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.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X
Black Sustenance
X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

(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.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

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.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

"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.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

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."

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

(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.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

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: UBig 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
X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

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.