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Black Sustenance	By : FamiraDamaris Category: zMisplaced Stories [ADMIN use only] > Spiderman Views: 15552 -:- 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: Naturally I don't own Spider-man.

Author Notes: Basically it's mostly Ultimate Spider-man universe
except Venom's origins are the symbiote and the shuttle crash. Again,
plot first, pairings next. Title's aren't my strong point. :(

Italics for thoughts/emphasis/symbiote

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

Black Sustenance

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

(Elimination Game)

  He had him.
He had fucking Spider-man
at his mercy. Spider-man! The guy running around as if he was New
York’s
unwanted savior, dressed up in that retarded costume, and here Flint
Marko almost had him. But then
that freak – a mutant? – jumped in just as it was getting good and
actually
gave him a run for his money. It seriously pissed him off. So damn
close. It
would’ve been a hefty increase to his paycheck if he’d managed to
capture
Spider-man and find out just who the hell this joker was. But instead,
he stuck
babysitting these idiots and making sure they didn’t damage any of that
equipment they stole.
One
of the most observant ones noticed his
soured mood.
“What’s up, Boss?”

Flint sneered. “I’m
pissed
off, god dammit! Y’know how much money Spider-man could be worth if
that freak
in black hadn’t shown up?”
“But we’re going to
make a killing off
those already, aren’t we?” the flunky nodded toward the towers of boxes
crowding
their getaway truck.
“I’m
talkin’ extra,” Flint
crossed
his arms over his burly chest, craggy brows drawn together in a scowl.
“Just
‘cause we’re criminals don’t mean we can’t use the heads God gave us.
I’ll make
it nice and simple: Spider-man’s been runnin’ around town for what, a
few
months? Everyone’s dyin’ to know who the hell this punk is and some are
willin’
to pay far more than what we’re makin’ from this job.”
“So..?”
Sand swirled from Flint
in
an annoyed puff as he settled back against the interior wall of their
truck.
“Think about it. If I could capture Spider-man, we could collect on the
reward
for identifyin’ him. Or! Or…we could always blackmail him – have him do
us the
odd job or favors in exchange for not blowin’ his cover. The
possibilities
don’t end; Spider-man’s a walking goldmine.”
That
captured everyone’s attention. The first flunky gave an impressed
whistle,
taken aback.
“That’s just genius,
man.”
Flint
smirked. “And that’s
why I’m head of this job and the rest of you boys follow me instead of
the
other way around. I do the thinkin’ and fightin’ and you don’t have to
worry
about a thing.”
They
laughed and went back to business,
leaving Flint to think
over what he
said. Now that he’d calmed down somewhat and the adrenaline from that
last
fight began to ebb away, he realized that this was indeed a very
good idea. One of his better ones,
in fact. Working jobs like these you got to know
people and he knew quite a few who would be interested in getting
Spider-man
served up on a platter – very
interested. Capturing Spider-man couldn’t be too hard, not if that was
the
worst fight he could put up. If it was, Flint
couldn’t help but feel little disappointed, like he’d been cheated
somehow of
some harder challenge. Well, he supposed he could blame The
Daily Bugle for constantly hyping up Spider-man.
Something about Spider-man seemed off,
though. He looked pretty short – toned, sure, but the fact remained he
was damn
short, as if he wasn’t quite done going through a growth spurt. Second,
he
struck Flint for some reason as young, far younger than he expected,
and all
that incessant bantering didn’t strike him as something any
self-respecting
adult would say. That left a range of mid twenties to teens, Flint
supposed, which narrowed it down a bit…but not by much. There were a lot of people in fitting that profile in
New York.
Until
Flint
was finished with this job, he wouldn’t have time to go hunting for
Spiders.
Damn
shame, but the job always came first.
---------------------------------

They didn’t know what possessed them
to waltz off with the Spider. At the time, it seemed important that he
come
with them, but looking back on it, Eddie Brock wasn’t sure just why he was lugging around this
deadweight all over New York.
Whatever injuries Parker suffered were bound to be harmless and what
with
Sandman chased away, the boy was hardly in any danger. Sudden
irrational hatred
welled up in Eddie for a second as he realized he’d saved Parker
of all people.
It
would take all of two seconds to let go and
watch as the insolent brat slid off his shoulder and plummeted to a
gloriously
gory death seventy stories below.
Now,
now, Host Mine, purred the Other. Let
us not be hasty.
He
wasn’t. Note how Parker wasn’t a bloody
splat on the sidewalk.
Keep
it that way; you and I both need him.
Yes, yes, he knew.
Still, old habits
died hard.
Venom set down on the
rooftop of some
apartment complex – it was crowded on all sides by trash and fence, and
if
anyone was trying to spy from another building, they wouldn’t see much,
if
anything. Spider-man was still unconscious, arms and legs limp and
dangling
freely as Venom prowled the length of the rooftop, making sure they
were alone
and wouldn’t be interrupted. Satisfied that they would have privacy,
Venom
returned to the darkest corner, dropping Spider-man onto an old
mattress shoved
into a corner. The boy quietly slid off his shoulder and slumped
backward.
It didn’t help matters that his legs
happened to spread open as he hit the mattress.
Growling,
Venom flung himself backward
until he was crouching down on the back of his heels, trying to ignore
the
longing ache at the sight of those open thighs. That stupid little
costume of
Parker’s really didn’t hide much, did it? He cradled his head in one
clawed
hand, tongue lolling out with lust. Before this, he had been somewhat
normal,
the Eddie part of Venom thought. Before this, he hadn’t even been
interested in
Parker, much less the idea of having a good fuck with another man. The symbiote Other didn’t care much
about gender: where it came from, such things were unimportant.
Irrelevant.
So
then why the sudden interest in
Parker?
Black
ooze retreated, uncurling around Eddie’s head and leaving him free
to breathe the fresh air from the neck up. He leaned back, tilting his
head
backward as he closed his eyes and took a good deep breath. The
question of
Parker had been on his mind since they had decided to pursue him from a
distance, but he hadn’t questioned why until now.
The
answer came grudgingly from the Other.
I must
reproduce soon, the Symbiote uncurled in Eddie’s mind, whispering
into his
ear. I believe they call these feelings
the signs of the “urge to mate” and “bear offspring”, in your inferior
human
languages. Since I currently feel the urge to mate with our Spider, you
feel
the same attraction as I do.
Eddie
wasn’t quite sure he liked the idea
of another Venom running around, even if it was
just a baby. And the vibes he was getting off his Other told volumes:
the Symbiote
wasn’t exactly too keen on the idea of reproducing either. Images of
previous
offspring flashed in Eddie’s head. Much of it was ass ugly. This
symbiote
wasn’t exactly the best parent and it showed. Every one of them had
been
instable or uncontrollable, which was part of the reason why the
Symbiote had
come to Earth in the first place: it had hoped that with so many
inferior hosts
on this planet, the urge to reproduce just wouldn’t arise and it could
exist in
peace.
“Came
to the wrong planet, didn’t we?”
Eddie growled to himself. “Didn’t know there were so many mutants and
altered
hosts. So what now?”
We’ll
mate and reproduce when we’re ready, said the Symbiote. And
then we kill the offspring in front of
Parker, to show him that he is marked as our property.
And here Eddie thought he was harsh! He had to give the Other
credit though for being that gutsy – or just that detached. Looking
down on the
prone body lying on the mattress before him, Eddie reached over with
one claw
and lifted up the webbed mask. Parker’s eyes were closed, his breathing
quiet
and steady, lips parted slightly. Somehow Eddie knew not to do anything
too
drastic with the boy – the Other knew that trying to mate with him now
in both
the human and symbiote fashions would probably kill him – but that
didn’t mean
he had to keep his hands to himself.
One
claw traced the curve of Parker’s
cheek almost tenderly, cupping it as he leaned close, only inches away.
The
Symbiote was practically humming with pleasure by now, anticipation
which seemed to
vibrate through out the length of his whole body as he let his claws
fall on
the boy’s neck, the other starting to reach down toward his
tantalizingly spread thighs…
Parker at that moment choose to open his
eyes.
They
fluttered open slowly, still in a
numbed daze, and fixed blankly on Eddie’s face.
Without
a change in expression, Eddie
applied a little pressure and squeezed – it was so ridiculously easy – his claws tightening around
Parker’s smooth neck. The boy didn’t even struggle. Those deliciously
hazel
eyes simply fluttered closed again as Parker relaxed back into
unconsciousness,
face tilting to the side almost submissively.
That had been too
close. They didn’t want
Parker to know they were suffering the indignity of helping him fight
his own
battles, much less stooping down to rescuing him.
Venom’s
fanged face reformed around Eddie.
They undressed Parker as much as it took to make sure he was fine
physically
(it wouldn’t due for their Spider to be damaged internally or
externally), and
then started to pull his mask back down. Venom paused. Well, he
supposed he
could indulge himself just a little.
Cradling the unconscious Parker in his arms, he tilted the boy’s head
back,
parting his lips wider as Venom’s own jaws dropped open. Leaning
forward, his
jaws in the same permanent, fixed leer, he brought Parker close as his
slimy
tongue worked its way past those slack lips and deeper into Parker’s
mouth in
the Symbiote’s own makeshift version of a kiss. It was rough, oozing
and
unforgiving as it penetrated deeper.
He
could taste Parker all
around him.
It
was….intoxicating.
Sadly,
he had to pull back before it went
any further, otherwise he might lose control of himself.
Pulling
down the mask once more over
Parker’s nose, Venom clutched him possessively to his chest as he stood
up. There
would be time for more exploration of Parker in the future, he reminded
himself. They should be thinking about what to do with him now, seeing
as
returning him to the scene of the crime wasn’t the brightest idea. The
best
thing was probably to drop him off in that little alley next to that
movie
theater – maybe plunk him down on a pile of trash just to make Eddie
feel a
little better – and then start looking into this Sandman.
Somehow
it seemed to Venom that the encounter
between their Spider and this Man of Sand wouldn’t be the last.
Spider-man
tended to attract trouble
and this Sandman could be a problem in the future.
-----------------------
“He’s
been gone for like an
hour or something,” Gwen whispered to Mary Jane, turning away from the
flickering screen. “I can’t believe he ditched us.”

Mary Jane chewed her lower lip. They were
almost half way through the movie and Peter hadn’t come back; he could
be out
being Spider-man, but he had been gone an awfully long time. At first
she’d
thought that him being Spider-man was the Coolest Thing Ever,
but seeing him in action and seeing who he could be pitted
against made her so worried these days that it was pretty much
impossible to
even watch a movie unless she knew Peter was safe and sound sitting
next to
her.

“I’ll go look for him,” Mary Jane whispered back. “Maybe he got lost,”
she added, trying to wiggle her way past knees and chairs into the
aisle.
Gwen
snorted none too delicately.
“Whatever. If you see him, tell him he’s a big fat jerk.”
Mary Jane didn’t start
running until she left the auditorium. Once she
was out, she ran up and down the length of the entire Loews complex,
and
finally came to a stop right near the glass doors to the street, out of
breath.
Peter definitely wasn’t here. Still determined to keep looking, Mary
Jane
jogged past the usher at the door and started around the block, her
heart
thundering like hoof beats in her chest. She was contemplating
searching down a
particularly dark and narrow alley when she heard a familiar moan.
Deciding to err on the
cautious side, she
entered slowly and carefully, one hand on a broken pipe she found on
the dirty
ground. She had rounded a set of dumpsters and almost jumped in fright
at the sight
of Spider-man struggling to push himself into a sitting position.
“Peter!”
she gasped, dropping
the pipe with a clang.
In an instant she was at his side, a million
questions on the tip of her tongue. Spider-man
was slowly sitting up and coughing through the mask. The best he could
do was
weakly bat away her hands when she went to help him. Mary Jane ignored
him and
gently lifted up the mask to the bridge of his nose. A trickle of blood
was
working its way down from the corner of his mouth, but he seemed to be
fine, if
a little beat up.
“What
happened?” Mary Jane asked. She
helped him hunch over as he continued to cough.

Peter’s voice was rough, as if he had a sore throat. “Had a…bit
of a run
in. Y’know how it is…I’m…I’m okay,” he managed to get out before he
dissolved
into another fit of coughing.
“You’re a mess, P –
Spider-man,” Mary Jane
said. She managed to get him on his feet, one arm slung over her
shoulder for
support. “You don’t look okay to me.”
“You
try fighting Sand Dude the next time.”
Okay, so maybe Peter wasn’t that
bad off if he was still making
stupid jokes.

Mary Jane wanted to cry but instead she
managed a shaky smile. “Sand
Dude?” she raised an eyebrow. From what she could see of Peter’s face,
he
offered a tired grin, wiping away the blood trickle with the back of
his gloved
hand.
“Guy
turns into sand, so I kept calling
him Sand Dude. Best name ever.”
“He can’t seriously be
called that.”

“It’s close enough, but man – ow! – man, he did put up a fight,”
Peter
winced as he stood up and began trying to inspect his back. “I think
they got
away this time,” and now the grin was gone, disgust at himself
replacing it.
“You
can’t catch everyone, Tiger,” said
Mary Jane. She looked down, trying to say what she felt, “I-I think
it’s enough
that you even try, you know? Most people would’ve turned back by now.”
“Yeah,
well...I guess I’m that stubborn.
It’s in the genes and all,” Peter grunted. He motioned that they go
deeper into
the alley so they could have a bit more privacy. “I don’t really think
I’m in
any shape to go finishing the movie with you guys, MJ. Sorry, but I
really need
some rest.”
Mary
Jane frowned. “I won’t just leave you
here.”
“I
can make it back. Just tell Gwen I’m
sorry for being a big fat jerk.”
Mary
Jane watched as he disentangled
himself from her and stood up, this time without staggering. Doubt
played
across her face. “Are you sure…?”

“Yeah. Look, I’ll just catch a
train and head home. I’ll be fine…that’s if I find my clothes, ‘cause
you know
running around naked gets me arrested and all,” Peter said, glancing
around. He
brightened when he spotted a bundle a bit farther back. “There they
are.”
Mary Jane went and came
back with his clothes. He began peeling off the Spider-man
costume and suddenly stopped, face reddening.
“Um…would
you mind turning around for a
second?”
“Oh!”
Mary Jane jumped, coming to her
senses, and blushed. She whirled around quickly, keeping her eyes
pointedly
straight ahead of her. Behind her came the sounds of rustling.
“Ugh,
God. I smell like I took a swan dive
into a dumpster,” Peter muttered after taking an experimental sniff. He
sounded
hurt. “How come you didn’t say anything?”
“I wasn’t really paying
attention.”
“I claim dibs on the shower,” Peter’s voice was
muffled as he shrugged
into the shirt. “An awesomely long one.”
“Your
aunt doesn’t mind?”

“Nah, she’s okay so long as I don’t do it
every day,” Peter said. “Okay, you can turn around now.”
Mary
Jane turned around hesitantly. Peter
was sporting a spectacular bruise the size of a baseball on his cheek,
and, for
some reason, there were ugly red marks around his neck…but other than
that he
looked like the same Pete she was used to. “So? Passable?” he asked,
modeling a
fake pose.

“You look like Flash beat you up,” Mary
Jane said. “Again.”
Peter
smiled ruefully. “Wouldn’t be the first time. I guess it’s a good
thing I’ve got this whole loser rep going around.”
“Promise
to be careful on the way
home?”

This earned Mary Jane a typical Parker
grin reserved only for trusted friends – lop-sided with just a hint of
cockiness. “Always am. See you tomorrow.”
Mary Jane watched as he
leapt up, easily
cleared her head by several feet, and began ascending the vertical wall
until
he disappeared over the edge and was simply gone.
It always amazed her whenever he did stuff like that, especially when
he seemed
to give it no thought at all, as if climbing up walls was as
commonplace as
walking or breathing. It was still hard to even imagine Peter of all
people as
Spider-man – the images of Spider-man on TV kicking and punching his
way
through the likes of that man with those mechanical arms was just unreal, as if it was someone else and
not her best friend behind the mask. She knew Peter’s secret, but
sometimes it
was still hard actually accept it when it was right in front of her
eyes.
Mary
Jane turned around and headed back to Loews, taking it slow. She’d
need time to figure out a good story to tell Gwen and she really wasn’t
looking
forward to having to lie yet again.
----------------------------------

Flint Marko took his time counting
the payment for the robbery of that laboratory – they were paid in
cash, $100
bills in neatly stacked bundles that filled several large crates to the
top. He
knew he was little more than an over-glorified thug right now, but that
didn’t
mean he was going to trust his employer just because he happened to be
one of
the most influential men in New York.
Sitting with his legs on the table and slouching a little, Flint
methodically
checked each bundle for counterfeits until he was satisfied they hadn’t
been
cheated in any way. The other man sitting across from him was somehow
squeezed
into a chair that constantly groaned under his weight, looking ready to
burst
yet miraculously holding together.
This
was the Kingpin.
A single man who had so
much influence in this
city that he continued to walk free, even when he had direct evidence
of murder
against him. On security tapes, no less!
Flint
didn’t trust him, but you had to at least respect a man with that much
power. Give
credit where credit was due and all that.
“I
trust you find everything
satisfactory,” said William Fisk. He laced his meaty fingers together
when Flint
nodded. “I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised with your performance
today.”
“Thanks,
Mr. Fisk,” Flint
grunted. He tossed the last bundle of money into the crates, snapping
his
fingers. Two of his men came forward, closed the lids down on the
crates and
lifted them out of the way. “I’m sure you know we got an unwanted guest
at the
last minute, though.”
“Spider-man?”
Fisk’s voice was pleasant,
cultured, but his face melted into a menacing frown.
   “Yeah: I took care of him.”
The
Kingpin actually looked surprised,
eyebrows shooting up. “Is that so?”
“I
didn’t get a chance t'finish him
off, if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” Flint
shrugged. “Our little party got interrupted by this monster, might’ve
been a
mutant or somethin’,” and Flint
rattled off a curt description of the black man-shaped creature that
had
attacked them. “I lost some of my men out there ‘cause of it.”
“Unfortunate, that.”
Fisk leaned forward.
The chair groaned under his immense bulk. Interest positively radiated
out from
him.

Flint knew how to play up interest like no other – one of the things
one
picked up when everyone thought they were smarter than you and the only
way to
ensure you got what you wanted was to capture and hold their attention.
He
hemmed and hawed, stalling as he idly picked at a loose thread sticking
up from
his jeans. “Unfortunate for them, good for those of us still alive.
Less to
have t’split, y’know?”
“Indeed.”
“’Sides,
they knew the risks. It might be
much t'ask, but could you send their families a little somethin’ for
their
help?”
   “But of course.”
“No
point in mournin’ over them, but I’ve
got this reputation of takin’ care of my men, y’know?
    “A very understandable sentiment, Mr.
Marko.”

By now Fisk was leaning forward to the
point where his arms were on the table between them. There was to be no
more
dancing about the subject of that black mutant now and Flint
finally relented with a flourish of one arm, as if he was sleepy and
stretching.
“Anyway, where were we? Oh yeah,” he gave a crooked grin. “That thing
that
attacked us today. Crazy shit, never
saw anythin’ move like it before. Pardon my French, but even I had some trouble fightin’ the fucker
off.”
The
corners of Fisk’s mouth twitched but he said nothing.

“Just thought I’d give you the heads
up,” Flint said, and made
as if he was
ready to leave and go on his merry way.

“…Just a minute, Mr. Marko.”
Right on cue.

Flint
made a show of sitting down reluctantly. “I thought our business was
done…unless
you’d like to continue t’use our services?”

“I might have some other engagements
for you and your…friends,” Fisk said. He motioned to one of the
attendants
standing in the light coming in through the skyscraper’s windows. She
poured
the two men each a glass of some obscenely expensive wine Flint
didn’t even know the name of. “I must admit you sparked my curiosity as
to this
black beast of yours. It sounds rather intriguing. I would like to hear
more
about it and your encounter with Spider-man; over dinner, perhaps?”

A slow smile crept over Flint’s
craggy face.
“Sure,
why not?” he finally took his legs
off the table. “I’m dyin’ for a good steak.”

Fisk shared the smile. It made his eyes
crinkle up and reminded Flint
of a
pig…a pig who could probably snap him in half with his bare hands if he
didn’t
have that whole sand thing going on. “Incidentally, I happen to know of
a very
good place with some of the finest steaks in New
York
state.”

“Sounds like my kinda place.”
“I
believe only a man of your caliber would appreciate it,” Fisk said.
He sipped the wine glass. “I look forward to tonight.”

Flint
smirked. “Thank you, Mr. Fisk.”
----------------
(Later
the same night)

“He’s still asleep, girls.”
           Aunt
May’s voice.
Gwen
huffed, a muffled sound just beyond
his closed door. “When he wakes up, we seriously need to talk.”
“Let’s eat dinner,”
said Mary Jane.
“Come on, he didn’t do this on purpose – he really wanted to watch that
movie
together, remember?”
“…Yeah,”
Gwen muttered, her voice fading as
they trooped downstairs, words becoming inaudible. “…Still…hate…say
it…flakes
out all the time…”

And then nothing, only silence once
more.

Peter tossed in his bed, drifting back to
sleep once more. Even through the fading haze of awareness, he could
feel his
whole body aching. His bruised cheek and throat hurt the most, followed
by the
pain in his lower back. Eyes still closed, the sixteen year-old settled
deeper
into the thick comforters with a quiet sigh, his body working furiously
to heal
the damage from that last fight as his mind went elsewhere.

Today
he felt good. More than good even – he’d just freed himself of that
symbiote
thing and spent the better half of the next day web slinging around
Queens for
no good reason other than he felt like
it. It was extremely relaxing; one of the
rare times where Peter could look back and realize that despite all the
crap he
went through on a daily basis, he still had a great deal of that
special brand
of Parker Luck on his side. He still had Aunt May, Mary Jane and now
Gwen in
his life. He was alive and one hundred percent alien-free. Today was a
damn good
day and Peter felt so happy he found himself almost tempted to start
hugging
random people on the street.
Peter approached the Queensboro Bridge around
late afternoon. He felt great as he sailed through the metal
struts with the ease of a practiced acrobat, his body sliding and
tumbling in
mid-air, unconcerned that he might miscalculate and bash his head into
the
bridge.
He was
extending his hand to shoot another line of webbing when
suddenly something latched onto his wrist with bone-crushing force.
Startled,
breath catching,
Peter looked up but couldn’t see anything… just a shapeless, twisting
mass of
black which has sprouted a set of claws currently wrapped around his
arm.
Suddenly aware that his great day just took a massive 180, Peter
flipped his leg up,
intending to deliver a resounding kick and knock off Whatever It Was
right off
of him. Another set of claws sprouted and easily caught the kick,
leaving Peter
in an exceedingly awkward position.

A set of fangs and dead eyes
began emerging from the black ooze-mass holding him dangling upside
down over
the racing traffic lanes below.
“You
thought you escaped,
did you?”
The claws tightened around
his ankle and wrist. The shapeless mass above him gave a sickening
laugh.
Countless cars and buses whizzed underneath the two with a thundering
of tires
and horns. Something wet – a tongue? – abruptly flicked out and licked
him,
running up the entire length of his face with relish.
“You’ll see us
everywhere, Peter Parker!”

And then Peter found himself
dropping, only this time he was in his street clothes, his web shooters
gone
and nothing in reach to latch onto, with a rather ominous looking semi
heading
in his direction –

Peter bolted upright with a strangled gasp, his heart thundering in his
chest
and his ears ringing. He stared forward without seeing at first, and
only
gradually did he realize just where he was exactly - currently sitting
upside
down on the ceiling, with no idea how he got there. Reflex, probably.
Shaken,
he remained where he was on the ceiling, his arms hugging himself. What
was that all about? He only remembered bits
and pieces of the dream, but it gave him a serious
case of the creeps.
Man…I
need a break…
The
nightmares seemed to be part
and parcel of the whole Spidey package, although the last time he had
one this
bad, it’d been right after the confrontation with Harry’s dad…when MJ
almost
died after taking a forced dive off the Queensboro Bridge. He had
nightmares
for months afterward, and he couldn’t
imagine how much worst it must’ve been for his best friend. Deciding
that what
he needed most was some fresh air, Peter crept along the ceiling and
peeked out
through the crack in the door. The lights were out in the house, so
everyone
was probably asleep.
Careful
to be as stealthy as he could,
Peter made his way to the window and slid it open just enough to slip
out. He
made it to the shingled roof easily and took a seat next to the
chimney,
drawing his bare legs up to his chest and resting his chin on his
knees,
feeling the night breeze tousling his hair. Cars honked in the
distance, the
sky a deep orange-violet from the sheer amount of street lights. Hardly
quiet,
but it was all comfortable white noise for someone who grew up with it.
Perfect.
He really needed some me-time to think.
What
did I get myself into? Peter tilted his head so that his cheek
rested on
one knee, arms hooked around his legs. He had all these crazy, freaky
powers
but in the end he was only a kid running around in tights. It was
easier to
ignore the fact when he was actually doing his job as Spider-man, but
tonight –
as simply Peter Parker – he was all too aware that he was ill-prepared
for all
this. At least the X-Men and the Ultimates had each other and were
actually adults. He was just a kid who’d barely
turned sixteen the other month. He certainly didn’t feel sixteen.
Sometimes
it felt like he bit off more
than he could chew. Every day, all day, fearing for his family and
friends,
paranoid that somehow someone would put two and two together and figure
out his
little secret. Sometimes he seriously considered quitting.
But
then he’d save someone from, say, a
mugging…the gratitude always, always without fail overwhelmed him, even
if it
was rare and far between to have someone actually stick around to thank
him
these days.
Spider-man
was a part of him forever, no matter how much he doubted himself.
Uncle
Ben would probably just say doubting doesn’t get you anywhere but
backwards.
Peter had to smile a little at this, feeling the old knot in his
stomach
forming at the thought of Ben. His uncle had a blunt way with words,
yet
somehow always encouraged Peter to always improve himself and keep
trying
despite the stacked odds. Use that
stubborn streak of yours, Uncle Ben said once. You can
wallow in guilt, Peter, or you can keep on climbing to the top.
Then again, that had been a pep-talk after Peter came back after a
thorough
humiliation at Flash’s hands. Well, not
much has changed, I guess, Peter thought wryly. I
still get my share of Atomic Wedgies.
   Although…Peter had to admit the fare he
went up against these days were about a million plus one times worse
than
Flash. A beat down from someone like Doc Ock was a hella lot higher on
the Pain
O’ Meter than anything Flash or Kong could ever cook up.
So what if he had
nightmares? He had to
buck up and ignore them: he couldn’t hide under his blankets just
because he
kept waking up in a cold sweat. Feeling a bit better already, Peter got
to his
feet, feeling the roughness of the wooden shingles underneath his toes.
Rather
than feeling sorry for himself, he really should be trying to learn
more about
this Sandman, as well as trying to figure out just who saved his butt
earlier
in the day.
Unaware of the fact he
was being
watched, Peter swung himself back into his bedroom and drew the
curtains…

A block away from the Parker residence, Eddie Brock turned and headed
north. Rain threatened to spill from the looming clouds overhead, and
the black
turtleneck he wore shifted into a black, knee length rain coat. The
Symbiote
was wide awake – it always was at the latest hours – and now it was
ready to
hunt for a different kind of prey than their Spider.
     He seems to be healing
nicely, the Other remarked.
“Yeah,”
Eddie grunted. “Parker got a lucky
break today.”
We
can’t let him encounter that Man of Sand again.

“No, we can’t.”

The Symbiote might have had millennia of
experience under its belt, but it didn’t have much of a clue how to go
looking
after this Sandman here on Earth. If anything, the technology on Earth
was just
too downright mind-bogglingly inferior
for it comprehend, and it expected their host to get the job done if it
couldn’t do it itself. It would prefer to just rip apart the city and
flush the
irritating human out, but that would draw too much attention. Besides,
Eddie
Brock was a former reporter, one of the best of his class. If there was
one
thing he knew for certain he could do well, it was a little bit of
actual
investigation.
For
once the Symbiote was ready to rely on its
host instead of the other way around.

First they had to have a plan. Eddie
needed access to all kinds of criminal records, among other things, and
for
once breaking and entering wouldn’t cut it. He’d need this access for
an
extended amount of time – without having to dodge cops and deal with
heightened
security – which would require the legal approach. Unfortunately the
archives
at the Daily Bugle weren’t an option (no thanks to Parker), and he
tried to
think of how he could get himself hired quickly. He knew all kinds of
dirty
little juicy secrets about the Bugle and its staff. Such would be a big
selling
point if he moseyed himself over to one of the Bugle’s rivals….

Eddie knew just the place.
The Daily Globe was one
of the
Bugle’s biggest competitors, and had a decidedly unsavory reputation
for luring
in employees from other papers through less than legal ways. Actually,
they had been making longing eyes in his
direction for a while, before Parker even came into the picture, but at
the
time Eddie remained (stupidly) loyal to the Bugle and Jameson. He
assumed
wrongly that his experience and loyalty would actually mean something, not get thrown back into his face as if
all those dedicated years meant nothing.

As he decided against simply
web-slinging his way back to Manhattan
– had to start getting used to “normal” – and instead hailed down a
taxi, Eddie
felt a private smile surfacing. He had a feeling the Daily Globe would
be more
than happy to hire him. Hell, they had been gunning for him to join
them for
several months.
There was that. And he
hated to admit
it, but a part of him really missed the days of having real work. It
couldn’t
hurt that he’d actually enjoy himself working as a journalist again, as
a side
bonus. After all, the whole reason he’d wanted to become a journalist
in the
first place was this whole desire to protect innocents, and he figured
the
Daily Bugle was more respectable on that note than the Globe. Working
again as
a journalist though could have a problem: there was a definite chance
he’d run
into Parker in between assignments and searching the archives for this
Sandman.
They were pretty sure that Parker didn’t know what happened to them
after their
last encounter. It was possible he thought Venom buggered out of town
or maybe
died in a corner somewhere, but there was really no way of knowing for
certain.
If we encounter him in this little
disguise,
he won’t do anything, the Symbiote would have shrugged if it
could.
Good
point. Their Spider would definitely
recognize them, but in such settings he wouldn’t dare think of picking
a fight
with Eddie, not when there were so many people who could get hurt.
Eddie wasn’t
sure how he planned to react when they finally met face to face again.
Sneering
contempt? Disdain? Righteous anger? Or maybe just play it cool as if he
didn’t
recognize the boy? Well, he still had time. No sense in getting ahead
of
himself. Eddie slid into the waiting cab.
The
taxi cabbie leaned over and glanced
at him through the grate separating them, a withering cigarette
dangling in his
grizzled mouth. Smoke wafted about the confines of the taxi cab, and
Eddie
could feel the symbiote giving the slightest of repulsed shudders.
“Late
night, eh?”
“You
could say that,” Eddie replied. He
offered a tired grin. “Same goes for you.”
   The cabbie snorted. “Hey, it pays the
bills. Tired as hell, but you gotta do what you gotta do.”

“You said it.”
“So,
where to?”

Eddie rattled off an address. The cabbie
raised an eyebrow, startled. “That’s pretty far, man. You know that’s
gonna
rack up, right?”
“I
know,” Eddie settled back
against the seat. Mumbling to himself, the cabbie turned around and
started up
the taxi, working his way onto the main streets and easing his way
across the Queensboro Bridge.
Eddie gazed out the
window.
Moonlight glistened off the water underneath them. From here it looked
serene
and gentle, despite the fact it was probably polluted to hell and back
with who
knew what; he found himself fixating on the way the silver slivers of
light
played across the ways hundreds of feet below. He usually didn’t travel
much
without reason, but maybe he could afford to web-sling under the bridge
and
take a breather. At the very least, keeping physically busy would help
with
that longing, possessive ache he always got thinking of Parker…
At least he had
tomorrow to look
forward to. His introduction to the Daily Globe was bound to be
entertaining
once Jameson found out about his defection.
--------------------------------------
Gwen was giving him
evil eyes; Peter just knew it. He had gotten really
good at sensing
that kind of thing lately and he didn’t need his spider-sense to know someone was pissed off at him, to put it
mildly. When the teacher turned her back on the class to write on the
board,
Mary Jane quickly tossed him a note, folded up in the shape of some
kind of
maladjusted fish (her attempt at origami). When Peter managed to unfold
it, he
quickly scanned through the shorthand, scribbled for easiness to read
than any
worry for spelling. The note said:
   Sad U Had Accident. Gwen
thinks U ditched on purpose. Gwen PO’d: U=Big Fat
Jerk 2 her. Watch ur bak k?

By the time the teacher turned
around, the note disappeared into his book. Great. Gwen was still
pissed off at
him. Peter was going to have to be careful and make sure he had a
better story
ready. That or at least apologize up a storm. Sometimes he wished he
could just
tell Gwen why he kept flaking off all the time, but he knew such a
thing wasn’t
possible. What would he say? Gee, Gwen,
sorry I couldn’t finish the movie: I was too busy swinging around in my
Spider-jammies and oh yeah, I didn’t kill your dad for the last time? Peter
snorted mentally. Yeah. Right. That
would go over really well, wouldn’t it?
The
moment they got out of class, Peter
found himself getting pulled aside by Gwen. The blonde girl tugged him
toward
the lockers, with Mary Jane shooting him a sympathetic look. Good luck, she mouthed, before heading
toward the cafeteria. From the frown on Gwen’s face, Peter decided he
was going
to need whatever luck he could get.
     “Peter, what the goddamn hell
happened
yesterday?” Gwen demanded hotly, her hands on her hips, bangles
jingling with
the movement.

Peter couldn’t meet her eyes. “Look, I know what you’re
thinking. I
didn’t ditch you guys, okay?”
      “Could’ve fooled me,” Gwen
retorted.
“Why
would I want to ditch you?” Peter
asked. “I really did want to see that movie together.”
“Right…”
Peter
could tell this wasn’t working.
Better get to that explanation quick. “MJ was right – I did have a bit
of an
accident. I tripped and…um…hurt myself,” Peter lied, trying to think.
“I didn’t
feel too well after it, so I had to go home.”
“How did you trip on
your face? It looked like someone slugged
you.”

Peter stuttered, face reddening. He
couldn’t think of anything to say, not with Gwen fixing that evil eye
on him at
point blank range and waiting impatiently for a better explanation. It
didn’t
look good. And then a pair of life-savers finally arrived – Flash and
Kong
happened to round the corner and stopped short at the sight of Peter
practically pinned against the locker by Gwen. For once in his life,
Peter was
actually glad to see the two. Flash’s face instantly broke out into one
of
those little smug grins:
“Lover’s
fight?” he grinned, sauntering
up. “Not surprised Parker’s the pussy in the relationship. You’re such
a damn girl.”

Gwen flared up, looking ready to spit fire. “You got a problem
with
girls, retard?”
“Not all of them,” Flash said, holding up his
hands in mock surrender. “I don’t know what you see in this lame ass
loser,
Gwen.”
“This
‘lame ass loser’ happens to be my friend,” Gwen
glared. “So shut the hell
up!”
“Oh
thanks,” Peter muttered. “I think.”

Flash ignored him, eyes still on
Gwen. “Or what? You’ll threaten to gut me like a pig like you
threatened Kong?”
“That
wasn’t cool,” Kong added.
“Seriously.”
   “Just leave us alone,” Gwen actually snarled. “Or you’ll see how it feels to
be on the bullying end.”

“Oooh, scary!” Flash didn’t
even pretend to be scared. “Better watch it, Gwen. Don’t want you
getting
expelled, do we?”
Flash
turned to Peter, who was busy
making himself look as utterly defenseless, terrified, and ultimately
appealing
a nerd target as possible. If there was a time he needed Flash to
be…well, Flash, it was right now. The jock didn’t
disappoint. He smirked, noticing the still healing bruise on Peter’s
cheek and
made a punching motion in his hand. In the school’s weird, unofficial
Bully
Code (there actually was one; most of the big and small bullies tended
to be
pretty constant with it, amazingly enough), that meant Peter better
watch out
for some Stealth Purple Nurples...but since Gwen was new to the school,
she
mistook it for something else entirely. The blonde girl looked ready to
explode, almost shaking in fury.
Kong,
noticing the warning signs, elbowed
Flash in the side.

“Whatever,
man,” Kong said, practically
pushing Flash toward the cafeteria and out of the line of fire. “Have
fun with
your girl problems, Parker.”

Gwen rounded on Peter, her cheeks still
flushed. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“What?”

“Why did you make up that retarded
story about you tripping?” Gwen glared, but her evil eye had lost most
of its steam, softening considerably. She gave him a friendly punch on
the shoulder. “If
Flash tries to beat you up again, I’d be more than happy to sock him in
the
face for you.”
It
struck Peter as extremely ironic that he of all people
was getting offered
Bully Protection.

“I don’t think you need to do that –” he
started.
“–
more like want to – “
“-I’ll be okay,” Peter
finished. “Look, I
didn’t want to cause trouble and get everyone worried.” Okay, that part
was
true, so he didn’t feel too guilty about this half-lie. At least he
managed to
keep a straight face. “Let’s just drop this, okay?”

“I meant what I said,” Gwen said. Her
expression softened; the irritation earlier had pretty much deflated
and
fizzled away. “I swear, those idiots stalk you or something. I don’t
want to
eat in the same room with those two,” she said suddenly and steered him
away to
the outside benches and tables. Peter was absolutely starving, but he
followed
anyway, sitting down across from Gwen as she composed herself.
“I…I
know I don’t exactly fit in here,”
Gwen started. She looked down and Peter knew she was recalling that
time he’d found
her crying in a dumpster. “Having you and MJ as friends really means a
lot to
me….and I-I got really mad when I thought you blew us off. Maybe I take
things
too seriously sometimes…”
“Friends
are important,” Peter said. He
awkwardly reached out and gave Gwen’s folded hands on the table a
comforting
pat, not knowing what else to do. “I’m so sorry about yesterday, Gwen.
I really
wish I could make it up to you.”
Gwen offered him a
tired smile. “You
could stop getting beat up. Try standing up against Flash for a change.”
If
I stood up to him, I’d probably break a few of his bones – and not even
on
purpose! “Um…violence really isn’t my thing,” Peter said quickly.
“I know this is going
to sound a bit
weird,” Gwen said quietly. “But I think of you, your aunt and MJ like
you’re my
family. Ever since Dad was murdered,” anger and sadness warred for
dominance in
her voice, “ever since Dad was murdered, you guys have been like-like
an
anchor, y’know? So it’s really important what you guys think and stuff.”
Peter nodded, feeling
like he should be
kicking himself. Gwen still thought Spider-man killed Captain Stacy,
even
though the confrontation between the two versions of Spider-man was all
over
the news later. Peter felt it was his fault for not getting their in
time to be
of much help, except for capturing the Fake Spider-man. Still, the
important
thing was that Gwen was safe and felt like she fit in their little
group. Time
to try cheering her up:
“We’ll
always be there for you, no matter what,” Peter offered a smile. “Come
on, let’s get something eat, okay?”

Gwen got up. “Thanks for listening, Peter.”

--------------------------------
The
next couple of days were pretty
uneventful for Peter after that.
A week passed.
The bruises from that
fight with
Sandman faded, Gwen wasn’t pissed off at him, it rained for three days
straight
so far, and Flash and Kong decided they had better things to do then
attempt
those promised Purple Nurples any time soon. He kept running late for
work at
the Daily Bugle, but Jameson seemed more concerned with finding out
about this
alleged Sandman mutant than ripping Peter a new one. It was as a soggy,
miserably gray Thursday. Web-slinging his way toward Times
Square
proved to be surprisingly crime-free.

Wet, but crime free.

Peter landed on the roof of the Bugle’s
tower, shrugging out of his backpack and ducking into the roof access
door just
long enough to realize he couldn’t throw his normal clothing over a
sopping wet
costume. Okay, Me, remind Myself to
waterproof this thing. He’d have to spend a couple of minutes
trying to
pass the costume under the bathroom hand dryers before sitting down to
work on
the Bugle’s web page today. Grumbling to himself, Peter trooped down
the stairs
and darted into the nearest bathroom he could find. By the time he
surfaced –
this time in a respectable pair of jeans and a light brown shirt – and
made his
way to Jonah Jameson’s office, he knew he was probably in trouble.
“You’re
almost half an hour late, Peter,”
Robbie said in disapproval, intercepting him. He glanced toward the
main
office: Jameson was in the middle of some kind of heated conversation
on the
phone, chewing on his cigar and looking ready to bite it in half. “I’d
tell you
to stay clear of Jonah, but I need you to give these,” Robbie held up a
sheaf
of papers, “to him.”
Peter gingerly took the
pile. Robbie was
nowhere near as explosive as J.J could be, but that didn’t mean he was
a
pushover. He wasn’t too happy about Peter constantly coming in late and
this
was his own way of putting him somewhere where he could get a good
verbal
butt-kicking (courtesy of Jameson) without actually reprimanding him in
person.
It wasn’t the most confrontational approach, but it worked. Well, Peter
supposed he earned it after all: he hadn’t been exactly displaying the
best
work ethics for the past week and he couldn’t even blame it – much – on
his
activities as Spider-man.
He
knocked gingerly on the door. Jameson
looked up, fixed the sixteen year-old with the usual fierce glare and
then
motioned him in impatiently. Sit, he
motioned, stabbing a finger at one of the unoccupied chairs and
abruptly turned
away, still on the phone. Cigar smoke wafted into the air in wisps as
Peter sat
down, holding the papers in his lap and trying to steel himself for the
inevitable confrontation. He only listened to Jameson’s conversation
with half
an ear.
The
papers in his lap were starting to
look extremely interesting when Jameson suddenly exploded on the phone.
Peter
almost fell off his seat in surprise.
“That’s
utter bullshit!” Jameson bellowed into the phone. “You said he left
town,
and now you’re telling me they got
him at the Daily-Fucking-Globe?!”
A brief moment of
silence as the voice on the
other end replied. Forgetting entirely about the papers in his lap,
Peter
looked up. Jameson chewed on the cigar with renewed vigor, clenching it
between
his teeth, standing to the side, his restless pacing forgotten.
“He’s
pissed off, that’s what,” said
Jameson. “I bet he thinks he’ll get revenge by doing this. He used to
be a lot
more professional about that kind of bullshit.”
More
silence.
“Of
course I know how the Globe works.
Their bastards keep trying to steal my goddamn employees all the
goddamn time.
Every month it’s the same thing…yes … yes, I know.”

Who’s
he talking about? Peter wondered. Whoever it was, it pissed off
Jameson
badly. Peter had a feeling he’d be taking a lot more flak than expected
once
his boss finished the phone call.
“No…no,
I don’t think so. They probably
got to him months ago…who knows, he could’ve been planning this even
before
that whole scandal with – what?”
The
person on the other end paused
and then repeated whatever they just said. Jameson let out a barking,
sarcastic
laugh.
“If
I find him in my office, I’ll get
security on his ass so fast he won’t even know how he got out of the
damn
building,” Jameson growled around the smoldering cigar. “There’s got to
be a
way to find out what he’s up to...”
A
question from the other end of the
line.
“I
trust Brock about as far as I can
throw him.”
Peter
froze.

The sheaf of papers slid out of his hands
and slithered out onto the carpet, forgotten.

To be continued

----------------------
I actually updated, yay.

Anyway,
I know this part wasn't uber-slashy...or even meriting the R rating. I
prefer plot first and pairings next, so I guess. Rather build up to any
sexual scenes than just have them in there for no reason.. Just
personal preference and all. If there's anything explicit, it'll
probably be at AFF under the same name. I'll usually say if there's any
difference between this and the AFF version, but so far there hasn't
been any difference (sorry).

Thanks
for reading.
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