Adult-FanFiction.org : Comics

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.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Black Sustenance

by Famira Damaris

Disclaimer: Naturally I don't own Spider-man.

Author Notes: Quickish (for me) update. I just wanted to thank
everyone who reads this random story. I also want to thank to those who
reviewed: while I don't write for reviews (I write since I want to see
where the story goes and because I enjoy writing), I appreciate them a
lot. Thank you both for reading and reviewing.

One
more thing: just pimping out this since it's Spider-man and Eddie Brock
related. I finished up an Eddie Brock/Venom symbiote fanart. :D It's
located at:
http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/52014232/
Italics
for thoughts/emphasis/symbiote

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

Black Sustenance

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

(Bad Blood)


Silver Sable crossed the foyer with
purposeful strides, her gleaming hair shining white in the overhead
lights as
she stalked toward the fine oak doors across from her. Fighting and
losing that
mysterious black mutant didn’t please her, much less the idea that a
good
portion of the Wild Pack team was either recovering or just plain dead after the encounter. They didn’t
even have anything to show for it. That was the worst part of it, the
part that
made Silver Sable grit her teeth and wonder if the job was even worth
it. She
didn’t look forward to contacting the deceased’s families.
How had that mutant escaped? She shot him
not only with the USW cannon, but also with a damn verg!
The creature should have been in a coma, not running
and evading the sweep teams on the streets for the
entire weekend. There had been no sign of the beast’s slobbering face
at all.
Spider-man was active again, but they decided it would be best to stay
away
from him for now. At least that was Flint Marko’s plan: she
fully intended to find out Spider-man's relationship to this black
mutant and follow up on it. Was he a monster like that all the time? Or
was it
some kind of transformation, like the Hulk?
It
had
to be some kind of transformation. How else could the mutant hide from
them
this long? Even if he’d fled to the sewers and subway tunnels, Wild
Pack should
have flushed him out by now.
This
was one of those details that would have been nice to
know ahead of
time.
She
was used to hunting to down targets,
running them down until they were too tired to keep going. But that was
as long
as her contract was valid and she was unsure if the Kingpin still
thought her
services worthwhile after the mess that was two days ago. It’s
Marko’s fault, Silver Sable thought, and knew it didn’t
matter. His failure was her failure.
Pushing
open the double doors to the
expansive office revealed Marko already talking to Wilson Fisk. Or
rather,
talking at him – the Kingpin didn’t
even look like he was listening, squeezed into his chair and glancing
out the
window as Marko explained himself, his burly arms crossed over his
chest. They
both turned toward the door at her arrival.
“Ms.
Sablinovia,” Fisk said.

Silver Sable coolly nodded to Fisk, coming to a halt next to
Marko. “Mr.
Fisk.”

“Mr. Marko here was telling me of
your…problems capturing this mutant,” Fisk went on. “I don’t think it
needs to
be said I’m growing concerned about this. You came to me highly
recommended,
after all.”

The female mercenary’s only sign of
reaction was a faint thinning of her lips. “I intend to correct our
setback. My
Wild Pack operatives are scouring the area he was last seen, and we are
widening the search radius as we speak.”

“I believe he knows he’s being pursued.
He won’t be baited so easily.”

“He can’t hide forever,” Silver Sable said,
more of out sheer experience than any bravado. “We will
find him. We already know that Spider-man is the link.”

Fisk was silent, and then turned in his
chair, facing the impressive view of the Manhattan
skyline he had from his office window. It was high enough to where one
felt
like they were looking out over the world. “I’ll give you one week. One
week
before I start showing interest in this Deadpool character.”

Next to Silver Sable, Marko gave
a twitch, looking up and glaring at the back of Fisk’s chair. Obviously
Deadpool was so notorious that even he knew of the madman. Silver Sable
pushed
down her pride and nodded, then turned smartly on her heel and marched
herself
out of the room. Marko caught up with her once they were out of the
range of
the office, grabbing her by the arm.
“I thought we agreed to
back off of
Spider-man for the time bein’!” Marko hissed.

Silver Sable glanced down at her arm. “Remove
your hand before I get unpleasant.”
Marko glared, but let
go. He was unable to resist muttering “crazy
bitch”, but she decided to ignore it this time around. It was
half-hearted
anyway.
“Finding this mutant’s more important and
Spider-man is our main lead,” Silver Sable said. “We have a week before
my
employer makes the mistake of replacing me with Deadpool. I don’t know
about
you, but I don’t intend to be in the
area if he does show up. I think it best if we don’t give him any
excuse to be
in New York in the first
place. I
don’t like getting civilians killed if I can avoid it.”

“I’d rather not get killed if I could avoid
it,” Marko muttered under
his breath.
Silver
Sable quirked an eyebrow at him. “You’re made of sand.
I don’t think you’re in much danger.”

“I’m sure he could get creative an’
figure somethin’ out,” Marko replied. “I’ve heard he’s done crazier.”

“Either way, we need to do whatever it takes to capture this
black
mutant of yours,” Silver Sable said. “I’ll have Spider-man followed.
Eventually
he’ll slip and we can track him down, identify him. Once we know his
true
identity, we’ll be closer to learning who this mutant is if we can
narrow down
who he’s been in contact with as both himself and Spider-man.”
“Do
what y’gotta do, I guess,” Marko grunted,
finally relenting. “I’m going to find this fucker my
way.”
---------------------
Peter
Parker shook his head
furiously. No way was he letting MJ come!
“No,
I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he protested. “You’re not
coming, okay?”

Mary Jane flared, planting her hands on her
hips. “How come?”

“It’s…it’s just a guy from my work,”
Peter explained, not backing down. It was bad enough he had to risk it
all to
make sure Brock wasn’t going on a
bloody rampage because of him. He could never forgive himself for
putting MJ in
the line of fire in case anything happened. Seeing that his best friend
wasn’t
just accepting that explanation alone, he decided he would have to tell
her
some of the truth. “Eddie Brock.”
Mary Jane’s face was
blank.
Peter
tried again. “The one that threatened to kill me?”

“Oh!” Mary Jane look startled. “They
found him?”
“Yeah.
I…I think I should visit him, but I
think it’s safer if you don’t come.”

“Why would you even want to visit a guy who
threatened to kill you?” Mary Jane asked.

Peter sighed. It was a lot bigger than just that. After all, he
was already
threatened every day to begin with, from small time crooks to the next
guy
fancying himself a supervillian, so Brock wouldn’t have been a blip on
the
radar normally. “I don’t know. Maybe we can try to work things out,”
Peter said
lamely.

Mary Jane huffed, but eventually gave
up.
“You be careful, Peter
Parker,”
she said, shaking a finger at him.

“I’ll try,” he said, bending down and tying
his shoelaces. Just his web-shooters were actually on him: no Spidey
outfit
today. Not when he was dealing with Brock. For all he knew, the mere
sight of
his costume might send the former reporter over the edge again and he
wanted to
try to get some real answers without having to pound them out of him.
“Can you,
uh, tell Aunt May and Gwen I had a study session at the library or
something? I
don’t know exactly when I’ll get back.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll try to hold them
off as long as I can.”


“Thanks, MJ,” Peter said, and kissed her on the cheek. “‘For
luck’.”

Mary Jane grinned. “You’re such a dork. Did you
just quote Star Wars at me? As Leia?”
“You’re
the bigger dork for knowing what I was
even quoting in the first place,” Peter opened the door. “I owe you
big.”

Peter’s smile dropped as soon as he was on
the bus line from Queens that would take him to the island; he couldn’t
help dropping his
head into his hands and running worried fingers through his hair. It
was easy
to act like nothing was wrong in front of MJ, but the truth was that he
was
almost convinced today would end badly. He hadn’t seen Brock in such a
long
time: the last time was months ago, when he found out that the former
reporter had become the symbiote’s new host.
Nevermind
the fact that Peter
genuinely liked Eddie Brock before
all that.
He
still remembered that first meeting in
Jameson’s office. Eddie, standing up and smartly dressed in his dress
shirt and
black leather jacket, holding out his hand briskly and carrying himself
like
Peter imagined a real live journalist
would. He didn’t even flinch at Jameson, meeting him head on. The whole
mess
with the Quentin Beck conference, Eddie there trying to explain
everything and
even being so concerned about the “new kid” that he had risked his life
while
everyone was running for theirs just to look for him.
Peter
could still remember how
terrible it felt when he’d dragged out both Mysterio and Eddie from the
Lavits,
and came to the chilling realization that the blond simply wasn’t breathing anymore. He looked dead, eyes
closed, face relaxed and skin ashen.
It was only sheer luck
that Peter still,
somehow, recalled the CPR they taught in phys ed once – and it was an
outright
miracle that it even worked at all. The stuff he said back then over
Eddie was
more out of desperation than any real hope for the guy, who not only
inhaled
Mysterio’s bizarro gas but also a good lungful of smoke. It had been
one of the
scarier moments of Peter’s life; especially when he was trying
frantically to
remember just how many compressions you
were supposed to do, praying that he was even doing it right, and
looking down
at the unresponsive, deathly pale reporter lying on the ground and
worrying
that he wouldn’t wake up.
    Worrying that Eddie Brock was the life
he couldn’t save.

When Eddie finally revived, gazed up at him,
still looking half-dead, and commented – of all things – on his shirt, Peter had felt like a huge weight
had slid off his shoulders.

Once, long ago, when Eddie was still
Eddie, Peter wanted to be like him.
He enjoyed tagging
along. Just
being with Eddie was fine: it was a lot more fun and interesting than
the
programming work or just solo photography. The Eddie back then used to
be
funny, critical of others yet always willing to be the first to
criticize
himself. He didn’t seem to be afraid of anything, either, willing to
charge
ahead armed only with a camera and a press pass as if that was all he
needed.
But now the Eddie he knew was gone: there was only Brock. There was
only Venom,
twisted by hatred and rage and an alien symbiote that whispered sweet
nothings
and took you over, body and soul, and made you its possession until you
couldn’t twist free. Or, at that point, maybe didn’t even want
to escape.
That
weight Peter felt when he thought
Eddie was dead? It was back.
He supposed in a way this could
mean the Eddie he knew was dead, but
Peter wanted to hope that maybe it wasn’t so irreversible. That maybe
the comics
and movies had it right when they talked about redemption. Maybe it was
being
too optimistic, but he couldn’t help feeling that way all the same.
When
Peter reached the emergency room, he loitered outside for a few,
indecisive minutes, biting his lip and every now and then glancing at
the glass
doors. He had been in such a rush to see Brock and make sure the ER was
still
in one piece that he hadn’t even come up with a convincing story about
how he
knew the “John Doe” brought in two days ago. Or why it would be okay
for
someone who claimed he was a
co-worker to visit. Should he just sneak in?

Probably would be best. It wasn’t like it
was the first time he had to take the backdoor.
-------------------
Eddie still felt physically weak, but
that wasn’t enough to stop the need for the twice daily servicing he
required.
At
least they put him in a real room, he
thought feverishly, because he was starting to moan load enough that it
would
have brought in someone to investigate if it had been the previous
curtain
dividers. It was embarrassing, really, that he couldn’t even go a day
without
needing this release, and it was made worse by the fact that his Other
was in
no shape to do it for him. And while Eddie did
try to go back to the basics and jerk off like every human male out
there in
the world equipped with a penis, it just didn’t seem to give him the
same sense
of temporary fulfillment that servicing by symbiote did.
It
felt…empty. Unsatisfactory.
It also
probably didn’t help that mentally he didn’t even want to jerk off. He
wanted
to sleep, dammit, but his changed
body wouldn’t have any of that. Shoving a hand down the flimsy, crinkly
pants
they gave him, Eddie took hold of his straining erection, feeling its
throbbing, painful warmth in his palm, and began to try – again – to
unsuccessfully
masturbate, running fingers along his length and touching its sensitive
head.
The blond bit down another moan as he ran his fingers back down, and
then up,
feeling the familiar, human feeling of pleasure rising in response.

And yet it wasn’t enough.

Eddie Brock, he thought,
panting, you are one fucked up
individual.

A big problem, he decided, was that he didn’t feel particularly
motivated to jack off. And that, he was now finding, made it really,
really
hard to get anything accomplished when he plain didn’t feel like it.
Eddie even
tried the tactic of visualizing Spider-man as theirs
and found his thoughts wandering off in mid-fuck. After a
few more minutes of trying to stroke his erection into release, Eddie
had to
give it up as a lost cause, groaning aloud to himself. This wasn’t
working. He
was too accustomed to the symbiote being there, giving and taking,
invading him
in every fashion, claiming him even as they planned to invade and
possess the
Spider. Trying to fly completely solo like this didn’t cut it.
Turning in his bed,
which was hard,
cramped, and far too starchy for his tastes, Eddie buried his face into
the
pillow and groaned louder into it out of sheer frustration. No doubt a
few
minutes from now he’d be back to trying to get off. Not
trying drove him crazy, was even worse than the tease of his
own feeble attempts at self-servicing, like an itch in the back of his
skull that wouldn’t go away unless he threw away all human inhibitions
and tried to
fuck his brains out.
The
problem with that was he wasn’t willing to start jumping people
here. It was one thing with the symbiote. It was another thing entirely
with
anyone else.
Eddie
wasn’t so far gone that he’d be
willing to bang strangers. It was bad enough he was apparently already
willing
to go for their brains in his free time.

He was still lying there catching his
breath and debating another go at it when he suddenly jerked up,
sensing something.
A familiar presence on the roof…who…?
      Oh.
Him. He
wouldn’t dare, Eddie scowled, lying back down and resting his cheek
against
the pillow, keeping his eyes mostly closed and trying to tell his groin
to stop that
right now. He can’t be that stupid –
Peter
Parker proved him wrong by popping
his head upside down past the window frame and looking inside.

What does he want? Eddie tried
to ignore the
insistent pool of heat between his legs that only strengthened at the
sight of
their Spider. Did he want to gloat at their weakness? It was because of
him
that they were in this state anyway, and it was his fault that Eddie
couldn’t
even accomplish the simplest of tasks and jerk off like a normal
man. The symbiote was almost completely dormant now, but it
registered Parker’s presence even so.

If he intended to finish them off, they would be ready to fight
him,
weakened or not. They both wanted to survive too much.
Feigning
sleep, and letting his body relax, Eddie watched through
half-closed eyes as Parker reached down, did something with the window
and
eventually slid it open, moving as quietly as possible. Slipping in and
sitting
on the counter under the window, toned legs curled under him, he
carefully slid it closed again and set down
his backpack, turning toward the bed.
“Brock,” Parker
whispered, approaching the
bed. He paused for a long, long moment looking down at them, expression
visibly
upset. “Eddie, are you awake? Eddie?”
Eddie wasn’t sure at first what made him snap. It
wasn’t the burning need of the Spider he had that he
couldn’t satisfy. It wasn’t even that or the fact that this was all
Parker’s
fault. Or that he was bothering them when they were trying to rest.
It was the mention of his former name.

He
of all people still insisted on
calling them “Eddie Brock”, as if the human known by that name was
still there,
was still in one piece. The Spider refused to acknowledge them as what
they
were now, what they would be forever! Pure rage
clouded Eddie’s vision and he completely forgot about the need to wait
and see,
to rest or even attend to his body’s needs. Without warning, his eyes
snapped
open, fixed snakelike right on Parker standing over him, and then he
lurched
for the teenager with a snarl, his hands already starting to morph into
the
oily, jet black claws as he went for his exposed throat:
   “Don’t call
us that! There is no more Eddie
Brock!”

They hit the floor in a violent tangle of limbs and rolled,
banging into
the base of the bed, Eddie the entire time hissing in fury and trying
to get in
a good hit so he could smack some sense into Parker once and for all.
They were
Venom! They managed to get in a rake
of their claws across the boy’s shoulder before he recovered from his
initial surprise
and started to defend himself. It wasn’t much of a fight in their
condition.
There was no time for acrobatics and Parker didn’t even bother, instead
fighting rough and dirty and retaliating with a brutal headbutt that
left Eddie
seeing stars and reeling.

        That still didn’t drop him.
Parker
fired off a second headbutt right
on the tail of the first.
Stunned,
the blond fell back, collapsing onto the floor as Parker
scrambled to his feet, panting and clapping a hand to his bleeding
shoulder. Eddie
hadn’t gotten off lightly from the brief scuffle either, his head
aching like
he’d been hit by a sledgehammer (closer to the truth than he would have
liked
to admit), and now tasting the coppery tang of his own blood in his
mouth from
a newly bleeding nose.
“Stop it,
Eddie!” Parker said
over them as they tried collect themselves, licking unconsciously at
the
flowing blood and gazing up at him. For some reason they saw two Parkers and they weren’t quite sure
which one to focus on. “Stop it right now!”
Eddie pulled himself up
into a sitting
position, glaring daggers up at the Spider (well, at the one he picked
as the
real one, ignoring the clone image of him wavering in his vision).
Their nose hurt, though it wasn’t broken, and his
head was absolutely killing him from that second headbutt. They wanted
nothing
more than to press the attack, show this insolent whelp why it wasn’t
wise to
deny them the respect they were due by calling them their old name.
Feeling the
blood from his injured nose starting to well up on his tongue, Eddie
tilted his
head derisively and made a point of spitting a gob of red,
green-flecked blood
at Parker’s foot.
The
teenager didn’t try to jump away;
instead he looked down at the mixture of human and alien blood on his
shoe,
then at Eddie sprawled on the floor with something that almost
resembled pity.
“I
didn’t come here to fight,” Parker said.
Eddie sneered, reaching
up and
wiping at his bleeding nose with the back of his hand. “You came to
gloat, we bet.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Hard
to believe. Either that or finish
them off.
“I didn’t come for any
of that,” Parker repeated. “Now can we talk like people
or are we going to just have to slug
it out? I think we both know I’d kick your ass right now if it comes to
that.”
Eddie
hissed between his teeth in annoyance, but had to reluctantly
concede the point. If the Spider could drop them just from two
headbutts –
something that wouldn’t have done much damage before – than it was very
possible he could fight them and actually win in their present state.
Those blows
really did a number on them too. He didn’t think they could stand up
yet
without falling, much less coordinate an attack, tempting as it was.
“Get it over with, Spider,” Eddie said crankily.
“Tell us what you want
then.”

Parker still looked troubled. “Why do you keep doing that?”
Eddie
had no idea what he was going on
about now. All he knew was that he was apparently talking to the wrong
Parker-image and hastily turned his attention onto the right one. They
looked
at the right Parker blankly.

“You keep saying ‘we’,” Parker said. “Eddie, there’s only you.
There is
no ‘we’.”
“How we talk about what
we are
bothers you?” Eddie couldn’t help a self-deprecating laugh, leering up
at the
teenager standing over him. “Something so trivial?”
“Yes, it does happen to
bother me because
creepy stuff bothers me. Do you even know how utterly insane
you sound right now?”

Eddie couldn’t prevent the uf-uf-uf
of another laugh from bubbling up, throaty and not quite his – it was
the
closest thing a symbiote could do to show amusement. “And what makes
you think
we care, Spider? We are very happy
with what we are. You don’t know what you gave up, you stupid fool.”
Parker
went silent, and stepped back to
allow Eddie to finally get to his feet. The blond pushed himself up
with the
aid of the bed, annoyed that his legs shook and new stars burst into
his
vision, but at least he was able to stagger over to the lone stool in
the small
room and sit down, turning his back on the boy and letting him know
that they
would honor this temporary truce – for now. Eddie sat down, resting his
hands
on his knees and for a moment trying to wipe away the rest of the blood
leaking
from his nose.

Relaxing slightly, Parker sat down on the edge
of the bed after making sure he secured the door with some webbing and
ensured
them some privacy.
“I
came to talk,” the Spider finally said.

Eddie grunted in disbelief, tending to his
nose by wiping at it with his increasingly bloodied hands and
occasionally with
his flimsy shirt, glowering at the teenager the whole time if he could
burn
holes just by sheer dint of willpower.
Parker
crossed his arms over his chest. “I
want to know what you were doing there the other day in that park. I
found you
naked and unconscious. I had hoped…”

Should they tell him about Sandman and
Silver Bitch? “Hoped?”
The
boy flushed, embarrassed. “I’d hoped
that maybe you were normal again,” he said quickly, the words rushed
together
and sounding flustered. “I didn’t see the symbiote. Okay, you happy?”

Eddie simply stared dumbly at Parker, for
a moment not comprehending the absurdity of the boy’s words, and then
threw
back his head and really laughed this
time.
“You…thought us….” Eddie found
it hard to speak normally, grinning, fangs bared. “Oh Spider, you
really are one of a kind, aren’t you? So
hopelessly optimistic!”
“Stop
calling me that,” Parker said peevishly. “I’m not your ‘Spider’
for the last time. I have a real name, you know.”

Eddie fixed Parker with a bloodshot
eye. “And so do we.”

Parker sighed, getting frustrated. “I’m not calling you ‘Venom’.
You’re
always going to be ‘Eddie Brock’ to me whether you like it or not.”

“Then you will always be ‘Spider’ to us.”

“I – okay, whatever. Not going to argue about
this right now,” Parker said, visibly
taking a breath to focus himself. “Well? What were you doing there when
I found
you?”
Eddie shrugged. “What
business is it of
yours?”

“I brought you here, Eddie!” Parker flared. “I didn’t have to,
but I
did!”
“So
one act of goodwill binds us to you, is that it?” Eddie asked
sarcastically. “Enslaved by your charity?” The blond drawled the word out with obvious
contempt.
Parker
met his eyes. “This wasn’t the
first time and you know it.”
   That
shut them up. Yes, yes they remembered all too well that first incident
at the
Lavits. Saving Eddie Brock’s life that day did merit some kind of favor
in
return, it seemed, and for a long second Eddie just stared at Parker,
deciding
how much to share. Not all, of course, because he mustn’t be warned too
early
about the mating that needed – must –
be done. Eddie looked down, fiddling with part of his torn shirt in a
bloodied
hand and toying with the folds before looking up:
“The Man of Sand,” he
spat, hating every moment of revealed information
to despised, desired Parker. “And the Silver Bitch. They did this to
us, put us
in such a pitiful state that even you are a threat. They hunted you and
then
tried to hunt us. The Silver Bitch hit us with some kind of strange
weapon and
weakened us to where escape was necessary.”

Parker looked as if he was wondering whether Eddie was lying or
not. “So
that’s how far you got? That park?”

“Yes.”
“I
think I know Sand Dude already,” Parker said, thinking. “What about
this Silver…”
“Bitch,”
Eddie supplied helpfully. “White bodysuit, silver hair. Man of
Sand called her a ‘crazy bitch’, we do believe. So: Silver Bitch.”

“Figures,” Parker muttered under his
breath.

Eddie shifted in his seat. They still needed to find a way to
service
themselves, but now the idea of doing it in private looked more and
more
appealing…and not in a place where
the Spider thought he could come and go as he pleased just because he
got in a
lucky hit today. “Leave,” he hissed. “Or we will.”
“Just
one more thing,” said Parker quietly.
“I just want to know if the real Eddie is really gone. I don’t get why
you keep
saying ‘we’ if that was the case.”

The blonde opened his mouth to tell Parker
just how dead wrong he was, but found he had no words left. They didn’t
want to
talk about this, not to anyone, not to Parker. The situation
was…complicated.
And what did Parker care anyway? Why the need to be so nosy? Glancing
over
suspiciously at the boy, they saw that he was watching them with open
pity now.

“Eddie, if you’re even still in there, I just wanted to know if
you
thought this really was the only choice you had.”

“I…it…” Eddie seemed to shake himself
under Peter Parker’s scrutiny, as if struggling to come out of a daze.
It was
hard to tell what was what or where he ended and his Other began. Why
did it
matter so much? He couldn’t imagine a time without that intimate
presence in
his mind or coiling in his body, owning a place even in his very bones
just as
it did everywhere else that was his to give.

He wavered. “Yes, I-I think was.”
It
seemed a lot more certain earlier in his
mind with just the symbiote, but now he was torn. Parker was just
sowing more
confusion; that was what he was good at, after all, and now they were
starting
to get angry again now that they saw through his games. Either one of
them
would leave or there would be a corpse on the floor in a couple of
minutes.
Eddie
abruptly stood up and glared at Parker.
“You
always were good at diversions, boy,” he
said, eyebrows drawn together, face still a ghastly mask of blood
despite his
attempts to clean himself up. They turned and mounted the wall, then
the
ceiling before the window, presenting their back on Parker. “But you
won’t
separate us that easily. If you
follow us, we will stop you by killing those civilians you so love,
starting
with your precious Mary Jane Watson.”
With
that said, Eddie drew back a fist, the symbiote rippling black over
his arm, and punched the window. Glass shattered outward as Eddie
crawled
through and then bounded up out of sight, ascending the outer wall and
disappearing into the deepening evening.
They were
done here.
---------------
Running
to the window, Peter Parker watched Brock take off, knowing that he
would carry
out his threat if he was followed. He didn’t dare risk pursuing the
former
reporter even though he was weak enough that he could probably be
dragged back.

Eddie…
Was it hopeless? Peter
didn’t know. He did know he was seriously creeped out:
while he did see Eddie
sitting there, speaking eerily with Eddie’s voice, he knew that he
wasn’t
dealing with the man he used to know (and it wasn’t just the creepy way
he kept
saying “we” either). The Eddie Brock he knew wouldn’t have tried to
attack him,
for starters, much less tried with his bare
hands. Especially unnerving was the expression when he’d attacked
him,
ready to kill, his face twisted with such open hatred that Peter hadn’t
even
tried to fight back at first just from shock alone. The pure rage that
he saw
on Brock’s face at that moment was nothing short of terrifying; if the
blond
could have, he probably would have tried his damned best to tear him
apart.
Most
of the jokers he’d fought wanted to
either hurt him badly or just plain try to kill him, but he hadn’t seen
anything that had matched Brock’s look today.
It
was hard not to feel depressed. The meeting
hadn’t gone off as well as he would have hoped, and starting it off
with a
fight? Yeah, not the best of ideas,
but Peter needed to defend himself. He felt a bit guilty about hitting
Brock
like that, but he needed to be stopped before it got too out of hand.
All signs
seemed to point to the fact that the symbiote problem was irreversible,
but he
wasn’t going to just take it and leave it like that. He’s
got to still be in there, Peter thought, picking up his
backpack and wincing at the bleeding claw wounds on his shoulder. For a second it seemed like I was getting
through to him.
Maybe he was just a
sucker believing in
misplaced hope. To tell the truth, Peter
was ready to think it a lost cause until Brock actually told him about
Sandman
and that silver lady – and he hadn’t even had to punch it out of him.
All
things considered, Brock had answered
him surprisingly freely.

Maybe it wasn’t as hopeless as it seemed.


“Is everything okay in there?”
Peter
turned, and watched as the doorknob jiggled, rattling as someone
on the other end tried to get into the room.
“Mr.
Doe? Please open the door!”
I think
that’s my cue, he decided, and after a moment, let himself
out of the broken window and back up onto the roof. Wouldn’t be too
smart to
stick around, especially once they got through the door – or his
webbing
dissolved – only to discover that their mystery patient suddenly upped
and left
through the window. It wouldn’t look good, not when some of Brock’s
blood
splashed all over the floor from that encounter and him still standing
here
with some of that blood on his own clothes. That,
and me and cops? We don’t mix.
Peter beat a retreat
from the ER, going
back to the streets once he was a few blocks away. Compared to earlier,
he had
some leads, thanks to Brock: Sand Dude was still out there and
apparently had
picked up a girlfriend to take along with him on his idea of a romantic
date.
There
can’t be that many people that look like what Brock said though.
She must
have been the crazy lady who shot him up with all those dart things the
other
day. How cute, Peter thought,
annoyed. A crazy lady to go with a crazy dude made out of sand,
of all things. Somehow the pairing fit. Maybe the Bugle would
have some more information on them.
Peter
still found himself thinking about Brock, though.
Even if he wasn’t
out to kill him or his friends and family immediately, it
still came down to it that he didn’t know where the man went or just
what his
agenda even was. Or why Crazy Lady and Sand Dude were after him in the
first
place. To top it off, Peter still had a ton of homework due and he
hadn’t even
gotten started. Not to mention his shoulder was all messed up (thanks
to Brock)
and he couldn’t exactly go home on the bus with a bloody, shredded
shirt and not draw some unwanted attention.
Great.
He
still had his costume in his backpack,
more for an emergency than anything else, but swinging back home with
an
injured shoulder didn’t look too fun – but it was either that or bus
home
looking like he’d murdered someone. Ducking into an alley and stepping
gingerly
over the trash and questionable puddles of something
that wasn’t water, Peter sat down on a plastic crate. He didn’t change
immediately, staring down at the crumpled costume in his hands, running
his
fingers over the slightly raised webbing over the familiar red and blue
fabric,
and unable to shake that ugly look on Eddie Brock’s face.
------------------------
(The next day)
The
one good thing about being what
everyone thought was a “common crook” was that you developed the
small-time
connections where it counted. You also learned to make friends fast and
get
buddy-buddy with even the most random of people. There was that…and
there was
also just listening into the proper channels – rumors, gossip, you name
it, he
paid attention to it – and sifting through the bullshit about alien
abductions
to more down to earth matters.
Rumor usually had a
grain of truth in
there anyway. It was what brought Flint Marko to this emergency room,
ditching
Silver Sable to snoop around on his own, with his way. Let her keep
stalking
that immature kid in his red and blue tights if she thought it’d help.
He’d
rather do what he always did best and follow up on that vital
difference
between rumor and truth. Rumor had it
that there was some kind of case with a John Doe over the weekend,
something about this man being brought in by Spider-man – and before
the
weekend was out, mysteriously vanishing. Only it wasn’t without any
trace,
which wouldn’t help much, or drawn as much attention. What did catch
his
attention was the rumor that there had been some kind of fight, and
there was
blood.
Weird
blood.

Now he didn’t fancy himself a science man,
but if this mystery John Doe was their target, then even his blood
could
probably be useful to Fisk. Flint Marko
approached
the middle-aged receptionist manning the head desk.
“Hey,
miss,” he said. “I’m sorry t’bother
you, but I was wondering if you could help me.”

The receptionist looked up from her
computer. “Are you here for visitation?”
“Yeah.
Only…” Flint
trailed off, looking worried. He thought about how it would feel if
that crazy
fucker Deadpool ended up in New York.
It wasn’t that hard to look worried. “I’ve been jumpin’ around from ER
to
hospitals all night looking’ for my sister’s boyfriend. He went missin’
the
other day after a fight they had and my sister’s almost outta her mind
from
worry. Kinda had a drug problem. I heard Spider-man brought a man here,
so I’m hopin’ that’s him…”
The
name of the game was confidence: act
like you belonged and you did belong.
Flint didn’t fault the
woman for
falling for it. She wouldn’t be the first or the last. That was the
problem with nice, respectable people.


The receptionist frowned and stood up.
“He did bring a John Doe in the other day, Mr…?”

“William.”
“I’m sorry to say
there’s been a bit of a – a complication. Please, come
this way. Jane, I’ll be right back,” the receptionist said to her
partner at
the counter, and escorted Flint
down the halls. “He went missing around noon
yesterday, Mr. William. We don’t know exactly what happened, other than
that it
looks like he could have been abducted.”
“What!”
“We called the police,
but by the time we
got the doors opened, he was gone,” the woman stopped at the door – or
what
remained of it. It looked like a ram had caved it in (probably those
police
rams), and the room itself looked like a war zone: blood was splattered
all
over the floor and part of the bed, bent at an unnatural angle as if
something
hit it and hit it hard. A chilly
breeze drifted in from the broken window at the end of the room, which
itself was
still cordoned off by yellow tape. Despite feeling like he was onto
something, Flint
knew that he still had to play it careful.
Best
not to sound triumphant. Flint
thought of Silver Sable carrying out her threat about ripping his balls
off and
found it easier to go the right couple of shades of pale.
“Oh
my God,” Flint
said, shaken.
“The police found some
kind of webbing on
the door before it dissolved. They think Spider-man did it…but that
doesn’t
make sense, he brought him in.”
Flint
was going to need a description. While he didn’t know what the fuck
happened
here, what he did know was that this black mutant had probably escaped.
Maybe
Spider-man tried to stop him. He took a risk: “Was this John Doe tall?
Like,
this high?” he held out his hand at the height he guessed the creature
had
been. “Has a bit of muscle on him, pretty good shape?”
The
receptionist nodded. “Yes, about that
height. Tall man around 6'3'', probably in his early thirties. Short
blond hair, gray-green eyes.”
“That’s
definitely him. How was he when he was in?”
“Disoriented.
He didn’t seem to know how he
got here…I’m so sorry we couldn’t help you more.”
“Would
it be okay if I looked inside the room? Maybe he left a hint.”
The
woman bit her lip, and glanced over his shoulder. She lowered her
voice. “I was told not to let anyone disturb the crime scene. But…you
can take
a quick look. Please don’t move anything.”
Flint
had to give her credit. Despite her gullibility, she wasn’t going to
leave him
in the room alone. She stood by the door, her eyes following him as Flint
ducked under the cordon tape and carefully moved about the room, making
a point
of examining everything even though he only had eyes for the blood on
the
floor. Finally crouching down, his back to the receptionist, he reached
down
with one hand, keeping his head pointedly turned away, and discreetly
scrapped
off some of the dark red stain (which, for some reason, was dotted with
curious
green flecks) on a piece of glass before standing up. The glass had
disappeared
by the time he turned around, his shoulders drooping with defeat.
“I
don’t see anything,” Flint
said. He glanced at the broken window as he stepped carefully across
the crime
scene and ducked back under the cordon. “I’m not from around here, but
I was
wonderin’ if you could direct me to th’ nearest police station? I
better see if
they found anything.”

“Of course. This way please.”

Flint
fell behind the receptionist, and hid his smirk. Today had been very
productive: he not only had a blood sample, he also had a description,
enough
to tell him several interesting things. For starters, apparently this
mutant
looked and acted reasonably enough like a normal man to fool the staff
here
when he wasn’t a big, drooling
monster with those longass fangs of his. Now that Flint
had a real description of their mutant, he decided that following up
Silver
Sable’s idea about finding out Spider-man’s identity wasn’t such a bad
one. This description and the blood sample would help narrow down any
of Spider-man's acquaintances
instead of having to sift through each and every person the kid playing
superhero might have come in contact with..
Still, he wasn’t about
to act like the silver bitch and just walk out
now that he had what he wanted. He had
been raised right. Flint Marko made sure
to thank the receptionist politely for her help before leaving – she'd
helped him in ways she couldn’t even imagine.
-----------------------
Weakness was still in
their blood, but
Eddie Brock knew he would recover.
The incident with Peter
Parker hadn’t helped though: between being pumped full of sedatives and
then getting hit
in the head twice in the space of
twenty-four hours, Eddie was left feeling rattled. He hoped he didn’t
have a
concussion. The symbiote would probably take care of it if he did, but
that was
still kind of a big “if” there considering he didn’t know for sure the
extent
of his Other’s abilities. Nursing what he knew would be a spectacular
bruise
pretty soon, and trying to figure out how he would explain it at the
Globe when
he went in tomorrow morning, Eddie lowered himself gingerly onto the
bed of the
apartment. They were a mess. He was a
mess.
But being so close to the Spider, to
Parker, was so maddening! Eddie still remembered the encounter
perfectly well –
being near Parker honed their recall – but he still wasn’t sure what to
make of
it. Somewhere in the back of his mind Eddie knew he was what the kid
said, that
he was probably certifiably crazy, and yet he couldn’t find it in
himself to
care (much). What did it matter? He was one with his Other and
eventually he
would be one with their Spider as well. What did it matter if he had a
few
screws loose?
Why
did Parker care so much in the first
place?
All
Eddie knew was that reason seemed to
fly right out the damn window when he got close to the kid. Like being
near
Parker served to remind them of all their rage and failures, remind
them of
their hatred and longing even though they knew they couldn’t kill him.
Despite
all that had happened to him, Eddie used to think he was still somewhat
adjusted, all things considered…only the encounter yesterday proved that wrong. That, topped off with the recent
news that he was now apparently a cannibal, gave him a good deal to
chew over
in his head.
After a moment of
restlessly lying on
the bed, Eddie pushed himself to his feet and paced about the confines
of the
room. What to do? It wasn’t yet time for the union with the Spider and
while he
couldn’t deny his own lust for being one,
Eddie had to admit that trying to mate with Peter Parker was not only
pretty
gay, it was also probably highly illegal. Let’s
face it: he’s still jailbait, Eddie thought. And that wasn’t even
counting
that they doubted he would consent to all this while it was going down.
While Eddie knew that the usual human laws didn’t apply to him or his
Other, he
had grown up with these views and he
couldn’t deny that looking at it from a step back did
make him feel a bit apprehensive.
The
symbiote slid languidly through the back of his skull. Don’t
concern yourself with these petty details, Host. We have done
this before and will do it again.
“You’re
right,” Eddie said, drawing
comfort and strength in the solid confidence he could feel emanating
from the
symbiote. Put that way, it didn’t seem so
bad.

We
need to deal with our other enemies,
however, before we attempt this.
Oh
yes. Sandman and the silver bitch. Eddie agreed wholeheartedly that
something had to be done about them; either drive them away or kill
them. Eddie
stopped his restless pacing, resting a hand on the scratched windows
and
feeling the chilly glass against his skin.
Until the enemies on those fronts were
gone, they couldn’t get down to business. Eddie felt the increasing
effects of
the symbiote’s need every day. Having it prolonged any longer than was
necessary seemed tantamount to torture.
Eddie
felt like shit, but he resolved to go back to the Globe tonight anyway.
Every
day mattered. Sensing his intent, the symbiote slid over his bare body,
covering naked skin and forming his clothes: today an unassuming black
turtleneck and jeans, with a matching scarf. Having his Other
enveloping him
like this felt good, real good, and it was almost
possible to forget that his head was still killing him from Parker’s
damn
headbutt.
Asshole.
Eddie
hadn’t thought it possible to both
hate someone’s guts and yet still want
him at the same time. A mental snort. This definitely wasn’t love. He
knew it to
be wrong, perverted, but he couldn’t deny he felt something
for Parker.

He certainly wasn’t going to websling his
way to the Daily Globe. Leaving the apartment, he
waved down a
taxi. Once inside, Eddie leaned back against the seat and closed his
eyes, feeling the car
rumble back to life and pull into traffic. There were probably some
employees still at the offices, but he could probably slip in
relatively
unnoticed. Eddie was impatient to get back to work digging around in
the
Globe’s Archives for information on Sandman and his psychotic
girlfriend, even more motivated. The
memory of his inability to jerk off like a normal human being hit him
harder than he would have liked, even though he knew it was something
small. It was the last fucking straw.

   Despite his bond with the symbiote,
being unable to do the simplest of tasks made Eddie feel…less than
human.

Like he couldn’t control himself.


Eddie flushed as he recalled how he’d
been in the emergency room, how he kept trying to service himself over
and over
even though it clearly wasn’t working. Just like a broken record, he
thought
with disgust.

Opening gray eyes, Eddie glanced out the
window, gazing up at the skyscrapers rising up into the night sky,
stained a
purple-pink from Manhattan’s
light
pollution. They wanted control, craved it. Touching the cool surface of
the
symbiote in its perfect mimicry of a black scarf and feeling the thrum
of life in it, Eddie’s face set with
determination. Maybe he was subhuman right now, but they knew that it
could be corrected.
We’re
a perfect match, Eddie Brock. That was one of the very first things
the
symbiote said the morning after they bonded, when he woke up and felt something in him that certainly wasn’t
there before. As a Host, Eddie was
supposed to be more than human now, and yet he found himself in the
opposite
position. It’s all the Spider’s fault,
Eddie thought angrily, glaring at the flashing screens of Times
Square. While the boy was
in no small part responsible for their creation (Eddie was all too
aware that
he was the symbiote’s second choice, a definite step down from Parker),
the
blond didn’t feel like he should be grateful to him.
He
was their weakness, after all. He was why
Eddie was like this in the first
place. He was why Eddie was little more than an animal going about the
motions
of being a human – even in something as seemingly trivial as sex - if
his
symbiote was incapacitated.
Peter
Parker was the key to righting
that. The union with him would give them the control they desperately
wanted.

To be continued...

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

Unfortunately, my spring break is almost over. Updates might go back to
being kind of sparse. xD:

I've a sheepish admission: I, uh, whenever I write Venom/Brock speaking
as Venom...I admit I imagine it like the old school 90's cartoon Venom
saying the lines Because I'm lame like that..
- 6
- 7
- 8
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Black Sustenance