dream
Peter sat back in his chair after a long, exhausting day at the clinic He slowly removed his glasses and closed his eyes for a moment. He hadn’t planned on sleeping, but he didn’t realize when exhaustion overtook him, pulling him into deep slumber.
He found himself in the lecture hall of medical school, his first day of anatomy In front of him was a cold table, a small motionless frog lying on it.
The professor was instructing the students on how to use the scalpel with precision, and Peter could hear everything—the sound of the scalpel slicing through delicate skin, the beating hearts of the students, even the tremor in their uneasy breaths.
A blessing and a curse.
His heightened senses picked up every detail, every tremble, every whisper. He tried to steady himself, to control the slight shaking in his hands. There was no room for failure here. He took a deep breath, attempting to clear the noise in his mind, and focused on the frog before him.
Focus. Focus.
He began moving, his hand following the steps he had learned. But sweat trickled down his forehead. He wiped it away with his wrist, and when he blinked…
Everything changed.
The frog was gone Now, a human corpse lay before him, pale, cold, its open eyes staring back at him. He was no longer in the lecture hall but in a cold morgue. A voice sounded behind him—a police officer speaking, but his words felt distant, as if coming from another place.
Peter’s wide eyes remained locked on the body as everything around him blurred… until the corpse’s head suddenly moved, turning to look directly at him.
And then it spoke.
“Why didn’t you save me, doctor?”
His throat went dry. He couldn’t move.
“Doctor…”
The voice turned sharp, filled with blame and anger.
Then other voices joined in, overlapping, whispering, rising, surrounding him from every direction.
“Why, son?”
“Why couldn’t you save us?”
“Why didn’t you use your strange abilities? Why? Why?”
The voices grew into a deafening roar, piercing into his skull, and his hand trembled until he dropped the scalpel, the sharp clang echoing as it hit the floor.
Peter woke up abruptly, gasping as his eyes opened to the dim ceiling of the clinic For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he was still dreaming or not.
His throat was dry He rubbed his eyes and placed a hand on his forehead. He didn’t want to think too much about the dream. He mumbled to himself, voice hoarse, “My throat’s dry… I’ll get some water.” Then he stood up, ignoring the unease still weighing on his chest.
He walked to the small kitchen in the clinic, feeling heavier than usual, as if the dream hadn’t fully left him Running a hand over his face, he took a deep breath, then turned on the faucet, letting the water run for a moment before filling a glass. He took a long sip, trying to wash away the dryness in his throat.
But he couldn’t escape the feeling clinging to his chest.
The dream was familiar, recurring in different shapes but always carrying the same message, the same blame, the same regret that had chased him for years.
Why didn’t you save us?
His grip tightened around the glass before he set it down and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to push away the thoughts creeping into his mind. But he didn’t get the chance because the door suddenly swung open without a knock.
“Yo! You’re awake?! Why didn’t you answer my calls, man? I wanted to ask if you wanted me to grab you some tacos or not.”
Johnny Storm stood at the door, grinning confidently as if he hadn’t just barged into the clinic uninvited, as if it wasn’t so late that any sane person would be asleep by now.
Peter stared at him blankly, then turned back to take another sip of water. He didn’t have the energy for this right now.
But Johnny, of course, didn’t care about that.
“You know, I was watching Star Wars like you told me to, and honestly? Amazing! But I have a few complaints—I mean, why didn’t they use more fire? It could’ve been way better if there was someone like—”
“Johnny.” Peter cut him off, voice tired as he set his glass down.
“Oh, wow! You’re finally saying my name without sounding like you want to kill me!” Johnny grinned, then added, “What’s up? Were you sleeping? Oh no, don’t tell me you were dreaming about something weird?”
Peter didn’t answer. He just took a deep breath and turned toward his desk.
“You’re not answering, so that’s a yes!” Johnny said excitedly, following him and plopping down into a chair across the desk. “Alright, show off your skills, unofficial therapist. What did you see? Was it a nightmare?”
Peter sat in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk and pressing his head into his hands, completely ignoring Johnny’s presence.
But Johnny wasn’t someone who could be ignored easily.
“Man, you’re making me curious! Was it one of those dreams where you’re running naked in college or something? Don’t worry, everyone has that dream!”
Peter slowly lifted his head, stared at Johnny for a long, expressionless moment, and then said in a quiet voice, “Why are you here, Johnny?”
Johnny tilted his head, thinking, then said simply, “Because I was bored.”
Peter paused, as if trying to process the answer. Then he ran a hand down his face and let out a long sigh before muttering, “Of course… of course you were bored.”
“Oh, don’t be like that! Think of me as a friendly visitor!”
“Friendly visitors don’t break into places at midnight, Johnny.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic. It’s not exactly midnight. It’s just… okay, maybe almost midnight, but that’s not the point”
Peter stared at him for a moment, then simply stood up and pointed toward the door. “Get out, Johnny.”
“Wow, cold as ice, Dr. Parker! Alright, alright, I’m going, but you can’t stop me from coming back tomorrow!”
Peter gave him a sideways glance and said, “At least give me a chance to change the locks.”
Johnny laughed as he walked to the door, then turned back and waved. “See ya later, Peter!”
The door closed behind him, leaving Peter alone in the clinic’s silence.
He looked at the spot where Johnny had stood, then closed his eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the coming headache.
“That man is going to be the death of me.”
Then he returned to his desk, shutting his eyes again, hoping to get at least a little rest before Johnny inevitably came back to bother him the next day.
At the Fantastic Four Headquarters
It was late, but that didn’t stop Johnny Storm from bursting into the living room, where the rest of the Fantastic Four were gathered. Reed Richards sat on the couch, reading one of his scientific papers, while Sue Storm sipped a cup of tea. Ben Grimm, massive as always, lounged in a sturdy chair fit for his size, watching TV with the volume low.
Johnny stormed in excitedly, throwing himself onto the couch beside Sue, placing his feet on the table in a way that earned him a warning glance from her—but he didn’t care.
"Okay, I have to tell you about someone I met!"
Reed lifted his eyes from his papers and asked, "Not someone you annoyed again, right?"
Ben chuckled in his deep voice, "Let me guess—another person who wants to punch you in the face?"
"Very funny, Ben! No, this time it's someone completely different."
Sue sighed, uninterested. "Johnny, we don’t have the energy for one of your random stories right now."
"But you’ll want to hear this one, I swear!" Johnny sat up straight, gesturing with his hands excitedly. "I met someone they call the Doctor of Villains!"
The room fell silent for two seconds before Ben scoffed, "That sounds like a name from a bad horror movie."
Johnny laughed. "No, no, listen! His real name is Peter Parker. A doctor. But he doesn’t just treat normal people—he treats criminals! And I mean the really dangerous ones—people who should be in prison, but he doesn’t care! He treats them all like they’re just regular patients!"
Reed raised an intrigued eyebrow. "That’s… unexpected."
Sue frowned, concerned. "That sounds dangerous. Does he work with gangs?"
"No! That’s the weird part. He’s just… a doctor. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t judge, just treats them. Even if the person is a killer or a thief, he doesn’t care. As long as they need medical help, he helps them."
Ben eyed Johnny skeptically. "And how do you know all this? Don’t tell me you were spying on him."
Johnny smirked confidently. "Of course not! Well… maybe a little? But I met him by accident, and trust me, I couldn’t stop visiting him!"
Sue rolled her eyes. "Oh, what a surprise. Someone doesn’t want you around, and you keep showing up anyway?"
"Hey, that’s not true! Okay?… but he’s interesting He doesn’t care about heroes, villains, or anything else! He’s as cold as ice, and not even I—me!—could get on his nerves! Don’t you see how weird that is?"
Ben chuckled. "So, you’re telling us that there’s finally someone who can tolerate you? That makes me respect him already."
Reed put his papers aside, now fully focused
"But this raises a lot of questions. If he’s treating criminals, doesn’t that put him in danger? Or even… involve him in their activities without realizing it?"
Johnny shrugged. "That’s what I was thinking But it’s clear he takes his work seriously. I saw him treat an injured guy right in front of me, and he was insanely professional. Like saving people is the only thing that matters to him, no matter who they are."
Sue spoke cautiously, "That still makes him a target—whether from criminals wanting to exploit him or from the police who might see him as an accomplice."
"Oh, that’s not all!" Johnny leaned forward excitedly. "I tried to get his number, and he refused outright! But I didn’t give up, and in the end, he finally caved and gave it to me!"
Ben smirked. "I bet he regretted that immediately."
Johnny looked at him with fake seriousness. "More than you can imagine."
Everyone laughed—even Reed allowed himself a small smile. Then he turned serious again. "He sounds like an interesting person. Maybe we should learn more about him."
Johnny tilted his head. "Man, you guys sound like you’re planning an interrogation! Let me enjoy this weird new friendship without turning it into an investigation!"
Ben chuckled, waving a hand. "Good luck with that, Hothead. But I don’t think this guy is going to be your friend that easily."
"We’ll see, Ben, we’ll see." Johnny grinned confidently, sure that Peter Parker had yet to realize how amazing he was.
_____________
On his way to Queens
Peter sneezed
"I’m not coming down with a cold, am I?"
He was now at the train station, carrying a medical bag in his hand, his eyes fixed on the screen displaying departure times. He was waiting for the train to Queens, where the police had called him in to treat… a mutant.
Yes, a mutant with superpowers.
He had been caught during a robbery, injured, and no hospital was willing to take him in. Every single one had refused, claiming they couldn’t treat mutants—as if they weren’t even human.
Those filthy, hypocritical bastards—
Peter took a deep breath and exhaled slowly He needed to stay calm. He couldn’t just destroy hospitals, no matter how much a part of him wanted to.
This wasn’t the first time he had encountered this kind of discrimination.
In his clinic, some mutants had come to him for treatment—hesitant, anxious—because they knew no one else would take them. They expected Peter to charge them extra, some kind of compensation.
But he never did.
He simply told them to rest, and when they felt better, they could leave. No questions, no conditions, no payment.
Why?
Because it was simple.
Peter was a mutant too.
He hadn’t chosen this power—it had been forced upon him. And he knew exactly what it felt like to wake up one day and realize your body was no longer the same, that the world looked at you differently, that everything had changed without your consent.
Mutants were fragile, easy to break, and he understood how terrifying it could be to discover that you were no longer… normal.
That’s why Peter was always careful with them, choosing his words wisely, making sure they never felt like a burden or a threat, ensuring they wouldn’t run or avoid him completely.
So far, only two mutants had come to his clinic, both leaving without paying, and he hoped more would come—mutants who felt safe in his care.
And now, there was another mutant in police custody, wounded, restrained, trapped.
Peter’s fingers clenched tightly around the train’s handrail as he thought about it. He gripped harder until he felt the metal groan under his fingers.
Then he steadied himself. He couldn’t break it. Not here. Not now.
He lifted his head as he heard the train approaching. Taking another deep breath, he muttered,
"Alright. Let’s get this over with."
Then he stepped onto the train.