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 (just remove the spaces):
www. deviantart. com/deviation /52014232/
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
(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."
X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X
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.
X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X
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 stopthat 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.
X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X
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.
X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X
(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.
X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X
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...
X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X
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..