Archive of Our Own

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The dozen or so approaching police sirens startled him out of his thoughts. Accompanying them not too far behind were also a couple of helicopters. Peter grimaced, clenching his fists as he glared at the distant Oscorp Tower overlooking the rest of Midtown. He had to fight the instinct to swing down there and lend New York’s finest a hand, but he knew his presence would only complicate matters further. He was the reason they’d shown up after all.
It took Normie longer than expected to notice his pet alien was missing. The backup generators must’ve finally kicked in.
He had been trying to convince himself that he was doing a good thing for a while now, but that didn’t stop the guilt from welling up inside. It felt too much like looking the other way, letting the thief pass—in this case, the thief being himself—because it wasn’t his problem, as if he had better things to do than care.He clenched harder.Except this time it was different. This time, he wasn’t ridding himself of the responsibility. He was embracing it, trying to change things for the better….The jury was still out on whether that was a good idea or not. He’d like to believe that it was, and that he wasn’t a massive idiot for doing what he’d done, but despite his Spider-Sense Peter was not clairvoyant. Still, he’d gone this far, and it wasn’t like he could back out now. Whatever happened, happened. It’d be up to him to ensure that everything went smoothly.
Get it? Because of the—man, that’s terrible. Not even a pun, let alone a quip…. I’m getting sloppy.
A month ago, John Jameson’s shuttle had been forced to make an emergency landing due to some kind of malfunction. For reasons unknown, it hadn’t been the only thing to come back to Earth. A certain alien slime had hitched a ride on the rocket, marking humanity’s first official discovery of extraterrestrial life. Later, it’d been captured and delivered to Oscorp, the country’s leading biotech firm, to be studied in conjunction with Mr. Fantastic and ESU’s head bio-geneticist, Doctor Curt Connors.Cue Peter freaking out, memorizing Oscorp’s ventilation layout, sneaking in four days ago to snoop around so he could learn where they kept the alien, devising a plan that involved shutting down the power to said section of the building so no alarms/security measures would be triggered and finally, sneaking in once again to perform his Symbiote Heist™.He shook his head, trying and failing to calm his nerves. Could he have kept to himself and left well enough alone? Probably, but that would’ve meant abandoning the alien on Osborn’s platter, despite having the means to save it from the prodding hands of government-backed scientists and other, shadier third parties. Although he would be lying if he said that was his only reason.Truth was, Peter was attempting to change things. Partially to avoid the absolute hell that would’ve resulted from the inevitable misbond he’d have had with the Symbiote and partially to see if it would be down for a partnership. On paper, he’d get a sweet upgrade and a buddy to watch his back, and it would get a bond with someone who could theoretically procure both of its food sources while treating it better than Oscorp’s eggheads. That was the general idea anyway.It was a risky move, especially since he had no way of knowing what kind of Symbiote he’d willingly bonded himself to. Ock’s machine had shown him multiple possibilities, it hadn't given him a clear-cut answer, and Peter had been too distracted at the time to focus on future What Ifs. The Symbiote could be of either types, the kind that fed on negative emotions while corrupting its host or the kind that kept to adrenaline/phenethylamine without turning him into an edgelord, or both. Nevertheless, he had to give it a shot.He knew this would be a major gamble, but he didn’t want to abandon the Symbiote on the not-so-off chance it did turn him into an asshole.How would that be fair to it? If the guy that was supposed to be a hero tried to get rid of you at the first sign of trouble, just because what you happened to eat made him a asshole, should he really be able to call himself a hero? Peter didn’t think so. For that matter he was more than willing to work with the Symbiote. It may have been an inky sapient slime from outer space, but it was a person like any other. And Spider-Man did not turn his back on people, regardless of whether or not they were human.
I mean, I can’t pick and choose who I help.
It was selfish to steal the Symbiote when so much could be learned from it, he wouldn’t deny that, but for it to be enslaved in a glass box, treated as a resource to be exploited—that wasn’t right either. The alternative was to let Norman convert it into a bioweapon.Peter sighed, turning to the four pigeons sitting next to him. “You guys get what I’m talking about, right?” All he got in return was a few tilts of the head before they flew off. “Pfft, figures….”He cleared his throat once the helicopters passed the building he was perched on.“Y’know, this is kinda what I had in mind for the two of us. It gets lonely talking to birds and Bruce the Gargoyle here.” He patted the statue in question. “It’s nice coming up here to think, don’t get me wrong—even though Oscorp Tower doesn’t do New York’s skyline any favors—but brooding’s just not my style. I’m not the Caped Crusader. It got old after the first couple of times and…well, I’d appreciate a second opinion,” he said weakly, not really expecting an answer. “Feels like I’m flying by the seat of my pants more often than not, y’know? Especially after what happened with May, Ock and his underwater lair…. I’ve been scrambling to try and make sense of everything, and then you come along and it’s….” Peter went to rub his eyes only for his fingers to hit the lenses, so he settled for his temples instead.“I s‘pose I just hope the cold shoulder won’t last long, but I don’t want to rush you. Definitely not. Just think it’d be prudent to talk so we could set up some ground rules and avoid any, uh, miscommunication." And not speedrun their way to Venom, he added mentally.“See, that, that right there, that’s the problem, Spidey!” He sprung to his feet, pacing up and down the wall. “C’mon, benefit of the doubt, stop it with the pessimism.” Peter concentrated—really, he did—trying to shake off the ugly What Ifs, except that only made him think about them further. Groaning, he threw his hands up in defeat. “Nope, can’t do it. Okay, maybe it’s better if we both hold off on that talk until we can come at this from unbiased perspectives. ‘Till then, have fun skimming through the ol’ webhead, I guess,” he said, extending a hand in preparation to fire off a web.Right as he heard the familiar “thwip” ring out from his web-shooter and got ready to jump, he stopped.A single hum of content radiated throughout his being, one that was not his own, and passed him over like a gentle breeze before swiftly dissipating into silence. Along with it he could feel the tension of the past hour vanishing, dulled away into something miniscule as his shoulders sagged in relief while his new (living) costume took a deep breath for him.Peter smiled, happy for the response. This one had been shorter, but it hadn’t ended quite as abruptly as the first one had, so the quiet that followed it wasn’t as apparent. It was nonetheless strange, how despite having bonded there was yet to be a clear connection between them. Perhaps their bond was too fresh for that so they’d be stuck communicating through feelings and speech for the time being, as opposed to sharing thoughts. But hey, Peter wouldn’t pretend to be an expert on the subject.He still wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that he'd willingly bonded with Lovecraft's and Carpenter's lovechild. “Disturbed” seemed to fit what he was looking for. Though, to be fair, barring his initial reaction, the bonding process could’ve been much worse. He’d gotten off easy, and it hadn’t been totally unpleasant; moreso unnerving in that horrors-beyond-your-comprehension sort of way, but not bad. He just hadn't gotten used to it.Here was hoping he wouldn’t continue to embarrass himself like he’d done when they’d become roomies…./   \\_\()/_/_//^\\_\  /Peter dropped into the darkened testing chamber, landing carefully so as to not alert the guards outside. He didn’t know how long he had before the backup generators would boot up and the alarm would be raised, and he’d already spent several minutes crawling to reach this lab. The vents had been way too tight of a fit, but they’d provided a clear path to his destination devoid of any countermeasures. Likely because most intruders weren’t expected to crawl through them to reach the breaker room and shut down power to an entire section of the building. A good thing then that most intruders weren’t Spider-Man.
Just don’t turn it into a habit, Pete. Unless it keeps being to Mr. O and Willie, then it’s perfectly reasonable.
As much as it pained him, he didn’t waste time checking out the cutting edge equipment, going straight for the containment tube at the center of the room. A small glass container with metal covers on opposite ends, hooked up to countless wires and other pieces of machinery. Inside of it, the extraterrestrial being humanity had made first contact with.In spite of its lack of visible eyes, it had noticed him as soon as he’d descended from the ceiling, all but recoiling at the sight of him.Something told Peter he’d been judged harshly for his fashion sense. Well, everyone was a critic these days. Shaking his head, he approached with measured steps, not wanting to scare it further. For its part, it kept still, retreating from the glass only when he got close enough to touch it. Against his better judgment he took a moment to appreciate the way it moved. In a matter of seconds, it went from a black puddle to a mass of interwoven tendrils to a blob of goo, before settling on something in-between. A half-solid spine that sprouted a bunch of support structures, each with their own membranes to help it slither about, much like a cephalopod swimming through water.…He wasn’t certain what to make of it. Was it trying to be intimidating, was it panicking, excited to see someone that wasn’t dressed in a lab coat? He had no idea. It wasn’t lashing out at him, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t wait for the perfect opportunity to strike. What he did know, however, was that animosity wouldn’t help either of them in this situation.Steadily, taking care to telegraph his actions so he wouldn’t provoke an aggressive response, Peter reached for one of the circular hatches on its cylinder.The Symbiote went liquid, staining the glass a deep, oily black before vanishing from view. No warning hiss of hostility, no nothing. Just a quick use of a defense mechanism. It occurred so fast that he couldn’t help but wonder what had been done to the poor thing.
Or what hasn’t, given who the head honcho is ‘round here.
Somehow he just knew Normie had been salivating to get his hands on the Symbiote.Peter closed his eyes, refocusing on the task at hand.The illusion was so perfect that there were no signs of distortion in the air where its body had been mere moments ago, not even to his enhanced vision. Impressed but still wary, he took a crouching position in an attempt to appear as harmless as possible. His hand did not move from its place on the hatch, and he kept his other one at his side.In a low voice, he said, “I realize you can’t really understand what I’m saying, but I’m not here to hurt you. Believe me, that’s the last thing I want to do.” Intellectually, he knew the chances of someone having bonded with the alien prior to his arrival—and it learning English as a result—were practically zero, but he was hoping he’d be able to convey his peaceful intentions if he spoke to it in a calm manner. “And I don’t want to spook you or anything but I’m afraid we’re in a bit of a hurry.”A faint shimmer passed through the space where the Symbiote had camouflaged itself.
Good, that’s progress.
“I also know you don’t have much of a reason to trust me, or humans in general, which is fair, but your chances won’t improve if you stay here either.” Another shimmer was reflected in the air. “The guy that runs this joint, hoo boy, let me tell you, he is not the kind of bozo you’d want to hang out with.”And a third, longer shimmer this time, which made Peter even more determined to get the Symbiote out of its tube.“You’re…scared and…probably confused, or close to it anyway, and that’s, um, reasonable! Yeah! I’d be too if I was in your shoes…. But you don’t have to be. I….” He was at a loss for words. Nothing could’ve prepared him for how to approach this. “I just want to help you.” He admitted softly. “I think we can help each other. You don’t have to be alone and…I don’t have to go at this alone.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he said that. The usual bravado he put on was gone, as was the wit. It didn’t come easy to him to admit that he needed help (Johnny would’ve never let him live it down had he been there to hear it), but he hoped the Symbiote could at least sense, in some capacity, that he was being honest.With what seemed like great reluctance the inside of the cylinder rippled and stretched, turning back into a visible mass of tendrils. Like waves, they emerged and melted back into the main body over and over, yet unlike before it was a slower process, more calculated and almost cautious. In the midst of the constant shifting, a thin strand materialized and pressed against the glass towards Peter. He bit his lip and brought a finger to it, tapping once to see what would happen. To his surprise, the alien mimicked him a couple of times before withdrawing the appendage and pulling itself closer together.Then, similar to his Spider-Sense tingling, Peter felt his hair stand on edge, as if he was being watched by thousands of eyes that weren’t there. On instinct he turned around, resisting the urge to backflip away. He half-expected someone to be pointing a gun at his head, but there was no one there, just the dark, barren interior of the lab. When he looked back to the alien, he found it spread out into a puddle. The eerie feeling had ceased.“Okay…. I’ll go out on a limb here and assume that was you.”Maybe it was his imagination, but Peter could swear he felt a shred of relief being transmitted from the Symbiote. A reassuring confirmation that he had passed some sort of test and it was pleased to let him know, somehow. He chuckled, a humble spark of pride having lit up inside of him. The acknowledgement that he meant well—if that was the case—was enough to put him at ease for what he was about to do, which he was thankful for.He leaned closer to examine the cover, but found no obvious release buttons or levers, meaning it was probably operated from one of the terminals throughout the lab. Too bad he’d had to shut down the power. He would’ve enjoyed hacking into one of them to free the Symbiote, but he’d have to do this the old fashioned way. While he got to work crushing the lid, he noted how the alien gathered into a more rounded shape and rolled over to the right end of the tube, awaiting to be let out.“Alright. I’mma get this open for you…. Nice and easy. Just don’t freak out, okay?” The airtight seal let out a hiss as it broke under his fingers, and Peter gently placed the cover atop the tube so he wouldn’t pull off the wires connected to it. “There we go.” His soon-to-be-roommate shuddered at the oxygen flooding into its chambers and immediately liquified, letting itself spill onto the sterile floor.“Weird that they’d be keeping you in a vacuum, unless that was part of a test? But like, you already came from outer space so there’s no reason to see how you handle low pressure/temperature environments. And it’s not like air harms you so why deprive you of it? I mean, they must’ve seen you attached to the side of John’s ship. Were they worried you'd be carrying alien bacteria and wanted to stop you from spreading 'em, or...were they worried Earth pathogens would infect you?" He scanned the lab once again, searching for any evidence that would prove his hypothesis. "This doesn't really look like a cleanroom though, if that were the case. Who knows, maybe it was just protocol….”Peter lowered his hand in front of the alien, but did not move it further. Letting it initiate the bonding at its leisure was better, no? He was not getting cold feet at the last minute.Nope, not in the slightest.A single string, tinier than any he’d seen from it thus far, formed out of the small puddle and raised its tip to look up at him. It was almost cute how its head tilted to the side, like it was aiming to appear innocent. But something about its attitude gave Peter the impression that it was asking for his consent, questioning whether he’d considered this thoroughly and realized that there was no going back once they bonded…. Well, yes, he had.He was well aware that this would be a permanent endeavor if things went smoothly between the two of them, and that allowing their bond to fail would spell disaster for him, everyone in his life and likely the whole city. He knew the risks and he accepted them. There was far too much to lose if he didn’t, or if he did nothing, and he wouldn’t be Spider-Man if he chose either of those options. No, Peter had a responsibility to do this, or at least try, because everyone could benefit from it. Sometimes, the possibility of helping had to be enough. If he could save more people while bonded to the Symbiote, if he could offer it a home on this violent, dangerous world, if he could spare the city Venom, it would have to be enough.Nodding to himself, Peter moved his hand closer……only for the tendril to shy away.“Hey, I get it. I’ve been having second thoughts about this all day, but I still think it’s worth a shot…. C’mon, don't leave me hanging here, what do you say?”When the tendril retracted once more, he couldn’t stop the disappointment from crashing down on him. Stupid. He'd been stupid to think this would work, to dare to hope that maybe he could change this for the better. Nothing ever changed, because Peter didn't change, because he always let his hang ups get the better of him and put him in mindsets that screwed him over! Because he——the alien pounced. It lunged for his outstretched hand with its entire body and covered his palm and fingers in the span of a second.No amount of shocking from Electro could’ve prepared him for the sheer current that had shot up his arm the instant they made contact. It was no wonder Peter fell on his ass, going rigid as he watched the alien scramble to encase his costume and seep into his skin. Convulsions made him collapse to the floor as he felt it travel through his veins, between muscle fibers and over bones, spreading throughout his body. It didn’t disgust him so much as it felt uncomfortable, and in the panic to calm himself he tried to gasp for air only to choke on the fluid suddenly filling his lungs. His vision went dark soon after, signaling the Symbiote having reached his mask.For what felt like hours he lost touch of the outside world, floating somewhere deep underwater where he could not see or hear anything, but was still gasping for breath. It was thanks to his Spider-Sense not going off that Peter forced himself to try to keep calm and not claw at his mask, but that didn’t make waiting for the bond to finalize any less difficult.Only when the suit started matching the movements of his ribcage and pumped oxygen directly into his bloodstream did he relax, no longer feeling his lungs on fire. The Symbiote shifted some more inside of him before finally settling in his chest and adding its weight to his own. It connected to his spine and nervous system with a jolt and directed his body to stand up, invigorating him like never before.Dazed, Peter slipped to his knees in spite of the abrupt burst of energy, catching a glimpse of his reflection on the floor. Where his lenses should’ve been he saw two white teardrop shapes emerging from the darkness and making the lab seem like it was fully brightened. He shivered despite no longer feeling the cool interior of the room and looked down at his costume.Both the red and blue spandex had been dyed a pure black that captured light incredibly well, looking smooth but not organic or oily and having little texture to it otherwise. His web pattern had changed as well, from its messy, clustered design to something more streamlined and freed up. Instead of taking up too much space the webs were evenly spaced across the former red areas of his suit, with each individual brick made out of raised silvery lines. The spider emblem remained mostly the same aside from the color shift and slightly longer legs.His web wings hadn’t changed too much either, only losing their shine for a dull gray. As for the seams and wrinkles of his suit? They were present even with the Symbiote covering him so Peter was not sealed beneath a layer of space-goo. He very much still resembled his old self, just with a fresh coat of paint.Once he rose to his feet he was startled by the profound feeling of togetherness that enveloped him, but smiled as his suit gradually tightened around him in an all-encompassing hug. It was safe to say that he’d still be having second thoughts about this for days to come, but in that moment he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this had been the right choice.Judging by its ping of agreement, the Symbiote seemed to share his feelings on the matter, understanding despite not uttering a single word. If Peter had to describe it, he would’ve called it liberating. He felt exposed, naked even, like every facet of himself; all that he was and ever would be was put on display for all to see…but there was no judgment from the other side. Instead, a glimmer of reassurance, pulsing brightly with intent, flew from Symbiote to Host and vice versa.When the link was at last severed, the alien no doubt mulling over what had happened the same as Peter, it rendered him speechless for a good while./   \\_\()/_/_//^\\_\  /…Admittedly, he could’ve handled the whole situation better, but Ock’s machine had shown the bonding as being completely innocuous across all variants!... Well, that’s what I get for relying on untested technology, Peter supposed.His musing was interrupted by the sudden chime of his ringtone.Shit. He was in trouble, wasn’t he?Quickly reaching for his belt, Peter stopped midswing on the side of a building and pulled out his cellphone.The caller ID made the Amazing Spider-Man look on in horror.“Here we go. Ahem…. Hi, Aunt May!”"Peter, where on Earth are you, young man?! Do you know what time it is?”“Er, about that, well, you know how it is. I took a cab after finishing at the gym but the traffic, uh, y’know….” He trailed off, hoping that was convincing enough. “I probably won’t be home for another half hour, so don't wait up for me.”Hearing her disappointed sigh made him wince.“If it’s that bad you should’ve taken the subway.” She paused for a moment. “It’s not because of one of those horrid supervillain attacks, is it? Mr. Jameson already has you following that vigilante, Spider-Man," he cringed at the hidden distaste with which she’d spoken his name, “I don’t want you getting caught in some random battle.”“Um, n-no, no. Nuh uh. Nothing like that, Aunt May. Everything’s fine, honest! No supervillain attacks around here.”“…That’s good to hear. Alright. You get home safe, dear, you understand?”“Yes, ma’am. Loud and clear.”“Good. But, Peter, you should really think about finding a gym that’s closer to home. Someplace that doesn’t require you to waste two hours just going back and forth. You’re a growing boy, you need to rest properly, not come home at twelve AM and sleep in ‘till noon.” Even with the chastising tone, some fondness still managed to slip through to the other side.The “I don’t want what happened to Ben to happen to you,” remained unsaid, but Peter didn’t need to hear it to understand her worries.“I…promise I’ll think about it, don’t worry! You just focus on taking it easy until then, Aunt May. See you in the morning. Love you, g’night!”“I love you too, dear. Good night.”With that she hung up.Peter let out a breath and slumped up against the wall. Another bullet dodged.Getting a gym membership had been a good way of justifying where the money for web fluid and spandex went, while also being the perfect excuse for how he’d gone from scrawny teen to buff athlete more or less overnight. Problem was he had no clue how many more lies he could squeeze out of it. For one, Peter Benjamin Parker was in no way a gym bro, and he was already on thin ice due to “lying for months” about hitting the gym in secret.A nasty grounding was the last thing he needed when his Big Bads could break out at any moment. Spider-Man and hard curfews did not mesh well together, especially when New York’s criminal underbelly was run mostly at night. That said, he should be in the clear given that as far as May was concerned the gym had been the reason for his initial and continued physical improvement. Unless she actually thought he wasn’t going there at all, but that could very easily be his paranoia talking. If that were the case, knowing May, she’d likely suspect he was hanging out with a bad crowd and confront him about it.
Hmm…. Nah, she has no reason to think so. She knows my social life’s practically non-existent outside Johnny and the Bugle. She’d be the first to figure out if that were to change, and if she does end up thinking otherwise, that’ll be a problem for future Spidey to deal with.
Satisfied with himself, Peter clapped his hands.Before he could get swinging again however, the building shook beneath his feet. An earthquake? In Manhattan? But then he knelt down and pressed his hands to the wall, scanning the roads below. Another tremor shook the block, stronger than before, causing some street lamps to flicker. No, that wasn’t right; earthquakes were brief but continuous, not short pulses of vibration that seemed to be getting closer with each second. The farther away you were from an earthquake's epicenter the weaker it felt.A car alarm went off somewhere down the road.“Impact tremors,” Peter realized. Was the Shocker out and about terrorizing people? That wasn’t his style. Herman Schultz was many things. A thief, the Rhino’s best friend, a fishnet-wearing goober, a way more serious threat now that Peter and the Symbiote were bonded, but a maniacal murderer he was not. He wasn’t the type of bad guy that went out of his way to pick fights or go on rampages. He stuck to doing odd jobs that were oftentimes illegal, and if he was caught committing a robbery he was more likely to run than stand there and duke it out. No, this was someone or something else.Then Peter heard that familiar, distinct whine of servos/hydraulics as they smashed through concrete and it finally clicked. Ock.Otto Octavius was here, in the city, as opposed to rescuing the rest of the Six in Rikers. Trying to draw Spider-Man out, as opposed to playing it smart by staying in hiding. Oh, it must’ve royally pissed off the good doctor to find out the arachnid hadn’t drowned in his busted lair. So much for the Master Planner, who had all of his plans foiled and then couldn’t even finish the job when he had had Spidey at his mercy.The accident caused by their earlier scuffle, May falling into a coma after the blood transfusion, tracking down Otto to his base, the Forward-Probability-Calculator, the battle, getting trapped under three hundred tons of rubble, the ocean pouring on top of him Ock leaving him for dead….Peter grit his teeth at the memories, overcome by a sudden rush of anger. It honestly surprised him that his cellphone hadn’t exploded from how hard he was holding it.The Symbiote tightened around him, and Peter forced himself to calm down for both of their sakes. Lashing out would do them no good.But if Otto wanted a fight, he would happily oblige.He held his phone near his belt and waited, smiling when some tendrils reached out to wrap around it and sink it into whatever pocket dimension they had access to. Not a second later, he launched himself off the wall and swung down the street, ready to send Otto off to jail where he belonged for good.
Dammit. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so sad; that Peter had been so afraid of being influenced negatively by the Symbiote yet here he was, influencing Symby with his anger at the mere thought of Ock showing his face.“I’m sorry. I promise you this wasn’t what I had planned for us. I know how impressionable your kind can be and I never wanted our meeting to go like this, but I-I…Ock’s just—he’s a sore spot, but I can’t ignore him if he’s here to cause trouble….”He hoped it understood. Bonding was a mutual deal. They’d affect each other and poisoning the well so soon with negative emotions couldn’t be smart, but neither could Peter allow Ock to hurt civilians in order to make him show up.Which was why he was glad for Symby offering him a buzz of Confusion, followed by Indifference and Acceptance, as if to say: “What’s the problem? It doesn’t matter. I’m okay with you taking him down” .“Thank you,” he said simply, because what else could he reply with?Two more swings had him closing in on the source of the tremors. Really, Otto should’ve known better than to face Peter alone. Doc Ock was—unfortunately—a good leader. If he’d broken out his teammates he could’ve coordinated with them and that would’ve evened the odds, but revenge by his lonesome must’ve been too good to pass up. Well, so long as it made his job easier Peter couldn’t complain. He rounded the corner and…“Why is my life like this?”…came face to face with the silver visage of Wilbur Day, better known as the Stilt-Man, stomping around in his giant extendable legs.Ock was nowhere in sight.Peter bowed his head and landed on the edge of a rooftop, a few yards away from the approaching Stilt-Man. He swore; someone was doing this on purpose, going out of their way to play tricks on him.A flood of Amusement came forth from the Symbiote, much to his chagrin.“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” But he couldn’t exactly stay mad, could he? After all, it was Stilt-Man! He’d much rather take him on than Doc Ock, even on his best of days. “Well then, guess we should count our blessings, huh?”Bemused, Peter looked at the villain, watching on in silence as he walked right past him without sparing a glance. Something about his posture screamed "on edge".“...There’s no trace of a Mike Murdock anywhere I’ve looked. What am I gonna do now? I’m no bloodhound, so how do you find one man in a city of millions? Think Will, think! What would the Marauder say?... He’d say ‘Make him come to you, Wilbur!’. Yeah, that’s right! I can do that. All I need is to find a jewelry store and if Daredevil’s in the neighborhood he’ll come to me,” the man muttered, seemingly proud of himself. Peter decided he’d heard enough and leaped onto his shoulder, spooking him to a halt. “Spider-Man!?”“Nice night for a walk, eh? So how ‘bout you save us the usual fighting routine and give up now while you’re ahead?” That made the villain pause, but he quickly regained his composure and squared up.“Why should I listen to you? You’re not Spider-Man,” he shouted, gesturing to Peter’s suit. That gave him an idea.“You’re right, I’m not." He leaned in, forcing Stilt-Man to back up into a nearby alley. “I’m Spider-Man’s darker cousin, the Deadly Neighborhood Man-Spider," he whispered, totally serious, “and unlike my cousin? I can summon spiders! Hundreds, thousands of spiders, all of them at my comma—”Peter jumped, dodging the armored fist that would’ve collided with his head and letting Stilt-Man hit himself in the face.“ARGH!” the man fell to the ground, cracking the metal plates surrounding his upper torso.“Aww, Wilbur! You gotta let me finish my jokes, man. This one would’ve been hilarious." Peter dropped on top of him, webbing his elongated arms to his sides. He did the same for his stilted legs, not allowing them time to retract so the man could reposition himself. Wilbur struggled for a bit before it became clear that he wouldn't be overcoming his restraints, so he opted to express his frustrations verbally.“N-NO! Urgh, w-what is this?! The Mighty Stilt-Man defeated so easily? Preposterous!!"Peter chuckled at his antics and crouched down, tapping the old man on the helmet. “Look, dude, you gotta work on your mid-battle banter if you wanna go anywhere.”“R-Really? I used to be a Dungeon Master way back when; I thought that would help set me apart from the other costumed folks running around these days….”“Roleplaying’s a good start, but you’ve to find something that makes you unique if you want to stand out. Mysterio’s got that theater act goin’ on, Rhino has the Russian accent. None of that ‘Die, Spider-Man!’ the rest of you are so fond of using. ‘Cause, like, after a while it gets so boring the villains who say it just kind of blur together. I couldn’t tell you if it’s Electro who says stuff like that or the Vulture.”“...Huh. I never thought of it like that. Thanks.” Peter grinned, throwing him a thumbs up.“You’re welcome, Wilbur. Now, mind telling me who you were looking for?”Clearly, he did mind, but seeing as how he wasn’t leaving anytime soon, the man gave in.“Ah, well…fine. Mike Murdock is his name. I’ve heard rumors about him being Daredevil and decided to take my chances. Thought I could lure him out and finally beat him once and for all, but I guess that’s not going to be today….”“We’re still a ways away from Hell’s Kitchen though. You…do know that’s where DD operates most of the time, right?”“Of course I know, he’s my arch nemesis! And I was getting there before you stopped me.”“Hey, you know how it is. Don’t do crime if you can’t do the time or don’t like getting punched in the face. You ever considered that with great power comes great—”“—Fortune! And fame! And once I defeat Daredevil, I’ll have all of those things and more.”“Riiight. Gotchu. Whatever you say.” Peter shook his head and hopped down, webbing Stilt-Man some more for good measure. “But seriously, you could get all those things if you used your brain instead of putting on a costume,” he opened a compartment on his belt and took out one of his Courtesy of Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man cards, “like, if you patented your technology, helped outfit construction workers and the police with versions of your armor, that kind of thing. Although, maybe ditch the stilts when it comes to the cops." He stuck the card to Wilbur’s chestplate. “Might take more effort, but wouldn’t it be more rewarding as opposed to doing…. This?“With my rap sheet? It can’t be that easy…or exciting.”“You’d be surprised. It’s not like you’re the Punisher, Wilbur. There’s still time to turn your life around. Give it some thought, will ya?”“...Alright,” he said quietly, avoiding Peter’s gaze.Anything else he may’ve wanted to tell him was interrupted by the police cruisers that suddenly parked outside the alleyway.“Aaand that’s my cue to leave. Stay safe out there, Stilt-Man. Be seeing you!”A two-fingered salute and he was off.…There was something to be said about the state of the world when brilliant men like Wilbur Day felt the need to turn to crime instead of using their gifts for smarter, more beneficial goals. Even if they wouldn’t do it to help others, surely applying their skills to more practical endeavors was more profitable and safer than getting shot at by cops, spending their freetime in jail and getting trounced on by other superpowered people. Why did the brilliant man have to rob banks to feel like he was worth something?Peter liked to imagine that he was part of the solution to that kind of question, but the problem was so much grander than he could ever hope to solve that it often felt like he wasn’t making any difference at all. He could keep beating criminals and sending them to jail, but he couldn’t change people. It was up to them to change themselves. He could offer advice, help whenever he could, lend an ear to those who wanted to be heard, but at the end of the day how much was that actually changing things? When Sandman escaped prison for the umpteenth time, when innocent people kept being endangered, how much did it matter that Peter kept giving his foes the time of day?...Of course, that didn’t mean going to the other extreme; becoming a violent psychopath who murdered anyone who so much as stole a purse, but it begged the question: What was the solution? How could he make a permanent change in the way things went?Maybe a permanent change was impossible, a pipedream he should stop deluding himself with. Maybe he’d be destined to keep going in circles until he couldn’t, or wouldn’t be Spider-Man anymore, but could he ever accept that?
That one has an obvious answer, Pete.
Maybe problems like these were too complicated to even consider. That, he could somewhat accept. Sticking to what he knew made a difference; fighting so other people wouldn’t lose their Uncle Bens—that felt right.But still.“See, it’s this stuff that gives me the most headaches. There’s no superhero academy or manual or guide to show you how it’s done. It’s always just so….” Uncertainty, entered his mind, more like an idea than a spoken word. A feeling that defined the word through the emotion it evoked rather than describe it.“Yeah, that’s one way to put it, Symby.” Wait a second. “Hey, is it cool if I call you that? I can’t think of any other nickname for you that wouldn’t be a reference.” Confirmation, then Gratitude. Both were relayed in an instant.“Haha, Symby it is then. Glad to know at least someone’s a fan. Most people can’t seem to appreciate my nicknaming talents, be they friend or foe. Picklepuss, Magoo, Matchstick, Sparkles, Vibrator, Sandy, Lizy…. I mean, Spidey’s a good one, right? They don’t see me complaining when they call me Webhead, Webslinger, or the Wall-Crawler, but they always hate it when I name ‘em something. I wonder why that is?”
Others. Scorn. Irrelevant.

Self. Appreciation!
“Thanks, bud…. Hey! Looks like we’re getting the hang of this talking thing. So what do you say we make our way home before we tempt Aunt May’s wrath?”
Home…

Selves. Together.

Home.

Always.

…

Agreement.
“Let’s go, then.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Integration
“Why did you eat my underwear?”Peter had almost been too afraid to ask, having stared at the shredded remains of his boxers for several minutes now. Ever since the Bite he hadn’t slept in regular pajamas due to having outgrown his old pair and moving quite a lot in his sleep. Despite that fact, he wasn’t one for sleeping nude either; it was too uncomfortable with his particular power set.Imagine his surprise this morning when he woke up to find himself buck naked.
…Query?
“You know what I mean. We both know for certain that they weren’t like this yesterday.”
Denial.
“Well, they couldn’t have gotten like this on their own,” he gestured to a rather nasty-looking piece of ripped fabric that had fallen off his bed. “What did they ever do to you to deserve this?”He may have sounded like it, but he wasn’t too mad. Not really.Clothes as a whole would become a trivial matter with Symby around, so Peter could forgive the Symbiote without feeling too guilty about it, but the penny-pincher inside him? The guy couldn’t help cringing at the sight of his torn boxers. Those hadn’t given him itches while swinging and they hadn’t exactly been cheap (good thing he had spares)! The sentimental value they’d held shouldn’t have been glossed over so easily, dammit!“Look, at the end of the day it’s not that big a deal, but I’m just trying to understand why you’d, y’know….” He waited expectantly, checking the halloween costume box under his bed to see if his work suit had been ruined as well.He breathed a sigh of relief when he found the red and blues still intact.… Clothing…. Symby trailed off as if unsure how to elaborate. Peter didn’t know how it was possible for the word “clothing” to have an emotional equivalent that he could feel and understand, since clothes weren’t emotions, but he wasn’t about to question it. Somehow he just knew that’s what Symby was trying to convey.
…Obstruction!

Protect. Host. Adequacy.

Self. Host. Connection. Free.
Protect. Better , it sent, proud of the explanation.“So you didn’t want ‘em getting in the way?” He closed the box and put it back in its place, hidden behind stacks of comics and other knick-knacks.
Self. Plenty!

Clothing. Inferior.

Useless.

…Self? Upgrade.
“Okay, well…I get it, and you’re right, sort of, but…ugh, how do I put this?”
Query?
“Humans have this thing where we don’t like going around without being dressed. Unless we’re, um…at the beach! Yeah. But even then we still keep some clothes on. Most of us anyway. Now, for us ? With you here that won’t be a problem, but what if we run into someone like the Shocker? Or if Johnny tries to play a prank on me? My rep’s already in ruin thanks to ol’ JJ. If we get separated in public I don’t think we’ll ever recover. And Picklepuss? Man, he would have a field day…. God, I can imagine the headlines: ‘MASKED MENACE IS ALSO A NUDIST: Public indecency at its finest!’…. Trust me when I say we don’t need that kinda heat.”That gave Symby pause, which Peter used to tidy up a little. Once finished he picked up his web-shooters and belt from his desk.“Which is why we’re also gonna be carrying these with us. That way, if we get split I’ll still be able to shoot webs and stuff. Can’t be too careful, y’know?” After checking the gadgets for any signs of failure he equipped them both, prompting Symby to engulf and store them in its pocket space. “Glad we agree on that,” he said, thankful. “…Now for the part you won’t like so much.” He opened the drawer that contained his spare mask and gloves, earning himself an immediate response.
Unnecessary!
Observation , his attention was directed to the plane mirror in the corner of his room.Peter sighed, but went over when Symby started to writhe under his skin. As soon as he got in front of it, black veins crept up his neck, joining together into the familiar shape of his mask. Before he could get a word out however, the mask turned red, then went through a plethora of designs, each more unique than the last…. Alright, he could concede that it was pretty neat of Symby to be able to come up with so many looks on the fly, but that wasn’t enough to change his mind.“I—”From the neck down the rest of his costume began to form, tendrils flailing out of his body to cover him as fast as they could (it actually surprised him that nothing was knocked over in the process).But Symby didn’t stop there. It kept shifting through different looks, going so far as to include Peter’s old discarded concepts: a scarlet costume with a blue sleeveless hoodie on top, an all-black bodysuit with green highlights on the lenses and spider emblem, two suits inspired by Captain America and the Fantastic Four respectively, one by Thor, and many, many other variants that had been trying too hard to look good for Peter to ever consider beyond their initial sketches. Really, he had struck gold with his current—well, former—design. Simple without being bland and just snazzy enough to be iconic. His sewing skills may’ve been naught in comparison to Aunt May’s, but he’d made it work. With flat fabrics and messy puff-painted webs and way too many patches, by God , he’d made it work.Symby must’ve read his thoughts as it reverted to full black, only this time with a heavy focus on defense. Sinewy fibers grew over Peter’s joints and hard segmented padding materialized everywhere else. Next it opted for a tacticool approach, hardening into solid plates, combat boots, tons of pouches, a helmet—the whole shebang. If there was a superhuman black ops team out there, he would fit right in.Satisfied with its work his roommate liquified itself once again in preparation for another makeover, but Peter halted it before it could fully change.“Hey, you don’t have to try to impress me. I know what you can do and I’m already impressed.”Evidently, it disagreed with that statement as it molded its matter into a mimicry of his old costume, only…beter. The muted red of his spandex was replaced by a vibrant tinge of crimson, and the fading navy blue by metallic cobalt that shined like it was ripped straight out of a comic. The webs were also sewn into the fabric instead of being painted over, and the spider logo was properly aligned to be in the center of his chest, not off to the side by half an inch.“Is…i-is that textured fabric on the…?” Peter leaned in, mouth slightly agape as he  admired his partner’s handiwork. There were no patches, no spots of discoloration and no stitched tears.He couldn’t help himself from posing. It was perfect. The dream suit he’d imagined himself wearing in some alternate life where he’d been born filthy rich, and he was staring right at it!“I take it back. You’re amazing. This is a compelling argument that I don’t know what I’m talking about. Can we look like this when it's daytime and switch to black for night only?” Pride washed over him in waves as a bubbling sort of warmth filled his chest. Feeling Symby bask in the praise made him blush, although Peter wasn’t entirely certain the reaction was his.“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” He sat down on the edge of his bed, still examining the costume. “Thanks.” Host , the Symbiote hummed back, its own endearing way of saying: “No, you.” “Oh, shucks.”Nothing in his career as Spider-Man had come close to this level of weirdness, but little by little he was learning to adjust. Taking his time infiltrating Oscorp had been the right choice after all, as it’d allowed him to come to terms (somewhat) with what bonding to Symby would entail. Had he rushed in the first chance he'd gotten, Peter would’ve been freaking out at the moment. And for good reason, as permanently sharing your mind, body, memories and life with a sapient gooey alien was not what many would call sane…. But then, neither was battling six villains that could rival the Fantastic Four all at once, yet here he was, still alive and kicking. That too, he’d thought, had been outside of his league—a feat reserved for the big shots of the superhero world—prior to being forced to do it and coming out no worse for wear.Peter would handle this. He always did.“...I’m not insisting that we keep the gloves and mask with us because I don’t believe in you or your ability to keep us safe, or to make us look awesome,” he began, knowing he couldn’t brush this one off, as much as Symby had tried to get him to drop it. “I do, I’m just trying to be cautious. Same with the web-shooters. Who knows what lengths a man like Fisk might go to to find out Spider-Man’s identity? When someone inevitably figures out our weaknesses, if I'm not wearing anything under you to conceal my face, I’ll get caught on camera, or leave my fingerprints on a wall, or something . We can’t afford that.”He could feel the Symbiote wanting to protest, to claim that with it he wouldn’t have to worry about such things. Like it had said, compared to his previous getup it was an upgrade in every regard, but even so, it kept silent, pondering over his words.“If we’ll be weak to heat and sonics, that’s just how it’s gonna be. I’m not gonna hold it against you, but we need to cover our bases…. How about a deal? We keep the mask and gloves in your hammerspace thingy, and if it looks like we might get caught in an explosion or whatever I’ll signal you so you can put them on me from the other side. Y’know, the way you absorb and release objects but done from the part of you that’s touching my skin, if, uh, that’s…possible?” Crap, he hoped it was. He assumed it was since Symby had an amorphous physiology, so it would’ve made sense for every part of itself to have access to its pocket dimension, but he wouldn’t really know.
…Confirmation.
“Okay, great!... And, hey, we can even do this for my underwear if wearin’ ‘em bothers you so much…. So, do we have a deal or not?”
…Host. Self. Safety. Selves. Protect…. Better? Host. Priority—
In surges the emotions crashed into him, one after the other, an extensive vocabulary foreign to his ears but still comprehensible on a basic level. They were sent so fast and with such power, he could only gather that Symby was debating with itself, most of the nuance ending up lost in translation.Just as the alien’s stress got him to start pacing, the stream of emotion stopped, like some kind of conclusion had been reached.The silence that followed left Peter wondering if he should’ve put this one off for longer. Stressing both of them hadn’t been his intention, but the more he spoke with the alien the more excited he got, which led to his anxiety running rampant like they always did and….Maybe he should’ve waited for this until after they’d gone to “work”. —lves. Secondary , he caught it declaring out of nowhere, breaking his train of thought.
Host.

Deal…

Acceptance.
…Nevermind.His costume retracted as a dark pseudopod emerged from his back and swirled over to his right hand, wrapping around it and giving him a good shake.“Deal,” Peter said, enjoying the sensation of liquid biomass across his skin. It was warm to the touch with no definable texture, and solid enough for his fingers to grab onto but soft and malleable to where their grip was lost the harder he tried to press. A result of its high viscosity, he figured.“...You’re picking up on human idiosyncrasies faster than I honestly thought you would…. But I imagine nonverbal behavior must be pretty popular even among alien species, right? Only so many ways for individuals to reliably communicate besides vocalizations. Plus you guys can read your hosts’ minds! You’re practically built for this type of thing.”
Bond.

Host. Language.

Rapid. Learning.

Self. Voice!…

Future.
“No rush, I can wait. Though I gotta admit, now you’ve gotten me curious as to what you’ll sound like.” Soon , it amended.“Hey, so long as you won’t be a copy of my voice I’m fine with anything. If I’m gonna be hearing voices in my head, I’d rather they weren’t my own, feel me? Mine? I hear it way too often….”
Difference.
Following that, a glob of darkness escaped his chest, still attached by a thin strand, and extended some tendrils over his shoulders, pulling him closer to its greater mass and holding him there for a good number of seconds, for…some reason. Feeling as if he should reciprocate, Peter gave the glob a couple of pats in lieu of not being able to hug it back. Once pleased with itself, the Symbiote withdrew, not waiting for any sort of response.
…
“I’ll, uh, hold you to it?”He sat there, rubbing his neck in a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude. Well.Moving forward, it would be a conscious decision on his part to ignore how quickly Symby had gone quiet just now.“Peter,” rang a familiar voice from the other side of his door, “are you awake?”
Aunt May and her perfect timing, thank God. I swear, sometimes it’s like she’s psychic!
“Um, yeah?”“Were you talking to yourself again?” Busted, Symby supplied helpfully, oblivious.“...No comment,” he said, not quite sure who he was addressing.“Oh, Peter, I’m not judging you. It’s just, well, it might do you some good if you went out more often.”“Yeeeah, that’s still judging, and I don’t know what you’re talking about. I go out all the time.”“That’s not what I meant, dear….”
Of course it isn’t.
Peter allowed himself to feel the slightest bit of guilt for being a shut-in, but then he remembered the hundreds of times May had tried to set him up with Anna Watson’s niece, and all the guild went away. It wasn’t that he disliked the girl, from what little he knew of her, but all that talk about how they’d make such good “friends” had built her up in his head to the point where getting to know her seemed super intimidating. Way more than it probably was, to be fair, but that’s what he got for not making friends at school.“Well, if you’re up, breakfast is ready, so come on down before it gets cold.”“Alright, I’ll be there in a sec.”
Out? Combat?
Someone’s eager , he thought to himself, I guess you never really stop learning. Was it associating the concept of eating with going out as Spider-Man? There may’ve been a connection there, since swinging and catching criminals was bound to make his body secrete adrenaline, which Symby likely fed on…. They should get around to testing that theory sometime soon.Or he could just ask.Peter waited for his aunt to walk away before replying.“We will, but after we eat. Speaking of which, you hungry? I think there’s some chocolate cake left in the fridge from my birthday, but if you’re not up for it, we could always see how much swingin’ does for you….”
Satiated.

Fed. Host. Sleep.
“Not when we were still out in the city?”
Adjustment.

Feeding. Difficulty.
“Huh.” That made him raise a brow, but to be fair, Symby hadn’t spoken a whole bunch before they’d caught Stilt-Man. “But you’re okay now?”
Confirmation.
“Let me know if that changes,” he stretched as he said so, picking up a folder from his nightstand. In it were fourteen photos he’d taken of his alter ego over the past week, but only about half were decent enough to sell, and none had him do anything more spectacular than apprehending the common crook. Hopefully Jonah would still accept them.…Who was he kidding? This batch hadn’t featured any villains because most of his bad guys were behind bars, and they were the ones that sold newspapers. “MASKED MENACE HELPS VULTURE ROB BANK” this, “MASKED MENACE BEHIND CHELSEA RAMPAGE” that. Spider-Man “assaulting citizens” in broad daylight was old news, and the Bugle wasn’t the type of paper to rehash old material, for a certain definition of old. Not when it was about Spidey. JJ would sooner tell Peter to scram than run a story that didn’t include the latest and hottest Spider-Man exploit crime.And any argument against the Bugle was pointless for the simple fact that it helped pay the bills, even though JJ paid like crap and tarnished his image in the process. Also beats working at the local Wendy’s and making, what, 7.50 an hour? ‘Least with Picklepuss you can negotiate whenever he isn’t feeling too stingy , he mentally grumbled. Work, Symby remarked, a tad too vague for him to understand.“What do you mean?”
Pictures. Compensation.
Delivery , his gaze was aimed at the folder in his hands, then at the computer on his desk, Electronic? “Oh, okay. Well, I could send them by mail, true, but then I’d just get paid the usual rate, which is like 200-300 bucks per photo. Which is pretty good for a freelancer that’s still in highschool, but my stuff’s exclusive, y’know? Quality pics of the Amazing Spider-Man in action!” Although Jonah was never going to call him that. “So I try to sell ‘em in person since I can bargain for more than what I’m usually paid.”
Understanding…

…Scorn!

Host. Compensation. Better.

Merit!
“Don’t feel too bad about it. That’s just how….” he paused, feeling Symby about to argue again. He had to approach this from another angle. “I know it sucks, but we can’t have a full-time well-paying job and be Spider-Man at the same time. Being the guy that stalks Spidey and takes his photos is the least morally dubious compromise I can think of making that still lets me go out there and help people. Wrestling, showbiz…you know how those went….”
Self! Presence.

Bond. Safety. Selves.

Promise.
Peter flinched at the Conviction that was said with; a firm vow to shield them through thick and thin. He almost refused the Symbiote before thinking it over, wanting to argue that he wasn’t deserving of such a thing. Really, he just couldn’t fathom it. Despite having met less than twelve hours ago (if that), Symby was fully prepared to commit to a long-term partnership….Or maybe it wasn’t preparedness so much as it was fear—like his—of failing and letting Venom become a reality. After all, it could snoop through his memories, and Peter hadn’t exactly been subtle about his second thoughts. Not that he could have been, but by now Symby must’ve also seen what Peter had back in Otto’s lair. It must have known how their meeting would’ve gone and what it would’ve led to. To be so determined to prevent that, even more than he was, Symby must have either been a terrific pragmatist or thoroughly spooked by what it could’ve become. At least he could sleep peacefully knowing they’d both give it their all to make this work….Except that if Peter was honest with himself—with both of them— this whole symbiosis thing seemed like such a daunting task that he had a hard time envisioning himself not ruining things along the way. Venom’s shadow looming over them as a constant reminder of what would happen if he failed didn’t help much either. Selves, the Symbiote reminded him gently.“Yeah, yeah, sorry, I meant we . I know…I know it’s no longer just me.” He looked out of the sole window of his bedroom, frowning. “Funny how we’ve known each other for less than a day and we’re already acting like a couple on the verge of divorce.”Only in their case they didn’t have to worry about filing paperwork, splitting their belongings, money, whatever. No, all they had to do was to make sure they didn’t end up murdering each other and/or holding grudges for life.Easy peasy.He frowned harder. The yard was empty and quiet, devoid of any activity, but Peter could still imagine the towering form of his possible archnemesis just standing there, camouflaged, stalking him from outside his home.Nothing quite measured up to the knowledge that your deadliest foe yet knew where you lived and who you were under the mask. Nowhere was safe; wherever you were it always felt like you were being watched, you couldn’t go home for fear of your family being targeted, your Spider-Sense wouldn’t trigger despite the scent of death you could smell in the air, you couldn’t sleep or even relax for fear of what would happen when you weren’t paying attention, you’d constantly be looking over your shoulder thinking now the bad guy might strike, only for the “now” to become two and then three and so on until you drove yourself mad—!... That was no way for one to live. He wasn’t planning on going through it anytime soon, that was for certain.But he also wasn’t a cop. He didn’t have a whole department’s worth of backup at his disposal, ready to defend him if a criminal made things personal, nor did he have unlimited resources. There was no cave to serve as his HQ, no supertech to bail him out of trouble and no teammates he could rely on (excluding present company). Eddie Brock or his wife showing up on his doorstep and asking him to come outside so they could “talk”—he wasn’t winning that one. Not with all limbs attached.And letting May go through another home invasion?“...Forget it. Let’s not keep her waiting, hm?” At his words the Symbiote poured out of his skin and shaped itself into proper clothes, choosing an outfit that Peter was, regrettably, deeply familiar with: checkered tie with a white shirt tucked underneath blue trousers and that sweater vest he’d gotten from Uncle Ben. The cherry on top was a round pair of glasses.He struggled not to cringe. Really, he did.Yeah, it was no wonder he used to get bullied so much. How had he ever believed his folks when they’d said it was a good idea to start highschool looking like he came right out of the ‘60s’? Just went to show how sheltered he’d been growing up.
Host. Observation?
Oh God, Symby was proud about it—“Um, yeah , this is-this is great! Yeah, I was just, um, thinking of something more along the lines of, like, a hoodie…some sweatpants…y’know, baggier stuff? Or maybe a jacket or….”
Self. Skills. Insult!
“Wait, I wasn’t—” Humor! Scare. Amusement , it interjected, savoring the surprised look on his face before morphing into proper street clothes.
…Appreciation?
“… Miles better. Also, when did you start hanging out with Johnny? You just got here!”
Self? Negation.

Host.
“I dunno ‘bout that. You couldn't have gotten it from me ‘cause I only teach people how to quip.”
Denial. Host. Humor.

Swear.
“Yeah, right.”/   \\_\()/_/_//^\\_\  /They were back to doing this again. Peter saw it as soon as he met his aunt’s eyes; how she tried not to stare at the bills that’d piled up on the kitchen counter, the cheerfulness that wasn’t truly there…. For as long as he could remember, it’s what the Parkers had always done; pretending they were strong and fine when the times were not.Even when they had been tight on cash (when had they not?) Ben and May had made it a point not to mention it around Peter. He could’ve asked for anything he wished for and they would’ve found a way to give it to him. Whatever it took to make him happy, be it a new microscope, clothes, a fancy smartphone, it didn’t matter, even if Uncle Ben had flattened a tire the day before and would’ve better spent his money getting it replaced to get to work on time. They did their best to make him feel loved.He’d always appreciated it and tried to return the favor, as much as he could have, but he’d be lying if he said he liked some of the choices they made when raising him. Shielding him for so long hadn’t helped in the long run, for example. Not that he could blame them, since they’d never had kids of their own and hadn’t asked for him to suddenly drop in their lives. They’d done their best for the situation they had found themselves in, but……In those weeks following Ben’s death, they’d been much the same, him and May, all smiles and jokes and acting like their hearts weren’t broken, talking about everything but Ben. ‘Why worry about a problem that wasn’t there?’ On one hand, trying to get their minds off of the loss in their lives had helped, if only slightly, but on the other hand, neither of them had had the strength to let themselves mourn properly. They hadn’t cried a whole lot—he hadn’t seen May do it except at the funeral—or done much to let the pain out. And Peter? He’d made it worse by coming home battered and bruised every night, back when he couldn’t take as much punishment and his Spider-Sense hadn’t been as developed, having spent his time beating on random crooks like they’d been the ones to shoot his uncle.Should he categorize that under the “Parker Luck” or the “Parker Habit”?
Bah, whatever.
He stabbed his wheat cakes, trying his hardest not to seem bothered.It wasn’t working.…How come the hospital was charging them so much? His aunt hadn’t been in an ambulance since he had swung her to the ICU, the blood for her transfusion had been the local vigilante’s, Spider-Man’s , and the cure for her poisoning had been provided for free by Doc Connors. What, were needles they used to draw his blood so expensive they needed twenty-five grand in return?
And of course our insurance doesn’t cover the car and—
“Dear?”“Huh?” He looked up to see aunt staring at him in concern. Her plate was already empty. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”“I asked if you slept well, although, seeing as how it’s nine o’clock instead of twelve, I’m going to assume you got home pretty early this time.” Her tone was light despite what her question was implying.“Uh, yeah, totally. I’d a great sleep. You?” The way he said that must’ve been enough to placate her given how she visibly eased up. Well, he hadn’t lied per se—he and Symby had gone straight home after handling Stilt-Man, and they’d made it a point to return early.“Mine was fine too. You know, that meditation technique Anna talked about has been doing me wonders. We should practice it together when we get the chance. Maybe then you’ll make it a habit to wake up on time.”She wasn’t going to stop reminding him, was she? Peter shook his head, chuckling.“C’mon, Aunt May, it’s not that bad. School starts in September, can’t a guy enjoy his summer break?”“You‘re eighteen, Peter,“ barely, he thought, “and you have a job.”“A freelancer job, I’m not an actual employee,” he pointed out. “ I don’t get paid to ‘show up on time’, ‘cause there’s no schedule I’ve to adhere to; I sell my pictures when I have ‘em. I mean, the Bugle practically lives off of its hate campaign against Spider-Man. That’s like, half the stuff they print out these days. It’s not like Mr. Jameson can afford to send me away when he can’t get better pictures elsewhere.”“Be that as it may, it’s important to show that you can be punctual.”“Which I am.” He gestured to the folder sitting near his plate. “The Bugle’s my first stop today. After that it’s—”“Yes, I know, and that’s why,” she reached under the table and took out his backpack, offering it to him, “I went ahead and made your bag.”“Oh hey, thanks. I forgot where I put it.” At her displeased look he continued, “But I haven’t forgotten our deal: call the police before taking any pictures, stay at least eighty feet away from the action, run the opposite direction when it starts moving towards you, pepper spray anyone who tries to attack you, help whoever needs helping if you can but only after—”“The danger’s over. Good. Your camera, first aid kit and money are in there as well.”“Gotchu. Thanks again.”She gave him a nod, then added, “Now come on, finish your breakfast and get going. You don’t want to be late.” She leaned down to kiss his forehead, ruffled his hair and winked. Anticipating his rebuke, she went on, “Punctuality, Peter, you’ll have to learn it someday.”…Well, she hadn’t said responsibility, so Peter automatically counted that as a win. But why the wink?Nah, he was overthinking it again.“And that would be today? Oh, the tragedy! To be kicked out of the house at such a tender age! Aunt May, how could you do this to me, to-to your own nephew ?”She shrugged, moved her plate into the sink and grinned back at him.“Like I said, you’ve got to learn to be dependable. A little motivation here and there didn’t hurt anyone.”
Can’t argue with that, can I?
Symby chimed in with Agreement , so far having been content with just listening. That was fine. When he did, Peter could talk enough for the both of them. And it would’ve been strange for May to meet Symby, had it talked outside of his head.
…Y’know, I always tend to look at her like she’s this frail old woman who’s gonna drop dead at any moment, but that’s not really fair of me. I mean, she’s still here, isn’t she? Even after my parents, Ben, the accident…all the tragedy in our lives and she’s still goin’ strong. It’s not right of me to…judge her….

Host. Family. Persistence.

Self?

Respect.

Present. Selves.
Future. Hurt. Unlikely, his partner stated with a sudden passion, causing Peter to inhale sharply. Luckily he was fast enough to turn it into a cough before he could draw too much attention.
Regret. Apology.
It’s okay. You just caught me off guard. He deliberately ignored May’s pointed look and focused back on his wheat cakes. Say, you want to try that chocolate cake?
Future.

If you say so.
/   \\_\()/_/_//^\\_\  /Had they met and bonded a year ago he wouldn’t have been able to tell just how efficient his swinging had become thanks to Symby, but at the moment the improvement was crystal clear. The way the alien changed its texture with each twist of his body to make them as aerodynamic as possible, how it corrected his movements when he overextended and adjusted them to be smooth instead of abrupt—it made him soar through the air with a certain ease and elegance that hadn’t been there previously, or at least not to this extent. He thanked it, despite not being able to pay full attention to its efforts. Contribution. Bond. Expected, it replied, like doing so was the most obvious thing in the world.“Still, you didn’t have to, it’s not something that we couldn’t have lived without, but you still did it, so thanks. We can save a lot of time this way. Speaking of beneficial factors,” he paused as he vaulted several rooftops and used that time to catch his breath, even though Symby was still covering him, “I’ve been meaning to ask…you don’t really have cells, do you? At least, not how I understand them, right?”
Confirmation. Absence.
“I figured. I mean, between the fact that you’re not tearing my body apart every time you morph in and out of me,” especially since his flesh wasn’t permeable enough to allow that, “the fact that I’ve yet to have epileptic seizures and that I’m not swollen all over, it’s pretty obvious that whatever it is you’re made of is so small and foreign my body can’t really detect you unless you do something drastic. Probably why my immune system has been so tame lately,” he hazarded a guess. "Or you guys just evolved to bond in non-invasive manners, but that's the boring answer."Symby responded almost immediately, Host. Defense. Systems…, but hesitated before continuing, Prevention. Bond.
Solution? Assimilation…Natural!

Requirement! Bond. Finalize.
“Yeah, no, I got that part, I…I guess what I’m asking is: if I were to put a piece of you under a microscope, would I just see darkness or would I be able to identify some form of complex molecular structure? By the way I do not intend to do that without your explicit permission—that was just a thought I had,” he quickly clarified, earning himself an all-encompassing squeeze. Dark, was its concise reply.“...Ah, got it.”Well, he’d anticipated that so he couldn’t claim to be disappointed, but it was a bummer nevertheless. Misunderstanding, his partner corrected however.
Self. Dark!

Emptiness.

Molecules. Absence.

Atoms. Particles. Absence.

Mimicry.
“W-What?? That’s—are you saying you’re not made of matter!? That’s just, I mean, that’s not possible. Even if—”
Negation.

Possibility. Fact.

Self. Deceive? Host?

Impossibility.

Trust.
“So then…what’re you made of?” Dark. Darkness. Space, his gaze was directed to the sky, but Peter knew instinctively that the Symbiote wasn’t referring to the atmosphere. Space, it tried again for greater emphasis.“Outer space? Space…time, maybe? Living space-time? Is, uh, is that what you’re suggesting you are?” He tried, only to receive what amounted to a mental shrug, followed by a low hiss: Designed. "Designed? Designed by whom?" Silence. Perhaps this was a conversation best had when they could both communicate on equal footing. Neither of them was prepared to talk about this with the speech barrier still in the way. “Um, y’know what, nevermind. Nevermind nevermind. Let's just put a raincheck on this. We’ll come back to it another time,” he proposed, being met with a resounding hum of Agreement, “we have work to do anyway.” He gestured to the Flatiron Building right as he dropped down into an alleyway, checking for cameras and unsuspecting bystanders.Once he was sure no one would spy on them he hid behind a dumpster and gave Symby the all-clear, letting it change their appearance into more appropriate attire. Absent-mindedly, he checked the time.“Not too shabby. Go us.”Backpack on, folder in hand and camera strapped around the neck, Peter crossed the street and made his way into the building, riding the elevator to the top floor. After two years of working for the jolly one himself he couldn’t say that he was dreading having to face JJ, but he wasn’t too pleased that he didn’t have anything to show for himself with this batch either. Unless they stumbled into a big fight he wasn’t sure how they were going to make enough money to help with the bills.Out of sight Symby slittered itself across his shoulders and massaged them, slowly easing the tension out of him. Peter broke into a sardonic smile and patted the sleeve of his jacket, exhaling. When he looked down at his feet his chin was instantly raised back up, a feeling of Assurance coursing through his blood. He really hoped it would last through the upcoming encounter with Jonah.The elevator stopped with a pleasant ding and Peter stepped out through the opening doors, waving at colleagues and making his way past the busy crowd of the Bugle’s newsroom.“G’morning, Mister Urich.”“Good morning, Peter.”“Hey, Ned.”“‘Sup, Pete! How’s your aunt doin’?”“She’s been feeling better, thank God.””That’s good to hear! Hey, maybe we could—”Peter ignored him in favor of reaching Betty’s desk, nodding to her and stepping aside as Hoffman stormed out of Jameson’s office, either having just been yelled at or told his newest marketing idea was a dud. Probably both.“Miss Brant,” he greeted, gesturing to his right, “I’m here to hand this to Mister Jameson, is he….” He trailed off, rolling his eyes, which earned a giggle out of Betty.“Hey, Peter! No, I…think he’s ready to see you. Good luck in there!”He thanked her and knocked on one of the double doors before him, letting himself in once Robbie gave him the go-ahead from the other side of the glass. On the opposite end of his desk, Jonah had his chair turned around so he could overlook the city. The smell of burnt cigars and heart medication nearly scorched Peter's nostrils, but he’d gotten so used to horrid smells in his time as Spider-Man that it was little more than an inconvenience at this point.”Mister Robertson, JJ.”The chair swiveled around to meet him, and Jonah rose from it with surprising speed.“Parker! Just in time!” He dropped his cigar into the sole ashtray on his desk and quickly came over, snatching the folder out of Peter’s hands and prying it open. “Now let’s see what you got here.”An awkward silence descended upon the office as the editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle rummaged through the photos, his expression morphing into a deeper and deeper frown by the second. Being in JJ’s proximity when he was about to go off would’ve normally irked Peter (he had better things to do than getting yelled at), but with Symby’s help he had put his anxieties in a box and tried to forget about them. Why give JJ the satisfaction of seeing him get worked up about something that was out of his control? If Jonah was mad that the people of New York weren’t being terrorized as much as they could’ve been, that was Jonah’s problem—Peter was here for the money only. Here we go, he thought, sparing Robbie a glance. The man had his arms crossed as he leaned against Jameson’s desk, giving Peter that “comforting” look he always gave him when his coworker was about to foam at the mouth. It wasn’t as comforting as Robbie thought it was, but Peter could appreciate the fact that he cared, at least, even if not enough to intervene.“You’ve been slacking, kid. HOW THE HELL DID YOU EVER THINK THESE WOULD BE GOOD ENOUGH TO SELL, hmm?! What do I pay you for!? This here is bull! All of it! If this is it then you can see yourself out, and don’t come back until you’ve got better material,” Jonah shouted as he threw the pictures in Peter’s face, walking back to his desk.Peter did his best. He really did. A part of him wanted nothing more than to accept his boss’ “criticism” with grace and be on his merry way, but that other part, the one that could never take a beatdown without fighting back, it won the internal struggle with little to no resistance, much to his displeasure.“What do you want from me, Mr. Jameson? Every big player’s in jail! Should I pray they all break out so you can have something to put on your front page? Gee, I really hope those freaks hurt people so I can chase after them so you can sell your newspaper!” He all but spat.…He'd bitten back with more venom than he had intended to, hadn’t he? Judging by the looks on the men’s faces, that had been the wrong thing to say.Jonah slowly narrowed his eyes.“You watch your tone, Parker. I’m not in the mood for you to be a little smartass,” the man warned, rubbing at his chest.Peter held his gaze for a good number of seconds, but ultimately looked away and nodded, muttering a short “Sorry, sir.”
Looks like I’m not too good at this “not getting worked up about it” thing. Sorry, bud.
Symby merely constricted around his chest, restarting its massage from earlier, having been oddly quiet thus far.“For one thing,” JJ continued, “YOU’RE DEAD WRONG! Are Kraven the Hunter and the Shocker in jail? No! Are the Enforcers? No! Molten Man and the Lizard? Confound it, NO! As a matter of fact, the Lizard was just spotted fighting that Kraven psycho this morning, near Turtle Bay. So don’t come to me saying this and that are behind bars, a bunch of other costumed freaks AREN’T! Second, last night witnesses claimed they saw Spider-Man talking with Stilt-Man while wearing a black suit. Y’know what that means?? That MENACE is finally showing his true colors. So make yourself useful and find him before I THROW YOU OUT THE WINDOW in six point nine seconds! If Kraven and that overgrown reptile are out there, Spider-Man’s bound to be with them too. So scram! You’ve got four seconds left.”“Yeah, I got it, sir.” Peter mumbled as he bent down to collect his discarded photos, quickly gathering them up before leaving the office without a word.“Can’t believe that kid. After taking him in and everything, coming into my office with that attitude…. Bah, forget him. So, do we have the headline for tomorrow’s front page?”“...Y-Yeah: ‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave!’, just like you wanted.”“Good, good. Now we only have to wait on—”Peter tuned out the chatter as he made a beeline for the elevator, ignoring the way his colleagues were looking at him. If there was a silver lining, it would be that they now knew what they were going to be busy with today. Peter sighed, pressing the lift’s button repeatedly as if that would make it arrive faster. It didn’t, and it was only Symby that kept him from ripping the button pad out of the wall…. He didn’t know what he was even mad about. That was JJ being his usual unpleasant self. What had he expected?... Whatever, it didn’t matter, what mattered was—
Jameson….
Tool, the Symbiote finally commented, doing nothing to hide its disgust for the man.
Yeah, sometimes he is. I guess—

Always.

Past. Present. Future.
People can change, but even as he said so he didn’t buy his own words, being pretty certain that when it came to Jonah that didn’t apply. You could taste the years of frustration coming off of him from a mile away. It couldn’t be healthy to be so pent up and cynical, but what could they do?
Employment....

Benefits. Absence.

Respect. Absence.

Suffering!

Host. Merit!

Self. Advice. Depart.

Employment. Elsewhere.
“And where would we go? I know it sucks, believe me, I know it better than anyone else, but it’s like I said: we don’t really have any options that aren’t incredibly time-consuming. I haven’t seen ‘em and I can’t think of ‘em. I’m not going on TV again.”What really sucked was that Peter hadn’t anticipated Spider-Man’s popularity back when he’d first donned the suit, thinking that people wouldn’t like the wall-crawling guy in a halloween costume when groups like the FF and the Avengers were around. If he had, he could’ve talked Ben into trademarking “Spider-Man” or something and they would’ve been set for life from all the royalties coming in from merchandise and whatnot. Instead, the trademark was owned by Fisk, and he couldn’t contest it without revealing who he was, which was out of the question. Negation. Maintain. Argument, Symby continued, unbothered by his thoughts.
Self. Doubt. Better. Employment. Absence.

Host. Merit.

Attempt.
“...Okay, fine. Fine! We’ll do some research, but I’m tellin’ you, you shouldn’t hold your breath, okay?” Symby buzzed with Confirmation and tightened around him once more, seemingly pleased that he’d accepted its proposal. “That’s…I guess that’s kinda the point of this bond thing, isn’t it? I dunno, maybe I’m being dumb and you’re right, we’ll see. If I’m right, we’ll have to keep enduring JJ. If you’re right, I promise I’m not gonna get mad if you say ‘I told you so’, and you can say it for as long as you want. Deal?”
Deal.
“Alright then.”Making two pacts in one day couldn’t be so bad, could it?Peter left the elevator with his mood significantly higher than when he’d gone in. Sadly, it didn’t last long as right when he was about to exit into the street he came face to face with none other than Edward Charles Allan Brock. As soon as they saw him, Symby starter squirming under his skin, though instead of going down a list of alien obscenities—rightly deserved after getting jumpscared by the guy who would’ve turned you into a monster in another life—it kept silent, only urging Peter to ignore the man and get out. He would’ve loved to listen to it if Brock hadn’t positioned himself in such a way that he blocked the door, obviously trying to intercept him. The man was carrying two cups of coffee—the ones that had a lid on top—he forgot if they were called something specific.“Parker! What’s gotten you so gloomy-looking?” ‘You’ they both wanted to answer. “No, wait, lemme guess, the boss said your pics were no good,” Eddie chuckled, glancing down at the stack of photos in Peter's hand. “Coffee?”“No, thanks.” Peter put on a serious face and kept walking, forcing Brock to get out of the way and let him pass. Not getting the hint, or not caring for it, the man went out after them, much to both the Symbiote’s and his displeasure. “What is it, Eddie?”
Uselessness! Inadequacy! Weakness!
Oh, there were the curses. Hey, I get that he’s being annoying, but don’t take after me. Be polite, even if he can’t hear you, he admonished it gently. Perhaps too gently, as the flurry of profanities not only continued, but got more and more vulgar with each passing moment.Oblivious to the inner conversation that was taking place, Brock cheerfully kept up with Peter.“What’s the hurry? Anyway, can you do me a favor, Pete?”Peter sped up his pace.“Raincheck? I gotta get somewhere, man.”Brock did not give up. Symby didn't stop cussing him.“C’mon, it’s not gonna take long, I promise! Look, I’m working on a story right now and I was wondering if you could help me out a little. Nothing big, I just want you to get me in touch with someone.”That actually managed to pique Peter’s interest. Who could he get Eddie in touch with that he couldn’t get in touch with himself?“Oookay…. I’ll bite, who is it?”“Spider-Man.”Symby paused, taken aback, and so did Peter, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.“Eddie….”“Don’t ‘Eddie’ me, kid. It’s practically an open secret that you take the guy’s pictures. The ‘Photo taken by an anonymous source’ only fools the people who don’t work here,” he whispered, leaning in. “And, I mean, have you seen your track record? Everywhere he goes you’re there!”“Yeah, that’s kinda my job.”“Nonono, I mean, you’re there as if you guys figured out beforehand how you were going to shoot each single picture, the composition, the angle, who Spidey was going to fight that day. It’s all too perfect to be accidental. It’s—” The more he spoke the more it sounded like he was worshiping Peter. Or maybe he was doing it on purpose to try to appeal to him so he’d help him out. So far it wasn’t working. “—you guys must know each other to be able to pull off that kind of coordination! Multiple times!”With that kind of conviction, strongly denying and getting worked up would make Peter appear even more suspicious than he likely already was to a journalist like Eddie. He may’ve been nonchalant about it but Peter could tell he was carefully studying his expressions as he spoke. But there was a subtle amount of confusion in the man’s eyes, like he wasn’t seeing what he’d been expecting to. If Peter had to guess, that was thanks to Symby, keeping his microexpressions from giving him away. So…maybe they needed a bit of misdirection to throw Brock off his game and make him reconsider his assumptions.“We really don’t. I just follow him around and I guess he sorta lets me take his photos, but that’s it. I don’t have him on speed dial if that’s what you’re thinking. You’d have better luck shouting after him from the rooftops than coming to me.”Brock just stared at Peter for a minute, completely unmoving before he burst out laughing.“...Yeah, no. Good try, though. So look, I said I was working on a story, right? Right. Can’t tell you too much about it other than that it’s going to be called ‘The Impact of Superhuman Renaissance in the 21st Century’. Pretty cool, but it’s nothing special, except in ol’ Jameson’s eyes. Boss said that if this one comes out great he’ll let me do a piece on that serial killer Sin Eater—maybe you’ve heard of him, maybe not,” he said in a patronizing tone, although clearly excited, “and that—that kind of story my friend, that’s the career-defining stuff. What gets you into the big leagues. But to make it there, I’m going to need your help. So I was wondering if you could talk to your friend, Spidey, and see if he would agree to an interview. See if he’d be open about sharing his perspective on things as a vigilante that’s not part of a group. You’d be doing me a huge favor, Parker. I’d definitely owe you one. No pressure though.” Eddie smiled weirdly, this sure-of-himself cocky smile that was also trying to appear earnest, which only made him look like he was way off his rocker.
What a weirdo.

Agreement.

Repetition. Tool….

At least you’re not cursing him anymore.
Peter refocused back on Eddie, realizing that if he didn’t give the man a maybe at the bare minimum he wouldn’t stop bothering them for days to come. He wasn’t about to swear to anything, but if it got Eddie to lay off, then perhaps a maybe would work. Neither him nor the Symbiote, (especially not Symby) needed that kind of pestering right now.“Well, I-I mean, if  he agrees, and I can’t speak for him, but if he does he’ll probably have some demands, y’know—”“—That’s completely understandable. If he doesn’t want to be recorded, that’s fine. Just talk to him, that’s all I ask. If he says yes, we’ll figure things out from there.”“We’ll see.”Eddie nodded, thanking him with a pat on the shoulder and, as quickly as he’d appeared, he made himself invisible within the crowd of pedestrians. Peter observed the spot where he’d been mere seconds ago and shook his head, rounding the corner and entering a narrow alleyway. He crumpled up his pictures before tossing them in a nearby dumpster, checking his surroundings once again for people or cameras pointed where they shouldn’t be. There were none, and so he crouched low to the ground, let his backpack and camera get absorbed, and immediately leapt some three hundred feet into the air. He landed on an empty rooftop right as Symby finished morphing into their work clothes.“…Superhumans, Eddie Brock and the Sin Eater, huh? Geez. Y’know, now that he mentioned it, I think that was the story that ended up ruining his career, if Ock’s computer was right. It’s…sad, seeing the buildup live, knowing where it's gonna lead.”
Deserved.
“Eh, maybe, but…we should still get around to catching that guy when we can. Even if it hurts Brock’s feelings. Maybe we could…work together so he doesn’t frame the wrong person, or—” — Self. Refusal. Aid. Venom.
Host. Independence. Action.
“…Or we can think about it. That’s good too.”
Apprehension. Killer. Future.

Present? Combat! Save!

Bond!

Selves.
Away from cranky old men and too-curious-for-their-own-good journalists, its excitement was palpable, and understandable, given that this would be its first time assisting him in crime-fighting, last night notwithstanding. Peter laughed, his first genuine laugh of the day, and asked Symby to form a pseudopod so he could pet it. The alien was more than eager to comply, emerging from his shoulder into a long appendage with cute white droplets at the end, mirroring his mask’s eyes. Its eyes closed as it leaned into his touch, enjoying the affectionate gesture for all it was worth. The little purr that followed once it had enough managed to raise his spirits tenfold.“Well, if you’re so eager, let’s go catch us a Lizard!”