The sound of the front door opening and closing roused Peter from sleep.
He shot up, a sheet of loose notebook paper glued to his face, and twisted his neck just as May rounded the corner into the kitchen. She came to a stop in the door when she saw him.
"Oh - what are you doing home?" She asked, shrugging her purse off her shoulder and onto the counter.
"I could ask you the same question."
She crossed the room, plucking the paper from Peter's cheek as she went, and eased herself into the chair across the kitchen table.
"It's my back." She explained, wincing. "It's acting up today, and Julia offered to cover my shift so I could get home before the snow starts."
"That's nice of her."
Peter eyed May as she tried to sit straight, frowning as she rubbed at her lower back gingerly. More and more frequently she was having days like this, days where the aches and pains woke her up at the crack of down, sent her home from work early, or sometimes even kept her from leaving the apartment at all.
"You should really see a doctor." He said, a common refrain of his.
"I see doctors every day. I'm sick of them." May respond wryly. "But I know what you mean. I will, when I find the time." Her eyes scanned the scattered pages and open textbooks between them. "What are you studying?"
Peter recognized a tactical change of subject when he saw it (he was well-versed in them himself), but he let May slide on this one. For now.
"Calculus." He sighed. "I have an exam on Friday."
An exam he should have started studying for a month ago; an exam he just knew was going to be brutal; one that he had to not only pass, but ace, otherwise – there was a good chance he'd probably have to pick even more extra credit work, or risk failing.
Peter pulled his notes closer to him morosely and tried to organize them into a neater stack, feeling foolish for having fallen asleep earlier. He shouldn't have stayed out so late with Black Cat the night before… even if it had been exactly what he'd needed after the disaster with Felicia.
"You usually study at school." May observed, a thoughtful lilt to her voice. She was watching him carefully. "Is everything okay?"
Peter kept his eyes low. For once, it was easier not to lie.
"Yeah. I just… felt like I could focus better here."
He had been on edge walking around campus that day, glancing over his shoulder every other second in a constant state of alert. He did not want to risk bumping into Felicia. Ironic, given how just a few days ago he was liable to linger strategically outside the food-hall or certain buildings, hoping to just catch a glimpse of her walking to or from class.
Even worse than Felicia though would have been MJ, who definitely would know what had happened by now and would definitely try to talk to him about it.
Luckily he'd made it home without running into either of the girls.
What he needed was time - in every sense. He needed time to study, time to sleep, time for whatever awkwardness he had surely created between him and Felicia to fade and die. After that, they'd be friends, just friends – how they had been before he'd screwed things up – how they would always and forever be.
"How were things at the library with Harry last night?" May probed.
"Fine."
"I'm surprised his father let him stay out so late. How is he feeling?"
"The same… more or less."
A little worse every day – was the harsh truth, but Peter didn't particularly feel like sharing his worries about his friend in that moment. Part of the reason he was home studying was because he needed a break from Harry too – as shameful as that felt to admit.
Harry had texted him sometime in the mid-morning, inviting him over to the penthouse that evening. He'd said that his father's secretary would be dropping off food and that they could study together then play some new game he'd bought after or watch a movie. It was the closest thing to an apology Peter supposed he would get, and he was almost touched.
He had yet to reply though.
Hoping to stave off any further questions from May, Peter reached for his phone, which had been resting, face-down by his notebooks. The first thing he saw when the screen lit up was a message from Empire State, a campus alert…
ESU ALERT: THIS IS A MESSAGE FROM EMPIRE STATUE UNIVERSITY POLICE. REPORTED BREAK-IN AT MARTIN-LIEBER HALL. SUSPECT MAY STILL BE IN THE AREA. STUDENTS ADVISED TO MOVE TO A SECURE LOCATION AND SHELTER IN PLACE. FURTHER INFORMATION FORTHCOMING.
The alert had been sent almost an hour ago. Peter had been asleep.
Idiot. He cursed himself and started collecting his notes and other things quickly.
"Sorry, May. I'm going to go study in my room." He said, clambering out of his chair. "You- you should go lay down and rest your back."
He didn't have to look at her to know that she was watching him curiously – strange as he was acting. He braced himself for more questions even as he was moving towards his room, but they didn't come.
"Okay… Good luck then."
He locked the bedroom door shut behind him.
Petty theft and the occasional robbery were not unheard of around campus, but they rarely warranted an immediate campus-wide alert. Whatever had happened must have been particularly violent or destructive. Or both.
Police had set up a perimeter around the entire dorm building when Spider-Man arrived. He landed on a streetlight close the police line and scanned the cops for a familiar face – DeWolff or even Stacy would have been good – but saw no one he recognized. In the end, he picked out a heavy-set corporal who seemed to have a friendly look about him and jumped, landing on the roof of his squad car, and making him and others nearby flinch violently.
"Afternoon, officer." Spider-Man said and thew up a salute. "I heard there was a situation here. Mind if I ask what's going on?"
The cop stared at him, eyes wide, but he was only thrown for a moment.
"One of the dorms up there is trashed." He said. "Neighbors heard a struggle – screams and bangs. No sign of the residents, or a suspect neither."
"Mind if I take a look?"
"I- I don't know if that's allowed."
"Let him go up." Another officer that had rushed over interjected. "Won't do no harm. It's room 491, Spidey, third window from the left up there. The broken one." The officer pointed with two fingers up the side of the building. "We have a detective inside now. Don't get in their way and don't touch anything, alright?"
"Will do." In less than a second he was outside the broken window, peeking into a thoroughly-ruined living area.
It was like a bomb had gone off. Pieces of broken furniture, shards of glass, a smashed television and other debris were scattered throughout the dorm. Only a perfectly round circle in the middle of the floor was suspiciously clean. Spider-Man could see that one of the bedroom doors had been blown clean off its hinges, and through the vacant door-frame, a group of officers were staring out at him, hands on their hips.
"I come in peace!" Spider-Man called to them, showing his empty palms.
They didn't relax, but one of the group, a plain-clothes detective, peeled off from the rest and crossed the room to speak through the broken window.
"This is an active crime scene, Spider-Man." She said, her glasses flashing in the afternoon sun. "You can't be here."
"Just pretend I'm not." He replied. He peered around her, his eyes roving over the dorm, looking for details.
A pile of framed photographs were shattered at the base of one of the walls, likely knocked from their hangings during the mystery ruckus. Two frames had held firm though, one featuring a landscape that Spider-Man didn't recognize, and another – with smiling faces staring out a him. He recognized the girl, front and center of the picture. There was no mistaking the vibrant, red hair.
No…
"- If you don't get out of…" The detective was saying.
"Mary-Jane Watson." Spider-Man interrupted. He pointed to the picture at the wall. "Does she live here?"
"Yes…" The detective frowned, looking between him and the photo. "Do you know her?"
"She was part of the group that was trapped at Oscorp when Mysterio attacked. I remember her." Without thinking, Spider-Man leveraged open the remains of the broken window and slipped inside. He clung to the wall near the ceiling. "Any sign of her? Or her roommate?"
It took a lot to keep his voice level, professional, but his heart was pounding in his chest and he had to press his hands hard against the wall to stop them from shaking. He should have remembered sooner, but he'd been so focused on getting here that he hadn't thought about it – the little factoid that had been tucked away somewhere in the recesses of his brain. It was only when he saw the smashed photos on the floor that he remembered, like a hammer to the head, that Felicia and MJ lived at the Martin-Lieber hall.
Along with a couple hundred other students. Spider-Man reminded himself. What are the odds?
The detective was taking far too long to respond to his question, just standing there and looking up at him, frowning.
"Both Miss Watson and her roommate are currently missing." She admitted eventually. "We found their phones and wallets in the apartment, the current theory is… kidnapping, unfortunately."
Spider-Man took to the ceiling, crawling deeper into the dorm.
"Hey!" The detective called after him. "Spider-Man – listen, just don't…"
"Touch anything. I know. I know."
The room with the broken door was MJ's – that was readily apparent. More photos lined the walls and shelves, most of the pictures featuring her and one group of friends or another, and the bed was struggling under the weight of so many stuffed animals, Spider-Man was shocked the floor hadn't given in. A pair of officers and a forensic photographer were inside, but Spider-Man paid them no mind.
He moved to the other room.
Felicia's door was open and he crawled in, stopping just inside to take it all in upside-down.
Spider-Man had often wondered what Felicia's bedroom looked like. It had started months ago, the first time she'd visited his apartment to work on their Chemistry project. Her being in his room made him wonder – was her room as messy as his? Did she decorate? Did she keep plants? How many pillows did she sleep with?
One pillow was the answer.
And she did keep a plant, kind of. A crispy-looking snake plant was breathing its last breath on the window sill. Besides that though, her room was kind of… Plain?
There was nothing on the walls and the desk in the corner only held a closed laptop and some school work. The closet was open and Spider-Man could see her usual dark clothes hung in an uneven row inside. It was all a little drab, but comfortable, the type of bedroom where you slept and studied and not much else.
He dropped to the floor and scanned the desk, the closet, the underside of the bed for anything unusual – a clue, or a note, something that might have indicated where Felicia was. He slid open the drawer in the bedside table, then froze.
Inside was a leather-bound journal, dark red, hand-cut and bound with thread. His heart leapt into his throat when he saw it, inexplicably surprised that Felicia had held onto his gift, and what's more, kept it so close.
A dark temptation inside made him want to open it, just for a peek. There may have even be some information inside about her current whereabouts. Maybe.
A metallic squawk sounded behind him just as his fingertips brushed the front cover and he heard police chatter from the living room. A moment later, the detective called for him.
"Spider-Man, you should hear this."
He left the notebook where it was and joined the group outside. The detective had taken one of the officer's walkie-talkies and was holding it near her mouth. She waited though, watching Spider-Man until he joined her side before speaking into it.
"Sargent, this is Detective Cooper. Please repeat what you just said. Over."
There was a slight delay, but then a metallic voice came through the walkie-talkie once more.
"Detective, we have eyes on a young woman matching the description of Watson. We're certain it's her."
"Where, Sargent?"
"She, uh, well- She's on top of the Queensboro Bridge, Detective. We have a bird already in the air close by." The voice said. "And she's not alone… There's someone with her. Possible hostage situation."
"10-4." Cooper lowered handed the walkie. "I don't suppose you need a ride, Spider-Man?" She turned to him, but he was already across the room, and vaulting out of the broken window.
He texted Cat on the way – which was easier said than done – especially with how quickly he pushed himself.
Spider:
Queensboro bridge. Hurry
He would have added more details, even a 'please', but he nearly dropped the phone as he flew, spinning upside-down over First Avenue, then swinging the last block to where the bridge met Manhattan.
As fast as Spider-Man had been, the police had gotten a head start.
A blockade had been set up to stop traffic into the bridge, and he could hear at least one helicopter overhead, beating a looping path through the wind, over land and then back out over the East River. Spider-Man couldn't image that they would be flying for much longer though. Snow was starting to fall, fast and heavy, and it wouldn't be long until visibility over the bridge was next to none.
He didn't hesitate, he fired a line of webbing to the closest girder and swung along the arches of the bridge. He caught a glimpse of the helicopter to his left, it climbed over the water, drawing a line towards one of the middlemost towers on the bridge, and Spider-Man followed.
Even without the police guide, his instincts, and a soft buzzing at the back of his neck, told him that MJ would be there. Her kidnapper too. Whoever had taken her had chosen this spot for a reason. It was isolated, treacherous, and in these conditions – practically unreachable for anyone, save for Spider-Man and Black Cat. The kidnapper wanted them.
With a final swing, Spider-Man soared high and landed on the very edge of the tower's platform.
He spotted MJ immediately – laying on her side and facing him. She was wrapped in large furry cloak, from which only her head was visible. Her cheeks and ears glowed red from the cold, almost as bright as her hair, while her eyes were wide and panic-stricken. She met his gaze and her mouth opened as if she to speak, or scream, but any sound she tried to make came out weak and was lost in the wind.
There was no one sign of Felicia, nor anyone else on the tower, so Spider-Man rushed to MJ's side, sliding to his knees on the snowy platform.
"Hang on, Mary-Jane." He said, keeping his voice calm. She was bound in metal cords and he set to quickly untying them. "I'm going to get you out of here."
"I- I wasn't sure you w-would come..." She croaked through chattering teeth. Every inch of her was shivering and up close, Spider-Man could see ice collecting under her nose and on her eyelashes. She licked purplish lips. "K- Kr- Kraven…"
"What?"
"Kraven… That's his name. He said… he said he was – Look out!" She mustered the strength to shout just as his spider-sense went into overdrive.
Leaving MJ, Spider-Man flipped out of the way, dodging a silver streak that flew past him into space. He landed and spun, turning to find that they were no longer alone.
"Spider-Man." A man had appeared on the far side of the platform – an enormous man, whose equally large voice rang clear through the crisp air. He stood with one hand buried in the pocket of his long jacket, and the other extended, having just thrown bolas in Spider-Man's direction. He relaxed his posture. "You're as fast as I had hoped you'd be."
"Thanks. I guess." Spider-Man crouched low. "You must be Kraven then?"
He nodded.
"I've been waiting for this moment for some time."
"Yeah. Well... the wait is over." Spider-Man said, and then he fired a spray of webbing in his direction.
Kraven stepped sideways, moving more quickly than a man of his size should have been able to, and the webs missed. He bounded forward, closing the distance between them in what seemed like a single stride, and Spider-Man leapt back, narrowly avoiding an open-palmed strike to the face.
Touching down on the edge of the tower's platform, Spider-Man took a heartbeat to aim before firing again. This time, when Kraven ducked out of the way, the web continued on, sticking to the platform and pulling Spider-Man airborne. He flew forward and threw his arm around Kraven's middle, picking him up and slamming him down into the hard metal beneath their feet. He crouched over him.
"Where's Felicia Hardy?!" Spider-Man demanded, shaking him by the collar. "What did you do with her?!"
In reply, Kraven surged upwards, curling both his legs before kicking hard. Both his boots connected with Spider-Man's chest and then he was pinwheeling, falling off the tower and spiraling towards the water below.
Okay, not in the mood to answer questions.
Spider-Man snagged a girder with a web and swung low, his momentum carrying him up and around the tower's arch. Releasing his web at the apex of his swing, he landed on the platform again.
Kraven had regained his footing was crouched over MJ. He took a handful of her cloak and straightened, lifting her so she dangled by his fist.
"Why are you doing this?" Spider-Man asked. "What do you want?!"
"What I want," Kraven said. "Is to see what you can do…"
And then he threw MJ from the bridge.
Her scream followed her over the edge of the platform and Spider-Man himself was close behind. He dove after her, angling his body for to reduce air resistance, while running some quick, mental calculations. The cold air bit at him through his suit, and something sharp pinched his side, but he ignored it, tracking MJ's descent and waiting for the perfect moment.
He fell faster than her and when he was close enough, he threw out his wrist and caught MJ with a web, pulling her smoothly to his chest. Only then did he twist and fire a web-line upwards, catching a strut on the bridge and letting the elastic stretch of his webbing slow their descent.
They touched down on the surface of the bridge.
"You okay?"
"No." MJ answered honestly. "He- He'll come. He can c-climb... not like you, but still."
Spider-Man didn't doubt her. They had to get moving.
He took aim at one of the bridge supports, but as he triggered his web-shooter something strange happened.
The bridge seemed to warp, the cords and girders bending and swelling before splitting apart as if undergoing mitosis. There were twice as many things as there should have been and Spider-Man's web line went wide as he tried to snag one.
MJ's face was an abstract painting, a mess of green eyes and red cheeks.
"Um… Now's not the time f-for performance anxiety…"
"Everything's fine." Spider-Man lied, cradling her more closely. His head was swimming nauseatingly. "We'll just be taking the low road today."
He couldn't risk dropping MJ, so web-swinging while the world was turning into a fun-house mirror around them wasn't an option. He set his eyes towards Manhattan and started to run. The police line couldn't be more than three-thousand feet away, just over half a mile. They would be there in no time.
His legs lasted only a handful of steps before they gave out.
MJ gasped as he collapsed to a knee, barely managing to keep them from sprawling forward into the snowy pavement.
"You were stabbed!" She breathed and Spider-Man followed her wide-eyed gaze to a silver dart stuck between his ribs.
He felt no pain – he felt nothing at all when he yanked the dart free.
"Is everything still fine?" MJ was asking (or maybe her voice was just in his head).
Spider-Man fumbled for the cords wrapped around her knees and started trying to pull them loose.
"You have to run." He said, his own voice sounding distant and not entirely his. "I'll… I'll hold him off."
He hoped he sounded confident, heroic even, but as he set MJ on her feet, he could already tell this wouldn't be the noble final stand he'd occasionally pictured for himself. He was struggling to stay upright and what's more, MJ was effectively nullifying his sacrifice by refusing to run.
Talk about inconsiderate.
She took one of his arms and tried to tug him forward, to the end of the bridge, but he was rooted to the spot.
A dark shape had appeared in front of them, standing starkly against the white backdrop – Kraven's hulking silhouette. He walked forward slowly, which made sense, there was no need to rush now.
Spider-Man's thoughts grew muddled as everything folded in on itself, but his last thoughts were surprisingly hopeful… perhaps it was whatever drug he'd been injected with… regardless, while he may have botched this, he knew not all was lost. He was absolutely certain: Black Cat could still be trusted to save the day.
He awoke warm and wet and blind. Something very hard and cold was pressed against his back and his face was covered with something soft and heavy, a blanket maybe… Whatever it was, it was stifling. When Spider-Man tried to push it off him, he found that he couldn't.
Chains were wrapped around his arms and chest. He could feel them digging into his skin painfully. He tested their limits, the links clinking softly when he tried to move. There was barely any give in the steel.
He'd never snapped steel chains before (usually that job that was left to Black Cat and her magic claws), but Spider-Man would be damned if he didn't try.
He had just started straining against the bonds though, when he heard a noise from beyond his shroud. There were boots crunching lightly on snow, and then the blanket covering him was lifted and Kraven was standing before him.
"You're awake." He observed, his voice low and rumbling. "Good." From his pocket, he produced a plastic vial, which he uncapped and held under Spider-Man's nose. "Breathe."
Spider-Man resisted for a minute, holding his breath and turning his head, but Kraven simply waited, calm. Eventually, before his vision tunneled to black again, Spider-Man took in a reluctant breath. Immediately, as he inhaled the salts, his vision sharpened, accompanied by a splitting headache.
"That tranquilizer I injected you with was enough to stop a Rhinoceros during a charge." Kraven tucked the vial away again. "I'm impressed you lasted as long as you did."
"T-Thanks." Spider-Man grumbled. "Let me go and I'll show you some of my other tricks."
"Not yet."
He turned and strode away, disappearing out of sight.
With Kraven gone, Spider-Man had an unobstructed view of his surroundings and he immediately spotted MJ. She was opposite him, bound and gagged at the base of a pale, lifeless tree. Around them, dark shapes stood in neat rows among small snow drifts and it took a second for Spider-Man to realize what they were – graves.
MJ's eyes were blown round as plates and she was staring at Spider-Man with a mixture of horror and…. he wasn't quite sure what else… Amazement?
Maybe 'incredulity' was a better word… He certainly didn't feel amazing at the moment. As memories of recent events came to him, he felt more embarrassed than anything. In his tenure as Spider-Man, he had been stabbed, shot, burned, run over, even killed, but he'd never been taken as a hostage like this.
Cat's not going to let me live this one down. He thought dully, realizing that on top of everything else his web-shooters had been confiscated. He blinked as a cold wind surged, tousling his hair and making his eyes water.
It was only then that he realized he wasn't wearing his mask.
"Mary-Jane." Peter breathed, meeting her gaze. "I- I…" He swallowed thickly, not sure what to say. "I… don't want you to worry. Just try and stay calm."
But he was worried now, more than he cared to admit. He wasn't sure how much time had passed after the bridge, but it had to have been hours. Night had fallen. The sky was dark and only a sliver of moon was visible between thick clouds. They would have been under the complete cover of darkness if it wasn't for a bright lantern that Kraven must have set on one of the taller gravestones.
Peter was sitting, tied to one of the gravestones himself – a large flat obelisk, ice cold against his back. He pressed himself into it, wondering if he could push it loose or over on its side, but with no leverage and nothing to brace against, the frozen ground didn't give and the heavy stone refused to budge no matter how hard he threw himself against it.
Don't push. Lift.
Shifting around, he managed to stretch his fingers and grip the sides of the gravestone. He bent his knees, pressed the soles of his boots into the ground, and started drawing the stone from the earth. He just barely felt it start to move though, before Kraven abruptly returned.
The large man moved unnaturally quiet, even now, as he dragged a coffin along by a rope handle. The bottom of the wooden box carved a path through the snow up to an open spot of ground between Peter and MJ.
It was comically morbid. The sight of it almost made Peter want to laugh.
"What is all of this?" He asked, watching as Kraven dropped the coffin's handle and seated himself on the box's edge. The wood creaked ever so slightly under his weight. "If you're the ghost of Christmas yet to come, you are legally obligated to tell me."
Kraven looked at him seriously.
"Do you always make such poor jokes when you're afraid?"
A genuine laugh really did break from Peter this time, but it didn't last long, and it ended with a series of coughs.
"Who says I'm afraid?" Peter replied hoarsely.
"Your eyes tell the story." Kraven drew a large, wicked-looking knife from his pocket and turned the blade casually in his hands. "Your pulse, the sweat on your forehead. Your fear is written all over you."
"Probably just low blood sugar."
Kraven's face was as stony as the grave at Peter's back.
He sat on the coffin and watched Peter for a long moment, saying nothing, only turning his knife over and over in his palm. The light from the nearby lantern kept catching the flat of the blade and flashing in Peter's eyes, but he refused to look away, or even blink for that matter.
Kraven was right about one thing so far – Peter was covered and sweat and snow, which had melted while he'd been covered with the blanket, and with the blanket now confiscated, the winter chill was setting in. The joints in his fingers and legs were starting to stiffen and an uncontrollable shiver had started in his shoulders.
That discomfort paled, however, in comparison to the mental turmoil that was boiling inside him. Peter wasn't sure what Kraven was planning – he didn't what Kraven had already done – but he doubted that any of it could be good.
"Where's Felicia Hardy?" The question escaped from him like it was a breath he'd been struggling to hold.
She hadn't been on the bridge and she wasn't here at the cemetery – at least so far as Peter could tell (he didn't entertain the thought that the coffin was occupied).
Kraven's answer didn't come right away. In fact, he seemed to mull it over in his head for a few seconds. After a moment, he shook his head.
"I don't have her." He admitted. "I don't know where she is… but that doesn't matter."
Peter didn't know what to make of that, but he supposed it was a relief to hear.
"What do you want from Mary-Jane?"
"You'll see very soon." Kraven said, not even sparing MJ a glance. "She has a purpose in this. She's already been valuable. I knew that you would come for her quickly, with little forethought, without caution. After all, she's an old friend, isn't she… Peter Parker?"
A chill pierced Peter, altogether different than any cold he'd felt before.
He'd been unmasked, he had accepted that, but hearing that Kraven knew his name, knew him, made his heat beat double-time.
"I… I don't… W-what are you talking about?"
Nice. Way to play it cool.
"Peter Benjamin Parker. You were born here, in Forest Hills, but you're living in Manhattan now with your aunt, May Parker. You're an orphan, you're a student, you're Spider-Man." Kraven listed, factual, without pleasure. "If it was your intention to keep your identity a secret, you've done a very poor job. You've been careless. It was not difficult to learn everything about you, Parker. Hunting you was not the challenge I was hoping it would be, but even then, I had not expected you to be a child."
He rose from his seat and stalked forward. Beyond him, Peter could see MJ watching, her eyes blown wide with horror, her pale face awash with tears.
Kraven stopped by Peter's side and crouched low, still managing to tower over him.
"You made it so simple," He said. "You led me straight to her. Just like I knew you would."
Peter stared at him.
"What are you talking about?"
"I followed you from your school. I tracked your scent through the city. You waited for her on the top of that building, and she came. The rest was easy."
He probed under his collar with a finger then and pulled on a long, thin chain. A small pendant fell free and hovered level with Peter's eyes. It was a Crest, cut in the shape of a diamond, black as night, and etched with a simple design.
Cat.
Peter reached for it, but got nowhere close. His chains clinked loudly again, pitifully, as he strained against them. Kraven didn't so much as flinch.
"You know what this is." He said. It wasn't a question.
Black Cat had told Spider-Man about it, he'd seen the crest that Vermin had used up close, and Peter was smart enough to piece together all the clues. There was only one thing that necklace could be and there was no way in hell that Black Cat would have parted with it willingly.
"Powerful things… and very rare." Kraven continued. He admired the charm for a moment, weighing the small black diamond in his palm. " They all do something different too. I've met only a handful who were actually capable of using them. Your Black Cat was the first though who put up a fight."
A fire ignited in Peter's veins.
"If you hurt her, I'll-"
"Put her from your mind, Parker. Focus on the now." Kraven interrupted. He stood, tucking the Crest away again as he strode away, slowly making his way around the coffin. "You can still save yourself. You can still save this innocent girl." He said, passing by MJ. "Or you can die and be buried here tonight... with your kin. That, at least, is the blessing I grant all my prey."
My what?
Peter watched Kraven prowl in front of him again, passing close and then moving to MJ's tree, orbiting the coffin all the while. Peter was having an incredibly hard time making sense of everything this lunatic was doing and saying.
And yet… something gnawed at the edges of his mind, an aching familiarity with this place.
It took time, but it came to him eventually. He recognized the graveyard... he remembered it.
He'd never been here at the dead of night of course, but he had definitely visited it before. He recognized some of the more distinctive gravestones, he recognized the skinny pale tree, the wrought-iron fence in the distance, and bizarrely enough, he recognized the marble gravestone that was pressing hard against his spine.
If he weren't chained to it, he could have turned around and read the words carved into the stone's face. That wouldn't have been necessary though, Peter could have recited the words by heart. He'd helped May write the epitaph himself.
"What did we ever do to you?" He spat as Kraven drew near again. "Why the hell are you doing this?!"
"Hunting Black Cat was business." Kraven answered honestly. "My client wanted her. They will have to settle for the Crest."
He stopped pacing and faced Peter head on.
"This though..." He gestured between the two of them with the tip of his knife. "This is for me." And then he smiled for the first time, showing sharp incisors that flashed as bright as his blade.
"You're famous the world over, did you know that? You are the amazing Spider-Man." He continued. "I've hunted every prey possible in this world, bested every apex predator... beasts, magicians, heroes, but none of them were like you. You have no spells, no trinkets. It's all in your blood, isn't it? The moment I heard of you and what you could do, I was certain that our meeting was inevitable. I was content to bide my time until then, but fate has drawn us together. Fate… and business. Imagine my disappointment to find that all your strength and skills are wasted due to your incompetence."
"Why bother with me then?!" Peter demanded. The words didn't hurt him, he'd heard and thought worse, but it just didn't make sense. "If you think I'm such a failure then what are you trying to prove here?"
"I cannot abide 'false' strength. The sight of it… the very idea - it is an illness. I cannot rest. I cannot eat. It goes against the very rules of nature, the hierarchy of power that is written into our blood, our bones."
"Ah. I get it. You're insane."
Kraven ignored him. He turned and stalked towards MJ again, talking loudly as he went.
"The world thinks of you as a hero, everyone knows of Spider-Man's supposed courage, your good deeds, but soon they will learn the truth. Those petty criminals, lunatics, and costumed clowns that you have dealt with up to now prove nothing. Faced with your first real challenge, with me, you crumble."
He towered over MJ, a hulking monstrosity, then he stooped and grabbed her, cutting her loose from the tree in a single swipe of his knife. She squealed and Peter heard himself shout again as Kraven carried her bodily over to the coffin.
Holding her, pinned against his chest with one arm, he peeled the gag from her mouth.
MJ stared at Peter, a mixture disbelief and tremendous distress on her face.
She seemed to be struggling with something to say, which Peter understood, at the moment he was similarly lost for words.
"Peter." She said, fresh tears spilling over. "Don't-"
But her next words were lost when Kraven kicked the lid of the coffin open and dropped her into its depths. In a flash, he slammed the lid shut again and Peter heard a resounding clack as the large hinge fixed to its side snapped into place.
"Hey, now. I- I thought that was for me." Peter tried, but it was impossible to manifest any humor from this. His heart was pounding hard in his chest, striking a beat so loud he could hardly think.
And yet, He could still hear MJ shoving against the top of the coffin, screaming for help, begging for someone to do something… but there was only him and Kraven.
"Fight me." Kraven said. "Fight me with everything you have. If you win, the coffin will be mine. Fight me and lose – the coffin is yours. But if you do nothing, if you try to run - then this coffin is hers."
Peter didn't want to believe him. He didn't want to believe that Kraven had hunted Black Cat, that someone could have paid Kraven to do it, that he'd possibly killed her. He didn't want to believe that Kraven had gone through all this trouble, that he was doing all of this, tormenting MJ, just to pick a fight with him.
Yet, despite that, it was all playing out right in front him.
"If you want to fight – fine. We'll fight. But let her go first!"
"No. She'll stay, until it is done."
Kraven crossed the distance between them and disappeared behind the gravestone Peter was lashed too. Peter could hear the sound of keys jingling sweetly on a ring, followed by the click of a lock, and then suddenly the chains were loose.
Peter jumped to his feet, spinning to find Kraven striding, unconcerned, away from him to stand by the coffin once more. The knife he'd been holding had been abandoned on top of the gravestone, inches from Peter's clenched fist.
From his coat, Kraven produced a second blade.
"Take that." He said, nodding to the knife that balanced on the tombstone. "And then we'll begin."
Peter reached for the knife. In that moment, there was honestly nothing more appealing to Peter than burying the thing in Kraven's good eye, then breaking every bone in his over-large body.
Then Peter stopped. His eyes fell on the gravestone and the words carved there.
No.
Gritting his teeth, he closed his hand around the knife's handle, lifted it over his head, and threw it away into the night. He turned to face Kraven.
"We'll fight, but I'm not going to kill you."
Kraven's face was an unreadable mask. He seemed to be thinking once more.
After a beat, he raised his arm and then stabbed the tip of his knife into the lid of the coffin. It sank half an inch into the wood and he left it there to quiver upright.
"Come then," He said. "Show me what you can do."
Snow was falling in heavy clumps now. It dusted the top of the coffin and collected on the shoulders of Kraven's long coat. Peter blinked it from his eyes, refusing to take his gaze of him for even a moment.
Peter lunged, fist pulled back, and Kraven pivoted, sliding smoothly out of the way and allowed Peter to simply continue forward. He would have face-planted in the snow, but he caught himself and rolled, bouncing back to his feet.
"Predictable. Slow." Kraven chastised. "Try again!"
He did.
He closed the distance and swung, and Kraven ducked – but this time, Peter anticipated it. He adjusted and followed his first punch with an uppercut that snapped Kraven's head back with a whip-like crack.
Kraven took a single step back, his hand rising to probe at his face and coming away bloody. Black ooze dribbled from his mouth when he grinned.
"Better." And then he punched Peter square in the jaw.
They traded blows, working their way around the coffin. Peter could still hear MJ screaming from inside and he wanted to shout for her to stop, to conserve oxygen, to just hold on a little longer, but his own breath suddenly seemed to be failing him. It came from him in hot bursts that frosted the air, his lungs screaming every time he sucked in a cold breath.
Don't stop.
He kicked Kraven in the chest, struck him across the nose with his elbow, and punched him again, and again, and again, until his knuckles split.
Peter could see Black Cat in his mind's eye, bloodied and hurt in an alley somewhere, or a rooftop, or a grave just like the one beside him. He could see a faceless girl, a stranger that he knew oh so well – stripped of her magic amour, left to die by the very man in front of Peter right now.
Don't stop. Just keep hitting him until he can't get up anymore.
But Kraven did get up, over and over again. Each time Peter put him down, he was back a moment later, and returning the punch or kick or jab with twice the force it had been delivered with.
Peter staggered back, blood shooting from both nostrils and he grabbed a low branch on the tree for support. His strength was failing, between the tranquilizer and the cold and the beating, he wasn't sure how much more he could take.
Kraven, on the other hand, wasn't slowing down in the slightest. His face and shirt and much of the ground was coated in his strange dark blood and a steamy vapor seemed to be wafting off him into the cold air, as if he was powered by a burning hot engine in his chest.
"What are you? A machine?" Peter spat, taking a precious second to regain his breath. "Y-you're not human."
"I'm better" Kraven said.
He twisted and sent a savage kick at Peter, who dodged at the last moment, mere inches away from being cut in half. As it was, the skinny tree snapped and its upper branches tumbled away across the snow.
"I've perfected myself!" Kraven roared, turning to follow Peter as he bounded to safety. "Countless improvements – potions from all over the world, and beyond. Real hard-won strength!"
He lunged and threw his shoulder into Peter, who tripped backwards over the coffin, nearly falling. He had to scramble to regain his footing at the last second.
"I took what I wanted, what I needed to be better!" Kraven continued, stalking forward, each word a snarl of supreme disappointment. "But look at you! None of the drive, none of the ambition. This battle was over before it even began. Pathetic."
Kraven rushed forward then, ripping his knife from the coffin lid and slashing. The blade raked across Peter's ribs and he cried out, stumbling back.
The familiar marble gravestone was once again pressing against Peter's back. He'd fallen against it and was leaning on it for support. His muscles were burning, as were his lungs, and warm gouts of blood were leaking from the fresh cut across his middle, staining the snow at his feet a brilliant crimson.
"Even now," Kraven taunted, the final time. "In the face of death, after I have beaten your Black Cat, after I have threatened to kill your friend – you still aren't giving your all!"
The blade flashed once more, striking like a viper, and at the last possible second, Peter launched himself into motion. He caught Kraven's wrist and twisted, using Kraven's own weight to pull him forward off his feet and throw him onto the earth. The knife missed Peter and struck the gravestone, sparking, knocking loose small shards of marble, and bouncing free of Kraven's hand.
There wasn't time to think, Kraven was already climbing to his feet, Peter grabbed the gravestone with both hands and pulled. He put every remaining ounce of his strength into it, straining with all of his might – enough for a scream to tear itself from him. The frozen ground broke and grave way, allowing the gravestone to slip from its base and come free.
Peter lifted the marble stone high above his head, and then he brought it down, hard.
The gravestone struck Kraven directly on the crown of his head, with enough force to flatten him into the earth.
Peter grunted, lifting it again, nearly stumbling, but managing to raise it high before dragging it down once more.
He hit Kraven two time, three times – the fourth, as Peter brought the stone back up again, he thought he may have seen the ghost of a smile on Kraven's bloody face, before the dropped the gravestone a final time.
It cracked up the middle, splitting into two long pieces that Peter let fall limply into the snow. Kraven lay sprawled at his feet, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, then lying still.
Peter fell to his knees.
His vision blurred and his arms ached, but above all he was filled with a boundless, consuming cold. He wasn't sure how, but he managed to move, shuffling forward to press his fingers to Kraven's neck.
He had a pulse. He was still alive, for now.
Shaking, Peter sat back on his heels, his hand coming to rest on one of the shattered pieces of the gravestone. He squeezed it hard, the jagged edge digging into his palm.
Thanks… again..
He didn't bother with the latch on the coffin, he ripped the lid off it's hinge and threw it away. MJ stared up at him.
"Peter…" She gasped.
"Are you hurt?"
"Are you hurt?" She countered.
"A little banged up. I'm okay."
He took her by the hand and helped her stand. She glanced around worriedly, quickly spotting Kraven's form, laid out in the snow.
"Is- is he… you know?"
"He's alive."
"Ah… is that… good?"
He nodded and left her momentarily, searching nearby. Kraven had brought a duffle bag – tucked behind the gravestone that was holding the lantern. Inside the bag, Peter found his things, web-shooters and mask, as well as an expansive collection of different tools and weapons.
"Peter, you're bleeding." MJ had steeped out of the coffin and followed him. She stared at the gash in his side.
"I've had worse."
But still, he was no use if he bled out. Peter pulled a package of gauze from Kraven's bag and ripped it open with his teeth, then fixed it tightly over his side with a glob of webbing. MJ watched him work, holding her furry cloak tightly around her shoulders. Peter could see the toes of bubblegum-pink house slippers poking out from the bottom of her cloak and he realized for the first time that she was probably only wearing her pajamas.
"We gotta get out of here. Can you walk?" Peter asked.
"Walk? We aren't... um, swinging?"
"I can't carry both of you."
"Both?" Her eyes flitted to Kraven. "We're bringing him?"
"Can't leave him here."
They approached Kraven together, somewhat cautiously. He lay on his back, eyes closed, a large, ugly-looking gash on the top of his head. If the wound didn't get him, the cold would, and Peter – despite it all – couldn't let that happen.
MJ took the lantern while Peter set to webbing Kraven up. He was liberal with the webbing, wary that he had no idea how long Kraven would be out and he was not interested in having a round-three fight any time soon.
When he was certain that Kraven couldn't move an inch, Peter pulled Black Cat's Crest gingerly over his head. The charm was slick with blood, pitch black, and Peter did his best to clean it, brushing it gently with his thumb, before he looped the chain around his own neck. The charm rested cold and lifeless against Peter's chest.
Shouldering the duffle bag, Peter started the long trek to the edge of the graveyard, dragging Kraven along by the ankles, and with MJ following close in their wake.
Peter's burner phone was found smashed in the bottom of Kraven's bag and MJ phone was currently in police custody, so they found a pay phone a block outside the graveyard and Peter dialed 9-1-1.
The operator told him (Spider-Man, that is) to stay on the line, but Peter set the handset on the top of the phone box as soon as he'd finished speaking and sank onto the curb, MJ and Kraven beside him.
MJ watched him, chewing on her thumbnail. She'd been silent the whole way from the Graveyard.
"So... You're Spider-Man, huh?" She finally asked, her voice a little weak.
"Yup."
"How long?"
"Forever."
"Forever?"
"Yeah." Peter did some quick math. "Or… since I've been seventeen, at least."
MJ was still staring at him.
"Wow. Just… wow – this explains so much."
Peter couldn't help but laugh.
"Really? How so?"
"Well, for one, it explains how weird you are – oh don't give me that look, you know it's true - Always running off at random times, showing up to things super late. You have all those unexplained cuts and bruises. I just thought you were really, really clumsy, but no – this makes much more sense." MJ rattled. Peter was more that a little surprised. He hadn't anticipated MJ picking up on all that (although, he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised). "And it totally explains why you just never showed up when Mysterio attacked us last semester – because obviously Spider-Man came, but – wow, how did I not figure that out? Who else knows?"
"No one." Peter said. "Except you….you and Kraven." He turned, facing her fully, and continued seriously: "Mary-Jane, you can't tell anyone."
"Why not?"
"Because it's dangerous. Kraven found out. I don't know how, but he did, and just look what happened," Peter gestured back towards the graveyard, at himself. "He used you to lure me to him. He brought us all the way out here to Queens to screw with me. He knew about Aunt May and… and I don't know if he told anyone else I'm Spider-Man, but…. I have to find out who hired him. Everyone I care about could be in danger."
He needed to make her understand just how catastrophic this was. If Kraven told his employer, his boss, his leader, anyone really, then MJ could be just the start. How long until May or Harry or any number of his other friends were used as bait by some super-villain.
"Promise me," Peter pleaded, holding her gaze. "Promise me you won't tell anyone, family, friends, Felicia, not even Harry." When she chewed her lip, seemingly hesitating, he reached out and took her hand. "Mary-Jane, please."
After another second of pause, she relented.
"I promise."
She hugged him and Peter hugged her back, feeling warmth, and like he could breathe freely for the first time that night.
"Thank you."
When the pulled away, MJ's eyes fell and lingered on his chest.
"What is that thing?" She asked, pointing to the Crest hung around Peter's neck. "Kraven said… it was important."
Peter took the charm between his fingers, holding it protectively.
"It gives Black Cat her powers."
MJ's eyes widened.
"Oh… I saw her! She was fighting Kraven in my dorm, and-"
"Did you see happened?" Peter was the one staring now, his voice rising. "Were you there when- when he…"
The words didn't come. He didn't know what to ask. Beat her? Tricked her?
Killed her?
Red, blue, and green lights flashed through a crop of trees down the block from where they sat, growing closer, along with the sounds of sirens.
"It happened fast." MJ set the scene. "They burst into my room and then, I saw them jump into this… this, like, wormhole in the floor. I heard them fighting and then… Kraven came back through the hole. This," She pointed to the Crest again. "was on the floor. Kraven saw me pick it up and he took it. Do you think Black Cat is really… that Kraven actually…"
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out." Peter said, pulling his mask over his face as the first police cruiser rounded the corner.
The closest hospital was only a few minute's ride away. As soon as they arrived, MJ was whisked off, given bandages for a few bumps and scrapes, fluids, and a fresh, warm blanket. Spider-Man had insisted on staying with Kraven, but that was short lived. The EMT's quickly deduced that he needed surgery, and fast, so Spider-Man had been forced to settle for waiting outside the operating room as Kraven was treated.
He'd declined a bed, but they'd brought one out to the hall for him anyway and he sat on it while a mousy-looking nurse with steady hands cleaned and stitched the cut in his side. Two armed police officers were also staffed outside Kraven's room, but they kept their distance from Spider-Man, eyeing both him and the surgery doors with equal apprehension.
Spider-Man was dehydrated and starving and exhausted, but he didn't risk lifting his mask to eat or drink in public, and taking a quick cat nap was completely out of the question.
He still didn't know what Kraven was fully capable of.
As far as he knew, Kraven could wake up at any second – in spite the anesthesia and repeated blows to the head, and start reaping vengeance on the innocent doctors and nurses.
So Spider-Man sat on the edge of his bed, ears listening hard, eyes unwavering on the doors in front of him, and therefore, when he heard it – as he feared he would – he was already off the bed and across the hall before anyone else had registered anything happening.
"Wait! You can't-" The nurse that had been tending to him squeaked.
But Spider-Man didn't listen. He kicked open the doors, crossed the scrub room in a single bound, and shoved his way into the operating theater. A great gust of wind was blowing through the space, scattering surgery equipment like paper. The team of four surgeons and attendants were lying on the floor in a loose circle around the operating table.
They blinked, coming to as if waking from sleep. They didn't seem hurt, so Spider-Man paid them no mind at the moment. He scanned the room, looking under the tables, checking the ceiling and corners, but found nothing. The operating room table was bare. Kraven was gone.