Chapter Text
The short Spider-Man is there one moment and gone the next, disappearing completely before Jefferson’s eyes. He looks around a moment, but Spider-Man doesn’t reappear, so Jeff turns his attention to the man the vigilante had been kneeling over. He sees the costume before the face, but his heart drops just the same.
“Aaron!” Jefferson falls to his knees by his brother, searching for a pulse. He’s always known Aaron’s decisions, the life he’s chosen to live, would get him killed one day, but that doesn’t mean Jeff’s ready for that day to be today. He presses two fingers to Aaron’s neck, desperately hoping-- and it’s there. A heartbeat. Slow and fading, but there.
Jeff calls in urgently for an ambulance, and an APB on the new Spider-Man.
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“Do you have any idea who he is? His name?” one of the EMTs asks hurriedly. “We need to know if his blood type is on record.”
“A-positive,” Jefferson says immediately, and the paramedic gives him an odd glance, but luckily doesn’t take the time to ask questions.
“You’re sure?” is all they ask, and Jeff nods. The EMT and their partners bundle Aaron into the ambulance, while Jeff takes his squad car, putting Aaron’s gloves on the passenger seat beside him.
He escorts the ambulance through the city, discordant sirens wailing all the way to the hospital.
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They barely have time, between getting the call and the ambulance arriving, to get ready for the man being brought in. One gunshot to the back, no exit wound. Rio feels sorry for the guy long before she sees who it is.
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Miles heard his dad call for the ambulance, after Uncle Aaron had fallen unconscious, after Miles had feared the worst and left because he couldn’t be seen, couldn’t be caught, especially not by Dad. Miles heard his dad call for the ambulance, so even as he swings back to school, even as he climbs into his room, even as he sweeps everything off his desk, he’s still trying to hold onto the slim hope that his uncle might not be gone.
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“Prowler may have survived,” one of Kingpin’s ears in emergency services says, without preamble, when Tombstone answers their call. “We sent a bus to the old lady’s neighborhood for a gunshot wound, and a cop escorted it to the hospital. I’ll ask around, let you know whatever I find out.”
They hang up without waiting for a reply, knowing they won’t get one. Tombstone frowns, mulling over the news.
Fisk won’t be happy about this.
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“How is he?” Jeff asks, standing up so quickly he shoves his chair backward against the wall. He’s been out here for a while, now.
“Alive,” Rio answers, which is the best news she can give. Aaron’s not on death’s door anymore, but he still isn’t in fair condition, and it was… a little touch and go, for a while. “Does your captain know where you are?”
Jeff grimaces slightly.
“I called and said a family emergency came up, he told me Carter and Riley could cover the rest of my patrol,” he says. “He isn’t happy about it, but I’m off shift for the rest of the day.”
“And he doesn’t know what’s going on?” Rio asks. Jeff shakes his head, and she nods. “That's good.” She doesn’t miss the incredulous glance he sends her, and when she speaks again it’s barely more than a low whisper. “What? Mi amor, just because he doesn’t have as much of a public reputation as some villains, does not mean we can assume no one in that operating room recognized him. The less everyone knows about this situation, the better. We don’t want to draw any lines between Prowler, and Aaron.”
“We should ,” Jefferson mutters. His tone suggests he’s only arguing so she can talk him around. “He’s a villain, Rio.”
“ Sí, es verdad, ” she agrees. “He’s also your brother. He’s still family, Jeff. And we both know that’s why you’re the only officer waiting for him out here. So far, at least.”
Jeff gives a little exhale that falls somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.
“Officer?” They both turn toward the voice. It’s Claire, another nurse on shift who Rio doesn’t know well yet. “We can just give our report on the gunshot victim to you, right? I mean--”
It’s not exactly hospital procedure, but it works out in their favor. Rio meets Jeff’s eyes for a fleeting second and knows he’s thinking the same thing. Claire glances between the two of them a couple of times, an odd expression on her face, like she sees the silent conversation happening before her but can’t quite understand it.
“--since you’re here?” she continues. “I assume you can take it...”
“Yes,” Jeff says, cutting off the trailing end of Claire’s sentence. “Yeah, thank you.”
“No problem,” Claire replies. She gives Rio a glance that somehow manages to be deeply meaningful yet completely indecipherable, and she leaves them in the hallway.
“What was that?” Jeff asks.
“ No sé, ” Rio shrugs, “but she just solved one problem for us.”
“Yeah, one out of how many?” Jeff wonders aloud. Rio sighs, deeply.
“ Pues, veremos.”
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Claire gets a slow, sinking feeling in her stomach the moment she lays eyes on the bloodied costume the latest John Doe had been cut out of on arrival. That feeling increases when she sees the PDNY officer hanging around the ICU, and the nurse (Rio, if Claire remembers correctly) talking to him in hushed tones. Something about family, and why he’s the only cop waiting.
Claire offers to give the gunshot report directly to the officer, and doesn’t miss the glance he shares with Rio. When the officer accepts, Claire sends up a quick prayer, to any God that might be listening, that could more or less be summarized as please don’t let this end with me helping another goddamn vigilante, I’ve got enough on my plate right now, and she gives Rio a glance meant to convey much the same thing, and then she gets back to work.
Of course, it’s not even half an hour before she’s stepping out of a patient’s room and nearly bumping into the two men rounding the corner, both dressed in the most cliché, suspicious version of business suits-- jackets open, shirts unbuttoned at the top, ties nonexistent, heavy boots instead of loafers. One or both reek of cigarettes.
“‘Scuse us,” one says, putting his hands on Claire’s shoulders, first to steady her, then to manhandle her out of their way. She shrugs out of his grip with a frown.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“We’re just lookin’ for a friend,” says the second one.
Claire watches them walk down the hall, none-too-subtly glancing into every room they pass. They both have guns tucked into the backs of their waistbands, distinct lumps under their jackets.
Good to know my prayers get sent straight to voicemail, Claire thinks with a sigh, and she goes looking for Rio.
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They’ve just moved Aaron out of the ICU, but Jefferson is still waiting for further news when the nurse from before approaches at a fast clip, expression dark.
“Why are you here?” she asks, before Jefferson can say anything, or even greet her. “I heard Rio say something about family, so I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you’re not here to question or arrest your guy in there.”
Jeff is startled by the accusation, and he begins to deny it, to spin a story about Aaron just being a witness on a case, but the nurse cuts him off. “Someone’s here looking for him.”
“What?” Jefferson’s immediately on high alert. “Who?”
“A couple of guys, they look like mobsters, maybe.” She gestures vaguely in the direction she just came from. “They’re armed. If you’re actually here on official PDNY business, I suggest calling in for backup.” When Jeff hesitates, the nurse looks briefly exhausted. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.”
She makes a follow me motion, and Jeff lets her lead him around the corner, down the hall, and into an Employees Only locker room which she hurriedly makes sure is empty. Jeff takes out his phone, and calls Rio.
“Hello?”
“Rio, there are armed men here looking for Prowler,” Jeff says, careful not to say Aaron’s name in front of the nurse-- Claire ; he finally has a moment to read her nametag.
“We have to get them out. We can call security on them,” Rio says, but right away Jeff can imagine how many ways a confrontation might go wrong, how the situation might escalate, how long it would take before the PDNY was actually involved. They can’t afford all that, right now.
“We have to get him out,” he replies.
“ ¿Qué? Jeff, he’s still in bad shape, no doctor will sign him out, ” Rio protests.
“We can sneak him out,” Claire says, apparently listening in, so Jeff just puts the call on speaker, “but that won’t stop them looking for him.”
“Claire?”
“ Hola ,” Claire deadpans. “Any ideas, Rio?”
“They don’t know who he is, right? ” Rio says after a moment. “We just have to let them find Prowler , not him.”
“We can’t lead them to someone else. Even if they’re not here to kill him,” Jefferson says, because there’s no knowing whether the men are Prowler’s enemies or allies, “they’d figure it out when the fake started denying being Prowler.”
“Then we give them someone who can’t deny it,” Rio says. Claire beats Jeff to the realization by half a second.
“You want to give them a body,” she says.
“How the-- how are we gonna do that?” Jefferson asks.
“Leave it to me, ” Rio says, voice determined. “You get A-- Prowler out of here. ”
“Is that a collective ‘you’ or…” Claire trails off.
“We can’t ask you to take a risk like that,” Jeff starts, but Rio interrupts him.
“ Yes, it is. We need the help.”
Rio hangs up the call, and Jeff puts his phone away, giving Claire an apologetic look.
“Figures,” Claire says. She puts a hand on Jeff’s arm to gently push him aside, and goes to a locker that must be hers, because she opens it quickly and pulls out a black shoulder bag. Then she looks Jeff up and down, goes to another locker, and-- although this one takes a moment longer-- opens it with just as much ease as the first. “Here,” she tosses a set of scrubs at him. “Change into those, you’ll stand out less.”
“Whose are they?” Jeff asks, as Claire closes the locker that isn’t hers.
“A very trusting man who has his birthday as his locker combination. Hurry up and change.”
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Rio isn’t actually sure yet, what she’s going to do. She feels like there should’ve been other possibilities, before fake Prowler’s death, but if there’s another option that gets Aaron out of this-- without police involvement-- she doesn’t see it. So, fake Prowler’s death it is. Rio gets one of her coworkers to cover for her, and she goes downstairs to the morgue.
The timeline of Aaron’s injury, the general location of the wound, and his approximate height and body type all narrow down the list, but it’s a big hospital, and she only needs to find one cadaver.
This is not how I thought my day would go, Rio thinks, scrambling for a lie to tell the morgue attendant who’s just noticed her.
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“This is a terrible plan,” Jefferson says, because it needs to be said.
“Yep,” Claire agrees. “But it’s worked for me before.”
“You’ve done this before?” Jeff asks, incredulous, and Claire glances around at the elevator they’re in, at Aaron, still unconscious, and at the reclined wheelchair they’ve got him in. There’s a blanket wrapped up around his shoulders to make it seem like he’s only asleep, and Claire’s bag is on his lap.
“Almost to the letter,” Claire admits with a sigh.
The elevator dings when they reach the ground floor, and Claire leads the way through the halls toward the exit, Jeff wheeling Aaron behind her. No one stops them, or asks any questions, and Jefferson spares a thought for the hospital’s apparent lack of security, but he can’t find it in him to be disappointed when that same lack of security is the only reason they’ve gotten this far.
He doesn’t miss Claire’s half-moment of hesitation, when they round a corner and there are two men coming the other way down the corridor. But she recovers quickly, and the men barely spare her, or Jeff and Aaron, a glance. Their footsteps grow softer behind Jeff, and he keeps walking, keeps listening until those footsteps fade entirely.
“Oh thank God,” Claire mutters. When they reach the doors, she leans out into the sunlight first. “Two more watching your squad car,” she says, ducking back inside. “What do you wanna do?”
Jeff really only sees two options. One, try and distract or get rid of the guys watching his car, or two… don’t. Which of course means he won’t be able to get Aaron into his car, but-- oh, that’s a possibility.
“Do you have a car?” he asks Claire. She pulls the keys out of her pocket, no hesitation, and starts to lead him back through the hospital to a different door.
“Once we get him out, you should take the scrubs off and let them see you leave,” she suggests.
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The gunshot Rio finds is through and through, the John Doe a little shorter than Aaron, and quite a few shades lighter-skinned, but Rio’s banking on no one knowing what Prowler looks like under his mask. The morgue attendant is still just outside, but thankfully the rest of the staff is on lunch break, leaving Rio and her paper-thin “there’s a cop upstairs looking for a John Doe he wanted to question but I think something got lost in the shuffle, I need to make sure the guy’s not dead,” excuses alone with the cadavers.
“The guy outside looks a little antsy,” Claire says, and Rio turns to glance at her, still focused on the clipboard in front of her, on making sure the details will hold up to at least a little scrutiny. Time of death looks right enough, if only just.
“They see you?” She asks.
“I had to run around looking for them for a minute, but yeah,” Claire says, hefting the big plastic bag with Prowler’s ruined costume visible inside. She places it on the empty slab next to their chosen scapegoat. “They’re not far.”
Practically on cue, there’s a commotion outside the morgue which ends with two men bursting in, an irate attendant right behind them.
“That belong to him?” one man asks, pointing at the bag, then to the John Doe.
“Who are you?” Rio asks. Next to her, Claire crosses her arms, mirroring Rio’s confused and irritated expression.
“Is that his? ” the other man asks emphatically, clearly trying to intimidate them into answering.
“Yes, why ?” Rio asks.
“You gentlemen shouldn’t be down here,” Claire adds.
“What happened?” the first demands. Rio flips her clipboard back to the first page, making a small show of looking for the answer.
“Died in surgery,” she says. “Was he a friend of yours?”
The men don’t respond, just share a look, then push past the attendant on their way out, one pulling a flip phone from his jacket pocket and hitting a speed dial number.
“The boss can relax. He’s dead,” he says into the phone, right before the door swings shut behind them. Rio and Claire are still for a moment, sharing a long look, waiting , but the men don’t come back.
“Oh, gracias a dios, ” Rio says softly, leaning forward over the empty slab beside her.
“What just happened?” the morgue attendant asks from the doorway.
“Something above all our paygrades,” Claire says, tired, and the attendant seems to accept this answer, leaving without any more questions.
“We need to go,” Rio says, grabbing Prowler’s costume. Claire follows her out.
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Claire takes the lead halfway up the stairs, showing the way out to her car, where Jeff’s managed to get the Prowler situated lying in the backseat. Jeff tosses Claire’s keys to her, Rio tosses the bagged-up costume to Jeff, who puts it on the car floor, switching it out for Claire’s messenger bag. When it looks like he’s about to give it to her, she points to Rio instead. He hands it off, and Claire watches the two of them kiss with only the smallest hint of surprise.
“Be careful,” Jeff says, as Rio gets in the back of the car, putting Prowler’s head on her lap and Claire’s bag at her feet.
“You too, mi amor ,” Rio says. Claire gets in the driver’s seat and starts the car, Rio closes her door, and they’re off, leaving Jeff in the parking garage.
“Boyfriend?” Claire asks.
“Husband,” Rio corrects.
“And him?” Claire glances in the rearview mirror at the unconscious man she’s just helped break out of the hospital. Rio hesitates for a few seconds, before sighing.
“Jeff’s brother,” she says. Her tone implies there’s… a lot, there. Claire doesn’t pry.
“There’s some first aid supplies in that bag, by the way,” she says instead.
“...How often do you do things like this?” Rio asks, after a long minute of digging through the messenger bag. Claire doesn’t really know the answer to that.
“Too often,” she decides on, before going for another non-subtle change of subject. “Where am I taking us?”
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The goons don’t follow Jefferson from the hospital, and he makes it home without incident, exhaling in quiet relief when he sees Claire’s car already parked outside. Inside, Aaron’s been laid out on the couch, Claire and Rio both looking over him. They’ve set up an IV drip, Rio’s checking that Aaron’s stitches haven’t opened while Claire checks his vitals.
“Everything good, nurse?” Jeff asks, only half joking, but Rio gives him a soft smile.
“ Sí, ” she confirms. “I think he’ll be alright.”
Jefferson feels the tension leave his body, at that.
“So, Claire, right?” he asks, even though she’s still got her nametag on.
“Yeah,” she replies. “Jeff?”
“Jefferson Davis.” He offers his hand, and she shakes it. “Thank you, for helping us out back there.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she deadpans. “If I lose my job I’m holding all y’all responsible.”
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“Prowler dead?” Fisk asks, when Tombstone hangs up the phone. Tombstone nods, and Kingpin smiles, satisfied. “Good. I don’t wanna waste time tying up loose ends, after tonight.”
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No one’s called yet. No one’s come to tell him “something’s happened” . That’s something.
Tied to a chair in his room, hyper-aware of every perceived shortcoming and every mistake he’s made and the fact that his friends are out there getting ready to fight, Miles tries to hang on to that.