of mine, I can give him a call and he’ll make sure it’s completely free.”

“Good. I’ll text you when I’m there, tell me where to meet you then.” 

“Alright.” Peter nodded, moving to climb out of his chair. She stopped him with a question.

“Tell me everything about her. I need to know it all. I need to know why he picked her.” Jessica asked Peter, her seriousness informing him that this conversation wasn’t intended for May to be a participant. Jessica wanted the secrets that Rachel didn’t tell her aunt. And, Peter understood that now was the time to be honest. Rachel could yell at him later, but right now she needed help. So, he sat back down. 

“Her mom was Aunt May’s sister. Apparently her mom went off the rails a bit as a teenager, ending up coming home with a baby and stories of a deadbeat boy who wasn’t worth letting raise her child. Everyone banded, helped her get settled in Queens again. I grew up side by side with my cousin, only twenty minutes away from her.” 

He sighed before his next words, trying to think of how best to explain just how awful the story was without going into detail or making himself angry at the thought of what he hadn’t stopped for so long. 

“Shit wasn’t right with her mom. She hit her. She’d pretend she didn’t but it was obvious. One time, when we were twelve and trading secrets, she told me her mom called her father a demon. I thought it was joke, just him being overdramatic. When her mom died, she moved into our grandmas, despite her will stating that my Aunt May was meant to look after Rachel. We nearly got her, and then my Uncle Ben died. And everything was made so much more difficult. 

May managed to adopt her, moved her in with us and sent her to join my high school. I swear, it was like we could see her breathe for the first time.” He chuckled, tears tracking down his face. “She found out this secret of mine and I was so worried she’d think a was a freak… but she accepted me. She’s exceptional. I mean that literally. Because, she told me, when her mom said her father was a demon… it wasn’t a hyperbole. She meant a literal demon. My cousin is a cambion, Miss Jones.”