Black Substenance
by Famira Damaris
Disclaimer: I don't own Spider-man.
Author Notes: Mostly Ultimate Spider-man universe except Venom's origins are the symbiote and the shuttle crash from the 90's cartoon. Again, plot first, pairings next. :o If there are spelling mistakes, I'll fix them if and when I finish this story. :) Some slash implications, I suppose.
Also, here's hoping Venom's in Spider-man 3!
Italics for thoughts/emphasis/symbiote
Archive: Sure, just ask.
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Black Sustenance
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(My Personal Watch Dog)
The bus ride wasn't too bad; Peter felt a lot better once they got off at their stop, and he couldn't help but wonder if maybe the whole superhero gig was making him a bit too jumpy. He wouldn't be surprised if it was, but still…there wasn't any reason for him to be looking over his shoulder all the time. There hadn't been anything really big for the last couple of months and the worst he had faced since then was a couple of carjackers who fled the second they caught a glimpse of blue and red. Aside from that, there hadn't been much need for him to suit up and he spent more and more time as Peter Parker hanging out with his friends then swinging around on patrols as Spider-man. I'm getting way too paranoid, Peter sighed as he glanced yet again behind them, the bus pulling away into traffic.
The three of them headed into the large Loews theater. Surrounded by the smell of buttered popcorn and the bright lights lining the main hall, Peter found himself relaxing, checking over his shoulder less and less as he focused his attention on the here and now.
Gwen pocketed her ticket stub from the usher and joined them in the main area of the lobby.
"So! Who's up for popcorn?"
Mary Jane winced, "Not too much – I'm not that hungry."
"What about you, Pete?"
Peter shook his head. "I guess I could just share a Coke or something with MJ."
"Awww…that's so cute of you two," Gwen grinned. "That's fine, just don't make out too loudly, okay? Some of us are here to see the movie."
Peter rolled his eyes at this. "We'll try to keep it down for your sake."
Gwen led the way into the theatre – the tickets said it would be the fifth, found on the right down the hall. Peter hung back until he was walking side by side with Mary Jane down the hall. The red-head smiled at him, keeping her voice down;
"Y'know, I'm glad we're doing this, just hanging out and stuff."
Peter nodded. He held open one of the double doors into the dark auditorium for Mary Jane. "Me too. I can just have fun for once, like a normal person."
They entered the amphitheatre, going up the narrow aisle and pausing at the stadium seating. It was fairly full, and with the way everyone was seated, there wasn't any room of them to sit together as a group. Gwen stopped, looking put-out as she chewed thoughtfully at her lip for a moment.
"Well, this sucks," she said. "Now what?"
Peter glanced quickly at the available seats. He saw a few paired seats scattered here and there, but that left the problem of who would be sitting with who. He could sit with Gwen or sit with Mary Jane, leaving one or the other to sit alone, neither of which were probably good ideas. He had to admit that he liked Gwen a lot – maybe more than he should, for a friend - and Mary Jane seemed to give him weird looks whenever he hung out with Gwen too much. Peter didn't know what the deal was with that. He didn't want to have to make this decision right now, not when they were supposed to be having fun and hanging out.
"I'll, uh, go get popcorn," Peter said quickly. He started trotting back to the lobby outside, giving a wave. "I'll be right back."
"Wait, Peter – "
The auditorium suddenly darkened, casting Mary Jane and Gwen in flickering darkness. Gwen grabbed Mary Jane's hand in hers.
"The trailers are starting, let's get a seat."
Mary Jane paused indecisively for a moment before she followed. "But…"
"Peter hates trailers," Gwen said with a shrug. "It's not like he'll miss anything."
The red-headed girl frowned. She hadn't known that Peter didn't like movie trailers and for some reason, this seemed like very vital information, as if it was something she as his best friend should have known. It rankled somehow that Gwen knew this but she hadn't. I'm not jealous. Mary Jane had to repeat this before she could offer a tentative smile in the darkness, glancing up as Gwen led her up the steps to some seats in the aisle.
"You're right. Besides, how long could it take for him to get popcorn?"
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Eddie found this part of town tiresome. Too many bright lights – in the middle of the day, no less! – too many people, too many offensive smells that the normal humans seemed oblivious to. The symbiote had to agree, murmuring it was a wonder how humans could comfortably wallow in their own filth and not be sickened by it. Unhygienic little beasts. The only solace Eddie could take was that at least he wasn't in the middle of all that garbage, walking with the others on the sidewalks like sheep, like pigs; instead he was suspended comfortably several stories up, perched up against the wall under deep shadows cast by an overhang. He sat back on his heels, gazing down at the movie theater below.
The Spider had gone inside a while ago with his little friends. Chances were the boy could be in there for a few hours, unless he happened to sense something wrong outside – so far, it was quiet and Eddie wished that one of those idiots would hurry up and rob a bank or steal a purse or whatever it took to get his prey's attention. Eddie debated with himself whether or not he should just follow Peter inside. There was a good chance Peter would recognize his human face if he sauntered right in, and the Spider knew that Eddie Brock had no love for him. Besides, he knew Eddie was Venom. A face to face confrontation in public could be problematic. Enjoyable, yes. But while Venom was powerful, Venom was also still maturing. Eddie still didn't have access to all the gifts the symbiote could offer him. A direct confrontation in such a crowded area might not be the way to go, at least not yet.
Waiting for Peter proved to be rather boring. Eddie tried amusing himself by carving out some of the wall behind him, but tearing up ribbons of concrete and brick lost its amusement factor quickly. The symbiote was surprisingly dormant, deciding that all this waiting simply wasn't worthy of its attention, leaving its host to his own devices.
Eddie's face was calm and composed, but inside he was starting to beat his head into a wall, frustrated and impatient. Anger curled in his head and stomach like a snake, hissing and heavy and getting increasingly irritated. Where were the damn criminals? He knew that Spider-man had made plenty of enemies by now – the Green Goblin, Doctor Octopus, among others equally insignificant and unworthy – and he wished that one of them would get it into his head to go into a rampage and draw his Spider out.
Eddie heaved a growling sigh.
He waited an hour and started into the next when he suddenly picked up the scent of something burning. A few experimental sniffs. He tuned his heightened senses forward, perking up. Something on fire. The symbiote recoiled a little at this with loathing. Fire. Electricity. They hated them both with equal passion. Still, if he could smell it this far away, it meant that Spider-man would probably come sallying forth from that movie theater like the little hero he pretended he was once he sensed it as well. Eddie leaned forward expectantly, eyes on the Loews' entrance.
It took a bit longer than he expected – he could spot the column of smoke rising in the distance and growing, and sirens had begun to wail before he spotted Peter. The sixteen year-old glanced left and right before slipping into a side alley, forced to hide behind a dumpster as he hurriedly changed into his quaint little costume. Eddie personally thought that the boy was asking for it when he donned that teasing thing. It clung tightly to his body, as if begging for Peter to get jumped. It was a wonder that none of the others declaring themselves his enemy hadn't taken advantage of that.
Foolish, all of them.
Indeed. The symbiote agreed. But less competition. Convenient for us if we don't have to fend off challengers for our rightful claim to him.
The symbiote was right, as always.
But of course, Host Mine.
Eddie had always liked it when the symbiote called him that – the symbiote desperately wanted the Spider like he did, but there was a strange kind of affection for its current host as well. It had been a long time since it had a host that it considered intelligent and somewhat civilized, and while Eddie knew that the ancient Other probably thought he was crude at times, it was an odd comfort to know that he could always count on the "voice" to always be there.
Your destiny is my destiny, little human, the symbiote had said when Eddie came upon it wandering around that fateful night, when it had been wallowing around, trapped and dying in that bottle. Eddie had been seriously debating how to end his life at that time, too fed up with all the bullshit the world kept throwing at him. I will give you life if you will give me mine. I will give you purpose and much more if only you would accept the gifts I offer.
It hadn't been that hard of a choice. Despite the discomforts and changes due to their bonding, Eddie wasn't at all sorry.
Eddie watched as Peter finally finished changing, pulling the mask over his young face with a tug. He remained in the shadows as the Spider came swinging by on a line of webbing, completely intent on the tower of smoke several miles away and following the sirens and flashing lights of the emergency units buzzing the streets down below. Eddie waited a few more minutes before creeping out under the overhang, the symbiote's black material morphing around his body and face in thickening tendrils, forming claws and fangs and a roiling, slimy serpentine tongue that flicked and tasted the air.
Lazily extending one clawed wrist forward, Venom shot loose a string of web, and set off in pursuit of his prey. He was careful to keep a safe distance, keeping the red and blue of Spider-man just in sight, taking his time and web-slinging leisurely from building to building. No need to hurry. They had plenty of time.
Fire engines were already attacking the burning building with powerful jets of water by the time Spider-man arrived. He paused for only a few minutes, listening in on a couple of cops talking amongst themselves. From the way he took off in another direction, it seemed like this fire wasn't just some accident, Venom decided. Not with the kind of purpose his Spider was moving with.
He still wasn't sure what he hoped to accomplish by stalking his prey. The symbiote reminded him that by keeping an eye on the boy – their boy – they were simply keeping track of property, but he couldn't understand just what the point was following him all over as he played at Cops and Robbers. Well, think of this as exercise, then, purred the symbiote. Putting you through your paces. Even we need to get out and move to keep us strong and fit to hunt.
Good point as any, Venom supposed.
They trailed Spider-man as he glided around a corner, swinging between the canyons of concrete with his typical grace and closing in on a swerving black van. Silently, he let go of his web-line and flipped through the air in a neat arc, long arms and legs tucked in like a professional and landing on the top of the van, causing it to careen off to the left. Venom hung back, keeping several hundred feet up just for safety's sake, and watched with interest. Their Spider had indeed improved; less gawky, more in control, and by default now more desirable.
A few gunshots rang out. Spider-man somersaulted neatly out of the way, seeming to fall off the side of the van only to come back with a kick through the driver's window, his lithe body sliding right through shattering glass and disappearing into the vehicle. The black van swerved uncontrollably and careened to the right, sliding until it began to tip over and flip onto its side. It slammed into a lamp post, sending civilians scurrying for cover as masked men spilled out, coughing as smoke billowed out. Venom was prepared to sit back and watch until the last criminal popped out.
Correction: more like oozed out.
First a nondescript head popped up, followed by a torso in a stripped shirt. Venom wouldn't have been able to pick him out of the other humans. The muscled man hauled himself out, the van still rocking underneath him as Spider-man dealt with the men upfront and suddenly he was slithering out in a mass of what appeared to be sand. The sand mass arced out and curled around, slamming into the broken driver side window like a bullet. Venom caught a glimpse of Spider-man getting propelled out the other side, glass shards sparkling out like snow, as the man of sand came barreling out after him.
You most certainly have an interesting world, Host Mine, the symbiote commented.
"Hey, people turning into sand isn't natural. The guy's a freak," Eddie hissed in Venom's voice. "You'd be surprised how many we've got in New York."
The symbiote only gave a bubbling hiss that was the closest thing to laughter. Venom moved in closer, claws sinking into the walls as he made his way down. Their Spider seemed to be having some trouble with this new foe: currently he was trapped in a thick tendril of sand and struggling to get his way out as the other criminals began pulling themselves together and reaching for their guns. The Sandman (Venom wasn't feeling particularly creative today) had reformed his legs and waist, but his top half was gone, twisted into a huge mass of shifting orange sand that ballooned out into the air. A twist of the portion around Spider-man's stomach and the boy was slammed first into the wall and then into the sidewalk with bone-cracking force, cracks rippling out.
And that was before he suddenly disappeared into a ball of sand.
It occurred to Venom that perhaps this Man of Sand was actually higher on the food chain than their Spider, at least for the time being.
At the rate he was going, either he or his flunkies would actually injure – or kill – Spider-man.
That was simply unacceptable.
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Some people had luck and all the perks that came with it. Harry Osbourne was one of those people. Peter Parker was not. He had two kinds of days: okay and crappy. Today was shaping up to be of the crappy variety.
As usual.
When he'd encountered the van fleeing the scene of the fire, he'd assumed it was going to be easy. Swing in as your friendly neighborhood Spider-man, knock out the driver, web up the criminals, book it back to Loews and actually finish a movie for once. The hardest part would be trying to explain the new bruises to Gwen and MJ. He certainly hadn't expected to run into a man made of sand. As he was flung back and forth like he weighed nothing, Spider-man vaguely tried to figure out the science behind this and found he couldn't explain it. It just wasn't scientifically possible. Maybe in comics, but hello, this was real life!
He hated to say it, but this Sand Dude was kicking his ass across New York.
No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to lose the guy. The guy was everywhere – his head and arms would melt into sand at will and whenever Spider-man tried to go for the legs, he'd find himself get punched backward like he'd been hit by a train. Out of the corner of his eyes, he thought he spotted the rest of the cronies pulling out some guns and making eyes in his direction. This could get ugly quick. He could do all a spider could, sure, but that didn't make him bullet-proof.
He bounced from another throw and rolled onto his hands and knees, gazing up as Sand Dude and trying to figure out how to tackle this new freak-show. What was it with these people and having all these weird superpowers? Says the guy who runs around in spider tights.
…Okay, shut up Peter, you're not helping right now.
"So what do you call yourself?" Spider-man got to his feet, brushing himself off and trying to pretend that he didn't have a raging headache from getting smacked around. "Beach Bunny Sandy? 'Cause, y'know, I think Twinkle Toes Joe works too."
"Cute," his opponent growled, solidifying just enough to spit back a reply. "Is this the extent of the famous Spider-man wit?"
"Hey, I try. Doesn't help when I've got a tough crowd like you and your buddies," Spider-man retorted, nettled. "Seriously, I've been calling you Sand Dude in my head this whole time; it's really distracting when I'm trying to fight you, I'll have you know."
The man in the green and black stripped shirt glowered. "It's Sandman to you, punk."
"Original."
"Like yours is any better," Sandman grunted and began shifting again, features starting to melt away.
A nice heavy dose of webbing hit him in the face and he reeled backward, for a second disoriented as he clawed it from his eyes with a curse.
Spider-man leapt at him. He caught a glimpse of the other criminals raising their weapons in his direction – they held them like they knew how to use them, he realized nervously – before he was suddenly engulfed in darkness. He struggled, but the darkness clung to him, shifting in response to his movements and constricting. His mask was helping a little, but it was hard to breathe and he swore there was sand getting into some downright awkward and wrong places now.
Jokes aside, he was in trouble. Deep trouble. He wasn't sure exactly, but it looked like Sandman had somehow encircled him completely. If he didn't escape, he could probably suffocate or worse, and both were going to be very real possibilities at this rate. He struggled harder, but the sand kept absorbing his kicks and punches. Some of it was trying to force its way into the mask.
After a few minutes, Spider-man's struggles started to slow down. Fighting suddenly seemed so tiring and his arms must've been injected with lead or something, because for some reason he couldn't seem to lift them. His eyes fluttered behind the mask as he sagged into the coffin of sand. It shifted but he only took vague notice, feeling himself sinking.
"You heard me!" Sandman's voice drifted up around him. He was talking to the others. "Get the equipment before the cops arrive!"
"What about Spider-man?"
"What about him? Get – what the fuck!"
A deep, guttural hiss. "The Spider is mine alone, Man of Sand!"
Spider-man heard a muffled crash and a few panicked shouts. Boom, rolling gunshots. Yelling and suddenly he was shoved out of the sand coffin, hitting a wall and falling heavily. Trying to collect his wits about him, he tried to raise his head, vision blurring. Something black and man-sized was darting around the criminals with brutal, inhuman speed: wherever the black shadow went, the men were suddenly down. Some of them were forming red puddles and not moving. Sandman was completely occupied with fighting off this creature.
He must have blacked out at one point. The next thing he knew, he was being lifted up by someone. He coughed, feeling something in his lungs – sand – and tried to push away, but the claws around his neck tightened in warning.
"Stop squirming," a voice growled. "We could snap your neck right now if we wanted."
Spider-man went still. Something fumbled with his mask, drawing it delicately so it rested just above his nose as something wet touched his cheek and dragged a slimy trail over it. Too-warm fingers were brushing against his jaw-line and lips. Unable to resist, Spider-man tensed, trying to gather his wits about it. It was surprisingly hard, what with this fog in his head and he found he couldn't seem to do more than feel – thinking was too hard and he was almost certain he was going to pass out pretty soon. The fact it really hurt to breathe probably had something to do with that.
"We sense you have sand in your lungs, Spider," the voice said.
Something wet was forcing his mouth open and he felt something downright weird entering inside him. It wiggled around and settled in his chest as he struggled to keep breathing. It abruptly pulled itself out, leaving a faint gritty taste of sand, and suddenly he could breathe without it hurting.
"Foolish boy. Always attacking predators stronger than yourself."
Spider-man felt himself getting slung non-too-gently over something hardly – a black, silky shoulder, from what he could see – and the street suddenly looking very far away. Whoever had helped him was carting him off to who knew where and he didn't have the strength to fight back or even look up to identify the man. He hung there weakly, eyes drifting closed with a will of their own as he passed out.
To be continued
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Yeah, I actually updated. xD;
Anyway, I know this fanfic isn't uber-slashy...or even probably meriting the R rating. But when I write, I don't write mindless sex or anything; plot always comes first for me. So yeah. Stuff.
If you want to contact me or ask questions, my my AIM SN is Famira Damaris. Thanks for reading.