Chapter Text
It's a game of cat and mouse.
Sort of.
More like cat and spider.
Miles Morales's breath comes in ragged gasps as webs shoot from the spinnerets in his forearms, stretching out before him and latching onto road signs, building ledges, and billboards. Twice, he nearly crashes into a trash bin, and there's an embarrassing moment when the back of an industrial truck clips him.
He runs alongside brick walls, ducks into grimy alleyways, all while hot on the trail of a villain he's been trying to catch for weeks now. Lately, he's been hearing about Black Cat on the news; this elusive thief known for robbing ATM machines, museum artifacts, and shopping centers. They never hit the same place twice, sticking mainly to the Brooklyn precinct, except for that one time last week when they broke into a bank in Manhattan. Miles doesn't usually patrol there, so he missed the action; and it didn't help that the robbery happened during an AP Physics exam.
Today, however, they finally crossed paths.
Miles had been on high alert, patrolling the neighborhood and scanning for anything suspicious when he spotted Black Cat slipping into a Balenciaga store through the rooftop vents. Without a second thought, Miles abandoned his post on another building, activating his invisibility and following the thief into the vents. Unfortunately, what Miles hadn't anticipated was that his scent—something he didn't even realize could give him away—was detected, causing Black Cat to abandon the robbery and bolt through a back door that led into an alley.
Since then, they've been in a continuous chase, with Black Cat's hearing picking up every breath and movement Miles made, invisible or not.
"Hey, why don't we just—," Miles calls out as he rounds a corner where they disappear, "talk for a sec? You know, cat to spider?"
But Black Cat isn't interested in conversation. Instead, they focus on blending into the shadows, making it harder for Miles to track them. Now, they're scaling the side of a building, their sharp nails leaving indents in the wall, and Miles knows he needs to avoid getting on the wrong side of those claws. Using his spider stickiness, he quickly crawls up the wall, leaping onto the rooftop where he finally comes face to face with his target.
Black Cat's outfit is typical; designed to mimic a cat's anatomy, minus the tail. Their claws remain extended, curving slightly due to their length. The entire suit is made of black spandex, and the pointy black ears on their mask seem almost too realistic. From where Miles is standing, he swears he sees them twitch in irritation.
If he has to guess, he assumes Black Cat is a dude, but it's hard to be sure with the mask obscuring half of their face. All he can see are those electric blue eyes, pupils narrowed into slits, and medium brown skin. When Black Cat's mouth opens just a bit, he catches a glimpse of small white fangs.
"I guess every cat has their limits," Miles says, rising to his full height and taking a few cautious steps forward. He stops short when Black Cat's body visibly tenses, shoulders rising and back arching as if they're about to bolt again.
The silence is too tempting not to fill.
"What? Cat got your tongue?" he quips.
His spider sense flares just in time, giving him only a split second to dodge the punch aimed squarely at his head. He tries to grab their forearm, but they're too quick, leaving him swiping at nothing but air. Black Cat follows up with a swift kick to his ribcage, sending him flying backward into a nearby generator, which dents under the impact. Miles hits the ground hard, his head bouncing off the asphalt before he rolls over, coughing to dislodge the air trapped in his lungs from the hit.
"I can't believe I'm saying this," he groans, clutching his side as he struggles back to his feet. "But I'll give you credit for being my least obnoxious bad guy."
It's true—Black Cat hasn't spoken a single word during their encounter. Reading them is kind of tricky; all Miles has to go on are their eyes and the occasional twitch of those realistic-looking ears. Something nudges at him, telling him to tear off Black Cat's mask and reveal who they really are. Normally, he doesn't concern himself with the identity of his villains; he doesn't care, and it's a job he's fine leaving to the cops.
"Still not gonna talk, huh?" Miles sighs before charging forward again.
Black Cat meets him in the middle, and they exchange blows until Miles flicks his wrist, expelling webs at the masked thief's face—a cheap shot, but he's not above using it. Their jaw widens, fangs flashing as an odd, guttural sound escapes their mouth. It takes Miles a second to realize it's a defensive hiss. With Black Cat temporarily blinded, he takes the opportunity to tackle them to the ground. It turns into a fierce struggle, each trying to pin the other down. Even though Black Cat can't see, they're moving purely on instinct, their strength matching Miles's as they claw and grab at his suit and flailing limbs.
"Come on, man!" Miles grits out, exasperated. "Just let me tie you up so I can turn you in to the cops—ah!" An elbow to the neck promptly shuts him up.
Black Cat wriggles out from underneath him, their eyes now free of the webbing. They take off again, footsteps slapping against asphalt as they sprint across the rooftop, heading for the ledge.
"Get back here!" Miles takes off after them. He dives and grabs them from behind just as they leap off the roof. For a brief moment, they're suspended in midair before crashing into a fire escape and tumbling into a stack of crates down below.
They're both groaning now, sprawled a few feet away from each other—Miles nursing his ribs and Black Cat shaking their head in disorientation. It's getting to the point where Miles feels like he might have to use his venom. It's usually a last resort because he doesn't want to accidentally kill or maim someone, even if they're a bad guy—but hey, cats have nine lives, right?
For the nth time that night, Miles forces himself to his feet, biting back a pained whimper. His gloved fingers find a tear in his suit, revealing an open wound on his flank that's steadily leaking blood and stinging with even the slightest touch.
"Listen, I don't wanna have to keep chasing you through the city anymore," he says, raising a palm in a placating gesture. "But I've gotta turn you in, Black Cat. You leave me with no choice."
At his words, Black Cat dips into a low crouch, eyes trained intensely on Miles.
"Just stop running," Miles implores, taking a step closer. Black Cat doesn't budge from their position, and Miles knows they're gearing up to pounce. "Or how about stop stealing in general?" he adds with a shrug.
Two words are all it takes.
"Shut up."
The voice is deep, gruff, and—Miles hates to admit it—young.
It throws him off because he's never had to deal with any villain under the age of 30 before. The realization is almost disturbing, and a pit of apprehension starts forming in his stomach. However, Miles's suspicions are also confirmed; Black Cat is definitely a dude, so at least one curiosity is satisfied.
"So, you do talk!" Miles acknowledges sarcastically, spreading his arms in a show of fake approval.
Black Cat is gradually backing away now, and another chase through Brooklyn is definitely not on Miles's agenda tonight. He leaps at the thief, and once again, they collide. Miles's hands press flat against Black Cat's chest, his eyes squeezing shut as he prepares to release a pulse of bio-electricity. Unfortunately, while his hands are busy trying to incapacitate his opponent, Black Cat's claws are reaching up in a frantic attempt to rip Miles's mask off. The claws nick at his skin, and it's a painful experience, especially when the lower half of Miles's face is eventually revealed, his mouth frozen in a stunned expression.
"No! Stop!" Miles gasps, yanking his head out of Black Cat's grasp; but of course, Black Cat doesn't stop, and Miles doesn't know why he expected anything less.
They're both exerting so much effort and energy trying to gain the upper hand, which only ends up blowing up in both of their faces.
Desperate, Miles waits until his mask is properly adjusted before making a grab at Black Cat, his gloved fingers digging under the edge of their mask.
He yanks. Hard.
Black Cat hisses one last time—this one deep and guttural, as if it's coming from the soul. Simultaneously, both of Black Cat's hands swipe at the sides of Miles's head, making one last attempt to rip off his mask.
Miles makes the mistake of blinking—even for just a second—and is completely stupefied when he feels the New York breeze caressing his face.
His exposed face.
Straddling Black Cat's legs, Miles peers down and is immediately struck with confusion when he makes eye contact with a boy who looks to be around his age. He can't be that much older than him. His freeform dreads are styled messily, with thick eyebrows pinched together, and blue eyes blazing with intensity—it's all so hot, hot, hot—Miles can literally feel the heat radiating from that glare alone. Then there are the sharp features, the slope of the boy's wide nose, his sunken eyes, and high cheekbones that look like they could cut Miles if he even dared to reach out and touch them. But none of that really matters because all Miles can think is—
He's just a teenager. Just like me.
What could cause someone his age to turn to this lifestyle?
The entire exchange feels drawn out, but in reality, they scan and size each other up for barely ten seconds before scrambling away to create distance. Black Cat snatches his mask off the ground and dashes off so quickly that Miles's brain barely processes it. The "wait!" dies in his throat as he watches their figure seamlessly melt into the shadows.
Not only has his own identity been revealed—which, quite frankly, changes everything—but now he knows what Black Cat looks like underneath the mask too, and really, it's only a matter of time before one of them exposes the other.
It's radio silence for a few days, mostly on Black Cat's end.
Miles doesn't hear anything about him on the news or social media and figures Black Cat's laying low since Miles knows what he looks like now. Still, Miles is half-expecting to turn on the TV one of these days and see his face taking up half the screen as a news reporter announces, "BREAKING NEWS! Spider-Man's identity revealed!" He can't help but be on edge, constantly turning on the TV and hovering behind his parents on the sofa, waiting for the inevitable. Days turn into weeks, and eventually, Miles starts to lower his guard again—going to school and patrolling as Spider-Man.
He doesn't expect to bump into Black Cat again, but this time, things are different because Miles hadn't gone out of his way to locate him.
He's at a warehouse, locked in combat with another bad guy who looks like an evil version of one of the turtles from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
From what Miles has observed so far, this turtle's abilities involve crazy durability, enhanced strength, and using its shell to block most of Miles's attacks. Eventually, his webs prove useless, forcing him to engage in close-range combat.
"You can't beat me, Spider-Man!" the turtle cackles, swinging at Miles's ribcage and sending him flying into a stack of barrels. The echo of the containers crashing to the floor and rolling away makes his ears ring.
"Look, man, can't we just wrap this up? It's almost time for dinner." It's the truth. Rio hates when Miles doesn't show up on time for dinner. It's getting late, his body hurts, and this is just another stubborn Villain of the Week who doesn't know when to call it quits.
"You won't have to worry about dinner after I'm finished with you, Spider-Man," the turtle grins darkly, sharp yellow teeth poking out from between his lips. Although the turtle can't see it, Miles has an exasperated grimace on his face; cringing at their insistence on being a nuisance.
"Yeah, well—" Miles starts, only to get caught off guard at the sight of a familiar disguised figure darting into view and crouching in front of the evil turtle.
It's Black Cat.
What's he doing here?
It happens so suddenly that even the turtle hesitates; a grave mistake, as Black Cat takes the opportunity to lunge at him, fangs bared and claws extended. He pulls back an arm only to viciously bring it down onto the turtle's neck. Green blood splatters onto Black Cat's mask as the turtle gargles and chokes, stumbling from side to side while trying to evade the rest of Black Cat's claws.
Miles finally picks his jaw off the ground and takes off in their direction, webbing the back of Black Cat's suit to wrench him away from the turtle.
"Stop! Why the hell did you do that?" Miles exclaims, half in shock and half in indignation because now the turtle is definitely going to die with the way blood is leaking between their fingers, even with the tight grip they have around their neck.
Even though Miles hadn't been the one to kill him, it still feels as if he's responsible for their demise.
"I had him! I had it under control." he drops to his knees, scanning over the turtle's twitching form. He eyes the deep gash on their neck that starts from their left ear and ends at their shoulder, green blood oozing and pooling around their body.
Black Cat remains eerily, yet expectedly, silent, watching from a few feet away.
Soon, the turtle stops moving and breathing—a glassy, vacant look overcoming his eyes as his hand goes limp. Miles feels a whole new wave of anger and disbelief toward Black Cat. He doesn't even process rising to his feet—in only two steps, he reaches Black Cat, an accusing finger pointed directly at him.
"I didn't ask for your help! Look at what you did! He's dead!" Miles yells.
It's one thing to be a thief, but it's a whole other thing to be a murderer—regardless of whether the person deserves it. Even Miles refrains from killing his enemies, so what gives Black Cat the right?
Sirens blare in the distance, growing louder and closer. They're just a couple of blocks away, which means Miles won't be able to hang around for much longer.
How can he even explain this? Spider-Man doesn't kill.
Black Cat, on the other hand, doesn't look the least bit remorseful. Instead, he seems overwhelmingly angry, with raised shoulders and clenched fists. He narrows his eyes at Miles, pupils in slits, ears twitching.
"I didn't do it for you," Black Cat spits, lips curling into a sneer.
This leaves Miles baffled; why else would he come flying into the warehouse like some knight in shining armor?
"I actually don't care what your reasons were; nothing justifies killing him—" Miles's sentence dies in his throat when Black Cat stalks up to him, closer than ever. So close that Miles can see just how long his lashes are, including the wrinkle of barely visible skin that indicates he's glaring. Hard.
"Let me tell you something," Black Cat breathes heavily, pressing his finger—no, his claw—against Miles's chest. It's knifelike, nearly piercing through his suit, but he can't bring himself to back away. "You think you're so high and mighty, but you don't run this shit. You don't run," Black Cat punctuates his words with another painful poke that makes Miles stagger backward, "anything."
His fangs glint under the damaged fluorescent lights, and it takes all of Miles's willpower to tear his eyes away from the captivating, almost hypnotic sight.
"If Spider-Man runs everyone, then who runs Spider-Man, huh?" Black Cat snaps with finality.
The question twists Miles's stomach. He hadn't expected this level of aggression, and it's clear that Black Cat has been holding onto these sentiments for a while.
"I don't run anyone or anything—I just try to apprehend those that don't follow the law," Miles tries to explain, but Black Cat scoffs, a bitter smile spreading across his face. Once again, Miles finds himself unable to look away.
"Oh, yeah? Then what about you, huh? You're not a superhero," Black Cat sneers, spitting the word like it's venomous. "You're a vigilante. An outlaw. They're after you too, you know. They just can't get to you yet, and you know that. So you're taking advantage, forcing yourself into a position of authority that nobody fucking asked for. So the next time you want to get in my way or give me a goddamn speech about how I'm breaking the rules? Just know that you are too, and that I'm on yo' ass, Spider-Freak."
With that, Black Cat bends his knees and leaps onto a high beam several feet above, disappearing into the shadows as he makes a break out of the warehouse. Miles stands there, stunned, hands dangling limply at his sides. The distant wail of sirens seems much closer now, and soon, blue and red lights begin to paint the warehouse walls.