237. The Reaper Walks Into Ravencroft. (Patreon)

Gwen POV:

The Ravencroft Institute for the Criminally Insane looked… disappointingly normal.

There was no towering gothic architecture, no lightning striking the building every five seconds and no deranged laughter echoing through the halls.

Instead it had steel fences with guard dogs and enough hidden weapons placements to make even SHIELD nod in approval.

Peter and I stood outside the main gate beneath the pale glow of the security lamps while cold wind swept across the asphalt.

I glanced sideways at him. “You’re seriously not disguising yourself?”

Peter adjusted the collar of his trench coat and shrugged innocently.

“Why should I?”

“You’re literally walking around looking exactly like yourself.” I said.

“Gwen,” he replied with exaggerated patience, “I am myself.”

“You’re a multiversal techno-necromancer carrying a cursed pixelated soul-harvesting scythe.”

“Technically, I'm not a necromancer since I'm not doing any form of corpse animation but I fit more the role of a Paladin who can revive people.” Said Peter.

“And you think the weird part is me questioning your lack of stealth.” I added.

He smiled, “I stopped pretending to be normal years ago.”

I sighed dramatically. “And somehow I still think your eccentricities are cute.”

“That’s because you’re my wife and therefore legally obligated to tolerate my insanity.”

“That is not how marriage works.”

“Too late. Signed the contract.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it almost hurt.

We approached the security post.

Peter knocked on the glass and the guard inside looked up and froze. Actually froze.

His eyes widened like his brain couldn’t properly process what it was seeing which… fair because compared to this hyper-realistic universe, Peter and I genuinely looked strange as we looked like two people stepped out of a different medium entirely.

The guard cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh… how can I help you two today?”

I noticed the subtle movement of finger pressing down an alarm button beneath the desk instantly.

Peter noticed too but he ignored it completely.

“We’d like to visit one of your patients,” I said politely. “Harry Osborn.”

The guard flipped through a registry.

“He already has a visitor,” he said carefully. “No additional visitation is permitted tonight.”

“Good,” Peter replied casually. “Makes my job easier.”

Then he just walked past the gate causing the guard to blink in confusion. “Sir...sir, you can’t...”

Peter ignored him, causing more guards to rush forward from the main building with their weapons raised while the dogs began barking violently.

One of them shouted, “ON YOUR KNEES! DROP THE WEAPON!”

Peter looked genuinely offended.

“For crying out loud,” he sighed while resting the pixelated scythe over his shoulder, “let me harvest the souls of Harry Osborn and Gustav Fiers and I’ll be lickety split on my way to Rikers Island.”

The guards collectively stared at him. “Harvest the what?”

“Souls.” Peter repeated helpfully.

“DROP THE WEAPON!”

Peter tilted his head slightly while observing their equipment. “Hmm. P90s, standard 9mm sidearms. Decent loadout for urban containment.”

One of the guards screamed, “FIRE!”

The gunfire erupted and in a second thousands of rounds closed in on us and then every single bullet harmlessly bounced off our shields as blue ripples danced across the air around us.

Peter kept walking, completely unfazed.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, “You’re showing off again.”

“Only a little.” Added Peter.

“You’re being narcissistic.” I retort.

“I’m being theatrical.” Clarified Peter.

“There’s a difference?” I asked.

“Yes.” Replied Peter.

“Liar.” I murmured.

The guards finally began backing away in horror while one dropped his gun entirely.

“Well,” he said while twirling the scythe once, “this has been educational.”

I grabbed his sleeve. “Peter.”

“Right, right.”

I looked at the guards and gave a small wave. “Thanks for the hospitality!”

Then... FLASH.

---

The teleportation deposited us directly inside the restricted wing. We appeared outside a padded containment room.

The plaque beside the door read:

HAROLD THEOPOLIS OSBORN

And standing outside the room was a young woman wearing brown leather jacket.

Her posture looked lazy but in reality it was hiding a posture ready to strike.

“Interesting. Very interesting.” Said Peter.

The woman’s gaze sharpened instantly and she moved subtly between us and the room.

Peter spoke calmly. “Your name is Carla May Mendelsohn, correct?”

The reaction was immediate.

Her fist shot toward Peter’s solar plexus with terrifying precision and Peter shifted slightly causing the punch to miss by half an inch.

She pivoted instantly and countered with a low kick and Peter raised his knee to intercept which she followed with an elbow toward his throat, causing Peter to twist sideways.

Her elbow sliced through empty air.

Then a hidden blade from her sleeve came to her palms and aimed for his jugular.

Peter leaned backward just enough for the blade to graze past his neck.

He stepped into her guard, redirected her wrist with two fingers, rotated behind her and tapped her forehead lightly with his knuckles.

“Good reflexes.” He complimented.

She snarled and tried to drive her head backward into his face.

“Very good reflexes.” Peter added.

Then Neo-Genesis activated causing Carla to freeze mid-motion.

She was completely immobilized as her nervous system was partially immobilised.

Her eyes widened in terror and Peter gently patted her head.

“Relax,” he said softly. “Gustav Fiers won’t haunt your life anymore.”

Then he stepped past her and opened the door.

---

The smell of chemicals hit first.

Then I saw Harry Osborn or what remained of him.

His skin looked cracked, his teeth were blackened and his eyes glowed sickly green. Green saliva dripped from the corners of his mouth as chains rattled softly around his wrists.

He smiled when he saw me. It was horrible.

“Itsy bitsy little spider-girl,” he crooned in a warped voice. “Walked right into the devil’s nest…”

I ignored Gustav Fiers standing in the shadows behind him.

Peter already had him cornered.

I walked forward slowly and sat in the chair opposite Harry.

“Do you recognize me?” I asked.

Harry tilted his head unnaturally. “The scent…” he whispered. “The righteousness… the guilt…”

His grin widened grotesquely.

“You’re Gwen Stacy but not my Gwen.”

“No,” I admitted. “Not yours. Gwen Stacy was never yours.”

His chains jingled violently as he leaned forward.

“You smell different,” he hissed. “Your soul isn’t broken yet.”

“No,” I said. “Because I wasn’t left alone.”

Rage, pain and jealousy flickered in his expression.

“You died,” he snarled suddenly. “That’s what Gwen Stacys do! They fall! They break! They die!”

“And what did that accomplish? You killed her,” I continued. “And what did it give you?”

The Green Goblin had no answer.

“You lost Peter, yourself and you became this.”

His breathing became erratic. “DON’T CALL ME HAROLD!”

The chains jerked violently.

I just nodded slowly. “Okay, Harold.”

He screamed and green saliva splattered across the padded walls.

Suddenly thee room darkened.

I turned towards Peter, he genuinely looked like death.

The scythe glowed eerie blue while his trench coat had become tattered at the edges and golden light burned behind his glasses.

Gustav Fiers, the so-called Gentleman was already dead.

No wound or blood. Just hollow eyes.

His soul was harvested.

The scythe hummed with primordial hunger.

Peter stepped forward slowly while the atmosphere made it seem as if the room itself seemed afraid of him.

Harry finally looked scared.

Peter’s voice echoed through the cell.

“Harold Theopolis Osborn, you should consider yourself fortunate for your wretched soul will serve a final purpose.”

Harry tried to pull backward and rattled his chain desperately.

“No.... No, no, NOOOOO!!!!”

“You will restore Gwendolyn Maxine Stacy in mind, body and spirit.”

Peter raised the scythe.

“You do not possess the right to refuse.”

The swing came down. There was no blood or wound just absence.

Harry’s body slumped downward as his soul was gone inside the scythe.

My Spider-Sense exploded and I grabbed my head instantly.

“Peter,” I hissed. “Spider-Man’s here.”

Peter blinked once then the grim reaper visage vanished instantly and he became my husband again.

He wrapped an arm around my waist.

“Then our work here is done as well.”

Spider-Man-120703 POV:

Dinner had actually been… nice which honestly should’ve tipped me off that something terrible was about to happen.

Howard was arguing with Simon over fish anatomy while Philip kept correcting both of them.

Aunt May and Helen were cleaning dishes together.

Suddenly the police scanner crackled. “...possible break-in at Ravencroft Institute...”

My smile faded slightly and Howard noticed instantly.

“Don’t die, Pete.” he muttered while staring at the TV.

I ruffled his hair.

“I won’t,” I said in my usual joking voice. “If I die, who’s gonna steal your fish head during dinner?”

“Gross.” Simon complained.

“Monster.” Philip added.

“Scientific pioneer.” I corrected.

Helen looked over from the sink.

“Peter,” she said carefully, “be serious.”

I softened a little. “I will.”

Aunt May dried her hands nervously. “Just… be careful.”

I walked over and hugged her tightly, then Helen.

“Run if you can’t win,” Helen said quietly while wiping dishes. “There’s no shame in surviving.”

God, that sounded way too much like Captain Stacy.

I forced a grin. “Who says I can’t win?”

I changed quickly and then I jumped from the fire escape into the night.

Swinging always helped usually but tonight?

Not so much.

I hitched a ride on the Metro for part of the way, then swung the rest.

By the time I arrived, NYPD had already locked the place down.

One of the guards spotted me immediately. “Spider-Man!”

I landed beside him casually. “Sup fellas? How’s the emotional stability tonight?”

Nobody laughed.

Uh oh.

“A guy and a blonde girl broke in,” he said shakily. “Took automatic fire like it was rain.”

Another added, “Then they teleported inside.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“And every electronic system in the building is locked out.”

Okay that was new.

“We still have surveillance,” another guard said. “But honestly? Feels like they’re letting us watch.”

That sentence made my stomach twist and I forced my usual tone back.

“Well,” I said lightly, “usually I’m the funniest thing in the room but tonight might be an exception.”

Nobody laughed again. The situation's definitely bad.

I headed for the surveillance room. Inside, the guards looked horrified. When they noticed me.he rewound footage for me silently.

Then I watched everything that happened.

In my gut I could tell that the blonde girl was Gwen but not my Gwen.

Then the guy beside her made it feel like actual death.

The scythe glowed blue, The room darkened around him and his voice reverberated on the dark cell.

“Your soul will restore Gwendolyn Maxine Stacy

My blood ran cold the moment I heard those words because suddenly I understood the patterns.

Harry, Fiers and then Rikers didn't find the Uncle Ben’s killers.

My knees actually weakened a little because I planted him to succeed.

I wanted to hear Uncle Ben laugh again.

I wanted Captain Stacy to walk through that apartment door and yell that Gwen wanted Gwen

I wanted Gwen back so badly it physically hurt.

But another part of me, the part Uncle Ben raised kept screaming that this was wrong.

That dead should stay dead and murder dressed as salvation was still murder.

I left the surveillance room without saying a word.

Breathing rough beneath the mask while trying desperately to clear my head but all I could think about was one question.

If someone offered me Gwen back… Would I really say no?