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If Eddie had to trace his steps back through the life choices that led him to where he finds himself at this moment—suspended in midair above his bed by strands of thick, black webbing, dick leaking like a broken faucet, while an alien life-form’s slavering tongue writhes around in his asshole like an angry cobra—he’d be hard pressed to do it.
Not that his mind is on his life choices at this particular moment. He’s far more focused on the thin, black tendril coiled around his cock, which has begun flicking teasingly over the slit in the swollen head. He cranes his neck, straining to watch what’s happening. Is Venom actually going to—
“Oh, fuck! V—fuck!” Eddie chokes out, as the tendril pushes into the slit, snaking slowly inside his cock. “I can’t…I’m gonna—”
His words break off in a strangled cry. His hips buck and twitch involuntarily as he comes so hard he literally sees stars. His body rocks on the strands of webbing, chest heaving with ragged breaths as he rides out the spasms. Venom withdraws his tongue and flashes one of those fang-filled, hellspawn grins.
Feels good, Eddie?
“So—fucking good,” Eddie pants. “Holy shit. Where’d you learn to do that?”
Internet.
Eddie hisses as the tendril slides out of his dick, then yelps as the webbing snaps away from the walls and drops him in a heap onto his bed. The other slithers down and curls about him, like a blanket made of some kind of cool gel. Its head reemerges and nudges Eddie’s chin.
“You been watching porn, huh?” he says, lazily stroking the slick-black membrane of its forehead. “I hope you didn’t pay for any of it.”
Not stupid, Eddie. Internet has much free pornography.
“The internet is a miracle. When I was a kid, we’d have to talk a hobo into buying us Hustler if we wanted porn.”
What is Hustler? We are hungry.
“It’s a magazine. Like…the internet, but printed out on paper.” Eddie yawns and stretches his arms. “What do you want to eat?”
Chocolate. All of the chocolate. And heads.
“Heads and chocolate?” Eddie says, playfully tugging one of the black tendrils. “But we just had that last night, baby.”
Correct. And we will have it again tonight. Every night.
“You’re mad with power,” Eddie sighs. “I never should’ve let you fuck me.”
But you did. Now I am the boss.
“Pfft. You’re not the boss of me.”
Am so.
“Are not.”
Venom’s opal-white eyes narrow to slits. His semi-gelatinous bulk gives a little wiggle, like a cat preparing to pounce, then he leaps onto Eddie’s face with a gooey smack. Eddie laughs and pretends to resist as the black mass swallows his head, rippling out over his body till it encases him entirely.
Ok, fine. You can be the boss.
“Yessss,” Venom hisses triumphantly.
For now.
“For always.”
We’ll see about that.
They spring to their feet and Eddie feels Venom steering them toward the window. They slide it open and climb out, scale the building with astonishing ease, and leap up to stand on the roof. They pause, looking out on the sea of neon signs and barred windows of liquor stores and strip clubs.
God, this neighborhood is a shithole.
“Annie’s neighborhood is not a shithole. We should live there.”
Yeah, cause Annie’s a lawyer and Dan’s a doctor. We couldn’t afford a place there with two of my salaries.
“Your salary is an insult. Make them pay you more.”
I’d love to, but that’s not how it works. I’m a freelancer and there’s a whole system of pay scale and all that.
“That is stupid.”
You’re tellin’ me. The only way we’re even surviving now is cause you don’t eat people food.
“We eat people for food.”
Yeah, and we gotta be more careful about that, too. The cops are starting to notice the uptick in decapitated lowlifes turning up in the morgues.
Venom considers this for a moment. “We like fish. Must eat many, though.”
The bay is full of fish. You want to go fishing?
“Yes. And chocolating. Where does chocolate live?”
Eddie shakes with laughter beneath the symbiote’s skin.
“What is funny?”
Nothing. You’re just very cute sometimes.
“Not cute,” Venom huffs. “Badass as fuck.”
Sure, babe. Whatever you say.
Venom’s body vibrates with a low growl, which makes Eddie laugh even harder, till they leap abruptly off the side of the building and go hurtling toward the street below, which shuts him up rather effectively. Venom throws out a strand of black webbing and they swing in an arc to slingshot them to the roof of another building. Eddie wonders vaguely what Venom’s idea of fishing is going to be like. He does not relish the idea of swimming around the bay at night, but it’s not possible for them to do it in broad daylight, so he supposes he’ll have to deal with it. Feeding them is always a tricky issue, and Venom seems to be requiring more food lately, and becoming more picky about what Eddie eats.
Hey, V? Human food isn’t bad for you is it?
“No. Why?”
Because you’ve been a little…fussy when I eat certain things lately. I wanted to make sure it’s not making you sick.
“Not sick.”
Good.
“Disgusted.”
Disgusted? About what? You eat people’s heads! And livers!
“Heads and livers contain an optimal combination of the nutrients we require. Cheetos contain no nutrient required by any species.”
Yeah, but they taste good.
“They taste good if one assumes the comparison to cheese on the packaging is meant sarcastically.”
I think it is. Anyway, I’m sorry about all the junk food. It’s cheap and we’re broke.
“No need to eat junk food. I will not let us starve.”
I know, but I want to hold up my end of things. You already do a lot for me.
“For us,” Venom says, slowing their breakneck pace as they near the waterfront. “You belong to me.”
Do you belong to me?
There is a long silence. Eddie had meant the question playfully, but the lack of response disquiets him.
Do you?
Still no answer. Eddie feels a chill of panic creeping up his spine.
Venom, answer me.
“Belong to you, Eddie,” Venom says at last.
This palliates him somewhat, but he finds he can’t let go of his fear. What if they’re not as bonded as he thinks? What if his other suddenly abandoned him? A year ago he’d have been glad to be rid of it, but now the idea is too horrifying to contemplate. These things rattle around in his mind as Venom swings them out beneath the bridge, till they come to the southern abutment.
People have tried to pull us apart before. What would happen if we got separated? What would we do?
“If we were separated, I would gut whoever stood between us and hang them with their own entrails.”
Eddie knows that what he probably shouldn’t feel in response to such a statement is warm all over and sort of tingly. He shouldn’t, but he does. He is growing more accustomed to Venom’s rather aggressive way of demonstrating affection. Even beginning to like it.
Aw, sweetheart. You’re just saying that.
“Telling the truth. We belong to us. No you and no me. Us. I will not allow us to be separated.”
Eddie is yanked abruptly from his warm feelings by literal cold water, as Venom drops from the side of the bridge abutment, to which they’ve been clinging, and plunges directly into the deep, black water of the bay.
Holy fucking shit!
Ok, Eddie?
Yeah, just, uh…I can’t breathe underwater. Keep that in mind, ok?
You are not breathing now.
Aren’t you breathing for us?
We respirate through our skin. Water has much oxygen. No problem breathing.
Oh. Cool.
Yes. It is cool.
So, how do we find fish?
Smell them. Hear them. They are fools and travel in large groups. Easy to find and catch.
What if—ha ha—what if we run into a shark or something?
Shark would be good. Would like to eat shark.
Are we that strong?
How big?
Great whites are like, fifteen feet long. Weigh about two thousand pounds.
We are that strong. But too much to eat on our own. Smaller shark would be better.
Eddie tries to swallow his building anxiety as Venom propels them through the dark water at an absolutely breathtaking speed. He had no idea his other was such an accomplished swimmer.
Or we could just stick to fish. You know. Nice, non-lethal fish. Like salmon.
Your heart rate is very high, Eddie. You are afraid. Or sexually aroused.
Uh. Little bit of both?
Food first.
Venom slows, seeming to have found what he wants. Eddie cautiously allows himself to access their vision. What he sees is not comforting, and he submerges that sense again. He has no idea how he knows how to do this. It’s one of the many oddities of learning to live with the symbiote. Bizarre new abilities that have no other application, along with some that do.
For example, his optimized metabolism, courtesy of his other, has him looking better than he ever has in his life. He’s always been fairly good looking, but now, despite his junk-food diet, he has the square, broad pectorals and chiseled abdomen of a male fitness model. He’s even getting that v-shaped line of definition over his hip bones. He has seen more than a few women and men checking him out lately, and it feels good to be noticed that way. It amuses him to imagine what they’d think if they knew he was going home to ride an alien’s tentacle dick till he came so hard he couldn’t remember his name.
Tentacle dick is funny. And accurate.
What the—I thought you couldn’t hear my thoughts like that!
You thought it very loudly, Eddie.
Venom jerks their arm abruptly, ejecting a mass of black webbing, which hurtles through the water like a torpedo, into a school of unsuspecting fish. It unfurls as it reaches them, scattering the school, but surrounding a good number. Venom hauls it back to them like a net.
Holy shit, you caught like thirty fish!
Twenty-seven. They are small, but will be enough together.
They swim to the bank and climb out in a rocky, secluded area that doesn’t look reachable by foot. Venom drops their bag of thrashing, silvery fish and crouches down. Eddie looks around, trying to get his bearings.
I think we’re on Angel Island. Holy fuck, we got far.
“Not very far,” Venom says, through a huge bite of fish.
Hey, don’t talk with our mouth full.
“You are talking with our mouth full.”
I’m not really talking. And I’m definitely not spitting fish all over the place. Slow down, or you’re gonna get sick.
“Do not get sick,” Venom retorts, swallowing one whole for good measure.
Well, you’re gonna make me sick.
“Eddie, do you wish to mate with other humans?”
Eddie is blindsided by the question and takes a moment to recover.
What are you talking about?
Venom smacks down the remainder of his current fish before he answers. “You often look at young females for longer than is necessary.”
That doesn’t mean anything. Sometimes I think a girl is pretty and I like to look. Men do that. We can’t help it.
“Many look at you.”
Do they? I didn’t notice.
“You do notice. But you do not speak to them, because of me.”
I can’t risk people finding out about you. They’d try to take you away from me. Where is all this coming from?
Venom swallows the last three fish, then reabsorbs the net into their body. “You are isolated from other humans, Eddie. You are lonely.”
I’m not lonely. I have you. I don’t need anyone else.
“You need…friends.”
I don’t really have time to make friends, V. Not friends I could trust.
“Can trust Annie and Dan. Be friends with them.”
I dunno…things are still complicated.
“Things are always complicated. We should eat with them. Like humans do on TV.”
I swear I’m gonna get rid of that damned TV.
“You would not dare!”
I will if you keep learning normal human things from it. I don’t want you knowing how weird I am.
“Know how weird you are. Like you anyway.”
Aw thanks, babe. I like you, too.
“Call Annie. Ask them to eat with us.”
Alright, you fuckin’ sneaky smooth-talker. I’ll ask Annie and Dan to have dinner with us. You happy?
“Happy. Full of fish. Want nap.”
Ok, just get us home first. I don’t want to be the worst night of some park ranger’s life.
“What is park ranger?”
They’re like cops but for the national parks.
“Can’t eat them?”
No. We do not eat park rangers.
“Will go home, then. Not scare them.”
Back at their apartment, later that evening, Eddie is lying in bed listening to whatever inane show Venom is watching. Or was, before he seemed to drift off to sleep. Which Eddie did not know he could do, now that he thinks of it. Maybe he’s just lying very still and being quiet. Which Eddie also did not know he could do.
He reaches down and strokes his slick-black head, which is resting on Eddie’s stomach. “Hey, you awake?”
Always awake. Do not sleep.
“Oh. Just, uh, earlier you said you wanted a nap, and you’ve been really quiet for a while. I thought maybe you decided to try it out.”
Wanted to lie down with you. That is a nap, yes?
“Sort of. Napping usually means sleeping.”
Not sleeping. Thinking.
“About what?”
Do you wish to reproduce and raise offspring?
Eddie gives an exasperated sigh. “V, I told you. I am not interested in mating with other humans, and I’m not lonely. Drop it, ok?”
Ok, Eddie.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Eddie says, in a gentler tone. “What I meant was that you’re all I need. We are us, remember? I’ll never let anyone get between us.”
Never?
“Never.”
Stay together always.
“Always, love. I promise.”
I promise.
This is the conversation that replays in Eddie’s mind as he is held facedown on the floor by a squad of black-clad SHIELD agents, with guns and flashlights pointed in his face, watching helplessly as they carry away a cylindrical tank bearing his other. His darling. His love. They broke in through the windows of his apartment on ziplines. They had some kind of sonic weapon to incapacitate Venom. He and Eddie didn’t even get a chance to fight.
“Stop! Give him back to me! Where are you taking him! No! No. Please. He’ll die. He’ll die without me. Please. I promised.”
They take him somewhere. Put him in an interrogation room. That prick Tony Stark comes in person. Eddie smiles internally. Venom must have made quite an impression on the Spiderkid. He’s right. Asshole Stark tosses a folder of photographs down on the table. They’re from Spiderman’s lens cameras. Venom looks badass as fuck. Eddie doesn’t say it out loud, though.
He demands to know why they’re doing this now, when the incident with the Spiderman is dated six months ago. Douchebag Stark tells him they have bigger things to deal with. Some schizophrenic who talks to his alien tapeworm isn’t their top priority. He’s trying to get a rise out of Eddie. He gets it. Fuckface Stark leaves with a split lip and they hit Eddie with a shock baton. It’s worth it.
They make him look at photos of decapitated bodies from the SFPD morgues. He manifests appropriate horror and doesn’t recognize any of them. They won’t tell him where Venom is or even if he’s alive. They call him “it.” They tell Eddie that he is suffering from post acute withdrawal syndrome. That he’s sick because he was addicted to the symbiote. To whatever it was doing to his brain chemistry. They tell him he is not accountable for the things he did under its influence. They seem to think Venom was holding him against his will. Controlling his mind. He doesn’t disabuse them of this notion. If they think he’s a psych case, maybe he won’t wind up rotting in San Quentin for the rest of his life.
I promise.
This is the conversation that replays in his mind in the horrible, aching silence of the long, black, solitary nights locked in a cell in some secret prison. Alone. Alone without his other. Sick with fear for his safety. Torn apart with longing for his voice, his touch, his presence. At least in his cell, he’s free to kick and scream and curse and sob till he dry-heaves, because that’s just part of the withdrawal.
He knows what the doctors want to hear. He’s heard the bullshit of recovering addicts his whole life, and he plays the part masterfully. Worthy of an Oscar. He knows when to sound better and hopeful and when to “relapse” into black depressions. One of the doctors is a pretty young woman. She pities him and is gentle with him. She is also charmed by his sad blue eyes and pouting lips, which curl into a reluctant half-smile sometimes, letting her think she pulled it out of him against his will. He fucks her in the exam room one day, and she doesn’t come back anymore. He knows they know about it. They are meant to. Wanting to fuck a pretty young woman is a sign that he’s out from under the alien symbiote’s influence. Truly recovering from his addiction.
I promise.
This is the conversation that replays in his mind as he sits before a review panel, chaired by a balding man with a friendly face they call Agent Colson. After three months, each day of which he has marked with another scar on his lacerated heart, he is sent home. Sent to San Francisco, that is. He has no home anywhere, now.
Annie was told he was in rehab. She had taken charge of his few belongings and moved them out of his apartment. She agreed to let him be released into her custody, which means his address is her address, and that’s where his rehabilitation counselor (some fuck SHIELD agent) will expect to see him the first Tuesday of each month. She lets him stay in the guest room downstairs. She doesn’t ask about Venom. He’s the most grateful to her for this particular kindness.
He’s too bereft even to be humiliated. He has nothing, now. No reason to live but the hope of finding his love. Hearing his voice again. He can’t stand silence, so he falls asleep with the TV on, if he sleeps at all. He wanders through each day in a daze. Pretending to look for jobs so he has something to write in the log they gave him. He always winds up in chocolate shops, buying heart-shaped boxes of truffles or caramels or whatever. He can’t ever bring himself to open them. He’s got a stack of them on the dresser in his room. Annie doesn’t ask about those, either.
I promise.
This is the conversation that replays in his mind when he buys a gun from Jimmy the Cricket, a smackhead fence he used as a confidential source in his reporting days. It’s a .44 revolver. Big and heavy. Cartridges with enough stopping power to make sure he kills what he’s aiming at. He tells Jimmy he’s only got one target, and there’s no way he can miss. He walks away before Jimmy is done looking freaked out.
Tomorrow, when the fuck SHIELD agent comes to do his check-in, he’ll pull the piece on him and make him call his bosses. It’s the only way he can think of to get back. To get to anyone who knows where his other is. He just wants to know he’s ok, then they can lock him up forever. Maybe they’ll kill him. If not, there’s always the gun. And no way he can miss.
Tomorrow, when his fuck SHIELD agent comes, he has a friend with him. As if they somehow read Eddie’s mind and knew he was up to something. The new guy calls him Mr. Brock and asks if Ms. Weying is at home. Eddie says of course she’s not, she has a job. They ask him to sit down. They have something to tell him. It has to be kept confidential.
“Mr. Brock, I’m sure you were unaware of this fact, but when you were brought in, the extraterrestrial symbiote you were carrying was found to be, for lack of a better term…pregnant. I’ll spare you the details regarding how the species reproduces, but there were some complications with the separation of the polyp from the parent mass.”
“Pregnant,” Eddie repeats numbly. “Complications.”
“Unfortunately, neither the offspring nor the parent survived. The adult symbiote you carried died during the process, and the offspring was stillborn.”
Eddie’s vision goes black. His fingers close around the gun in his coat pocket. “I see. And why are you telling me this?”
“Well, the offspring symbiote was found to…it shared some genetic markers with—with you, sir. A significant number of genetic markers.” The agents look at each other uneasily, then back at Eddie. “Mr. Brock, we are legally bound to inform you that your…your child’s remains are being held in quarantine in the custody of SHIELD.”
“My child,” Eddie says, with a hysterical laugh. He runs his fingers through his hair. “Ex—excuse me, for a minute. I need…the restroom.”
Before they can respond, Eddie hops up and walks briskly down the hall. Instead of turning left into the bathroom, he turns right, into his room, where he shuts and locks the door behind him. He draws the gun and stands there staring at himself in the mirror.
“Sorry for doing this here, Annie,” he whispers. “But at least you won’t be the one to find me.”
He hears footsteps coming down the hall. Someone knocks on the door. Then knocks again.
“Mr. Brock?” It’s the new agent. “Mr. Brock, are you ok?”
Eddie puts the barrel in his mouth. The agent pounds on the door.
“Mr. Brock! Let me in! Let me in, Eddie!”
Eddie gives start and looses his finger from the trigger for a split second. The mistake costs him. The lock gives way and the door swings inward with a bang. Before he can think, the agent has knocked the gun out of his hand and has him pinned to the bed.
“No!” Eddie screams, thrashing and struggling. “No, let me die! You people took everything from me! Everything that ever mattered! I’ve got nothing, now! Just let me die!”
“No, Eddie,” the agent says, in a voice that sends chills racing up Eddie’s spine.
The man’s body convulses and seizes on top of him, as thick, oily-black fluid explodes out of his mouth and nostrils, pouring onto Eddie’s face and chest. Eddie clings to it desperately, pressing kisses to the slick tendrils, even as they vanish beneath his skin.
Never let you die, Eddie. Love you.
“I tried—tried to get back to you,” Eddie manages to choke through a sob. “I’m so sorry.”
No sorry, Eddie. Revenge. Kill everyone. Everyone who hurt us and pulled us apart.
“Yes, love.”
Never apart again.
“Never, love.”
Eddie weeps. He weeps like a child, with joy and grief and love so deep it hurts like a wound in his chest. But his other closes the wound. Fills it with his voice, his touch, his presence. Finally, Eddie sighs and lets go. Lets his other embrace him. Envelop him in its body. Loses himself in they. Them, together. Never apart again. Not if the entire world has to burn.
When Annie returns home that evening, she finds Eddie’s door open. The boxes of chocolates are gone, as are his few clothes and personal care items, but nothing else is amiss. There is a note on the dresser.
Annie, Sorry to run off without letting you know. Something urgent came up. Don’t worry, we’re ok. Thank you for everything. -Eddie
Annie stuffs the note into her pocket, then picks up the cat, who has been meowing insistently and headbutting her shins.
“Don’t you worry,” she coos to the purring furball. “As long as they’re together, they’ll be ok.”
**EPILOGUE**
I promise.
This is the conversation that replays in his mind as they lie wrapped up in each other, on the bed in some shitty motel room in Reno, their first stop on the cross country drive to New York. San Francisco is too dangerous now, with two dead SHIELD agents in a Toyota Camry, left parked in the Hunters Point shipyard.
Venom had explained how he’d gotten away. Played dead. Attached to a doctor, then another. Hiding, listening, jumping from body to body till he found the one that would get him to Eddie. The SHIELD people will figure it out soon, if they haven’t already. They’re outlaws, now. Hunted men. And Eddie has never been happier in his life. There is one thing that alloys his happiness. A tender ache that makes his eyes mist over whenever they happen by a family with small children.
He wants to ask about the symbiote offspring, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Not yet. Venom doesn’t say anything about it, either. Eddie figures he will when he’s ready. When they’re both ready. In the mean time, they eat chocolate (they have about twenty boxes left), make plans, and fuck like the world is ending. For now, it’s enough.
If Eddie had to trace his steps back through the life choices that led him to where he finds himself at this moment—plotting revenge against the world’s most powerful clandestine agency with an alien parasite who just fucked his brains out, and who he loves more than his own life—he’d say he made a promise and failed, but his other kept it for him. Alone, he is weak. Powerless. Nothing. Together, they are Venom.