The first ring hadn't even finished before the voice on the other end of the line snapped, "Daily Bugle, what do you want?"
Ethan smiled slightly. "Good morning, sir. I'm looking to speak with a Mr. Peter Parker, please. It's very important."
There was the sound of papers being shuffled, a sigh, and the unmistakable tone of someone who'd had too much caffeine and not enough sleep. "What is this about?"
"Please just tell him it's Ethan. He'll know."
A long pause followed, static crackling faintly. Then: "Hold."
The line clicked. Ethan sat patiently in the dim glow of his hotel room, one hand holding the phone, the other flipping through a weathered psychology textbook he'd borrowed from the school's faculty storage. The section was on cognitive behavioral response in trauma patients.
The phone buzzed to life again.
"Ethan?" Peter's voice held a mix of caution and curiosity. "Didn't expect a call from you this morning."
"I figured as much," Ethan replied calmly. "I need to meet with you. Tomorrow evening. Same pizza place as last time."
There was a pause on the line.
"Why? What happened? Did something go wrong on Felicia's end?"
"No, relax. There's someone who needs help. Special help. I think you're the only one suited I know for it."
Peter's breath caught for a moment. "Who?"
"I'll explain everything in person. It's not something that translates well over the phone. Let's say... six o'clock?"
Another pause. Then Peter exhaled. "Alright. Six."
Ethan nodded. "Thanks. See you then."
He hung up, setting the phone aside. The psychology book remained open on his tablet, pages marked with his pencil annotations. Ethan tapped one line: When supporting someone whose trauma has led to paranoia, it is crucial to maintain consistent, non-threatening behavior, validate their feelings without reinforcing distorted beliefs, and encourage professional help while preserving their sense of safety and autonomy.
Relevant. Very relevant.
'I wonder if that's what my parents have been doing for me. Not that they'd know which trauma they're helping with.'
The rest of the morning passed uneventfully. Ethan attended his classes with his usual efficiency—participating just enough to stay visible, but never enough to draw attention. He finished assignments early, then used the free periods to skim through two more advanced psychology books from the school's modest library.
"Clinical Assessment in Adolescents" was dry but precise. "The Architecture of Trauma" offered more insight into himself and what he might face that evening.
Rachel.
He hadn't seen her since, even though he heard of her panic attack. Paige had said she was recovering, but was still erratic. Whispers, hallucinations, telltale signs that one had been possessed. Ethan knew exactly what that could mean, and he wasn't about to let her spiral unchecked. If he could assess her condition tonight and make a preliminary treatment plan—he could keep her sane and make sure she doesn't become a problem later on. Maybe even bring her back to some semblance of normalcy.
He had promised Paige that he'd go see her. That alone carried weight. Paige was a useful mutant, so it was best to get close to her before she became one of the X-men. He'd need her as a connection in the future, so it was all the more important to keep himself in her good graces.
At 4:17 PM, school ended. Ethan walked out of Midtown High, the chill spring air brushing across his face. Paige was already waiting near the front steps, her arms crossed and expression tight with nerves.
"Hey," she said softly. "You still good to come?"
"Of course," Ethan replied in a tone that conveyed sincerity. Now more than ever, he needed to foster a good relationship with Paige. "Let's go."
The hospital wasn't far. They took the subway in silence, Paige nervously clutching her bag, Ethan immersed in his thoughts. He mentally rehearsed lines from the psychology texts, prepared grounding exercises, and cataloged signs to watch for: dissociation, hallucination re-emergence, withdrawal, hypervigilance.
Although none of what happened to Rachel was his fault, however, he still would rather not see her suffer senselessly. Besides, now that the X-Mansion was off limits until the summer, he'd need to build a close bond with Paige so that when summer came along, he could use her as his ticket to see Forge. After all, Paige's powers were useless to him, but he fostered the friendship in case he could use her later, although he must admit he liked the time spent with the girl. A thought he never thought he'd have.
When they arrived at the hospital, Paige led the way, signing for a visitor pass at the front desk. They ascended to the third floor and entered a quiet wing with low lighting and neutral beige walls. Room 317. Rachel's room.
Paige knocked gently before opening the door.
Rachel sat by the window, her arms curled around her knees, staring at the rain streaking down the glass. Her hair was unbrushed, tangled over her face. She didn't react when they entered.
"Hey, Rachel," Paige said softly, stepping inside.
Ethan followed, closing the door behind them. Looking at Rachel, he couldn't help but see an overlapping image of himself. It has been of when he was hospitalized in his last life after his father got drunk and beaten so badly he needed 38 stitches. Trying his best to push those thoughts out of his mind, he lightly shook his head and then followed Paige.
Rachel didn't move.
Paige sat beside her. "I brought Ethan. Remember him?"
Her head turned, just slightly. Her eyes were dark, bloodshot, but alert.
"I remember," Rachel murmured. "He was the calm one. The one who never screamed."
Ethan knelt down, keeping a few feet of distance. "Hello, Rachel."
She stared at him. Her pupils dilated just enough for him to register as she blinked slowly.
"You're real," she whispered.
"I am, so is she," Ethan said quietly. "You are too."
She gave a humorless chuckle. "Tell that to the shadows. Or the voice that says I should burn the bedsheets."
"Do you hear it now?" he asked gently.
Rachel hesitated. Then, "Sometimes. It hums now. Low."
Ethan nodded. "And do you feel scared?"
"No," she said. "Not scared. Just… worn out."
He sat cross-legged on the floor, pulled out a pen from his pocket, and held it up.
"Focus on this. Watch it move."
He slowly moved the pen left and right, keeping the rhythm steady. Rachel's eyes tracked it.
"Good. Now breathe in… and out…"
He guided her through a short grounding sequence. Paige watched silently, nervously wringing her hands.
After five minutes, Rachel's breathing had steadied. Her eyes were clearer. Her hands unclenched from her knees.
Ethan set the pen down.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Tired," Rachel said. "But… quieter."
"That's good." He paused, watching her closely. "Do you want to get better?"
She nodded. Just barely.
"I can help. But we'll have to work slowly. Start with small things. Like breathing. Like food. Like taking walks."
Rachel leaned her head against the windowpane.
"I miss going out in the sun without people watching," she whispered.
"I know." Ethan answered, although he had no clue as to what she was saying. Regardless, he affirmed her to build some trust.
They stayed for another twenty minutes. Paige talked softly with Rachel while Ethan quietly wrote notes in his head: she was lucid under guidance, responsive to visual cues, still hallucinating but not aggressive. She needed daily routine reinforcement, a safe space, and possibly therapy under supervision—but he could help bridge the gap until then.
Eventually, they stood to leave.
Rachel turned to Ethan as they reached the door.
"You're not gonna say I'm crazy like the others," she said.
"No," Ethan shook his head. "I'm not. I was there, remember, we both were. You're not crazy."
She didn't smile, but her shoulders relaxed as he left.
Outside the hospital, Paige exhaled deeply.
"You were amazing in there," she said. "Seriously. Thanks. I didn't know you knew how to do things like that."
He almost smiled. The books had said validation built trust; it seemed they were right.
Ethan gave her a small nod. "I'm full of surprises. Anyways, she's still in a fragile state. We'll have to visit and check on her regularly."
"We?"
"Yes, we," Ethan said. "I made a promise, remember? If I can help, I will. That's what friends do. Right?"
Paige blinked, then smiled. "Right. Thanks again."
They parted ways at the subway. Ethan returned to the hotel, quietly satisfied.
He had done what he set out to do.
Tomorrow would bring new tasks.
The most important would be the meeting with Peter.
And the introduction of Amy to a world she was only beginning to understand.
Ethan sat down at his desk, rechecked the account balances for Felicia Harper, and updated the print shop blueprints with a new materials list.
His mind was already shifting gears when his phone vibrated. Opening it, he saw a message from the real estate attorney.
"Good evening. I've reached out to the sellers, and while they wish to remain anonymous, we finalized the amount. Final amount: $65K for the property, $7K for legal processing. Please wire funds to the usual account."