Chapter Text
Flug was right! Demencia’s spawn was a spitting image of her mother! With her tuft of lime hair, yellow lizard eyes, sharp fang of an egg tooth, and her little claws, there was no mistaking this thing for anything but Demencia’s child.
Of course, the caveat was that this baby was a miniature, lesser version of Demencia. Her potato body was tiny and soft to the touch, neatly half-tucked into her makeshift diaper shaped eggshell fragment and softer than the chinchilla fur Black Hat lined his winter suits with. There was no sign of aggression or a glimpse of defensive instinct in her big, golden eyes. It should have been easy for Black Hat to toss this little spawn aside.
Yet, somehow, he couldn’t.
Black Hat was, to some degree, always haunted by the vivid memories of his own birth. His photogenic memory held onto the twisted things he’d seen in that black hole, things that would drive anyone outside of his plane of existence to insanity. Black Hat lived with that weight on his shoulders so easily that it never so much as slowed him, yet mere eye contact with this hatchling left him paralyzed! Hell, Black Hat had never been afraid of the real Demencia, just disturbed. Not even fairies, the very makers of Black Hat’s one true kryptonite could get him to fear them. Yet there he was, unsure of how to defend himself from a harmless newborn and all that she implied.
“Ugh…” was all he could muster, bile biting the back of his throat.
The hatchling’s big, shiny eyes and soft coo dizzied the viper. Black Hat had to sit down.
“Get in your cage, you pest!” Black Hat shoved the hatchling into her crib. For good measure, he magically elongated the bars of her crib to fully enclose her.
The hatchling merely shook off the sudden change in environment. She crawled up to the bars and gripped them in her chubby fists, never breaking eye contact with Black Hat. She gave the bars an attempted shake, but they didn’t budge.
Witnessing this adorable creature stuck in his own prison, Black Hat could finally smile again.
Then she started crying.
Black Hat was caught completely off guard by the unholy sound. Her crying sounded absolutely nothing like the music of a normal child’s cry, it was more like a violent, garbled hiss.
“I’m not letting you out!” Black Hat hissed back, his hands pressed over his ear holes.
The hatchling ceased her wails. For a moment, there was peace. Then she pried the cage bars open with her bare hands.
“What the-?!”
The wretched creature crawled across the floor to Black Hat’s snakeskin shoes. He tried to step on her, but it was too late. She was already on his shoulder. She clapped her hands and giggled.
“Fine.” Black Hat pried her off and brought her face-to-face with him. “If you can’t be contained, then you shall be REPULSED!”
Black Hat shifted his face into the most uncanny nightmare that he could conceive, intensified by his wretched noise between a roar and a hiss. The last being to witness that performance was the black death’s patient zero in the 14th century. Glass scattered throughout the nursery shattered on cue.
The hatchling laughed sweetly.
Black Hat snarled. His masterpiece reluctantly reverted back to his usual wicked face. “That’s it. LIL JACK! …What?!”
It was too late. The wretched hatchling already charmed Lil Jack with her petting.
“SON OF A-”
BEEP BEEP BEEP
“S-Sir! The- -bzzzt- the SUBORDINATES are…late!” a shattered hatbot alerted through the doorway.
“YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!” Smoke poured from Black Hat’s maw. “THEY WILL NOT KNOW SUFFERING UNTIL I GET MY CLAWS ON-”
The hatchling began to cough violently. Black Hat couldn’t help but notice how similar she looked to her mother whenever she accidentally inhaled too much of Black Hat’s noxious breath. Oh yeah, Demencia! Somewhere out there, Demencia was unaware that her daughter was born! Relief unclenched Black Hat’s jaw. As much as he hated hauling his company’s ass, he needed an excuse to discard the pest.
Black Hat grinned down at the hatchling. “Your vile mother will be delighted to see you.”
The hatchling cocked her head.
Black Hat shoved her underneath his outermost hat. She tried to peak out from under it, but Black Hat just hid her again.
“Oh no, you’re staying right where nobody could possibly think we’re associated!”
Black Hat summoned his cane from the shadows. With a cane twirl and a snap, he was in front of that dusty old hat shop. It would’ve been the most sickeningly easy rescue had any of his annoying cultist fans been there.
Unfortunately, the shop appeared completely abandoned.
“WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY?!”
-
Flug’s return to consciousness wasn’t exactly a wake-up, it was a tingly slippery slope from complete nothingness to vague awareness. His sensitive skin picked up the sensation of a woman’s thin legs under him and delicate, bony hands combing his greasy, matted hair as her nails scraped against his scalp. An uncomfortable numbness lingered in his bones, the neurons under his skin only activating whenever pressure was put upon him. He shivered at each touch. His head sank further into this woman’s lap. He didn’t dare open his eyes yet, he just wanted to melt into this angel cradling his touch starved, poison ridden body.
“Thank you…Admin…” he sleepily said. “I…love you.”
“Open your eyes, doctor,” a stranger with a thick French accent said.
Flug snapped his eyes open. Looming over him was a masked woman much like Scorpion, only this one was frail and flat in shape. Her hair was the most striking element of her silhouette; it was stiff with hair gel and stylized to have four upward bent spikes on each side like a spider's legs. Unlike all the other cultists Flug had seen, this one had a small velvet tophat upon her head. The dark cobweb veil running from her headband all the way down to the floor clarified her identity.
“Are…you…Black Widow?” Flug slurred out.
She giggled beneath her mask. “That's correct, Flug. I assume Scorpion told you? She's downright lovely, that one.” Widow repositioned Flug in her arms into more of an upwards sit on her lap, his weak neck causing his head to weigh against her hand.
Widow’s still presence already struck icy dread into Flug’s gut, but what sickened him more were the threads of comfort she had managed to weave into his numb skin.
“Mmm, mm yes, she…she…” Flug’s heart race, purpose and memory swimming through his veins once more.. All at once, Flug remembered that he was too intelligent to be some spider’s prey; more importantly, he remembered his mission! He quickly scuttled to the opposite side of the couch with a yelp. He glared at Black Widow with a furious grimace. “Where are Bunsen and 505?! Where are you keeping them?!”
“Relax, doctor.” Widow casually leaned in his direction and set one of her legs over the arm of the couch. “Bunsen is in our nursery, the first resident of his crib. Nurses who will later be spread thin are all working around the clock to care for him. As for 505, we have a garden with plenty of butterflies for him. See?” Widow drew two polaroid photos from her pocket. The first showed what appeared to be a bundle of blankets laying in a gray crib, surrounded by several low-lit empty cribs in a strange, liminal scene. The other was a far more vibrant scene showing 505 in some sort of indoor garden covered in butterflies with a look of wonder in his precious, wide eyes.
Flug squinted at the photos. “Nursery? Nurses?! W-what?! Why does a Black Hat cult have a nursery?!”
Widow gasped and clutched a hand to her chest. “Oh doctor, poor doctor,” she whimpered, “the Black Web is no cult! We are merely a spiritual, charitable army in Black Hat's name. Really, our organizations are not so different other than you being official and us being more, how do you say, grassroot.”
Flug sat up straight, crossing his loose arms. “Oh, really? Not a cult? Then why do you all dress the same? I can barely even tell you apart!”
“Every army needs their uniform, doctor. It just so happens that Black Hat's aesthetic has a particularly cult-like aura when applied to thousands. Perhaps He would appreciate you more if you also dressed in gentlemanly black and scarlet.” Widow stoked Flug’s white lab coat.
Flug slapped her hand away and jumped to his feet. “Well, I'll have you know that Black Hat HIMSELF told us this is a cult! Normally that level of worship would flatter him, but he wants NOTHING to do with THIS cult! You’re infringing on the Black Hat Organization’s copyright, you STOLE my CHI- erm, h-his property, AND your whole foundation is built upon a LIE! Go drink your Kool-Aid while you’re ahead!”
Widow sighed. She stood up to meet Flug’s level and crossed her arms behind her back. “WELL…I see how it is. You incompétent employees of Him cling onto these assumptions because it makes you look better than us, is that correct?” Widow narrowed her eyes beneath the mask and leaned forward ever so slightly. “Okay doctor, you want to feel smart, yes? Well, here is your in-the-flesh confession from THE Black Widow: the truth is, as much as we adore Him, the almighty master has never visited us in the flesh. He merely makes his presence known through energy, visions, and night terrors, but He has not found the time to break bread with us.”
“And he never will!” Flug crossed his arms to his chest. “Black Hat wants NOTHING to do with you! And I know that for sure because I’m his ASSISTANT, not some fanclub president! In fact, he has a lawsuit planned for you! Now if you excuse me, I'm getting Bunsen and-”
“You can see your son, Kenny.”
Flug perked up, but was caught off guard by Widow's choice of words. “How…no, don’t call me that!”
“I mean it.” Widow took Flug's hands into hers and led him to her desk on the opposite side of the room. Her seat was an imposing, mighty throne over the uncomfortable cheap little folded out chair that he was directed towards, yet so easily sat into like the submissive pet he was always primed to be. Widow formally placed their held hands on the desk and leaned into their union. “You can have your son, but what good would that do?”
Flug turned his chin up at her proximity. “What do you mean?!”
“I'm talking about your predicament. You want your son, yet you and your wife are stretched thin as you do His dirty work. You survive, but He gives you no time to live.”
Widow cocked her head and leaned further in to study Flug's face. Beads of sweat glistened over his terrified, wide eyes. A meek whimper escaped his lips.
“Ah, so I speak the truth.”
“How could you possibly know that?!”
“I can read the confirmation in your handsome face.”
“My…face? I-” Flug put a hand to his cheek and screamed. His bag was missing and had been this whole time?! He turned in his chair and buried his exposed face into his hands. “No no NO, you weren't supposed to see that! Black Hat MAKES me hide my features under that bag!” His whimpers turned to distress cries.
“Lord Black Hat makes you wear that bag? How peculiar…and here my followers thought you were just a coward. It goes to show how much they know, hm?” Widow reached below her desk and brought out a spare Black Web mask. “In my presence, you may cover yourself with this.”
Flug reluctantly took the mask from Widow and held it at hand’s length in front of his face, not daring to directly apply the uniform to himself.
“You know, Kenny, the mask suits you well.”
“Don't bother trying, I'm not interested in joining! I just want to go home with my children!”
“Really? Oh, that's such a shame. The point I was getting to was that with our help, you could have it all: time with your family, recognition from Black Hat, and a crowd of like-minded soldiers who CHERISH you, all under my protection. Besides…we could really use a genius inventor like yourself.”
“That's right, it's a shame for-” Flug's mask faltered, exposing the tears forming in his eyes. “...you…you think I'm a genius?”
“What? You mean…there are people out there who don't think so? But your craftsmanship is so glorious, your inventions so innovative. Why, my soldiers had to pry themselves away from your ship on the way here. Oh Kenny…” Widow took Flug's free hand into hers. She gently tucked it into her cheek, cradling it like a precious animal. “...how long have you suffered?”
Flug lowered his mask fully, finally consenting to Widow seeing his faltered mouth. “Too long. B-but, I…”
Flug felt the nudges and faint punches from Admin in his pocket, but it was always too late once he finally got a taste, even a mere whiff of praise. He may have hesitated, but oh, that sweet recognition from someone as imposing as Black Widow! It was downright intoxicating.
“There’s an admirable place in our cocoon waiting for you, Doctor Kenning. All you have to do is accept it.” Black Widow extended a hand.
Admin was harshly pinching Flug’s skin beneath his fabric, but it no longer even registered in his mind.
Flug nodded and shook Black Widow’s hand. “I’ll be your doctor.”
Black Widow’s eyes squinted into her smile. She leaned in and kissed Flug on both cheeks through her mask before fixing his own onto his face. She pressed a red buzzer on her desk. At once, Scorpion entered followed by Spider and two familiar faces.
Flug shot to his feet. “Demencia! Greaser!” He ran forth and clutched the both of them into a tight embrace. He had never been so ecstatic to see them in all his life.
“YEAH, WE’RE IN THE FANCLUB!” Demencia squeed, hugging them both tight enough to crack Flug’s spine.
Greaser just bit his cheek and nodded.
Flug suddenly felt a more stilted hug from behind. Widow leaned in between all of them. “You are all very lucky. You are lucky to have each other. You are especially lucky that you made the correct choice.”
The group hug disbanded at her pulling away.
“Scorpion?” Widow held her hand out.
Scorpion dropped to her knees and kissed the tip of Widow’s gloved knuckle through her mask. “My lady, you command?”
“Be a mate and take the hatchlings to the weaving room so they can prepare for initiation.”
The “hatchlings” were escorted by Scorpion and the tip of Spider's glaive through the long cobweb coated gothic corridors of the Black Web. Demencia opened her mouth for falling spiders, but didn't receive any this time.
At the end of the hall, Scorpion opened the door to a cozy room coated in red velvet and mirrors. Scorpion poked Flug in the back at his hesitation to walk inside.
Scorpion filled the doorway behind them. “Black Weaver will be taking all of your measurements shortly.”
“Molt your exoskeletons,” Spider commanded.
“Huh?” Flug cocked his head. “But none of us are wearing anything resembling a-”
“He's telling us to undress,” Greaser whispered. “Everything is spider slang with these guys.”
“Oh…” he backed himself into the farthest corner.
Spider shook his head. Scorpion straightened him with a poke to his side.
“You will learn our Arachnian dialect in due time,” she sighed.
Demencia wasted no time stripping down to her black bra and panties. She was about to unclasp, but Scorpion swiftly let her know that any further state of undress would be unnecessary. It was truly remarkable how little shame she had.
Greaser had no issue from unbuttoning his outermost jacket to unzipping his pants, but hesitated with the hood covering his head of all things. He stood there for a particularly awkward minute with no pants over his flame covered briefs and his hoodie still covering his upper body.
“...Um, do we get...no privacy?” he asked.
“Do you have something to hide?” Spider's eyes narrowed at Greaser.
“Think of it like this,” Scorpion explained, “It brings you all closer one last time before your chastity oath and permanent exoskeleton application.”
Greaser cocked his head. “Uh…what?”
Demencia gigled. “I get it, spider talk!” She dug her claws into Greaser's hood. “Come on, man, join me! UNLEASH! THE! BEAST! UNLEASH! THE! BEAST!”
Scorpion and Spider hit each other with the side eye.
Greaser sighed. “If you say so.”
The release of Greaser's hood gave way to a tidal wave of long, greasy, yet somehow smooth as butter jet black hair. It was far neater than Demencia's electric lime monster, yet somehow far longer. The greasy beast whipped Flug, then settled on the floor all around Greaser.
His cheeks flushed pink. “Uh, Dem, you wouldn't happen to have an extra hair tie, would you?”
Demencia reached into her lime tumbleweed. “Of course, it should be in-”
Spider shoved his glaive between her and Greaser. “All accessories must be Black Web approved!”
Flug could do nothing but sweat in the corner, cursing his pansexuality until he turned away from his admittingly attractive coworkers. He hesitantly pressed his thumb into one of his thick, yellow gloves. Back in Widow’s office, he had been so charmed by the promise of praise and recognition that for once, he didn’t stop to think about what Black Hat would think!
He closed his eyes and pictured a potential near future: he would waltz into Black Hat’s office dressed head-to-toe exactly like the other Black Web members. On each side of him would be Admin holding Bunsen and 505, all of them in matching gray masks and suits of black and scarlet.
“Jefecito chulo!” Flug would greet with a subtle bow. “The Black Web has made examples of us all!”
He would gesture towards Demencia behind his family, standing as still as a royal guard. She and Greaser would give their salutes.
The twitch of Black Hat’s sinister grin would pull Flug to his desk. He would fall to his knees and flatten his head against the floor, just as he did in the past, but now with an absence of twitches and stutters.
“Black Widow taught me how to worship the ground you walk on. For that, she has spared me. I’d owe you my life if you didn’t already own every part of me.”
Flug’s body autonomously removed his clothing while his head was stuck in the clouds.
Black Hat would summon a leashed collar around his neck and slowly draw in his doctor.
“Doctor…” he would purr.
“Si, mi jefecito chulo?”
A shuddering breath escaped Flug. His arms wrapped around his bare chest.
Black Hat’s needle sharp claws would pierce Flug’s ear.
Flug winced, batting his pinched ear.
“OWW!”
A hand gripping Flug’s bare shoulder jumpscared him. Thankfully, it was Greaser. He was shirtless and hotter than usual, but still Greaser.
“Are you…alright?” he gently asked.
Flug took a moment to catch his breath. It took him a second to realize that the painful pinching of his ear was real and unending.
“I-I’m okay- ow-! Ow-! Ow!”
Greaser’s teeth clenched. He knew it was Admin and wanted to ask follow-up questions, but knew he couldn’t say a word in the Black Web’s presence.
Demencia was in the midst of an excited showing off of her body’s unique features to Scorpion and Spider. Neither of them expressed so much as an “uhuh” towards her display.
“That’s how he gave me my favorite tattoo!” Demencia’s pointed finger moved from her toned bicep to the stretch marks on her belly. “And THESE are my latest gift from laying HIS egg-”
Flug shoved her aside. “C-Can either of you show me to the restroom? It's an- OW- emergency!”
“Rude!” Demencia huffed.
Spider gripped Flug’s wrist. “Very well. Come with me.”
“B-But I’m exposed!”
If Spider heard Flug’s protest, he completely ignored it. Flug soon found himself dragged across the hall in nothing but a mask and his butterfly print boxers that Admin gave him on their honeymoon. His pale, frail body was briefly on full display for passerby masked cult members to gawk and snicker at.
“Spiderbro! Is this one of the hatchlings Widow spoke about?” the particularly beefy leader of the Black Web’s skeletal soldiers asked Spider.
“I’m afraid so, General Huntsman.”
Huntsman let out an especially deep laugh. His laughter was followed by an amused symphony from the army of glaive carrying guards behind him.
Flug wasted no time locking himself in behind one of the many bathroom doors. Its inner red velvet and onyx materials were uncannily pristine for an airplane sized bathroom topped with a thick layer of cobwebs and suspended spiders on the ceiling.
Thankful for his mile high club experience, Flug contorted himself into as compact of a position as possible on the closed toilet seat. He hunched over as far as he could then gently scooped Admin out from his ear.
“Vamonos!” Flug whispered. “He's only giving me a minute!”
His poor wife's skin was grayer and colder than Black Hat's. The only hints of color were in the corners of her red, puffy eyes. She sighed dryly. She had no need to whisper, her voice couldn't be any louder than a mouse.
“Oh Flug you're so human…what happened?! You were doing a good job! We came to take our child back, not play ‘Who's the better Black Hat boot licker!’ Free time or not, we are his direct workers and there's nothing more loyal and worthy than that. You don’t need to be one of these posers!”
“A-Admin, I-” Flug's eyes darted away from Admin's line of sight. There were few ways to humiliate him more effectively than getting him to admit his train of thought was wrong.
“I just hope you have a plan prepared for all of this!” Admin pressed a small, cold hand up against Flug's mask. She made a futile attempt to lift it. She pushed what little spirit she still had left into prying it off. Nevertheless, it remained stuck to her husband's face. A tear slowly fell down her wet cheek. “Even you can't be so evil as to play along with this fantasy while your wife is more depressed than an Orca at SeaWorld and our newborn son's first word is heard by no one who loves him!”
Flug shook his head. “Chiquitita, please, I'm just infiltrating. It's all part of a plan, a plan that will come to me once I get time to think. Widow's generous praise meant nothing to me, nothing to me at all!”
“With the way you are, I doubt it, but…” Admin's chest heaved under the weight of a deep sigh. “I said in my vows that I'll work on trusting you more,” she said subtly under her breath. “Please, just don't lose sight of the mission, honey.” Her tiny hands feathered further down to caress the skin of Flug's chin. “Our sons really need you…I need you.”
“Of course, of course!” Flug kissed the top of Admin's head. “The pieces of the plan are already coming together in my genius mind! Once this initiation is done, I'll humor Widow just a little, find the nursery, get Bunsen, find 505, and then we spend the rest of the day killing everyone in this stupid-!”
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Flug yelped. “A-ALMOST DONE!” Fresh beads of sweat drenched his already disastrous hair.
“Your friends are WAITING for you, hatchling!” Spider called.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Flug closed his eyes, digging deep within his shame filled heart for any more sorrow he could dig up to the surface. He then lifted his mask for only Admin to see his honest, distraught expression.
Her eyes remained hopeless.
Flug contorted the strained corner of his mouth into what he thought would be a reassuring smile.
Admin closed her eyes.
SLAM!
The door was open! Flug's heart pumped too fast for him to think. His quaking hands closed around Admin.
“What are you scheming in here, hatchling?” Spider questioned.
“Nothing! I-I just…” Flug, a passenger in his own body, watched his hands shove Admin into his mouth. “I was taking my medication, sir!”
Spider creeped closer. “Why aren’t you swallowing?”
Flug slammed his mask back onto his face. He was holding his tongue in a stiff, awkward position to keep Admin’s frail body stuck under it. “...It’s a lozenge.”
Spider’s eyes narrowed. He reached a hand out, then dropped it back to his side. “We don’t have time for this. Weaver will take your measurements now.”
A strange, short cultist woman with a perfectly round black bun appeared behind Flug. She whipped out a long thread of measuring tape and made quick work of capturing every centimeter of Flug’s proportions, darting from place to place easily.
Flug blinked. Why was it so hard not to swallow when he absolutely couldn’t?! He opened his eyes. Weaver was already done!
“You must be our skinniest hatchling yet!” Weaver gave Flug’s cheek a playful pinch. She topped him off with a black velvet bathrobe wrapped around his bean pole of a body. “Here’s a temporary wrapping until I finish your new exoskeleton!’
Finally, more cover! “G-gracias, abuela.”
Her eyes gave away her sweet old lady smile. “I wish you luck in the ceremony! Most potential hatchlings drop out right before the widow’s kiss!”
“The WHAT now?!”