A Familiar Face
It isn't difficult to track down Eddie Brock Jr.
A simple social media search and Peter is on his homepage, considering the next move.
Was it too odd to just message out of the blue?
Ah, what the hell.
He sends a quick message and leaves his phone number, and not even five minutes pass before a buzzing is felt in Peter's pocket.
"Peter?" Peter Parker?"
"Y-yeah, this is him."
"Oh my god! Get outta town! Peter Parker? Little Peter Parker!?" Eddie's excitement is palpable through the phone. "Where are you? How are you?! How'd you find me? Where'd you find me? Where are ya?"
"I-I live in Queens-"
"Hey, I'm in the city! I go to Empire State!"
Yeah, I know. I looked you up on-"
"Oh, yeah, duh! We used to hang together every freakin' day, man. This is amazing! What are you, like, in high school?"
"Y-yeah."
"Wow, man, wow... Hey, let's get together. You ever get into the city?"
"Yeah, I stop by the Daily Bugle every know and again, so-"
"You work at a newspaper? Oh, cool. That's so cool, man." There's a slight pause. Peter feels as though Eddie isn't too thrilled at the idea of newspapers. Strange. "We should totally get together, though. Paint the town red or something!"
They agree to meet at a non-descript coffee place downtown the next day, as close to the Bugle and Empire State as they could manage.
Gone was the young wiry blonde boy, replaced with a tall, built man whose biceps were likely bigger than Peter's own skull.
Eddie had been discussing his studies for the past five minutes while Peter sipped on his irritably bland coffee. "Astrophysics. So now I'm in the bioengineering program."
Peter sets down his cup. "Really? That's - wow. I haven't really thought about what I wanna do, but... I was always good at science. And I always liked reading my dad's work... whenever I could get my hands on any."
Eddie has a slight smirk at his lips. "Wow, aren't we just two pieces of work."
"What do you mean?"
"Two little ghost chasers - me and you. Indirectly trying to impress our daddies."
Peter is slightly taken aback. He hadn't thought about it from such an angle before.
But it's also true - reaching out to Curt Connors was directly linked to uncovering the mystery of the decay-rate algorithm notes Peter had found, and now he was sitting across from Eddie Brock Jr., childhood friend and descendant of Richard Parker's old partner.
Eddie was completely right.
"Well, I... I read some of my dad's papers and I - I really believe in his work," is Peter's jumbled response.
Eddie leans in, nodding. "No, I do, too. I mean at first I'm sure I was trying to - I don't know - relive my dad's... something. Right? But I really do believe in what they were doing because, let me tell you... If I didn't, bio is a crapload of reading to be into it for the wrong reason."
Peter begins saying, "Oh yeah, I know-" but Eddie cuts him off.
"No... no, you don't. No one prepares you for this workload. They assign us three chapters a night. A hundred pages a day. Plus you have to have at least one job, because books alone are a fortune. And this city pretty much guarantees that you aren't going to be able to afford taking a girl out on a proper date unless you're one of those Wall Street guys... and who wants to be one of those."
Peter doesn't quite know what to say. He can sense how disgruntled having no money in New York City has made Eddie. Of course, Peter relates, but Eddie seems genuinely dour.
Until his frown is quickly replaced with another smile. "Hey Pete, you got a girlfriend or something?"
Peter looks at his coffee. "I did."
"Did?"
There's a beat. Peter isn't too sure how to approach the conversation.
"I guess I just haven't really let myself think about it. She's like... my best friend, I guess. And I can feel her slipping away. I don't really know what to-"
Eddie interjects. "Man, high school. Let me tell you something that I wish to God someone would have said to me. All this stuff - the stuff you're feeling... five years from now you won't even remember her name. Not fifty years. Not a hundred years. In five years you'll have forgotten all about her. Swear to God."
It isn't true.
Peter loves Gwen - probably at the same level as Aunt May.
But Eddie is still talking. "This stuff, it's soooo important to you now, but let me tell you - it only hurts this much now because you have nothing else to compare it to. It's all just training wheels, man. It all fades away." Eddie begins to look solemn. "Sometimes it's - it's hard to even picture my mom's face, y'know? Sometimes it takes a while."
Peter understands. He feels the same.
The backpack he had left sitting by his leg is suddenly unzipped, and Peter pulls out a blank CD cocooned within a clear case.
"What's that?" Eddie asks.
"A video of your parents. It's all of us at a picnic. It's - it's the reason I looked you up. I thought you'd want a copy."
Peter gives it to Eddie, who stares at it unblinkingly for a few moments. "This is about the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me."
Peter runs his hands through his messy hair. "Well, y'know... just wanted to help."
Eddie carefully places it into his own backpack. Peter notes it's filled to the absolute brim with textbooks and papers. Eddie turns back to Peter.
"You know what? I have something to show you, too."
xxx
With the moon now firmly high in the sky, Eddie and Peter enter the Oscorp Science Center.
They walk through various hallways, and Peter notes how everything square inch of the place is clean, white and sterile.
Eventually Eddie stops at a locked door. He pulls out a key card and inputs a few numbers on the lock mechanism, opening it.
Flipping the light switch, Peter is amazing at the sight of high-tech laboratory equipment and computers which look as though they could pilot a rocket ship through space. The technology was on the same level as what Horizon Labs provided.
"This is definitely not high school."
"Cool, huh?" Eddie is grinning. "But that's not what I wanted to show you."
In the middle of the room is a large containment unit with a hatch, protecting something valuable inside. It looks like the science lab equivalent of a safe.
Eddie walks to his desk, opening a drawer, and pulling out a set of keys.
He then walks to the containment unit, which is protected by three seperate keys, and unlocks each one. Finally, he opens the hatch.
The temperature inside must be set below freezing.
The only thing it houses is a single glass vial - no longer than Peter's index finger.
Inside the vial is a liquid. Black, like tar.
"I - I dont' understand, Eddie... what is this?"
"This is what our fathers were working on when they died. This - this is their life's work. Or would have been if they had been given the chance to see it all the way through."
Peter studies the vial. "What is it?"
Eddie turns his head slightly. "Right now it's a big pile of protoplasmic goo."
"What was it supposed to be?"
"Well... it was supposed to help cure the incurable. Diseases without medicine. Tumours. Cancer, even."
Peter is wide-eyed.
Eddie continues excitedly. "And they were so close - well, according to my dad's notes. Either they were really close or my dad was just wayyyy too excited. It's kinda hard to decipher a lot of the documents so far. Either they're hugely disorganised or parts are missing - maybe your dad had some."
Peter's heart skips a beat.
Maybe, just maybe, when combined with the notes Peter's dad left behind, the bigger picture will lock into place.
For now, though, Peter doesn't say anything while Eddie continues speaking, pulling out a hefty-looking plastic tub.
"Plus, I mean, who knows what else they had on them when the plane went down, right? It's so hard making heads or tails of anything my dad was rambling about." He opens the tub and sifts through, pulling out what appears to be a blueprint.
It shows the outline of a human male, surrounded - or coated - by the black goo Peter saw within the vial. Various equations and footnotes are strewn haphazardly throughout the blueprints, with arrows weaving in and out the page.
It's a mess.
Eddie takes a deep breath. "They were calling it "the suit." Some kind of protoplasmic medical dip that was to be tailed to a patient's specific DNA code. A genetic - uh - bodysuit that would, in theory, temporarily take hold of a patient's biology, find out what the body needed, and then find a natural solution. Like if a cancer had spread - a tumour - the suit would search the body for the right natural toxins, find solutions in the patient's own body chemistry, and put them to work."
While listening to Eddie, Peter scours the blueprints, taking it all in. He notes that his dad's research would be invaluable - there are so many equations on this piece of paper without answers which Peter knows are in the contents of his dad's notes.
If he could just combine the notes of Richard Parker and Eddie Brock Sr. - and with a little brainstorming from Peter and Eddie themselves - it's entirely possible they could make good progress on the "suit."
But Peter also has to wonder...
...why was Richard Parker keeping equations from Eddie Brock Sr.?
They were partners, working on the same product, yet it looks as though toward the end their communication had flatlined.
Was there a reason Richard had been so secretive? A reason Eddie Brock Sr. only had a portion of the information needed to make the suit work?
Eddie is still talking, so Peter tunes back in.
"Basically, the suit would find cancer, diagnose it, and kill it. Far as I can tell - they got somewhere in the middle of phase two. In this phase, the suit would enhance the physical strengths and natural abilities of the patient. I don't know how, though - this is where the notes start getting bonky. But, clearly, that's where they ran out of money. And that's where Trask Industries comes in."
Peter's ears perk. "I've heard that name. Seen it, too. They have the big skyscraper in the financial district, right?"
"Yeah, man. Our dads worked in that building. Both ended up taking a staff position at the company to get more funding." There's a photograph in the plastic tub of Richard and Eddie Sr. wearing lab coats in some rinky-dink laboratory, obviously from the 90s. Eddie Sr. is smiling, but not Richard.
Eddie continues. "But ... but our dads were just 'work for hire' employees of the company. Means everything they were creating was now technically owned by the company. When the big bosses found out what the suit could do - how it could enhance people, making them stronger - they took it from our parents to begin their own work."
"What!?"
Peter can feel himself growing hot from anger.
Eddie picks up a journal - PHASE TWO is written in emboldened letters on the front - and hands it to Peter with a specific page already open.
Peter begins reading.
...our worst fear realised. We were locked out of our own laboratories and our project taken away from us. I know that Richard blames me for all of this and I can't say he's wrong.
I'm the one who pushed him into this deal with Trask. I'm the one who wanted out of the day-to-day grind of fund-raising in the private sector... and now everything he warned me might happen, happened.
Now our days are going to be filled with lawyers and weasels, when all we really want to do is finish the project we both dedicated our lives and the lives of our families to...
Peter flips the next page over.
Blank.
Eddie is now sitting on a lab bench, staring at the wall. "That's the last entry." Peter looks at him, brows furrowed in irritation. "Two days after he wrote that..."
Peter's legs feel like jelly. "No..."
Eddie stands up. "On the way back from meeting with this big-time lawyer in Washington, getting ready to sue the shit outta these assholes... boom! Plane goes down."
"Oh, my God... So they just - these people just took this invention away from them!? Trask? These Trask people stole it! Where are they now?"
"I don't - I don't know, Pete. Long gone, probably. Or maybe still in the company in some high-up position. I've got no idea."
Peter turns to look at the vial of black goo, heart racing. "If they took everything away, where'd you get this? Did you make it?"
"Hah! No, no... they talk about it in the journal. This is something our dads were making on their own - behind the company's back. As far as I can tell, they were gonna prove their ownership by making a "suit" of their own. They didn't get too far, but... they started. My grandpa kept it all these years. Kept it in the same freezer that my dad put it in. Gramps doesn't even know what it is... he just couldn't get rid of anything that belonged to his son."
Eddie explains that, upon reading about the spare in the journal, he moved it to the university. "The math is right. Their logic was good. It could just be that they didn't have the technology to support the theories back then. They might have been, like, years ahead of their time."
Peter's mind is racing. "T-the DNA. Whose DNA did they use for the spare? You said it was DNA specific."
"... Richard's. Your dad's."
Peter turns to the vial.
A piece of his father is inside.
That black goo contains DNA of Richard Parker.
xxx
"Do you think our parents were murdered?"
Eddie almost coughs up the bite of sandwich he had just taken. "Do I think they were murdered? I - I don't know."
The childhood friends are now walking to the train station so Peter can get back home. "Back there you insinuated-"
Eddie waves his hands. "Do I think the timing is a bit suspect? Yes. But I mean, it was a whole plane. It was a huge tragedy. A whole plane into the Atlantic. Do I think that was because of our parents? I - I couldn't even imagine."
They bid each other goodbye.
Before they left the science center, Eddie had given Peter a USB. Apparently it contained old video logs from Richard Parker, which Eddie had taken the time to convert to digital form and bring with him to Empire State to help with the research.
You should have these. See if we're missing anything... Eddie had said.
The moment Peter made it to his room in Queens, he played the videos.
He was met with an aged, worn looking Richard Parker. An unruly beard and dishevelled hair ruined his previously clean appearance, and intense bags had formed under his eyes.
The audio quality was poor, but Peter could make most of it out.
"Until the lawsuits end - until I know who I can trust - here I am, sitting on my hands... Lawsuits! God! This isn't what I wanted! I would have never even gone forward with the experiments if I thought for a second that someone would try to use them like this. Never! I would rather work at Taco Bell than be where I am right now.
People are dying all over the world - people living with pain - and all I want to do is try to help them... but not only can I not do anything to help, I cant even tell someone else what I have so they can go finish it. I can't tell anyone."
Ben, if you're watching this ... you were right. I'll never say it to your face. But you were right. Never trust anyone wearing a tie..."
Richard Parker hangs his head, water dripping from his eyes and down his cheeks.
Peter shuts the recording off.
That's it.
He's had enough.
Every time he turns around there's a greedy piece of garbage looking to turn something of value into a twisted nightmare.
First Connors with the decay-rate algorithm. Then Pierce with the time machine.
And now Trask.
Every time someone tries to do something worthwhile - try to make the world a better place then they found it - what happens?
It's taken from them. Turned into a weapon.
Every time!
They took it from Peter's dad... from Eddie's dad...
But now Peter is taking it back.
He rushes into his Spidey suit and leaps from the bedroom window.
"I'll finish what you started, dad. I'll do my own tests - I'll do it myself!"
Peter had made a mental note of everything at the science center - every entry point he could see, every security camera, the keys used by Eddie to open the containment unit to vial, the drawer in which Eddie kept the keys - everything he needed to slip in and slip out without anyone knowing better.
Before long he made it to the building.
Slipped in through a ventilation shaft.
Webbed the cameras.
Dropped onto the lab floor.
Ripped the keys out the drawer.
Opened the hatch.
And was met with the glass vial.
He picks it up delicately, heart in his throat, and places it on a bench next to some beakers.
He finds a small scooping utensil, carefully dipping it into the black goo.
"Just enough to do my own tests ... to match my dad's notes. Just enough to take back what belongs to the Parkers."
But the goo moves from the scooping utensil, almost as if it has a mind of its own, and has made contact with Peter's finger.
"Agh!"
It feels weird.
It feels cold.
Is it...
growing?
What was once a small black piece had rapidly began enveloping Peter's hand. He tries to shake it off - remove it by force - but it doesn't budge.
No sound escapes Peter's mouth. He simply watches in horror as his father's creation coats his forearm, and then up toward his neck, and eventually over his face.
He feels the coldness of the goo envelop his torso and eventually his legs.
And then, it stops.
"Agh! W-what's happening! Can't see! W-what's going on!? I-"
The suit alters itself, allowing Peter vision. He is dumbfounded.
"What on Earth..."
Peter stumbles, slowly ambling to the large reflective surface of the chemical storage unit in the lab.
He sees himself completely covered in a black substance. There's a slight purple hue to it.
His eyes are wide and white, mimicking the lenses of his Spider-Man suit.
"The suit..."
At these words, slowly emerging from the chest area, a white spider symbol wraps around his torso and connects to an identical spider symbol on his back.
Peter gasps.
"Is it... listening to me?"
No. That's just not possible. It's a man-made piece of protoplasmic goo.
Still, he can't deny how good the suit feels on his body.
In fact, it doesn't feel like he's wearing anything at all. Like it's just an extension of himself.
Peter rushes back to the lab bench, putting everything back where he found it. The vial is placed into its containment unit, and Peter drops the keys back into the drawer.
Only a tiny piece fell out of the vial, so it looked completely untouched - as if Peter was never even here.
Peter expects he'll figure out how to remove the suit when he gets home to complete experiments, so for now he turns to the ventilation shaft and realises he'll have to crawl up since the black goo has completely covered his web shooters.
That is until the suit shoots a black line of webbing from Peter's fingers, almost instinctively.
"Woah!"
Whatever I think, the suit does...
A few moments later and Peter, adorned in his father's creation, is swinging through the skyline.
A police siren blares, as if right on cue.
"Well, I might as well test this out further with some crime. For experimental purposes, of course."
He follows the sounds and spots a limousine, speeding entirely too fast through Hell's Kitchen.
It swerves between cars and taxis and buses, and police simply can't keep up.
"Let's save some lives, dad."
Peter drops down onto the roof, listening to the voices inside. There's a gruff man, obviously on the phone to someone else, and a woman screaming.
"Well, Mr Mattola, if you don't believe me, I have no problem sending you one of her toes! Her last album sold thirty million units worldwide - no idea why, but that's beside the point - so I think you'll find our ransom quite fair, all things considered!"
Hostage situation involving a world-renowned pop star.
Whoever it is, maybe Peter can get an autograph after he's done.
The man on the phone continues. "If we see any sign of Spider-Man, this pop princess's next album will be posthumous, understand!? Well - well, look it up then!"
Peter rips a portion of the roof off, landing inside.
"Wow, a limo!" He sits in the passenger seat, next to a driver wearing a ski-mask. He notes two more criminals in the back, with the singer in tow. "Is it prom season already?"
Complete silence.
Even the singer has stopped her screaming.
Peter stutters. "P-prom season... limo... no? Nothing?" He turns, punching one of the crooks, knocking him out cold. "Yeesh, tough limo."
The criminal holding the phone begins unloading an SMG into Peter, who tries his best to dodge, though the small confines of the limo mean a few bullets hit his skin.
He prepares for the worst - prepares for the pain - but it never comes. The suit simply absorbs the bullets and the damage, contorting around Peter's body before settling back into it's original position - like brand new.
"Wow," Peter remarks. "I'm glad you saw that too, because I don't think anyone else would'a believed me."
He points a hand at the gun wielder, mimicking a gun of his own with Peter's thumb in the air and two front fingers held together, as a black web shoots out from the fingers themselves.
The crook - and the singer - both start screaming.
"You kids settle down back there or I'm turning this car around-"
Peter then notices the limo is veering to the left. He looks at the driver seat.
The driver had bailed.
"Oh."
He grabs the wheel, staring at the peddles, weaving between cars.
Peter yells out, "Hey, lady, which one's the gas and which one's the brake? You might find this funny - a classic Spidey quip - but I actually don't have a learner's permit, so..." The car speeds up. "Waagh! Found the gas! I can figure out the other."
The lady continues to scream. Peter, somewhat irritated, shoots a small web at her mouth.
"Sorry, I just - I have a little headache from you already."
Peter pulls the limo over.
He opens the back door, pulling out the criminals and webbing them to the pavement, before outstretching a hand so the singer can step out. "Here we are, ma'am."
Onlookers begin to cheer. Peter isn't too sure if its because Spider-Man saved the day or because a celebrity is right next to him.
Leaping off the ground, he calls out, "Hope I get a feature on the next album!" and swings away, shooting webs from his fingertips.
His mind is racing a mile a minute.
This bio-suit thingy invented by his dad is a dream come true.
Firstly, he never has to worry about his old tights ripping ever again.
The suit simply repairs itself if any damage is taken.
No more showing inappropriate skin to the poor citizens of New York after a supervillain battle.
And - and now Peter can take a bullet!? A point-blank bullet!
Plus he's stronger. Faster.
And he doesn't need web shooters anymore!
He just thinks, and a web line appears. It's almost too much happiness to bear.
"You are a genius, dad! A genius!"
Peter already knew it, but this just seals the deal.
And in this suit ... it's like he can feel a piece of his dad. He feels closer to his father. He can't explain it, but Peter feels as though Richard Parker is with him, alongside him, inside the suit.
Peter knows he should be going home to test the suit against his dad's notes, but being out here simply feels too good.
He feels like a million dollars.
What he really needs now is a supervillain to-
Peter is yanked from the air mid-thought, racing upward toward the stratosphere. The Vulture has once again plucked him from the sky.
"You survived the fall. But swapping into new suit isn't going to help you hide from-"
"You thought dropping me would take me out? I'm Spider-Man. Falling from the sky is half of my schtick. The other half are my webs!" Peter grabs the Vulture by the head, webbing his eyes. The extra strength from the black suit makes the elderly man's bird outfit akin to cardboard.
"Agh!"
The Vulture flails around, both of them zipping between tall buildings as Peter takes a moment to inspect the robotic suit.
He notices an armored panel on the Vulture's back. Ripping the hatch off like butter, Peter lays eyes on the suit's mainframe.
"W-what are you doing!?"
Peter grabs a few cables, yanking them out the sockets. "Isn't it obvious? I'm grounding this pigeon."
They fall, though Peter webs the Vulture to the side of a building with ease. The elderly man is hanging upside down, dozens of stories from the concrete jungle below.
Crawling up next to him, Peter says, "You have a few minutes before the blood rushes to your old, wrinkled head and you pass out completely. Spill. You're the one dropping people to their deaths, right?'
"Y-yes."
"And you're the one who tried to frame me in that building a while back, huh? You set a bunch of armored police onto me."
"Yes."
"Here's the thing, bird-brain. I don't have time for your stupid schemes. I don't care about whatever you were planning. I'm an Avenger, and you're barely a villain of the week. You think I wanna waste my time chasing a retired fart around the city? This is the last time we'll be seeing each other before you're chucked into the Raft. Hope it was worth it."
"W-w-wait! NO!"
Peter alerts the authorities before swinging away.
xxx
The law of averages said Peter had to fall ass backwards into a happy accident eventually.
Even though everything with Gwen is a mess, and the Avengers situation is a little iffy right now, and Flash's crush has the hots for him, Peter can rest easy tonight knowing at least one good thing has come out this situation.
But then Peter remembers his backpack, which he had left inside the lab at the Oscorp Science Center.
"Shoot. I was so preoccupied with being covered in black goop that I completely forgot."
He course-corrects and swings downtown, entering the vent once more.
He makes his way through the building, dropping down onto the lab floor, and spots Eddie Brock Jr. standing there, holding a backpack labelled PETER PARKER.
Eddie looks at him, eyes bloodshot. "I set up my own alarms for this room. Sensors. They notify me as soon as anything here moves. You think I'd leave the last of my father's work to be protected by this building's shitty security?"
Peter doesn't say anything for a moment, wracking his brain, trying to figure out how to salvage this. "I-I-"
"Take off the mask when you're talking to me, Peter."
The black suit recedes, removing itself from Peter's head. It looks unnatural, like black tar oozing down Peter's neck.
"Y-you - you took a piece. The suit! It - it works!" Eddie's anger directly clashes with his palpable excitement. "I knew it would! Our father's - they're geniuses!"
Peter nods, still wary. "Guess they are."
Eddie runs up to him, eyes wide, speaking almost incoherently. "Don't you see what this means!? We can use this! We - we can keep our parent's work going! Create what they were trying to create! We can achieve what our father's couldn't! You just have to put that piece of the suit back!"
Peter takes a step away from Eddie, brows furrowed. "What?"
"Y-you can't just take a piece of the suit. T-that's mine! It was my father's. He kept it. He's the whole reason we still have an entire vial of the goo left. Without my father, we'd have nothing!"
"Without your father, our dads never would have signed on to Trask Industries. Their invention would never have been taken away." Peter moves toward Eddie, and although Peter is much shorter and obviously skinnier, he feels himself tower over his childhood friend. "Your dad is reason our families died in a plane crash."
Eddie stammers. "N-n-no..."
"I'm not giving this piece of the suit back, Eddie. I'm sorry, but... I just can't trust you with it. Not right now. Especially when there's so much we don't know. And with all our history... with what your dad did..."
"P-Pete, please! Just put the suit back! Don't make me rip it off you-"
A black tendril shoots from Peter's shoulder, forcing Eddie to take a seat on a laboratory chair. "Sit down, Eddie. Please."
Eddie struggles, but the black webbing is too strong. "PETER! We can finish the suit! You don't know what you're doing-"
"I can finish the suit. You don't have all the notes. I promise, Eddie, when I know exactly what this thing is capable of - and when it's complete and ready - we can share our parent's invention with the world. I can't trust you playing around with something we don't understand yet. I've seen what people do when they're given something like this. I've seen powerful men destroy beautiful things. I just need some time, Eddie."
Eddie continues to struggle, desperately trying to break free from the chair. "IT'S MY FATHER'S! YOU CAN'T TAKE IT! IT'S MINE!"
Peter shoots a web from his fingertips, attaching to the vial. He then places it into a small cryo-box for storage to keep the vial at the correct temperature.
He turns to Eddie one last time.
"The suit uses my dad's DNA. This is my inheritance."
A moment later and Spider-Man is gone.
xxx
A/N: Hitting 100k words, Pete getting the black suit, AND all this happening on Halloween? Happy accidents.
- FS