darkest before the dawn

August 5th, 2016

8:49 PM

Frank Castle hated every minute of this.

He had heard about these other vigilantes, ones like Red. Researched them a bit. Hoped he would never meet them. But since his luck was shit, he was now stuck with these complete and absolute morons till he could kill the shithead.

Jessica Jones wasn’t too bad. She just hated his guts.

He couldn’t blame her.

Frank had talked to her maybe two times. The first, he went to her apartment, because she apparently was the only one of them who actually interacted with Spider-Man. He had gotten sneered at and the door slammed in his face. The second time, she had called him a self-righteous bastard and Cage had nearly had to intervene.

Good times.

But the other ones? Jesus. Rand was a billionaire puppy-dog with a weapon of mass destruction and Cage was going to be just as bad as Red with the killing thing. Already tried to stop him with Spider-Man.

He had heard about the attack on Metro Gen. Heard about it and written it off. It wasn’t his fight. Wasn’t for him to get involved with. New York had vigilantes. The Avengers could get off their asses. The police could do their jobs. They didn’t need him to help.

Then Micro had called him. Called him with a grief and rage that Frank recognized. Said his kids were dead. Murdered by the same guy who killed the people at Metro Gen. And suddenly, it became his fight.

Leo and Zach had been so young.

This Spider-Man, Frank had heard of before. Heard of and scoffed. Just what New York needed. Another costumed super runnin’ around playin’ hero. But he never seemed to do much then help people and there was always this uncertainty that he actually existed. So Frank had left it alone.

Then Leo and Zach died and he found himself staring at a white skull vest.

It was pretty easy to track the guy down. It had been pretty difficult for him to actually shoot him.

Two shots. That’s all he managed to do. One to the leg. One to the chest.

Spider-Man had barely fought back. He just simply tried to escape. To run away. In fact, if his phone hadn’t rang like a goddamn death knell, he probably would’ve gotten away.

The kids’ bodies hadn’t ever been recovered. Couldn’t be.

He had almost killed him, held a gun to the forehead of that vigilante, before Luke Cage broke down that warehouse door and said he had the wrong guy. Had said it was something else, someone else.

Frank doubted it. Who else ran around New York using webs?

Then he learned who had been attacked in Greenpoint and his stomach had dropped with a sickening, twisting dread. 

He shouldn’t be surprised. He just hadn’t thought it would be this soon.

He knew who was behind that mask. The one Spider-Man called Jigsaw. He knew who he was now. He knew what he was doing.

He knew who he was going after.

That was why he told Hoyle to find a place and lay low.

Why he told Page to stay with Nelson for a few days.

Why he kept calling Madani, trying to get her to pick up her goddamn phone.

Why he spent nearly all of last night in Queens, keeping a shitty apartment building in sight.

Why he was climbing the stairs of the Department of Homeland Security, ignoring the red and blue chatterbox behind him.

Frank shot him. You’d think the guy would be a little more hostile. 

“Shut up,” Frank snaps at him finally. Spider-Man tilts his head, eerily familiar of a another vigilante, but he keeps his mouth shut. Frank huffs and continues up the stairs, gun held aloft in front of him. When he looks back, Spider-Man is leaning over the banister, looking down. On the tips of his toes.

Frank wishes, deeply and truly, that he was dealing with Red instead of this idiot.

“Let’s go,” Frank barks, already on the next flight of stairs. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I thought I saw someone,” Spider-Man mutters, taking the steps two at a time in order to catch up with Frank. His voice is strange, like he’s stuffling it. Sneakers hit the stairs and Frank resists the urge to snap at him again. 

“Hurry up,” he says instead. They’re only a few flights from their destination. If Madani had just picked up her phone, he wouldn’t be here. But now that he knows that people close to him are targets, he has to move and move fast. Which he could do alot easier if he didn’t have someone slowing him down. 

He knows why Jones sent him. Spider-Man’s here to keep the Punisher from murdering anyone. To keep the bloodshed down to a dull roar.

Look.

If Red couldn’t do it, then no one can.

They finally reach their floor, Frank careful as ever as he kicks the door open with his boot, scaring the shit out of the dark-haired, bronze-skinned woman in tactical gear holding a shit ton of files.

“Jesus fuck-Frank? Frank, what the fuck.” Madani is not pleased to see him. But she rarely ever is. It’s not like he pops in for social visits.

Frank lowers his gun. He wasn’t expecting to find her so soon. This place is a fucking maze. “You never picked up.”

Madani gives a sardonic laugh, lips twisting into a bitter smile.“I had bigger things to worry about. Much bigger. But I’m going to guess you haven’t heard the news.”

What the fuck-

“Madani,” Frank holsters his gun. He sees her eyes catch on the skull and her lips tighten. “Madani, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, but we’ve got some shit on our hands.”

Spider-Man decides that this is the perfect moment to pop out of the stairwell. “Hi.”

This. This is why he got shot.

Madani swears and goes for her handgun, dropping some of the files in the process. Spider-Man shrinks back and Frank is forced to intervene. Unfortunately. “Madani, it’s not him. He wasn’t the one at the hospital.”

Madani pauses, still wary. Her hand is still on her handgun. “He can be trusted?”

“I didn’t say that.” Frank mutters under his breath and he can see out of the corner of his eye Spider-Man tense, just a bit. 

He preferred Red. At least Red had a costume that didn’t look like he had pulled it out of a goodwill donation box. Of course, it looked like a leather BDSM suit, but at least it wasn’t leggings and a ski-mask.

Madani rolls her eyes at him, relaxing her posture. Her hair’s tied away from her face.“Well, I doubt you’re here for a social visit, so I suggest you spit out whatever you're here for before I completely derail your visit with what I have.”

“I know who’s the murderer, Madani.” Frank takes another step forward, Spider-Man still standing there. Hands crossed over his chest and simply observing.  “And I know what he's after.”

Madani fixes her holster. “Great. What, he another person you pissed off? Someone out for revenge?”

Frank tightly shrugs. “You could say that. Anyone escape from a hospital recently?”

He can see the moment it hits Madani. It’s like a freight train. Her eyes widened. “Oh, goddammit.”

His reaction was pretty much the same. Just more swearing.

Madani quickly picks up her files, shoving them into the stack and gesturing for Frank tand Spider-Man to follow her. “Come on. I need to talk to you.”

She sets a brisk pace, one that Frank easily matches and Spider-Man follows, hesitantly lagging behind. Frank barely spares him a glance, but keeps the guy in the corner of his vision. Yeah, he may not have been the one murdering people, but that doesn’t mean Frank trusts him.

He’s tiny and skinny and Frank doubts that he’s graduated college, but he’s been kicked across a warehouse by this guy when he had literally been shot twice. Frank’s not taking any chances.

Madani takes them to an open conference room, one that overlooks a crap ton of empty desks and computers. She sets the files down with a thump and Frank frowns at the general lack of people in the building. He hasn’t seen anyone. “Where the hell is everyone?”

“Out,” Madani sorts the files into different piles. “Everyone’s out dealing with the Spider-Man case. Some are out investigating, some were sent to the hospital, some are in Brooklyn with the church, and some have been sent out to Queens. Everyone non-essential or working on a different case was sent home just in case the building was attacked. As a result,” Madani takes out her computer and logs in, tapping twice on the screen, “I’m the only one in here because of our mutual problem.”

She says the last words in a spiteful, mocking tone that completely sets the mood for this conversation.

“Yeah, I only knew you were here ‘cause of your cell phone tracking you here,” Frank observes. “You’re supposed to be in Queens.”

Madani straightens up. “Lieberman?”

Frank shrugs. “You weren’t picking up your phone.”

“I’m sorry for not wanting to get caught up in your next fight,” Madani snaps back. “But hey, at least all of New York knows you’re back. Glad to see your new life is turning out great.”

He couldn’t help it.

Madani whirls on Spider-Man, who’s staring out the window, shoulders tense. It’s almost like he’s searching for something. “And who are you supposed to be?”

Spider-Man shakes himself out of his daze, facing Madani. “Oh, I’m, um, the person everyone thinks is murdering people.”

Madani stares at him.

“You can call me Max.” Spider-Man adds, almost as an afterthought. 

Frank resists the urge to scoff.

“Well, Max,” Madani returns to her files. “What did you do for Queens that made literally everyone not want to give you up to the police?”

“What?” Frank looks over at Madani in disbelief. No way. Hell’s Kitchen would’ve probably given Red up for a corn chip. There’s no freakin’ way.

“It’s true. Asking people for info on Spider-Man in Queens is a dead-end. Nobody believes he did it, and as a result, no one will talk about him.” Madani gives a tight smile. “That also goes for Brooklyn.”

“I’m right here,” Comes Spider-Man’s voice, “And I’m also the only person who’s seen the thing up close besides Ms. Jones that he wasn’t directly attacking.”

“Did you see it without the suit?” Madani demands, hands braced on the table. “Did you see his face?”

In the back of Frank’s mind, he hopes he’s wrong. That it’s someone else he’s pissed off, someone with a different agenda. That what Hoyle said was wrong.

Spider-Man shakes his head. “I didn’t see his face, but he had brown hair and he was white. I think the guy at the church saw his face, but he got knocked out so I couldn’t ask him who it was. I think they knew each other.”

Frank meets Madani’s eyes and there’s a sinking realization and dread that matches his own. The same fear that came with recurring nightmares of gunshots and carousels and flashing lights.

Apparently, he remembered everything.

“He’s gone after Micro, Hoyle, and Mahoney,” Frank informs Madani, whose face grows tense with every word. “Page is somewhere safe, but I couldn’t get in contact with you.”

Frank prays to a god that he barely believes in that the kid’ll stay safe. That he won’t be attacked.

“Is Micro alive?” Her eyes stare straight into his soul, like she can see why Frank suddenly decided to put the vest back on again.

Frank sighs and he feels so tired.

Kids. Why did they always go after the kids?

 “He’s alive. But-”

He’s interrupted by Spider-Man tensing like a live wire, bones going ram-rod straight. He reminds Frank of a dog hearing one of those whistles, sensing something no one else can. “Get down.”

The other two snap toward him, both staring at him with different levels of confusion and incredulity. “What?”

Spider-Man moves, faster than anyone Frank’s ever seen, grabbing both Frank and Madani and pulling them to the ground. “Hit the fucking floor!”

He wants to say language, but he doesn’t know why.

It’s not a moment too soon, because bullets start pelting the glass, shattering it. Frank grabs Madani and tugs her to a sheltered part of the room, taking shelter behind a table. Spider-Man follows, inching along the floor. 

He saved their lives.

Frank chooses to ignore that for the moment. 

“Is it him?” Madani barks, pulling out her gun amidst the gunfire. “Is he the one attacking?”

“No,” Spider-Man’s voice is tight and Frank can see a slight bloodstain on his already ragged and torn suit. “It’s someone else. Heartbeat’s different.”

God.

He and Red would get along like a house on fire.

“Of course you can tell that,” Madani grits out between her teeth. “He shoot you?”

Spider-Man shakes his head. “No. Just reopened something. I’m fine.”

Bullshit.

But Frank can’t call him out on it, ‘cause just after that, Spider-Man gives them a thumbs-up and says, “I’m gonna go deal with that. You guys get out of here.”

And then he’s gone and Madani is cursing up a storm. “You little shit-”

Frank jerks his head over to the door and Madani nods, the two making their way as Spider-Man taunts whoever's down there. “Hey, I loved you in Taken.”

Gunshots.

“You have some very strong Liam Neeson vibes.”

More gunshots and what Frank can only describe as a very vulgar swearword telling the gunman what exactly his mother was and what she did for a living.

Friendly neighborhood his ass.

Frank and Madani make their way down the small stairwell that leads to the more open room of computers and desks and a gunman with very good aim shooting at what must be a college-age vigilante with a mouth that runs faster than his feet. Madani takes cover behind a desk, with Frank going behind a wall.

The gunman’s blonde, with white skin. He’s in tactical gear like Madani’s. Big, white words that read FBI on the back. He’s completely focused on Spider-Man, who’s moving faster than the man can fire his gun. Everytime the gunman even moves a muscle, Spider-Man’s already moving and the gunman can’t get a good hit. It’s like Spider-Man knows when and where the gunman’s going to shoot, even before the gunman knows.

It’s freaky.

Also the only thing keeping Spider-Man alive.

A bullet hits just a few inches too close to Spider-Man’s foot and Frank takes aim at the gunman, not trying to kill him, but to give Spider-Man a distraction.

The gunman takes cover, diving underneath a desk, and returns fire.

They’re good. 

Really good.

As in, bullet embedded only a few inches away from his face good.

He thinks he can make out the words, Poindexter, on the nametag. 

Frank doesn’t need to kill the guy. He won’t kill the guy. He thinks that Spider-Man is the killer, just like Frank did. Like Madani did. Like everyone who’s never seen him before does.

The gunman keeps firing at Spider-Man, each bullet a would-be bullseye if it weren’t for the fact that Spider-Man is so fast. And he seems amused by it too. Taunting and teasing, the vigilante is just out of reach and he makes sure it stays that way.

It’s almost reassuring, Frank thinks to himself, that at least the one person who really didn’t have any part in this and was simply dragged into this pile of shit because of a simple mistake is willing to grin and bear it, willing to work even after everything instead of throwing in the towel.

He’s still annoying. And Frank doesn’t trust him with an inch of his life. But it’s nice, somehow.

Madani aims her gun, straight at the light above the gunman. Frank manages to catch Spider-Man’s eye, and he gestures at the light. Spider-Man nods, then leaps over the gunman’s head, doging yet another bullet. The vigilante is limping slightly, like he got hit. 

Frank will deal with the nurse again. As long as it means Spider-Man will tell him exactly what he knows. Because while Frank knows who he is, he doesn’t know anything else. Not about the murders, not about the new powers, not about anything that’s fucking useful.

Madani’s finger tightens on the trigger-

And as expected, nothing turns out right.

Glass shatters. Gunfire stops. The lights go out. Something thumps to the floor. Something too quiet to make out hissed in the loud noises. And a scent, something awful and putrid, that seeps through the building.

Frank’s shoulder is tapped and he whirls around, pointing his gun, but it’s just Madani. She’s pale and got her gun held in front of her. “He’s here.” She whispers, and Frank’s grip tightens on the trigger of his gun.

Then the light flickers back on, humming and a shaky blinding white.

Spider-Man’s on the ground, crouched and snarling at the figure in the center.

A figure that Frank swears is going to haunt his dreams. Black and red, with stitch-like scars all over the body. Eyes as large and black as the void. Claws and teeth covered with blood. A smile that leers at Frank and Madani, tilting its head freakishly back and forth.

Then it recedes, sinking into skin and Spider-Man freezes, like he’s shocked.

But Frank’s not focused on Spider-Man.

Billy Russo grins at him, face lined with white scars and a mania matched to go with them. “Hey Frankie. Long time no see