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Black Sustenance	By : FamiraDamaris Category: zMisplaced Stories [ADMIN use only] > Spiderman Views: 15551 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Spiderman, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Black Substenance

by Famira Damaris

Disclaimer: Surprise surprise, I don't own Spider-man.

Author Notes: Basically just did this as a last-minute decision
to enter a Spider-man slash contest. I didn't think I'd have enough
time to do fanart, so I did this...and then I find out there was an
extension to the contest. Oops. Lame title. xP No it's not canon.
Decided to do more. Basically it's mostly Ultimate Spider-man universe
except Venom's origins are the symbiote and the shuttle crash. Again,
plot first, pairings next. :o

Italics for thoughts/emphasis/symbiote

Archive: Sure, just ask.
---------------------

Black Sustenance

--------------------

[Imprinting]

   “Crap. Yet even more crap!” one black and
white photo went sliding across the desk, followed by another.
“Honestly, do you have anything not with the word ‘crap’
written all over it?”


Across the desk, Peter Parker sighed, “Sir, that’s all I have. You
wanted Spider-man, I got him for you.”


“Yeah, but there’s nothing dynamic about these! I can’t have
the same pictures with my headlines, Parker. You understand what that’d
do to us? We’d lose readers up the ying yang if they thought they were
buying the same paper they bought last week!”


They do practically buy the same paper. But Peter was wise
enough to keep his mouth shut. He needed this job, especially since in
a few years he’d have to start looking at colleges. ESU would be his
ideal choice. Best to start preparing early. But that didn’t mean he
had to like this. It wasn’t very consistent, as jobs went and with a
man as volatile as J. Jonah Jameson as his boss, that meant he wasn’t
sure if he’d get fired or not on a whim, only to be un-fired the next
day. And to top all this off, I have to play Photo Whore just to
keep a job where I get trashed every day by this man.


The world was beyond unfair, Peter decided once again. But then again,
what else was new?

“Parker!”

   Peter jumped and managed to look sheepish.


“Honest to God, I’m ranting!”


“I can see that, sir.”


“…Jesus Christ, kids these days! They never listen! Think they have the
brains to run the damn place,” Jameson grumbled. The older man leaned
back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest. The editor shot a
fierce glower at the teenager across the desk. Satisfied that he’d
properly cowed the young photographer, Jameson picked up one of the
photos, “Crappy or not, we’ll run these anyway.”


   Peter perked up at this.


“But just this time. I want real photos next time. Moneymakers.
Get my drift?”

Peter nodded and started to get up from his chair. Today’s tirade had
been surprisingly mild, especially considering how Jameson had been
only three months ago. Back then he’d been totally spazzing, lashing
out at any and all whoever even so much as met his eyes. But that made
sense, considering the fact that his own son had almost died in that
shuttle crash.


“I’ll try harder,” Peter pulled on his jacket and started for the door.
Guess I can’t expect a thanks for that whole shuttle thing. But
Peter really didn’t want to remember that night and the weeks that
followed…


“Remember, I want something with Spider-man. And while we’re at it,
that Venom-character.”


Peter started at this and shot a look at Jameson. Does he-? No, of
course he doesn’t. This’s just about the paper. He doesn’t know
anything about what caused the crash. Backing out of the office,
Peter made a face as soon as he was out of his employer’s sight. As he
picked up his pay for the photos, he waved absently to the others in
the office re sre stepping into the elevator. It glided toward the
lobby.


Peter bit his lip. Why’d Jameson have to bring up Venom? A
shudder ran quietly up the length of the brunette’s back. He still
had nightmares about that whole ideal, no matter how many times he
tried to just block it off by hanging around with Gwen Stacy and Mary
Jane Watson. Even when Mary Jane tried to ask about it, Peter brushed
her off. It was great and all that she knew his secret – that he could
talk more freely with her than he could with anyone else – but he still
had to draw the line somewhere.


Something things were just better off remaining unsaid.

          I wonder if
Venom’s still out there. Three months and there hadn’t been any
sightings. Peter supposed by now that he should just get back to his
life. But it wasn’t hard to remember how he’d done so many stupid
things to Eddie Brock before…the whole Venom thing. Peter raisis
is
eyes heaven-ward. I shouldn’t have tried to step
in and take his job like that. I mean, I’m a kid. That was
his fault – for trying to out-shine an already seasoned reporter.

But the actual creation of Venom…how could Peter have known that Eddie
was close by when he’d managed to ditch the symbiote? That Eddie
must’ve seen the whole thing, found the symbiote when Peter removed it.
I couldn’t have known. But Peter could have been more
careful, one side of him chided. He should’ve known…

---------------------------

[Three
months ago]

      I almost killed
him.


Oh god. I really almost killed him. I-I…can’t think.


Spider-man stumbled down the alley. An old discarded beer can crunched
under his feet as he leaned heavily against the wall. His whole body
ached and a moan escaped past his lips as he slid down until he was
lying on his side. It smelled horrible – he’d the brains to collapse
right next to a dumpster – but he couldn17;t17;t summon up the strength to
move. The costume didn’t want him to move anyway; he should just sleep
and let those voices he’d been hearing take over. Let the symbiote
watch over for the both of them until they were ready to move on.


But Spider-man couldn’t sleep. Not when only a few minutes earlier,
he’d nearly strangled a man to death. Who knew if the murderer he’d
apprehended from that house managed to get to a hospital. If anything,
the man could be dead now. But Spider-man hadn’t been able to control
himself when he’d seen Uncle Ben’s death played out all over again,
this time with complete strangers, and the costume had somehow
amplified his rage until he’d been able to come to his senses the last
second and drop the beaten man.


After that, Spider-man had fled blindly. He didn’t even know where he
was now, only that the smell of piss, puke and even worse things were
right in his face and he couldn’t even crawl away from the god-awful
stench. And that wasn’t even the worse of his problems.


Pain assaulted him from all sides and he curled up into a ball. His
fingers clutched at the black material covering his body, but the
costume snapped back without any marks. It felt like his skin was
peeling away, melting (fusing?) to the symbiote.


Spider-man couldn’t do this. He had to get away.


He was aware of the symbiote trying to send calming waves through the
still forming bond. Realizing what the costume was trying to do it,
Spider-man frantically summoned enough strength to claw at the smooth
ebony costume on his chest, his arms, whatever he could reach. The
alien material stretched and he couldn’t suppress the cry of pain when
his skin screamed in agony in response.


``Don’t do this. It makes our union that much more difficult.


It took Spider-man a long second to realize that this wasn’t his own
thought, but the symbiote itself talking. Panting as waves of fire
still flared up from where he’d tried to remove the costume, he managed
to lever himself up onto his elbows and drag himself away further into
the darkness. If he wasn’t going to be sick from the putrid scent of
trash and human waste, it was going to be from the pain alone. Soon he
completely forgot about the man he’d nearly killed minutes before as
the pain continued to increase.


Stop! I don’t want this!


The symbiote tried again to calm him, but Spider-man continued to
reject it. You don’t know what you want, Peter.


I don’t want you!


Spider-man tried to get to his feet but fell to his knees immediately.
He’d never been in this much danger before; not when he’d tried to take
on the Kingpin, not even when he’d been shot by the cops after that
whole imposter-Spider-man incident that left Gwen without her father
and abandoned by her mother. Pain everywhere. Hundreds of little fangs
digging into his body. He was being eaten alive and his damned
spider-sense wasn’t even going off.


Spider-man had to end this. The symbiote was trying to coerce him like
it almost had when he’d gone out of control. He knew what it was
thinking just as it knew even now what he was considering doing to free
himself. Could he do it? Just something simple, like throwing them both
into the Hudson and drown
the two of them?


He thought about this and in his pain-muddled mind, he knew he
couldn’t. Not when there was still a chance to be free of this mistake
clinging to his body, this alien trying to conquer him. Not when he
still had MJ. Aunt May. Gwen. His whole life still out there,
interrupted by this stupid costume that was going to kill him at the
rate the pain was escalating. I’ve… got to find a way to get it off
me. After that he could contain it, dump it somewhere where it
could be incinerated. Be free of it and lead his already unnatural life
as normally as he could.


But did he really want to do that? The symbiote made him better,
faster. More superior to the normal humans than he already was. The
pain would go away, like all the other times he’d been hurt. This was a
good kind of pain. It wasn’t so terrible…

The realization that this was yet another invasion of his thoughts,
that the symbiote again had tried to suggest that those were actually his
thoughts, was like a dash of cold water. Clenching his teeth together,
Spider-man crawled forward one foot. Two feet. Three. Four, and more
and more until he was at the end of the ally. How could he do this? His
head spun drunkenly and he almost passed out right there and then as
his vision faded in and out.


I can’t do this.

“Don’t you dare tell me what to do!” Spider-man hissed.
He wasn’t even aware he’d spoke aloud. “You’re not me!”


How do you know I’m not? How can you argue with yourself?

   “Because you’re doing it! Leave me alone!” somehow
Spider-man had summoned the strength to get to his feet during this
exchange. They trembled but didn’t spill out from under him this time.
He didn’t think he’d be able to get up again if they did. One foot in
front of the other. He had to find some way to dislodge the costume
before he lost the will-power to do so.

    Step by step.
Soon he reached the cone of light from a street-lamp.

The pain increased in response. If Spider-man could be violently sick,
he would be heaving right into his costume right now. But he couldn’t –
whether it was because he hadn’t eaten or because the symbiote wouldn’t
let him was anyone’s guess. In the pained haze he was wandering
through, he almost found the latter funny. How hygienic. The stupid
thing didn’t want him barfing into its face. Or wherever its stupid
face was assuming it even had one.


Spider-man found hif stf staring in a daze up at the midnight sky. He tried to focus, forget
how the pain invading his body was starting to level out into a
pleasant numbness. The lack of feeling had to be worse than the
preceding pain. It meant that the costume had bonded even more to his
body. Maybe permanently.


And for some reason, all he could think about was that Aunt May was
going to wig out at him for being out this late. He’d be grounded for
life. And then some, if he was lucky.


Spider-man’s vision blurred. Dammit, he wasn’t going to pass out right
here in the open like an idiot. Not before he ditched the symbiote and
put miles between him and it. Then, as soon as he was far away from it,
he could pass out wherever he felt like. I have to force it off.
Sound waves wouldn’t affect the symbiote – that criminal with those
hand weapons tried that earlier and it’d just tingled then. But a big
energy surge…Spider-man knew that the symbiote had been careful to keep
him from contacting electricity…


The only thing close that Spider-man could reach in his condition was
the power-lines. Could he even take that amount of electricity?
Super-powered or not, he wasn’t invincible. I…can I? What was
he even thinking about again? He couldn’t remember through the fog as
he sagged listlessly to the side under the lamp light. Something
important. Something really, really important…


But somehow he felt relaxed. Drifting away.
   &n&nbs
Drifting toward becoming one.


One? …Wait.


Oh shit.


Spider-man shook himself through the fog dulling his senses. He had
to do this. Forcing his limbs to move and tearing control from the
Other’s fake-thoughts, from the black costume trying to assume command,
he started climbing up the nearest telephone pole. The power-lines had
to have a transformer. Something. Anything that would hopefully knock
this alien flat on its ass. Probably him too, but he was hoping the
symbiote would take the brunt of it.


That was the general idea, at least. Either way, he had to try.


Spider-man reached the top of the telephone pole after what felt like
an eternity of climbing. He almost fell off once – the symbiote tried
to dislodge him by making the fingers of the costume frictionless but
he only clung onto the wooden surface with a feverish death-grip.
Cursing the alien costume out mentally, swearing up and down that he’d
fall off and break his neck on purpose, see if that did either
of them any good, he made to the top without any further problems.


By then, it was starting to rain. Thank God. That meant that he’d
conduct the electricity a lot better – no worries about the voltage
being too weak now. Reaching out and breaking the transformer’s
protective casing, Spider-man was surprised to see that his hands were
shaking. But that made sense considering how messed up he felt right
now.


…Here goes.


The costume was deathly silent. Spider-man could feel the anger
coursing through the jet-black symbiote.


Spider-man punched into the transformer. He stiffened as electricity
ran into him with a powerful jolt. Even through the costume, he could
feel the electricity running in a current through his exposed frame.
All around him, the symbiote was roiling, a black mass of inky tendrils
and fangs. He couldn’t tell if it was him or the symbiote making that
horrible screaming sound. Something was starting to smoke in the rain
and he sincerely hoped that the sizzling sound wasn’t coming from him
but the alien..

&nbnbspnbsp;
There was a particularly powerful surge of energy
and suddenly Spider-man was sailing out into the damp night. All around
him, he could see the symbiote pulling apart from his body in inky
blobs, black streamers that twisted and convulsed with a life of their
own.


The ground cap qup quickly and Peter hit it hard. Stars burst in his
vision. All around him, the symbiote splattered onto the sidewalk like
black rain. Winded, the brunette tried to get to his feet, but he
couldn’t do more than crawl away as fast as his battered body would
allow him. He’d crawled several yards away before finally collapsing in
exhaustion. Raising his head, long bangs plastered against his forehead
by the rain, he eyed the puddles of black ooze lying under the dad
td
telephone pole.


Was it over?

   The symbiote wasn’t moving. Was it dead?

          Maybe I killed
it. It was bubbling a little bit, but it wasn’t trying to get him.
So he either killed it. Or at least stunned it. His mind was quickly
starting to clear from the haze induced by the contact with the alien
costume. His entire body ached, not just from wearing the costume, but
from the contact with the transformer. His limbs weren’t quite reacting
like he wanted them to. Every now and then they gave a little
convulsing twitch. Hopefully that would go away. He’d have a hard time
explaining to Aunt May why he’d suddenly developed a nervous reaction
like that.


Minutes passed before Peter tried to get to his feet. Using the wall
for support and realizing he was far more cold than he should be, he
looked down. A stupefied pause. Peter wasn’t wearing a scrap of
clothing; the stupid symbiote not only tried to possess him (or
whatever it was doing), it’d apparently eaten up his original
Spider-man costume. As if it couldn’t have done anything else wrong,
the freaky thing just had to go and do that.

         That’s just pure evil,
Peter scowled. MJ’s going to wonder why this keeps hapng tng to me…


Not only that, but he was missing his web-shooters. Wonderful. Those
things were expensive…but at least he was alive and that was
better than where he could’ve been.


The black ooze puddles still hadn’t moved since last time. It was bad
enough that he was butt-naked – in a bad neighborhood, no less – but
the fact remained that disposing of the black costume was his first
priority. He needed a container that had a good seal on it. Staggering
over to the dumpster he’d seen earlier, he rummaged around for a
container. Peter gagged at the interesting array of smells from the
dumpster, but managed to keep from getting gloriously sick.


The sixteen year-old returned with a small soda bottle. It wasn’t that
strong – just a plastic green one, the wrapping torn partially off –
but it still had the cap. He didn’t expect it to hold the remnants of
the alien costume that long, just long enough for him to get plenty of
distance away from it.


Peter approached the black ooze cautiously, bare feet padding silently
on the side-walk. No reaction, just the quiet bubbling from the thick
puddles glistening in the lamp-light. He knelt down.


“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Peter said quietly. He wished
it was possible to give the symbiote a good stabbing, but he had the
feeling that stabbing it would be just as successful as trying to stab
jelly.

Careful to not let any of it touch him, Peter spent a few minutes
scooping up the ooze with the bottle cap and pouring it into the soda
bottle. Once it was full and he didn’t see any signs of the alien
substance around the area, he capped the bottle. Inside it, the thick
liquid continued to bubble innocently.


So now what?

       He hadn’t thought about it. His
first idea had been to throw it into the ocean, but he was miles away
from that. He didn’t think he’d have the energy to get over there
anyway, especially not without his web-shooters. Peter sighed, staring
hard at the bottle. Definitely more trouble than this was all worth.
There was no way he was going to bring it back home with him to toss
out later. Not if there wadangdanger of it coming into contact with him
again. It was too dangerous for his friends and family. Peter glanced
around. There wasn’t a lot of options. He just wanted to go home and sleep.


Peter sighed. This wasbablbably stupid, but…it won’t be my problem.
It’s too dangerous if it’s with me. Besides, it’s probably dead.
Returning to the dumpster, he tossed the sealed bottle in. The garbage
trucks would come by in the morning and dump it in a landfill far away
from here. The symbiote, if it was even alive, wouldn’t have anything
to feed on in such a place. It would be out of his hands and no one
would get hurt.

It had been stupid for him to hope that things would work out. Peter
limped back home, thinking things would right themselves after all that
had happened. He limped back thinking the symbiote would be out of his
life for good.


It never even left New York;
like everything, he found that out the hard way.
------------------------------
[Three
months later]


“You’re never going to tell me how you really lost the last
costume, are you?”


Peter rolled the lollipop around in his mouth as he lounged in the
armchair and watched Mary Jane. The red-head was working on his new
Spider-mastumstume, fixing a particularly big tear he didn’t remember
getting from the last fight he had. The sewing machine hummed quietly
as he pretended to be suddenly interested in the ceiling of his aunt’s
basement.


“Definitely too big for her britches,” Peter agreed.


“Hey, I can manage the both of you. So long as you agree to be good
children and share me.”


“And what’s this about underlings?” Mary Jane asked.


“After all, even I can’t do anything if you all fight over me.
Although that would be one helluva cat-fight, but that’s besides the
point…”


“She’s delusional,” Peter said.

“I’d say.”


Gwen sniffed and gathered her empty hamper after dumping the detergent
bottle inside. “You obviously can’t appreciate me and my many fine
points yet. But the date’s still open to both of you.”


“We’re honored,” Mary Jane said wryly. “I think.”


Gwen started for the stairs. “Anyway, I don’t care what we do – so long
as we get out of the house.”


Gwen’s footsteps retreated back up to the first floor before Peter
dared to relax. Bantering with Gwen was one thing, but doing it in such
a situation wasn’t something he really cared for. Next to him, Mary
Jane sighed and looked over at the door. It was closed again and since
sound didn’t carry too well in the basement, it was probably safe to
talk again. Peter still had a slightly dazed look on his face, the
lollipop forgotten in his mouth. Mary Jane grimaced; she’d grown to
really like Gwen after getting used to the unpredictable girl, but
honestly, she wished Peter wouldn’t act so floored by her every time
the blond pretended to hit on him.


Which, as it was, happened to be a lot.


“y, by, back to business,” Mary Jane said finally. She had to prod Peter
with her foot to get his attention.


“Uh…yeah, sorry,” Peter ducked his head sheepishly. “…Okay, why can’t
we do this at your house again?”

   “Because my mom would freak out. I mean, she
lightened up a lot after kicking my dad out, but…” Mary Jane shook her
head, red curls bouncing. “We just need to be more careful next time.”


“Yeah,” Peter said. He pulled out his red mask from the drawer, running
fingers over the black webbing. “Thanks for doing this.”


“I seriously should teach you how to sew sometime – like, what if I’m
not there to make these kinds of repairs and your costume splits or you
moon all of
If you want to contact me or ask questions, my e-mail is
shampoo_famira@yahoo.com and my AIM SN is Famira Damaris. Thanks for
reading.
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Black Sustenance