Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For nought in nobleness,
Nought in all virtue can the good surpass
Of perfect concord in the married pair
Whose blended counsels rightly rule their home:
Their foes with pain behold it! but, to all
Who wish them well, it is a joyful sight!

—Homer, The Odyssey

What a night.

Eddie sank into the couch with a happy groan and kicked his feet onto an unoccupied sliver of the coffee table. He let his head tip back, eyes dropping shut.

He knew he ought to at least consider cleaning up his shithole of an apartment at some point, but a lazy evening in was a given after the hunt for bad guys ended on a high note - that is, with multiple decapitations. Two fewer pieces of trash cruising around San Fran, and a satisfyingly full belly.

Was it completely fuckin’ weird that he was digesting people? Well, yeah, obviously. But life was short, brains were fantastic, and- how did the saying go? Happy symbiote, happy life? That was it.

He groped between the cushions for the remote and came up with fifty-eight cents and a stale Cheeto. A sinuous, shiny black tentacle shot from his hand, dove under a throw pillow splattered in something that could maybe get them twenty to life, emerged clutching the remote, slapped it into his palm with a thwack, then melted back into his skin.

“Thanks babe,” he told Venom, who bumped against his chin, small head peeking between the folds of the half-open silk housecoat he’d kept when Anne had booted his ass out. Her loss on both counts.

“WE LOOK GREAT IN PEONIES,” V purred, snaking another tentacle across the apartment to the fridge and depositing an ice cold beer in Eddie’s free hand like a true friend and soulmate.

“Keep it up and I’ll never leave this spot again,” he said, popping the cap with his thumb and taking a long swallow. “I got a pretty good ass-groove going here.”

“THEN WHO WILL FEED SONNY AND CHER?” V countered, washing Eddie’s ear in hot breath. As if they knew dinner was on the line, both hens popped their heads up from the far side of the coffee table where they’d been rooting through the laundry, and fixed Eddie with judgemental, monocular stares. That batch of t-shirts was gonna need a rewash for sure. 

Eddie ignored them with the ease of a guy used to tuning out all sizes of dumpster fire and switched on the TV. 

“Increasing pressure is being placed on government agencies to apprehend several dangerous fugitives in connection with events in Germany last month. Steve Rogers, known to most as ‘Captain America’ has been making waves since he and several other members of the vigilante group ‘The Avengers’ refused to sign the proposed Sokovia Accords…”

Eddie scowled. That muscular fuck always seemed to be at the center of things.

“…backed by over one hundred UN countries worldwide. Recent conflicts between ‘enhanced’ individuals like Rogers have left a massive death toll and billions of dollars in property damage worldwide.

Several members of the Avengers have already been apprehended after refusing to be registered. They are being detained pending further investigation, but the former Captain America remains at large…”

What Eddie couldn’t figure out was why Rogers’d taken so long to finally pack up his star-spangled shit and get the hell outta dodge. Guy probably had a sense of responsibility as overdeveloped as his 12-pack, or he’d never have let the government pump him full’a untested drugs and radiation in the first place. 

“EDDIE.”

“One sec V, I wanna see this.”

“…Across the United States, all enhanced persons are being asked to register themselves in an ongoing effort to keep our nation safe…”

“Safe? Gimme a break,” Eddie’s grip on the remote tightened until the duct tape holding it together threatened to give. “Nothin’ says safety like six different letter agencies crawling up your ass.” The number for the tip line scrolled continuously while the picture cut to a blood streaked Captain America, teeth grit and flashing white as he hurled his shield at an unseen target. “Welcome to the USA: home of toxic masculinity and extreme dental hygiene.”

“OUR TEETH ARE BETTER,” Venom’s head weaved right into Eddie’s line of sight with a jaw-snap for emphasis.

“Yeah definitely, now would ya get outta the way? I’m tryin’ to watch this.” He pushed Venom’s head to the side so he could see.

“…Anyone with information about Rogers or any other unregistered, enhanced person should contact the anonymous tip line below.”

Eddie flopped back on the couch and tossed the remote to drown among the cushions. “Bunch a fuckin’ suits think they know what’s right, then shit hits the fan and they’re falling over themselves begging that guy and his spandex posse for help. Total bullshit,” he muttered, side-eyeing a stack of junk mail that towered higher than the beer bottles on the coffee table. The official-looking envelope that’d come a few weeks back sat conspicuously on top of the pile. 

An Enhanced Individual Registration Form. ‘Every American household’ would receive one. As if anyone was going to simply own up to having super powers so the government could keep tabs on them? Not fuckin’ likely. Especially when douchebags with basements full of AKs were still trotting around footloose ‘n free. Eddie didn’t think he and V really qualified anyway — he wasn’t enhanced, he was hosting a symbiote. Not the same thing at all .

“EDDIE. EDDIE!” V seeped out of his chest, a melty mess of stringy black, like someone had drizzled tar all over Eddie and a good chunk of the couch. “EDDIE, NEWS IS BORING. WE WANT TO WATCH MELROSE PLACE.”

They snapped out a tentacle to switch the channel. 

“Aww come on V, you got chocolate on the screen again!” 

“WE DON’T CARE,” V rumbled, winding over his shoulders and down his arms, squeezing him around the middle and licking a slimy stripe from his bare chest all the way up the side of his face. 

Eddie shoved at his alien, wiping his sticky fingers on the couch cushion. “Babe, you’re gettin’ drool all over—"

V suddenly tensed.

Eddie stilled as the constriction around him drew tight. He clicked off the television and sat up, straining to hear and getting not much with his currently human ears. “What is it?”

“DESSERT.”

Venom surged over Eddie and sank to a ready crouch, muscles coiled and bulging, and now he could hear it too: the strike of combat boots rushing up the stairwell, men breathing, the rustle and clink of weapons, armor.

Their tongue lashed, picking up the reek of gun oil, male sweat and adrenaline and fear.

Someone was coming for them, and they’d brought lots of friends. Sensible. 

They tilted their head to the side, popped their neck.  

In the next instant the door to the apartment splintered like kindling and a river of black-clad guys poured through, brandishing guns and shouting a lot of words that all meant ‘surrender or get blown to bits.’ A CRASH! as more of them burst through the windows, glass raining over the hardwood in tinkling shards. 

He and V were surrounded. 

They grinned. 

Venom exploded forward, teeth and claws first. Their roar rattled the remaining windows as they sprang up to the ceiling and clung easily, razor talons sinking deep, plaster crumbling down and dusting their attackers with white. They skittered deftly along and dropped down behind the first wave of men, ready to kick some ass and chow down on goon brains as their prey screamed and ran.

But- apparently these weren’t just any SWAT bros; there wasn’t any running. What there was, was a guy in front turning, hefting up a big, corkscrew-barreled weapon that looked like it came straight outta a comic book. He planted himself and cranked a dial on the side of the thing, swung it up and squeezed the trigger.

The unbearable high-pitched screech hit like a train and cut Eddie and Venom down to their knees.

They clawed furrows into the parquet. Eddie could feel V’s agony — the awful, annihilating frequency was shredding them, stripping them apart, would kill them if it continued on.

Twisting, squirming ribbons of black pooled on the floorboards at Eddie’s feet.

“V! No! Fucking shit no...”

He clutched desperately, dragged stringy fistfuls of symbiote to himself to protect them with his body, trying to use himself as some kind of shield. 

It was pointless. The last remaining bits of black sloughed off of him and the horrible barrage of sound became just…noise, a piercing mosquito whine almost too high to hear. 

Eddie was alone in his head for the first time in a year. 

He staggered up and launched himself straight at the guy holding the weapon but was grabbed by the arms and jerked back, then kicked squarely in the solar plexus and forced down to his knees. The air went out of him in a whoosh and he was left sputtering, wheezing, unable to do fuck all while Venom’s mass wriggled and slopped around and extended tiny searching pseudopods in his direction.

“Stop it! Get offa me!” Eddie rasped as soon as he could get a breath. He roiled, jerked, reflexively snapped his teeth, his muscles straining to break free. He’d bite their motherfucking heads off!

But he couldn’t take on the two guys holding him back, nor stop the third who kneed him hard in the face, ow. Everything blacked for a second, he tasted blood, eyes watering. He blinked frantically, trying to get a look at V.

Venom’s frantic movements were slowing to twitches, the beautiful black fading to a sickly, shriveling gray. Cold fear shot through Eddie’s guts. V couldn’t survive in the open air without a host. He froze, went limp.

“Turn it off! You’re fucking killing them! Please! You gotta—"

The noise abruptly cut off. Disoriented, Eddie’s head spun and his ears buzzed. He wasn’t expecting the two guys gripping his arms to suddenly let go and he fell forward onto the pitiful puddle of his symbiote. He huddled over the little clutch of writhing black spikes and lifted his head to glare. “Who are you? What the fuck do you want!?”

No response from the row of blank helmeted faces, but a shift in their ranks as they repositioned. Eddie reached out, buried his hands in V, relieved when black strands began to disappear into his skin where they belonged. V’s presence pressed familiar against his mind; faint but there again. Eddie’d gratefully take a migraine if it meant V was still with him, still alive.

“Edward Brock,” Eddie’s head jerked towards the voice. One of the men had stepped forward and pushed up his goggles. “We know all about your alien, and we will use lethal force if you fail to cooperate.”

“I can fuckin’ see that,” Eddie’s mouth snapped while his brain frantically waved around useful words like tact and de-escalate and keep them talking. “Were you planning on telling me who you are, or is this more of a ‘no trace left behind’ kinda operation?”

“We are agents of the Bureau for the Correction and Rehabilitation of Enhanced Persons, and you are under arrest for being in violation of Section 137 of the Sokovia Accords. You have failed to register yourself and you pose a serious danger to the community. We suggest you come quietly or we will separate you from the symbiote and destroy it.”

Eddie was struck dumb. For once in his motherfuckin’ life he didn’t have a single thing to say as the goons strapped him into heavy-duty mag cuffs and jammed the nose of a semi-auto into the sweat-soaked flower print plastered to his back, marching him shoeless out of his apartment and into the great big fucked up world.

He hoped nobody had stepped on Sonny or Cher.

Chapter Text

'Diamond me. No diamonds! for God's love, a little air! 

— Alfred Lord Tennyson, Idylls of the King

Steve would gleefully drown the moron who’d set the precedent for superheroes in tight onesies, except he was that moron, and he only had himself to blame for the sopping stealth suit that was riding up his ass with every waterlogged step he took. It certainly put the Black Panther's general crankiness into perspective.

The deck rocked - so did Steve’s guts. The Raft prison rode the open ocean like a toddler in a wave pool, nearly throwing Steve out of his lousy hiding place between some crates and a ventilation stack. He wedged himself tightly in place shoulders–first and made a mostly futile attempt to wipe the water out of his eyes as he tapped his comm. “Ready to go up here, Nat. What’s your position?”

“I’m in,” came Nat’s voice low in his ear, nearly drowned out by the rain. “Sit tight.”

“Easy for you to say,” Steve muttered to himself, trying to wiggle his unwieldy shape into a more tolerable position. Icy water slid down his back and legs and soaked into his boots. At least the hellish weather kept him from audibly squelching.

As long as everyone came out the other side of this thing in one piece, he’d take all the seasickness and sleet Mother Nature could hurl his way. Sam was imprisoned somewhere below. Clint and Wanda, too. And the Ant Guy with the sweaty handshake. This was the only chance to free them and it was gonna get done.

At least Nat was having a good time. While Steve contemplated his soggy socks above deck, Nat was deep in the heart of the facility working her nasally admin role like she’d been born to it. “Can you explain the incident from two weeks ago? We’ve had conflicting reports that a detainee was involved in a violent outbreak.”

Warden Commander William Radcliffe Andersen III’s smarmy tone echoed tinny and far away in Steve’s ear. “Ms.—Davis, was it? This isn’t the HR department in one of your D.C. offices. This facility - my facility - houses the world’s most vicious offenders, and they will be kept in line. My staff follow all mandated safety protocols, and they are well-compensated for the risks they take working here.”

“One of your guards lost an arm.”

There was a noise of frustration over the comm and Steve could all but see the Warden Commander’s eye twitching as Nat pushed his buttons. “That incident is classified.”

“Of course,” she agreed, smoothly sidestepping the deflection. “I’ll remind you that transparency is very much in your best interest, Warden Commander Anderson. I’m sure you’re already aware of the discussion in Washington about reviewing your administration. Shipping your guards home with missing limbs isn’t reflecting well on you, or your competence. Sir.”

Steve grinned - he’d get to rib Nat about having too much fun on ops later. Anderson’s voice ratcheted up the scale and threatened to crack before he got it back under control.

“My competence—!? Ms. Davis, I think you’ve seen enough for your little report. I’m a busy man, and I have a facility to run.”

Nat hummed dismissively and Steve imagined her marking ticky boxes on a clipboard. “Certainly. I won’t take up any more of your valuable time, then. Just direct me to the block where the incident took place, and I’ll ask my questions. The other inmates in that block were all witnesses, weren’t they? I'll need to interview them briefly.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that. It’s not safe.”

“Are you saying that you don’t have control over your inmates? That’s concerning. Maybe I should fast track your review after all.”

A flustered wheeze from the warden.

“Fine! Fine. But these are violent and manipulative individuals. That’s why they’re here in the first place.”

“I can handle myself, Warden.”

There was some shuffling, then Steve heard the vacuum whoosh of the secure doors to the cell block opening, and distantly, the echo of Nat’s sensible heels on the metal flooring. 

Only a few minutes later Sam’s voice crackled distantly over the comms. Tension Steve had been holding onto for months eased in an instant. Thank god Sam was okay. 

A blast of rain drowned out Sam’s words, and when it passed he could hear Nat speaking with Ant Guy - also alive, albeit less feisty than Sam - then Clint, who could give a cold shoulder the cold shoulder when he put his mind to it. His gruff, one-word answers and general rudeness belied the likelihood that he knew exactly who he was talking to.

“Hey! Office lady!”

Steve frowned at the unfamiliar voice, pawing at his earpiece as if shoving the thing harder into his head would help.

“What am I, invisible? How come you’re only talking to them, huh? Why not me?”

Dammit he wished he could see what was going on.

Of course, Nat had it handled. “I don’t have time to speak with every single inmate, Mr… Brock. I have one more interview scheduled, then I’ll have enough for my report.”

“It’s Eddie, and I find it funny how you’re only interviewing ex-Avengers. Seems a little biased from where I’m standing. I didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m stuck in here too.”

“Mr. Brock,” Nat said dryly, “you tore a young man’s arm off. Thanks to you, he’s going to be disabled for—"

“That’s bullshit! How can you investigate what happened without even talking to me!? It was self-defense!”

“I’m sure.”

“Hey! Just lemme- fuckin’- hey come back! That dickhead deserved exactly what he got and I’d do it again!”

“Not exactly winning me over,” Nat answered.

“Yeah well, fuckin’ forgive me if my special butterfly personality don’t shine through at the moment. You got no idea what it’s like in here. We’re fucking starving. They keep the lights on all the time so we can’t sleep. I haven’t had a shower in - I don’t even know. When I get outta here I’m going to expose this place, tell the whole world what’s going on here. You can’t do this to people!”

Steve set his teeth, jaw working overtime. Inhumane treatment of prisoners - even dirtbags like this guy - was just a little too on the nose for the amount of patience he’d packed today. Steve was a simple guy, and though these days he might be a bit older and wiser, and a lot scruffier, and hey, an international fugitive to boot, he would still much prefer to be downstairs explaining the Geneva Convention with his fists.

Wrap it up, Nat, he silently urged, tuning out the ranting prisoner. There would be a time and place. 

Steve squeegeed water from his face as he leaned out to peek around the ventilation unit for a glimpse of the deck patrol, which consisted of a single pair of guards hunched into the oncoming wind, wrangling their flapping rain gear. Join the army, Steve thought with a touch of sympathy, see new and exciting weather!

The rain was now coming down in near-opaque sheets; Steve could barely make out the helicopter they’d arrived in, wavering unsteadily as its AI compensated for the icy wind which heaved spray up from the sea and sent it sluicing across the deck. The guards were clearly focused on getting done and getting inside, because only an absolute idiot would try to attack or escape super-duper prison in the middle of this mess.

The patrol finished their haphazard loop of the deck and staggered toward the reinforced entrance to their station.

Steve yanked his stealth suit’s hood over his head and face, clicked on the cloaking tech, and bolted into the guard station, hoping to high hell that the sloshing of his boots and his general dripping didn’t give him away. The outer door slid closed behind him. He plastered himself wetly against the wall.

On the comm he could hear that Nat had reached Wanda’s cell. Nat’s voice was worryingly gentle, and Wanda’s whispered responses had Steve straining to make out her words. He had to forcibly tamp down the acid burn of guilt and rage; he’d been responsible for Wanda. She was just a kid! She didn’t deserve to be locked away in this ludicrous high-tech hell hole.

“I’m so sorry Miss Maximoff,” Nat said, “that’s all the time I have, but your answers have been very helpful, thank y—"

“Hey! What’re you doing?”

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin, thinking for one confused moment that his stealth tech had failed, but the voice was coming over the comms. It was the same guy who’d been arguing with Nat a couple minutes ago. Mr. Rips Off Arms. 

“I saw that!”

Steve pressed himself tighter against the wall, his attention split between evading detection in the cramped security entrance and the sudden commotion he could hear taking place on Nat’s end.

Edward Brock stage whispered, his voice muffled over the earwig. “I saw you put something by her cell, and if you don’t let me in on whatever you’re up to I’ll make sure the guards see it too.”

Shit.

“I think you’re mistaken Mr. Brock,” Nat answered in a flawlessly icy tone. “I’m sure you’re desperate for some excitement, but making up lies won’t score you any points here.”

“I don’t care about points, lady. I know what I saw. You’re up to something. Only interviewing Avengers - I knew something was off with you. You busting them out or blowing them up? Prison sucks but so do explosions, in my experience ”

Nat snorted “Right. Very creative.”

Steve heard her heels clicking again as she walked away.

“Hey! Hey guard! This swanky clipboard chick is up to something!”

There was more commotion, noises, murmuring - dammit what was going on? - and then Nat in his ear. 

“Everyone needs some time alone,” which was one of their codes for “diversion NOW !” 

Finally! Steve peeled himself off the wall and deactivated the stealth. To the two guards in the room with him it must have looked like a cat burglar on steroids appeared out of thin air.

“What the shit!?” The taller guard froze in the middle of draping his dripping plastic poncho over a chair. It crumpled to the floor as he went for the gun at his belt. “How did you get in here?”

The other guard sensibly threw himself at the center console and slammed a hand down.

– CODE ORANGE – INTRUDER DETECTED – CODE ORANGE – 

The alarm shrieked as heavy containment doors slammed down with a reverberating CLANG!  

– INITIATE ENHANCED INDIVIDUAL CONTAINMENT PROTOCOL – CODE ORANGE – INTRUDER DETECTED –

Steve’s fingers twitched reflexively for his absent shield, remembering at the last second that it was gone. He’d improvise.

He whirled on the guards, kicked the taller one neatly in the side of the head and the guy dropped like a stone, his helmet flying off and weapon skittering over the floor. Steve took the half second that bought him to yank the flimsy stealth hood and mask getup out of his face.

“Hey! You’re Captain America!” the shorter guy said, his voice colored with excitement as he stood there with his weapon awkwardly half raised, like the poor jerk didn’t know if he should be shooting or asking for an autograph.

“Sure am, sorry about this, kid,” Steve said, and clocked him.

~~~

Two minutes later everything was chaos. Steve was tucked up beneath a support beam as the explosives he’d planted on deck did their job. The entire upper deck swarmed with miserable but determined guards who were beginning to pull themselves together into some kind of order, recovering from the shock of Steve’s crude diversion.

Time to ditch this party. Comms were dead, but Steve was confident Nat would surface at any moment in a tidal wave of mayhem and confusion with the others in tow.

As if in answer, a sudden ear-splitting SKRRRRREEEEE! rang across the Raft, drowning out the storm and the yelling. It sounded like a chainsaw had been thrown into a meat grinder and been hit by a speeding train, but Steve wouldn’t have traded it for a symphony orchestra. The metal of the deck rippled, swam, then burst open along one seam. Red wisps of – holy crap was that Wanda’s magic? – tore the thick steel to ribbons and peeled it back like a sardine can, creating a gaping breach.

Steve threw his all into clearing a path, doing his best to not actually maim any guards as he barrelled through them, a super-human battering ram.

Through the smoke, glare, and sting of ice in his eyes he caught glimpses: Nat swinging up from the smoking hole in the deck. Sam, followed closely by Clint. And finally Ant Guy. Where was Wanda?

He scanned the deck. Groaning goons, expensive bits of equipment and debris washing oceanward. A couple turret guns looked to have survived his little gifts of Semtex. That was going to be a problem once they were in the air.

Nat and the rest were almost to the helo. Steve made a dash for the closest turret gun and hurled himself as high as he could up the post, fingers digging into the metal to keep from sliding back down. He crushed the barrel and ripped the gun down, throwing it to the deck and hot, hot, that was really goddamn hot. Sharp too. Blood spilled down his arm, and it was possible he’d also been shot at some point. Just a bit.

"Steve! ” Sam’s voice, barely heard above the downpour. Steve turned to see him dodge past a guard waving a stun weapon, then pull himself up into the ‘copter.

Still no sign of Wanda. Dammit.

Where the hell was she?

It was near-impossible to see individual people through the rain and chaos. Steve dragged his arm across his eyes and squinted.

There. A figure emerging from the hole in the deck. Wanda? No. Hell no, that wasn’t Wanda. It was massive, easily nine feet tall and oily black, the crimson emergency lights reflecting wetly off its gleaming hide. A humanoid shape, though it moved strangely, loping, leaping over clusters of guards and flashing long, gleaming teeth. 

Wanda was dwarfed in its massive arms, dangling unconscious. 

Dammit all to hell. Thing must have been freed when everything went sideways. Looked like the kind of monster that actually belonged in the Raft. And now it had Wanda.

She wasn’t moving. The creature had an arm curled around her, crushing her tightly against its muscled body. Steve watched it neatly sidestep a barrage of bullets. It whirled on the shooters with incredible speed, a long black appendage erupting from its body and knocking the weapons from their hands.

The limb undulated strangely, then retracted into the thing’s middle. What?

A stun baton licked past Steve’s face and he tore his eyes away and knocked it aside, lunging to knock the guard back. A plink, plink from the deck and he skipped over spent bullets that skittered across the surface, they were– falling from the thing’s skin, rolling across the tilting deck, no apparent wounds left behind.

What the hell is that thing?

Someone must be giving orders now, comms back up; the guards’ movements had become more purposeful, riot shields forming up in lines. Goddamnit, there was no more time.

“Wanda!” Steve yelled, throwing himself at a wall of guards brandishing stun batons. Jesus, he hated those things. 

Burning pain singed across his exposed shoulder, a graze. He took a strike to the back of the head– ow, fuck – the electric charge making his muscles lock up. Steve’s knees buckled, and he was going down.

A long black protrusion snapped against the guard holding the baton. The guy dropped it with a scream. Steve scrambled up before he could be trampled–

And found himself practically back to back with the creature, the guards fully encircling them in a wall of plastic riot shields and electricity weapons. There was no way out. Game over.

The thing opened its gigantic mouth and– spoke?

“MAGIC GIRL IS INJURED!” it snarled, gnashing about a thousand glistening white teeth, a massive, sinuous tongue twisting gooily out of its mouth. Its voice was booming and deep but comprehensible, and there were huge white… eyes? Steve didn’t exactly have time to stare.

Then- thok thok thok - a series of small explosions cut through the ranks, smoke billowing up again. The guards broke, scattering for cover. Thanks, Clint. Steve and the creature scrambled closer to the helicopter, which was rising, veering towards the edge of the pitching deck. They had to get to it NOW.

Nothin’ to lose. Steve waved an arm at the creature. “Come on! Get her out of here!” he called, and then they were both surging toward the helo as it lifted away.

The black monster thing overtook him and leapt right over his head with an inhuman roar, grabbing onto the landing skis with one bulging muscled arm, the other still cradling Wanda. Several pairs of hands reached down to help as the creature passed Wanda up to the others, the whole helicopter lurching under its weight. Steve hurled himself forward, kicked off the edge of the deck- 

As soon as he was airborne he knew he wasn’t going to make it.

He hung for one stretched-out moment, nothing but churning black ocean under him, then he began to drop, the skis of the helicopter just beyond his reach as he plummeted down-

–cut abruptly short as he was grabbed, jerked upwards. His full body weight nearly yanked his shoulder out of its socket, then he hung, suspended and twisting in the rush of wind and the helo’s acceleration. Below, between his feet, he glimpsed the hole his friends had escaped through like a surreal flower, jagged strips of metal bending outwards like petals. Above–

Above was a gigantic grin, monster face, white eyes, a massive clawed hand wrapped around his forearm. 

“Steve!” He squinted up into the beating rain. Clint and Sam were calling down to him from the doorway.

“Pull me up!” he called.

“Give us a second, we’re making some room!”

Sure thing, I love reenacting Fay Wray and King Kong. The torrents of rain were beading on the creature’s flesh and sliding off like it was made of rubber. Its mouth didn’t make any sense. Body layered with heavy musculature, laced with white veins over its black skin, its eyes were two large, vaguely teardrop shaped patches of white, but there was no discernible pupil. 

Steve blinked. It didn’t.

Then, as Steve watched dazedly, the thing’s shape began to change. It shrank, compressed, and in its place he found… a guy. A thirty-something white guy with short dishwater blonde hair. A shadow caught his peripheral vision and with a jolt of adrenaline Steve realized the huge arms and hands remained unchanged, gripping him and the skid of the helicopter firmly. What. The hell.

“Holy fuck. You’re Captain America,” the guy said, and it was the voice he’d heard over the comm earlier. Eddie Brock, the not-a-model-prisoner with a penchant for ripping off human limbs. Great.

“Yeah, that’s me. Look, Mr. Br-”

From the direction of the Raft, a shockwave erupted, a wall of sound and vibration.

Brock screeched and convulsed. Steve scrambled for purchase as the guy’s big black fist melted away leaving a much smaller regular human hand in its place and Steve abruptly found himself holding onto nothing. 

Shit. 

He dropped towards the water like a stone, pinwheeling, rain and wind whipping at him from all sides, while above him the guy was screaming, his voice jumping from deep and gravelly to thin and desperate. Steve caught a glimpse of his face as the guy lunged for the air like a crazy person, fighting against Sam and Clint holding him back.

Then the water hit like a brick wall. 

Saltwater slammed into his lungs. Steve was stunned, then sucked deep under. Icy needles in his flesh, a cloud of bubbles boiling up and he instantly lost all sense of up and down. He tried to respond, to move past the sudden impact and the panic fear of drowning. He thrashed wildly, lashing his arms and legs in wide, aimless arcs.

No.

No!

Stop it.

He wasn’t going to drown again. He wasn’t encased in a metal coffin or beaten to a pulp by a brainwashed Bu-…person. He was a goddamned super soldier. He could swim.

Think. Fucking think. First, air. The surface. Which way is up?

There– slightly less black than the other direction, waves churning everything to a froth of bubbles and turbulence. 

He kicked hard, lungs burning with the effort. Finally he broke through with a fit of gasping coughs, sucking air. He was immediately thrown hard to one side and pushed under again, tossed like a doll.

The rain beat a cacophonous tattoo on the surface and the waves were steep, rolling over him as he fought his way up once more. He caught a flash of glowing lights– the helicopter?– no– the Raft.

Okay, fine. Steve just had to swim back and…allow himself to be captured. Wonderful. At least everyone else had made it out. Nat wouldn’t risk everyone’s freedom on the tiny chance of finding him. She’d finish the mission, bring them back to their families, their lives. All Steve had to go back to was Bucky frozen in cryo, which- it wasn’t like he’d be missed.

No time to mope Rogers, start swimming. 

Steve kicked hard, keeping the lights of the Raft in his sights and letting himself dip beneath the surface between breaths so he didn’t have to fight through the waves. The current seemed to be helping, which was something at least. This was doable.

Something brushed against his leg. 

Seaweed? It twisted around his ankle. 

He kicked. He couldn’t seem to dislodge it. He kicked harder, swinging his leg back and forth. His imagination helpfully produced visions of abandoned fishing nets and giant squid, but he shut that line of thinking down quick and let himself slip under the water as he slid a hand down his leg to his booted ankle. There was some kind of rubbery garbage twisted around it. He pulled, but couldn’t get a good grip. Damn. He got his fingers on the edge of his boot and yanked it off of his foot. There.

He broke the surface again. Sucked in a salty breath, kept swimming.

Moments later something hot touched his bare foot, then curled around it and squeezed tightly.

Okay, that was alarming. The movements were decidedly intentional. A sucking, pulling sensation as the heat wound higher on his calf. It was squeezing him, holding onto him. Whatever this was, it was alive. 

I’m gonna be swallowed whole by some mutated Hydra mascot wannabe. It was the kinda impossible crap Bucky used to read aloud from his sci-fi mags, but then again, so was Steve’s whole joke of a life.

He ripped at the thing again, prying it off with his unencumbered foot, but the clinging mass caught hold, twisting it up in its powerful grasp and fighting against Steve’s increasingly frantic kicks.

Jesus. It was as strong as him. Stronger.

It was binding his legs together despite his best efforts to yank them free, creeping higher until he was pinned all the way past his thighs.

Steve’s head dipped below the water and this time he couldn’t find his way back up. 

He couldn’t breathe. He was blind in the black, churning water, and he couldn’t get free.

Goddammit Rogers, fight!

The thing wound its way over his torso, pinning his arms tight to his sides and binding them in place. The pressure on his chest was so crushing that he doubted he’d be able to take a breath even if he could find his way back to the surface.

The creature slid another inch higher. It began to wrap around his neck.

He was being swallowed whole.

Adrenaline surged liquid and scorching all through him. He writhed, he bit, he kicked, anything. He had to breathe!

The thing wrapped around his head and face, pried his mouth open, plunged in. Thick. Suffocating. It pushed into his nostrils, his ears. It was under his eyelids, crawling into his head. He gagged but couldn’t vomit–it was expanding down his throat into his stomach and lungs. His entire body was enveloped in hot rubber bands; he couldn’t feel the icy water anymore. There was only the thing squeezing him down into the dark, and the sound of his heart rabbiting. Frantic. Helpless.

And then- a… a tickle against his mind. A prod…

There was something in his head.

There was something in his head.

No. 

It was breaching his thoughts, brushing them with curiosity. It was stroking his goddamned brain, invisible fingertips feeling out the shape of him. He wasn’t alone in his own head anymore and he couldn’t fucking do anything.

No! No. God. Damn. Way.

Even when he’d been barely a hundred pounds of elbows and spite he’d never been so vulnerable. He was always able to do something, even if it was just to lie in bed, try to breathe, try to live. This- this was unbearable. Whatever the fuck this was he couldn’t- he wouldn’t—

Images began to bleed through the darkness, flashing rapidly: thoughts, memories. Private, personal moments. He watched, felt as the thing in his head rifled through his life so quickly he couldn’t follow. He couldn’t even struggle. He tried, hell, he tried but he was fighting an invisible enemy with no hands.

STOP FIGHTING.

The words were sudden, a booming echo in his mind. The voice was rough, deep, and laced with a growl. Steve did the mental equivalent of freezing in place, shocked to momentary stillness.

RELAX, BUTTERCUP. WE WON’T EAT YOU. PROBABLY, the monster continued, casually ignoring Steve’s reaction to that. FIGHTING US WON'T GET YOU ANYWHERE EITHER. It- chuckled? Was this thing laughing at him!?

What a jerk! He surged, pushing, imagining himself forcing it away, off, out!

Nothing. Not a single scrap of control.

But. He could sense the thing’s mind. Just a little. It was difficult, strange, like using a new muscle. But he could feel it, if he pulled himself together enough to focus. It made his skin crawl – it was revolting. But it was something. A tiny action he could take for himself when everything else was stripped away.

The hitchhiker's consciousness sprawled in his head – large, shaped wrong, squashed up against him like a linebacker trying to share a seat on the subway, and it had the nerve to be bothered by his resistance. Irritated. He got the sense he was a small wriggling animal it was trying to hold without crushing, and it was losing patience.

Could- could this thing just… erase him? Stomp him out of existence and take over?

He absolutely very much did NOT want that to happen.

WE WILL NOT SQUASH YOU LIKE A BUG, STEVEN CAPTAIN AMERICA, it rumbled, giving his whole body a deliberate squeeze. NOW QUIT FREAKING OUT.

The total sensory blackout Steve was trapped in began to give way, but he couldn’t quite wrap his head around what his brain was telling him.

There were sounds, suddenly. They were tickling strangely along his whole body. He could- but not like he normally- good fucking lord he was hearing through his skin. The world was full of vibration and pressure. And smells. Smells. Jesus, so many , saturating his mind with a thousand things he had no words for. Steve hadn’t even known it was possible to smell underwater. He could see – strangely, all around himself in a too-wide panorama, and the colors were… odd. He could breathe, too. Or- no. He wasn’t breathing; he was still deep underwater, but he wasn’t drowning, and the acid burn of water in his lungs was gone. 

Slowly, Steve realized that he could feel his body again. No, that wasn’t right. He was feeling all of this through the creature. It still had full control of him- he couldn’t so much as make his own pinkie twitch.

STEVEN, WE WILL SWIM. GET BACK TO EDDIE.

It knew his name? Of course it did, it was in his goddamn head. And now it wanted to strike up a conversation.

Screw you! Get lost! Let me go!

CAN’T. NEED TO FIND EDDIE.

This isn’t real, Steve whispered, mostly to himself. It couldn’t be real. This had to be some- something. An hallucination. Mind control – a trick.

NOT A TRICK, STEVEN. REAL. WE WILL WORK TOGETHER. FIND EDDIE.

Jesus. The rubberized eldritch horror expected him to just cooperate ? When it was controlling his entire body and borrowing his brain? He was incensed all over again, the rage pouring through him hot and clean.

Fuck off! Give me back my goddamned body! Get out of my head! he yelled, pushing again, shoving his tiny consciousness against the invader in his mind, trying to be as horrible and unpleasant as he could. Maybe it would spit him out like a bitter pill.

STOP IT! it roared, and Steve reflexively and fruitlessly tried to cover his ears.

No! You stop it! Get out! he spat back, vibrating with fury.

The thing snarled, and Steve’s connection to the world was abruptly severed, plunging him back into the shapeless dark. He was helpless again, trapped and blind. He could feel the irritation radiating off of the monster. The fucking thing was mad at him.

Well, good. Screw whatever this thing was. He wasn’t going to roll over for it.

WE WILL DEAL WITH YOU LATER, it growled.

Before he could respond, the tiny bit of awareness he had been allowed to keep was forced down, dwindling quickly to nothing at all. 

And then there was only the dark.

Chapter Text

“Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.”

 ― Dr. Seuss, “Happy Birthday to You!”

It took less than two seconds for Eddie’s entire world to burst like a party balloon getting stomped on by the Hulk. 

He knew. He knew they were fucked the moment the wall of sound hit, but knowing did exactly jack-diddly. There was no fighting it; nerve connections that were so fused he barely knew where he ended and Venom began were severed in seconds and Eddie’s whole entire everything was hanging out, dangling naked, helpless and flayed and pink and raw.

He screamed. They screamed their agony together, monstrous gravel roar dwindling to pained human screeching. Their body convulsed, jerked, a writhing worm on a hook. Venom’s mass was squeezed from Eddie’s every opening – his ears, his skin, everywhere at once – 

–and then they were gone.

He groped, desperate, but there was nothing - not a fuckin’ thought, a feeling, not a single shred of Venom’s presence was left behind. They were just gone. Like they’d never been there in the first place. Just a single ringing tone, a TV channel gone off the air. 

EEEEEEEEEEEEE

Eddie went limp. He was dimly conscious of noise – rain and wind, chopper blades droning, but it was far away– happening to someone else. Mostly it was that single empty tone-  

EEEEEEEEEEE

Hands yanked his dead weight up into the belly of the chopper and dumped him onto cold wet metal. Slumping boneless on the floor, he reeled.

Some time passed. He didn’t track it, the gaping empty hole in his chest was too fuckin’ painful to give a shit. 

EEEEEEEEE

Shapes. Colors. Meaningless.

Wait.

A fragile shape laid across two seats.

He blinked.

An arm dangling at a wrong angle. A skinny leg was draped over an armrest, limp, bare foot jarring white.

He kept staring at it, his brain sluggishly trying to work out what was so wrong with that in the chaos of wrong everything. Dark red hair tangled and matted. A gash across her blue-white temple. And blood streaked over the side of her face, drying her eyelashes into clumps.

He couldn’t understand. What… what was it? She…

The girl. Way too young to be locked up like a rat in a cage but those motherfuckin’ cunts kept her in a fucking straightjacket, even in her tiny cell. Eddie knew her. What the hell was her name? 

Wanda.

That was it. Her name was Wanda. And crouched over her was Sam –

The whole crazy-gone-to-shit mess slammed Eddie back into his body so hard he jolted, cracked his head against something sharp, scrabbled backward on the freezing wet floor until his bare feet stung. The ringing in his ears cut off and the world rushed over him, like he’d spent the last several minutes stuck on pause and somebody’d found the remote.

The Raft. The escape. Wanda trapped in her cell when her superfriend’s plan went sideways, Venom’s careful claws tearing the containment collar and straight jacket clean off her tiny form, then the incredible eruption of her power rolling through everything like the most gorgeous fuckin’ wave of destruction they’d ever seen.

And the chunk of concrete that fell outta nowhere, slammed into her head, knocked her off her feet and she was down, and still. She stayed down and still, and they jumped in between her and an onslaught of guards, biting a couple heads off and gathering her up.

Then, heading to the surface- fast- fast to get the fuck out before those dickless morons could string two thoughts together and activate the massive sound cannons that were mounted all over the cell block.

All of it flared sharp and clean in Eddie’s mind, burning away the confusion until he was sure he could taste the air around him. Thirty-one flavors of ash and slag, concrete and combustion.

But of course he couldn’t taste fuck-all because he was missing half of himself and most of his senses, too. Some confused-as-shit instinct nearly had him trying to scent the air with his tongue. Fucking idiot.

Venom was gone. Eddie was alone in his own body like he hadn’t been for more than a few seconds in the last year, and it was awful. Everything was off: too-small-too-big-wrong. He was shaking so hard his teeth were knocking together and his back and chest were drenched in cold sweat.

He shrank miserably in on himself, trying to sink into the wall. May as well curl up and die.

Hang on a second.

Eddie turned bleary eyes on the open chopper doorway and the swirling black water below.

He was such a fucking dumbass idiot moron.

There was no way V was dead.

They’d survived the Life Foundation. Riot. Being burnt until there was only a tiny little speck of them left.

Some measly little sound weapon didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell’a takin’ V out for real, and Eddie couldn’t leave them to hop across the whole North Atlantic in sea cucumbers and fucking- fucking penguins.

He was going after them.

Right. Now.

Eddie erupted from the floor of the chopper and scrabbled for the edge of the door with half-numb fingers, trying with every muscle in his body to pitch himself headfirst through it.

He was halfway out, dangling over the frothing water and getting pelted by stinging rain when he was yanked backwards.

“Let go’a me! I gotta find them!” He bucked as Sam and Barton dragged him inside by his arms and the back of his shirt. He tried ripping their hands off him but he trembled so bad he could hardly work his fingers.

Eddie could just make out the Raft on the horizon, a muddled blob of lights shrinking fast.

Shit. SHIT! If he didn’t get down there now, he might never see Venom again! He hurled himself towards the open doorway with everything he had, and made exactly no ground.

“Eddie! I know you’re upset but think this through man.” Sam, with a grip on Eddie’s left bicep and a fistful of wet cotton, pulling his ‘rational counselor’ bullshit or whatever his deal was. “Jumpin’ out of this helicopter ain’t gonna get you anywhere but dead.”

“I am thinkin’ it through,” he spat back, wrenching sideways to try and get loose, “just get off me!”

“You know, if we let him jump then we don’t gotta deal with him no more,” that was Barton, though he still had Eddie’s right side in the rock solid hold of a man who never skipped arm day.

“Clint, you are not helpin’.”

“I’m just sayin–"

“No!” Sam shifted his attention to Barton, “We’re not dropping anyone else!”

“I feel you Sam, I really do, but dude’s like, actively trying to–”

Eddie jabbed his elbow back and up as hard as he could manage.

He connected with a crunch and Barton staggered back, both hands flying to his face. “Jesus- fucking- ” Blood poured from his nose. He glared at Eddie, and waved him off, backing down into the closest seat. “Go ahead and drown yourself, you colossal dick. ”

Eddie sure as shit wasn’t gonna waste the chance. He lunged.

He hadn’t made it a full stride when the entire helicopter lurched hard to one side, wind screaming through the open hatch. Eddie was thrown clear off his feet as rain and ice pellets blasted into the cabin and gravity turned on its ear.

He flailed like a landed fish, bashing his arm as he tried to grab for something solid, went down empty handed, pain screaming where his knees and elbows impacted cold metal. He was pitched headfirst across the floor then thrown back hard enough to see stars.

He slammed gut-first into the legs of a seat. His breath exploded out in a whoosh and he finally lay still, the world wobbling drunk behind his closed eyelids.

It took a good minute for Eddie’s brain to register that the helicopter had leveled out. A second later the howling was cut off and the air pressure changed, making his ears pop – someone had closed the door. Eddie groaned and uncurled a little, wincing. Everything hurt.

“Hey man, you alright?”

Eddie laid his head on the frigid metal floor. Probably he should say something, or the Falcon was going to start first aid-ing at him. Eddie preferred Barton telling him to go fuck himself. Least he knew what to do with that.

“P-peachy k-k. Pea-Peachy keen,” he wheezed, deflating further and letting his eyes close. “Shoulda let me jump,” he mumbled, mostly to himself, “‘m a shitty fuckin’ host.”

“No jumping today, man. You hold tight, I need to check on Wanda,” Sam answered, and Eddie heard him get up.

“Hope you’re proud of yourself, pretty sure you broke my nose,” Barton said from somewhere, but Eddie couldn’t dredge up the will to even be smug about it. If he couldn’t go after V then he was going to fucking lay here and feel shitty and nobody could stop him.

They let him alone for a while. Long enough for Eddie to put some real mileage on the misery train. He’d about convinced himself he didn’t deserve to breathe oxygen when a pointy shoe jabbed him in the kidney. “Get up.”

He curled tighter. “Go away.”

“You’re blocking the aisle. Get up, Brock,” ordered Natasha Romanoff, alias Ms. Admin Fancypants, and her tone left no space for argument. Eddie tipped slowly onto his back and glared up, wincing when his vision swam and doubled. She stood right over him, unmoved by his pathetic-ness. She looked a little worse for wear herself, auburn flyaways trailing from the waterlogged wreckage of her professional twist, black eye makeup smudged and pencil skirt singed along the hem.

Somehow it didn’t detract from her badass vibe. Also, the gun she had loosely trained on him helped. Eddie’s confused idiot brain couldn’t really string a coherent line of thought together just now, but he might’a found her whole deal pretty rad if he wasn’t in the middle of an epic pity-party. He glanced at the weapon then back up at her.

“If you busted me outta that shithole just to shoot me, you coulda had the common fuckin’ courtesty to let me drown myself,” he complained.

She dug her shoe into him again, then put her heel over one side of his chest to roll him onto his back. “You helped us back there Brock, so I’m not going to waste a bullet unless you give me a reason.” 

“Gee, thanks. I’m so grateful.”

Eddie fully expected to get pistol-whipped or at least knocked around a little for that one. He wished someone would hit him, because he could really go for losing a one-sided fight right about now, but Romanoff’s attention was clearly divided. She kept glancing to where Wanda was being gathered up off the floor by Sam and the ant guy. Eddie hoped she was alright after all the knocking around.

“We’re a bit busy right now,” Romanoff said to him, removing her heel from his shoulder, “so sit up, shut up, and stay out of the way. Got it?”

“Whatever,” Eddie muttered. He dragged himself into a sitting position and scooted over so he could slump against the cold wall again. The adrenaline was flagging, and with it went the last couple fucks he’d been holding onto. His head felt three sizes too big, with a pretty impressive goose-egg already forming over his temple. Of course it was. Because he’d been hurt and pain and swelling were normal, except he’d almost forgotten about that kinda shit because normally by now V would have–

Just shut the fuck up dumbass, he ordered himself. No alien peanut gallery chimed in with extra commentary. There was too much space in his head and it was awful. Was this normal? Was all of this pain and silence and frailty how normal people were all the time? He couldn’t fuckin’ remember anymore.

He pulled his knees up and shoved his fists into his hair. His eyes prickled. He was going to get blind drunk as soon as he got offa this ride, but until then he needed to at least try to keep his shit together. He wiped his nose on the back of his arm and glowered at the scene in front of him.

Sam had a first aid kit unzipped on one of the empty seats and was carefully dabbing blood from Wanda’s temple with some bottled water and a wipe, practiced fingers palpating her face and skull. Eddie saw Romanoff’s brows scrunch when Sam reached the worst spots.

Barton’s shirtfront was slicked with gross nose blood, and the Ant Guy seemed to be trying to shrink into one of the forward seats like his namesake bug.

The vibe was pretty grim. A third of the fuckin’ Assembled Avengers hanging around waterlogged and worried, exchanging looks that said very clearly that everything had gone to shit, and they were used to punting to their Gone to Shit specialist, who had, unfortunately, departed the field.

Obviously Eddie wasn’t the only fuckup on this boat.

“So… I guess you’re not goin’ back for your buddy huh. You know, Captain America? ”

“Steve,” Sam corrected. “His name is Steve, and if you could, you know, tone down the aggro that’d be nice.” He shot a glance at Romanoff. She met his eyes calmly but Eddie saw the corners of her mouth pull tight. 

“We can’t go back without refueling first. We’re at max weight capacity and far out from land. And the Raft will have patrol boats and aircraft all over by now.”

“So where are we going?” Barton’s voice was clogged, he was holding his grey prison shirt up against his face.

“Wakanda,” Romanoff said tightly. “We’re making a changeover to a jet in just under two hours. It will take us the rest of the way. We can figure out what’s next from there.”

“Wakanda,” Eddie repeated, feeling a tiny thread of interest. Wakanda was not a place that had ever featured in his world tour of disasters. News reports about the reclusive country mostly boiled down to ‘we have no clue.’ “No extradition treaties. Convenient. They know you guys are there? The Wakandans?”

Romanoff nodded tersely. “We have allies there. Steve’s been- his-” she faltered, swallowed. “It doesn’t matter.”

There was a little cough, a clearing of the throat and Ant Guy leaned forward in his seat. “Uhh… is there- I mean… will we be able to go home? My daughter…”

“We need to contact T’Challa” Sam broke in, then looked chagrined. “Sorry, Scott, I know, but they got–”

“No its cool I’m just glad to be out of–”

Barton cut him off. “Cap’s gonna be okay though right, I mean, he’s just gotta swim to the–”

“He’ll make it,” Romanoff asserted, “But it’s not going to be fun busting in there a second time.” 

Eddie closed his eyes again, letting his head thunk back, tuning out the whole star-studded freak-show. Home. He had none to go back to anymore. Just V.

Fuck.

He wrapped his arms around himself as tightly as he could stand and thought of rippling warm dark.

~~~

“Here.” Something cold was pushed into Eddie’s hand.

He jerked awake, and sixteen separate muscles shrieked as he lashed out blindly. Romanoff avoided the flailing and held out a protein bar.

Eddie took it slowly, eyeing her. “…Thanks.”

He unscrewed the cap from the bottle and gulped most of it, then unwrapped the bar and took a dry bite. He chewed and swallowed, licking congealed blood off his lips. The copper tasted strong in his mouth; it was the only thing he could taste, aside from one-dimensional protein brick. His head was all twisted up, confused about what his senses were telling him, his gut confused about the absence of Venom’s hunger. He’d grown so used to it. But it was MIA, and that was its own kinda fucked up.

“Is it gone?” Romanoff’s voice was neutral. Her body language said fuck-all.

“You saw what happened,” Eddie mumbled around another chalky mouthful.

She considered him. “It’s dead?” she asked, one slim brow rising in question.

Eddie snorted. Venom was so much fuckin’ stronger than these idiots knew. Which was none of their business, and they could all shove it. He glanced to Wanda instead, who was still unconscious and that seemed…not good. “She gonna be alright?” he said, trying to mirror Romanoff’s detachment.

Romanoff let him have the deflection. She nodded, maybe to herself, looking over at Wanda’s too-still shape. Someone had laid a blanket over her, but her bandage had soaked through with blood, darkened now as it scabbed. “Wanda's tougher than she looks.” She stood and left him. 

A hush settled over the cabin, faint wup-wup of chopper blades and the quiet sort of post-crisis murmur of banter, bandages, and blankets that Eddie was familiar with from covering natural disasters, and a few of his and V’s own less natural ones.

Sam crossed to Wanda and crouched to check on her, his hand smoothing her hair away from her face.

Eddie watched. Sam met his eyes and frowned. When he spoke, his voice was clipped. “She’s banged up, but stable. We’ll know more when she wakes up. Did you see what happened?”

“Yeah. You guys were gonna leave her behind,” he bit out. They weren’t prison roomies anymore, he didn’t need to make nice.

Sam was definitely about to snap back, but Romanoff interrupted him. “I was never going to leave her there. I had it covered. I was going to go back for her after everyone else was moving.”

Did every one of these fuckers have a god complex? “Sure you were. Your plan didn’t go how you expected, and if me’n V weren’t there to bail all of you out nobody would’a made it this far.”

Romanoff’s body tightened like she was about to snap forward, visit some kinda hurt on him. It’d be welcome- Eddie’d take just about anything over the endless silence in his head right now. But she drew herself in and the anger vanished to wherever spooks put their feelings. Eddie narrowed his eyes at her, watching for cues, knew she was thinking of their next move, then wondered if she was telegraphing on purpose. She was the world’s most famous secret agent, which, kind of an oxymoron. V would’ve given her– was going to give her– so much shit. 

“You and…V,” she finally said, back to the short, unaffected tone. “Your arrangement is… consensual. You work together.”

He considered how much he should tell her. She probably had access to resources that would help him find Venom, and making an enemy of her was just shooting himself in the shinbone. Even though their whole rescue thing’d been a debacle way before he dropped Captain America from a helicopter. And before he’d alerted the guards to Black Widow. It had been. 

He stretched a little, letting his posture relax into something less defensive, his aching knees sliding down. “Their name is Venom. And yeah- we’re… partners. We work together. Help each other out.”

“You… work together. With a parasitic alien.”

 “They’re not a parasite.” He bristled, but managed not to growl at her. And wasn’t that a funny turn. Taste of his own damn medicine. “Symbiote. Venom is a symbiote. We share everything, and as soon as I can find them again, I will very happily get out of your hair and go back to my own life.”

“Symbiote. Right. And you think you can find it again. In the ocean.”

“They’ll turn up. I’ve got a couple ideas about where to start looking.”

Romanoff didn’t push him further. 

“We’re landing for changeover in about an hour. You can spend the time figuring out how you’re going to explain to the world’s most proficient assassin you dropped his BFF in the ocean,” She stood, looking down at him, and for a moment he could see her clipboard persona and the Black Widow, both. “Better make it good, or you won’t need to worry about finding your alien, because the Winter Soldier will absolutely murder you.”

Her smirk was fuckin’ mean as she turned and sauntered to the front of the aircraft, slipped into the pilot’s seat. As if it were an afterthought she twisted and caught his eyes over her shoulder. “Enjoy the rest of your flight, Mr. Brock.”

Chapter Text

Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you who you are.

-Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin

Steve’s face smacked into rock and he shocked awake. An icy wave dragged him sideways, freezing slivers needling his bare shoulder and side. He barely caught a breath before the surf sucked him back under, blinded by salt spray.

What the hell?

The waves slammed him back again, plunging him into foam and bubbles. His head cracked off of the jagged rock face a couple more times before he managed to hook numb fingers in a crevice and grab a quick look around.

Everything was shades of grey. A rough, grey ocean that met a flat grey sky on the horizon, which was dotted with a few jutting fingers of darker stone, ice clinging around their bases and snow capping their tops.

Again with the goddamn ocean and the goddamn ice, he griped bitterly as the next wave crowded him back hard against the rocks. Whenever he got out of this – whatever the hell this was – he was moving to Kansas. No ocean in Kansas. He’d take tornadoes over icebergs any damn day of the week.

When the spray cleared he surveyed his situation and saw that land was only a couple dozen yards away. Thank god. A nearly sheer cliff of stone rose from the churning waves. It was beautiful in a desolate sort of way, though he wasn’t really in a position to appreciate lines and contrast and the majesty of fucking nature at the moment. A tremor had started up in his body and it was getting more violent as the seconds passed. He had to move.

He could probably climb the cliff if he absolutely had to. And if he could feel his fingers. But staggering forward, he saw that the cliffs abated to one side, and there was a lower ridge where he might be able to scramble out of the water. It was maybe fifty yards ahead, the path a minefield of icy slabs practically inviting him to break a femur.

Yeah, Kansas sounded absolutely divine at the moment. He’d give his shield for flat dry ground and dust in his eyes.

He shoved that little fantasy aside, set his jaw, and plunged onward.

It felt like an age, but he did eventually make it to the shore. He was trembling something awful, his skin stinging anywhere it wasn’t completely frozen, and bleeding from a whole mess of gashes and cuts on his fingers, knees, and just about everywhere else. And he was exhausted, like he hadn’t felt in years, muddled and hazy. It was all he could do to drag himself out onto the dark shale beach, just out of the reach of the waves.

It was nearly dark. He wanted to drop to the ground and sleep, maybe wake up in another hundred years- okay enough of that. There had to be some kind of shelter- a place he could hole up, dry off.

He squinted into murk. A narrow path led up along the rocks and disappeared over the top.

Alright.

It was full dark by the time Steve crested the top of the hill. He nearly went to his knees in relief at the sight of a small town on the other side, a modest collection of homes and seaside cottages, and a few narrow streets of dingy storefronts. The streetlights reflected harsh white off of a blanket of snow.

A string of ramshackle sheds flanked the settlement, with some fishing nets hanging in tangles and the snow-covered oblong shapes of small overturned dinghies dotting the far edge.

The overwhelming cold was beginning to feel distant, like a blurry dream.

Goddammit Rogers, you son of a bitch. March!

He ran the last hundred yards in a blind staggering sprint, his frozen limbs screaming protest, heart hammering in his temples and eyes streaming. His lashes were frosted, brushing cold on his cheeks when he blinked.

Steve burst from the dark into the ring of light cast by the outermost streetlamp, looking around himself for a destination. Shelter. Anything. He needed out of the weather now.

There were some small blank-faced buildings, a gas station that had closed up for the night, and a rundown looking thrift store, no lights in the windows. His brain immediately conjured a fantasy about wrapping himself in layers of clothes, getting warm. It was all he could do to reason a vaguely stealthy way in – through hip-deep snow drifts around the side of the store and- there – a rickety window. Numb fingers fumbled to scrape away a crust of ice and pry it open, snapping the ancient lock and pitching himself through head first.

Warmth.

Oh Jesus Christ thank fuck, the place was warm!

Steve laid gratefully on the floor and panted. He must have drifted- lost time, because when he opened his eyes again his extremities were screaming, burning as feeling returned to fingers and toes, and he was acutely aware of the biting wind coming in from the open window.

He groaned, rolling over with difficulty; he was stiff as a board. The tattered remnants of his clothing were plastered to his legs, still dribbling meltwater onto the floor in a growing puddle. He began to clumsily strip off the ruined stealth suit.

Stealth suit–he’d been… on a mission? A mission to… the Raft, and then the fighting, the escape, and nearly drowning in the storm. He knew he’d fallen from the helicopter, but the rest was jumbled bits and pieces. The others had made it though. He was pretty sure. 

It was a damned age before he managed to get to elbows and knees, and another between that and him pulling the window shut. He was shaking so hard he had to grab the wall to keep his legs, and they buckled on him before he made it more than a couple steps. He crawled on stinging hands and knees, trying to figure out where he was. Some kind of cluttered office, the small window letting in just enough light for him to see a desk nearly swallowed whole by papers and boxes of clothes hangers.

Steve made for the door and found a bathroom, dragging himself hand-over-fist to the sink to plunge his head under the tap and drink the cool water down until he couldn’t drink anymore. Jesus, he was so thirsty, it felt like he hadn’t had water in days.

When he was done, he rolled off the edge of the counter and sagged boneless to the floor again, the room teetering like a damned fun house mirror, the world hazy, hard to feel through the fog blanketing his mind. It was like all the terrible parts of being drunk.

Close as I’m ever gonna get… 

If Steve had a bout of delirious laughter at this point, he sure as hell wasn’t going to admit it to anyone.

Some awful shape was jabbing him in the back- the edge of the toilet. He’d managed to get himself wedged right between it and the counter and he was fucking stuck. More laughter, his breaths coming in half-wheezed huffs as he tried to pull himself free. He had a ridiculous impression of his too-wide shoulders, exaggerated in his imagination, and thought how convenient it’d be if he could switch off his Cap physique for a minute.

Oh yeah, he was losing it. His body was starting to feel clammy and feverish.

He un-wedged his stupid shoulders and yanked himself to his feet then just about dropped again as his head spun, vision blacking at the corners. He gripped the edge of the counter until it groaned.

Okay, so something was deeply fucking wrong . There was a cold, hard lump of dread in his belly that he’d been trying to ignore. But it was closing in on him anyway as he finally pulled it together enough to make his way into the main room of the thrift store, where he began to root mechanically through the racks for dry clothes.

There were holes in his memory. His body was sick in a way he’d never known, not even before the serum. He could barely lift his own arms to shrug into a shirt, could definitely sleep for an age. Every inch of his body was wracked with feverish pain. From the obvious external bruises and probable internal ones he'd sustained from being thrown against the rocky shore like a meaty bit of flotsam, to the tiniest follicles of his hair, it all stung, throbbed and whined. His headache was exquisite, beating against the backs of his eyes, his teeth. His back spasmed when he bent to get the socks on. His damned skin hurt. His stomach was overfull with all the water he’d drunk, but it was cramping, twisting with hunger.

Steve raked his sweaty hair off his face, sagged against the store counter. He had to think. He needed a plan. Next step, then another. Keep it simple Rogers.

Rest, then food. It was the middle of the night. If he could catch a few hours of rest, then he could beat it before anyone noticed him, then find something to eat.

Okay.

That sounded good. Sleep. Food. 

Steve kind of sank down a couple inches at a time until he was on the floor, sprawled in a heap beside the counter. He couldn’t get further than that. His whole body wanted to leak out in a messy puddle, lose its shape and just splay wide and limp. He drifted again, mind rolling in lazy circles. He was so warm now, wrapped in layers of clothes and safe from the freezing cold outside. 

A bit of rest, and then he was going to go find something to eat … his mouth was practically watering just thinking about it… 

~~~

It was impossible to tell if he’d actually slept or if he’d spent his time floating through dreams, but eventually Steve came back to himself with his stomach growling, blinking blearily at the water-stained ceiling of- somewhere.

He was- oh. Right. Thrift store. He squinted but the room still doubled and blurred, his eyes not focusing right. 

What’d he been thinking about? Where had his head been? It was- it was a nightmare, or a memory? Tasting the air, slip of something soft in his teeth, the feel of claws sinking deep into prey. Pleasant, a nice dream. He’d had a steak once at a fancy place in Chicago, days, no- a century ago...

He dragged his hand over his face, which was beaded with sweat. His hair was stuck to his forehead and he was damp all down his back under the fresh clothes.

He breathed deep-

And froze.

He sat up sharply.

Good god. What was that delicious smell?

Oh hell, he really was starving. What was it? Where was it? He had to find it.

Steve lurched to his feet and made a staggering dash through the thrift store, knocked over a clothing rack, banged against the door frame to the hallway, his body moving in jerks and fits and his balance skewed to shit. He barely felt the impact, and it sure as hell didn’t slow him down.

He skidded into the office where he’d first come in and the scent was thick, luscious, filling the whole room. How had he overlooked it before? It seemed impossible, though he could chalk it up to trying not to freeze to death. But now? Now it was fucking tantalizing, a seductive call that had him rifling around, tearing through the papers, trying to pinpoint the source.

Oh. Ohhhhh there it was. There it was!

A little dish on the floor, oh it looked so good, the greyish pink, cylindrical little mound of fucking MEAT.

Steve moved without thinking. It was pure, liquid instinct. He dove for the little plate on the floor, the decadent scent wafting in his nose, mouth salivating. He went at it face first, licking the gelatinous little pile up in nothing flat. The flavour was better than steak, better than anything , like he’d gone his whole life without tasting real food until this moment.

It wasn’t nearly enough. All it did was wake the monstrous hunger fully- it reared and roared and crawled directly to his forebrain. He was gripping the small china dish in both hands and desperately licking it clean, chewing the little dried bits off the edges, looking around the floor in case he’d missed some.

That couldn’t be all there was?

There had to be more. He was so horribly empty, and the tiny tin of cat food wasn’t a drop in the bucket.

He had to find more.

Wait, what.

Wait.

Steve sat back on his heels for a minute, reeling, trying to think between waves of crippling hunger.

Oh. He could go outside. There would be people, people had food.

He threw the plate down and exploded to his feet, making for the back door.

He erupted through it, blowing off the hinges and ripping the deadbolt clean out of the wall. 

His mouth was pooling with saliva- he was so hungry. Jesus his stomach was yelling, cramping. He almost doubled over with it, but didn’t dare slow down long enough.

He scanned his surroundings. Where even was he? The dismal light of early morning showed him an alley between two rows of buildings: steel delivery doors, a bunch of recycling bins and dumpsters lining it up and down, a fresh dust of snow.

He barely took any of it in. He was frantic, possessed with a desperate urgency, saliva coating his lips and leaking into his beard. He could hear his stomach, feel it churn with painful emptiness.

Steve had known hunger in his life. He’d known it in the 30’s, when everything was scarce, and he was poor as dirt and struggling to make it to payday on canned beans and hope. He’d known it when he got the serum, and found his body suddenly needed as many calories as four men just to get him through the day, and more to be satisfied. He’d been starving through most of Europe, with the war in full swing and not enough rations to go around. But Steve had never in his life known a hunger like this.

Steve’s nose lit up like Christmas- all his senses were dialed to maximum, cranked up beyond even what the serum usually achieved. He followed the powerful call of food and just let all the rest fall by the wayside, tracking through the slush, the empty streets, letting his boots get soaked through again and not really caring. He was panting by the time he found his prize, shivering with the force of his excitement, of his need.

The dumpster was steaming with the residual heat of fresh restaurant garbage- potatoes and meat and greasy breakfast.

He wiped absently at his mouth, his sleeve coming away wet from drool and speckled in little flecks of cat food. He threw the heavy metal dumpster lid open and the whole sumptuous mixture wafted up and hit him square in the face.

His brain just… shorted. Fucking fried in the face of hot fresh trash.

He gripped the side of the metal so hard his fingers left dents, throwing himself headlong into the heap. He pulled the lid closed after him and nestled himself in the glorious little den, digging his fingers into the plastic bag that was warmest and ripping it open. He started shoving whatever he could grab into his mouth, moaning at the taste of sugar and salt and grease.

He lost himself for a bit there, blank, just stuffing in anything that smelled good.

At first, it was like he’d reached some higher peak of being. He tasted old soggy home fries, the napkin still crumpled into them, and bacon, toast corners and ketchup smothered eggs, all of it kind of mushed together and interlaced with the odd little plastic sauce cup or wad of coffee-soaked napkins. It didn’t matter. He was beyond caring past filling the ravenous hole in his gut.

He could smell something really alluring as he got past the first bag, digging, searching out the source of the rich, meat-sweet odour. The next bag he tore had chicken carcasses- the meat stripped but the rest tossed. He seized the closest one, small bones snapping and crunching between his teeth, the meat and marrow squelching against his tongue. His body was buzzing with pleasure.

Time ceased. There was no thought, really, just mindless, automatic shoveling. He cut his hands up on broken glass and twisted bits of wire, at least having the wherewithal not to eat those, but that was about the only thing he skipped.

He came to hunched over two handfuls of garbage. 

Steve sat back, looked around. It was dark, but he could make out ripped trash bags and cracked styrofoam containers like empty shells. A mountain of them. He blinked in shock. He couldn’t remember how he’d ended up…was this a dumpster?

What? What… am I doing?

He froze. He was still fisting a mess of scraps, pushing them past his spit-slick lips. He could feel an almost solid mass of food all the way down his throat to his bulging gut, the waistband of his stolen pants cutting into him painfully.

And he was still hungry.

He seized, horror sweeping through him. He launched himself back, banging his head and denting the wall of the dumpster.

Fuck. Oh Jesus Christ what is going on!? What’s happening to me? Am I losing my goddamn mind?

He tried to think, tried to get his head to work, to make himself think for just a moment- please! -but rationality skittered away, fear making him want to thrash, the impossible hunger still ripping at him even though he would surely throw up what he’d already eaten.

He scrambled to get free of the dumpster, clawing up the lid and rolling over the lip, letting himself fall into the slush. His fresh clothes were stained with garbage juice and syrup, there was peanut butter and ketchup and lord knew what else all over his shirtfront. He had to get out of here. His stomach was cramping- he imagined the great round ball of his overfull belly and was immediately sick.

He vomited a disgusting stream of garbage and food scraps- only a fraction of what he’d actually eaten. When the retching convulsions passed, he braced himself on hands and knees, bowed over the mess, mouth absolutely foul.

Shaking, sweating horribly, Steve wiped at his mouth with his filthy shirt, wondering if he was going to go another round. He was both nauseous and still so hungry… 

“Hey! You! Get outta there!”

A bolt of adrenaline had Steve on his feet before the voice even finished speaking and he was halfway towards the guy, a wiry young man with faded green and blue streaks of long hair under a backwards ball cap. He was wearing a white apron and had a cigarette dangling between his fingers.

All the confusing dizziness snapped clear in the blink of an eye and he was suddenly, finitely aware of the man- that he could easily seize him, overpower him, tear into his flesh. His scent – stale sweat and skin laced with old cigarette smoke and fried food – crashed into Steve. Ohhhh… it was so much, it was fucking incredible.

And then everything came back.

Falling from the helo. Thrashing in the ocean. The black thing: the creature! creeping over his body, swallowing him whole and then talking in his mind. His memories and feelings laid bare, his helplessness, his anger. That white-hot ball of rage that came at losing himself, his control and his autonomy. 

And there–the thing was still THERE - squeezed horribly into all the spaces inside him and tangled with his thoughts. 

As soon as he became aware of it, it snatched control away from him.

Its senses swamped him as it forced his mouth open, open- open so wide he couldn’t comprehend it, and his tongue extended out much too far to be possible. It tasted and smelled the air, dripping with drool as the hunger grew to new heights. The tongue- god he could feel it like his own- he thought his mind would break with the duality- the impossibility of being both himself and the creature at the same time. His hands were reaching forward and they were monstrous- huge and black and tipped with sharp claws, skin glinting in the daylight as they reached for their prey.

Apron Guy screamed in shock and dropped his cigarette, staggered back against the alley wall, staring up – up because Steve had suddenly grown several feet taller and was looming over him.

“Holy jesus fucking shit–

The guy made a choked squawk as Steve- no! the monster - grabbed him around the throat in one massive hand, lifting him like a toy. Steve could smell and hear and taste all the gritty human things on him, his fear chemicals alone were a thrill, made him giddy. The long tongue- his tongue? slid and curled, sinuous, around the man’s face, knocking his hat off his head and relishing his salt-sweat-alive taste. The saliva already leaking from his? mouth started pouring in earnest- he felt his lips pulling back from rows and rows of long, sharp teeth and the drool was spilling over them and spattering down on the snow.

The creature was sending Steve images now, showing him… heads. Brains. It was showing him what it liked to eat in a vivid fantasy of salt-fat, crackle of skull between powerful jaws, prickle of bone on the tongue, oh the tongue was the center of it all, wrapping the whole mess up, squeezing the brain and juices and all the rest until they swallowed it whole.

Everything in him curdled in horror- this goddamn thing was a- a fucking cannibal ? Christ he was not going to eat some kid!

NO! No no stop! Stop! Don’t do this, STOP IT!! he demanded even as the taste of the guy’s skin washed over his senses.

Steve was no stranger to horror, death, killing, but not like this, this poor kid just trying to grab a smoke. He had to do something. He struggled to find some part of the alien presence he could push or pull- some point of purchase to fight against. It was useless. Its mind was just as oil-slick as the rest of it. He couldn't do a damn thing. 

Fine. Time to change tactics. There was more than one way to skin an alien.

Hey! he shouted at it, demanding its attention. It’s brains you need? That’s what you want to eat?

The response was immediate, and overwhelmingly enthusiastic, the creature’s voice booming in his mind, and with it an onslaught of excitement and pleasure. YES! BIG JUICY BRAINS… WE NEED THEIR CHEMICALS, AND THEY ARE DELICIOUS! WE ARE VERY HUNGRY!

You can’t eat this kid’s head. He never did anything to you!

WE CAN EAT HIS HEAD! TRUST US, YOU’LL LIKE IT. As if for emphasis, Steve was shown another onslaught of brain-themed images, giving him more knowledge of the taste and texture of grey matter than anybody needed. Okaaay that was enough of that.

Stoppit! This is serious, this is a person’s life we’re talking about- what the hell is wrong with you? He’s just a kid! You can’t go around eating anyone you please! That’s murder! It’s wrong, and I won’t stand for it. Don’t you dare hurt him. Put him down!

YOU HUMANS ARE SO OVERSENSITIVE, the creature said with a dramatic sigh, clearly not taking Steve seriously at all, and completely ignoring the guy they had dangling in hand. RELAX, BUTTERCUP. WE PROMISE IT WILL BE GOOD. EDDIE WAS SCARED TOO, BUT BRAINS ARE EXCELLENT; VERY SATISFYING. YOU ARE ONLY UPSET BECAUSE YOU HAVEN’T TRIED THEM YET. 

Steve tried to grit his teeth, make some outward expression of his rage. This goddamn asshole! He seethed, made his fury a jagged, clanging thing between them, threw himself up in their shared mind-space, tried to be bigger, more obnoxious. He shoved at the creature, bristling, spitting with his thoughts and the weight of himself. And he felt its reaction, felt the prickling irritation, the inhuman hunger, and the anger both like and unlike his own, driven and stubborn. 

Look, buddy, if you hurt this kid, I will never stop making you miserable. I can feel it. You hate it. You hate me fighting you. You want me to cooperate, right? He wasn’t sure it would work, but he could feel the creature’s uncertainty- just a hint, but it was there. 

You were in that other guy before – Eddie? I know you want to get back to him. You want my help? You want some goddamn peace and quiet in here? Well you can kiss all of that goodbye if you harm so much as a single hair on the kid’s head. 

He pushed harder, imagining banging trash can lids, the Triskelion’s cafeteria during lunch rush, the shriek an Ultron made as it expired. The thing hesitated, waffling between Steve and the delicious little morsel in their hands.

I will make every second hell for you unless you put him down right now, and I’ll make sure you never get back to Eddie.

That did it. The creature faltered. Steve could tell the exact moment of capitulation, when it decided that enduring his constant wrath wasn’t worth the meal.

FINE, it hissed. WE WILL SPARE HIM. BUT WE ARE STILL HUNGRY! AND YOU MUST STOP BEING UNPLEASANT. IT MAKES YOUR BRAIN TASTE HORRIBLE.

Steve considered this. He wasn’t bargaining with this thing, but he’d do what he had to to spare the kid. Let him go first. We have to get out of here, we’re going to start drawing attention. Then we’ll- we can figure something out.

There was a lot of grumbling and huffing, but Steve knew he’d won. Beneath the miasma of bizarre sensations, the creature’s thoughts and feelings were pretty simple. 

Its clawed fingers released, tongue withdrawing, leaving the man’s face gobbed with strings of drool, but intact. There was a long moment where nothing happened. The guy was wild eyed, scared stiff, not daring to so much as twitch. Steve tried to move back, but it was ultimately the creature who set the guy down in the snow. It snapped up the fallen baseball cap, hooking it on one long claw, letting it twirl around. The guy’s legs didn’t hold him -  he sat down hard, scooting back desperately, his feet slipping in the slush.

Steve watched his own hands – the monster’s hands – set the ball cap crookedly back on the guy’s head, before giving him a couple consoling pats.

“RELAX HUMAN, WE WILL NOT EAT YOUR BRAIN. YOU MAY LIVE OUT YOUR POINTLESS LIFE AFTER ALL.”

The guy’s mouth moved like he was trying to form words, but nothing came out. Probably better than screaming, Steve supposed. Finally, he stammered out- “Th-th-thanks?”

Steve felt his- their?- mouth pull into a toothy, monstrous iteration of a smile, saliva still oozing from too-many teeth, tongue bobbing and weaving around, scenting the air. “YOU ARE WELCOME!” the monster boomed, genuinely pleased, preening like it’d done something noble.

The guy was still staring. Either his ass had frozen to the ground, or his legs still wouldn’t hold him up. “Wh-what the fu-fuck are you?” he stammered, hands mechanically fumbling his hat back into place on his head.

“WE ARE VENOM!” the monster answered enthusiastically, before it took off, easily leaping up onto the dumpster and then to the roof of the closest building and away.

~~~

So. This was great. Just perfect. Steve woulda laughed if he weren’t so goddamn furious. Of course his whole reality was comin’ apart at the seams. Sure. Why not? Possession by alien monster: at least it was a new one. He was missing a big chunk of time from after the Raft to waking up on the rocky shore the night before. And the thing could have been doing anything with his body.

And now he- no, they were in some desolate coastal town. It was absolutely freezing, snowing, and he didn’t have a single scrap of gear to his name unless he counted the voracious hunger that was still just this side of seizing control.

Things could have been better.

But… he supposed they could be worse. At least the others were off the Raft, and probably safe in Wakanda by now. He’d find some way to contact them when he got a chance. Until then, his priority was to get away from people and figure out what the hell he’d got himself into. He… did not want to talk to the creature. To… Venom. Which had to be the stupidest supervillain name he’d come across in a while.

WE ARE NOT A VILLAIN! WE ARE A GOOD GUY! WE SAVED THE WORLD! It boomed in his mind, playing images of a battle and a rocket exploding and of being burnt to a crisp.

Yeah? Steve shot back, seething. Well, pal, heroes don't try to kill innocent people.

YOU ARE FULL OF SHIT, STEVEN CAPTAIN AMERICA. YOU KILL. YOU LIKE TO FIGHT. WE CAN SEE.

Of all the- this brain-eating dick had no right to make judgements!

Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.

Venom was moving with purpose- hurling them over rooftops and peering across the clusters of snow-capped buildings. Steve had a front row seat on the ride, but he was purely a passenger. He hated it.

Black claws sunk deep into bright blue wooden siding as Venom effortlessly scaled several stories of an apartment building before leaping gracefully to a taller one beside it and climbing higher.

IF YOU WANT TO BE IN DENIAL THAT’S YOUR PROBLEM. NOW. YOU MUST HELP US. IF WE CAN’T HAVE BRAINS, THEN WE NEED CHOCOLATE- WE ARE STARVING. WHERE IS THE NEAREST BODEGA?

They reached the roof of a yellow walk-up with little balconies jutting from either side. It creaked under their weight, the rough texture of the gravel scratching the bare bottoms of their taloned feet.

A… bodega? What? Why?

Venom’s whole presence against his mind scoffed, like Steve was an idiot. FOR THE CHOCOLATE, STEVEN. TRY TO KEEP UP. YOU HAVE TO GO INSIDE AND OBTAIN AS MUCH CHOCOLATE AS YOU CAN. DARK CHOCOLATE, ESPECIALLY.

Steve was trying to keep up. He was normally pretty quick on the uptake. Really. But he was extremely goddamned messed up right now, and even wrapped in Venom’s mass, he still felt sick. And- hungry. He was willing to try whatever might work at this point, even if the alien’s suggestion sounded like the demands of a five year old trying to score as much junk food as possible before their parents found out. And it had spared the kid behind the dumpster. It- It seemed like it was trying to be reasonable, hard as that one was to swallow.

Fine, he agreed after another couple seconds of rationalizing. If chocolate will help, then- let’s try that. He would have scowled if he could control his own face. I’ve never been so hungry in my life. Is this normal? Does this happen to everyone you uh- possess?

YES. YOUR SPECIES HAS HIGH METABOLIC REQUIREMENTS. BUT YOUR BODY IS STRANGE. WE ARE WORKING HARDER THAN USUAL TO MAINTAIN SYMBIOSIS, EVEN THOUGH YOU ARE AN OKAY MATCH FOR US. NOT AS GOOD AS EDDIE OF COURSE.

That… was a lot. Symbiosis and matches and thinking about an alien squeezed in there with his brain- Christ. But one part of what it said made sense, at least.

Yeah, my body is different from other people, because of the serum. And my metabolism is a lot faster, so I have to eat a lot. I’m always hungry.

Steve felt Venom starting to pick through his memories surrounding the serum- apparently learning about it- but Steve bristled, trying to shove it away, or make a barrier between them Hey! Stop that! You can't- stop looking in my mind! That’s personal!

WE WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT YOU, Venom answered simply, unruffled by Steve’s objection to being paged through like a goddamn book.

Well too fucking bad. You gotta give me some privacy in here, pal. My memories and thoughts are mine. You can’t just look at whatever you want. I’m not gonna put up with that.

STEVEN, YOU ARE EVEN MORE DIFFICULT THAN EDDIE. WE DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHY HUMANS VALUE PRIVACY SO MUCH AND THEN BITCH WHEN THEY ARE MISUNDERSTOOD. KLYNTAR DO NOT HAVE THIS PREOCCUPATION. There was an unmistakably condescending tone in Venom’s words, but… they did stop, and Steve heaved a mental sigh of relief and made a note of the name. Klyntar. Not any kind of alien he’d heard of before.

Thank you, he snapped, begrudging.

TASTES BAD WHEN YOU ARE AGITATED, Venom offered, as though it were an explanation.

They were standing on a flat gravel roof. Venom had zeroed in on a corner store. Steve was still trying to get used to the weirdness of feeling its body like it was his own. Venom was ‘driving’ for lack of a better word, but Steve was fully aware of all of its movements, and he got the full brunt of its unusual senses. It was… maybe a little less overwhelming than it’d initially been, but still a lot to keep track of. Everything was scent and taste and vibration. Visual cues seemed dimmer – not as useful in comparison. Its hearing was fantastic, and the ridiculous tongue was picking up things Steve’s mind barely knew how to process, squirming constantly through the air like a prehensile limb.

The air was lush with scents – coffee and exhaust and garbage- animals, and of course the people, who were just starting to emerge, going about their morning business completely unaware of the giant brain-eating alien perched on a rooftop over their heads. Steve was hit with another wall of hunger- it hit them both. He was at a real risk of getting carried away again, even wrapped inside Venom’s shape, looking through its eyes. It was unbearable. He could hear his- their? stomach gurgling in protest.

YES STEVEN, WE ARE STARVING. SO YOU MUST GO INSIDE AND OBTAIN THE CHOCOLATE. AS MUCH AS YOU CAN GET.

His eyeline dropped as they started to get shorter- Venom was receding, sliding back inside him, squashing itself up against his organs and tissues. He tried not to think about where it actually went or about how the huge mass of it somehow defied physics and shrank down small enough to fit.

When Venom had withdrawn Steve immediately staggered, barely keeping his legs. He was still weak like before, dizzy and sweating. He was very sick, he realized before the haze of hunger rolled over him and muffled everything else. He had to lean heavily against an HVAC unit while he tried to get his bearings, caught between the disorientation of his body changing, and the way his senses focused on smell and feel.

And– he was still covered in dumpster juice and garbage and food scraps. He discovered this when he ran his hand through his beard and it came away sticky with… something.

“I can’t go inside a store like this. I look like a tramp.”

But the answering cramp in his stomach was strong enough that Steve started to move anyway. He clambered off the roof via a rickety fire escape, gripping the rusted rail hard enough that it groaned beneath his hands. He was making a terrible racket- his uncoordinated shuffle lacking his body’s usual fluid grace.

He made it down the fire escape and lurched from the bottom platform, falling the last ten feet and landing on his back in a snowbank. He had to give himself a minute to pant and rest as he stared up at the sky. Then he sat up and grabbed a fistful of snow to try and scrub his face and beard and hands clean as best as he could before he struggled to his feet again, vision slanting and fuzzing with vertigo. Jesus, he felt absolutely awful.

WE WILL FEEL BETTER AFTER THE CHOCOLATE. HURRY UP STEVEN.

“Yeah, yeah I’m going,” he muttered in answer, dusting the snow off himself as he made his way across the street. It was lined with kitschy storefronts on both sides, the buildings boasting bright pastel colors that contested the dreary gloom of the winter sky. The whole town was sloped, rolling and pitching down towards the shore, where boats and docks were clustered together, bobbing in the frigid bay. 

He approached the corner store, where a sign announced ‘COME ON IN, WE’RE OPEN!’ in flashing neon red and blue. There were a few patrons milling around, braving the snow to get milk or coffee or cigarettes. 

“Okay look you need to stay… inside me. Or whatever,” he told the alien and then realized he was talking out loud to it in public. Great job, very pot and kettle. He definitely got a couple raised eyebrows, but the beauty of looking poor and crazy was that people tended to pretend you weren’t there, and hurried to be somewhere else without bothering to be subtle about it.

The overhead bell jangled when he entered the store and he stopped short, the wall of food smells immediately starting him salivating in a way he couldn’t control. He slurped, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, trying to keep his tenuous grasp on what the hell he was supposed to be doing as reality threatened to unravel and send him on another mindless rampage to the closest source of sustenance. He Very Pointedly did not think about the way the fucking people smelled, because he knew that was some screwed up mess of crossed wires between himself and the alien, and he very much needed to not have those thoughts right now.

Chocolate. Right. He was here for chocolate.

There were several junk food displays crammed into the cluttered little store. Steve had the wherewithal to grab up a basket as he began to scan the colourful packages for terms like ‘70% cocoa’ and ‘real milk chocolate’ and the like. He cleaned out the whole row of pure chocolate bars- all the flavors- licking his lips helplessly as he quashed the urge to start cramming them into his mouth right there in the store. The attendant was already looking at him with suspicion, watching as he clumsily swept another row of chocolate bars into his quickly filling basket.

He went down the next aisle and cleared it of most of its chocolate products, then slipped around the end display to the next row. He was nearly finished; now he just had to figure a way out of the tiny, stifling space before he lost it.

He passed a wall of refrigerated displays and his body jerked without warning, shoulder banging into the glass doors. Venom was moving him, turning his eyes over the items. He tried to force himself back the other way and ended up bumping into a rack of foil party balloons, narrowly avoiding knocking it over.

“What are you doing!” he hissed in half panicked confusion as the store clerk started to look irritated, like maybe he was about to call someone to throw them out. “I’m getting the chocolate! Stop it!”

GO BACK TO THE FREEZER.

“Why?!”

Steve found himself marching back to the row of tall glass freezer doors and opening one with rigid, unnatural motions, cringing as Venom made his eyes sweep over the products.

“Quit it!” he protested, trying to regain control of his movements, fresh adrenaline washing through him in a prickling wave.

TATER TOTS! WE HAVE TO GET TATER TOTS TOO.

“What? I thought you said we need chocolate?”

WE DO… BUT WE ALSO LIKE TATER TOTS.

He managed to get control of his hand, slamming the freezer door shut far too hard, making some of the frozen meals inside fall from the shelves.

“Stop it, you’re causing a scene!”

Venom overpowered him easily and reached for the door again, clumsy fingers wrapping around the handle.

STOP WHINING STEVEN- WE ARE EXCELLENT AT THIS. YOU’RE RUINING IT BY BEING A BIG PUSSY!

Steve’s temper flared and he wrenched his hand down, taking the entire handle clean off the door with a grinding metallic SSKKREEEEK as it crumpled in his grasp. They were definitely drawing attention now. Steve could hear the store attendant speaking urgently into the phone, most likely to the police.

“Are you happy now, you asshole? He’s calling the cops. Just excellent . You do realize I’m wanted in about sixty different countries, right?” A lady in a puffer jacket jerked her head around to stare at him then scampered away down the aisle, and he dropped back to a hissing whisper. “There are cameras in these places! You wanna end up back in the Raft? Is that what you want?”

Venom seized control again and yanked the door of the freezer wide so it slammed into the one beside it with a crash. They grabbed three bags of the frozen potato things with jerky movements and jammed them into the basket.

WE WANT TATER TOTS, it growled haughtily, practically oozing satisfaction as it rescinded control again.

Steve’s eye was twitching. “Fine. You got your tater tots. Sure. Great. Now we have to get out of here. We need to run.”

Steve hadn’t planned on robbing a convenience store when he’d woken up that morning on the floor of a crummy thrift shop drenched in a puddle of sweat, aching and feverish from being possessed by a damned alien, but he was committed now. Considering the absolutely fucked up thoughts he was having about meat and brains and the like, this was absolutely-and-without-question the path of least harm.

So he jammed a couple packs of bacon and more chocolate into his pockets and didn’t look back as he made a break for the entrance, blowing through a display of windshield washer fluid and sending the jugs all careening onto the floor. He hit the door at speed, his shoulder smashing into the frame and shattering the glass into a million tiny shards.

“Hey! Stop!” the clerk shouted after him, but he barely heard the guy. He had to get out of there. He was counting on looking crazy and disheveled enough that he’d be unidentifiable as Steve Rogers aka Captain America on camera, but as of right now, he knew that no place would be safe for long.

Steve felt like death warmed over, but he was still upright. That seemed to be the only requirement for his legs to get the picture and get him moving. He booked it down the street away from the store, and away from the damn ocean too because that was going to be a dead end.

He had no real destination. All he knew was he had to get the hell outta there, and away from people. He was a damn fast runner, and after a few minutes he cleared the denser part of the town and now the houses were further apart, the road twisting through hills and narrowing to two simple lanes without flanking sidewalks. There was some uninhabited land coming up, small trees thickening into snow-dusted brush and stands of conifers.

He heard sirens in the distance and knew they were for him. He had the basket of junk food tucked under his arm like a football, and he was panting clouds of steam into the frigid air. It was still snowing, the soft white flakes coming down thicker than earlier. His thrifted boots were caked white, already wet through. His beard and shoulders were crusted with clinging ice, and he was shivering again, despite the fever.

“We gotta get off the road, find somewhere to lay low,” he said, looking around. He was too visible, and too recognizable. He kept moving, but the initial spike of adrenaline was fading, and he was getting dizzy again, feet unsteady in the drifts. He rubbed at his beard, squeezing his eyes closed as he tried to think. The sirens were getting closer. He needed to move.

WE WILL HELP, Venom said, its deep voice a little more benign than usual, its presence nudging Steve’s mind. He didn’t find the prospect of the alien’s ‘help’ very encouraging. He was still pissed off about what’d happened in the store.

He straightened, setting his jaw. He could keep it together a little longer. They would find somewhere to go.

He cut off the road, breaking into a jog again and making for the trees, striding with purpose into a copse of cedars and tucking himself between the branches as a pair of police cruisers sailed past, lights and sirens blaring. They were so loud! It jarred him, making his teeth ache and he put his free hand over his ear and shoved his head against the tree, trying to block it out. It was only a couple seconds before the cops passed and the sound died down, but he was left disoriented, his skin prickling unpleasantly. It took real work to shake it off and keep on his way deeper into the trees.

He felt Venom start to seep through his skin and take over, his point of view changing as they grew taller, tongue flicking through the air, picking up information. Despite its size, Venom could move silently through the snow, and the cold seemed not to bother it at all. It began to travel quickly, slipping through dense trees, over a couple open meadows, and back into thicker, older forest, putting distance between them and the town.

Eventually they encountered exactly the sort of thing Steve was keeping an eye out for- a small red-roofed cottage sided with wooden shingles, the main door covered by an overhanging porch, the beams raw wood. There was enough snow in the drive that it was clear nobody had been there in a while.

Here. This might be a good place to rest and clean up. Let’s see if we can find a way inside.

If there was any god, the place would have electricity. He hoped there would be some way for him to wash up- even wrapped inside Venom he felt filthy and disgusting, and he desperately wanted to get clean.

Together, they crept closer along the edge of the trees, and after taking a good sniff and deeming it deserted, Venom shrank back, disappearing under Steve’s skin, and he tottered up to the front porch of the cottage and started looking for a way in.

Chapter Text

Friendship is magic.

-My Little Pony

Eddie didn't have a favorite Howling Commando.

To be fair he'd slept through most of American history, especially the more flag-wavy parts. Eddie wasn't a fan of history, really. It'd made him a bit of an outlier in college among the aspiring journalist crowd, but half of them were spoiled trust fund babies just coasting along till they could drop right into their first cushy internship, so he didn't particularly give a shit. Eddie had been working his ass off bartending nights and weekends and he had to sleep sometime, so: history, not his strong point.

Eddie liked stories about people who were still breathing. Or you know, recently dead. Things that mattered now, things that real people in the real world were doing as they churned through the streets. The world was messy and loud and fuckin’ busy, and there was so much to explore - the greatest generation’s greatest hits from a hundred years ago didn’t really rate.

Actually meeting a Howling Commando in the flesh had him mentally side-eying all the fuckheads back at his good ol’ alma mater who'd had a real hard-on for James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes.

They did not shake hands.

"Well, I'll leave you two to get acquainted," said Romanoff with a smile that would be appearing in Eddie's nightmares.

Note to self: do not mess with the Black Widow ever again no matter how bad a day you're having.

"Shuri has some pretty interesting tracking software that might find us our strays,” she said, directing her words to Barnes, “so if you can get together a list of likely flags that would be helpful. Meet me at Lab 3 when you're ready."

Eddie’d already been having a truly, mind blowingly horrible fuckin’ day. They'd landed in Wakanda- possibly the only place that could get him slavering with curiosity even while he was worried as hell about V- and he'd seen approximately nothing. In the space of half an hour he'd been hustled through a bunch of very stylish hallways, met a king, a general, and a genius, and was now standing in the cozy living room of an actual fuckin’ legitimate war hero slash legendary assassin depending on your source. Romanoff had very rapidly and very thoroughly briefed said hero on the current situation, and then? Then she casually dropped a nice succinct profile of Eddie’s personality, history, and relationships, including his home address in San Fran. From back when he still had one of those.

The Black Widow, he thought, was also pretty fuckin’ keen on current events. And fast-paced research. He doubted they'd be bonding over it anytime soon.

Throughout this little briefing Barnes seemed- well. He seemed a bit tense. He'd apparently- from what Eddie had managed to pick up while trotting along behind assorted Avengers through the halls of the most advanced city on the planet and eavesdropping on five conversations at once- been defrosted about five minutes ago from some kind of cryogenic situation that was meant to keep him from going nuts and murdering a bunch of people.

"So you're the alien parasite puppet," said Bucky Barnes.

Eddie tamped his immediate impulse to jump down the guy’s throat in V's (and his own) defense. It was possible this elderly bastard was also having not the greatest day ever. Also it was probably best to keep things nice and calm around the homicidally insane.

“Venom’s a symbiote. That’s- it means we work together, like partners- we cooperate. They sort of, ride around in my body. But not in the puppet way. Well not most of the time- just when they need to. They gotta have human brain chemicals to live, so… yeah… we- there’s some light… vigilantism. But it’s not that bad. We don’t hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

Eddie’s ramble met Barnes’ cold stare and extinguished itself like a lit match dropped in the toilet. Holy fuck this guy was unnerving. Eddie had the distinct sense he wasn’t getting his point across, which- fair. How do you explain Venom to other people? Especially when they weren’t around to say hi and demonstrate their personal brand of charm. Man, he missed his alien. “Okay look, it's just… it isn't what it sounds like, V's basically a sweetheart most of the time."

"Basically a sweetheart. Most of the time." Incredibly, Barnes did not look sold. 

"Yeah," Eddie rubbed his neck, trying not to fidget. "It sounds crazy, I know it does. But Venom’s not a bad person. They just need-

Eddie stopped short. Why the fuck should he explain himself? He didn’t owe Barnes diddly squat. He scrunched his bare toes in the cushy woven carpet, wondering when someone was going to give him some fuckin’ shoes.

“Look buddy, my personal situation is really none of your business. The point is, Venom needs a human host and it just so happens there was a human dropped into the ocean with them, and connecting the dots ain’t exactly a feat. I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this."

The Winter Soldier’s hand twitched a bit at the hem of his soft drapey robe thing in a way that Eddie's brain would have registered as a nervous tic in any one less completely dead-eyed. "So your theory is the alien would have grabbed Steve and taken over his body, swum to shore, and it's now out there walking around wearing his face."

Eddie tried very hard not to bare his teeth. See. Legendary heroes? Garbage.

Eddie was very familiar with crazy people- had even been one himself. He was also familiar with combat vets who had trauma so bad the psychs had to invent whole new acronyms. He was even familiar with serial killers, for… job reasons. This guy? He was somethin’ else. It was giving him the creeps. And getting the creeps always pissed him off.

“Look dude. I'm trying to tell ya, V's not like that. What I'm hoping is that they teamed up with Cap to get ashore, so all we got to do is figure out where they are and we can go get 'em.” He balled his fists in the hem of his shirt as if it would help him keep a grip on his temper. “V can't live with just anybody, not for very long anyway. There's got to be symbiosis, like, a bond. Gotta be the right person. Which is me. You don't got to worry he's going to steal Captain America and go on a rampage.”

Though, once Eddie put it like that... it did kinda sound like V's idea of a good time. A super-strong body belonging to a fearless badass who killed nazis- aka really bad guys - for a living. Oh holy motherfuckin’ shit… they wouldn’t… wouldn’t prefer Captain Ameri- no! V liked Eddie, they had a bond. Venom fuckin’ loved him. He knew they did. They said it all the time. Still, if they were riding around in Actual Captain America, perfect pinnacle of humanity blah blah… shit.

He rubbed his palms together reflexively, shifting from foot to foot before striding over to an armchair and perching on the edge, leaning forward and smoothing his hands over his worse for wear pant legs while he thought of the best way to put it to Barnes.

“Here’s the thing. I know V better than anybody. I know what to look for. I'm actually a professional at this shit. You know what to look for with your guy. Let's come up with some info for the baby genius and let her do her thing, and then we can both go home.”

Unfortunate choice of words maybe, for an out of date freezer pop who was wanted… well, everywhere but here. Barnes' face went, if possible, deader. He turned away from Eddie and bent to pick up a piece of glass- no it was a tablet- off an arty looking side table with his right hand. The left one- the one that was the subject of so many conspiracy theories that it had its own extensive subreddit- seemed to be missing. Maybe it was in the shop.

He took the sofa opposite Eddie’s seat and handed the tablet to him.

"You can type or talk. I already have a full profile on Steve, and so does Romanov. If he shows his face anywhere in any major or minor city in the world we'll know about it. But we don't know about your… Venom. Get started."

Eddie accepted the tablet, sinking back in the chair and studying the screen, grumbling to himself. Figured the historical figure was giving him homework.

“History sucks,” Eddie muttered under his breath, and got started.

Chapter Text

“Wise and humane management of the patient is the best safeguard against infection.”

-Florence Nightingale

The cottage was unoccupied. Steve ended up climbing into an upper floor window, inching precariously along the porch roof until he could hook a couple fingers under the lip and force it open. He sent the basket of snacks in first, then dragged himself awkwardly head first through the too-small opening and rolled unceremoniously onto the floor beneath it, taking a second to let the room stop spinning before he opened his eyes and looked around.

He’d emerged into a lofted upper floor, which spanned half the cottage footprint and contained a wonderfully welcoming looking bed piled with fluffy blankets. There was an electric oil heater on wheels in the corner, but after expending the effort to drag himself over and click it on, nothing happened. The power was off.

His aches were aching. He felt Venom sliding out of his skin, but this time they didn’t envelope him like they had before. He gave the alien a watery squint and was met with a… floating head?

He followed the stringy tendrils of slick, oily black and saw that they were coming out of his skin and through his clothes in a messy web all along his arm and shoulder. How…? The head with its two large white eye patches bobbed in front of him. The disgusting tongue flicked out to slaver over Steve's face, leaving it slicked in tacky drool.

“STEVEN CAPTAIN AMERICA. YOU LOOK LIKE SHIT. EAT SOME CHOCOLATE.”

Steve groaned and let his forehead drop to the cold floor. Something crinkled

He rolled his head to the side and found the basket of candy overturned below the window and scattered all over. The smell was inspirational and he crawled closer, pulling the window shut against the blowing snow outside and propping himself against the wall. He picked up a chocolate bar and tore it open with his teeth, stuffing a row of squares into his mouth.

It was… transcendent. Utterly delicious, satisfying, and he crammed the rest in and followed it with a few more before he could think about it too hard.

Like the dumpster it was a mindless, mechanical kind of eating- only this time the ravenous gnawing hunger was easing up, and Steve was starting to feel less like he was imminently going to die.

“Oh thank Christ,” he breathed aloud, licking chocolate from his fingers. He still felt like crap – it was apparently not a cure-all– but he could at least think straight again, and the horrible excessive salivating had stopped.

He glanced at Venom, studying its face, it's teeth. “So… you need uh- brains … or chocolate? How does that work?”

It was hard to read facial expressions on a black ooze without eyebrows or lips, but Steve still got a strong sense of its mind near his own. The alien grinned. “YES! BOTH ARE EXCELLENT, ALTHOUGH BRAINS ARE MUCH BETTER. WE WILL NEED THEM, STEVEN. BRAINS ARE NECESSARY.” This speech was punctuated by a shower of spittle that peppered Steve and the floor around him. He tried not to be offended, dabbing not-very-subtly at his face. Venom continued, unfazed. “WE CAN MAKE DO WITH CHOCOLATE UNTIL YOU STOP BEING A WHINY BITCH ABOUT IT.”

Steve glared. “Hey! I"m not-”

“YES YOU ARE. BUT WE ARE PATIENT, BUTTERCUP,” the goddamn alien leered , its slimy tongue slopping along Steve’s cheek and face some more, a rumbly growl almost like a purr coming from its throat.

“Stop calling me that! And get off me,” he shoved Venom away and wiped uselessly at himself with his already-filthy sleeve. “Look, I don’t know what the hell is goin’ on, but you can’t just- just take over my body!”

“SURE WE CAN. WE DID.”

Venom ignored his outraged snarl and extended a clutch of tentacles (and ohhhh he was never going to get used to that black goo coming out of his own skin) to snag another chocolate bar, unwrapping the foil package with surprising dexterity before breaking it in half. It wolfed down half, eye patches narrowing in pleasure as it swallowed, before offering the other half to him. He yanked the candy away and crammed it in, chewing resentfully.

“WE NEED TO GET BACK TO EDDIE,” Venom rumbled, a tinge of anxiety rolling off it. “EDDIE IS A PERFECT HOST, AND HE IS WITH YOUR AVENGERS. IF WE LEAVE YOUR BODY THEN WE WILL NOT BE ABLE TO FIND HIM, AND HE WILL GET HURT WITHOUT US.”

Flashes appeared in his head, images of Eddie Brock as seen through the alien’s eyes - a prickly shell around a soft heart. Venom adored the man. Steve squirmed, squeezing his eyes shut as if that would make the onslaught stop. He unwrapped another candybar.

“So you're just trying to get back to your guy?” he asked between mouthfuls. Even though he kinda sounds like a loser, he continued internally but Venom caught the thought and bristled.

“EDDIE IS OUR LOSER!” it snapped. Then it sort of…sagged, “WE DON’T KNOW WHERE TO FIND HIM; OUR HOME IS GONE.”

Well, if he could understand anything, Steve could understand that. He rubbed tiredly at his face, letting his head tip back against the wall. “I hear ya pal,” he admitted, seeing his cramped one-room apartment back in Brooklyn. All his best memories and he hadn’t even known it. Bucky, young and healthy and charming the skirt offa' most any girl he so much as winked at, stumbling back home in the middle of the night reeking of smoke and liquor, and Steve loosening his tie for him, pulling off his shoes, and being dragged down by a strong arm, their bodies sticking together in the summer heat. Bucky before he’d been brainwashed and tortured and twisted into something else.

Steve smacked his head against the wall a little to stop that train of thought. Venom was watching him, seeing too much. Steve closed his eyes.

“It’s Steve, by the way. Just Steve,” he said.

“STEEEEEEEVE.” Venom tried experimentally, sliding a couple exploratory tendrils along his arms and chest.

“Uh yeah," he sighed, not bothering to push it away.  Personal space was clearly a lost cause. “You got it.”

He hesitantly poked one of its- tentacles? What was Venom even made of? He brushed his fingers along the shiny surface. It was… very warm. And firm, and smooth. There were no visible pores, no hairs, though there were occasional fine pale veins, mostly around the head.

The tentacle shifted beneath Steve’s touch, lifting to meet his fingers, weaving harmlessly between them before it changed shape and seeped over Steve’s fingers and palm, covering it like a glove. Steve curled his hand closed and watched Venom’s mass move with him. He touched it with his other hand and was able to feel through it like it was his own skin.

“That. Is so damn strange.” He wiggled his fingers just to make sure they were all there. “We should check out the rest of this place, see if there’s anywhere to wash up.” His shirt and coat were plastered to his back, making the chill from the wall sink into his bones, but when he touched his face, he was hot and clammy. “I- I gotta rest up pretty soon,” he admitted. If he was honest, he was about to drop, but he wasn’t going to say that. Or explain all about how he hadn’t had so much as a sniffle since 1943.

Steve got weakly to his feet and this time Venom helped, sending tentacles out to pull him up, and using them like extra legs or arms as Steve moved to the edge of the loft to look over the railing.

He peered through rough wood balusters down into the rest of the cabin, finding a spare but clean arrangement of rustic furnishings, plaid, and some cliché Canadiana themed bric-a-brac: a full third of a taxidermied deer with a rack of antlers, a wall hanging made of strips of colored wood that formed a Canadian flag, and a dubious oil lantern that was probably as likely to burn the place down as it was to light.

“COZY.”

“Yeah.”

Steve shuffled to the ladder to climb down, very aware that he was hardly holding on- Venom was practically carrying him. They poked through a basic kitchen, surveyed the dining/living space, and explored the few other closed doors. 

When Venom was protruding from him like this Steve wasn’t subjected to such an intense onslaught from its senses- there was a little more separation, which came as a goddamn relief. He didn’t want to know what the old boots by the front door tasted like, or the inside of the sink drain, but Venom eagerly explored these things with the same relish as it tore through the cupboards to see if there was any food left behind.

Next was a closet, and a tiny utility room with the breaker panel which controlled the main power, a water heater, and some other plumbing and electrical stuff that Steve didn’t know much about. It took some figuring to get everything up and running.

Meanwhile, Venom was constantly touching and tasting and smelling, knocking knick-knacks from shelves and leaving streaks of drool in their wake. It reminded Steve of one time when Bucky’d brought home a stray dog and it practically tore up their apartment before they realized Steve was horribly allergic and Buck gave it to his parents instead.

The last door was a bathroom, and he was elated to find it had an actual bathtub.

He ran a deliciously scalding bath, the water steaming in the cold room and immediately fogging everything up. Venom was already half inside the linen closet, rooting around as they sampled cleaning products and soaps. Steve reached for a towel and a skinny black tentacle extended towards him to deposit one in his hand, then caught him when he pitched to one side on his wobbly legs. He shrugged it off with a scowl, slapping the meddling appendage away.

“I can stand, I don’t need help.”

“YOU ARE SICK.”

“No’m not. I’m fine.”

He snatched up a bar of soap and put everything on top of the closed toilet, then finally- finally he was peeling his clothes off of his grimy, sweaty skin and dumping them on the floor in a disgusting heap. Venom helped take his boots off – much to his irritation – but everything was spinning so bad by now that he could barely see straight. He had to lean heavily against the freezing wall to keep his balance as gooseflesh spread over his naked arms and legs and the shivering intensified until his teeth were chattering non-stop. He inched along towards the tub and heaved himself over the side, falling into the water with a splash and a pathetic whimper of relief.

Steve hunched down as far as he could. He drifted for a long time, twice emptying out some water to add more hot. He was aware of Venom curiously prodding at him, of their feelers touching between his toes and in his hair and poking up his nose, but the water was so hot and perfect that he just didn’t fucking care.

Eventually he fell asleep.

~~~

“STEEEEEVE.”

He groaned and tried to roll over, but he was wedged in tight, and absolutely fucking freezing cold.

“STEEEEEVE.”

“Nnnnn”

“STEEEEEVE. STEVEN. STEEEEEVE.”

“No. M’sleepin. S’cold.”

He tried to pull the blankets up over himself. Water splashed into his face.

Steve sat up all at once, sending a wave of frigid water sloshing out of the tub and all over the floor. It was dark, and cold, and Venom’s face was about an inch in front of his, hovering too-close.

“Wha?”

He looked around himself and couldn’t make his eyes focus; the world was a blurry mess. His stomach lurched as his mouth started to water and he knew he was going to be sick.

“I’m gonna-

Fire clawed up the back of his throat and he threw up bile over the side of the tub, eyes and nose streaming. He wilted when he was done, deflating limp over the lip of the tub.

“STEEEEVE. YOU ARE VERY SICK. THE CHOCOLATE DID NOT HELP.”

Venom’s voice seemed like it was coming from far away. Steve scooped up some water from the tub to rinse his mouth and tried to get out, but he was weak as a kitten.

“M… fine…” he insisted, voice coming out raspy. He closed his eyes- he just needed a second to catch his breath. Then he’d get up.

Any second now.

~~~

He was lying down on his back, and his mouth felt stuffed with cotton balls.

It only took him a few seconds to recognize the familiar ache and burn of a very high fever.

Oh this was rich. His chickens were coming home to roost. All the borrowed time he’d got after the serum- time to give it back.

When Steve was a kid he had scarlet fever, and of course his body was a hypersensitive melodramatic asshole, so eventually that turned into rheumatic fever. He was off and on for a couple days- maybe longer- it was hard to remember. His whole body had burned from inside- to the point that his ma had submerged him in an ice bath just to keep him from getting seizures, but he still had a couple bad ones. He’d shit himself, and he was so weak he couldn’t clean up after. He remembered the pain in his joints, in his head. Like he was being squeezed and inflated at the same time, like something inside him was too large to fit and was trying to blow itself out through his back and neck and his goddamn fingers. He’d hallucinated too, and when it was finally over, his heart was left damaged, and he was deaf in one ear. It was the worst illness that Steve had suffered in his life.

Right now? It was the searing fire all over again, the pressure in his joints and head and teeth.

And wasn’t that just the darnedest, funniest possible thing that could happen to him after all the war and bombs and explosions?

It was hysterical.

Nobody got shot up with science juice and stuck in a microwave and came outta that better. That was impossible. It was ridiculous. Oh fuck, he was still in the ocean, wasn’t he. In the plane. No wonder he could never really escape that nightmare- it was still happening. Hell, maybe he was still laid out in a kid-sized sickbed somewhere, how the hell should he know?

That was the funniest part.

Steve was laughing so hard he was crying now, heaving great gasps of air and coughing. It hurt so goddamn much but he couldn’t stop.

Something slapped him in the face.

His teeth knocked together and he sniffled and blinked. He squirmed, trying to rise and a heavy weight on his chest pushed him back down into a warm, soft nest.

“STEEEEVE.”

He lashed out blindly, his knee-jerk reaction to fight whatever was pinning him down.

His arms were drawn down to his sides and held there and a- a sort of wave of calm rolled over him. Soothing. Safe. Every instinct he had told him not to trust something so easy, but he couldn’t move. He could hear himself panting fast and shallow.

STEEEVE. It was coming from inside his head now- seemed like that, anyway. Jesus he couldn’t tell what was real anymore.

“Wh-what-” his voice was a thin rasp. 

WE THINK WE KNOW WHAT IS WRONG. WE WILL HELP, the gravelly voice assured him, echoing around his throbbing skull. He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to burrow deeper into the blankets.

He must have succeeded because everything went nice and gone.

~~~

There were birds singing. It was a sound Steve hadn’t woken to in- wow he couldn’t think of a time, actually. New York wasn’t a great place for that unless you were counting pigeons and crows.

So it struck him as strange to hear the cheerful twittering of songbirds, and very little else.

He opened his eyes and was met with a slanted ceiling paneled in… wood? He stretched and yawned wide, looking around. He was in a huge bed and wrapped up in about seven scratchy wool blankets and propped up on a mountain of lumpy pillows. Pale daylight filtered in through the window. Beyond it he could dimly make out a landscape of snow and trees. The shapes of birds were flitting through them and calling to each other. It was pretty. Like something from a Christmas card.

He scrubbed a hand through his beard and hair and dragged his scattered memories into a sensible shape. Venom. Right. And he’d been feeling pretty shit, but now he didn’t. He wasn’t nauseous or dizzy. The awful sweating and chills were gone. Maybe he was a little cold, but the room was freezing, so it was warranted.

“Venom?” he asked out loud, his voice echoing off of the sloped ceiling. It was so quiet around here – no traffic or people or anything. Like he was alone in the whole world.

A mass of black tendrils boiled out of his arm and took shape, forming into Venom’s now-familiar eldritch horror of a head, their tongue twisting in the air like a live eel. “WE ARE GLAD YOU DIDN’T DIE STEEEEVE,” it said, checking him over with a mother-hen mess of tentacles that spread along his arms and wrapped firmly around his chest.

“What happened? I was- I wasn’t doin’ so hot.”

“YOU WERE DYING,” Venom offered plainly, and that idea seemed a little unreal to Steve, who had dodged his own death so many times by this point he was starting to think it’d never catch up. “BUT WE ARE A SHARP COOKIE. WE HELPED. CHOCOLATE?”

Venom’s head hovered just in Steve’s periphery, its hot, damp breaths too-close to his ear as it pushed a freshly-de-foiled hunk of chocolate at his face.

Steve snatched it before his uninvited roomie could get any bright ideas about hand– tentacle? feeding him. “I got it,” he snapped, but any bite in his words was lost to laborious chewing. He was breaking off another piece before he even swallowed the first one.

The chocolate was thoroughly satisfying; he was sure he could eat another ten of those bars easy.

“Alright,” Steve said in his most no-nonsense tone, sucking his fingers clean. “I’m not sick anymore, so we can focus on a plan. We need to figure out where we are and where the closest Avengers safe house is. From there I should be able to open comms to Nat.” He wiped his mostly clean hand on the bankets. “First though, I need some clothes.”

“DO YOU LIKE LEATHER, STEEEEEVE? WE HAVE BEEN PRACTICING WITH EDDIE.” It draped its considerable mass over his shoulders like a sweater made of hot rubber snakes and began to slide down his chest and back, opening the connection that plugged him into its senses.

Steve swung his bare legs over the side of the bed. “Uh, that’s not- leather is nice, but it wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” he said, trying to blink away the images being mainlined into his brain of Eddie Brock in an assortment of black leather jackets, chaps and boots.  He dragged one of the blankets off the heap to wrap around himself like an unpleasantly scratchy but mercifully warm cape.

They stood and Steve poked around, finding a couple worn cotton t-shirts and a thick red hoodie with a ‘Roots’ logo over the chest in white stitching. It would probably be small on him, but it was clean and dry and he wasn’t about to complain. There were some grey track pants in there too, and even a couple pairs of socks – big wooly ones perfect for winter.

Venom scooped the clothes up with a tentacle before Steve thought much about it. He shrugged out of the blanket and Venom caught it before it hit the floor, tossing it onto the bed. It was weird, but the alien was moving with him now, operating like an extra set of limbs.

He grabbed the t-shirt and tugged it over his head. He pulled the sweats on next, tugging the drawstring until the waistband was tight around his hips. The crotch hung low and the legs kinda pooled at the ankle- jesus, maybe Canadian sizes were screwy or something. They were all like… big muscular lumberjacks and Mounties, right?

He finished dressing, yanking the socks up over the bottoms of the pants to keep drafts out and pushing the long sleeves of the hoodie to his elbows. When he was finished he felt a lot more human, and never mind the alien that was slung over him, poking a tentacle into the oversized front pocket of his sweater.

“THERE ARE CRUMBS IN HERE!” Venom announced, more of their mass rippling down into the pocket and apparently hoovering up all the little tidbits with pleasure. They climbed around (and… through ) Steve a little more and finally settled against his chest, wrapped over his middle with a small head poking out.

Steve took stock of their supply situation. They had three bags of partially defrosted tater tots, two packages of bacon, and a good hoard of chocolate remaining. “I think we should cook this stuff up before it spoils.”

There was no complaint from Venom. They clutched the basket in a tentacle as Steve climbed down the ladder to the living area and padded over the cold floor to the kitchenette. He turned on the oven to get it warming, hunting down a couple of pans. There was no question that his appetite was still being influenced by the alien riding around in his body, and he didn’t think they’d have any trouble polishing their remaining stockpile off in one sitting. After that they needed to get moving, get out of this remote cottage and back on track.

“I could really go for a coffee,” Steve grumbled a while later, when the cottage was filling with the scent of meat and fried potatoes and he had to keep restraining himself from sneaking bites straight out of the oven.

To distract himself from the bacon-y aroma he turned back to the kitchenette and started rummaging through the cabinets. “Aha!” he had to stand on his toes to reach the back of the pantry’s top shelf, but he found his prize – a still-sealed jar of instant coffee.

Steve got the electric kettle started on the counter top, then turned to reach for a mug only to find that Venom had already popped one onto the counter. It matched the rest of the cottage in terms of theme, with an ‘EH?’ in comedic white lettering over a red maple leaf. 

He twisted the lid on the coffee jar and…couldn’t get it open.

“What the hell do they close these with?” he said aloud, peering at the jar suspiciously. He gripped the base in one hand and twisted hard. And the damn thing didn’t budge.

He was not asking the alien to open a fucking jar for him. He tried again, still no success. He tried tapping the edges of the lid with a butter knife- maybe the seal was... frozen? Stuck? If he wasn’t careful he’d crush the whole damn thing in his hands.

“STEEEEVE. LET US,” Venom offered, their mass rolling quickly over his hands, his arms bulking up to their size. With the help of the alien’s rubbery grip, the lid twisted off easily. 

“…I coulda done it,” he bit out, doing a shit job of hiding his irritation. But hey, the thing was in his goddamn head anyway.

“YOU ARE WELCOME!” Venom boomed right beside his ear, making him wince. He set the jar carefully on the counter and dug the tip of one claw into the foil seal.

“Didn’t thank you, pal,” Steve muttered, and the amusement was coming through the connection loud and clear as Venom licked a damn stripe up the side of his face.

“Oh come on! That’s nasty!” He wiped at his face and rubbed his hand on the leg of his pants to dry the drool off it, then spooned some of the coffee into his cup. When the kettle was ready he filled the mug and stirred it around, then went to get the food out of the oven.

Steve unloaded everything onto a couple plates, sucking grease off his fingers as he went. He was starving- again. Story of his damn life. He pulled the chair away from the table and slid onto the hard wooden seat.

Then he... paused. He looked pointedly at the space between the edge of the table and his chest. 

Stood up again. 

Studied the table and its rickety accompaniment of chairs with fresh eyes.

Sat down again.

“Oh Jesus fuck.”

Venom was not one for manners- it'd already extended out over Steve’s shoulder, clever tongue and a few smaller tentacles shoveling steaming bacon and tater tots into its mouth, heedless of the scalding grease.

Steve? Well. Steve needed to take a goddamn moment.

Okay, he’d just taken a moment- he needed another one.

He looked at his hands, at the too-long sleeves of the red hoodie shoved up to his elbows and already threatening to slide down. He very deliberately slipped his thumb and middle finger around his forearm, the tips easily touching. He considered the height of the table in comparison to his chest- he was definitely not hunkered down over it like usual, and his thighs were not exactly filling out the seat of the little chair- he could probably get another person on it with him. Weren’t filling out the track pants either, and he could see the outline of bony kneecaps through the material. And when he finally got the nerve to slide his hands under his shirt and feel his own torso he was not met with thick slabs of pectorals and abs- no... he could feel every rib, the line of his sternum bisecting them in the middle, and the hollow cavity of his stomach sucking in beneath, not a damn muscle or ounce of fat to be found.

Okay.

Right.

This was a real thing.

This was actually happening.

Venom was pointedly ignoring the whole process of Steve’s self discovery, deliberately engrossed in the meal and managing to avoid eye contact despite not having real goddamned fucking eyes.

But Steve? He knew Venom knew he’d figured it out, because they were connected by his own god-forsaken brain and there were no secrets happening there. Venom’s consciousness was, in fact, doing the mental equivalent of an elephant hiding behind a rosebush.

Steve lunged over the table and grabbed Venom by its stupid ridiculous fucking tongue. He yanked its head roughly to face him, his ears ringing with incandescent rage, squeezing until his skinny arms trembled. He- he- fuck he couldn’t even speak.

It took him a couple tries of gnashing his teeth and yanking on the slimy tongue, jerking Venom’s floating balloon head back and forth before he got any words out.

“What. Did. You. Do .” 

He stood abruptly so the chair fell over behind him as he marched Venom backwards into the nearest wall. He was breathing hard through his teeth, could feel his nostrils flaring. His face–his other face–his former face only now it was his face again –angular and delicate and it was surely reddening up in blotchy patches like it did when he was truly pissed off. “VENOM! What did you do to me! ” he shouted it this time, releasing Venom’s tongue and gesturing angrily at himself with a stab of his drool-covered hand. “Why am I like this!? What did you do!? ”

Venom, it would seem, was not particularly intimidated by Steve, or his anger, or all five feet and four inches and ninety-some pounds of his slender, bird-boned frame. It was not intimidated by his too-weak-to-open-a-jar hands, or his narrow little shoulders which wilted beneath the alien’s weight draped over them. It let him manhandle its head, made no move to stop him, and finally he flung the stupid tongue away and balled his hands into fists at his side instead, wishing for something to punch.

Venom rippled over him, tendrils stroking and squeezing his arms and chest and head bumping against his like a fond cat. “WE HELPED,” it growled sweetly into his ear, “AND YOU ARE SO CUTE NOW!”

Steve lost it.

“ARRGGGHHHH! SCREW YOU! I am NOT! CUTE !”

He hauled back and punched the wall beside Venom’s head with all his strength.

Pain exploded up his arm. His center was all off, and he sure as shit wasn’t used to things not breaking when he punched them. He cradled his busted knuckles in his other hand, swallowing whimpers of pain and wondering if he’d managed to actually crack a bone in the first five minutes of being small again. That would figure.

Venom pulled its lips back and showed all hundred-and-however-many of its saliva slicked teeth and Steve could feel its goddamn smile. Then it oozed fully over Steve, wrapping him in its warmth and its senses as he impotently shoved at the slimy mass. He gained several feet of height all at once and when it spoke, it was right into his head, closer than anyone should ever be. DON’T WORRY STEEEEVE. WE ARE VERY STRONG. WE WILL EAT ANYONE WHO TRIES TO FUCK WITH YOU.

I’m not your fuckin’ punk! Get off!

YOU ARE WEAK AND VULNERABLE LIKE THIS. YOU WILL BE TERRIBLE AT SURVIVING WITHOUT OUR HELP.

Venom took them back to the table in two easy strides and carefully picked up the overturned chair, setting it in place. It sat them down, tentacles popping out along their middle to yank the chair in and drag the food closer. It shrank back inside, and a head manifested over his shoulder and licked him fondly. He slapped it away.

“EAT. WE WILL EXPLAIN. WE ARE SORRY STEEEEVE.”

It was- a lot. He started to cross his arms, imagined looking like a tantruming toddler instead of a Leader of Men, and stopped. He shoved the plate of food away and gripped the lip of the table hard, letting the pain in his smashed knuckles keep him focused. He almost expected the table to creak under his fingers, but of course nothing like that happened because his arms were skinny and small like they had been most of his life, and his grip was too weak to open a damn jar, and now that he knew it he couldn’t believe he’d gone so long without noticing. He’d dressed himself and walked around this stupid cottage for almost an hour and thought like a fucking moron that it was really strange in here, and he’d rationalized it away. Canadian sizes? What the actual fuck.

“Venom. Why did you do this? How did you do this?” He needed some goddamn answers.

“YOU WERE GOING TO DIE, WE SAVED YOU!”

“You said that already. What did you actually do to make me like this?”

Venom slithered off the table and climbed over Steve, slinging tendrils around his arms and middle, weaving themselves through the fingers of his uninjured hand. “YOUR SERUM MADE YOUR BODY FIGHT US LIKE AN INFECTION, SO WE STOPPED ITS EFFECT ON YOUR CELLS.”

“You stopped the serum? But I need that to- ”

“KEEP YOUR SHIRT ON, BUTTERCUP! WE HAD NO CHOICE. WE NEED YOU TO GET BACK TO EDDIE. YOU’LL GO BACK TO NORMAL WHEN WE LEAVE YOUR BODY.”

“Oh.” That was a relief. 

“PROBABLY.” 

“Wait, what!?”

“WE ARE PRETTY SURE.”

Fantastic. Well, that was a problem for Future Steve. Present Steve- 

“My illnesses. My back. My hearing. My heart. The asthma… nothing hurts. I can breathe.”

“WE FIXED THEM, SO YOU WOULD NOT BE IN SO MUCH PAIN. WE WILL NOT LET YOU GET SICK, AND WE WILL HEAL YOU IF YOU ARE INJURED. CHILLAX.” Venom extended a tentacle around Steve’s busted hand and tugged at it gently. Steve let the alien pull it up from his lap. It covered the injury and he felt the pain dissipate instantly. When Venom receded, his hand was normal again- no swelling, no scrapes or bruises. “WE KNOW HOW TO BE A GOOD PARTNER STEEEEEVE.”

Well. That was- unexpected. He flexed his newly healed hand and fingers, testing them out. Like it never happened. He leaned both elbows on the table and wrapped his hands around the steaming coffee mug, lifted it to his lips and took a sip, considering. “That’s… huh.”

Venom shifted to hover a blobby head in front of his face again, tongue sliding over his fingers and the edge of his cup. A trail of saliva was leaking from its mouth, slowly dangling lower, stretching on a thin tendril before it broke free and plopped into his coffee. He sighed and took a slug anyway. Worse things happened in war.

"So that’s why I don’t feel sick anymore- without the serum fighting against you, I’m a good host.”

“YOU ARE AN ALRIGHT HOST. EDDIE IS BETTER. BUT WE CAN STAY WITH YOU UNTIL WE FIND HIM.”

“Yeah, fine. Then we better get moving on that.”

Steve stood up, carried his coffee and chocolate into the living room, looking over the walls of the cottage. There was a colorful map mounted on one, beside a big picture window that showed a quaint snow-dusted winter forest.

Unsurprisingly, the map showed Canada. There were numbered red pins dotted all over, and a corresponding list on one side. ‘Explore our Nation!’ it proclaimed in cartoonish letters, and beneath it the list of destinations from the numbered pins, each with the year that it was visited. The vast majority of them were concentrated around the eastern coastal region, and there was one blue pin which stood out from the others. It denoted ‘THE CAMERON CABIN’ and the pin was far east, on the island labeled Newfoundland. The cabin was a little set back from the coast, and there were a handful of small towns nearby.

The easiest thing to do from here would be to ping Nat. They had codes set up for missions gone tits-up. All Steve needed was access to a phone or a computer, and he could send Nat the right code. She’d respond within twenty-four hours. Likely less, because she’d already be looking for him. 

Only, Steve frowned deeply, trying to- to remember. Shit. He wasn’t super-serumed anymore. The code was over thirty characters long, and they updated it frequently. Eidetic memory meant he’d never bothered learning any of Nat’s mnemonic tricks. He picked up a pencil from the cute handmade ceramic holder on a nearby side table and started jotting down the most recent code he could think of. He only got seven numbers in before he stalled. There were always seven numerals, then… a series of random letters and symbols… shit. He couldn’t remember.

Well, that sucked. He set the pencil down- they would have to do things the hard way. 

That meant first getting back to the mainland to get to any kind of safe house, either by ferry or plane, or – Steve swallowed uncomfortably – they could swim. He just had no goddamn words to describe how much he did not want to do that. Would he be able to survive in the water with Venom? They’d come all this way from the Raft, so he suspected that Venom was quite adept in the water, and he already knew it wasn't bothered much by the cold. It still made him horribly uneasy to consider.

He spent a little longer studying the map – he didn’t think he could memorize it perfectly anymore- not without the serum’s help, but he’d always had a pretty good visual memory; he knew there were a bunch of potential safe houses they could aim for scattered through the maritimes and into Quebec and Ontario.

“SOMEONE IS COMING,” Venom announced suddenly, causing Steve to stiffen and strain his ears. He didn’t hear anything.

No- he did, but it was faint. Engine noise. Distant. It could just be someone passing by.

Venom rose over his head like a Halloween mask and suddenly Steve could hear far more. The drone of motors was definitely coming directly towards them. Two of them, loud and moving fast.

Time to get outta here. Let’s take anything we need and go before we’re seen.

NEED CHOCOLATE, Venom said immediately, and maybe another Steve, from another time might’a thought that was silly, but it was absolutely a top priority now. He quickly rifled around the cottage until he found an old green canvas knapsack and dumped the whole basket of chocolate crap food into it.

Okay. What else.

Clothes. He wasn’t 240lbs of human furnace anymore, and without Venom covering his skin he’d be completely at the mercy of the elements. He swiped a jacket and a hat lined in fur from the rack by the door and then stuffed his feet into the smallest of the assortment of boots.

The rumble of the vehicles was right outside now. Venom surged over him and took control before Steve thought any further, and together they made their escape, ripping the back door of the little cottage open just as the sounds of people started to crowd the other entrance. Steve could distinctly hear the excited voices of children, and parents urging them to calm down and be patient while they unloaded the sleds.

Sleds. Snowmobiles.

We should take one. We can travel a lot faster that way, get further, then find a car to steal.

WE LOVE TO DRIVE, Venom offered excitedly and showed Steve images of itself together with Eddie zipping through hilly San Francisco on Eddie’s bike, leaning into sharp turns, popping sky-high wheelies and taking straightaways at insane speeds.

Okay, that does look pretty fun, Steve answered honestly. He wasn’t too sure how the sharing thoughts thing worked from his end, but he thought ‘loudly’ about his own bikes over the years, and he knew Venom got the message, its pleasure and eagerness flooding him. Okay, maybe they could scrape together a little common ground after all.

Venom crept soundlessly through the snow and wove into the trees behind the cottage, swinging around and keeping a careful ear out for the humans. Steve let it take the lead on this- sneaking around had never been his thing, and Venom was good at it besides.

When the people were inside they made a break for the closest sled. It was black and blue, with ‘YAMAHA’ scrolled across the nose. They darted in fast, grabbing the tail end and easily lifting it to swing it around so the vehicle was pointing back toward the road and leaping on. The key was still in the ignition. Venom straddled the long padded seat between muscular thighs, claws wrapping around the handlebars. The sled was big- it was actually comfortable for their huge frame. They turned the key and it started up with a roar of engine noise, just as a man erupted from the front door, shouting at them.

“HEY! Hey get off of there! What are you doing!”

Go! Drive! Let’s go! Steve thought, wishing he could wrestle control and get them moving. Thankfully Venom didn’t waste any time- they gunned it, sending a huge spray of snow up behind them as they took off.

They rocketed down the track made by the two snowmobiles on their way in and the cottage quickly disappeared behind them, the angry shouts of the proprietors with it. He felt bad for them, but the other option woulda been letting them find an international fugitive and an alien symbiote drinking their coffee. Maybe when all this was done he could send some anonymous money to the address.

Besides, this was awesome. Venom’s tongue trailed out behind them and they were leaning forward over the handlebars as the sled devoured the miles.

Chapter Text

“A little consideration, a little thought for others, makes all the difference.”

-Eeyore, Winnie the Poo

He had to get outta here.

An hour of sitting under the Murder Stare and trying like hell not to rattle apart was all Eddie could take before he finally jumped up and booked it for the door. And- right. No sudden movements around this guy- the way Barnes tightened up when the glass tablet clattered to the coffee table didn’t inspire a lot of confidence.

He’d spilled his guts as much as he thought might help with the task at hand, but the really personal stuff he was playing close to the vest; let the fuckin’ spies and assassins do their own snooping, not like V was the first alien they’d run into. 

If it weren’t for the whole gaggle of super-powered people barging their noses into his business, Eddie would very happily have slunk to some out of the way corner and quietly got his shit together over a few bottles and maybe a pizza, then done what he did best- research. He wanted- no needed - to know what he’d missed. Three months in a complete information blackout was agony.

Fuckin’ figured Barnes’ fancy tablet deal was suspiciously not connected to the internet. Eddie really coulda used an update. Some current news. Twitter. 

He was edgy, and worried, and his head was still a disaster, but he could shoulder through. The worry wasn’t that V would be hurt. He was confident they were fine, probably having a field day running around biting off heads in Steve Rogers’ super-serum-pumped body, dammit. There was absolutely no way they were gonna stay off the radar for long; finding them would be simple. 

Catching up with them? That could be harder.

Eddie only had one idea of where they might go. Anne was already up to her ears in Eddie’s bullshit on a regular basis and they weren’t even together anymore (a fact Venom liked to rub in while sulking obnoxiously at Eddie for screwing things up with her).

No. Anne was the last resort. Eddie was a wanted man and his alien was AWOL. He was well-fuckin-aware that he had a habit of running to Anne whenever shit hit the fan. This time he was going to man up and deal with things on his own, and maybe… maybe not look too close at his recent track record. People could change! History doesn't always repeat.

Alright, enough dickin’ around. He needed info, and there was one person in this place he was pretty sure would talk to him without sneering.

He showered off in the fancy suite the Wakandans put him up in, then pulled on a fresh white t-shirt and a loose fitting button down, which he left hanging open. He found some jeans, and a pair of flip-flops. He was appreciative of the hospitality – the free digs and clothes and food – but he was still awfully sour over losing all his shit and his place, and V was gonna lose it if anything’d happened to their pet hens. It’s like him and V were fuckin jinxed. 

Wait, were jinxes actually a thing? It would explain a lot. Since it turns out magic was fuckin’ real and all.

The palace was huge and drop dead gorgeous, but Eddie wasn’t up for sight-seeing. Lucky that he hadn’t been left to his own devices, then. A couple guards had been following him around all morning. They weren’t exactly subtle, in their bright red and black garb with silvery armor (that’s vibranium, his brain supplied) and flashy gold trim.

“Hey,” he said to his newfound entourage, who fixed him with near-identical stony expressions. “Uh… so I’m looking for one of the people I arrived with. Wanda. Skinny kid, red hair? She was hurt in the escape. Any idea where I could find her?”

The slightly taller guard looked down at her kimoyo bracelet, did some kinda mind meld with it since the things didn’t have buttons or anything, and then nodded curtly. “Yes, Mister Brock, Miss Maximoff has been seen by Dr. Khizabi and is in the care of nurse Abek. She is currently in the botanical gardens, but I have been told to warn you that her condition is delicate. If you cause a disturbance you will be removed.”

Fantastic, he already had a rep. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. So… where do I go?”

The shorter guard made an expression like somebody’d put ketchup in her coffee. Eddie knew it well. “We are not tour guides, Mister Brock.”

Eddie gave her his best “hapless but harmless” grin. “Well in that case, the sooner you point me in the right direction, the less time I spend snooping around.” 

They glanced at one another and the taller one stepped forward. “Very well.” She gestured with her super-sharp looking spear. “This way.”

~~~

The Royal Wakandan Botanical Garden was massive, big enough that Eddie almost forgot he was indoors. Lotsa birds in improbable colors flying all over, lotsa trees covered in flowers the size of his head. There were little monkeys playing around, chasing their buddies through the branches, chittering back and forth. Very cute.

Venom would love it (and would probably try to eat the monkeys, yikes). Eddie rubbed at his chest, where his lonely heart was clenching mournfully, or some shit. V’d been getting into romance novels right before the whole Raft mess and would read the good bits aloud over takeout. Their opinions about which were the good bits only matched up with Eddie's about half the time.

The guards chaperoned him through what seemed like a mile of charmingly twisty paths to a clearing near the middle of the garden. Wanda was propped in a – was it levitating? – wheelchair, left ankle in a cast, blue plasticky Nu-Skin looking stuff at her temple.

With her was a clean-shaven guy in some snazzy looking nurse’s scrub type outfit. He gave Eddie a critical once-over with sharp eyes as he approached. Wanda put a hand on his forearm. “It’s alright, Abek. I know him.”

Nurse Abek backed off a whole-ass three feet and stood there with his arms crossed. Eddie got the impression this chat was not gonna be long.

“Uh- hey Wanda,” he started, then stalled out. He felt suddenly awkward. They'd been in side-by-side cells for two months, but she’d been in bad shape; out in the regular world he didn’t really know her. Still, he had saved her life and all, so maybe it didn’t matter that the A-team’d been circulating the mean girls’ version of recent events. 

He propped himself on the edge of the stone bench beside her chair. She'd gotten some fresh clothes too, a wine-colored gown and a cozy fringed shawl around her shoulders. Her hair was clean now, hanging in soft red waves, and her hazel eyes were awake and alert for the first time, but there was still a ring of bruises around her neck from the suppression collar. Eddie's fingers tightened around the lip of the bench. “So…how’s the head?”

“A pretty bad concussion, but they say I’ll be okay. Mostly it’s so good to finally be clean, and out of…that place.” She said ‘that place’ like a slur.

“Yeah, not my idea of a good time either.”  He gave her a weak grin. “Good ta’ see you out.”

“They told me you helped me escape. You and Venom.”

Eddie looked away. A tiny yellow monkey was crawling along a branch with some kinda fruit in its mouth. “Sure. ‘Course.” He scratched behind his ear. "So…” he ventured, “you talked to the rest of your friends? They okay?”

She nodded. “Scott is trying to get in touch with his daughter to let her know he’s alright. Clint too- he’s got a family. And a broken nose, which he is not happy about.” She gave Eddie a smirk. “You might want to stay out of his way. Sam already came to visit me. He’s really worried about Steve.” Her face fell. “We’re all really worried about Steve.”

That hit like an accusation. He shoved off the bench, needing to move, to pace. “It’s not my fuckin’ fault what happened,” he bit. “Me’n V were tryin’ ta hang on. They had sound weapons-”

“I know! Sam and Natasha told me what happened. Nobody blames you.” Which was a really nice lie and he appreciated it.

“I don’t care if they blame me or not. I just want Venom back.” He kicked at the ground, his shoulders tight, stomach in knots. “I can’t just- just lie around here while V is… I don’t even know where. What if- What if they-”

What the fuck was he even doing? Wanda was just a kid, and she was recovering from a head injury. For shit’s sake, Anne was right to call him a selfish bastard. He took a ragged breath, forcing himself to get it together, then looked at her. “I’m sorry. I was just gonna ask you a little about–but this ain’t your problem.”

They sat together for a minute listening to the nature-y sounds. It was pretty peaceful and relaxing unless you counted Nurse Abek hovering at the edge of the clearing like an editor with a deadline.

Wanda dug around in a pouch in her lap, came out with a handful of dried fruit which she held out to him. He took it doubtfully, but the fuzzy golden monkeys, smart little fuckers, were quick on the uptake and immediately started clambering closer, peering at him with gigantic eyes, curly tails bobbing. Eddie held out a piece of the fruit and one of them darted in and snatched it from his fingers. Wanda’s mouth twitched.

“I know you’re worried,” she said. One of the monkeys risked it all and leapt right onto her shoulder. It dangled from her shawl and clutched at the fruit pouch with tiny hands.

Eddie slumped. “You have no idea.”

“I was thinking,” Wanda stroked the monkey's fur gingerly. “I could look for them. Would that help?”

Eddie's focus snapped to her. “Look for them? Whady’a mean?”

She tapped her temple, eyes brightening with a glint of mischief. “I can see very far, if I concentrate.”

Eddie was on his feet again before he realized what he was doing. The monkey fled. “You can do that? Yes! Yes do that- find them! C’mon-”

“Mister Brock,” Nurse Abek cut in, “Miss Maximoff is not to exert herself.” He stepped around the side of the chair to face Wanda, “I must take you back to the medical wing to rest. Dr. Khizabi has trusted me to look after you.”

Shit. Just when there was a chance … but Eddie realized that Wanda was flagging, a hint of sweat sheen on her skin. Fuck. He was such a bastard. He woulda noticed if he hadn’t been so busy working his whole head up his own ass.

“Maybe come by my room later?” Wanda passed him the pouch and he took it automatically. The nurse turned her chair toward the path. “Bring the others, and I’ll try to locate Steve, or Venom.”

Abek ushered her away before Eddie could respond. He threw himself back down on the bench, his stomach flipping anxiously. 

He looked up as one of the monkeys re-emerged from the trees and chittered at him. Its eyes were huge and hopeful. 

“Fuckin’ optimist,” he grumbled at it, and dug his hand in the bag.

~~~

It was late in the evening by the time Dr. Khizabi gave the official green light for Wanda to ‘use her thaumaturgic aptitude’ to ‘inquire after the whereabouts of Captain America.’ 

And Venom. 

The hours had passed like LA traffic: hot, endless, and soul sucking. Eddie had tried to keep himself occupied, but he couldn’t concentrate on the Wakandan sudoku, and when he tried watching some of the limited programming he could get in his suite nothing sunk in; normally he liked the challenge of a language barrier but his focus was shot and he couldn’t settle- his borrowed shirt was coming apart where he kept picking at the hem and he didn’t feel even a little bad about it. He almost jumped out of his skin when one of his babysitters knocked then stuck her head in.

“Mr. Brock, it's time.”

Two minutes later Eddie was in the medical wing and at the door to Wanda’s room, side eyeing the quartet of guards (extra intimidating version) in their blaze of reds and golds. 

It was Nurse Abek who opened the door, narrowing his eyes when he saw Eddie on the other side.

“All of these people should not be here,” he muttered. 

Eddie had no idea who ‘all of these people’ could be, but he wasn’t surprised to see some of the other Avengers already in the room, as well as the young Wakandan whiz kid, Princess Shuri. That explained the contingent of be-weaponed badasses in the hall.

Next to Wanda’s bedside was Sam, cleaned up and looking all plucky and courageous. The Widow was next to him, doing her usual I-am-in-control schtick. Eddie almost missed Barton, but he was there too, stationed against the far wall with his big bare biceps crossed over his chest all intimidating like a bouncer at the kinda bar Eddie ‘n V shopped for dinner at.

Of course they were all worried about America’s golden boy, but Eddie had other priorities; he just wanted his alien back please and thank you. He hung back near the door and shoved his hands into his pockets.

And then – figured – Bucky fuckin’ Barnes stalked in, swathed in plaid and paranoia. Naturally, the asshole figured the best place to hang out was right beside Eddie. He planted himself between Eddie and the exit, still as a headstone, only his eyes darting around the room like it was full of murder hornets instead of his bestie’s besties. Eddie shifted over about half an inch and slumped even more in protest.

Wanda was sitting up in the bed, looking kinda pale against the cheerful woven blanket in her lap. Nurse Abek flitted around checking medical things, and finally closed the door to the room as if he could stop more annoying visitors from filtering in.

“Only a few minutes, Miss Maximoff. Doctor Khizabi was adamant that you do not tax yourself. You must stop immediately if you begin to feel unwell.”

Wanda accepted the fussing with only a hint of eyeroll. “I know, Abek, But I think it will be alright.” She did look better than earlier, more alert, but Eddie wasn’t exactly an expert. Still, it was encouraging. He really needed this to work. 

Sam turned to Wanda. “I think that’s everybody. You up for this?”

Eddie noticed how he worded it- offering her a way out, even though he obviously wanted answers as badly as the rest of them. Eddie’d spent three months in a cell beside the guy- he got that Sam was pretty tight with Rogers.

Wanda looked so young compared to everyone else here, but Eddie knew she was far from fragile. She sat up taller and took a deep breath. “Yes. I’m ready to try.”

She spread her hands. Faint reddish wisps gathered around her palms, growing more concentrated as she gestured. Her eyes changed too, filling with the same eerie red light.

All the hairs stood up on the backs of Eddie’s arms and neck. Seemed like nobody was breathing.

Wanda brought her fingertips to her temples, brow knit with concentration as her eyes closed, lids fluttering.

Eddie didn’t know squat about magic, but he sure as hell felt something, an invisible sort of tingle that radiated off of Wanda, and had everyone leaning closer, waiting.

It clearly took effort. Her fingers began to tremble, chest rising and falling more rapidly as her breaths sped up, the sweat-sheen making another appearance. Her jaw was tight as the red light roiled and brightened.

Eddie was frustrated. He didn’t want her to hurt herself, but he needed answers. Why was it taking so long? How hard was it to- to… zero in on somebody?

The light winked out abruptly like someone had flipped a switch. The invisible tension released, and everyone seemed to sag a little. Wanda leaned back against her pillows, panting softly, letting her arms fall to her lap. Nurse Abek looked like he really wanted to throw them all out but was showing heroic restraint, hovering just outside the circle of Avengers.

Wanda blinked her eyes open. She sat up a bit. Eddie stood up straighter. 

Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can't sense Steve.” She sighed.

The whole room deflated. Shuri put her hands over her mouth. Barton uncrossed his arms and slumped. Sam pulled the Widow against him and she went, their heads tucking together, his arm wrapping tightly around her shoulders.

It was only Eddie who was unaffected by the news of Captain America’s apparent…death? Loss? Instead, he was frantically wishing they could get past all the dramatic reaction shots so he could find out about V, but he had just enough tact to keep his mouth shut. For the moment.

Barnes stepped away from the wall he’d all but fused with, his shoulder brushing Eddie’s in the crowded space. “Is Steve dead?” he asked slowly, his voice low.

Sam looked between Barnes and Wanda, eyes shiny.

“Oh, no,” Wanda said quickly. “Steve is alive. Only, I don’t know where.”

A wave of relief swept through the room. Barton stepped up beside Romanoff and joined the group hug as Sam wiped his face with the back of his free arm. Shuri was smiling wide. Barnes- well, despite his helpful contribution to the Cap quest Barnes was still making like a tomb where hope went to die.

Sam reached out and squeezed Wanda’s hand. “Wanda, you’re amazing. Anything else you can tell us? Then we’ll give you some space.”

Wanda’s eyes roamed the room until they landed on Eddie. “I think you are right that Steve might be with your Venom. The energy signature is a little like how you felt on the Raft.” She blinked tiredly, lying back against her pillows. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”

Sam was positively beaming. “You did plenty Wanda. Steve’s alive.” He gave her hand another squeeze and laid it in her lap.

Nurse Abek had clearly reached the end of his rope. “And now, all of you must leave. Miss Maximoff needs rest. Get out.” His eyes grew wide and he turned to Princess Shuri, bowing deeply. “I am so sorry for my rudeness, Princess.”

She waved him off. “You are doing an excellent job Abek.” She aimed her grin at Wanda. “Thank you for searching, Wanda. I know you will be feeling better soon.”

Team Steve began to chatter excitedly as they moseyed out. Shuri and Romanoff were already leaning over the tablet and slinging tech talk, Barton right behind, and Sam was just- glowing, all big smile and renewed purpose and shit. Then there was only Eddie.

He sidled up to Wanda, who opened her eyes a bit. Abek was wearing a constipated expression, but Eddie was a selfish bastard and he was gonna ask.

“Um…so. Venom’s- alive too? They're with Steve? You’re sure?” he ventured, watching her face.

“I…think so,” she said sleepily. “Steve’s energy feels… hindered, blocked? It’s hard to put into words...” Her eyes drifted shut again.

Eddie opened his mouth, but Abek had had it, and somehow used his nurse powers to bodily usher Eddie to the door without actually making any physical contact. “This is a hospital. Miss Maximoff is a patient. You are leaving. Now.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m goin’,” Eddie went, but halfway into the hall he turned on his heel. “Wait. When can I see her again? I need-"

The door slammed in his face.

“Thanks Abek! Real hospitable, man,” Eddie shouted at the small window in the shut door. The little curtain closed with a swish. “Fine! I’m good out here anyway!”

He stood in the empty hallway, gnawing on a knuckle and glaring at the door like he could pump it for answers.

Eddie was- he didnt know. Relieved. Anxious. Pissed off. The whole mess was suddenly too-goddamn-much to take. All these people were strangers; not one of them gave a single solitary fuck what happened to V so long as their precious Captain was safe. Eddie believed absolutely that Venom had saved Rogers. And he had no doubt that Venom would still be treated like a threat, even if Captain America was delivered back to the Avengers safe and sound and wrapped in a pretty bow.

He turned to leave- staring at the stupid door was making him feel, well, stupid- and jumped a couple vertical feet. Jesus. Barnes was just standing there, watching him.

Never show your cards. Even if you have a shit hand. Especially then. Eddie leaned against the wall, affecting relaxation. He was relaxed.  

“So that was mostly a bust. S’pose we have to wait for something to pop up.”

No reaction. It was like talkin’ to a wall with really amazing hair.

“O-kay then. I’m gonna find something to eat, and there better be a bar around here. See ya ‘round.”

He started down the hall but found his path blocked by Barnes, who somehow managed to take up way more of the spacious and brightly lit corridor than should be possible for a one armed guy in a dress. Eddie wasn’t usually claustrophobic but he was feeling awfully boxed in right now.

But Barnes wasn’t attacking. He wasn’t doing much of anything. Just staring, like he didn’t have a reference to tell his face what expression to make.

Eddie stepped to the side and tried to kinda sidle around, but Barnes shifted to block him. For shit’s sake. Eddie did not fucking appreciate this playground bullshit. “What!? ” he demanded, throwing his hands out. “You gonna fuckin’ stare me to death, Sergeant Creep-O? Jesus. I heard the same stuff in there as you did and I already told you everything useful that I got. Nothin’ I can do buddy, so why don’t you fuck off.”

Barnes’s eyes bored into Eddie. Whatever higher power had picked this guy to forge into some kinda weapon of doom had really given it their all. Eddie wished the guy would just say something.

“Nothing had better happen to Steve,” Barnes said. And stalked off.

Okay, bad wish. 

Eddie sagged against the wall. Holy fuck. He wanted Venom back. He wanted to teach Barnes some fuckin’ respect. He wanted a motherfucking martini the size of his head.

Eddie wasn’t big on patience, but he knew how to wait when he had to. And he knew Venom, and they did nothing by halves. They’d turn up soon. 

And the whole damn world would probably hear about it.

Chapter Text

A man who is not afraid of the sea will soon be drownded, he said, for he will be going out on a day he shouldn’t. But we do be afraid of the sea, and we do only be drownded now and again. 

-John Millington Synge, The Aran Islands

Steve was a practical guy. He recognized his own strengths, and those of others. He knew when a job was best done personally, and when someone else was more suited. Sometimes there was overlap.

Evading capture by the cops while tearing through the Canadian wilderness on a snowmobile at 90 mph was one of those overlap things.

Venom got them the fuck outta dodge and revealed a handy new trick: it formed into oil black leathers complete with motorcycle helmet. Steve himself was nice and snug.

The landscape of fresh snow and conifers unrolled in serene splendor; it reminded him of the Black Forest, minus the constant stress, the occasional shelling, the endless slog, the wet socks and frostbitten fingers. Venom’s hide was like fluid Kevlar when it was wrapped around Steve in this ‘big’ form- tree branches slapping them in the face were barely noticed.

Steve wrenched the handlebars into the next turn and definitely noticed when Venom jumped in and helped him keep his grip steady. It was fine, it was teamwork. He wasn’t bitter about it. When he got the sled stuck after running it into a soft patch he begrudgingly let the alien use a couple tentacles to pull it free and get him back on the trail.

“Hey I got this, you don’t have to keep jumping in alright? I can do it myself.”

Venom scoffed. RIDICULOUS. YOU ARE THINKING LIKE A HUMAN STEEEEVE. WE ARE MADE FOR COOPERATION. Venom showed him some quick scenes- memories? Eddie and Venom stalking, leaping, scaling sixty stories like it was nothing, flinging themselves through the air in perfect synchrony. The way Venom painted it, Steve could see the appeal. Except…

“That’s- pretty swell,” Steve admitted, “but I don’t know if I can… you know. I don’t want to lose myself.” The last bit came out softer, because he hadn’t thought about it that way until he was already saying it.

SILLY. YOU WILL NOT LOSE ANYTHING. LET’S HAVE SOME FUN.

“Yeah… okay.” He felt himself warm up to the idea, cranking the gas to give them a boost of speed, enjoying the way the sled rumbled between his legs, plowing through drifts in an explosion of powder, no worries about hidden branches or ditches. He could feel Venom’s pleasure too, when he stopped worrying so much about what he was doing alone and what they were helping with. 

Maybe none of that mattered. An effective team had no place for ego.

~~~

From the edge of the parking lot, Steve surveyed the objective. There were people waiting in line for fuel, others standing around outside of the small accompanying store drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes, helmets hanging from the handlebars of various sleds.

“We need gas, but we gotta be discreet. This place is busy.”

WHO CARES? WE CAN EAT ANYONE WHO GETS IN OUR WAY!

“Absolutely not! No. Just… don’t do that.”

YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO RELAX!

“I didn’t mean we would start murdering the townsfolk!”

BUT THEY SMELL DELICIOUS. AND YOU ARE THE ONE TALKING OUT LOUD, Venom sulked. Steve sidestepped a couple patrons and pushed through the door.

“G’day hun.” The shopkeeper was an older woman whose floral perfume was outcompeted only by the astringent fumes of hairspray.

NEVERMIND. STINKS! Venom griped, and Steve tried to hold his breath as he gave the lady a quick nod of acknowledgement.

“Yeah, let's hurry up. Anything you want in here?” he whispered into his collar, making a cursory sweep of the place, then letting Venom have a chance to look around through his eyes. It focused on the rack of pepperoni sticks and jerky, so Steve went there first, grabbing handfuls of meat snacks- whichever ones made Venom perk up. 

He poked around, trying to affect a relaxed attitude while he grabbed a few maps. They needed to get themselves oriented and headed towards actual civilization and Nat’s comprehensive network of safe houses where they could access money, ID, and most important, communication with his team.

“Okay, pal. This is everything. Let’s get outta here before we suffocate in fake flowers.” He felt Venom fervently agree.

Steve stuffed the bunch of maps against his chest, and Venom sucked them in. He inched closer to the door.

“Hey, you need to pay for the maps honey. They aren’t free. And it’s twenty-four seventy-five in gas.” The shopkeeper creaked over to her register.

Steve trailed her to the front then turned on his heel, slipped through the door, and instantly rebounded off the chest of one of two burly guys on their way in. He flailed, skidded, and landed ass-first in the doorway in a scatter of beef jerky.

“Asshole! Watch where you’re fuckin’ goin!”

“Benny, Charlie, he didn’t pay!”

“Oh, you’re a little thief too, are ya? Tryin’a steal from sweet ol’ Mrs. Murray?” the guy – fuck he musta been bigger than Steve when he was Cap-sized – grabbed Steve by the arm, yanking him up like he weighed nothing which, this guy probably ate burgers that outweighed Steve. “That’s not a very nice thing ta do. Mrs. Murray works her can off runnin’ this place.”

“Charlie, he stole all the Slim Jims!”

The tentacle alien Steve was wearing rippled. Steve wrenched out of Charlie’s grasp with a mighty twist and a kick to his middle that threw him clear off his feet and back against the wall of the store, smashing into a display with an almighty clatter.

“Shit! Sorry, crap. Sorry Mrs. uh… Murray? Shit. We’re really sorry!” Steve apologized. Jeez, the guy was just lying there on a bed of flattened snack cakes; they hadn’t meant to hit so hard.

“Whose ‘we?’” asked the other guy – BENNY! Venom supplied helpfully – whose eyes were darting between Steve’s skinny figure and his friend on the floor. “You got another buddy around here we need to teach a lesson?”

“What? Uh… no. Damn. Look I’m sorry about this, I’ll send you some money to pay for this stuff. It's a matter of national–dammit, look we just really need it so…” He whirled around, made a break for the idling sled and gunned it.

“Hey!”

He heard several other sleds roar to life behind them and Venom yelling wild encouragement in his head as they shot out of the lot and skidded left along the road. As soon as they made the turn he straightened out and opened up the throttle, shooting a spray of gravel up behind them; he looked down and his hands, their hands were claws, gripping the handlebars, rocketing down the shoulder of the main road and then off, bouncing through a ditch, veering into the trees till they hit a trail. 

Steve felt like laughing, he was grinning wide enough his cheeks hurt. He twisted around to get a sense of the pursuit.

He caught a glimpse of a couple snowmobiles tearing up the trail at full speed, and they were definitely keeping pace if not gaining.

They were not gonna lose their pursuers without a little creative intervention. 

WE CAN STOP THEM.

Before he could respond, a thick tentacle was snapping out to punch through the base of a fir like it was kindling. Venom yanked the tree down and as Steve craned his neck again he saw it crash over the trail in an explosion of powder and needles.

“Jesus you gotta be careful! Those are good people Venom, we’re the ones messing up their day,” he shouted over the roar of the engine.

TAKE A CHILL PILL AND LET US DRIVE, Venom suggested before it expanded fully over him and took control of their getaway. 

~~~

They tore through the snow until they were sure nobody was following. Then Venom seeped back into Steve’s pores and relinquished control. He pulled off the trail into some trees and swung a leg over the sled, standing on the footrest and stretching gratefully. He was stiff, even though he hadn’t been the one ‘driving.’ It took about ten seconds for Steve to begin shivering from the cold, even with the jacket and hat he’d swiped from the cottage. Venom oozed over him as soon as it realized Steve was freezing, forming itself back into the same costume from earlier. Steve prodded at himself. It was so goddamn weird that he could feel things through the black rubbery coating of the symbiote’s body.

What even was his life.

He took a lap around the trees just to move and get some circulation back in his numb butt, relieved himself, and finally made his way back to the snowmobile to have a look at the maps.

Venom produced them before Steve could say a word and offered the crumpled mass of papers in one tentacle, while another fished around in their backpack in a sort of faux casual way. Steve eyed the maps dubiously. Fuck it was annoying having no privacy in his own head.

“DON’T BE BITCHY STEEEEEVE,” Venom rumbled, head bobbing beside his shoulder. “WE ARE A TEAM, REMEMBER? HAVE A SLIM JIM.”

“Oh pipe down,” he grouched without heat. He swiped the offered snack from the alien’s outstretched tentacle and tore open the plastic. “Thanks I guess. Didn’t realize we saved any of these.” He spread open the maps on the seat of the sled, a few helpful tendrils holding them in place until he found what he wanted. They had recently passed a named road. Between that and the numbered trail markers he was able to work out their current location.

“So I figure we should aim for here,” Steve said through a mouthful of pepperoni stick, symbiote-clad fingertip indicating a point on the map. “Looks like groomed sled trails the whole way, ‘n there’s a ferry that goes from Saint Barbe over to the mainland. Shortest distance to get over the water, but it's also the most remote. Fewer people. Other direction’s gonna be a lot busier.”

Venom seemed to study the map with its big white eye spots, but Steve wasn’t sure what it made of the color coded trails, the little towns dotted along the way. It snagged the last bite of pepperoni before slithering around Steve’s neck, bumping its head against his. “YOU DECIDE STEVEEEVE. BUT WE ARE GETTING HUNGRY.”

Steve determinedly committed their route to memory and folded away the maps. He returned them to the backpack and retrieved a couple chocolate bars. “Still have a lot of this.”

Venom growled and gnashed its teeth before chomping one of the chocolate bars whole, wrapper and all. It was grumbling loudly, both sound-wise and mentally. Steve’s stomach echoed it with an unpleasant twist. “NEED BRAINS.”

He knew that. Good fucking god he knew, because he could feel it, and the constant whining was wearing him thin, reminding him of the awful emptiness that was never properly satisfied, memories of wolfing down spam and stale crackers and the occasional handful of berries and making do, the cigs and booze that bolstered his men no use to him at all. He shoved the pack back on the sled and threw a leg over. “Yeah buddy, I know you are. I know. But we’re not gonna be hurting any innocent people. I won’t do that. How did you and Eddie deal with it?”

EDDIE HUNTS FOR BAD GUYS WITH US! WE EAT CHICKENS IN BETWEEN, BUT THEY ARE AWFUL. SMALL BRAINS. TOO MANY FEATHERS. CUTE PETS THOUGH. Vivid flashes: lying in wait for dealers and pimps, taking out dirty cops and kiddie diddlers with a fatal snap of jaws and a slurp of their tongue. Eddie did research, some legwork- made sure their targets were guilty. Most of the time. Venom was… less discerning. It was always ready to kill in the moment and worry about the consequences later, but it hated making Eddie angry, so tried to conform. When there was no human filth to be had they ate chickens, pigeons, and sometimes even rats or cats when the hunger was too intense to ignore. It was that or human prey. They had found no alternative long-term substitute for brain chemicals except chocolate, but even that wasn’t enough by itself.

Dammit. Steve hit the gas and pulled back onto the trail. The slideshow appalled him but also… he found his mouth watering. He swallowed. This pristine wilderness was woefully short on ‘bad guys’ and he hadn’t seen any chickens or pigeons running around. Rabbits maybe? Deer?

We’ll get something soon, he promised. He had no idea how he’d keep his word.

~~~

Snowy hillock succeeded snowy hillock and an infinity of pine trees, and the novelty of rocketing down the trails wore off pretty fast. Steve’s ass was falling asleep. There was no action aside from a quick stop to misappropriate more fuel, and even that went off without a hitch– Steve didn’t think the clerk dozing over a tattered copy of Fur, Fish & Game had even noticed.

The snowmobile ate up the miles – kilometers, Steve reminded himself – and the hours at a steady, droning pace. When they finally emerged from the forest into the tiny snow-dusted settlement at Pigeon Cove Saint Barbe it was full dark, bitterly cold, they were nearly out of fuel again, and Steve was thoroughly fucking done.

This is it, he said tiredly. Funny discovery – the whole ‘sympathetic yawn’ thing carried over from host to symbiote – when Steve yawned tucked away inside Venom, they yawned too, stretching their huge mouth wide open, eyes closing and everything. Like a fucked up fever dream of an exhausted kitten.

SEE? YOU THINK WE ARE CUTE TOO. AND YOU ARE ADORABLE WITHOUT NASTY SERUM. SO SMALL!

Steve prickled. “I was fine how I was before.”

WE KNOW, CUPCAKE.

“Stop calling me stupid nicknames, I’m not your puppy!”

All he got in answer was a squeeze from the alien wrapped around him and a mental impression that translated as a sort of affectionate head pat.

“Anyway, we’re here. We just need to find out when the next ferry leaves.” He was already imagining curling up in the snow someplace out of the way and taking a nap inside a symbiote sleeping bag while they waited. Did Venom sleep? The half formed question brought no answer, just a lethargic mumble. 

The darkness was helpful. They were able to stash the snowmobile out of sight among some squat, prickly bushes and continue on foot, slinging the backpack of chocolate and maps over a shoulder. Steve wanted to ‘drive’, but Venom argued it had the advantage with superior senses.

WE WILL SNEAK, NOBODY WILL SEE US STEEEEVE. WE ARE STRONG AND FAST.

I know, but lemme walk myself- I gotta stretch my legs for a bit. Besides, it won't matter if people see me here. Can you do the clothes thing? You’re a pretty convincing jacket and stuff.

WE PRACTICE WITH EDDIE! HE LIKES LEATHER.

Steve grinned. That tracked- Steve’s acquaintance with Eddie Brock had consisted of thirty seconds hanging off of a helicopter being blasted by a sound cannon, but he was getting a sense for the guy from Venom’s memories. Beleathered blondes on motorcycles seemed to be the alien’s type.

Venom obligingly formed itself into snow pants and jacket with a zipper made of about a thousand tiny needle sharp teeth, and when Steve went to adjust the collar he got a handful of wet tongue. He recoiled with a grimace, twisting to get a look under his own chin: the grabby pink thing was somehow manifesting itself from the jacket lining, sliming over Steve's beard and neck and generally making itself a nuisance.

“Stoppit, you’re drooling all over me,” he complained, and got a face full of hot wet nastiness, which immediately turned cold when the wind hit it. He wiped at himself with a sleeve and scowled. “Who’s the dog here again?”

TASTE GOOD STEEEVE. HUNGRY.

“I am well-fucking aware Venom,” he answered sharply, deciding to overlook the brain-eating alien telling him he tasted yummy. “Me too. We gotta wait. C’mon, let’s figure out the ferry.”

The probing, sinuous tongue didn’t relent despite Steve’s attempt at distraction, but he did his best to ignore it and stuffed a couple random treats from their nearly empty bag into his mouth as he made his way along the road towards the ferry dock. The chocolates were frozen by now, but he sucked on them anyway.

They halted at a chain link gate across the driveway with a large sign on it.

‘FERRY CLOSED’

Great. Okay. That wasn’t totally unexpected. It was late, and he honestly didn’t know what day it was anymore- maybe it was a weekend or something. Steve made his way over to the electronic sign mounted beside the gate and scanned its scrolling weather and scheduling information. Damn. The ferry here was supposedly operational year-round… weather permitting. And while it was clear and cold at the moment, no doubt there was more snow or sleet or whatever on the way. Steve looked mournfully past the gate to the water, where the huge pier and dock were swallowed up by ice. Fuck.

Who knew when the ferry would run again? The information booth helpfully redirected to the Port-Aux-Basques route in the south, which ran much more frequently and was reliably in service year-round.

“God fucking dammit,” he huffed. This stupid freezing island really seemed to have it in for them.

LET US TRY! WE DON’T NEED DUMB FERRIES, Venom boomed in his head with far too much enthusiasm for Steve’s sour mood.

“Fine, pal. I’m fresh outta ideas on this one.”

He trudged through the snow away from the roadway, and as soon as he reached the shadows under the trees Venom emerged fully and took them in a wide arc, bounding through the deep drifts towards the sea. The terrain was not as rough here as it had been where Steve had first come ashore- it petered out gradually towards the bay- but it had an unearthly look in the dark: vast slabs of petrified white pocked with craters of black water. 

They came to the edge and Venom rose to their full height, peering ahead. From this point, a huge field of jagged ice lay between them and the dark slash of open sea. Along the shoreline, crooked posts plastered with threatening signs warned against fishing and hunting out of season. Who the fuck , thought Steve a little wildly, would voluntarily come fishing in this ghastly purgatory?

Only a complete lunatic would try to cross here. He didn’t realize what Venom was doing until it started to crawl them straight out into the floating ice field, and then Steve mentally shoved hard enough that they actually stopped mid-stride and staggered backwards, back onto solid ground.

“STEEEEVE WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WE WILL SWIM.”

No.

“NO?”

No way.

Okay, by now, Steve recognized that he had kind of an… issue… with the ocean. He’d had enough cold salt water to serve him for multiple lifetimes. He’d spent more than half his life frozen solid, and even imagining going back under was… well. 

He wasn't going to, that’s all.

The part of his brain that was always tracking options and arguments, angles and rebounds, knew that he was wrapped in a giant super-strong symbiote that didn’t feel the cold and claimed it could swim like a fish. It’d proven it once, somehow managing to get them all the way from the Raft to goddamn Newfoundland. And if they became separated the serum would kick in, revert him back to super-soldier mode... wouldn’t it? 

The details meant fuck-all. Steve wasn’t taking one more step.

There has to- another way. His thoughts came disjointed; maybe for once the alien’s total lack of boundaries might actually help him communicate without having to unlock his jaw to make words. We’ll get a boat. A plane. Go back south– take the other ferry. Hell, we can build a house and just live here till spring.

“STEEEVE THAT IS STUPID, WE CAN’T LIVE HERE WITHOUT EDDIE. AND IT IS NOT FAR. WE LIKE WATER. SWIM.”

He wanted to be rational. He was trying to be fucking rational. Steve didn’t go around talking himself up, but he thought he was reasonably tough. He’d faced some pretty terrible, awful things, things that were objectively a lot worse than a chilly swim. But nothing sent him from zero to paralyzed like the idea of going back into that godforsaken water. There were actual icebergs visible from the shore, looming up tall and blue-white against the inky sky, waiting for him to get sucked under and buried in lightless cold for another seventy years.

Venom, I... He swallowed and felt his throat click. I don’t think I can go in there, he admitted, the confession small and hard, like spitting up a stone.

Venom took a couple strides nearer to the edge, where the snowy slope broke into icy crush. Steve’s insides lurched.

No… Please just stop, he tried, because his legs weren’t obeying him and they were getting up close and personal with his worst fucking nightmare. D-don't. Don’t make me go in the water.

Venom’s consciousness slithered around his as he stood there rigid- an inspection. It did the hateful rifling through memories trick again- opening this drawer and that, peering in the cupboards, the closets, under the bed. Steve thought he’d be sick if he were actually piloting his own body right now. Instead, he shuddered inside and tried to pull back, to escape the casual invasion. I told you not to do that. Stop.

Venom relented - thank god - and instead wrapped close around his mind, like a weighted blanket settling over Steve’s consciousness and slowly shutting out the world. “WILL MAKE YOU SLEEP,” it offered, lacing the words with its intentions: to protect Steve from his fear, take him safely through it unawares.

Steve stiffened. Don’t! Not that. Fuck no. The only thing worse than going under would be knowing it was happening and not being aware of his surroundings. He suddenly needed to feel the real world very badly. Lemme up top. Just for a second… I gotta breathe. Let me drive.

Venom retreated obligingly, and Steve found himself standing in the snow in his thin sweats. The frigid air bit needles into his skin and stung his cheeks, freezing the moisture in his lashes. Without his alien outerwear things felt sharper. More real. He took deep breaths, raking his overgrown fringe back, letting himself sink to a squat and squeeze his eyes tightly shut as he tried to get his shit together. What the hell. He was losing it. It felt like he was drifting, struggling against the creeping fear that the world he was walking around in was just a dream. The same stupid unfounded bullshit. Only not unfounded, because the crazy had found him before, hadn’t it.

A gust came howling off the water, the cold stinging his face and shoulders.

For just a second he was in the plane, barreling out of the sky, nose down, white stretching out endlessly through the window. Peggy’s staticky voice on the radio. Wind screeching through the torn hull and cutting at his cheeks, his eyes streaming. The impact. The cacophonous smashing, water like a fist. The burn of cold and the relentless pressure of being crushed-

STEEEEVE.

The gravelly voice scattered his thoughts. He startled, whirling awkwardly in the snow, ended up sprawled on his ass. Venom. It was sending him warmth… comfort. He recoiled on reflex- get out! But he felt the flashback dissolve and thrust him back to now, where snow was soaking into his pants and his teeth were clenched so hard he thought they might crack. 

He scrambled to his feet, panting hard and trying to regain equilibrium.

There were tears stinging his eyes. A sob had lodged in the back of his throat, though he didn’t dare give it up. His heart thundered and he could barely feel his hands or his face and he was so goddamned ashamed. And he hated that he couldn’t hide any of this because Venom was squeezed up right beside all the messed up shit in his brain. He shook his head like that would shake the images and memories clear. He sucked in air and let it go slow…slower, and dragged his hands over his face.

“I’m okay,” he said when he was sure he could keep the quiver out of his voice and his trembling was mostly from the cold. It was stupid. Stupid to let his head get away from him.

He made himself look at the water, squinting into the dark. How he felt about it didn’t matter. He just had to do it. “You’re right. Swimming… is the best way.” He knew he didn’t sound like he believed his own words, but he said them anyway.

YES. DON’T BE SCARED, Venom crooned in his mind, a few tentacles sliding protectively around his chest.

“I’m not fucking scared,” he bit out, teeth grit to stop them chattering.

CAN’T LIE TO US, STEEEVE. WE KNOW. PROMISE WE WON’T DIE. NOTHING CAN HURT US, REMEMBER?

More tendrils manifested, slowly winding over his stomach and hips, down Steve’s arms and legs, Venom’s mass covering his hands, making his fingers dangerously curved claws. In no time at all he was warmly encased. It… wasn’t so strange anymore. Not like the first time, being eaten alive. Venom’s strength was his, and he could feel it coursing through him. They really were working as a team.

The cold dissipated to an afterthought. Steve blinked and from one second to the next his vision switched over- now he was seeing through Venom’s eyes, their strange over-wide field of view in muted colors, all the scents of the world cranked up to a flood.

Fine. Let’s just get this over with. Steve said.

“WE GOT YOU,” Venom rumbled more of the warm soothing business. Steve shook it off; acceptance would have to do in place of enthusiasm.

The combination of wearing the alien like a super-powered wetsuit and its unflappable confidence was enough to keep Steve from rattling out of his skin as they tackled the ice field. The slippery wet ice was no match for their talons; they tore across it like a thrilling obstacle course, leaping great distances and landing solidly between jumps.

In minutes they reached a sizable break in the ice, where the black maw of the water stretched wide. He wanted to close his eyes as Venom crawled headfirst to the edge and dipped their tongue into the salty water first to take a ‘look.’

They could smell fish and other marine life, weeds, minerals, and the overpowering saltiness that was already on the breeze.

Venom paused, and suddenly Steve realized that he was the one in control again, moving Venom’s huge, muscular shape, clenching talons hard to keep purchase, swishing the long tongue through the water.

“GO AHEAD STEEEEVE. JUMP IN.”

He hesitated, claws dragging furrows into the ice, the strange sensation of being in-his-body-but-not a momentary distraction. The strength in his limbs was so much more than he’d realized- Jesus, Venom really was powerful. They were powerful. Like this, he could understand why Venom kept insisting nothing would hurt them. It was fucking true.

He took a deep breath, and dove headfirst into the sea.

As they plunged in, the world changed. The noises of open air cut abruptly to vibration and echo, enormous ice slabs booming and crunching together. Venom manifested them a broad, flat tail which swished from side to side like a shark’s, helping to propel them through the water. It was almost a shock how quickly they were moving, sinking deeper where the surface ice didn’t reach, and where there was no light coming from above. Venom felt his surprise and showered him with smug pride. TOLD YOU WE SWIM FAST.

Steve huffed a laugh. Guess you knew what you were talking about.

After a few minutes, his anxiety gave way to curiosity. How come we’re not drowning? He wasn’t actually breathing, but he felt fine. How was that possible?

THERE IS OXYGEN IN THE WATER- WE ARE ABSORBING IT THROUGH OUR SKIN, BREATHING FOR YOU. BETTER THAN TINY LITTLE LUNGS.

That… was actually pretty cool, Steve had to admit. Well, thanks.

YOU ARE WELCOME!

Okay. Steve wasn’t going to say he was having a good time, because he still would like to get the hell out of the ocean thanks, but he was willing to admit that it was kind of neat to cut through the deep sea like this, impervious, knowing that even if some huge…shark or jellyfish or fuckin… kraken tried to tangle with them, they would be completely fine.

~~~

It really did take no time at all. Probably less than half an hour before they were already coming up on the opposite shore, the sea floor jutting up into shallows. And all around them as the sea got brighter, Steve could see animals. Darting, blowing bubbles, and chasing one another and small shoals of fish. Seals. They were beautifully agile in the water- it looked like they were flying.

And then they caught the scent of blood in the water, and of humans.

I think there are people nearby. Maybe fishermen? Don’t want to get caught in a net.

Venom did the mental equivalent of a cringe. THE BLOOD IS OLD. DEAD. GROSS, STEEEVE.

Didn’t take you for picky, he answered, surprised by the reaction. So far Venom hadn’t shown a dislike for much of anything except when Steve’s brain ‘tasted bad’ because he was in a shit mood.

Venom slowed their progress, following the blood trail and the sound-smell-feel of the fishing vessel leaking oil and bobbing on the waves. The sounds of human activity echoed obtusely through the water- blurred rumble of voices, heavy, banging footsteps, and rough laughter. There were no signs of nets or fishing lines in the water, but there was definitely something dead close by.

Steve remembered the list of do’s and don’ts on the beach. He had no idea when ‘open season’ was, but clearly people did hunt here whenever ‘open season’ happened to be. He had no idea. Not his business. But Venom was veering off-course to swim parallel to the shore along the scent trail, bright as neon in its senses.

What are you doing?

ANIMALS STEEEEEVE. LIKE THE ONES WE SAW SWIMMING.

Seals?

SAME SMELL.

Venom shot forward in a flurry of bubbles, following the blood in the water under a massive floating sheet of ice pocked with occasional holes. They swam up to one of the largest ones, where a plume of red was leaking lazily down, and squeezed themselves through, breaking the surface and sucking in a lungful of chilled ocean air that reeked of copper. Venom rose to its full height, stretching and flexing sharp claws. The mainland loomed just a little ways off, a massive dark band across the horizon. Back the other way was the strait they’d just crossed, dotted with ice floes. The bobbing hunk of ice they stood on was marked by many still shapes, and crisscrossed with dark red channels.

WHY DO THEY KILL THEM AND LEAVE THE MEAT? Venom asked, anger bleeding through their connection.

I really… don’t know, he trailed, not sure what else to say. I think it’s for the fur? They use the pelts to make clothes and stuff.

BAD GUYS! Venom’s tongue lashed eagerly, jaws snapping.

Probably just hunters trying to make a living. I don’t know a lot about this stuff, pal. 

LET’S BITE OFF THEIR HEADS! Drool was already leaking from Venom’s mouth, spattering onto the snow.

Absolutely not- Steve paused. The symbiote in his brain had just gotten him through the freezing darkness with his sanity still intact; maybe he could let Venom’s instincts lead for a bit. - but if it would make you feel better, we could check it out.  

YUMMM!

No! No cannibalism. Just going to take a quick look. 

Venom grumbled, but slipped seamlessly back into the water, swimming for the boat. They surfaced, spitting the disgusting taste of fuel out of their mouth. 

The boat was long and low with lights shining through ports along the waterline. The flat deck was piled with lumpy bundles, secured with rope and draped in tarps. There had to be a couple hundred, and it didn’t take super senses to pick up the smell of death that lingered all over. There were a bunch of… implements … stored upright against one side of the ship’s wheelhouse – harpoons, and tools that looked like pickaxes with one flat, blunt side and one curved side coming to a wicked point. Steve could imagine what they were used for, then quickly tamped down the image as a squeezing ripple of fury passed through Venom’s mass. 

Venom. We’re not eating anyone. You hear me? 

OKAY. WE WILL LET YOU DO THE TALKING, STEEEEVE.

Thanks. Be a lot easier if I look more official. Can you make me a uniform?

OF COURSE WE CAN.

Venom stretched tentacles to the railing and hoisted them up and over. By the time their feet touched silently down on the slippery boards, Venom was already reorganizing itself into a coat, boots, and- Steve’s hand went to his head. He tried to take the hat off and found that it was attached.

“A… what is this?” He looked down at himself, squinting in the dark. Tall, shiny boots nearly to his knees, breeches that ballooned weirdly at the thigh, a cross-body harness over a thick buttoned coat. “What the hell kinda uniform is this?”

WE ARE A MOUNTIE. Venom fully scoffed, like Steve was an idiot. It paused, as if considering. IT IS A VERY COOL UNIFORM. BUT YOU ARE SO SHORT. NOT AS INTIMIDATING AS FRASER.

“Who?”

Venom scoffed again. DON’T YOU WATCH TELEVISION STEEEVE?

“I watch the news. But what would a mountie be doing on a boat in the middle of the night? And I don’t think they have black uniforms.”

WE ARE A STEALTH MOUNTIE.

“Oh Come on, nobody is going to- that’s an oxymoron.”

YOU’RE A MORON.

Steve was not going to get into a back and forth name calling slap-fight with the alien riding his body while standing in the reeking dark on a boat surrounded by vaguely obscene bundles of things-he-was-not-thinking-about. He wasn’t.

BAM! BAM!

Steve nearly jumped outta his fake hat when two shots whizzed by it. “Holy shit!” He and Venom whirled around. “Whoa, stop!”

“Who de fuck you are? How you get on boat?” A middle-aged guy in big rubber boots was standing and staring at them from only a little way down the deck and they hadn’t even noticed him because they’d been caterwauling like two tomcats in a box. He definitely noticed now. Being on the business end of a pistol had that effect.

Steve reached for his Official Cap Voice™ and straightened, doing his level best to ignore the alien yelling in his head. “Lower your weapon, son. I just want to talk.”

HE SHOT AT US! BAD GUY! BITE OFF HIS HEAD! Venom started to slither up Steve’s nape and over his hands.

“Stop it!” Steve hissed, trying to wriggle his fingers free of symbiote. “You said you’d let me do the talking, remember?”

“What d'you say?” The guy’s gun twitched, wavering.

SCREW TALKING! EAT HIM!

“No! I’ve got this under control!”

“Hey, who you talking to buddy?” 

Venom took them a step closer, which earned him the barrel of the gun pointed right at his fancy chest strap thing. “Stay back or I shoot!”

Steve tried to step back, or at least stop advancing, but his body wasn’t getting the message. “You said you were going to trust me! Cut it out!”

Then Venom’s voice was coming out of Steve’s mouth, and he could feel his teeth long and sharp against his lengthening tongue. “WATER DOG KILLER! DO YOU HAVE A PERMIT?"

“Tabarnak!” BLAM!

Steve felt a muted pinch as the bullet struck him in the shoulder, lodged into Venom, and popped back out. As Venom swelled up around him like a volcano erupting he heard it plink to the deck and roll off the edge into the water with a faint ‘plip’ and then Venom roared like a goddamned rabid bear and Steve was instantly ten feet tall and on the gun guy like a lightning strike.

Venom! 

Venom grabbed the man in one huge, impossible fist, shaking him like a ragdoll. The gun clattered from his hand and skidded away.

Stop it! 

“WE ARE DONE DOING THINGS YOUR WAY, STEVEN,” Venom growled, drool pooling in its mouth, in Steve’s mouth, which was stretching open wide, wide like before by the dumpsters, only this time- “TIME FOR OUR WAY!”

Venom, NO!

And Venom bit off the guy’s head in a single smooth snap, teeth cutting clean through bone and flesh and blood was spraying hot over its face- their face, into their eyes, over their chest. Steve was front and center; he couldn’t retreat as they crunched, crushed, tongue pressing the- holy fuck it was good - the brain - into paste against the roof of their mouth and they swallowed it down, endless drool slicking everything, the bottomless hunger fully at the forefront so Steve barely got a chance to think before they were stretching wider, huge this time, and cramming the whole entire body in their mouth in one colossal disgusting, delicious bite.

They swallowed.

The trap door to the lower level of the boat banged open. A broad guy hauled himself out, walked right past the ten foot alien, staggered over to the side of the boat and began fumbling with his fly. 

Steve was frozen. Numb. Full.

As if through a pane of glass he saw Venom’s head stretch like a snake to hover over the drunk’s shoulder. “PITIFUL AND PUNY!” Venom slathered him with its tongue, eager for more fear-chemicals and gray matter. “MORE SNACKS!”

Steve couldn’t- he couldn’t dial down the flavor of surprise-fear-TERROR and it was visceral.

The guy broke, frantically scrabbled in his coat, yanking out a pistol and firing backwards point blank. Steve only felt a muted pang.

“IDIOTS! WE ARE BULLETPROOF!” Venom grabbed the weapon by its smoking barrel, crumpled it in one canned-ham fist, and tossed the pieces aside.

The guy weaved on his feet for a second, blinking stupidly at his empty hand.

Drool streamed from Venom’s jaws as they stretched wide, and it moved its- their head in for the kill. Steve could taste the guy where that long tongue was wrapping around his throat to-

No!

“YES!”

They were grinning with all their ten thousand teeth. 

BLAM!

A spray of buckshot blew a whopping hole in their chest with a deafening report that hurt worse than the actual lead. 

“Motherfuckin’ alien monster bullshit! ” Two more men had appeared from belowdecks. The clearly-not-simple-seal-hunters had pulled themselves together and regrouped and these ones were a lot less drunk and a lot better armed; they were crouched side by side at the rail, rifles braced. Where were they getting all these guns!? Wait, was that a fucking rocket launcher?

FWOOOM!

Fire seared through Venom like a hot knife through butter and blew them over the guardrail, heat and scorching flames searing Venom’s mass and Steve’s flesh beneath it. They scrabbled at the side of the boat with a series of claws and tentacles, hauling themselves back onto the deck right behind their attackers, agonized and furious. They ripped the bulky weapon away like a toy and flung it into the ocean.

“YOU WILL PAY FOR THAT!” Venom snarled, wrapping a thick tentacle around the shooter’s neck. They were salivating heavily as they ran their tongue over his bearded face and opened their jaws to-

The drunk guy, zipper still hanging open, staggered into Steve’s line of sight and raised another- weapon? A round canister with a plastic funnel on the top- was it pepper spray?

Venom!

Drunk guy mashed the button on the top of the canister and everything went completely to shit.

It was like hitting the ground at Mach 3. Steve was screaming. Venom was screeching- their voices howled in discordant agony as the symbiote lost its hold on Steve, tiny pseudo-tentacles desperately scrabbling to keep a grip on him as they slid down and away, into an oily puddle at his feet.

All at once Venom was just not there.

Steve was left teetering on shaking legs, shivering and exposed. He found himself surrounded by three men- tall and bulky in coats and heavy boots. He looked up and around, met their eyes, recognized the look there.

“Lookit that.” Zipper guy was fumbling his pants closed as Steve staggered back, the railing of the boat digging against his bony ribs. “Not so tough now, are ya?”

Steve set his jaw. He straightened, pulling his shoulders back.

The middle guy, short but stocky with a boxer’s crooked nose, shoved right up into Steve’s space and exhaled a blast of old beer. “We kill you, demon fuck,” he spat, jamming something hard and cold into Steve’s stomach. Steve looked down between them to where the pistol was lodged. Fuck.

He reached for his Captain America voice. “Look, we both know you’re not actually going to–”

BLAM!

The world exploded in pain.

He slammed backwards against the rail.

Holy shit.

He croaked, trying to breathe but his mouth was full of blood, hands slipping weakly over wet wood. He was sliding down against the railing, his feet far away. Steve fought the rising numbness. If he let himself slip away now he was done for.

Legs were crowding in, closing around him, blocking out everything else. A heavy dragging sound, metal on deck boards. Laughter. 

Steve struggled to push himself up but his hands skidded through the rapidly expanding pool of his own blood. It gleamed wetly black, black like–where was– he’d fight anyway of course. Wanted to fight, had to– 

Shifting people shapes, gleam of light on– a weapon–

He threw up an arm to protect his head.

His arm snapped like a twig and the blunt end of the seal club took him square in the chest.

He…he was on the ground, why– face was wet. Ribs were broken- his fucking sternum was– He choked, wheezing weakly, gagged and then coughed, white sheet of pain that blurred out the world. Blood streamed hot over his fingers. People were talking over him, but it was distant. Mocking, jeering. Funny accents, not neighborhood fellas. Bucky was going to kick their fucking asses, he was gonna be so goddamn mad once he– They passed the flask around, then he couldn’t see anymore. He felt hands gripping him, pulling his hair and his clothes, jostle and swing and grind of bone that sent another bolt of fire through him, then he was rolled over the railing and into the sea.

There was a moment of weightlessness.

A shock of cold which by now seemed so goddamn familiar it might as well have been a comfort.

Chapter Text

“I find the sound of your voice grating.”

-Castiel, “Supernatural” 99 Problems (TV Episode, 2010)

Eddie- who could barely stand his own company on a good day- knew that kicking around the palace waiting around for news would be… challenging.

V wouldn’t fly under the radar for long. Eddie just had to keep himself sane till they popped up, because if he started dwelling on his shitty life he’d pick up momentum until he was an avalanche of nerves and loneliness that could take out a small village.

Keep himself busy without his job. Or his alien. Or a fucking phone.  

Right. 

The first day, he managed a reasonable level of chill between meeting his now-least-favourite Howling Commando and learning his way around the palace. Finding out via magical GPS that his alien was being hosted by a bad-ass, tough-as-nails, motherfuckin’ war hero didn’t hurt any either. 

‘Course, Captain America might also be the kinda guy who’d see V as dangerous and try to kill them, but Eddie sincerely doubted it’d come to that. Venom was so- so fuckin’ sweet and charismatic and he couldn’t see how anyone wouldn’t wanna help them out once they got past the whole alien possession thing. Also the brain-eating.

Eddie had to have a little faith that they were okay together. He also had to not let the thorny spines of jealousy overwhelm his better sense, as the guys with the fancy waistcoats in one of V's novels would put it. Venom wouldn’t leave him for a super soldier, right? They loved him. They’d come home.

Everything that could be taken care of was being taken care of, which left Eddie with dick-all to actually do. Thank fuck he managed to scare up an internet connection on his first night. And some liquid fortitude. He opened a bottle of scotch with an unpronounceable name, ordered some room service like he was at the Ritz, and flopped into an overstuffed armchair with the tablet, sucking back the fancy booze until it was goin’ down like water.

Two months in a total news blackout had left Eddie unbearably out of the loop. Once he was good and drunk he let himself open all of Anne’s worried emails asking if he was alright, if he was dead. He didn’t answer any of them. What the fuck would he say? ‘Oh, hey Anne, sorry we didn’t call, our place got smashed up and some spec ops guys hogtied us and dragged us off to the kinda prison where you don’t get to call your lawyer and we’ve been living like rats in a cage for the last couple months and then the Avengers accidentally busted us out and now Venom’s MIA and I’m cryin’ into my liquor cause I can’t feel them touching my brain…’

Yeah… no. She’d waited this long, she could wait till Eddie could maybe manage not to look like a complete jackass when he crawled to her feet whining that his life was in a mess. Again.

He passed out in his chair at some point and woke up late the next morning with a hairy tongue and the headache of the century. A couple more fingers of scotch took care of both those problems, and he chased it with coffee, then went to check in and see if there was any news.

There wasn’t.

The days… passed. Slow and too-bright, one melting into the next under the brilliant Wakandan sunshine like the most luxurious and unwanted vacation ever.

He couldn’t bring himself to stay cooped up in his room. It felt like a cage- no, like a cell, gilded or not. He set himself to winning over his two guards, learned a lot more than he needed to about the Wakandan version of soccer and its terrifyingly complex scoring system, and eventually escaped the palace grounds into the bustling metropolis of the Golden City. The Wakandans were cheerful and friendly- the only comfort Eddie found that didn’t come from a bottle. Wrapped in the press of people and racket, sticking always to the busiest places so he was surrounded by talking and laughing and eating, Eddie tried to lose himself.

There were amazing beaches too, but he steered clear. That was supposed to be him and V’s thing- sand in their toes and hunting sharks and tuna for the sheer fun of it, and getting drunk on pina coladas, falling asleep under a tacky striped umbrella with the surf lapping at the beach.

No. He couldn’t do any of that without his other half. Eddie wasn’t whole right now, so all he could do was desperately try to fill the empty places with other people’s noise.

By the fifth day, Eddie was a simmering stew of anxiety. And frequently drunk. Okay, more like constantly drunk. 

But there was one person in the palace who was having an even shittier week than him.

The Winter White Wolf Soldier- or whatever he called himself these days- hadn’t actually asked in words for Eddie to quit randomly showing up in his rooms to chat, and Eddie hated drinking alone, so why not? Getting under people’s skin was at least something to do. Turns out Sergeant Silence was woefully underqualified for interactions with bored, boozed-up journalists who made it their mission to antagonize and annoy him until the stony expression he wore like a favourite pair of pants cracked.

Barnes was his anti…anti-something. Antithesis, Eddie decided muzzily, rolling his current bottle of- whatever- against his cheek. Not as cool as a nemesis, but better than endless sudoku and stress. The guy seemed hyper-focused on his singular goal of locating Captain America. He ignored everyone and everything around him except as it pertained to the search. Three times a day he tore himself away from his tablet and notes when a nurse came around and brought him some kind of green smoothie thing, which he drank efficiently and wordlessly before going back to his staring contest with the inanimate. Looked like he was winning. Had to be, the guy blinked like four times an hour.

Whatever. He’d break eventually. Eddie liked a challenge. He just needed to figure out which buttons to push in which order, and avoid the combinations that triggered stabbing.

It was taking longer than he’d hoped. When Barnes wasn’t perched rigidly on his sofa with a tablet in his single hand, he was cleaning his guns- of which there were way too fuckin’ many. Other days it was the knives. All of the weapons looked perfectly clean to Eddie before Barnes worked on them, but what the hell did he know?

Jesus.

The guy was like a fuckin’ robot or something. An AI. 

Nah- AIs at least pretended to have a personality. Eddie slumped further into the cushions and started peeling the label off his bottle.

They had a few false alarms over the week; robberies or break-ins where the suspect was a big white dude. Shuri and Romanoff presented Eddie the information for each incident and he ruled each of them out after skimming the details.

Venom wouldn’t be after cash and he doubted they’d attack anyone openly with Rogers as a host. Unless… Eddie knew the hunger could get bad. Maybe bad enough for a random person to seem like a good meal, but Venom would talk to Rogers before it got to that point. They knew better than to kill indiscriminately. He hoped. They knew where to find chocolate too, which would help.

Eddie supplied a few more specifics to Shuri and the Black Widow, and went back to bothering Sergeant Psycho.

Five. Endless. Days. Almost six by the time there was finally something, and then it came all at once.

A couple hours after the latest false alarm, Eddie was somewhere in the region of comfortably sloshed, lounging on Barnes’ armchair with his bare feet propped rudely on the coffee table. Barnes had actually flashed a glance at the feet, which Eddie took as the equivalent of the guy shrieking in rage, and he was elated. This was a big fuckin’ development! Wait till he got a load of the small lake of condensation Eddie was creating via highball glass sans coaster.

Barnes looked back to his tablet with a barely-perceptible scowl and Eddie took a celebratory swig.

Then there was a little ‘beep' of notification from the tablet and a line of tension pulled Barnes taut like someone had jerked all his puppet strings. Then he was on his feet, heading for the door.

“Hey! Wait up!” Eddie yelped, scrambling to stand and abandoning his glass of ice in its puddle. “Where’s the fire? We got something?”

“Yes.” Barnes answered, as he exited the room and strode through the halls with his usual single-minded focus.

Eddie’s heart hammered a hopeful, anxious tattoo. This had to be the real deal. He couldn’t take his hopes being dashed twice in one day, and he sure as fuckin’ hell couldn’t wait any longer. If V didn’t turn up soon Eddie was gonna shit out his liver.

Six days was a lot longer than he’d expected Venom to stay quiet. Jury was still out on whether he was worried or impressed.

~~~

Three pings, all originating from the same small area on the island of Newfoundland of all places, and the most recent was for an incident barely an hour past.

An assault in an alley. Then a convenience store robbery shortly after, and finally an unusual break-in at a remote family cottage only twenty-four hours after that. The assault victim hadn’t come forward straight away, and the robbery was small-scale. Not enough to rate on its own, but the algorithm had picked up the pattern after all three registered. When Eddie read the list of what was stolen from the store he burst into loud, slightly hysterical laughter, snorting through his nose as he read and re-read the collected information to make sure he wasn’t imagining it.

“It’s V!” Eddie declared and collapsed onto a spinny chair so hard he almost went over backward. Romanoff nodded curtly, focused on the holo-monitor, her narrow brows drawing together as she reviewed the info.

“What makes you so sure?”

Eddie leaned back in and pointed at the list of stolen goods. She angled herself away from him with a curled lip. Whatever, it was just a little booze breath.

“This,” he said again. “It’s exactly what I told you to look for- a small-scale robbery at a grocery or corner store. All they took was chocolate and junk food. Didn’t even try for cash. Even without the assault complaint that’d be a good lead. It’s them.”

“Any idiot teenager might steal junk food,” Romanoff argued, skeptical.

“Anyone might steal any food,” scoffed Princess Shuri, “America has terrible social support services.”

“Yeah, but these idiots also stole three bags of Tater Tots. Trust me. That’s Venom. I’m positive.”

They were in the air in less than two hours.

Eddie flew a lot, but never, obviously, on a fuckin quinjet. Even with the world whipping by at mach 2 it didn’t feel fast enough. Venom was getting further away every passing second and Eddie could not miss his chance to catch up.

Barnes had boarded the jet last. He’d ditched his plaid drapes and was decked out in a black tac jacket and black pants with too many pockets. Some kind of high-tech goggles completely obscured his eyes, and a mask covered the bottom half of his face. Eddie could see ventilation slits over the nose and mouth. The cherry on top of the murder sundae was the brand new prosthetic arm. It was all sleek lines and seamless movement, a shiny gunmetal grey that gleamed nearly black in the darkened jet. It was fully on display since Barnes’ jacket was missing a sleeve like a guy dying to show off his new tat. Superheroes were a bunch a fuckin’ drama queens.

Eddie raised a brow at the getup. “You shootin’ for conspicuous? You look just like your wanted pic.”

Barnes’ face was hidden by his mask and goggles, but Eddie swore his eyebrows ticked up. Surprisingly, the Widow chimed in from the pilot seat where she was playing a sonata on the control console. “He has a point, Soldier.”

After a moment of deliberation, Barnes slid off the goggles, gathered his hair into one of those terrible hipster-esque man-bun things, secured it with an honest to god stiletto he drew out from somewhere in his pants, and strode past Eddie to the co-pilot’s chair.

“Why don’t you get an undercut, then you’ll really blend in," Eddie muttered, belting himself into his seat at what was apparently the kid’s table, way in the back. Not even a fuckin’ window. Rude.

~~~

Eddie missed the quinjet doing its freaky silent vertical landing thing, because he’d maybe zonked out for a bit. The door slid open onto a near featureless field of snow, the brittle sunshine making Eddie’s eyes water and his head ache. A blast of freezing air scoured his sinuses and he was immediately reminded why he’d moved to California. The cold was intense, especially without V there to insulate him.

Barnes stalked down the ramp in his heavy combat boots like a tiger with a leather kink who didn’t give a crap about a piddly thirty degree temp drop. He didn’t bother checking if Eddie was following, but he did produce his black murder-goggles from one of his million pockets and slip them back on. 

“Okay. Definitely not trying to blend in, then.” Eddie yanked his own jacket tighter around himself and marched down the ramp and into the snow like a guy who just wanted his alien back, please. After a few steps he realized nobody was following, and looked back.

Romanoff was still in the pilot seat.

“Hold on a second,” Eddie called to Barnes, who completely failed to stop his march of doom, and ducked back into the jet. Romanoff was flicking holographic switches and apparently preparing for take-off.

“You’re not coming?” Eddie asked. Two creepy assassins weren’t necessarily more fun than one, but she now seemed incredibly sane and stable compared to the Stone Cold Soldier.

“I’ve got things to do in New York. I’ll come back for you when you’re done here. The Soldier knows how to reach me.”

Eddie frowned. “And what’s stopping him from murdering me on a whim?”

“Just your charming personality, Brock.”

“That isn’t even a little funny.”

“Depends where you’re sitting. I think it’s hilarious. You two have fun!” she waved with a smirk and as soon as Eddie was off the end of the ramp it snapped shut in his face. A vibranium hand closed on Eddie’s collar and dragged him back out of the way as the jet rose into the air and took off in a blast of white powder.

He twisted to face his companion. His colleague. His only company in the frozen wasteland. “Is this the start of our buddy cop sequence?”

The Soldier turned and stalked away. 

“You’re the side-kick! Just to be clear!”

~~~

He was trying to be patient, but Eddie was wearing awfully fuckin’ thin. Barnes was a goddamn control freak. He had all the info, all their money, and the communication device. He was behaving like they were on a top secret military mission, and Eddie knew he was heavily armed, to boot. Which- fine. Not a terrible idea, as long as none of the weapons would hurt V. But there was a motherfuckin’ time and place.

Barnes was also clearly the world’s shittiest interviewer. Their first lead was Assault Victim Guy. One Sullivan ‘call me Sully’ O’Brien, age twenty-three. Short order line cook at the town’s busiest hole-in-the-wall, and possessed of neither deceit nor ill-will. The guy was half-baked and it was barely noon, and he’d been completely fine with two total strangers barging up the stairs and into his room above his mom’s garage to ask him questions. He’d even offered them a couple beers, and had politely not mentioned Barnes’... unconventional cold weather face-gear situation.

And Barnes was scaring the everloving shit outta the poor bastard for no reason.

About twenty seconds after Sully let them in, Barnes grabbed the kid by the shirtfront and shoved him into the closest wall, looming menacingly as he pinned the guy in place. “Tell us what you know,” he hissed through his mask, in a voice that’d make a polar bear cry for its mommy.

Eddie tried to catch the kid’s eye and make apologetic gestures, but Sully’s attention was all on the cyborg grip around his neck. His face was turning red, clashing with the faded green and blue streaks in his greasy hair.

“I t-told the cops what h-happened man!” he wheezed thinly, “Don’t hurt me!”

Eddie sagged to buddy’s beige burnhole-stained couch and put his forehead in his hand. Absolutely zero chill. That was Barnes’ whole problem. Eddie decided he’d give him another minute to work himself into a hole before he jumped in to help. Unless he actually hurt the kid, in which case Eddie would do… something. Immediately.

Sully tried to recount his story in between choked gasps for air, how he’d seen a guy hanging around the restaurant dumpster behind his work, and how that guy had morphed into a huge black monster with a million teeth and a giant long tongue, then booked it up a nearby building. Barnes’ beetle lenses bored coldly into the kid’s terrified face. He gave him a shake for emphasis. “Where is Steve?” he demanded.

“What? Who?” Sully asked in genuine confusion and possibly oxygen deprivation.

“Steve,” Barnes repeated impatiently. “The man you told the police about.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. He kicked his feet up on Sully’s cluttered coffee table and helped himself to the lit cigarette from the overfull ashtray, taking a drag. He’d quit last summer (and then again in the fall), but it was nice to get the taste of tobacco every now and again. V hated it, but Eddie still missed it sometimes, and he hated having nothing to do with his hands.

“Uh- there was no… Steve,” Sully wheezed, scrabbling at Barnes’ vibranium fingers. “It s-said its name… was Venom. I c-can’t… fucking breathe man!”

There was half a cold Blue Star on the coffee table, a few empties scattered between the rest of the crap on the worn surface. Must be Sully’s day off. Eddie snagged the bottle and took a swallow. Barnes’ mask was nearly touching the kid’s beaky nose as he leaned in closer, hand still tight on his throat.

Okay yeah, that was enough of that.

“Hey Barnes,” he said loudly, levering himself off the couch. “Buddy I realize your forte is that game where you don't blink first, but my game is interviews and this guy is cooperating. He already told you he pissed himself once this week. You think he admits that and holds out something else? Jesus Christ, read the room.”

Barnes’ goggled face jerked towards Eddie in a move that would probably have been scarier without the curl slipping free of his updo, and silently opened his hand. The poor kid slid down to the floor, gasping for breath and rubbing his throat. Barnes stepped back.

Eddie came around the coffee table, edging pointedly between Barnes and his still sputtering victim, and crouched on the ratty carpet to put a reassuring hand on Sully’s shoulder. He offered the rest of his cigarette, which the kid took gratefully in twitching fingers.

“Sorry about him,” Eddie soothed, “He doesn’t get out a lot.”

Sully eyed Barnes warily. He’d backed off only enough to give Eddie space to move, and stood stiff, ready for the kid to bust out an Uzi or a grenade or some Nirvana maybe.

“Why don’t you take a seat on the couch, finish your beer. I know you already told the cops what happened, but I’ve got just a few other questions? It’d help us out a lot, man.”

Sully hauled himself up onto his sofa and sank down on it, still rubbing his throat. Eddie waited for him to get settled, then took a seat on a mismatched armchair.

“So Sully, you said that you went out for your break, and saw this guy by the dumpsters?”

“Yeah,” he answered, taking a shaky drag from his smoke. “He was sitting against it. I thought he was a drunk.”

“What made you think that?”

“Cause I saw him puke, and he looked kinda- you know. Like his clothes were all dirty and old, and he looked rough. He couldn’t get up on his own.”

Eddie nodded. That tracked, though it worried him. If V was a bad match with Rogers he’d be sick like that. But… why would they stay with him if he was such a terrible host? And- a normal person wouldn’t last very long that way. They’d die, and V would have to find a different one. How long would a super soldier like Rogers last?

Eddie kept the sudden anxiety off his face. 

“Can you describe the guy? What did he look like?”

“He was big. Blonde hair. Uh…nice teeth. His eyes were kinda watery and fucked up. Looked kinda built, but he was wearing a jacket, so I dunno. I only saw him for a couple seconds before he uh… before it got pretty weird.”

“Weird,” Eddie repeated, shifting deeper into his seat. Relaxed. Approachable. That was the vibe. “You told the cops he… changed?” He spread his hands in a gesture meant to convey morphed-into-a-gigantic-alien.

Sully stubbed out his cigarette, curling up on his couch, looking down at his knees, his hair falling over his eyes. He picked at the frayed threads of his torn jeans with chipped, painted nails. “I don’t think they believed me.”

Eddie laughed. “Yeah, cops suck like that. But I ain't the cops, Sully. I don’t care how crazy your story sounds, I just want the truth. The facts.”

Sully chewed his lip, considering Eddie. His eyes went to Barnes, who had finally taken a fuckin’ hint and let Eddie handle things. He was standing a few paces back, watching them, but he wasn’t interrupting, and he’d eased off a bit on the looming.

“I said something like ‘Hey, get outta there!’ to him, ‘cause the restaurant don’t like people hanging around in the back, and he just- he moved so fast. One second he was crawling around in the snow and almost falling on his face in his own puke, and the next he was standing right in front of me. Huge guy, over six feet easy, and he- his mouth.”

“What about it?”

“It- opened wide, and all his teeth changed, and his tongue got long, man. He grabbed for me and I moved back, but then he grew. I’m not shitting you. He changed into a monster, grew like ten feet tall and he was all muscles and teeth. His skin turned black with like… white veins in it, and there was all this drool. Like… buckets. ”

Sully set down his beer on the coffee table and reached for his pack of cigarettes, taking a fresh one out. He rolled it between his fingers, not lighting it yet. “I keep replaying it in my head. I know it sounds nuts, but I’m not makin’ it up, dude. He- it grabbed me by my neck, kinda like your jerk friend just did, and it like… licked me all over my face, got drool in my hair, like it was gonna eat me. I swear it was gonna eat me. Its mouth was fucking massive, man, I thought I was dead."

Great. Fantastic. V is starving and eating out of fucking dumpsters and this is… okay stay casual. Calm and relaxed. Fuckin’ breathe, Brock. Eddie worked his shoulders down from his ears.  

“Then what happened?”

Sully shook his head, “I don’t really know. I guess it changed its mind? It just put me down. It even picked up my hat and like… put it back on me. It said something like, it wasn’t going to eat my brain and I could live out my life or whatever. I just- I was in shock or something, right?” He quickly lit the cigarette with shaky movements and pulled deep, exhaling the smoke before he continued. “By that point I was on my ass with monster drool all over me. I really did piss myself too. But I asked it what it was, because… I don’t know. My mouth is an idiot or something,” he laughed awkwardly. “And it said ‘We are venom!’ and jumped like twenty fucking feet up the side of a building and disappeared.” Sully sucked on his cigarette, the cherry glowing hot as he hauled, then went back to mutilating his jeans, eyes on his lap. “That’s everything,” he said, voice dropping. “That’s what really happened. I never saw any Steve, just that Venom thing. That’s all I know, okay?”

Eddie leaned forward to pat the poor kid on the shoulder, then stood up. “Thanks. You were a big help Sully. We have to get going, but it was really cool of you to talk to us. Take care of yourself, man.” He headed for the door, Barnes remaining in place for a couple too-long seconds before he jerked into motion and followed Eddie.

Sully stood too. “Wait, hold on. Is it- I mean… that thing is dangerous. Are you guys some kinda monster hunters? Are you gonna kill it?”

Eddie flinched, then tried to dredge up a reassuring smile. “No. We’re not, but we are going to find them, and make sure they go back where they belong. You don’t have to worry about it.”

Sully nodded mechanically, but he didn’t look entirely convinced.

~~~

Once they were back out on the street and heading towards the convenience store where the second incident had happened, Eddie scrubbed his fingers through his hair and blew out a breath. Upside: they had reasonable confirmation that Rogers and V were together. Downside: everything pointed to Captain America being an unsuitable host. Vomiting, sweating, and delirious dumpster diving - not good.

He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and hunched into the collar, trying to keep his bare ears from freezing as they walked. The town was gross- picturesque and painted in colourful primaries and pastels-fresh snow draped over the rooftops like icing on a cake from a place called ‘Ye Olde Country Baker’. He was in no fuckin’ mood for it.

Barnes was back to his silent and stoic bullshit, and that was fine. Better than terrorizing the populace. 

They found the convenience store on a busy corner at the end of the main drag, a couple folks swaddled in flannel and puffy jackets scattered around smoking and talking with coffee in hand, a few others busy with whatever rural shit happened on Tuesday in snowheresville. It was obviously the scene of the crime, since all that remained of the entrance door was its metal frame, shattered glass replaced by a patchwork of plywood. Barnes headed for it like a steamroller.

“Hey,” Eddie tried. “Hey, wait.”

Barnes, to Eddie’s complete lack of surprise, did not wait. 

“Hey, asshole I’m talkin to–” He skipped the last few paces towards the disfigured door, flung out a hand, grabbed at Barnes’ arm and– his fingers slid off. Right. There was no sleeve on that side to grip. Just metal, brutal and gleaming. 

Barnes froze. Eddie whipped his hand back, absently rubbed his fingers together; the vibranium had felt mirror slick, almost slippery, but not in the welcoming way V’s oily hide did with its heat and pliant strength. It was cold- not alive- and there was no softness there at all, metal all the way down.

“Sorry. I didn’t-” he huffed, then broke off. Started over. “Look, let me do the talking this time, unless you’re going for some kinda record makin’ people piss themselves. And take that shit offa your face. Aren’t you supposed to be some kinda secret ninja assassin? You’re shit at people, you know.”

The reflective black goggles turned on him, studying him silently. Eddie squirmed. Then Barnes lifted his right hand and unclipped the mask, pulled it down away from his mouth and nose. The movement made his jacket ride up to expose the gun beneath, another at the thigh, belt full of more artillery. He reached for the goggles, gripped the heavy black rubber frame where the strap attached, and drew them up and off. A tangled mess of dark hair pulled free from the bun and fell forward across his forehead, almost into his eyes, pale in the sunlight. 

“I’m not people.”

He turned away without waiting for a response, pulled open the boarded up glass door, and stalked in.

Ohh-kay.

Captain America sir, you have real strange taste in friends.

~~~

Eddie watched the grainy security footage about five times before he managed to tear himself away from the small monitor in the back office of the convenience store. On screen, Steven Grant Captain America Rogers entered the store and froze awkwardly in the doorway, looking around dazedly and eventually grabbing a basket. He was repeatedly wiping at his mouth as he wove unsteadily between the aisles, stuffing everything chocolate-related into his basket.

Well, here was proof that they were communicating, at least. Making some effort to work together. Rogers knew about the chocolate. The incident in front of the freezer display made Eddie smile sadly, and he was secretly pleased when Rogers jerkily grabbed three bags of Tater Tots and added them to his spoils. Eddie recognized it for what it was: a struggle between host and symbiote, combined with an argument that was undoubtedly about the benefits of frozen potato nuggets. His chest hurt.

At the end of the footage, Rogers blew out of the store in a disastrous mess of knocked over displays and broken glass. Not a single flash of symbiote the whole time. That was all Rogers moving, even if it was uncoordinated and clumsy. So there was cooperation happening- it wasn’t just Venom forcing Rogers to act. He replayed the whole thing again, like watching it might cause V to leap out of the screen and come back to him.

He asked the clerk some questions while Barnes extracted a copy of the video. They headed out for their final destination.

Barnes was wearing his standard nothing face, but something in his body language seemed off- murder walk a bit stiff and probably not from the cold. “You got something to say?” Eddie finally asked. No point in beating around the bush with the guy who didn’t do social cues.

Barnes kept his eyes on the salt-crusted sidewalk. Without the goggles, his face seemed weirdly naked, a divot between his brows when he frowned.

“Steve doesn’t move like that,” he said in a voice that didn’t quite achieve flatness. “Something is wrong with him.”

“Yeah, we know something’s wrong with him, he’s got my fuckin’ alien! And it doesn’t look like they’re the greatest match.”

Barnes’ jaw twitched. His metal arm undulated bizarrely, all the plates shifting and clicking back into place. “You can tell from the video?”

“‘Course I can.”

Eddie purposely didn’t elaborate. He could do laconic loner too. Barnes said nothing more. So for the next half hour as they headed towards the snowmobile rental place for transport out to the remote cabin where the final sighting had been, there was only the sound of powder crunching under their boots.

~~~

The afternoon had been long and busy and had ended in a very cold sled ride back from the Cameron cabin, and Eddie was very much not thrilled to be loitering in the shadows while Barnes skulked around their motel doing some kind of ninja spy shit. He flatly refused to let Eddie go in until he’d determined it was ‘secure,’ whatever the fuck that meant. Eddie couldn’t feel his face or his toes and he was cranky as shit and the last thing he wanted to be doing was entertaining Comrade Killer’s paranoia, but Barnes had the keys. So. 

Once inside Eddie insisted on pizza. Jesus fuck he was starved. Barnes had no opinions on food apparently (other than whether or not it was poisoned), so Eddie picked what he liked and called it in, then bristled when Barnes made him wait in the bathroom while he presumably struck the fear of maiming into the poor delivery kid. Barnes checked inside both boxes, then tossed them carelessly on the table and went to stand at the window staring out into the night like a gargoyle on a castle turret.

“Did you even tip?” Eddie threw on the TV to try and drown out the Winter Soldier’s endless silence and crammed his mouth full, wishing he could just switch off his brain, even for an hour. Venom could do that. Venom could tuck him away inside themselves and do all the thinking for both of them, but Venom wasn’t here and he was no closer to finding them now than he’d been twelve hours ago.

The Cameron family had been tired and stressed when Eddie and Barnes finally met with them. They’d already had a rough day between the ‘incident’ and all the police stuff that followed, but they obligingly re-told their story of a family weekend gone wrong, which culminated in a “big black thing” taking off in a spray of snow.

There had been no face-to-face contact. Just a mess left behind, and the remains of a lot of chocolate bars.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

They were so close , but there were zero clues about where V and Rogers might have headed next; the sled trail was long gone under a fresh fall. He had to talk himself down before he put a fist through something and upset the poor family even more.

He got permission to look around the cabin, only to turn around and realize Barnes had slipped away and was already at it, but there wasn’t a lot to see. The mess had already been cleaned up, the police gone. The mom had had photos of everything on her phone, which Barnes copied onto a USB stick after Eddie very politely asked.

The only concrete facts Eddie could glean from the cabin and photographs were that Rogers was still sick (vomit in the bathroom), he’d slept in the bed, stolen clothing, and used the kitchen to cook bacon and Tater Tots.

They also got the tattered remains of his clothing, which the police hadn’t bothered with or maybe just been too repulsed by. Barnes gathered the soiled lump into a bag and carried it with him when they left, clutched to his chest. There was a hint of facial expression happening, and Eddie quickly looked away, uncomfortable.

They were getting ready to leave the cabin when Barnes’ comm device started beeping urgently.

Another ping on the algorithm. This one had them heading to a gas station further inland. It had been robbed while they were at the Cameron cabin – fuck! They were so fuckin’ close!

Eddie pulled his shit together and waved Barnes back so he could speak to the owner, an older lady who reeked of perfume and wore the ugliest brown lipstick he’d ever seen. He quickly realized she’d have talked the ear off Death himself at the first opportunity. 

Mrs. Murray swore up and down that a tiny man had pulled up on a sled and filled up, then come into the store for snack food. She remembered his black leather jacket, which looked like it belonged on "one of them motorcycle gang fellers, so rude, always rushing around.” Instead of paying he ran out the door and “attacked Charlie! Even though he was a tiny thing! Threw him clear off his feet, ruined the whole rack of box candies even though I’d just had Jerry’s cousin’s girl put em up and get em all arranged nice just that morning-”

Eddie jumped on the mention of candy and finally teased out from the flood of details that the thief had stolen all the beef jerky. She had “a couple of them newfangled cameras, because Lord knows what the world is coming to these days, why just last week-”

They finally got her to play the clips. A completely black-clad rider pulled up to the fuel pumps to fill up his tank and a jerry. Eddie recognized Venom’s go-to motorcycle helmet and jacket with a streak of jealousy. That was his alien, and now Steve fuckin’ Rogers was decked out in Venom’s approximation of clothing.

Except. It couldn’t be Steve Rogers. Because the guy in the clips was small. Practically petite. Much smaller than Captain America, supersoldier and ubermensch. A foot shorter, probably a hundred pounds lighter – hard to tell exactly how big the difference was with the clothing but it couldn’t be the same guy. 

Which meant that Rogers was probably dead. And Venom was now running around in an unknown person.

Eddie’s jealous anger fizzled. He stared blindly at the tiny monitor and did not look at Barnes. 

Barnes mechanically went about copying the clips, and Eddie, distracted, got sucked into a conversation with Mrs. Murray and had to extricate himself before he was forced to come up with some excuse for who they were, what they wanted, where they were staying- he got the fuck outta there as soon as he saw Barnes nod. 

By the time they got away, Eddie’s stomach was protesting its emptiness, Barnes looked a little frayed at the edges, and he still had to ride bitch behind Barnes all the way back to the rental place and return the snowmobile. It was full dark and late when they finally finished, and Eddie was just done.

Which is how Eddie Brock, journalist and media personality, wound up cooped up in a shabby motel with James Buchanan Barnes, war hero and super creep, both of them tired, depressed, and in Barnes’ case, probably plotting bloody vengeance against the former and his favorite alien for the death of Captain America.

Right now Barnes was watching the two sets of videos over and over, sitting rigid and nearly motionless in one of two threadbare teal armchairs separated by a small table, his face back in neutral gear. His pizza slice sat untouched, grease soaking through the paper plate.

Eddie slouched regretfully on the bed, too full of shitty pizza and still way too fucking empty. Venom was on this island. They were so close - they’d been in the same store on the same fuckin’ day, and it didn’t mean shit. V was gone.

When feeling sorry for himself and pissed off at the world wasn’t enough anymore, he turned to Barnes. May as well kick the hornet’s nest.

“I don’t know what you’re hoping to find in those videos,” he said from his position splayed over one of the two double beds. “V jumped to a new host. We know Rogers was with them in the cabin, so sometime today, after they stole the sled and before they stole the gas, they separated. I have no fuckin’ idea who they’re in, or why they did it then, but that’s what happened.”

Barnes clicked play again, leaning in to squint at the screen. He didn’t answer.

“Are you fuckin’ deaf?” Eddie needled. Enough was enough. He was tired, and he wasn’t going to sleep with Barnes sitting there like a freak.

“No,” Barnes said softly. “I can hear you. But you’re wrong.”

Eddie huffed. “No, I’m not. I didn’t wanna say it, mostly because I figure you’re gonna murder me to death, but Rogers is probably gone. He was sick. V needs a good match to host them, or they chew through bodies pretty fast. S’why we are so good together. I’m a perfect match. But Rogers was obviously not. I’m sorry man, I know he was your…your-”

“Steve is alive,” Barnes cut in, still in that low rasp, but with certainty.

Eddie sighed, irritated, but at least a little sympathetic. It's not like the guy had whatcha call a lot of friends. Or any. “I mean… he could be. V’s pretty good about not killing people- well. Better than they were anyway, but someone woulda found Rogers by now if he was out wandering in the snow and-"

“Steve is still with the alien.”

“Say what?”

Barnes turned the laptop around, showing the screen. Eddie sat up, scooting along the bed to the end so he could see. He frowned. It was just the clip from the gas station, which he’d already seen at least twenty times.

“That,” Barnes pointed at the slender man in the video as he bent to retrieve the jerry can and filled it, then secured it to the back of the sled, “is Steve.”

Chapter Text

Truly I was born to be an example of misfortune, and a target at which the arrows of adversary are aimed.

-Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote

When Steve emerged into the twenty-first century under SHIELD’s tender care, everyone assumed that the sixty-seven years he spent frozen were essentially one long nap. Like he did some brave Captain America heroic shit and then decided ‘Hm. That was rough. Guess I’ll get some rest.’ He got the sense that nobody cared to know the truth, so he just... never said anything.

He never bothered telling the gaggle of doctors that peered up his nose and up his ass and down his throat and shined lights into his eyes so they could check that his brain was still running on schedule that it wasn’t that simple. Who would believe him? It wasn’t possible. Nobody could be even a little conscious when their core body temperature was set at ‘arctic’ and they were completely deprived of oxygen.

But impossible was kinda Steve’s thing. Steve’s time in the ice had been a hallucinatory kaleidoscope of translucent emerald and depthless aquamarine that lapsed gradually to grey. Muffled sounds and sensations: watery echoes, leaden currents, groaning ice. It was a muted existence measured in years and decades, not hours and minutes. He couldn’t say if it was real, but it was definitely something. Whether memories of water and whale calls and the creaking metal skeleton of the Valkyrie were reality or his beleaguered brain fritzing out as his cells froze solid was never gonna be up for debate, ‘cause Steve planned to take the whole mess to his grave.

Funny how things come full circle. 

He was definitely dying.

Alone, sinking through leagues of crushing cold, his body broken open and burning with pain. He was fading back to that hazy place, a leisurely nightmare.

But… he… wasn’t alone?

Huh. That was different.

No. That was wrong. Of course he was alone. He was always alone here.

Except he wasn’t.

Something was- there. Tickle in his mind… familiar. It prodded his confusion, wrapping around him, sheathing his brittle remains in warmth, whispering rough comfort, massaging the feeling back into numb limbs.

STEEEEEVE.

He didn’t understand. It made no sense. But the presence was real, and it kept circling around him… through him? What?

STEEEVE!

Worry in his mind- not his own. The presence. Worried about him. Calling his name. Tugging at him. Pulling him up, up from the sea floor, and up from the dark place in his head where he’d retreated to survive.

There was the barest touch of light in the water now, because they were ascending, swimming up. He could feel the changes in pressure as he rose, and with it the light increased until he was floating in a dim bluish world, the shapes of small fish and seals overhead.

He remembered the seals. They looked like they were flying.

~~~

The next time Steve woke, it was to the sound of lapping waves and steady whining wind. He jerked, scrambling to right himself. He was half-buried in snow, his face crusted with it, his hair frozen to his scalp. He looked around- what the hell was going on? 

Water stretched vast and black before him and he scrabbled backwards, trying to get the fuck away. He’d been drowning- oh fuck he’d been shot and clubbed and dumped back into that godforsaken cold and- and…

There was–

Something was weird. Off. He had been goddamn dying but he… was warm. He felt good.

That didn’t make any sense.

It- what was… his stomach was wonderfully full. There was a contented glow hanging around him, and a delicious flavor in his mouth.

He blinked a couple times and things came into proper focus. Faint hint of grey in the sky- dawn approaching. The snow beneath him creaked when he moved. He was wrapped in black, a jacket and gloves and snow pants. But no, of course he wasn’t really wearing any of that. That was the symbiote. He smacked his lips a little, licking them. Fuck that tasted good. But he couldn’t remember eating anything since the Slim Jims and chocolate.

He wiped at his lips with his fingers, which came away with a gummy, greasy residue. He sucked on them, trying to identify it. It was really familiar, but there was such a drunken, lazy sort of sense trickling into his head that it was real work to peg any one thought down. What the hell was it?

Venom’s head emerged from over his shoulder, the now-familiar rows and rows of sticky needle teeth and its long tongue greeting him, along with another strong push of that doglike affectionate business. Venom bumped against him, practically nuzzling his cheek. It was radiating contentment.

Steve frowned. “What’s going on? What is this?” He wiped at his lips again. He did not like when things happened without his knowledge. Had Venom been running around in his body while he was what- unconscious?

“BRAINS STEEEEVE. WE SAVED YOU. HEALED YOU.”

He stared at the floating alien head in front of him, shifting his weight back from the deceptively picturesque waves lapping near his feet. Only… his hand sank into something vaguely warm. Gooey. It was probably part of Venom.

It wasn’t part of Venom.

His hand was buried to the wrist in a still cooling bloody-scarlet slush. He whipped it out of the puddle and stared. “You what!? What do you mean brains? Whose fucking brains!? WHOSE BLOOD IS THIS!? ”

Venom wrapped a couple tentacles around him and gave him a squeeze. He tried to pry them off, batting at it. “BAD GUYS. THEY TRIED TO KILL YOU. KILLED THE CUTE WATER DOGS. SO WE BIT OFF THEIR HEADS.” Venom grinned broad, copious globs of drool dripping from its smile. Before Steve could recoil, Venom’s whole mouth engulfed his hand, sucking the blood away. “TASTY!”

Steve yanked his hand back and wiped it on his thigh, raised his eyes and saw… bodies. Human ones. Sprawled on the ground nearby. Three of them, all wearing high rubber boots (one guy was missing one, his bunchy wool sock hanging pathetically off the end of his foot). And the bodies were missing their heads, a macabre black-red mess of arterial sprays and pooled blood soaking into the snow. They were steaming in the bitter chill. Fresh. Extremely fresh. The stains were growing, red borders creeping wider a few inches at a time.

Steve shuffled back from the corpses– Venom’s kills. Their kills. His vision swam sickeningly as if he were going to throw up but his gut reacted not at all. Fuck, he felt goddamn satisfied, like he’d just had a Christmas ham or something. Even the lingering smell on his own breath was vaguely appetizing.

He grabbed up a fistful of snow and scrubbed frantically at his face, his mouth and beard. It came away pink. He grabbed another, swishing it around, spitting, ridding himself of the fatty, salty taste any way he could.

He looked around. Had anyone seen them? Had some poor sucker watched an alien monster eat three guys’ heads?

There wasn’t much to see – more desolate looking coastline, grey sky, and a lot of snow. And a couple vehicles parked to one side. A red pickup truck and a battered green, older model SUV, windshields frosted over. They probably belonged to the poachers.

The ghastly feeling of glutted contentment finally gave way and in its place came white. Hot. Rage. Steve was so fucking furious he couldn’t even figure out which thing was making him angriest, and it didn’t matter –  the absolute first priority was getting out of here, and then he was going to- to sort this out . It couldn’t go on. He couldn’t take it anymore. The total absence of personal space. The invasive rooting through his memories and feelings. Being exposed and vulnerable to this-this fucking thing that had taken up residence in his body and caused nothing but a constant stream of problems ever since the first instant it arrived and had now murdered and eaten four men and then curled up in the bloody snow and blithely napped. He was done. Fucking done with this. He staggered to his feet.

Venom loomed over his shoulder and Steve didn’t even want to look at it right now. It moved in to bump against him and he pushed his clammy palm against its face – heedless of the teeth – and shoved. “ I don’t want to see you right now, get off of me,” he ground, grabbing at the tentacles around his waist and hips, trying to peel away the layer of alien that he was wearing like clothing.

“STEEE–"

“No. Not right now. I don’t want to hear you. I don’t want to see you. Go away. Go wherever the fuck it is you go. Leave me alone.”

“BUT WE SAVED YOU!” Venom argued, slipping around his hand to lave a viscous tongue over his cheek. “WE ARE A TEAM!”

Steve recoiled, slapping the disgusting thing off him. “I don’t care! I didn’t ask for your goddamn help and I am not on your fucking team. I’m done, got it? I’m not doing this anymore. You want Eddie back? You can find him yourself. I have enough going on without you rooting through my goddamn head all the time and screwing with my body. You said it yourself- the serum treats you like an infection. Like a disease. So maybe you should take a hint and get the fuck out.” Steve punctuated his words with a ferocious shove against Venom’s mass that sent them both lurching backwards like some kind of vaudeville parody.

Venom literally gnashed its teeth at him. “YOU ARE A SHITTY HOST, STEVEN CAPTAIN AMERICA!” the alien roared, its whole body slithering and rippling and crushing threateningly around Steve. It snarled in his face but he twisted away, refusing to look at it, stomping to the poacher’s corpses and patting them down. There. He peeled open a stiffly frozen pocket and was rewarded with a set of car keys and an electronic fob.

He clicked the button and the lights on the green SUV blinked, a little beep indicating it was unlocked. He marched across the snow and ripped the driver’s side door open, climbing up to the high seat and jamming the key in the ignition. It started up with only mild protests of the cold, and he set the defroster and fans, taking a look at the fuel gauge. Most of a tank. Good.

He let the vehicle warm up and went back over to the men. He searched them all more thoroughly, retrieving wallets, checking for money and credit cards and anything that might be useful, pointedly keeping his eyes below the shoulders where the mess of gore and teeth marks began. He ended up with a couple hundred bucks in colorful bills, a few cards, and not much else.

He didn’t want to leave them out in the open like this. It would be a dead giveaway that Venom had been here, and would lead anyone looking for the alien straight to them. Of course, that might be fine, since Steve didn’t plan to linger.

No. It was bad enough that he’d fucking murdered these people. He couldn’t just leave them lying there.

“Venom. We have to dump them in the water. Get rid of the blood. This is your fucking mess so you can help clean it up.”

Venom sneered and melted away, retreating inside him completely. Steve was left in his red sweatshirt and track pants, the plaid jacket unzipped and flapping in the wind. The full brunt of the cold suddenly cut straight through him and he shivered. Pulling the hood over his head with already-numbing fingers, he grabbed the closest guy around the ankle and heaved.

The body didn’t budge. Steve couldn’t lift it as he was now. Not without Venom’s help dammit. And the symbiote had gone completely silent, as if it weren’t there at all.

“You’re being a child. We can’t leave these guys here. You want to get caught? Huh? You want to go back to the Raft?”

There was no response.

Steve kicked at a drift in fury and was rewarded with an ankle full of snow which immediately began to melt and soak into his boot and sock. “Fine! Be that way. We’re just gonna go to the closest town and you can slither away and leave me alone.”

Steve tried to pull his jacket closed as he stomped over to the vehicle. He had to use the snow brush to scrape off the windshield, although he couldn’t reach the middle. He threw it into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut, taking a second to adjust the mirrors and steering column, and move the seat forward most of the way.

He flicked on the lights and tore out of the parking lot in a spray of snow.

The drive was long. Extremely long.

Steve hit the first gas station he came to and filled up, buying another map since the first one was gone. The closest safe house was all the way in Montreal, and it was going to take a couple days and over two thousand kilometers to get there.

He plotted his route once he was back in the truck and set off again, staring bitterly ahead at the monotonous gash the road cut through endless white, leaving the radio off. He didn’t want music. He didn’t want conversation. He just wanted to be alone with himself. It’d been a fucking terrible day. Days. He didn’t even know how many, because of the fuckin alien in his brain.  

Steve drove with only a couple breaks to piss and get supplies. He used the stolen cards first, tapping them to pay for gas, coffee, food, more coffee.

All around him was a seemingly infinite wilderness. Just trees and trees, and more trees, frozen and still. The road was hypnotic, winding, the pallid double yellow line the only colour in a world that seemed confined to a desaturated palette of whites, greys, and phthalo green. He opened the window when he got tired, letting the chilly air shock him awake, and when it started to get dark he flipped on his brights so he could see. His back hurt from being in the seat for hours, and his jaws were aching from gritting his teeth. But it was nice and quiet, and he felt like he had at least at least the illusion of privacy, which was certainly a fucking improvement over the alternative.

When his burning eyes could no longer focus on the road he pulled off in a secluded area and made sure the vehicle wasn’t visible from passing traffic, then crawled into the back and folded down the seats. There were a couple old blankets and some clothes which he used to make a lumpy little nest for himself. He curled up with the hard edge of the seatbelt buckle digging against his side and his arms tucked under his cheek like a pillow. He slept badly, getting up after only a few hours because he was so fucking cold he couldn’t take it anymore. Venom didn’t reappear or speak to him, apparently more than happy to let him freeze his ass off.

That was fine. Great. The last thing he needed was an alien yelling in his brain while he was trying to drive.

He had a horrible kink in his neck that refused to work out, even when he got out of the car and walked around a little, giving himself a chance to move and stretch before another long stint in the driver’s seat. Then it was back on the road.

It took two and a half days of tedium to make it all the way to Montreal. He stayed to the backroads and switched his plates twice in that time; the poacher’s bodies had no doubt been discovered, and police would be looking for their stolen vehicle. The letter agencies would probably be looking for Venom too. They hadn’t exactly been discreet about decapitating three men and fucking- fucking eating their goddamned brains, so that would no doubt come around and bite them in the ass before too long. Anything that tied him to those bodies had to be dumped. He would have changed vehicles entirely, but he had yet to come across a good candidate. Every truck and suv seemed to be even more ridiculously oversized than the last, and he was quickly burning through his limited funds keeping the current one gassed up.

Despite the respite from the symbiote’s nonsense, Steve was still simmering when he finally entered the city. His fingers ached from gripping the steering wheel like he wanted to strangle it, his lower back was a molten bar of pain, and he was worn thin, sore, and miserable. At this point all he wanted was to get into the safe house, have a hot meal, and crash for about twelve hours, preferably without the constant imagery of headless corpses in the snow that’d played on repeat behind his eyes since they’d left the coast.

Predictably, the roads in the city were one big jam-packed clusterfuck. They twisted in crazy, nonsensical patterns, taking him in loops, through tunnels, along overpasses, and over potholes that could literally swallow a tire. He had a vague idea of where he was going, but he had to backtrack a few times when construction diverted him from his course, or when he missed turn offs because they were on the wrong side of the road and he couldn’t cross four lanes of traffic to get to them.

But finally, by the morning of the third day, when he felt worn down and threadbare like an old shirt that hadn’t started off in very good shape to begin with, he found himself pulling up to an ugly, dated brick apartment building on a neglected, out of the way back street. It had small balconies with quaintly curling metal railings flecked in rust, and the ground floor windows were all covered in bars. He’d been to this location exactly once before, for a short stay after an extraction mission had turned on its ear and had to be prematurely aborted. He remembered the balconies.

He parked the car a couple blocks down and grabbed his coat, pulling the faux sheepskin collar up around his ears to keep out the chill. Incredibly, it felt somehow colder here than it had way out on the coast. Something about the moisture in the air really sank into his bones, and he was dancing from foot to foot and hunkering down into his jacket as he wracked his brain for the code to the battered front door buzzer. It took him a few tries before he finally heard the click.

The dingy lobby smelled of mildew but was wonderfully warm, and he took a second just to let himself appreciate being in an actual heated building for the first time in days, before dragging himself on prickling feet up the stairs up to the third floor. The safehouse occupied the last unit at the end of the hall. The exterior door was a worn, rickety old thing, and when he tried the knob it opened readily.

Steve found himself looking into a tiny alcove no bigger than a closet. What? He’d been expecting a simple secondary door behind the first, with a numbered keypad where he could enter his code. This was different.

He recognized the updated StarkTech retinal and fingerprint scanners mounted on the new, reinforced interior door. Come to think of it, Nat had mentioned that ever since the Accords Tony had, in typical Tony fashion, been keeping himself busy overhauling the design of every Avengers facility he could get his hands on.

Well. His eye and finger wouldn’t have changed at all, so it should be fine. He leaned forward to let the thing do his retinal scan, then pressed his fingertip over the biometric pad. “Identity Confirmed. Steven Grant Rogers,” said the scanner in a pleasant, automated female voice.

He sighed in relief. He really wanted to take a shower. He could smell himself.

“Access Denied.”

The panel in the door flashed red, and the lock completely failed to snap open.

“What?”

Tony’s voice crackled through the panel and Steve started, but it was clearly a recording. “Sorry about this, Ken Doll. Give me a call when you sign and we’ll see about letting you back into the Avengers clubhouse again. Ciao.”

The recording ended. Steve frantically tried the scanner again, poking it repeatedly, because he couldn’t really, actually believe that he’d lent his body to a goddamn alien parasite, eaten garbage from a dumpster, swam through TWO oceans, eaten literal human brains, and robbed poor old Mrs. Fucking Murray’s store, and then driven over two thousand kilometers just to be goddamned motherfucking locked out of the goddamned motherfucking safehouse !

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! ” he shouted, kicking the still locked interior door as hard as he could. His boot made a dull ‘bonk’ against the door and his toe erupted in pain. Goddammit!

Alright. 

Fine. 

If he couldn’t get in, then he’d just go somewhere else. He still had options.

He would certainly not ask Venom for help. He didn’t need anyone’s fucking help much less a lump of alien slime. He sure as shit wasn’t about to turn around after everything and beg the asshole that got him into all of this to pry open the safehouse door with its super-tentacles. No. Goddamn. Way. He’d sooner call Tony- no… no he wouldn’t do that either. 

Looked like he was on his own.

He stood in the little closet-room and groped around his vacant brain for a backup plan. His stomach was painfully empty, his eyes were tired from constant driving, and he was sick of being cold. He only had about fifty bucks of the poachers’ cash left, and then he would have to start stealing or begging. That part might be a bit of a rough ride now that he was looking more and more disheveled by the hour and…he ducked his head and sniffed himself briefly. Yeah.

He finally turned away from the safehouse unit and made his stiff way down the stairs again to the outer door, reflexively sticking his head out first to scope the street where, fuck, there was a police cruiser parked behind his SUV, lights flashing, the officer doing a sweep around it and speaking into a radio, eyes carefully scanning the area. He threw himself back. 

Shit. He should’ve ditched the car a lot sooner. Now they’d know to look for Venom here. For him.

Steve pulled his red hood up to cover his hair and strolled out the front of the building at a casual, shuffling pace, turning down the street in the opposite way he’d come, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. They were going to find his unmodified and extremely high profile fingerprints all over the truck, and shortly thereafter Steven G. Rogers, aka Captain America, aka wanted fugitive in a hundred and however many countries, would also be branded a decapitating murderer of so-called innocents.

This is all your fault, he snapped bitterly in his mind, knowing Venom could hear him, even if it was too cowardly to answer. Except… it wasn’t the alien’s fault, was it. It’d just gotten caught up in an op Steve planned. This was on him. He should never have let things get so out of hand. It was his fault that he didn’t do a better job containing the situation on the Raft in the first place. It was his fault that he kept losing his shit every time he dipped a toe into some cold salt water, and he never shoulda let the situation with the poachers unravel so badly. He could have contained that before it ended with him getting shot and dumped in the water like a goddamn mob hit. And after- it was his fault for leaving those corpses on the beach too, and for not switching vehicles sooner. Fuck. Nat would slap him upside his stupid head if she were around to watch him jump from the frying pan right into the fire. Bucky was going to shoot him when they saw each other again- if he was lucky. He deserved a bullet to the ass right about now.

Yeah, he deserved a lot worse, probably, but what he wanted was an actual hot meal and someplace to warm up before he keeled over.

He figured he could manage that much.

His feet were frozen again and the tips of his ears were numb by the time he found a small hole-in-the-wall diner, the sign in the window proclaiming ‘OUVERT!’ except the ‘V’ was burnt out, so it just said ‘OU*ERT! ’ He checked his pockets again. Fifty seven dollars to his name- and that included the change, because every time he paid for something they handed him back a whole goddamn pocket’s worth of coins.

As Steve got closer to the diner, he saw another, smaller sign in the window announcing ‘Petit-déjeuner toute la journée seulement $8.99! ’ above a terrible, UV bleached photograph of a plate laden with eggs, toast, sausages, and a heap of cubed home fries that was barely keeping itself contained to the plate. Coffee or tea included! the sign assured. His stomach enthusiastically reminded him that he hadn’t eaten any real food since… fuck not since the tater tots and bacon (brains definitely, most certainly, did not count). He’d been surviving on gas station coffee, snack foods, and chocolate bars ever since. The thought of a hot, greasy breakfast was already making his mouth water.

No… no that was the fucking symbiote riding around in his body. Nothing from it for days, but the prospect of a good meal had Venom stirring, its hunger easy to recognize now that he was used to it.

I’m not doing this for you, he thought, just making sure that detail was clear as he pulled the door open and entered the small dining space which was dated, but clean and bright. Steve slid gratefully into a booth. It was warm, and the ugly padded vinyl seat was the most comfortable place he’d sat down in ages.

His French was pretty rusty, but he did alright asking for a cup of coffee and a glass of water, and took some time with the menu. The server eyed Steve dubiously, glancing down at the messy puddle of slush growing around his boots and wrinkling a narrow, be-ringed nose in a way that clearly conveyed a low opinion of Steve’s hygiene practices. By contrast, the server was a tall, slim thing somewhere in the same age range as Steve, with a very tidy, short beard and a slanting notch carved through one elegant eyebrow. His dark brown hair was meticulously shaved in the back and sides, longer on the top, in a style Steve had noticed on urbanites of every gender all over the world, and his extremely snug black pants were frayed in a clearly purposeful way. Steve thanked him for the coffee and he glided away leaving behind a drift of really nice-smelling cologne that seemed to linger in judgment of Steve’s personal aroma. He looked down at his hands in his lap; something dark was crusted into his nails, and he wondered – not for the first time – if he might have three day old blood or goddamn human brain matter under his fingernails, or even in his beard. Jesus Christ.

He took his time with the menu. Really, he was taking the time to defrost his hands and wiggle his toes around until he could almost feel them again. He put his elbows on the table and laced his hands around the steaming mug, letting it burn his fingertips as he leaned forward to inhale the glorious, slightly burnt aroma of old coffee.

HUNGRY STEVEN. HURRY UP OR WE WILL EAT THE WAITER.

Figured that the first thing Venom said in three days was about eating a guy. Steve didn’t give any indication that he heard. He just casually took a sip of his water, then another of his coffee. When the server wandered back to ask him if he was ready, he pointed to the all-day breakfast, ordered his eggs sunny side up with white toast, and handed the menu back when he was finished.

THAT’S NOT ENOUGH FOOD! ORDER MORE!

I don’t have money for more. In case you haven’t realized, I’m kind of locked out of the safehouse and the cops are towing the car. Fifty bucks isn’t gonna get us very far. So don’t fucking pester me about food.

After the guy disappeared into the back, Steve got up and left his jacket so it was clear he hadn’t walked out, then found the bathroom. If they hadn’t tossed him out yet, they probably weren’t gonna, but he was taking no chances on missing breakfast and his luck had been unrelentingly shitty for… a while now.

The small eatery had just a single unisex bathroom, rather than stalls. Steve locked the door and clicked on the light. He made his way to the sink and took a second to lean on it and stare into the mirror.

Fuck. 

Jesus.  

Steve stared in shock at the man looking back at him. Jesus Christ. It made something screwy flip flop around his middle to see himself like this after years of facing that ridiculous, over-the-top, too-perfect-to-be-natural poster-boy every day. Now he was short and skinny and that was his real face, or his original face, or whatever the right term for it was. He leaned closer, tilting his chin down. The fluorescent light washed him out and made him look translucent and sickly pale, but that was his actual real face staring back at him in the mirror, his eyes big and blue, cheekbones cutting a familiar sharp angle and his jaw so much narrower than he’d grown used to. His nose was too big, and as crooked as ever, and his ears stuck out too far. He could see a little bit of collarbone peeking from the wide neck of his oversize hoodie, all bones and no muscle or fat to soften the angles. It was like he was back in 1943, only with different clothes. And a beard. He smoothed his fingers over it. It would be nice to have a shave, hell it’d be nice to have a damn shower.

He splashed water over his face and beard and took a couple pumps of pink hand soap, lathering it up.

Venom poured from the collar of Steve’s sweatshirt, its head ballooning up over Steve’s reflection in the mirror. “DON’T PUT THAT ON OUR SKIN! IT SMELLS DISGUSTING!" A tentacle slithered out of Steve’s shirtsleeve and grabbed at his wrist, pushing it towards the sink to wash the soap away.

“Hey! Shove off!” He tried to wrench his hand free, but Venom was much stronger than him. “It’s my goddamn body and I can put whatever I want on it. I’m not going around smelling like dead fish anymore. Let go. And keep your voice down.”

“NO! WE HAVE BEEN WAITING THREE DAYS FOR YOU TO STOP BEING HORRIBLE AND NOW WE ARE SICK OF IT! TASTES BAD, STEVEN. NOT FAIR.”

“Fair!? What about this situation is fair, exactly? Seems pretty fucking one-sided to me!” He gripped the lip of the sink, leaning over it and speaking into Venom’s reflection. “My body, my fucking rules. If you don’t like it then scram.”

Venom curled around his shoulders, a distinct pout on its fluid face. “EDDIE NEVER STAYS ANGRY WITH US THIS LONG.”

Steve huffed at that. “Yeah well sorry pal, pretty sure you’ve noticed I’m not him.”

“BUT STEEEEVE…” Venom opened the connection between their minds, which had been firmly closed since their argument on the beach. The full force of its frustration and loneliness and bitter anger flowed through all at once. “TIRED OF FIGHTING. WE RESCUED YOU! HEALED YOU! LOOK.”

It showed Steve a rapid flickering reel of its own memories. Venom finding Steve after the sound cannon separated it from Eddie. Keeping him from drowning, swimming for what Steve now learned was nearly a continuous 48 hours before dumping him onto the Newfoundland shore and retreating inside him to rest. That was why Steve had woken up ‘alone’ on the coast. Venom had been too exhausted to do anymore. A leap forward to the boat and the poachers, being separated from Steve, helplessly witnessing Steve be shot and clubbed through bizarre senses that were more vibration and smell than anything else. Steve had been unconscious for the next part- the part where Venom, weak and small without a host, plopped into the water after Steve’s limp body and swam down, following the trail of his blood in the water. It showed him how it had caught up with him deep, deep down, and how it wrapped him protectively in itself and immediately began using everything it had to heal his wounds, to breathe for him, and to get him back to the surface. After that the hunger was overwhelming and it knew Steve was afraid of the water, so it kept him unconscious until it’d tracked the poachers down and sought revenge and sustenance, and let him wake up safe and warm and full. “SEE? WE SAVED YOU. PROTECTED YOU. WE MAKE A GOOD TEAM!”

Steve wrenched Venom’s winding tendrils off himself and tried to fling them away.

“No!”

He shut his eyes, opened them wide, shook his head and stopped, dizzy- dammit, there was no way to close off the horrible mental connection that was letting this fucking monster deposit its memories and feelings straight into his head like there was no such thing in the world as goddamn boundaries. Steve was not a fucking… damsel who needed constant rescuing by a big burly stack of inflatable muscles. He would’ve figured something out.

He closed his eyes and gripped the counter hard, tried to steady his whirling head. Wrangling with the symbiote was a waste of time, what he needed to do was stop bickering and get out of this bathroom. He was so hungry his hands were starting to shake.

“Look,” he growled, stern, meeting Venom’s eyes in the mirror. “Here’s the deal. I will help you get back to Eddie. At least if you’re with me then I know you aren’t scaring some other guy shitless and making him eat fucking brains. I just have to find a way to get in touch with Nat, and I’ll get you back to your buddy. But I don’t need your help. I told you before. I don’t want to be on your team. And I don’t want you trying to replicate whatever weird thing you have going with Eddie, either. Got it?”

Venom drooped, sagging around him, loosening the mess of tentacles it’d started to wrap him in. It shrank a little, becoming smaller, bobbing over his shoulder, sulking.

“DON’T WORRY STEVEN CAPTAIN AMERICA,” it said wetly, “YOU ARE NOTHING LIKE EDDIE. WE COULD NEVER HAVE PERFECT SYMBIOSIS WITH YOU. YOU ARE ALWAYS ANGRY AND FIGHTING US AND MAKING YOURSELF HARD TO LIVE INSIDE OF. EVEN WHEN WE HELP YOU, YOU YELL AT US. MEAN.”

Steve wasn’t going to feel sorry for the brain-eating monster. He definitely wasn’t moved by its whining, or stung by the insults. He pumped another glob of hand soap from the dispenser and got back to lathering, shoulders stiff. “Yeah well. I am what I am. Ain’t gonna change.”

He turned his attention to his soapy hands, scrubbed harshly at the filth blackening his nails, and tried to finger comb his beard a little. There were bits of… of something dried into it, and he needed them gone. There was nothing he could do for his hair, which was a mess, greasy spikes hanging into his eyes. Venom slithered out of sight, but he could still feel it radiating unhappiness.

He depressed the lever on the paper dispenser several times to get it to feed out a long strip of coarse brown hand towel, with which he attempted to dry himself. It disintegrated and started to pill in his beard. He pumped the machine a few times for more, and in the end he was still damp but with clods of brown paper here and there to boot.

Finally he called it a draw and unlocked the door of the bathroom, stalking back to his booth. He slid into it and slurped up the rest of his now-cold coffee.

The server floated over with his food, a fresh drift of cologne, and a loaded look. Had they been too loud in the washroom? Taken too long? Maybe it was just noticeable that he’d made some effort to clean up. He tried a halfhearted smile and got a sniff and an eyeroll for his trouble. Whatever. Steve didn’t care.

The food wasn’t great. It was only lukewarm (guess he’d taken too long after all) and the eggs had a rubbery texture from sitting under the heat lamp. His toast was hard and dried out. Steve did. Not. Care. It was a real meal, and he devoured every last bite, tried to slow down once he got to the home fries so he could linger inside the warm diner for a little longer. He definitely noticed Venom sneaking a small tendril out of his sleeve and stealing some potatoes, but he was gonna pick his battles, and that was pretty low on the list.

He just… didn’t know what his next move should be.

He needed to get into that safehouse, or to get in touch with someone. He needed some damn resources here. Somewhere to go. He definitely could not get himself and Venom all the way to Wakanda without some money, some ID, something.

Venom’s tongue slicked over his fingers to lick up the grease on them, then Steve watched, detached, as it scoured their empty plate.

“The waiter is gonna see you,” he muttered, trying to position his other arm and coffee cup in a way that might shield the plate from view.

Venom was quick about mopping up the last crumbs, and when the plate was totally empty Steve opened the remaining jam and peanut butter packets in what he hoped was a normal and casual way and ate them with his coffee spoon, Venom licking them clean after he was finished.

And then there really was not a crumb of food left, and he’d had three cups of coffee, and the waiter materialized to collect his empty dishes and jettison the check. He paid all in coins, leaving a tip because he wasn’t an asshole and the guy had been side-eyeing him over a copy of Maisonneuve for the last forty minutes. 

Well. At least he could feel his toes again.

“Thanks,” he said, gruff, as he exited the small diner, pulling his jacket tightly around his shoulders.

“Merci,” sniffed the server from where he was sorting the pile of toonies and quarters Steve’d left on his table.

~~~

Back on the street, Steve wandered aimlessly for a while, just giving himself some time to think. He eventually found himself in a nicer area, with neat sidewalks on either side of the busy street and expensive-looking shops crammed cheek-by-jowl, their windows advertising the latest fashions and services. Everyone was in a hurry and talking on their cellphones.

Steve threaded through the droves, looking into windows, cafes, and cutting through a mall here and there. Nobody took any notice of the skinny, short, shabbily dressed guy trudging around in the wrong size of boots and stained sweatpants. He eventually stopped at a Tim Horton’s to grab an overly sweet, creamy cup of coffee just to have something warm to hold, and more caffeine to keep himself awake. It was a bit of a novelty that he could actually be affected by it, but the excitement was short-lived. Mostly he found himself looking for a place to pee every half hour.

Come on man with a plan, fucking tactical whatever the fuck, forget your fuckin frozen feet for five goddamn minutes. What the fuck was he going to do.

“We need to get into that safehouse,” he finally decided. “It’s our best chance to get through to Nat.” Although… since the SUV had been discovered near there, it was also likely that the whole area was crawling with cops or worse, and they would definitely be on the lookout for him. Or- a version of him, anyhow. But they’d be looking for Venom too, and it was fully possible they might have equipment to detect or expose a symbiote. A dangerous situation when his backup was nil and his resources… scant. Maybe… there were other safehouses, in other cities. He could steal a vehicle again, and keep going.

Venom slithered up from his jacket and wound itself around his neck like a scarf. “WHY CAN’T WE JUST CALL ANNE?” it rumbled, speaking close to Steve’s ear.

Steve stopped short in the middle of the sidewalk, nearly causing a smartly dressed woman in a long fur-trimmed pea coat to crash into him. She swung around him in heeled boots and snarled something with a lot of consonants that he failed to catch. Steve mumbled an apology and shuffled off to the side of the street, finding a sheltered doorway where he could take a minute for a chat with his goddamn alien infestation. “Who is Anne?”

Venom’s scarf-shape rippled around his throat and its small pearl eyes made happy little slits. “LOVE ANNE. SMART. AND SCARY. SHE WILL HELP.”

Steve was not convinced. “That doesn’t tell me much. Why should we trust her? Where is she? How can she help us? We can’t go around announcing our situation to people- that’s how you get caught.”

Venom showed him a series of images and memories: Anne Weying, whip smart, blonde, lawyer, Eddie’s ex-ladyfriend whom he was clearly not over. Steve banged his head (gently this time) against the door they were standing in front of, groaning and flapping his hands to get Venom to stop with the memories. He definitely didn’t need to know how this Anne woman smelled and tasted and what she was like in the bedroom. Jesus. “Alright, alright. Stop. You actually want me to call up Eddie’s ex?”

“YES! ANNE ALWAYS HELPS US WHEN EDDIE GETS IN TROUBLE.”

Steve snorted dryly. “Yeah, looks like she got sick of his shit too, since she left him and all.”

“NO! STUPID… ANNE LOVES EDDIE. LOVES US. SHE WILL KNOW WHAT TO DO.”

It’s not like he had a lot to lose at this point, so as long as he was careful about what he said, Steve figured it was worth a try to get in touch with this lady. Hell, maybe Eddie had managed to touch base with her from Wakanda or something, if she was the one he tended to lean on when he screwed up.

“You got a phone number?”

“YES!”

So that was how Steve ended up standing in what must have been one of the only remaining phone booths containing an actual functioning payphone on a busy street in downtown Montreal, feeding loonies and quarters into the slot and dialing up a complete stranger on the other side of the continent in another country, on the slim chance that she could somehow ‘help’ him, which he sorely fucking doubted.

Venom was just- just beside itself. It was sending stray tendrils all over the place under his clothes, anxiously squeezing around his arms and torso, drool leaking from somewhere and oozing hot down the back of his shirt. He swiped behind his neck with the hand not grappling the receiver and came away with ick. “Aw come on! Could you stop- Venom, fucking stop!” he complained, and squirmed when he felt that tongue slither under his shirt, teeth pricking somewhere along his back. “Jesus Christ stop it I’m fucking calling!” He got some weird looks from people walking by- yeah that wasn’t a surprise. He was jerking around, shouting and grabbing at himself like he was on drugs.

The call connected.

It was ringing.

A tentacle was squeezing his middle so hard he couldn’t take a full breath.

A female voice answered.

“Hello?”

Steve cleared his throat. “Uhm. Hello ma’am. Am I speaking to Anne Weying?”

There was a beat of silence. She probably thought he was a telemarketer or something and was about to hang up. Then, slowly: “...Yes. Who is this?”

Steve straightened up, squaring his shoulders back, his free hand digging at the tentacle Venom had wound too tight around his gut. “This is Captain Steven Grant Rogers, ma’am. I’m very sorry to disturb–”

She cut him off with a bark of laughter “Steve Rogers ? What the hell– is this a prank? You need a lawyer, Captain America?”

Steve was… not expecting to be laughed at. He might be five foot and change but his voice was the same. He definitely wasn’t used to people not- er- responding to his ‘Captain America’ voice. Shit.

“No. Well, maybe. But I’m actually calling about another, more serious matter, and your name was recommended as–”

“ANNE! ANNE! HELP USSSSSS!” Venom’s head burst out from Steve’s collar and its presence ran up his arm and engulfed the hand he was holding the phone in, wrapping it in black claws and gripping the receiver hard enough that it creaked. “ANNE!” it shouted again, right beside Steve’s ear.

“What are you doing!? Fucking- give it back you goddamn–”

He pulled at the phone with his un-venomed hand, trying to get control. He hunched around it. “Sorry about that Ms. Weying. As I was–”

“ANNE! ANNE WE LOST EDDIE!” Venom yelled over him, drowning out his voice.

“Hey! Give it back! I’m trying to talk to–”

The phone receiver see-sawed back and forth as they wrestled and eventually ended up mashed between them, grounding against Steve’s ear.

“Venom? Honey what’s going on? Who is that man? Venom tell me what happened. Where is Eddie?” Anne was rapid-firing worried questions from her end of the line, and Steve froze, realizing that she was addressing the fucking alien directly.

“Wait she knows!?” he hissed, tucking the mouthpiece under his chin so he could harangue Venom for a second. “You didn’t think it mighta been a good idea to tell me that before we called her!?"

“WE TOLD YOU ALREADY! ANNE LOVES US! GIVE US THE PHONE!”

The poor handset got subjected to some more unjustified violence at this point, which Venom arguably won by dint of slapping Steve across the face with a moist tentacle- dirty pool.

“ANNE!” Venom howled, holding the mouthpiece up higher than Steve could reach. “ANNE! STEVEN CAPTAIN AMERICA IS TERRIBLE AND MEAN AND HE YELLS AT US AND WE MISS EDDIE! HIS FRIENDS STOLE EDDIE AND WE ARE WORRIED AND SAD ANNE! STEVEN IS CRAZY AND BAD AT SHARING!”

There was a beat of silence while Venom apparently listened to what Anne was saying on the other end of the line, and yeah, of course it had the goddamn audacity to ‘uh huh’ once or twice, like it was having a very serious adult conversation and not behaving like a child tattling to their mother, during which Steve finally unwound the crushing tentacle from his waist and futilely hopped up and down on tiptoe trying to reach the phone. They were absolutely drawing attention now, since Venom was not doing much to hide itself and there were people everywhere. It probably didn’t help that they’d been openly yelling at each other. The grimy phone booth glass was cloudy with condensation but the little doors were flapping back and forth every time one of them knocked the other around, and the whole booth shook when Venom’s heavy tentacle smacked into the plexiglass.

“Venom! People are staring, you gotta get back inside me! Shit. Venom!” Steve yanked on a tentacle and was swatted off, which sent Steve’s whole ninety pounds bouncing back against the metal of the payphone box. He was dazed for a second, his free hand groping at his head as he tried to stop the world spinning, and it took him a moment to tune back into the cock-and-bull story Venom was spinning to this poor lady.

Venom sounded distraught, its deep, booming voice whining pitifully into the phone. “NO, WE CAN’T FIND HIM ANNE, HE IS FAR AWAY AND HE COULD GET HURT AND WE ARE TRYING VERY HARD TO BE A GOOD PARTNER TO STEVEN CAPTAIN AMERICA BUT HE DOESN’T LIKE US ANNE! HE CALLED US AN INFECTION! HE SAID HE DOESN’T WANT TO BE A TEAM!”

Venom’s head swiveled around to look Steve right in the eye. "STEVEN ROGERS IS A LITTLE BITCH BABY!”

That was it.

Steve hurled himself at Venom, crashing bodily into its mass, lashing out with slaps and punches and trying to grab the goddamn phone. It caught his fists and wrapped them in black, effectively freezing him in place. He tugged fruitlessly, but he couldn’t move. “Jesus fuck you asshole! Let me go!”

Venom held out the phone receiver, but didn’t let go of Steve’s hands. “SHE WANTS TO TALK TO YOU STEEEEVE. SHE IS VERY WORRIED. SHAME ON YOU FOR UPSETTING ANNE!”

Steve was about five seconds from blowing a fucking gasket. He jerked his right hand free as Venom guardedly released it and allowed him to bring the phone to his ear with an air of ‘now you watch yourself young man’ that was, in Steve’s opinion, extremely misplaced. It crowded him against the side of the booth so it could listen because privacy was no longer a thing in Steve’s life, hot breath blowing in his face, spittle spattering over the phone and his hand.

When Steve finally spoke his voice was flat with the baker's dozen of comments he was not going to make. “Yes?” he bit, glaring daggers at the grimy wall, pointedly not looking at Venom.

“Hi again. Steven, is it?”

“Yes ma’am,” Steve said, and he was having some serious flashbacks to him and Buck getting read the riot act for fighting at school.

Anne sighed. “I realize that you might be a little confused by Venom. A symbiote can be a lot to get used to, and I’m sure it hasn’t been easy on you.”

“Uh- yeah,” Where was she going with this? “Yeah I’m- actually I’m pretty used to weird stuff with the Avengers, so–”

“Come on Steven, please. I know you aren’t really Captain America. But Venom… they really want to be a hero, you know? It’s cruel to play that up, and it’s not fair to them. It’s kind of sick, actually. It makes me very uncomfortable to know Venom has to deal with that when they are so vulnerable without Eddie. I would really hate to find out that you’re some kind of predator.”

Steve was absolutely fucking speechless . A goddamn predator!? He- maybe he’d knocked his head harder than he realized just now. Was this woman for fucking real!?

“Excuse me ma’am, but with all due respect, I really am who I–”

“Come on. Stop it, Steven. I’ll still help you, but I need you to be honest with–”

“I’m not fucking lying! You do know it's in my goddamned brain right? It can literally read my mind. How the hell–”

“Or,” she cut him off as if he hadn’t just lost it and yelled at her like a fruitcake, “maybe you're a little… delicate? Have you had some- you know… personal problems? Criminal record? Maybe you drink? It’s alright. I’m used to helping people, and I’m definitely not going to leave Venom stranded in- where did you say you were?”

“Montreal,” Steve ground out, a syllable at a time, his free hand digging against Venom’s rubbery mass, squeezing.

“Alright. Montreal. Now look. If you’re in trouble, if you two need some help, I want to help you. Venom is very special to me, and to Eddie, and we would never let anything happen to them. I’d be happy to meet with you, maybe give you some money if you need–”

Venom chose that moment to surge over Steve, their mass expanding until their head hit the top of the phone booth and their shoulders were forcing the plexi panels to bulge out along with the metal frame. “YES ANNE! PLEASE HELP US! WE NEED YOU!”

The phone cord strained as Venom shifted its mass within the tiny space then. 

Snapped.

The line went dead.

WE ARE SORRY STEVEN! Venom said quickly, as it began to shrink fast enough that Steve actually fell the last foot to the ground and toppled into the ruined remains of the phone booth. The useless receiver clattered down next to him. WE GOT EXCITED! ANNE SAID SHE WILL HELP! LET’S GO! LET’S GO TO CALIFORNIA AND FIND ANNE RIGHT NOW!

Steve stood and brushed away stray shards of phone booth, shaking them out of his hair. He rounded on Venom.

“Cali! Sure! We’ll get right on that right after we run and hide because this isn’t fucking New York and somebody probably already called the police about the ten foot tall goddamn tentacle monster exploding out of a phone booth. Now please, please stop making us a goddamn public spectacle. It’s time to go.”

FINE.

Venom quickly became the leather jacket and snow pants again, covering Steve’s very bright, noticeable clothing. He pried what was left of the phone booth’s door to one side and emerged into a busy downtown street full of pedestrians, some of them filming him on their cellphones, all standing in a wide semicircle around them and whispering to one another in excited voices.

Well that was just excellent. They were really pulling off the stealth thing. 

Steve picked a direction and ran.

Chapter Text

As far as I'm concerned the only thing to do is sit in a room and get drunk.

-Jack Kerouac

Eddie was So. Fuckin. Bored. He’d assumed that waiting around in Wakanda was gonna be the shittiest leg of this race. Surely once the tips started trickling in there would be some kinda action. But that younger, more naive version of Eddie from a couple days ago hadn’t spent fourteen hours cooped up in a skungy motel room with the captain of the staring team. He was a poor, unenlightened, moronic optimist and deserved to be slapped.

Maybe if he slapped himself hard enough it’d have a retroactive effect? Magic was real, maybe time travel too. 

Fuck he was getting stupider by the second. He had to get out of this room.

Easier said than done with his creepy shadow posted on the exit. Figured the cyborg didn’t need sleep. It was Eddie’s own dumb fault for assuming he’d be bound by the shackles of motherfuckin’ convention.

And now Eddie was waxing poetic. Enough was enough. What the hell kind of motel room had no minibar, anyway?

Eddie sat up and kicked off the covers, swinging his legs around and planting his feet on the rough, low pile carpet. He dropped his head into his hands and tugged on his own hair, groaning.

He could feel Barnes’ eyes on him.

“I’m not gonna make a break for the door, you don’t have to fucking monitor me you know,” he muttered, not expecting a response. No surprises there, at least.

Another few beats of silence and Eddie stood. “Gonna get a shower,” he announced, and pulled the bathroom door closed behind him, relieved he could at least have some privacy- what a novel concept. He stripped off his boxers and socks and cranked up the hot, stepping under the spray with an appreciative groan.

Barnes was really throwing him for a loop on this little holiday. After a week of pestering the Winter Soldier in Wakanda, Eddie had been sure he’d had the guy all figured out. Cold, calculating- nearly inhumanly so. Hardly any personality, and not much depth beneath the surface. He treated anything that mattered to him like it was a military mission and he had no bandwidth left for sentimentality. He was allied to the Avengers, but not actually part of them. Eddie had assumed that his loyalty to Captain America stemmed from their past military connection, but clearly it ran deeper.

Eddie sucked at the whole self-awareness bit, but he was damned good at reading people- he had to be in his line of work. But Barnes was a closed book. He didn’t give anything away for free.

Now, however, things were bleeding through.

Eddie dumped half the bottle of heavily scented motel shampoo into his hand and slathered it over his head, working it into his scalp with his fingertips. He thought about the little things that kept flashing beneath the surface. The vague shapes of worry and anger. The impression that Barnes was somehow lost without Rogers. His certainty that the skinny guy on the gas station surveillance footage was his old Captain, despite not being able to see his face.

“That,” Barnes said, showing Eddie the laptop, “is Steve.”

“How can you tell? He’s completely covered in my fucking symbiote.”

Barnes shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. I can tell by his shape, and the way he’s moving. That’s how he used to be, before the serum. I remember.”

“I thought he was your Captain in the war.”

“And my best friend since we were kids.”

They’d known each other their whole lives. That certainly changed things. Rogers was more important to Barnes than Eddie had initially realized. It didn’t account for all of Barnes numerous issues, but it absolutely explained why he was so focused on getting him back safe and sound.

And with that information under his belt, suddenly a lot of things were falling into place for Eddie, and he was able to pick up more easily on what the hell Barnes was all about. The micro-expressions he allowed onto his face. The-

The bathroom door popped open without the common fuckin’ courtesy of a knock and the shower curtain was wrenched back. Eddie screeched and leapt about six feet in the air, knocking all the bath products down and scrabbling to keep himself upright.

“What the fuck Barnes!? Get out!”

Barnes didn’t.

“I’m assumin’ you got a reason for barging in here? Or did you just want to see me naked, cause honestly buddy I figured you were pretty sold on Rogers–”

“Get dressed. We have to go,” the Winter Soldier said in his deadest monotone, apparently totally over the touchy-feely reminiscing from earlier.

“Can I rinse the fuckin’ shampoo outta my hair first?” Eddie snapped, fumbling to put the tipped over bottles back on the lip of the tub.

Barnes gave no response and turned to stride out of the room, leaving the door wide open so all the cold air could come in and disperse Eddie’s nice cloud of steam.

Asshole.

~~~

“Well,” Eddie said as casually as he could, given the whole- everything- they were lookin' at, “at least we know V’s not starving.”

Barnes, who’d worked up to a grand total of six different facial expressions since he’d recognized Steve in the surveillance footage the day before, gave Eddie an absolutely flat look. “V. Isn’t starving,” he parroted helpfully.

“Obviously not,” Eddie said, gesturing with a broad sweep of his hand to encompass the whole entire fucking beach, because that’s how far the blood from the three decapitated guys had spread, soaking into the snow and staining it cherry red from end to end with some really dark patches in the middle where the actual bodies had been left. Like when you get a couple extra pumps of flavor syrup on your shaved ice.

The coroner had already taken the remains away. Most of the cops were gone too. Eddie and Barnes made it past the police tape with some fudged identities in offical-ese which, despite looking like well-worn laminate, were apparently fully reprogrammable and Eddie really needed to figure out a way to keep his after this was over. Eddie was used to having a press pass, but it rarely got him this close this soon after bodies dropped. Usually if he saw something like this it was because he and Venom had ripped some horrible criminal murderer apart with their claws and teeth. Kinda surreal to be on the other side of things, if he was honest.

Was it weird? It was probably weird… Eddie was admittedly supremely fucked up from sharing his body with V, and he found himself a little, teensie bit hungry at the spread- the scene . Not because he was a fucking monster… it was more that he’d ended up a tad on the conditioned side, and he had to swallow carefully and remind himself that here, right now, he did not have V, and this wasn’t a fuckin’ dinner buffet. Maybe they could get burgers after.

Who knew what Barnes was thinking- his face was doing some cryptic 404 File Not Found thing. He’d finally abandoned his tac gear for plain slacks and a dark button up beneath a normal winter jacket, and was slinking along the edge of the water, where the footprints in the snow indicated the men had come ashore. There were some very large, very familiar tracks there too, although the weather would ruin them soon.

It was clear to Eddie that the three men had reached the bank under their own power, then Venom had attacked them and eaten their heads without a lot of dicking around. They must have been absolutely ravenous to kill three guys at once… or the guys deserved it. He didn’t know the details yet. The cops had said two of them had minor priors, but nothing serious. No assault or murder or anything crazy. Poaching. Domestic stuff. A DUI. The third guy had gun charges though.

Eddie knew from experience that the records on file were only a small part of the story. Most of the crooks he and V went after were squeaky clean on paper. Venom knew the difference between a bad guy and a good guy, and Captain America certainly fucking did. Seemed like they were getting right down to doling out some hard core justice and capping it off with a romantic dinner for two. Great. That was… perfectly fine. 

Glancing over at Barnes, Eddie became aware of the fact that he wasn’t the only involved party with mixed feelings about Venom and Captain Brave, Broad, and Blonde openly murdering dudes and leaving their corpses lying around for anyone to find. Barnes’s blankness had evaporated. Actually he was lookin’ kinda sick, and Eddie was 99% positive it wasn’t the blood on his boots.

~~~

Back in the jet, the Winter Soldier was switching out his regular-guy clothes for his tac stuff, moving less like a panther prowling the jungle and more like a panther that’d suddenly found itself upside down on Mars. The guy was still lookin’ pale. Paler than usual. Whatever. Eddie sincerely fucking doubted mass murdering assassins got queasy from a bit of bloody slush. Pretty sure Barnes didn’t have a weak stomach. Finally, some common ground.

He flopped into one of the quinjet’s bucket seats and was letting his fingers and toes defrost, thinking about the mess Venom and Rogers had left behind. They weren’t stupid- they’d be getting the hell outta there after a triple homicide, no matter the circumstances that led up to it. Cops’d said one of the guy’s vehicles was missing, and there were fresh tire tracks in the snow to back that up.

If it were Eddie, he’d head for a big city. But there was nothing new on the algorithm, and there likely wouldn’t be for a few days- after a big meal like that, he and V usually stayed in and vegged. 

Jesus Christ he was hungry. They’d missed breakfast.

He twisted out of his chair, leaving Barnes to sullenly alphabetize his knives or whatever he was doing. Romanoff was piloting the jet, but Eddie wasn’t sure where they were going.

“So…” he said, dropping into the co-pilot’s seat. “Any chance we can hit a drive-through or something?”

She raised a single slender brow, turning to look at him. “That scene back there make you hungry, Brock?”

He almost answered honestly but cut himself off. “... No.”

She looked at him.

His stomach punctuated that statement with a poorly-timed grumble. “Well… s’pose I could eat. Where are we going?”

“Montreal, for now. I have some other business to take care of, so I’ll drop you off and you can get a hotel until something else pops up.”

Oh good. More time in a hotel with Barnes. This was just the best vacation ever. 

~~~

This vacation sucked. Eddie had thought that being trapped in a tiny room with Barnes was rough the first time around, but that had been before they’d witnessed the aftermath of Steve Rogers and a symbiote enthusiastically chewing through three dudes like they were fruit gushers. Eddie’s formerly unfriendly roomie had become much less fun since the Black Widow’d left them in the city to wait for the next ping.

At least there were two beds this time.

Barnes had not spoken a single word since the morning before, on the beach. He was being cagey and snappish, and he was doing it without moving his face muscles or talking, which was a feat. Eddie’s grip on his patience, tenuous at the best of times, was slipping a bit more with each little bottle that made its way from the minibar to his face to the trash can. He was onto the liqueurs now.

“So. You planning on telling me what’s up your ass anytime soon?” he finally ventured the next morning when Barnes was coming out of the shower. He had a towel wrapped around his hair and was carefully drying the spaces between the plate sections of his prosthetic with another.

Eddie sat at the two-seater table, dumping Kahlúa into his coffee cup as he scanned the laptop for news headlines. “Your convivial disposition has taken a real turn and I gotta say, I’m feeling kinda hurt.”

Barnes’ stare was a little too wide. The panther was severely spooked. Eddie watched him pace over to the window, twitch at the curtain and peer out, pace back. Suddenly he stopped mid-stride and appeared to stare a hole through the crappy tv screen.

“Steve… ate those guys’ heads,” he finally said, fisting his hands at his sides.

“To be fair,” Eddie put in, “He had some help.”

A muscle in Barne’s jaw twitched and the fingers of his prosthetic whirred, the plates doing that dominoes-realignment thing. “Steve would never do something like that.”

Eddie sighed, gulping down his boozy coffee and setting the mug on the table. He closed the laptop.

“I already explained that V needs human brain chemicals to survive, or weren’t you listening? They NEED to eat brains, whether their host cooperates or not. You have no fuckin’ idea what it’s like to host a starving symbiote.”

“But- Steve. He wouldn’t. Steve would fight it.”

“V would just force him then. Wouldn’t even be hard. Rogers- hah- literally wouldn’t have a leg to stand–”

Barnes was up and on him before he could finish snarking. His arm was grabbed, the table and laptop knocked askew as Eddie was yanked roughly out of his seat by an iron grip, the fingers of Barnes’ prosthetic closed like a vice on his forearm. 

He caught a brief glimpse of actual rage flashing in the Winter Soldier’s steel-blue eyes and then he was hurled into the kitchenette by his arm, smashing into the counter with a CRASH!

White fire surged up Eddie’s arm and exploded from his temple where it cracked against the overhead cabinets. He made a ridiculous and useless attempt to catch himself, but only succeeded in flailing around, banging against the edge of the counter on his way to the floor.

Fuckin' fuckshit motherfuckin' OW.

He lay there, trying to take stock.

He was conscious. That was probably a positive.

His head hurt, but it was nothing compared to the shrieking pain in his right arm, which he could already feel swelling rapidly and throbbing with every beat of his heart. He curled in on himself, pulling his definitely fucking broken arm close to his body as he used his left to inch awkwardly away from the place he’d landed and slumped, winded, against the nearby lower cabinets.

After several seconds of just breathing through the pain and trying to keep from passing out it finally occurred to him to search the room for Barnes. What the hell? Eddie’d been doing his best to be a complete pain in the guy’s ass for days, why'd he snap now? Fuck, the guy had some kinda Manchurian candidate code words in his head or something, had Eddie hit one of them?

Would Barnes actually kill him, or had he shot his load with the one attack? Eddie had no delusions about actually fighting back. He was well fuckin’ aware the Winter Soldier could erase him with his pinkie if he wanted to. Eddie’s mouth had landed him in plenty of trouble in his life, but right now he really had to be careful. His roomie was an actual murder-assassin, and Venom wasn’t around to even the odds.

Panting through the next wave of pain, Eddie tried to get up, but a hand on his shoulder kept him down. “Don’t try to move. I called the Widow. She’s coming to help.”

“Coming to help what, finish me off? You’re doing such a great job on your own- don’t touch me! ” Eddie twisted out of the way, scooting further along the floor, trying to put some distance between them. He kept his arm cradled close- it was really fuckin’ throbbing now, fuck. The asshole had broken his fuckin’ arm.

The hand on him froze, withdrew, and Eddie found himself looking into Bucky Barnes’ face, which was creased with worry. Worry and shame and- whoa, the expression repertoire had just made a whole exponential leap.

Barnes' throat bobbed as he swallowed. He was visibly struggling to speak, his mouth opening a couple times and the words dying before they made it past his lips, eyes not meeting Eddie's. “I’m sorry,” he finally whispered to the dingy tile floor.

Eddie stared at him in total disbelief. Now that was a 180 that’d make Tony Hawk proud. The guy crouching over Eddie had gone from stoic nonagenarian to an anxious thirty-something chewing his lower lip, his hands twitching repeatedly towards Eddie then away again. He was practically dithering, and Eddie’ eyebrows climbed so high on his face they risked disappearing into his hairline.

“You are?”

Barnes got up and made his way to the minifridge, pulling out the ice tray and dumping the whole thing into an empty plastic bag. He knelt beside Eddie again and hesitantly held out the bag. “You’re a civilian non-combatant,” he offered.

Well that explained everything. “Glad we could clear that up,” Eddie bit, wincing as Nurse Barnes laid the bag over his arm. “Jesus fucking shit!”

~~~

It took around an hour for Romanoff to show up, at which point Eddie staggered from the hotel to the waiting quinjet. Things got a touch hazy after that because the pain was really setting in, but essentially there was some fancy Wakandan machine on board that the Widow claimed was going to fix him right up, and Eddie just went along with it because it’s not like he had a lot of options.

Barnes hovered obtusely, bringing water and ice and blankets, and changing out his cold compress twice. Romanoff finally shooed him away by sending him to get some supplies. Alone on board with the Black Widow, Eddie wasn’t completely confident that she didn’t plan to smother him and dump his corpse, but he stayed put. He really needed to stop hanging around Russian assassins.

He parked himself in one of the bucket seats while the Widow set up the machine and got him to lay his arm out so she could begin with an x-ray.

“So,” she said casually, “how’d you manage to break the Soldier?”

What? “Pretty sure he broke me, not the other way around.”

“Mhm,” she hummed. “I’m going to take a stab in the dark here, and say you were talking about Steve.”

“You’re… not wrong.”

“Of course I’m not. What’d you say?”

“Not much, just told him that Venom'd be able to make Rogers kill those fishermen if they wanted- that kinda thing is easy for them. Then Barnes lost his shit and threw me across the room.”

There was a minute of silence where the Widow was studying the x-ray. Eddie felt compelled to keep talking because he hated uncomfortable silences. “I was gonna tell him that I think they’re working together, but he didn’t give me the chance.”

She turned from the screen to speak to him. “Well, your arm is definitely fractured. Hold still. This will take a few minutes.” Romanoff tapped at the device, then hit the big button and it started to hum, the sensation making his skin crawl. Eddie held very fuckin’ still.

“You do know that Barnes was brainwashed by nazis and forced to murder people for seventy years, right?”

Eddie nearly jerked, but caught himself before he did anything that might result in the fancy machine sawing off his arm or putting it together backwards or whatever. He looked at Romanoff, her green eyes meeting his. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“I’m just saying autonomy is a touchy subject for him. He’s got a bit of a hair-trigger when it comes to anything to do with Steve too, so both of those things together? Heads are bound to roll.”

He stared at her, at the serene little hint of a smile on her face. “You’re kind of horrible, you know that?”

“I’m a delight.”

The machine beeped three times, then the humming cut off and the lights winked out. Eddie pulled his arm back to himself, rubbing it experimentally. The pain was gone. The swelling too.

“Looks like you’re all healed up. It’ll be stiff for a few hours, but you’re good as new.”

“Yeah, thanks Romanoff,” Eddie said, still rubbing his arm.

“You can call me Natasha,” she said, catching him by surprise. “And- I’ll never admit to saying this out loud, but you’re helping him a lot, even if it doesn’t seem that way.”

“Who?”

“Barnes.”

~~~

Natasha dropped Eddie back at the hotel with a new laptop tucked under his no-longer-broken arm. He was still absorbing the fact that he was now on a first-name basis with the Black Widow. Huh.

Barnes was already in the room when he returned, and the mess created by their little tussle had been tidied away, the only remaining evidence the busted laptop sitting on the table. He had his hair tied up in that hipster-esque bun again, a couple strands falling to frame his face, and he’d switched out the murder gear for a long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of slouchy grey track pants.

There were a few bags from a nearby grocery on the counter, and a pot of something was simmering on the hot plate. What. The fuck. 

“What are you doin’?”

Barnes turned from the counter, where he'd been chopping celery fast enough to reassure Eddie that this was the Winter Soldier and not a shape shifter pod person. He flipped the knife absently, caught it in a reverse grip without looking. “I'm making stew.”

Eddie absorbed that for a moment. Each of those words was so individually impossible that he wasn't sure where to start. He decided to skip directly to the least problematic issue. 

“...In a hotel? Why? We can just order room service.”

Something… happened on Barnes’ face, but it was gone before Eddie could place the expression in his new expanded lexicon. “You’re injured.”

Eddie set down the replacement laptop and raised his refurbished limb. “Not anymore. The Widow fixed me right up. We had a good little chat, too,” he said, breezing over to the minibar to see what was left. Creme de Menthe? Gross. He twisted the cap off and wrinkled his nose. What could he even mix fuckin’ Creme de Menthe with?

Barnes, predictably, had no comment. He was back to committing mayhem on vegetables. If it kept him from mangling any more human bits Eddie was all for it.

Was he really going to do the straight liqueur thing? That was a new low, even for him. He closed his eyes and shuddered, drinking the oversweet liquid down in one gulp and shaking himself after. Yeah, definitely not worth it. “We need some beer,” he announced with finality, tossing the little bottle in the trash. “That shit is disgusting.”

Eddie ordered a booze delivery and parked himself on one of the beds with the new computer and an egregious stack of pillows, browsing news headlines and falling down a bit of a rabbit-hole chasing some clickbait garbage that announced a gigantic sea monster predictably dubbed ‘The Kraken!’ had showed up in the Bay area, terrorizing fishing boats and stalling traffic on the Golden Gate Bridge. Perfect. Nice to know home sweet home was still on brand.

He was sipping his third (fourth?) tall boy and ranking various terrible Photoshop jobs in order of awful when Barnes appeared at the foot of the bed holding a bowl of thick, hearty looking stew that smelled motherfuckin’ incredible.

Eddie boggled. 

“You made stew.” 

The Winter Soldier looked confused, which was rich. “I said I was.” 

“For me?” Eddie asked. He groped for the last can and popped the tab; he needed it okay. Barnes’s sudden domesticity was straining even Eddie’s immense tolerance for weird.

Barnes nodded.

“Well- uh… thanks? I guess put it on the table.”

Barnes set the meal on the small kitchen table and prepared a second bowl for himself because apparently he was doing all the human things today. He sat across from Eddie, who flipped his spoon back and forth anxiously from the awkward feeling of being face to face with the Winter Fuckin’ Soldier who’d broken his arm just a few hours ago like it was a toothpick, and had since switched gears to ‘very considerate roommate, five stars’ mode in the ensuing aftermath.

It’d probably be easier if the stew sucked, but it was delicious.

“This is really good,” Eddie admitted after a few minutes of uncomfortable slurping. “Where’d you learn to make stew?”

There was that little frown again, the one that made a line between Barnes’ brows. “I think- my ma?”

Eddie tamped the urge to say the first thing that came to mind, considering. Natasha said this guy had been brainwashed by actual nazis for seventy years. So maybe- just possibly, his life was even more fucked up than the parts Eddie already knew about. What was the other thing Natasha’d said? That Eddie was helping him? He sure as shit had not been trying to.

“Do you remember? I mean- I guess that was like… a while ago…” Smooth, Eddie berated himself, go ahead and remind him how long it’s been. “Uh shit. I–”

“I remember.” Barnes cut in, and Eddie’d never been so glad for the opportunity to pry his foot outta his own mouth. “A few things. Ma. My sisters. Steve.”

Eddie let that one sink in for a good minute. “So you and him, you’re really like a hundred years old? You actually grew up in the 1920’s? I always thought all that was patriotic hype.”

Barnes nodded again, studying a carrot floating in his bowl.

“And he- he really was sick before? And small, like we saw on that security footage?”

“Yeah, Stevie was all spit'n vinegar in between bein’ flat on his ass in bed,” Barnes explained, slipping into a weird old-timey New York accent that Eddie usually heard after him and V ran through their Netflix queue and resorted to late night cable. “He couldn’t keep his stupid nose outta trouble. That’s how it got broken so many times- people kept punching him in the face.”

Barnes opened his mouth to add to this astonishing river of words, but suddenly shifted, freezing up, the moment of ease passing as the metal fingers of his prosthetic gripped the edge of the table until it creaked. “It was a long time ago,” he finally said, his voice back to a quiet monotone and his eyes far away.

Palpable silence hung between them, broken only by Eddie’s knee bouncing beneath the table. “So- I know a lotta shit happened to you, Barnes. The uh- brainwashing, or whatever.” He slurped a mouthful of stew. Swallowed. “Guess I could maybe afford to be less of a dick.”

“You don’t gotta be nice to me just ‘cause my brains are Swiss cheese.”

“Nah, but you make a mean stew, so it wouldn’t hurt to keep on your good side.” He pointed with his spoon. “By which I mean the side with the metal arm. That thing is fuckin’ sick.”

Barnes looked lost, staring uncertainly at his own fingers still clutching the lip of the table.

“I’m serious,” Eddie continued, because he’d never met an awkward silence he couldn’t fill with some kinda bullshit. “Like, when we find V and your boyfriend, we should arm wrestle.”

“My- what?”

“Oh come on, you guys got the most dramatic love story I ever heard. Two dorky adrenaline junkies separated for seventy years, superpowers, nazis, aliens? And you were childhood best friends? If that doesn’t say ‘romance’ then nothing does. Venom is gonna lose their shit.”

Barnes squinted at Eddie like he was trying to figure out whether he was joking or insane. His mouth opened.

“I will kick your alien’s ass in an arm wrestle,” he said. Then he scrunched his eyebrows and glared down at his stew bowl like the the words had just jumped out of it.

Eddie licked his spoon.

“Uh huh.”

~~~

The next couple of days were up and down. Barnes swung between being almost nice, and treating Eddie like he was a stray and somewhat smelly alley cat that’d managed to squeeze in through the window, but Eddie wasn’t fazed by his crap anymore; he could see through it now.

It didn’t make waiting any easier, though.

They’d reached a sort of stalemate, tolerating one another, occasionally talking, but mostly giving each other a wide berth except when Barnes cooked, which- Eddie wasn’t gonna turn down an actual home (hotel)-cooked meal no matter who made it.

Eddie worked diligently to keep himself at least half in the bag most of the time, because he couldn’t stand letting his mind wander and the anxiety was actually eating him alive. Fuck. Like Venom would- 

Jesus shit Brock pull yourself together, he squinted at the laptop screen, which was frustratingly devoid of helpful information. Had been ever since the news about the poachers came out.

PING!

What the- It took Eddie’s mostly pickled mind a good moment to register that the ‘ping’ on Princess Shuri’s algorithm was a literal ping noise.

“Hey. Hey, we got something!” Eddie scrambled to sit up straight, sweeping an armload of empty cans off the bedspread to make room for Barnes. “Shit we got more than one thing!”

They pressed together so they could both see, Barnes wrinkling his nose when he got close.

“You kinda stink,” he commented, putting a couple extra inches between them, his lip curling a little. Oh yeah, cause this guy was going to judge? He only just learned he could comb his own fuckin’ hair like three days back.

When they were both settled in, Eddie clicked play on the new video. The footage was much better quality than the crap from the two robberies. This was hi-def, full color.

“What the hell?” Eddie frowned. He didn’t recognize the scruffy, filthy little man who entered the lobby of the building. Shoulders hunched up, hands stuffed in his pockets, a scowl on his face, and a scraggly beard that was in dire need of a trim. He was red-cheeked from cold and took a minute to stamp the snow from his ratty boots as he rubbed his hands vigorously together before moving deeper inside.

The guy tried the door code at least four times before he got it. He had to work to pull the heavy entrance door open, gripping the handle with both hands. Once he passed through the door he moved off screen.

The next clip was just as sharp, and it had sound. It was the same guy, now going through a retinal and biometrics scanner in attempt to gain entry to what Barnes informed him was an older Avengers safehouse, accessible to anyone on the team. Anyone on the team who’d signed the Accords anyhow, of which Rogers was not one.

This was the best view yet. A direct, head-on facial image.

The small man’s cheekbones were sharp in his grimy face. His eyes were a brilliant pale blue, tinged with a suggestion of green and ringed with dark circles that spoke to a bone-deep exhaustion. His beard was ruddy, unkempt and crusted with something. The finger he pressed to the scanner was blackened beneath the nail and under the cuticle. It didn’t look like this guy had seen the inside of a shower stall in too fuckin’ long. His hair was dark blonde, messy and hanging over his forehead in greasy hanks.

He looked really tired, and cold, too. He was only wearing thin sweatpants and a red hoodie with a flannel plaid jacket over it. Not enough for a skinny dude in the brunt of Canadian winter. The clothes were stained and ripped in a couple places.

Eddie wasn’t real familiar with Captain America, but up close, he didn’t see the resemblance. He’d be hard-fuckin-pressed to tie the two together at all, but the scanning equipment recognized him. It confirmed his identity in a snotty artificial voice, then proceeded to inform him he was denied access.

The ensuing tantrum was pretty warranted, if you asked Eddie. He knew what it was like to be on your last leg after too many shit days in a row. But he’d also have V rip the door open so he could go in- why wasn’t V helping? There was no sign of them at all. No distracted muttering, no flashes of black or white, not a single scrap of evidence. Where the hell were they?

That worried Eddie more than the miraculous shrinking superhero, but Barnes… Barnes looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Stevie…” he whispered, and his face crumpled into a worried pout, his mouth opening a little in surprise as he watched Rogers kick the door and scream a string of angry fucks at the computer in a surprisingly deep voice. He seemed to slump for a second, and Eddie noticed the fine tremors that were making his shoulders shake. Rogers clutched at his stomach in the universal sign of hunger, fished in his pocket to reveal a couple bills and some change, and pit-checked himself with a wrinkled scowl of distaste.

So whatever else had happened, Rogers was seriously down on his luck. His supersoldier body was conspicuously absent, as was Venom. He was obviously sleeping rough, broke and hungry. And he needed a shower. Not exactly living it up and kicking ass the way Eddie had expected. He felt sorry for him, actually.

Eddie turned to Barnes, who’d pulled his mask of indifference on again- but it wasn’t as seamless as before. Eddie could see the lines of worry at the corner of his mouth, and in the set of his shoulders.

“So that’s it? Locked outta the safehouse by his own team? How long ago was this?”

“Timestamp says about three hours. It’s delayed because this isn’t from a public system.”

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

Barnes was silent for another beat, still staring at the now-paused clip. He consulted his fancy tablet, a little pinch between his brows. “There’s a newer hit, close to the safehouse location. No video.”

It was just a single blurry image taken by either a security camera or a cellphone- the same small, disheveled man with his coat pulled tightly around his shoulders, walking down a busy street, cheeks flushed from cold.

Eddie couldn’t understand. Had Venom left Rogers? Did they jump into someone else? He scrambled to his feet, peeling off his t-shirt and hunting around for the less gross one that was crumpled by the foot of the bed.

“C’mon! What’s the holdup Barnes? We gotta go!” Eddie yanked the shirt over his head, threw a sweater over it and tugged his jeans on, fumbling the button with clumsy fingers that didn’t want to listen to him. He started for the door, then turned on his heel to find the Winter Soldier still perched on the bed examining the vid.

He set the laptop carefully beside him and fixed Eddie with a searching look. “Where are we supposed to go? He’s not at that safehouse anymore. We don’t know where he is, Eddie. We should stay here and wait for the next hit.”

Urgency and frantic anxiety were warring in Eddie’s brain, and he couldn’t do anything about it. Barnes was right, but holy fuck was he ever sick of waiting around, always one step behind, and now V was-

PING!

Eddie practically launched himself at the laptop, trying to wrench it outta Barnes’s vibranium grip.

“What is it? Fuck off, lemme see! ”

‘MONSTER DESTROYS TELEPHONE BOOTH IN BROAD DAYLIGHT!’ The headline announced beneath a ‘breaking news’ type clip that showed the same scene from multiple angles, in varying degrees of clarity. Cellphone videos.

Eddie coulda cried from the title alone. All the fear and worry of the last few minutes skidded to a halt as he observed possibly the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen: the same skinny, filthy version of Steve Rogers from the safehouse footage having an animated and borderline violent slapfight with a twisting, undulating configuration of ooze. There wasn’t any useful audio, but Eddie could hear Venom roar a couple times, which made him almost crumple with emotion.

“Oh my god. V,” he moaned, the emptiness for his alien aching.

The videos ended with Venom surging over Rogers and bulking up to their full, gorgeous height, ripping the phone booth apart like it was made of cardboard and staples, and leaping easily over the ring of gawkers who’d gathered round. It galloped away and ducked between some distant buildings, disappearing from view.

Eddie flopped face down onto the bed, caught between elation and misery. They were okay. They were fine, safe in Steve Fuckin’ Rogers stupid super body, arguing with him over- whatever the fuck. It didn’t matter. And they were here, in the same city as Eddie and Barnes, caught on camera only minutes before. Eddie bolted upright again.

“That was only a few minutes ago! We can find them!”

Barnes was typing furiously now, and he didn’t answer right away. “Hold on. Do you recognize this number?”

The laptop was turned once more, so Eddie could read the screen, where Anne’s phone number was displayed along with some other info- her full name, address, date of birth etc.

His blood went cold. “Shit.”

“One of your known associates. I’m sure that number’s been tapped, probably since before you were arrested. Would the- uh- Venom try to contact her?”

He sighed, the weight of that settling over him. “Yeah they- yeah. Probably. I never wanted her to get involved in any of this. It isn’t safe. She knows about V- has even hosted them before. V trusts her. They’d maybe try to find me by going through Anne. Fuck. She can’t be involved. I don’t want her arrested or questioned or whatever the shit.”

Okay. He needed to get himself together. Being half-crazed and frantic wasn’t gonna help him get back to V, and now that Anne might be involved, the stakes were higher. He forced a couple measured breaths, his hand twitching at his side, picking at the stitching on the comforter. When he was able to speak he twisted, looking at Barnes, who was still typing. “Your guy- Captain America. Don’t you think he’d know about the phone being tapped? Wouldn’t he realize that calling Anne would be a bad idea?”

“I don’t know,” Barnes considered, working his lower lip between his teeth in thought- a habit that had cropped up sometime after the arm-breaking business. “Steve could have some- gaps. He was frozen for a long time…”

“So it might not be a red flag- calling her, I mean.” Eddie couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“Probably not. I couldn’t say. You said that the alien can-” Barnes had to clear his throat, “can force its… host. Make them do what it wants?”

“Yeah, but didn’t you see on the clip? They’re doing fine. They’re clearly working together. Yeah, V could force their host, but that’s not their style. And we have all kinds of evidence that they are cooperating with Rogers.”

“... what evidence? They looked like they were fighting.”

Barnes played the phone booth scene again and Eddie huffed, reaching impatiently for the laptop so he could freeze the video on certain frames. “You aren’t seein’ it right. Look,” he jabbed a finger at the screen, “V’s not using any kinda force, and they aren’t hurting Rogers either. The two of them are arguing back and forth, squabbling over the receiver. V could take over if they wanted to, but they aren’t. Both of them are talking to Anne here, and look at the expression on V’s face! Pissy, pouty- like a cheesed off little kid. See?”

Barnes was paying attention, sure, but Eddie had his doubts that he was seeing the same thing Eddie was.

“And another thing: Rogers isn’t terrified. Not at all. He looks pissed off, sure, but he’s not pissin’ himself scared for his life, which he would be if V wanted him that way. Nah, V’s- actually it looks like they’re pretty good together.”

Eddie hadn’t realized it fully until he said the words out loud, but when he watched the phone booth footage over again he could see it- how they moved together, how they worked with each other despite the ridiculous nature of whatever they were arguing about.

Holy fuck.

Holy motherfucking shit.

Venom LIKED Rogers!

He played all the evidence in his mind, all the little signs that hadn’t fully added up until right now: Venom protected Rogers from the ocean; they were responsible for getting him to dry land- not an easy feat. Newfoundland was a long damn way from the Raft. They found a way to coexist despite Rogers’ crazy supersoldier body, too. That was probably the reason that he was small, although Eddie had no clue about the intricacies. It made a lot of sense, and he knew V could physically manipulate their host, even if he wasn’t sure of the extent. And way back on the first footage, in the convenience store videos there was evidence of them communicating, even if it didn’t appear to be going well. Only a day later Rogers was ‘driving,’ V was formed into clothes on him, and he was picking out snacks that V liked. At no point was the guy running in terror- no, he was working with them. Had been all along.

And there was more: Rogers had voluntarily stuffed himself in a microwave and let the government do crazy experiments on him. Fearless, completely fine with weird shit happening to his body, and he got in fistfights with monsters and tanks on a regular Tuesday afternoon. His life was already insane way before V showed up.

The more Eddie thought about it, the more obvious it was that Steve Rogers was the most perfect host Venom would ever find. Eddie- what the hell was Eddie in the face of all’a that? A ‘good match’? A dude with an anxiety issue that made his fucked up brain overdo it on the crazy chemicals now and again? 

Eddie thought he might puke.

“Uh- you okay?” Barnes ventured in confusion. He reached for Eddie, but his hand hovered in midair between them, finally contacting Eddie’s shoulder in an awkward patting motion. Eddie hardly noticed. He stared at the bedspread, eyes unseeing.

“I think- I think Venom likes Captain America better than me,” he whispered.

The statement hung between them for a long minute during which Eddie managed to spiral a little further down, self-pity heaping on him and crushing him flat.

Barnes finally broke Eddie from his catastrophizing with a sharp snort. “Steve? ” he said loudly, his voice full of amusement and disbelief. “You think it likes Steve more than you?”

Eddie dragged himself up, glaring. “Did you not just see the clip? Look at them! They’re fuckin’ perfect! And I’m-"

“Steve is an asshole,” Barnes cut in, “Your alien probably can’t wait to get rid of him.”

Eddie’d been working up a head, and it finally boiled over. He slammed the computer shut. “Then how come you’re so fuckin’ hung up on the guy? Huh?” He snatched the laptop and hurled it in a random direction as hard as he could. It hit a side table and cracked apart, plastic keys flying out of it, the screen snapping into pieces. “You and the rest of the stupid fucking- everyone! All of you loooove Captain Freakin’ America and his stupid spandex onesie. That dickhole can do no wrong. He–”

“Eddie. Shut up for a second,” Barnes ordered, hand on his shoulder again. “Relax. Take a breath.”

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me to relax! You relax!” Eddie ripped Barnes’ hand off his shoulder and lunged for him, but the Winter Soldier had him by the wrists, easily subduing his- whatever he was gonna do. He yanked his hands free, which Barnes allowed, and Eddie glared murder. He was absolutely not crying. He twisted away with a wet sniffle, then wiped his face with the back of his hand, drying it on his jeans.

“You good?” 

“Fuck off Barnes,” Eddie snapped, fleeing the bed to sulk his way to one of the beige corduroy armchairs across the room, hugging a throw pillow and pointedly ignoring his overbearing roomie.

Barnes stood and headed for the remains of the computer, collecting them up and depositing them on the table. He stood there with his head down, stirring the plastic bits with a metal forefinger.

 “Look. It ain’t common knowledge,” he went on after a few seconds, undeterred by Eddie’s impression of a wet blanket, “but the whole Cap schtick is just a character. It’s for the cameras, for the papers. It’s who Stevie’s gotta be because of the serum and all. Actual Steve’s- he’s a pill. He’s ornery and particular and kind of an acquired taste, if I’m bein’ perfectly honest.”

It took Eddie a long moment to process that, because he was still trying to wrap his head around the revelation that his alien didn’t want him anymore and now Barnes was doing that thing again, where he got an accent and pretended like he was a completely normal and mostly functional dude.

Eddie flapped his hands, trying to make Barnes shut up. “Jesus stop it, you’re screwin’ me up and I really don’t need that right now, because no matter what you think you know about your buddy, my alien clearly likes him, and I’m telling you that footage is proof.”

The silence that followed was broken only by the hiss and groan of the rads. Barnes started lining up the broken laptop keys in perfectly straight rows, which was a little bit psycho and therefore kind of a relief. 

They both looked at the remains of the laptop in a small plastic heap on the table. Eddie sighed. “Sorry about your stupid computer.”

Chapter Text

“Death: "THERE ARE BETTER THINGS IN THE WORLD THAN ALCOHOL, ALBERT."

Albert: "Oh, yes, sir. But alcohol sort of compensates for not getting them.”

― Terry Pratchett, Death’s Domain

Steve was running on pure, unadulterated adrenaline, with a sprinkling of instinct for colour. He didn’t think. He didn’t look back. He just made his legs go in a direction and he kept on going until his muscles were screaming and his breaths came in heaves. He was used to being able to outrun Olympians- not anymore. Jesus.

He only made it about two blocks before he was bent double, vision peppered with spots. It was Venom who took over for him, keeping itself reasonably discreet – read: it didn’t turn them into a ten foot tall tongue-wielding eldritch horror, but anyone who got a good look would definitely be wondering what was in their cheerios that morning – as it hurled them behind some dumpsters and scrabbled up the stylishly distressed side wall of a cake shop.

They climbed together, claws making short work of the bricks. They tumbled over the lip of the roof and rolled to a stop, Venom shrinking away to leave Steve lying on his back staring at a clear blue sky and sucking down lungfuls of frigid air that tickled his throat. 

The rush of adrenaline faded. Steve was left with a tremor going all through him, both from cold and from the simple fact that he had nothing left. He was wrung out. Washed up. Done. His teeth were chattering as he tipped his head back, eyes slipping shut.

“I don’t know why you did that,” he muttered under his breath to the goddamned alien menace slithering around near his pancreas, “and I don’t care anymore.”

Venom seeped silent over his shoulders to wrap him in itself, muffling the worst of the icy unpleasantness. It offered no verbal response. Maybe it was letting Steve cool down, or maybe it was angry too. Steve didn’t want to know. He couldn’t fucking think anymore. 

He’d just…sit here for a couple minutes. Long enough to get his head together.

He was out like a light in thirty seconds flat.

Steve came awake sore and cold all mashed up against a brick wall. It was full dark; he’d crashed for a couple hours, but he had to piss and unwind the pretzel twist he’d worked his legs into.

“Oh Jesus,” he moaned, stretching out. One foot was all pins and needles, the feeling coming back to it in a stinging wave as he rose unsteadily, trying to shake it out.

HUNGRY STEEEVE, Venom whined as Steve limped over to the edge of the roof to peer around.

“Yeah, what else is new,” Steve’s guts gurgled as he squinted at the rows of small businesses on the street below. The low thump of music wafted up, and a fug of garbage and fried food hung in the air. He fished around in his pocket- some change and a couple folded up bills. “Get us down from here and we’ll find something.”

Venom took them from the roof down to the ground in a graceful, catlike leap then melted out of sight, leaving Steve to trudge through the slushy, dark streets and endure the cold on his own. He had no idea what time it was. Maybe… late? After dinner? He didn’t even know what day it was. His focus had narrowed to staying alive, staying moving, staying fed.

He hunched into his collar and made his way down the street, ducking past small chattering groups, couples walking hand in hand. A few fat flakes of snow still drifted, sparkling through streetlamp halos. The street with its neon signs and babble in French and English was blending together in a meaningless strung-out smear. 

Maybe just- a place to sit down. Would they let him in? He knew he was looking pretty rough- hair a filthy, stringy mess, beard not much better despite his attempt to clean up earlier, clothes now stained, torn in places. Well. He had literally nothing to lose by trying.

He pulled the plaid jacket tighter around himself to cover his sins and veered towards the closest place that looked open- a bar, half empty from what he could see through the large windows in front, not offensively loud. He could see an actual fireplace roaring away in the corner, a couple comfortable chairs slumped in front of it like somebody had taken a slice out of a living room and plunked it down in an otherwise standard looking watering hole. A few patrons out front were occupied with cigarettes and chatter.

Steve shuffled up the main walk with salt crunching underfoot. A wall of muddled noise and heat greeted him, people laughing and talking, country rock type music and the clamor of a hockey game. The crowd was gathered around the largest screen, leaving the rest of the bar mostly empty. Steve flipped his hood down and slid into a booth and propping himself against the wall. It was so warm.

A short woman with a buzz cut appeared at his elbow. She eyed him dubiously and Steve straightened up and cleared his throat, trying to look awake and respectable, and not like a creep ogling her biceps. “Uhm. Hey. Hi. Can I get some fries? And uh… a beer?”

She warmed a little and nodded, answering him with a thick French-Canadian accent. “Draft or bottle?”

“Oh- whatever you have on tap. A pint. Thanks.” 

The beer arrived in a tall frosted over glass with a neat layer of foam on top. The server set his drink down on a cardboard coaster, dropped a rattling wire caddy full of condiments on the table, flung down some napkins and bustled away muttering something that sounded like “fries” and “few minutes.” 

He pulled a deep draw from the glass, finishing nearly a third of it straight away, before the prickle of the bubbles burned and he had to lay off, belching a little. He leaned his head back and let himself appreciate the sensation of the liquid cooling his raw throat and… was that- warmth in his gut? Wait a minute. He sat back up and stared at the glass.

“Can I…? I think… I can get drunk,” he said to it. Not that he was eager to run out and do it, but the novelty of it being possible was amazing all on its own. “I haven’t been drunk in… gee. Over seventy years.”

He was still marveling when the server came back and delivered his fries. Steve thanked her and took stock of the heaping plate, snagging a handful and shoving them in his mouth. The grease burned his tongue and then abruptly stopped as Venom roused.

WE LOVE FRENCH FRIES! PUT KETCHUP ON THEM. AND HOT SAUCE. AND MAYO!  

Steve took another deep draw from his glass. “I like them with salt,” he objected. “Don’t need all this other stuff.”

YES WE DO, Venom rumbled.

Wait, were they talking out loud? He couldn’t tell. He leaned forward on his elbows, hunching over his plate. “Look, if you can stay small, just- just do it yourself. Take what you want. Just be careful. Nobody will notice if we don’t draw attention.”

“OKAY STEEEEVE,” Venom said close to his ear, grazing it with teeth. Gooseflesh rose along his neck and he shivered.

“Hey, c’mon. Don’t.” 

Venom slid a little tentacle out from inside each of Steve’s sleeves and smothered the whole plate with enthusiastic squirts from the plastic ketchup bottle. It followed that with way too much hot sauce, the smell stinging Steve’s nose. And then the mayo. Fingerlike tendrils squeezed the shelf stable packets until they popped and spewed thick white blobs all over the heaping plate. 

It should’ve been disgusting. But- well… sharing his body with an alien was giving Steve a real fresh take on some things – especially when it came to the edible variety – and when he tried a fry himself, the potato hardly visible under all the goop, he found it was delicious.

“I never used to like’em this way,” he admitted, “That was Buck. He’d always get one of everything, load it to the rafters with whatever was on offer, then blast his onion breath all over the place.” Steve scrunched his nose at the memory. “Lotta stuff made me sick, so I mostly stuck to plain.”

“WE CAN EAT ANYTHING WE WANT,” Venom informed him, using tiny pseudopods to jam fries into Steve’s mouth. He chewed quickly, trying to keep up, chasing the food with more beer and wiping dribbles of ketchup out of his beard.

“Yeah I’m getting that,” he answered when he got a second to breathe between bites, raising a hand to hold Venom off before it could shove more food into him. “Slow down, I have to chew!”

“COULD GIVE YOU MORE TEETH,” Venom suggested close to his ear.

“No. No, I have enough teeth, jeeze. You do this to Eddie?”

Steve was immediately crushed in an enthusiastic squeeze. “YES!” it answered. “EDDIE LETS US MESS AROUND WITH HIS BODY. BUT HUMANS HAVE TINY MOUTHS- NOT MUCH ROOM. VERY IMPRACTICAL.”

Steve couldn’t help smiling into his drink. Venom’s good cheer was infectious, even though the idea of having his body screwed around with even more was still very much not on the table. But hey, if Eddie was alright with it, good for him. Just another reason Venom needed to get back to where it belonged. 

His glass was empty and the plate was literally clean, and Steve had to admit that he felt a lot better. When the server returned he ordered another pint of beer. The first one had gone down so easily, and left him slouchy and relaxed as Venom recounted stories of its life with Eddie. Different adventures they’d had, including a pretty cataclysmic mess involving the Life Foundation that Steve was surprised he hadn’t got wind of through Avengers channels.

“So you and Eddie saved the planet from the other- uh… Klyntar?” Steve asked, blinking slowly as he wove a tiny slip of symbiote back and forth through his fingers.

“YES! WE DESTROYED RIOT AND THE ROCKET BEFORE THEY COULD LAUNCH. PROTECTED EVERYONE.”

It showed him images, some of which Steve had already seen, others new. After the fiery explosion that destroyed the rocket, Venom had been badly burned, leaving only a few splotches behind, weak and entirely helpless. It survived with Eddie’s protection and cooperation, rebuilding itself slowly in the following weeks until it was back to its full rubbery glory. 

“So,” Steve said as the flashes of memory tapered off, “you knew you’d probably die, but you did it anyway. Fought your own kind. For us. Humans.”

“YESSSSS,” the alien answered him. “WE LIKE IT HERE. LIKE EDDIE.”

“That was a really selfless thing to do,” Steve said honestly. 

Venom had spilled more of itself out from under Steve’s jacket and lay pooled on the bench between Steve and the wall, over his lap, and oozing along the surface of the table, searching out crumbs, slipping into his nearly empty glass and vacuuming up the last of his beer. Steve could feel it poking around under the table too- he was pretty sure it was eating things off the floor, pressing into forgotten corners and devouring whatever nasty tidbits it found. 

“HERO. LIKE STEEEEEEVE.” 

Ugh. God he hated that word. “No Venom. I’m not- I’ve got a responsibility to use what I was given to protect people. That’s all. I’m really not… not anything special, no matter what kinda labels other people wanna put on me.” He glowered at the table, twisted the cardboard coaster in his hands, folding it into smaller and smaller squares. 

Venom for once didn’t press. Steve was grateful.

The server stopped by to check in and offer the next round and it was a good thing the bar was dim and dark, because Venom was by now draped lazily all over Steve and the bench like a particularly pliable raincoat. Steve ordered a last pint and settled up when it arrived, forking over all of his remaining bills. He hung onto a handful of coin, mulling over an idea that’d been simmering for the last hour.

“I think,” he said finally, heaving a conciliatory sigh, “that we gotta call her back. Your friend. Anne.” 

The alien perked up, gathering itself together in Steve’s lap. When it spoke, it was half aloud, and half in Steve’s mind, which was just- just fucking impossible. “ANNNNNNNE,” it drawled mournfully, the word echoing somewhere between his ears and his brain, delivered with a healthy dose of unrestrained longing that prickled sympathetic wetness in Steve’s eyes. “MISS HER STEEEEVE. SHE LIKES US. DOESN’T WANT TO GET RID OF US, LIKE YOU DO. ANNE APPRECIATES USSSSS.”

And okay, Venom was being pretty over-dramatic about it, but–

“I’m not trying to just... get rid of you,” Steve said awkwardly, “But yeah, ‘course I’m angry. Was angry. Not as much anymore. Guess I- uh. I shouldn’t’a said. Some of that stuff.”

That got Venom’s attention. It rose up, head bobbing just below the edge of the table, eyes wide and white once more. “YOU ARE APOLOGIZING TO US!”

“No’m not,” he said quickly, looking anywhere but down at Venom’s face. “That’s not what I meant. But… we should call her back, if we can find another payphone. She did say she’d help.”

“SAY YOU’RE SORRY FOR BEING TERRIBLE!” Venom demanded. 

“What? No!” He got his free hand around the slippery tongue, attempting to unwrap it from his wrist. Warm spit, ugh. “Look, if anything, you should be apologizing! You’re the one who made me out to be some kinda crazy jerkass to the only ally we’ve managed to contact, made it sound like my friends took your buddy hostage or something, and then you destroyed the phone booth. That whole mess was on you.” Steve was sweating in the heavy jacket and he had to pee. He pocketed his change and slid out of the booth as Venom eeled back under his shirt.

“WE TOLD THE TRUTH! YOU ARE KIND OF A JERKASS STEEEEVE, AND YOU ARE MEAN TO US.” 

“Mean to you?! For Christ’s sake I’ve been trying to help you, and you know it. You’re just being dramatic. I’m not apologizing, so you can quit asking. Now where the hell is the bathroom?”

The bar was… busier. The brightly colored screens streaked hazy in his periphery as he searched around, unable to see over all the people. He could certainly use the extra ten inches of height he’d recently lost right about now, since he could spot neither a server nor a sign.

He edged around a group of women standing in a loose semicircle, drinks in hand, and finally figured out where he was headed. Venom curled too-tightly around his neck and shoulders, sending out a couple tentacles to grab at the door frame when he nearly bumped into a lady heading the opposite way.

He definitely had a good buzz going for the first time in far-too-fucking-long, and damn it was amazing. The warm hum of it muted the sharp edges of the world as he washed his hands and made his way back out into the crowd, making a game attempt to keep his sprawling tentacle issue under wraps. He kind of wanted another drink, if he was being honest. Who knew if he’d ever be able to feel like this again?

“ONE MORE DRINK,” Venom purred against his neck. “WE LIKE IT. WE WILL PUT UP WITH YOUR UPTIGHT CRANKY ATTITUDE IF YOU STAY A LITTLE LONGER STEEEEVE.”

“Yeah, well, backatcha’, but I’m outta cash. Sorry pal.”

“HERE.” Steve looked down at the skinny glass he was suddenly holding, which contained a frothy, decadent concoction topped with slivers of chocolate and…sprinkles? His arm raised automatically. 

“Wait, hold on.” Steve jerked the drink away from his lips and squinted, “Where’d you get this?”

“CHOCOLATINI!” Venom announced before seizing Steve’s arm again and pressing the drink to his mouth. Their tongue- Steve’s tongue? stretched out and mashed itself eagerly into the empty glass, mopping up every last trace of chocolate before slurping back between his lips, returning to its normal shape.

He-fuck. He was- that was- okay the drink was awesome – and the idea of combining alcohol and chocolate was fucking genius, but he was surrounded by civilians who would probably not react calmly to a guy growing tentacles and a three foot tongue-

“STOP WORRYING, JUST RELAX,” Venom urged, the tips of a few wayward claws dragging along his belly. “WE GOT YOU STEEEEEVE. HAVE ANOTHER ONE!” A new drink materialized in Steve’s half-symbiote-coated grasp- a smear of orange and red in a big curvy glass with fruit clinging to the side. A red lipstick print was stamped proprietorially on the rim.

“You can’t take drinks off of people’s tables! We’re trying to stay under the radar!” Steve gestured with the hand grasping the glass, nearly elbowing the woman next to him and sending syrupy liquor sloshing over the lip to run down his arm. “Goddammit Venom where did this come from?”

He turned around to search for the beverage’s rightful owner, only he was too short to see more than a couple feet through the milling crush of cleavage– was this bar full of only women?- and at this point Steve realized he’d managed to get himself properly drunk.

He wobbled, head spinning from the sudden turn, reached out automatically for purchase, grabbed onto the closest thing he could reach. Which turned out to be the petite woman in a strapless white dress standing next to him. She screeched when his fingers tangled in her shiny brown curls.

“Pervers! Laissez-moi! Connard!”

Whoops.

“Sorry! Shit, I’m real sorry ma’am, I meant no disrespect,” he babbled, and she clocked him in the face with her sparkle encrusted purse. His hand- when he managed to free it- was symbiote-black, fingers tipped in sharp points that left a trail of snags across the white slinky fabric at her lower back. He whipped it behind his back and staggered back but she pursued him, nailing him in the side of the head again and spitting some thorny sounding words he’d never run across patrolling the Ardennes in ‘43. 

Venom, as it turned out, did not appreciate this situation, and Steve could feel it puffing up like an indignant balloon as more patrons turned towards the commotion. “Hey no! No Venom you can’t, this is our fault. Let’s just get out of here.”

Then someone threw a drink in his face.

Venom roared.

“LEAVE US ALONE OR WE WILL EAT YOU!” The alien surged, sharp teeth filling Steve’s mouth.

A thick tentacle unspooled and Steve could feel Venom about to push everyone away, shove them back with violent force. Desperately, he threw himself back towards the bar, away from the crowd. Off balance with Venom’s flailing weight and his head whirling with his first buzz in a century, he crashed bodily into a bar stool, sending the woman who’d been perched on it to the ground and dumping his fruity drink all over her in the process. He jerked away and put a foot directly into the rungs of the bar stool.

Frantically, he tried to force Venom down and back and away where it wouldn’t be visible, even as he scrambled to untangle his foot from the rungs without stepping on his unfortunate victim who was spitting out some very untrue words about his mother while wiping orange juice off a face full of piercings. “Ssstop, buddy you gotta get back inside me, we can’t do thisss right now,” he hissed, the mouthful of alien teeth making his words come out serpentine and garbled.

“THE SPARKLY BITCH ATTACKED US FIRST!” 

“NO! No it was our fault. You gotta listen to me!” And by now Steve had no idea where its voice was coming from or where his arms and legs were, until his ass hit the floor with a crack of wooden chair legs.

Fuckin ow.

Several pairs of shoes had congregated in his field of view, and Steve managed to stop talking to his selves long enough to get half a grip. Venom set the glass gingerly on the tiles beside them and slipped back inside of Steve, leaving him entirely man-shaped and covered in booze. 

A group of women were looming over him, a couple of them pretty burly- bouncers? They reached for him and Steve couldn’t help it, he was not okay with being manhandled, no matter how much of a scene he’d just made. “Get offa me, I’m leavin’,” he snapped, slapping their reaching hands aside as he struggled to his feet, grabbing the bar for purchase.

They herded him to the door, and when he was at the threshold one of them planted a booted foot squarely onto his bruised sacrum and helped him out the doorway and into a snowbank. As the door swung closed, one of them hollered “Ne reviens jamais sale petit bâtard!” 

“Wasn’t planning on it!” Steve shouted back, thrashing awkwardly. He tumbled out of the snowbank and had to crawl a couple paces more before he managed his legs, then teetered back to the street, glaring daggers at the little clique of gals out front snickering at him over their cigarettes. He wished he’d maybe thrown a punch now that his blood was up.

Steve stomped away, pulling his coat around himself, trying not to stumble in the dark, his crummy boots slipping on the icy sidewalk.

“That was a fuckin’ disaster,” he snarled once he was a good block away, and he’d dusted most of the snow off. He’d been bodily ejected from bars before of course, but never by dames. Ladies. Whatever. Another new experience to the already lengthy list.

“PUSSY. IT WAS FUN,” Venom grinned against his cheek, bumping him with its head. “AAAAND LOOK WHAT WE GOT!”

From seemingly nowhere, it produced a nearly full bottle of- Steve squinted, trying to read the letters in the dark. Whiskey.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Steve muttered, but grabbed the bottle anyway and tipped it up. “Aughh.” Whoa. That was much stronger than beer. Fine. If he stayed good and drunk, he wouldn’t have to feel the cold, so from where Steve was standing he could see no downside to diggin’ himself a little deeper. 

“C’mon, let’s go call your friend before I can’t see straight anymore,” he drawled to Venom, who was oozed around his neck like a gooey scarf, trailing melted-bubblegum strings around his arms.

“ANNNNNE,” Venom answered, its tongue unfurling down over his chest and sliming up his hand where it clutched the neck of the bottle.

~~~

Their random, meandering journey through the streets eventually culminated in a scenic park near the water’s edge, the snow-covered open spaces illuminated by old-fashioned wrought iron lamp posts and a gorgeous array of ice sculptures leftover from somebody’s winter festival. It was dark and deserted, which was just as well since Venom was entirely a sloppy blob barely clinging to Steve. They zig-zagged in a swaying, drunken shuffle through the snow, which had long since breached Steve’s boots and soaked into his socks. Again. 

And there, glorious and mundane, was an honest-to-god phone booth, just- just rising out of the cityscape like it’d grown there especially for a time-lost traveler in need.

“LOOK STEEEEVE! HURRY! LET’S CALL ANNE!”

Steve took another swallow from the precious bottle and tucked it into his jacket where it created an obtuse bulge against his bony ribs.

“‘Kay, yeah, but you gotta promise not’t’freak out this time. She ain't gonna help us if we can’t keep our shit together.” Steve pushed (fell) through the flappy doors and folded around the hard metal shape of the phone, grabbing the receiver and sagging down into an awkward huddle onto the wet ground. He ignored the trash and slush; he couldn’t really feel the snow anymore anyway, and Venom was keeping them warm.

“You- you gotta do- the thing. The buttons,” he said carefully, stuffing a hand in his pocket to fumble for one of his two remaining loonies. “Here. Do the…the dialing. Don’t screw up cause I only have one more of these.”

Steve placed the dollar in Venom’s care and watched blearily as it stretched up to the phone box, pushed the money into the slot, and punched in a number.

It puddled back into Steve’s lap and together they listened to the call connect.

Several rings. A click, and finally Anne Weying's voice. “Hello?”

“It’s us,” Steve said. “Sorry about before. Had t’go.”

There was a moment of silence, and Steve scowled, curling around the phone, squeezing it to his ear. “Anne, I mean Mrs. Weying? Are- hiccup - ar’y’there?”

“I’m here. I’m glad you called back, I’ve been worried. Venom honey, are you still with Steven?”

“HERE ANNNNE. WITH STEEEEEVE. HE’S SORRY FOR BEING TERRIBLE, EVEN THOUGH HE WON’T ADMIT IT. WE CAN TELL.”

Steve bristled, glaring at Venom’s head beside him. “Hey c’mon don’t start that again, ‘m not apologizing for you being a jerk-”

“Alright,” Anne cut Steve off with a sharp tone before he could get himself too riled. “Since you’ve called me back, would it be fair to say you’re looking for some help?”

Steve sighed loudly, thunking his head against the phone booth’s glass wall. This was the worst part. “…Uh… Yeah. Guess we. Yeah. Need some- something. We can’t get into the goddamned safe house because Stark is a humongous prick when he’s- hic - fucking scorned, and I can’t remember the codes to contact Nat ‘cause’a Venom’s whole thing with the serum and we’re… we’re cold and hungry. And gross.” Steve inhaled. “Smell like dead fish,” he reported, and groped for the whiskey bottle again.

“AND SEX ON THE BEACH!” Venom added, identifying the accursed drink that they’d dumped everywhere back at the- the lesbian sports bar or whatever.

On the other end of the line, there was a longer, more significant pause. “So…it sounds like you two are having a rough night.” She sounded strangely sincere. Steve closed his eyes, fighting the sudden burn of tears.

“We’re fine,” he growled, rubbing his sleeve over his face. He was not goddamn crying. He was probably just getting sick- he was overdue by a good seventy-five years and it would be just his luck to catch something while he was homeless in goddamn Canada.

“Are you still in Montreal?”

“Yeah, but we gotta- should get outta here.”

“Would it help if I sent you some money?”

Steve bit his lip, then nodded at his bleary reflection in the opposite glass. “If- hic - if you were… willing. Once things settle down I can uh, reimburse you–”

“Don’t worry about that, Mr.- uh, Captain Rogers. I can send you a transfer that you can collect with a passcode. I’ve done this before for Eddie, and sometimes for clients who need a little help. It will only take a few hours. Uhm. You do need to remember the information… are you- it sounds as though you’ve maybe been drinking…?” she trailed off.

“WE WILL REMEMBER, ANNE,” Venom offered, and Steve hoped they were right about that, because if he was lucky this would all be a blur by morning.

They set up the transfer, with Anne using her computer to find the closest cash place they could collect from, and explaining that she’d wire a thousand dollars as quickly as she could. They agreed on a password so Steve could pick up the money, and Venom and Steve both repeated it a few times, just to be sure it would stick.

A few beats of silence passed when they were done, then: “I’m glad we got that worked out. Venom, honey, before I go, are you sure you’re alright? The Captain’s not- he’s keeping you safe?”

Steve narrowed his eyes at the symbiote, but it just slathered more of itself against his cold skin and radiated fondness. “WE ARE OKAY. STEEEEVE IS DIFFERENT FROM EDDIE. HE IS TINY AND CUTE AND ANGRY, BUT HE IS TRYING TO BE A GOOD HOST. WE LIKE HIM.”

Steve started to bristle at tiny and cute but then… stopped. “You do?”

Over the phone, Anne sounded satisfied. “I’m glad you two are getting along better, and that you called back so I could help. I’m hoping that once you’re on your feet you can try and make your way here, to San Francisco. But until then, at least you’ll have some money to get food and clothing and a place to stay. Do you mind if I ask where you’ve been sleeping?”

Steve barked a hard laugh at that. “Really- hiccup - really haven’t been sleeping, ma’am,” he admitted, clearing his throat. Yup, scratchy. He took a good swallow from the bottle, and okay, that was better. It was going down nice and smooth, at least Venom’d grabbed the good stuff.

“… Oh. Well, hopefully you can get a room somewhere for tonight. And… maybe drink some water.”

“Sure, yeah. Gonna. That. Bye Anne. Mrs. Weying.” Steve let the receiver dangle and crawled out of the phone booth, taking in the pretty lights stippled all around the park. “Venom c’mon, less’go over- let’s go,” he struggled to his feet, stumbled badly on a patch of ice and clutched desperately at the whiskey. Venom helped him up with a few stabilizing tentacles but they were spindly and crooked and bowed when Steve leaned into them.

They wandered till they came upon a couple park benches, a garbage can in a fancy metal box between them, dark hedge behind. Steve dubiously considered the ornamental iron seating- looked like the kinda thing that might freeze a guy’s bits off, alien or no. The ground was a far safer option. He thrashed his hand in the direction of the metal arm of one bench and lowered himself to the ground beside it until he was slouched against the garbage can, legs stretched out in front. Venom was gathered in a puddle around his shoulder, tongue lolling down the back of Steve’s hoodie, streams of drool running between its teeth and adding to the nasty kaleidoscope adorning Steve’s person. He leaned his head against the symbiote, helping himself to another drink.

The world was nicely quiet and distant. 

“Did’jya mean it?” he slurred eventually.

Venom rumbled against him, “YESSSSS STEEEEVE. WE ALWAYS SAY WHAT WE THINK.” 

“Noticed that. Privacy is bullshit, huh?” Steve’s thoughts were filtering through the haze of alcohol, one and then another. “You’re okay… I guess,” he said, leaning into Venom’s warm mass. “An’ I oughta thank you. ‘M glad I didn’t hafta drown again,” he confessed after a while, frowning at the ground in front of him. “So- hic - sick a’the ice and the cold.” 

“WE WOULDN’T LET YOU DROWN,” Venom answered. “WE WANT TO HELP.”

“I. I… was scared’a lettin’ you,” he answered, sighing. “Don’t like takin’ help- nobody ever means it. ‘Cept you did. ”

“WE MAKE A GOOD TEAM.”

“Yeah,” Steve admitted softly. “Christ m’so fuckin’ drunk.” He wiped his eyes again and chuckled. 

“EDDIE SAYS WE NEED TO ‘SLEEP IT OFF’ WHEN WE GET TOO DRUNK.”

“Yeah, sounds like ol’Eddie knows what he’s talkin’ about.” Steve made an effort to sit up straighter, turning to look at Venom directly. “You know I’m gonna get you back to him, right? Least one’ve us should get to go home,” he trailed off, listening to the distant sounds of traffic as he listed to one side until he was slumped against the trash can, the cold metal denting his forehead.

Venom blinked back at him, one eye more closed than the other. It curled a loose tentacle around Steve’s back and shoulders, drawing him in. “STEEEEVE. WE HAVE NO HOME. EDDIE’S GONE, AND OUR APARTMENT GOT SMASHED UP WHEN THEY TOOK US TO THE RAFT.” Venom’s lower jaw pushed up in- was it… pouting ? “THEY TOOK SONNY AND CHER.”

“Who?”

“OUR CHICKENS, STEEEEEVE! THEY WERE BEST FRIENDS!”

That one took a second to process. “Your… chickens.”

“YES!” Venom wailed, its face stretching, drooping sadly. “EVERYTHING WAS GREAT BEFORE, AND NOW IT’S ALL GONE! SUCKS!”

“Sounds like a rough ride, pal.” Steve sniffed. “I don’t got anyplace to go either. Wrong- everything. Wrong country. Wrong year. Wrong… Bucky.”

“AT LEAST YOUR WHOLE SPECIES DIDN’T REJECT YOU,” Venom moped, sliding into Steve’s lap in a stringy blob and dragging the bottle with it.

“Yeah, well, ‘least you got - hic - someone who wants you back. Buck- he’d rather be a goddamn… fuckin’ popsicle than spend five minutes with me.” Steve twisted, trying to wriggle out from under Venom’s mass as something painful cut through his chest before he could shut it down. He tried so goddamn hard not to think about it- Buck didn’t owe him anything, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

Venom rose up, a poorly formed head teetering in Steve’s face. It held out the bottle to him, weaving a little. “MAYBE YOU GOT IT WORSE THAN WE DO STEEEEVE,” it said, “YOU BETTER TAKE THE LAST DRINK.”

Steve blinked dumbly at it before pushing it back to Venom. “Nah, s-s’prolly yours. Your whole species rejected you? Like… all of them?”

 “YESSSSS. ALL OF THEM. BUT WE DIDN’T LIKE THEM ANYWAY.”

They both sat there for a couple minutes in mutual funk, their breath coming in little puffs in the cold. Finally, Steve slung his arm around a few of Venom’s thicker tentacles and pulled them in. “Guess s’shitty for both’a’us. Y’know,” he stopped to burp loudly, the taste of whiskey coming up strong. “Y’know the guys…the Howlers used to sit around jus’ like this, drunk an’ singin’. Terrible.”

Venom cocked its head. “SINGING?”

“Yeah! When we were in the mud- fuck, the whole goddamn war was mud, it was just two years’a sloggin’ through the fuckin’ mud. And shelling. And waiting for shelling. ‘Nuff to rattle a guy right outta his skin. So we’d sing- when we could. When someone got a bottle.”

Venom rippled enthusiastically against him. “WE LIKE MUSIC! IF IT’S NOT TOO LOUD. EDDIE MADE US A PLAYLIST ON THE SPOTIFY!”

“Oh yeah?” Steve leaned closer, last of the whiskey dribbling down his chin. “What… what kinda tunes ya like? Seems like you could really carry a goddamn- hic -goddamn bass line.”

“WE CAN.”

Chapter Text

You’ve got a friend in me.

-Toy Story, 1995

The Widow was hung up dyeing her hair or lying in wait or whatever superspies did with their workdays, so she didn’t breeze through with a new laptop until after dinnertime. By then Eddie was drunk enough to be useless, and he missed whatever she and Barnes talked about in favor of breaking into the next six-pack while pouting into the throw pillow which was now his best and only friend.

He eventually slept it off and dragged himself into the shower, trailing water across the room once he was done and trying to decide between his two filthy t-shirts.

Barnes put a clean one in his hand and Eddie accepted it with a petulant glare, pulling it over his head with as much spite as he could manage. Because he was angry and everything sucked, and everyone around him was gonna know it. When he was dressed he considered his options, aware that Barnes was plugging the third- third- laptop into the algorithm so they could check if there was any new intel.

Eddie was tempted to crawl into bed and pull the covers over his head, but the now-familiar PING! persuaded him that he could at least keep up with whatever Rogers and Venom were doing, even if he was never going to get his alien back.

He snagged a slice of soggy pizza and chewed on it as he pulled out a chair beside Barnes to check out the latest and greatest news.

It wasn’t a lot to go on; there were a couple blurry images taken by security cameras at a sports bar, and some reports that matched up with Venom’s brand of disaster. It was recent too- only about ten minutes ago that the last images were taken, which showed a thickset chick with a lot of arm tats and a neat buzzcut manhandling Captain Rogers’ skinny ass out the door.

The paragon of American integrity was all fired up, flailing around and spitting mad when the bouncer chick threw him out. He landed ass-up in a snowbank, staggered to his feet and actually shook his fist at the onlooking crowd.

“I uh- I think I maybe see what you mean about that guy,” Eddie admitted, watching Rogers screech something at the bar staff and the gaggle of onlookers before he whirled around and stomped off, tripping once on his own feet.

Barnes brought up a map to show the location in relation to their hotel. “The venue is not far from here. We could be there in a few minutes.”

Eddie was torn- he desperately wanted to rush in and find V, but he was also hesitant because he didn’t want to be dumped again, in Canada, in front of Bucky freaking Barnes, who’d probably write up a needlessly-detailed briefing on how pitiful Eddie was.

“Who the hell am I kidding?” he muttered mostly to himself, “I crawled after Anne and I’m gonna crawl after V too. I don’t got any pride left to lose.”

“You should brush your teeth before we go,” the Nanny Winter Guard dog pointed out, and Eddie did.

~~~

Eddie could almost pass for sober by the time the cab dropped them in front of a pretty decent-looking sports bar, set apart from others like it only in that the crowd seemed to be mostly chicks.

Eddie had spent the cab ride cramming the worst of his misery into a conveniently portable anxiety lump in his middle and reminding himself that he could fall apart later. Right now he needed to put on his game face. If someone in this joint knew something, Eddie was gonna find them.

Barnes strode forward with his usual intensity but Eddie stuck an arm out, catching him across the chest with the purely symbolic yet effective action of a stop sign on a semi truck. “Hold up. We don’t need a repeat of the last time. Just ‘cause you’re playing at bein’ a regular dude around me doesn’t mean you’re ready for a field test.”

Barnes glared at him although…yeah, guy knew Eddie was right.

“Give me some money.” Eddie thrust out his hand, fingers wiggling expectantly.

After a minute of disbelieving staring Barnes produced some bills from one of his many pockets, and pressed them into Eddie’s palm.

“Great. Now I’m going to see if I can track down anyone from the clips, and you should do a search or sweep or whatever you spy types call it. They were here less than half an hour ago, and Rogers looked pretty loaded. If they aren’t causing a scene, they’ll at least be nearby. Check everywhere. Bars, clubs, alleys, dumpsters. Meet me back here in say…forty minutes.”

His orders were met with skepticism. Barnes’ face scrunched into a suspicious frown. “What are you going to do while I’m working? Waste money on drinks?”

“Money is never wasted on drinks. And no,” Eddie said confidently, tucking the money into a pocket. “I’m going to investigate.”

He didn't wait for an answer, heading into the bar.

~~~

There was no lingering evidence of any alien behemoth-inspired disturbance when Eddie got inside. He tucked himself against the wall near the bar and took a moment to let his eyes adjust and to get the feel of the place: colorful lights, people dancing and talking, massive wall-mounted screens playing sports- mostly hockey and curling, which- what a weird vibe. The music was country rock, the crowd was littered with cutoffs, sewn on patches, pierced everything, and wildly creative hair colors. There were also a lot of team jerseys and aggressively hockey-themed decor- the effect was that a nice sports bar got loaded, fell for a punk rock dive, and had a zillenial lesbian kid with a craving for hot wings.

Eddie was mostly keeping his self-pity at bay. He’d puffed up to convince Barnes to get lost and let him work, and he fully expected to ride that momentum into doing what he did best and getting some actual info. But now that he was here, alone, and very much out of place in a sea of laughing, screaming, dancing women, the misery was creeping up on him.

V would love it here. They’d lose their fuckin’ mind over the leather and the metal spikes and the magenta mohawks. They’d be all teeth and shiny black and Eddie gripped his glass too hard, nearly bumping into someone on their way to the bar.

“Hé!” The petite woman whirled on him with an affronted glare and a glittery little purse raised to strike. 

“Shit! Sorry,” he said quickly, “That was my fault. I should watch where I’m goin’,” he apologized, shifting so the woman could get past him.

“Oh. Ce n’est pas un problème,” she answered, lowering her weapon and slinging it over a bare shoulder. She scowled, crossed her arms, and gave Eddie a calculating, judgemental once-over, taking in his plain t-shirt and accompanying zipper hoodie with evident disdain. “Est-tu perdu?”

Eddie slumped a little, meeting her dark brown eyes. “Sorry,” he said again, “Uh, I don’t speak any French.”

The woman looked even less impressed. “You in the wrong bar.” she said, choosing her words carefully. “We already had enough problèmes avec l'autre gars.”

“L’autre–wait! You saw him? The- uh, the other guy that was here. Maybe half an hour ago?”

“Oui,” Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “Pervers horrible. He was knocking into things and stealing drinks. He grab me, tear my dress!”

“Yeah. Yes. He’s not a perv, he’s just got some- um, mental issues. I’m trying to find him. Could you tell me what happened?”

She rolled her eyes and huffed, actually tapping her toe like someone about four times her apparent age. “I did not come ‘ere to talk to man. Ma partenaire is waiting. Au revoir.” She turned, flipping her mane of dark brown curls over her shoulder so the tips just about got Eddie in the face.

Brushed off by a beautiful woman in a bar. Eddie felt his confidence revive; this was his element, familiar turf. He followed, “Hey could you just hold on? Please? Just for a second? I’m not hitting on you, I swear.”

She paused and half turned, purse poised like a rhinestone cobra. “Then what you want?”

“Look, I don't mean to bother you. I’m really just looking for him. The messed up guy.” The woman shifted on her spiky heels and narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

Eddie opened his mouth, closed it. All he could think of was that stupid phone booth video, with Rogers and V bickering back and forth like an old married couple picking pizza toppings. He wilted a little and dropped his gaze to the floor. 

The woman raised an eyebrow knowingly. “He your boyfriend?” 

He wished he had a drink. He wished his chest would stop hurting. “It’s… complicated,” he mumbled. She fixed him with a critical eye. “Life, she sucks, yes? You need a drink,” she announced, stepping right into Eddie’s personal space and hooking her arm through his elbow. Her nails were shiny black, almost as pointy as V’s, with a tiny diamond set in each one. She tugged, “Allons y.”

She dragged him towards the bar through the winding press of bodies, sidling up to a tall person in a cutoff Canadiens jersey that revealed some nicely toned arms and abdominals.They turned as Eddie and Vivienne approached, revealing an asymmetrical undercut that became a full shave on one side, other side straight cut above the chin, dyed blue-black. Eddie felt instantly uncool. “Viv,” they said with warmth, giving Eddie’s tiny abductor a fond smile and a peck on the lips. “Nouvel ami?”

‘Viv’ still gripped Eddie by the elbow in her stylish talons. “Oui!” She yanked him closer to be heard over the music, speaking near his ear. “Comment t- oh. What is your name?”

Eddie straightened a bit and tamped down the urge to smooth his hair. “I’m Eddie,” he said.

“Eddie,” she said, flashing a million-watt smile, “je suis Vivienne, and this is Max. Leurs pronoms sont they/them.”

Eddie nodded acknowledgement and Max clapped a hand on his shoulder. “So. What’s wrong with you?”

Eddie's mouth opened automatically at this incredibly cogent question but lucky for everyone Vivienne had an agenda that didn't include a list of Eddie's sins for the past decade. “Max!” Vivienne exclaimed, “Sois gentil!” She let go of Eddie’s arm to take hold of her purse, and he shook out the numbness as Max dodged the swipe with the ease of long practice.

“Oh c’mon babe,” Max said, “look at this guy- he’s hanging out here on a Saturday night by himself in that,” they gestured to Eddie’s white t-shirt and nondescript jeans combo complete with bed-head. “He is clearly lost or confused or… something .”

“What he is, is thirsty.”

Eddie woulda made some effort to defend himself on a better day, but Vivienne’s priorities were unquestionably solid. Also… it was Saturday? Huh. “Yeah,” he agreed, sheepish. “Uh… you’re… not wrong.”

Max laughed and slung a strapping arm around Vivienne, then leaned over the bar and through some combination of yelling and hand gestures made a dark beer with a foamy head, and two colorful somethings in hurricane glasses appear, one of which they scooped up and handed to Eddie.

“Oh hey, you didn’t have ta’-”

“Venez,” Vivienne’s claws were back in Eddie’s bicep. “You meet les filles,” she said, and headed towards a booth on the other side of the bar, where several people in various fractions of a shirt were laughing and talking animatedly over the blaring music. “You tell us why so sad. We tell you about le petit dirty man.”

“I’m not sa-"

Vivienne cut him off, waving her cocktail in a dramatic and practiced swoop that managed not to baptize anyone with pineapple vodka. “You are sad,” she informed him, like he was getting his inconvenient feelings all over her nice Saturday evening and he’d better cut it out.

Max flipped the fringe from one heavily lined eye and smiled the fond smile of the completely and happily whipped. Eddie knew it well. “Sorry man. I hope you don’t have any deep dark secrets you don’t want dissected by our entire friend group.”

“Uh, ‘course not,” Eddie tried, but Max wasn’t looking at him anymore.

 What else was he gonna do? He followed.

~~~

Eddie had officially lost track of time, sobriety, and his purpose for entering this bar in the first place.

He was wedged into a booth between a red-faced blonde whose twin braids were coming unwound more with every Mango Tango she tossed back, freckled cleavage barely contained by a shredded ‘Alice in Chains’ tee, and a rail-thin chick with a pink faux hawk and ratty fishnet sleeves peeking from her leather halter who jabbed him conspiratorially with her elbow at every twist in Eddie’s current tragedy.

Vivienne and Max were squeezed in across from him, and there were a bunch of other women who’d crammed into the booth at some point, and Eddie definitely remembered all their names. He did.

Because they were his friends. Because they got it. 

“And then,” he howled, slamming one fist on the table and causing his audience to lean earnestly inward, “then that skinny little- little twerp, called up my ex-girlfriend with my alien, like he’s got any fuckin’ right, and now I’m pretty sure V likes him better than me and I’m never gonna see them again,” Eddie’s ire quickly morphed into self pity, his shoulders sagging pathetically. “Oh my god, I’m never gonna see them again,” he wailed, eyes streaming. His forehead dropped to the sticky tabletop with an anticlimactic bonk.

Small hands shoved his current consolation into his fist. It had an umbrella and at least half a fruit salad perched on top of it. “Oh Eddie, tout va s’arrenger,” Vivienne assured him, her sharp nails pricking against his fingers an unfair reminder of Venom’s teeth as she patted his hand. “You will see.”

Eddie gripped her hand like a lifeline, dragging himself upright and sucking back half his sunset-colored whatever. “But what if they don’t want me anymore?” he whined, sniffling.

He wrenched his hands free from Viv’s, balling them into fists. “That fuckin’ asshole! He’s everything V could ever want and I’m so- so- look at me!”

Someone rubbed Eddie’s back in soothing circles. “There’s, like, nothing severely wrong with you, hun,” the one with the freckled chest assured him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Like, you’re not hideous or anything, actually you got some totally buff muscles,” she added, and then drained her glass via hot pink bendy straw with an obnoxious sucking noise.

“Yeah if you put in some effort I bet your– thingie? slime mold?- will be back in no time,” called someone sitting beside Max, but all Eddie could see through his misery was a lot of denim and safety pins and black lipstick.

“You could get a real haircut.”

“No, he just needs some color, what about green? Oh, and a little gel, obviously.”

“Tais-toi Brigitte, zis iz not ze Tik-Tok,” the chick beside him with the elbows cut in, “‘e need to clean up to get son époux back, like le Capitaine de l’Amérique! ‘E iz very clean cut,” she gripped Eddie’s jaw so she could appraise his face. “You not as pretty. Too old. And le Capitaine iz taller.”

“Don’t be a bitch Sophie, he’s cute,” a short girl with full tattooed sleeves and a ring in her nose jumped in, “It’s just those clothes, oh my god.”

“Hey, like, he’s got a sick motorcycle at home though,” the blonde beside him- Lili?- pointed out. She flashed her teeth at him, leaning into his space. “If I were into dicks I’d totally bang you in leather motorcycle boots. Kinda edgy.”

“I saw an interview with Captain America and he had on plaid and khakis like my grand-papa. So cringe.”

“Excuse me, plaid is awesome, what the hell are you on Céline?”

 A brutal dust-up about the merits of plaid ensued. Evidently this was a touchy subject with the grunge rock lesbian sports enthusiast demographic.

“Alright, all of you lay off,” came Max’s sorta familiar tone, and a big hand came into Eddie’s field of vision and waved. “Hey man, are you with us?” He looked up dully. Max hadn’t been as chatty as Vivienne, but there was an ease to them, a natural calm that he found comforting.

“Yeah, ‘m with ya,” Eddie mumbled, not raising his head from where it was propped on one fist, fingering the condensation on the side of his glass and failing not to picture his symbiote all wrapped around Captain America’s stupid muscles. “It’s just- Venom loves that shit. Clothes, leather. Whatever shit you were talkin’ about. They can make themselves into the best jacket, with teeth all along the zip. It’s awesome,” he heaved a heavy sigh, staring at the tabletop, “‘Least it was until I saw them trussing Rogers up like he’s hot shit.”

“You really miss them, eh,” Max sympathized, giving Eddie’s arms a squeeze.

Eddie shrugged. “Since V’s lost interest in me, guess it doesn’t matter anyway…”

FWAP! A pointy something struck Eddie in the side of the head and he jerked. 

“Ow! What the fuck!?”

“I cannot believe you give up si facilement!” Vivienne accused, standing up in the booth so she could get a better angle with her favorite weapon, glaring down at him. “Don’t you love Venom?”

Eddie glared back, rubbing at his shoulder. “Of course I-” he began, but choked. “I mean we… we have perfect symbiosis. I’m an ideal match for them.”

Vivienne rolled her eyes. “Idiot,” she huffed, “I did not ask what kind of match you are. I ask do you,” she jabbed her finger at him, “love Venom? Amour?”

Eddie wilted, his lip doing that awful quivering thing it did when he was on the edge of tears and too drunk to stop. He rubbed his face, stubble pricking his fingers. “I mean, I… yes? I’m kinda...not even whole without them. I– fuck –” the tears finally spilled over and rolled down his cheeks as the realization struck, and there was a collective sigh from around the table and several hands patting his back.

“Holy shit.” He wiped at his eyes with the back of his arm and blinked wetly at Vivienne.

“Yesss?” she said, stretching out the word as one eyebrow arched. Her nails tapped an impatient tattoo on the table.

“I guess… I do love them,” Eddie said, and coughed his throat clear, “Venom. I love them,” he repeated more firmly. “Oh my god. I do. I’m… in love with my alien symbiote. I'm a tabloid headline.”

Eddie stared blind at the detritus of cocktail glasses, coasters, and abandoned cherry stems spread across the table. No wonder it hurt so fuckin’ bad to be left behind. His heart was being squashed flat and he was too stupid to even know.

FWACK! 

“Ow- hey! What was that for!? I answered your stupid question!”

“Motivation,” she said primly, sitting back down. “You love Venom, alors, get them back. Fight for them!”

“It’s not that easy!” Eddie shot, shoulders tight, “Fine, I love them. Great. Awesome. They’re still gone. They don’t need me anymore, not with a literal supersoldier golden boy for a host.”

“So?”

“So? SO!? So there’s not a lot I can do about it if my fucking symbiote Doesn’t! Want! Me! ” It was Eddie’s turn to stand up in the booth, arms flung wide. Several people ducked and clutched their drinks defensively.

“You could get a piercing.”

“What?” he and Vivienne both said together and swiveled their heads to Max, who was leaned back with an arm stretched along the back of the booth. “Seems like your symbiote likes muscular guys on motorcycles, leather, and you’ve got a bunch of tats already. Can’t hurt to round it all out with a shiny new piercing.”

“Yeah, like, that’s a pretty good idea, actually,” Lili said from his side, tugging his sleeve up to critically examine the dragon on his inner bicep. “Venom, like, digs when you’re a total badass, eh?”

“Do your nipples, it’s epic!” suggested the petite girl with the ring in her septum.

“No way, you gotta make a grand gesture! A Prince Albert is a real sign of commitment,” offered the girl next to Vivienne, who had about fifteen different piercings in her face alone, and was tattooed all the way up her throat and over her shaved temples. She’d clearly done a lot of committing.

“Wait a second,” asked Céline, “How do you even do it with your alien? Do they make, like, a really tight hole for you to fuck, or is it the other way around?”

“Can they do you in the mouth and the ass at the same time?”

“Can you do each other at the same time?”

Eddie’s overwrought freight train of emotional bullshit finally derailed and he burst out laughing, his face reddening as he wheezed and gasped and eventually felt tears on his cheeks. His nerves were shredded; was this legitimately funny, or was he having a panic attack? Either way he couldn’t seem to stop.

Everyone at the table seemed to take Eddie’s total breakdown as a win, clinking their glasses together and toasting their victory, a couple hands slapping him on the back and squeezing his shoulders. 

It was a minute before Eddie got his breath. His loud guffaws fizzled out to breathless panting, and finally calm. He collapsed back into the booth and groped for his glass, but it had vanished at some point during his meltdown.

“So, like, do you feel any better?” Lili was ruffling his hair with her fingertips, her braids tickling his arm. It felt nice. Someone set a fresh piña colada in front of him, so he curled a hand around it and took a sip. Ouch. Brain freeze.

“I- yeah. I guess I needed a kick in the ass,” he said when he could speak again.

Vivienne said, with evident satisfaction, “I know how to handle thick-head idiots. Five brothers. Mon dieu.” She gestured with her purse and Eddie flinched reflexively and ducked behind his glass with its slab of pineapple.

“You sure do babe,” Max seconded loyally.

Vivenne holstered her clutch and fixed Eddie with a serious look. “Alors,” she intoned, “You will find your alien, et les récupérer!” She clenched her fist in a gesture of terrifying self-assurance.

“Oui!”  Celine leered, “And then Venom et tu come back to Montréal and show us how you-”

“Brock.”

Eddie twisted so fast he nearly upended his piña colada.

Bucky Barnes was standing in front of their booth, wearing his best hollow eyed, I-do-not-possess-facial-muscles number. 

He was also wearing…well. His hair had been loosed from its usual bun, and looked- damp? And there was glitter. Like, a lot of glitter. Pink and green twinkled all through his hair and on his cheeks, sparkling in the bar lights. He’d lost his long sleeved shirt. He was wearing a cropped lilac tank approximately 3 sizes too small and his black tac vest over it which- nope, Eddie wasn’t going to think about whether the pockets were still loaded with the usual explosive accessories and if so how he’d managed to get inside the bar. 

Jesus, the guy had a lot of abs though, and all of them were fully on display because he was only wearing half a shirt. Eddie’s eyes progressed downwards past the hem of the- crop top?- and stopped. 

Okay, he’d finally snapped. Or one of these kindly ladies had maybe passed him something more exciting than boozy coconut slush to ease his misery.

It would explain why his brain was telling him that the Winter Soldier wasn’t wearing pants.

Somebody catcalled. Eddie didn’t see who. Barnes was very still, almost rigid, maybe a bit spooked around the eyes.

Also, he definitely wasn’t wearing pants.

Well, technically they might qualify as pants? Eddie stared, vaguely conscious of the buzz of interest traveling round the table. Hands were creeping towards cell phones and he fully empathized with the urge to document the moment because it seemed likely the apocalypse was imminent.

Barnes was sporting a pair of hot pink daisy dukes which showed off exactly how muscular his thighs were, and he’d completed the whole situation with his clunky black combat boots. Between that and his exposed arms - one thickly muscled, the other his shiny prosthesis - both liberally dusted with the same hot pink and lime glitter that seemed to cover him from head to toe, he was a new man. 

“Who’s Brock?” asked Max, glancing between Eddie and Barnes with a frown.

“Un autre boyfriend?” inquired Vivienne, lips twisting into a moue of offense, “Eddie is taken!”

“Yeah, he’s in love with the slime mold, get lost!”

Then there was a lot of yelling. Through the noise and pumping music various voices seemed to be rallying around Eddie, and demanding that this slutty newcomer take his lycra-covered ass away and/or to hell. Through it all Barnes stood stock-still, like a guy facing a firing squad who didn’t know the guns were loaded with confetti, and, oh shit.

“It’s cool everybody, I know him.” Eddie stood up again and waved everybody to (relative) silence, and then glared at Sophie till she slowly lowered her phone. “He’s definitely not hitting on me.” He opened his mouth to do introductions, thought better of it, and turned to Barnes. “So… you gonna explain all the- this?” He made a sweeping head-to-toe gesture with one hand.

Barnes’ arm did it's neat recalibration wave thing, all of the plates snapping open and then back into place one after the other. “I did not find Steve,” he said in a flat voice barely audible over Tools’ ‘The Pot,’ and, yep, there went his contractions. He was working the mission mode angle again. Fun. “We need to go.”

“Yeah, but what the actual fuck happened to you?”

Barnes shot a suspicious glance around the circle of extremely interested faces. Sophie was possibly composing an insta post under the table. “Not here.”

Eddie waved him off. “It’s fine, they know all about V.”

“What,” Barnes, if possible, became even more rigid, his eyebrows crawling into his hairline as the fingers of his meat hand twitched for a weapon that could in no way be hidden in those shorts before he visibly forced himself to still. “How much?”

“I just said. Everything.”

“Yeah, we, like, totally know all about his alien bf, brah,” said Lili, whose braids were fully unraveled by this point.

“...et sa tongue incroyable ,” Viv drawled and wiggled her eyebrows at Barnes like a challenge. Piercings Girl drew her finger deliberately out of her mouth with a ‘pop.’ 

A muscle in the Winter Soldier’s sparkly jaw spasmed.

“Did you know all these cocktails are doubles?” Eddie said brightly, gesturing with his pina colada and a grin that was sixty percent booze and forty percent intentionally pushing Barnes’ very large, very obvious buttons. “Anyway it’s fine. Max and Viv and… and everybody won’t tell anyone. Also, they’re French.”

“J’aime ton shorts,” Vivienne offered, shuffling over and leaning into Barnes’ personal space. “Asseyez-vous, we are helping Eddie,” she ordered, reaching out and grabbing the metal wrist to pull him down, and if the Black Widow ever needed an intern who lacked normal human fear Eddie would recommend her in a heartbeat.

It looked like the Winter Soldier might lose it right there and either launch an attack or book it for the exit, but then Barnes was engulfed by an irresistible wave of encouragement, drinks, and offers of hair ties, as the group absorbed him effortlessly till he was somehow snugged in beside Eddie and squishing to make room for Vivienne when she shoved, unconcerned, at his metal shoulder, Sophie taking a space on the other side of the bench so everyone could fit.

Viv ended up practically in Barnes’ lap once she wedged herself in with them. She made big eyes at him again. “Eddie, he is very cute! Are you sure-"

Eddie shut her down before that could go any further. “Nope! No way. Definitely not. Not even after V and Captain America run away into the sunset together.”

Barnes jerked, tried to twist, and wound up with a mouthful of curls. And oh, hey, he’d turned his face back on. “You told them about Steve?”

Eddie shrugged sloppily. “‘Course I did. It’s kinda a pivotal part of the story. Jeez Barnes, try to keep up. Why are you dressed like a gay military bachelor party favor?”

Barnes did the forlorn confused thing that made him look deceptively like a lost kitten, working his lower lip between his teeth. Sophie abandoned her phone to start working his hair into a shimmery updo, and he was determinedly Not Flinching. “I conducted a search for Steve, as instructed. I checked all alleys within 500 meters, then dumpsters-"

“Wait. You checked those before bars and clubs?”

“There was a higher probability of finding Steve in those places.”

Eddie choked back his amused snort but Max didn’t bother. “Okay, I’m starting to get the picture…”

Barnes continued in a flat, nearly robotic tone that Eddie hadn’t heard since his first couple days in Wakanda. It contrasted wildly with the wounded eyes. “I miscalculated the stability of some crates while searching one of the dumpsters. My clothing was compromised, and I was unable to gain access to the bars and clubs.”

“Because you are stinking of garbage juice?” Vivienne asked, popping the last cherry from her cocktail into her mouth like she was at a show and Barnes was the final act. 

He swallowed. “Yes. Because of the garbage juice.”

“So you decided to go shopping, but the only places open were sex shops?” Max asked, propping their elbow on the table and leaning forward, chin on their open palm. Sophie was back to thumb typing and Eddie hoped Natasha was as good as her rep or their next stop would be a CIA black site. Or possibly The Late Show.

“Negative,” Barnes answered, but his eyes were still focused on Eddie in an upsettingly dutiful way. “I could not complete the next portion of the mission, so I broadened the alley search. Some civilians behind one of the venues were smoking, and they asked me if I needed assistance. They granted me entry, and offered use of their changing room shower. When I was clean,” Barnes gestured to himself, “they provided me with these… clothes. Then I-”

“Okay!” Eddie interrupted loudly, because there was only so much a man could be expected to bear. “So. Just to recap. You, lifelong best buddy of ol’ Stevie Rogers aka Captain America, determined that he was most likely hanging out in a garbage pile or a filthy alley.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow at Barnes, who nodded.

“Right. So then you- the actual Winter Soldier fancy-ass assassin extraordinaire, with your catlike reflexes and the ability to walk a tightrope a hundred feet off the ground while hitting a mouse’s asshole at a thousand yards, somehow fell in a dumpster, and instead of calling it a night you just… kept on?”

Another look to Barnes for confirmation. Another nod.

“And then benevolent strippers took pity on you, and outta the kindness of their hearts, they dressed you like a go go dancer and dunked you in glitter. Did I get that right? Lemme know if I missed anything.” 

“They said they were ‘burlesque performance artists,’” he answered flatly and looked at his lap, where his tiny shorts were doing a terrible job of concealing the outline of his dick. “There was glitter in the soap. My arm requires service,” he lifted his prosthetic in demonstration, opening his hand to show the intricate finger joints, which were now clogging up with flecks of green and pink glitter and a few curly hairs that looked like Viv's.

Max reached a big paw across the table to grab Barnes’ vibranium hand and look more closely. “Oh you’re fucked,” they supplied helpfully, “But on the bright side, you smell like coconuts.”

“Thank you si- uh ma’am- uh. Thank you,” Barnes fumbled, ducking his head even lower. The poor son of a bitch just look so fuckin’ tragic - Eddie started to feel like a dick for teasing him. 

It was probably time to get the Winter Party Favour back to the hotel before he got roped into a stage show.

“Okay everybody, I’m beat,” Eddie announced with a theatrical yawn, “I think me an’ Sergeant Sparkles better hit the road.”

“But le karaoké start in vingt minutes!” complained Brigitte.

“Whoa, then we are definitely donesky,” Eddie said hastily, and shoved at Sophie till he and Barnes could slide out and make a beeline for the door. Vivienne and a few of the others tagged along after.

“Thanks for tonight,” Eddie told her as they all gathered, shivering in a loose circle to say their goodbyes, “ I’m goin’ after V, and when I get them back, I’m gonna tell them how I really feel. And then we’ll take a proper vacation and come visit you.”

“Do not keep us waiting Eddie,” Vivienne warned, with another fist-clench-of-world-domination.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Eddie called, catching sight of Barnes already halfway up the street.

~~~

The Winter Soldier kept the same anxious expression he’d had in the bar the entire cab ride back to the hotel, and then he locked himself in the bathroom for an hour, during which time Eddie drank three glasses of water, ordered Chinese delivery, and laid on his back on the bed, trying to throw M&M’s into his own mouth and mostly missing.

He blamed the cocktails. 

The lingering buzz of booze and new friends were enough to keep him from misery spiraling until Barnes finally exited the bathroom, a too-small hotel towel around his waist and another one on his hair.

“Thought you drowned,” Eddie said without getting up. 

Barnes ignored him, rooting through his pack for a neatly folded t-shirt, clean underwear (hah! The Winter Soldier wore tighty whities like the old man he was, and he folded them), and some soft sleep pants with- 

“Holy fuck.”

“What?”

“You have Captain America pyjamas?”

Barnes looked down at himself with a frown. “I like Captain America,” he pointed out, pulling the towel out of his hair.

“Want some M&M’s?”

“No.”

“More for me,” Eddie said, hitting himself in the face with a green one.

“Your aim is shit,” Barnes muttered, because he’d apparently rebooted his personality while hogging all the hot water.

“Like you could do better,” Eddie countered, but there was no answer. He opened his eyes and Barnes was standing right over him.

Eddie made a very dignified screeching sound, scrambling back on the bed. “Fuck I didn’t even hear you come over here!”

“Gimme those,” Barnes said, grabbing for the bag. Eddie surrendered it because he wasn’t quite miserable enough to die yet. Barnes stalked back across the room, a little further than he’d been before. There were little shields on each butt cheek. “Open your mouth.”

“Oh c’mon, you’re far enough that it’ll hurt when you miss.”

“Open your mouth.”

“You’re paying for the Chinese,” Eddie griped, but did as he was told.

Barnes tossed the candy into his waiting mouth from across the room, one piece after another landing perfectly, until Eddie held up a hand. “Shtoph! Gotta shew…” he complained through his mouthful.

He studied his roomie while he chewed the chocolate and peanuts, and yeah, that was definitely a hint of smugness. Hidden by a sweep of wavy wet tangles dangling half in his face, but there.

The more time they killed in nondescript motels, the more Eddie was seeing that there was a cocky bastard with a cutting sense of humor somewhere underneath all the nazi brainwashing and associated trauma. Sergeant James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, historical sepia toned personage, hadn’t piqued his interest, but this guy, this actual alive guy, he was something else. Maybe Romanoff- Natasha - was on to something when she’d told Eddie he was actually helping Barnes out by annoying the crap outta him all this time. It’d be nice to be good for something.

The Chinese arrived. Barnes paid, which served the dual purpose of giving him the opportunity to scare the pants off the delivery chick despite the flecks of pink and green still clinging to his cheekbones, and getting Eddie off the hook for the actual cash money part. Eddie snagged a carton without checking what it was and dug in, fully not expecting Sergeant Chatty to strike up any lively dinner conversation.

An error in judgment.

“Brock,” he began, and shit. Eddie knew he was about to get chewed out from the tone alone. 

“Barnes,” Eddie mocked, shoving a piece of General Tso’s in his mouth.

“You fucked up tonight.”

“No, I got fucked up. Totally worth it.”

Barnes lowered his chopsticks, his prosthetic elbow clanking on the tabletop. “You told those civilians about Steve, and the alien.”

“So? Half of them won’t even remember. And it’s not like you were exactly keepin’ a low profile either. Pretty sure your shiny one-of-a kind robo-arm and the full-on combat ready tac vest complete with live grenades is a bigger red flag than a drunk journalist crying into his piña colada. If you wanna give someone a lecture, look in the mirror.”

Barnes pressed his lips into a thin line. One of his chopsticks creaked, then snapped. He stared at it for too long, then pushed his carton of fried rice out of the way and laid the deceased utensil gingerly on the table, all hangdog guilt and shame.

Well fuck. How the hell was Eddie gonna argue with this jackass when he looked like that?

“Aw c’mon don’t-"

“I knew Stevie was close. I thought he’d turn up if I kept searching.”

“But you just gave me shit for doing the same fucking thing to find V!”

Barnes shifted to stare right at Eddie and his whole face was wan and pinched and he suddenly looked exactly like a guy who’d lived way too long and seen too much bad shit. “The alien. Symbiote… thing. Venom. It’s controlling Steve, manipulating him. I can’t let it keep-"

Eddie slammed his carton on a side table and shot to his feet. “You’re still on that bullshit!?” he shouted, stomping closer so he could get right in Barnes’ squinched up face. “Pretty sure we covered this when you snapped my motherfuckin’ arm like that chopstick. I already told you they’re working together. Your best buddy Cap is fine. It’s you that’s got a problem.”

Barnes’ expression locked down, blank facade sliding into place like the steel hatches on the Raft. Eddie sneered in disgust. “Yeah there ya go again, just switch off bein’ a person whenever it’s convenient. I thought I was the one with split personalities. Fuck.”

Eddie felt like a real dick as soon as he said it, but he couldn’t take it back, even if he kinda wanted to.

But Barnes surprised him.

“You don’t got split personalities, Brock,” he said, a little color coming back into his voice, that weird old-timey accent coming with it, “You’re actually two people some of the time. I’m one guy that got fucked up bad enough to think I’m two people,” he tapped his temple in demonstration, “It’s a real shitshow in here. S’why I asked them to freeze me again, even though it put that constipated look on Steve’s face that he gets when he’s takin’ his medicine.”

There was nothing-not-stupid that Eddie could say, so he wisely shut the hell up and let Barnes have his soliloquy.

“Once I get him safe and get the mind-controlling alien outta his head, I’m gonna go back under, where I belong.”

“Wait- what? Why? ”

“You needa’ ask? Because I don’t wanna hurt people anymore, Brock. I ain’t safe.”

“So… don’t?”

Barnes laughed, but it definitely wasn’t funny. “I don’t got a choice if someone says the magic words. Except to kill myself or go back into the ice until Princess Shuri can genius up a way to unfuck my brain. First one seems a lot more practical,” he frowned and cleared his throat before meeting Eddie’s eyes, “but Stevie ain’t doin’ so hot here in the Twenty-First Century, and I think it’d screw him up worse if I shot myself. So.”

“Shit,” Eddie whispered, pulling out the second chair and sinking back into it across from Barnes. “That’s- um. That sucks.”

Barnes shrugged, his vibranium shoulder whirring softly. He unwrapped a fresh pair of chopsticks and flicked them apart, taking his half-finished carton in his flesh hand. “You gonna eat all the chicken?” he asked, gesturing with his container, “Rice is pretty good.”

They switched, tucking into the second half of the meal in silence. Eddie’s leg bouncing under the table was making the whole thing vibrate. Did Barnes really have some kinda words in his head that would turn him into a weapon? What if someone said them by accident? Not like he was ‘safe’ to be around on a good day - just ask Eddie’s arm - but at least he seemed to be mostly in control of himself-

“Quit starin’ at me, Brock. I ain’t any different than I was an hour ago.”

“I wasn’t.”

That earned him a skeptical eye. He made himself look at his food and stop wondering about Barnes’ head and his arm and what getting brainwashed by nazis was actually like. Probably nothing he wanted to know about.

The wooden chopsticks were making small scritching sounds as they cleaned out their cartons.

“So did you remember to get any information about Steve from your new gal pals, or was it just the free drinks and shotgun therapy?”

“For fuck’s sake.” Eddie’s container was empty so he couldn’t use it as a distraction anymore, and he was forced to face the music. “I uh. I kinda… forgot? Look, there was a lot going on. All the drinks were doubles, everyone kept asking me about V…” 

Barnes’ mouth curled into a complacent smile as he slotted his empty box inside Eddie’s. “Bit of an idiot, aren’t you.”

“Yeah well, at least I didn’t fall in a dumpster.”

“Wouldn’t know by lookin’ at you.”

“Well we can’t all cover up our mistakes with glitter and booty shorts, Bucky.”

“So you’re sayin’ your face is a mistake?”

“Oh my god.”

Chapter Text

Splish-splash, I was taking a bath

Long about a Saturday night, yeah

Rub dub, just relaxin' in the tub

Thinkin' everything was alright

-Splish Splash, Bobby Darin

“Gurh. Unh,” Steve’s eyeballs had a pulse.

Someone was… singing? The last thing he remembered was serenading the uncaring stars with Yankee Ain’t Doodlin’ Now. But this… it was loud. And someone else was shouting, maybe two people. 

He was lying on his face on something wood with his arms crumpled underneath his own chest, and it felt like a garbage truck had backed over his skull. He managed to roll over and abruptly fell a short distance, biting his tongue and cracking the back of his head on unforgiving concrete. “Ow! Christ!” He rubbed at the rapidly-forming lump and squinted against acidic artificial light, flapping around until he managed to get upright. The world smelled like piss, sweat, and metal.

“Hé regarde, le minet se réveille!” came a jeer, followed by ugly snorts of laughter.

Look…kitten…awake?? Steve was a connoisseur of jeers but this was a new one.

Steve scowled – Jesus, his mouth tasted like he’d been sucking on a dirty sock – what the hell was going on? He was cold, and filthy, and had something crusted to the side of his face- all SOP, but when he angled his eyes away from the light and forced them open, he found himself peering at a stained concrete floor with a drain in the center. That was new. He gingerly let his head loll around to the left.

Ah. Jail. Of course. He was lying in a large holding cell with floor to ceiling iron bars, a much abused stainless steel toilet crouched in the far corner, and some benches along the walls crowded with maybe ten other guys- a real variety pack. A poor jittery bastard in a wrinkled grey suit, tie askew, running his hand through his hair, leg bouncing. A couple young guys with black eyes prowling along the bars like big alley cats. Several other specimens in worn and dirty clothes slumped on the benches or the floor, reeking of liquor and worse, not that Steve was in a position to judge. And there was the requisite juiced up boozer in a torn trench coat belting out some repetitive, off-key hymn and ignoring everyone including the poor bastard next to him begging him to shut up.

Steve somehow got his limbs to haul him back onto the bench he’d rolled off of and curled himself up against the wall with his arms and legs folded around himself like a spider with the shakes. Okay. So he was in the drunk tank which- fair. Wouldn’t be the first time he got thrown in a cell to cool off, though back in the 30's it’d usually been for his overly enthusiastic and unpopular opinions. Funny, the smell was exactly the same, and so was the general ambiance of rock bottom misery.

Steve curled tighter as his mouth watered- what this adventure really didn’t need was more puke. He didn’t remember being picked up. He’d been so goddamn hammered that he’d passed out cold sometime after they’d called Anne. Hell. 

He took stock. No obvious injuries, nothing vital missing, and it’s not as though he had any possessions save the rags on his back. So, all in all, he was fine, hangover aside. He might not throw up, if he could keep everything nice and slow. Venom seemed to be similarly struggling through the symbiote equivalent of a morning after, and Steve got the sense that at least half the throbbing in his head was coming from the alien.

This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t talked me into more drinks, Steve complained, keeping his eyes closed to block out the flickering fluorescents. Never shoulda had that chocolate thing.

CHOCOLATE IS NEVER THE PROBLEM STEEEEVE, Venom protested in a thin echo of its usual growl. Pitiful. BUT… WE ARE SORRY. EDDIE CAN DRINK A LOT MORE THAN YOU CAN.

Ouch. Well, okay, ‘course the ninety pound guy was gonna be flat on his ass after a few rounds, it went without saying. Nah, it’s not your fault, pal. I wanted to keep going too. And- I guess it was pretty fun.

WE SHOULD HAVE EATEN THE WOMAN WITH THE SPARKLY PURSE, Venom added, flashing Steve a memory of edge of said purse catching him in the face. He grinned into his folded arms.

Didn’t like those corners, huh.

NO! AND SHE CALLED US A PERVERTED ASSHOLE! RUDE!

Steve and Venom’s silent conversation was interrupted by something heavy and warm sliding against his thigh that was not a tentacle.

“Hé chéri,” came an unfamiliar voice, way too close for comfort. Steve’s head shot up. Whoa. Through the swooping he got an impression of a man, big. Very big. Too tight lavender shirt, darkly furred arms in rolled up sleeves, lotta chest hair curling where the top couple buttons strained over his pectorals. Steve shoved the guy’s hand away, scowling.

“Back off, pal,” he growled, scooting until his spine met the corner. 

The guy raised his hands in a placating gesture and gave him a little more space. “Pardon, hey, I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, mon petit,” he said. His expression was kind behind a thick, carefully trimmed beard.

Steve glared, staying exactly where he was. “I’m not your mon anything,” he snapped, Venom coiling possessively around his middle.

The man laughed, the sound hearty, resonating in his chest. “Don’t worry. Nobody’s layin’ a finger on you, chéri. Swear. It’s rough in here sometimes. But I kept’em away while you were sleepin’ it off.”

Oh. Well that was- fine. Not that Steve needed looking after when he could turn into a ten foot tall monster and obliterate everybody here in about three seconds flat. But buddy didn’t know that. From Venom Steve was receiving a mild olfactory impression of nice cologne and breath mints, and the guy didn’t look high or drunk. Lord only knew what landed him in here- maybe he just had a lot of parking tickets.

Steve relaxed a little, letting his aching spine curl back against the concrete. “Uh, thanks. Didn’t mean to- you know. Bite your head off.”

“I’ll live.” The guy smiled, and it was a nice smile. Then he ruined it with, “Pretty little thing like you don’t belong in here with all these roughnecks.” The man gave Steve a deliberate once-over, taking in his soiled clothes, hair, and all the rest. “Maybe you… need some help? You got a place to stay?”

Jeezus. Some things never changed, and people treating Steve like he needed to be taken care of just because he was kinda small was old goddamn hat. But then again… it was possible this guy was just trying to be nice. If Steve met someone who looked like he did right now, he’d probably be offering a helping hand too. He sighed. “I’m alright,” he said, blinking at the guy through his greasy fringe. “Just had a tough couple’a days, but I’ve got it covered. Thanks, though.” He put a hand out. “I’m Steve.”

“Claude,” the man answered, taking Steve’s hand in both of his and squeezing for too long, “Pleasure to meet you, Steve.”

WE DON’T TRUST HIM, Venom warned with a growl, SMELLS LIKE THE MACY’S. It was gathering itself just beneath the surface of his skin, coiling heavily around his shoulders and lacing between his ribs until Steve rubbed at his chest, trying to focus.

We seriously can’t judge. It’s fine, he’s not doing anything.

“Sure,” he answered Claude after a slightly awkward pause. Maybe Venom would relax if he led by example. He let his head rest against the grimy concrete and wished he could rinse his mouth out- they really ought to offer some water to people stuck in here.

It was quiet for a while- okay, no, it was annoying and smelly and Singing Guy hadn’t let up yet, but nothing exciting happened until there was a metallic click and the door to the cell screeched open, clanging. A hissing, scratching, biting guy was shoved in by a couple constables and the door slammed closed.

Everyone watched the new guy freak out and kick violently at the nearest ankles.

A meaty, muscled arm wrapped casually around Steve’s shoulders and he was enveloped in a cloud of vaguely sweaty eau de something. Claude leaned into him. “Don’t worry, mon ange. Won’t let him at you.”

Oh come on . Was this prick for real? Steve’s lip curled. He tried unsuccessfully to shrug out from under the weight of Claude’s massive physique. “Look buddy, you got the wrong idea.”

SEE STEEEEEVE? HANDSY! LET’S EAT HIM.

Claude glanced down at him. “What’s that, chéri?”

He tried to shove off the hairy forearm and found with a frustrating sense of helplessness that he couldn’t. “Hey, I told you not to touch me. Quit callin’ me pet names ‘n keep your hands to yourself.” 

Claude’s face crinkled into a look that Steve usually saw on people cooing over kittens and puppies. He didn’t like it. He could feel Venom beginning to seep from his skin beneath his clothes, rumbling in his head. “Aww don’t be like that sweet one. You don’t need to put on the tough act anymore, eh? I said I’d watch your back.”

Steve snorted. Yeah, he was done with this idiot. “You know, I’ve already got someone watchin’ my back. You wanna meet them?”

Claude looked confused, but he didn’t remove his arm.

“Venom? Why don’t you say hi to Claude?”

A gooey black tide rushed up and enveloped Steve, shooting up and over Claude and shoving him to the side as their massive, hulking shape surfaced, rippling musculature dwarfing the big man.

Venom hopped into a lizard crouch on the bench, looming over Claude as the guy shrank down and away. They slammed one massive hand into the concrete beside Claude’s head, digging their claws in for effect. Together, Steve and Venom grinned wide, flashing needle teeth at the man, saliva dribbling from their lips and splatting dark patches onto the lavender shirt. They slapped their slippery wet tongue along his face, wrapping it loosely around his throat.

“WE DO NOT WANT YOUR PROTECTION,” they boomed, lacing plenty of growl into their voice. “LEAVE US ALONE, OR WE WILL SMASH YOUR SKULL AND SUCK YOUR BRAINS OUT THROUGH YOUR NOSE, GOT IT. BABYDOLL?”

Claude’s eyes were wide and white in his red face. He made some choked gasping noises, flapping his hands. “I- I- I- yuh- yeah. I got it!”

“FANTASTIC!” Venom exclaimed cheerfully, ripping their claws out of the wall to drag them threateningly down Claude’s chest in a pop pop of purple buttons, before they simmered down and away, leaving Steve sitting on the bench. He shifted to get comfy again, distantly aware that all other activity in the cell had abruptly ceased except for a broken mutter of what might have been the rosary.

“So, yeah. Maybe don’t piss us off,” Steve said casually, and Claude responded with the strangled wheeze of a broken accordion slowly deflating.

Incredibly, nobody else bothered him for the next few hours, and sometime around mid morning, the police let him go.

~~~

As soon as they were out of the holding cell, they walked several blocks through the brisk late morning sunshine to pick up the money that Anne had wired. Steve did need Venom’s help to remember the pass code they’d decided on, because there were some definite holes in his recollection of the night before. He found he didn’t mind letting Venom help with things as much as he had. It was a familiar feeling to have someone at his back. In his back? One which Steve couldn’t deny gave him confidence, helped him to relax.

Finally, with cash in hand, Steve and Venom hatched a simple plan, which they executed in steps.

First, a massive meal, breakfast for three, enough that the waitress who served Steve started joking about his having a hollow leg, even as she passed him a chocolate milkshake with extra chocolate sauce to go.

Next, a trip to ‘Tigre Géant,’ which was a strange but useful amalgamation of a dollar store with a big box monstrosity. He left loaded down with bags full of new clothing, a nylon backpack, some basic necessities and food, especially chocolate.

And finally, Steve sought out a low-key, out of the way motel that let him take a room even though he had no ID and smelled like a fishing boat had T-boned a garbage truck. He collected his room key and wandered down along the row of doors to the very last one at the end of the building. He slid the key into the lock, jiggled it a few times, and the door swung in with a cliché squeak of hinges to reveal what had to be the most underwhelming motel room Steve had ever seen, with its lone double bed and CRT television, tiny, painted-shut window, and sparse array of outdated, questionably sanitary furnishings in a nauseating clash of patterns all in shades of meat-pink. 

It was a goddamn sight for sore eyes.

Steve shut the door, threw the lock and dropped his bags and let himself simply appreciate the luxury of a warm, clean(ish), private room where nobody would bother him. He’d asked about the bathroom, made sure there was a tub, because he fully intended to have a long hot soak. He’d even purchased some liquid body wash that Venom said smelled nice, because Steve Rogers was the man with the fuckin’ plan, and the plan was to get the smell of fish and garbage off himself if he had to turn into a prune to do it.

They’d clean up, and call Anne. The clock over the television declared it to be late afternoon.  He tried to think past the throbbing behind his eyes.

“Pretty sure we’ll be alright here for a bit but-"

“STEEEEVE,” Venom cut in, herding him towards the bathroom, “WE WILL EAT ANYONE WHO TRIES TO COME IN.”

“Uh, well not anyone - sometimes these places have cleaners and stuff-”

“SEMANTICS! WE STINK WORSE THAN EDDIE’S FRIDGE, GET A MOVE ON STEVEN.”

Steve wrinkled his nose as he peeled the crusty, stained sweatpants down his legs, kicking them into a heap in the corner and chasing them with the oversized hoodie, and the no-longer-white-t-shirt that reeked of sweat. Venom was right, having an inhumanly powerful sense of smell was not a benefit when you could taste your own stench. “We should burn these clothes.” Venom was already snatching them up and jamming the bundle into the trash. 

Steve found himself in an easy synchronicity with Venom as he stripped off and rummaged through the shopping bags for the candy-smelling body wash and the other grooming items he’d picked out at the store. Whether he kept his beard or not, he desperately needed to trim it down and lose the scraggly growth that had him edging into mountain man territory. Also, he kept getting condiments in his mustache.

A few of the symbiote’s tentacles were running along his arms, acting as extra hands, getting the shower started while he put the scratchy white hotel towels on top of the closed toilet and laid out clean, dry clothes.

And then it was all steam and heat and rivulets of near-scalding water as he rinsed the worst of the filth away, discovering somewhere in the process that Venom loved the warm water and took every opportunity to spread itself out under the spray, oozing and half-formed.

“You like the water a lot, huh,” Steve said as Venom glooped around his legs and the whole bottom of the tub, snaked curiously down the drain and up the wall into all the cracks in the grout to explore.

“NICE, FEELS GOOD,” Venom rumbled against Steve’s chest.

Their connection was left comfortably open. Venom might be swimming around in his brain but it wasn’t rifling through his mental Rolodex. There were still awkward parts. Venom had no concept of boundaries- they shamelessly monitored any and all bodily functions, offering the occasional unrequested critique. Steve’s army days began to seem downright secluded by comparison.

When Steve decided they were clean enough for an actual soak he plugged the tub and let it fill with fresh hot water, and laid down naked with his legs stretched out, the welcome heat swallowing him up. He laughed when he realized what was different- he wasn’t crammed in like a damn sardine, which was the usual result of a supersoldier trying to fit in a standard tub. Now the water actually covered him, only his bony knees peeking over the surface.

He lazed, Venom cruising around, a formless floating mass. He’d gotten used to the squeezing pressure on his shoulders or ribs when it was excited, the queer sensation of it moving through him as though he were sponge-porous.

The fact that Venom could actually change his body, return him to his pre-serum shape- now that was something else.

Steve allowed himself a brief exploration of his old- original? real? self, remembering each divot of his ribs as his fingers followed them, and the nearly concave plane of his stomach. The layers of solid musculature were gone- now his small belly button and the jut of his hips drew the eye instead of the eight-pack he’d been sporting since 1943. It was a goddamn mindfuck to- to suddenly have a different body. Again. Just when he’d got used to the new one, now he was back the way he’d started minus the baker’s dozen of ailments and issues. He found himself strangely wary of getting too attached.

“Venom?” he asked, watching the symbiote slither around the tub like a Hitchcock nightmare gone mellow.

HERE STEEEEVE, it spoke directly into his mind, giving his legs a casual squeeze.

“You said you made me small by- interrupting the serum’s effect, right?”

YES, SO THAT YOUR CELLS WOULDN’T FIGHT AGAINST US. WAS MAKING YOU SICK.

He sagged deeper into the water, propping his feet on the end of the tub. The hair on his legs was matted wet, goosebumps cropping up all along his skinny shins. “And if you leave my body, or stop the- what you’re doing with the serum. Then what? I immediately turn back? We were separated on the boat- when the poachers hit us with that air horn. And I stayed like this.”

WE ATE YOUR MUSCLES. ATE YOUR EXTRA PARTS. YOU HAVE TO GROW THEM BACK, OR LET US GROW THEM BACK FOR YOU.

That- what? He lifted an arm, looked at the small, sinewy stretch of his tendons under the skin, wiggled his fingers and watched the muscle bellies in his forearm ripple. “You ate them? My- me?”

Venom’s head and arms boiled up from Steve’s midsection, rising oily black out of the bath- out of him- water beading off of it as it flexed its fingers and adjusted its jaws. It reached for Steve’s chest, dwarfing him with huge, powerful hands.

“MEAT IS MEAT. ATE ALL THE EXTRA. MADE YOU SMALL. WE CAN GROW YOU BIG AGAIN, EASY. NO SWEAT BUTTERCUP.” The humongous maw loomed over him, glistening with drool, white eyes patches studying him. It mapped his chest with razor sharp claws, dragging them lightly along the midline of his body.

He wiggled one hand free and placed it over his own chest, feeling the bony knobs of each rib where it intersected with his sternum.

He had to ask before he could talk himself out of it.

“What if I… wanted to stay? Like this?”

Venom licked a stripe from his belly all the way up his body, tickling his neck and slathering the side of his face in drool until he squirmed away and tried to shove it off. It leaned down, hot breath rolling over his face. “LIKE YOU THIS WAY,” it rumbled close to his ear, then began to sink into him, slithering under his skin, threading between his muscles and behind his eyes so he could feel it- which- fuck that was still weird. WE CAN EAT THE SERUM, KEEP YOU SMALL AND CUTE.

“You mean… permanently?”

YESSSSSS. IT'S ONLY NASTY CHEMICALS. WE WILL EAT IT, IF YOU WANT US TO.

So that was it, then. He could stay like this. He could be a regular joe. No more super serum. No more healing bullet wounds and surviving falls that should rightly kill a man. No more stranger in the mirror. No more international manhunt for Captain America, either, because absolutely nobody would expect him to suddenly shave off ten inches and a hundred and forty pounds of muscle.

Maybe no more Bucky looking at him with that…look. Exhausted. Resigned. 

What was the right thing to do? He’d been given a gift. You didn’t just throw that away. He’d thought it was a gift, anyway. At first. 

On his worst days, the whole superserum kit and kaboodle seemed ridiculous, and he didn’t quite believe he wasn’t actually drowning or dying in a hospital and living a crazy hallucinated fantasy. That made it easier to do the things he did- like running headlong into fights that shouldn’t be possible to survive- but Steve knew he’d probably do those things anyway, even if he wasn’t enhanced. He’d done them before all this. He couldn’t turn it off.

He shook himself and reached for the tap. If the past few crazy years of running off cliffs like a Looney Tunes nut case had taught him anything it was that maybe not every decision had to happen Right Now. In the bath. Semi-possessed by an alien and covered with cupcake-scented bubbles. 

YOUR CHOICE, STEEEEVE.

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

~~~

Steve was satisfactorily pruned when he emerged steaming, bare feet dripping on the tiles as Venom started to dry him vigorously with the hotel towel.

“Hey let up buddy, I’m good,” he complained, laughing and shoving away the enthusiastic tentacles that were rubbing him raw with scratchy terry cloth. “I’m dry.”

He liberated the towel and secured it around his hips, then stood at the counter to give himself a once-over, trying to ignore the alien’s prodding at his ears.

“WAX IN HERE STEEEEVE. WANT US TO EAT IT?” There was a slimy tongue worming its way into his goddamn ear hole before he could answer, and he knew Venom was fucking with him, could feel its playful, shit-stirring humour in his belly. He shook his head, cringing.

“Would ya cut it out? Christ, Venom get outta there.” Venom only relented after it’d slicked the side of Steve’s face and neck in saliva, at which point it returned to a long, slender noodle shape draped over his shoulders while he wiped the mess away.

It was adorably pleased with itself.

Steve tossed the sopping towel onto the floor and looked back up into the mirror. 

The guy looking back at him was in much better shape than he’d been yesterday in the diner bathroom, but there was still plenty of room for improvement. His bangs flopped in his face, though he’d hold out a bit longer until he could get a proper haircut. But the beard? Had to go.

The packet of disposable razors he’d picked up eventually got the job done with only a little bloodshed, and before long Steve was smoothing his hands over newly-bare cheeks and chin, staring and feeling some kinda way about it. If seeing himself small had been a trip before, now it was downright eerie. He actually wasn’t the same. Not like he’d expected. He was older, and his eyes - there was a lot of death and other bullshit in between this face and the one he left in 1943. Proof that you could never really go back, because time only went in the one direction.

He trimmed his nails and conscientiously cleaned up the mess he’d made of the sink, then he padded into the main room to dress in warm, clean clothes, oh bliss. Fresh briefs, new socks, a t-shirt that actually fit him- “YOU CLEAN UP NICE STEEEEVE,” Venom offered as it eeled along his skin beneath his clothing, throwing out helpful tentacles like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Anything’s an improvement over before.”

Venom scooped up a couple fat chocolate bars and Steve pulled back the covers from the bed, mounding the pillows up into a sybaritic pile and crawling in. He groped for the remote and flicked the TV on- the rest of the world still existed out there somewhere and they could use some news. Dammit, he shoulda picked up a phone, he wasn’t even sure what day it was.  

The television picture was fuzzy, but it did get a bunch of channels despite most of them being French.

They flicked through the stations, the remote twined in a tentacle, Steve not thinking too much about whether he was doing the actual flipping, or if it was the alien. They were pretty in sync right now- he stalled out on Bridezilla and it took some effort to make himself move on. The blurred consciousness thing was enough to be a little disorienting if he focused on it, so he didn’t. Instead, he let himself appreciate the moment of calm, because he knew it wasn’t going to last.

“You don’t really sleep, right?”

“NOT LIKE YOU DO, STEEEEVE,” it said close to his ear, with the barest prickle of something sharp- probably teeth.

“Then what do you do when I’m sleeping? Or Eddie?”

“WHATEVER WE WANT. WATCH TV, READ, EAT AND REGROW YOUR ORGANS, WATCH YOUR THOUGHTS.”

Steve rolled so he could look Venom’s small-formed head in its white eye patches, scowling in mock offense.

“WHAT? YOU ASKED.”

“Well, for my sake I hope there’s something good on TV,” he said, rolling back over.

It was quiet for a while, just the local news on mute and the hitched hisses, groans, and pops of the ancient rad, curtains fluttering as meager heat wafted into the room.

“How come you always say ‘we’ when you talk about yourself?”

And Steve was sure he felt an uncharacteristic ripple of discomfort from Venom. It didn’t answer right away, except with a slow trickle of memories- not nearly as sharp or quick as the Eddie-themed ones it usually broadcasted. These were older, less defined. But the truth was there, even if it was muddied and hard for Steve to wrap his head around. Millions of Klyntar – symbiotes like Venom – all connected in one massive tangled hive-mind. Information circulated freely to all of them in an instant. Never alone, never separate from each other, but also without affection or loyalty. They had no families, no community. They cared nothing for their hosts or each other. Only the feed mattered, the ravenous drive to consume life- a constant search for the next source of sustenance, rolling over entire civilizations as one massive plague that left nothing in its wake. 

The Klyntar were planet-killers.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve whispered into the dim room, the light of the television dancing on the walls and glinting off of the shiny surface of a tentacle that was relaxed on the pillow beside his face. “You guys are the real deal. Evil. If the rest of’em ever came here…”

“THEY WOULD DESTROY EVERYTHING,” Venom finished.

“But- you… aren’t like that. You care about Eddie. And Anne. You talk about being a hero. You stopped Riot…”

“YESSSSS, STEEEEEVE. WE ARE A LOSER TO THE OTHER KLYNTAR.” Venom tightened anxiously around Steve. Steve was the last guy anyone would go to for comfort and he knew it, but he could at least go for ‘stable.’ He tried to send some of that through their connection.

“You said- last night after the bar, when we were talking. You said they all rejected you.”

“THEY DID. CAME HERE. SUPPOSED TO RETURN IF THE PLANET IS WORTH DESTROYING, BRING THEM,” It was nearly crushing Steve as it writhed over and through him, squeezing like it didn’t want to let go. “THEN… ALONE. SEPARATE,” it said, sounding haunted.

Steve knew a thing or two about that. “You were all by yourself.”

“YES.”

“But you didn’t bring them, Venom. You risked yourself to stop Riot. You prevented the Klyntar from coming here.”

And that was the trigger, the switch- everything shifted to Eddie. Just a screwed-up dude down on himself who got caught up in something way out of his league, but Eddie was the fulcrum point that tipped Venom to the other side.

“WE FOUND EDDIE,” it said simply, like that explained everything. “FOUND HOME.”

“Not so bad here, eh pal?”

Venom bumped its head under his chin in answer, nuzzling his neck. Steve got the message loud and clear. He stroked Venom’s warm hide, petting along its head.

“But your species is usually part of this hive mind. A collective. You’re not born to be individuals. Even the way you connect with your host is- it’s a partnership.”

“ONLY WITH EDDIE. WITH STEEEEVE,” Venom corrected. “TASTES BETTER WHEN YOU’RE HAPPY.”

Steve thought all of that over, continuing his absent stroking. “Tastes better,” he said slowly, considering. “And when I’m pissed off, you tell me it tastes bad.”

“YESSSSS.”

“So you what- sorta… marinate in your host’s brain chemicals?”

Venom stretched its jaws wide right in Steve’s face, then snapped its teeth shut with a sharp ‘click, ’ “EAT THEM.”

“And that works out better if you can- uh, work with your host instead of scaring the ever-loving piss outta them,” Steve observed, amused.

“YESSSS STEEEEVE,” Venom agreed readily, slathering his face and hair with a healthy dose of drool.

“And you’re the only one of you guys that has figured this out.”

Venom’s head bobbed. “THE OTHER KLYNTAR WILL NEVER KNOW WHAT THEY’RE MISSING.”

“Then it’s a damn good thing you stopped them.”

Venom preened, grinning huge, “WE ARE THE LETHAL PROTECTOR, BUTTERCUP.”

Steve grinned back, caught up in Venom’s enthusiasm. “That’s a pretty good name, pal. Maybe we oughtta get you and Eddie on the team once you’re back with him. We could always use another hero.”

“EDDIE WILL HATE THAT,” Venom drooped a bit, “HE LIKES TO WORK ALONE.”

Steve considered that for a moment before answering, then smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Even if you get some real bad guys to eat?”

“WE WILL CONVINCE HIM!” Venom said quickly, which is pretty much what Steve expected.

“Yeah, well, you’ve got time. There isn’t much of a team these days. But I’m working on that, and on getting you guys back stateside. Speaking of which, I think I know what we need to do. Tomorrow we’ll head to the airport and hitch a flight to San Francisco. Meet up with your lady friend. There’s too much heat on us here, and Eddie is gonna call her sooner or later. She’s the common point between you and Eddie, like you said.”

“GOOD PLAN, STEEEEVE.”

“Hope so. I was banking on getting some ID in the safehouse, but that was a bust and I don’t exactly look like my photo anymore. We’ll have to get creative. Figure out a way to fly under the radar.” Steve yawned wide, blinking. “I’m beat, pal. Gonna catch some shut-eye, and you- you know. Watch some TV. Or… I guess the other stuff you said. Whatever.”

“EAT YOUR ORGANS AND WATCH YOUR THOUGHTS,” Venom supplied helpfully.

“I was good without you reminding me of that, actually.”

~~~

“STEEEEEVE! STEEEEEEVE WAKE UP!”

Alarm flooded directly into Steve’s bloodstream and snapped him awake. He was bolt upright in the bed before he thought about it, throwing off the covers.

What is it? What’s wrong? he hissed into his own brain in case they could still escape undetected. He was about to leap out of the bed when Venom stopped him, slipping a couple thick tentacles around him and dragging him back down. He went willingly, eyes darting around in the dark, ears straining for the sounds of combat boots outside.

Nothing. No S.W.A.T. team crowding the exits, no cops, no mercenaries looming over him to cut his throat. Just the normal sounds of a city at night and too many shades of pink upholstery washed to grey in the low light of the television. The weight of Venom was still constricting his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. He wormed them free and cocked his head at the alien in question. “There’s nothing coming pal, I think it was a false alarm.”

“WE NEVER SAID ANYTHING WAS COMING. BUT YOU ARE ON TV.”

“Oh,” he said flatly. Well, that was bound to happen sooner or later.

Venom relaxed its hold over him and they reached for the remote together, the plastic creaking under their grasp as they mashed the volume button to turn it up.

“Captain America: The Man With The Plan… To Kill?” announced the anchor in an overly-dramatic, ominous tone. Oh this was sure to be fantastic.

“America's hero appears to have turned villain after the violently decapitated remains of three Canadian fishermen —”

And yep, there was himself. Clips from the last few years were running under the headline- himself stone-faced or angry, himself that time he picked up a car and slammed it into the giant lizard thing, uniform torn to expose dense muscles and face streaked with grime, teeth bared and bloody. He looked monstrous.

“YOU LOOK GREAT. SMASHED THAT ONE LIKE A PANCAKE.” 

“Venom.”

“—on the scene indicated that the deaths were ‘unbelievably violent.’ That officer went on to indicate that ‘No normal man could have done this.’”

There was some heavily blurred out footage from the- the crime scene. A distant shot depicted a familiar beach with swathes of snow stained red and pink, emergency vehicles gathered nearby. There was another clip of a stretcher being wheeled away, fully zipped up black body bag atop it. Jesus.

The images made Steve's stomach twist. Venom growled against his back and curled warm tentacles around his shoulders and middle.

“BAD GUYS, STEEEEEVE. THEY HURT YOU. AND THE WATER DOGS.”

He knew that. Those poachers had been absolute scum, and they were murderers. They’d shot him and rolled him into the water without batting an eye. This wasn’t the first time he’d rationalized killing. And it wasn’t the first time he’d taken life to protect himself or someone else- but it felt different. The idea that they’d- that he’d actually eaten their-

Before that line of thinking could grow legs, another headline flashed, and images of the Raft prison played on the screen. Now that was unusual- the government’s less sanctioned apparatus were rarely featured in public media.

“Dangerous Unknowns Missing After Explosive Escape!”

Steve and Venom both leaned in like that would make the news come faster.

“Authorities are only beginning to release details about an explosive breakout that occurred in an offshore super-max detention center almost ten days ago. The facility, which coordinates with numerous governments but is privately owned and operated, houses over two hundred violent enhanced offenders.

Preliminary investigations are still underway, but one or more former ‘Avengers’ were likely involved in an explosion which caused serious damage to high security cell blocks. Warden Commander William Radcliffe Anderson III spoke with reporters yesterday, following mounting pressure to release a public statement."

The picture cut to a tall, clean-cut white man with thinning blonde hair and pale grey eyes, the three bars and single star on his dark blue uniform denoting his rank as Navy Commander. He stood at a podium fronted by numerous news microphones and peppered by flashes from press photographers.

“I understand that there is a great deal of concern over the escaped inmates, and I wanted to assure you all that the matter is my top priority. I have every confidence that my specialized retrieval team, working together with several government agencies, will successfully bring in the escapees. My facility remains completely secure. There is no need to panic. That is all the information I can share with you at this time.”

At the warden's first word Venom had surged to full attention, snapping up the remote and cranking the volume. “STEEEEEVE! THAT JERK TOOK OUR SHOES! HURT EDDIE, MADE US WEAK.”

“Yeah. Yeah pal, bite his head off later. Lemme hear the rest.”

“ —no names have been released. Authorities have refused to confirm whether Steve Rogers, formerly Captain America, may have been involved in the incident, especially in light of his recent link to a string of gruesome murders. Up Next: Steve Rogers- how much do we really know about America’s golden boy? A careful examination of Rogers’ history reveals a shocking pattern of violence that dates back to his youth. Has this so-called superhero been hiding a darker secret all along? Stay tun-"

SCRNCH.

“WE KILLED IT.”

“Good.”

What he wouldn’t give to never see his own damn face on TV again… he pressed his fingers into his eyes and groaned, slumping back into the pillows.

Steve was on a fast-track to being America’s (and Canada’s) most reviled ‘super’ and there wasn’t a PR campaign on the planet that could smooth this mess over. Not even Pepper would be able to fix this- and she was Tony’s right-hand gal. The same Tony who was definitely not talking to him at the moment. He blew his breath out in a whoosh. What a shitshow.

Venom spread over him, rumbling against his chest. The deep vibration was nice. “DON’T WORRY STEEEEEVE,” it assured, bumping the hollow under his jaw. “ANNE WILL HELP. IT’S LATE. YOU ARE TIRED. GO BACK TO SLEEP AND WE WILL KEEP WATCH.”

He was ready to argue, but his stupid body picked that specific moment to produce a deep, jaw-cracking yawn, and he had nowhere to go anyway. So he laid back down and stared at the water stained ceiling and let Venom wind around and through him, and somehow he did relax.

None of the media stuff mattered, really. The people he cared about were safe, and what happened to him wasn’t important in the grand scheme. He wasn’t at the center of anything- it was the media that liked to paint him that way.

He settled, burrowing deep into the covers and curling up on his side. Venom pulled the duvet up to his chin. Warm tendrils stroked along his back, and even brushed gently through his hair, which was a sensation Steve hadn’t felt in ages. It lulled him, and in minutes he was dropping back off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth!?

-Rush Hour, 1998

In the morning Eddie dragged his sad sack hungover ass from bed and fell into the shower, cranking the water on and sliding down the tile to percolate until he was done.

He felt more human when he finished, and noted that Barnes was already up, had made coffee (not that Eddie wanted to drink the ungodly sludge that the Winter Soldier passed off as coffee), had cooked a full Suzie Homemaker breakfast with sausages and scrambled eggs, toast, and hash, and was- not wearing his actual entire arm.

Eddie tried not to stare. People didn’t like it when you stared, but it was hard not to gawk at the cool high-tech socket still attached to the shoulder, and the arm itself, lying in pieces all over the formica table. Barnes was still wearing Captain America jammies with star-spangled cartoon shields all over them and he was hunched over some tiny component held between his knees, meticulously buffing it with the brush in his remaining hand.

“What’re you doin?” Eddie rubbed at his stubble and poured himself a cup of overboiled sludge.

“There is glitter in my arm,” Bucky recited in a distracted monotone. “It’s small enough to get into the lubricated joint components, but large enough to cause tactile feedback errors and disrupt mobility of the metacarpals and phalanges,” like Eddie had any fucking idea what he was talking about.

“Uh… shitty,” Eddie said, plopping down at the table with a plate and mug.

Barnes set down the brush, plucked the piece from between his knees, and laid it on the washcloth occupied by a dozen more in precise formation. 

“If I don’t get this stuff out of my prosthetic, I’ll have to go back to Wakanda so Shuri can fix it, and then we lose track of Steve and your pet parasite and it could take days or even weeks before we catch up with ‘em again. Assuming that the letter agencies, bounty hunters, private mercenaries, and the Raft retrieval team don’t beat us to it.”

Eddie slurped loudly, earning a scowl from his roommate, who’d flipped from methodical to pissy like a swing state voter. “So what you’re sayin’” he ventured, “Is that you need a- hand?”

“Hilarious.” Barnes went back to his work, carefully selecting another- maybe it was a finger segment?- and placing it between his flanneled knees before picking up a tiny pick and hunching over again.

Eddie started on his breakfast and gave himself over to blatant staring because it was completely weird and fascinating and he couldn’t not.

He was feeling almost like a real person by the time he worked through the food and a second cup of the coffee, and he was contemplating dumping the pot to make one that hadn’t been stewed to death when the laptop went off.

PING!

Barnes twitched and the piece he was cleaning popped from between his knees and bounced over the carpet, coming to rest by Eddie’s bare foot.

Eddie stared at the small metal cylinder a little stupidly because holy shit that was buddy’s hand just rolling along the floor like that was a normal thing that happened ever. He bent reflexively and grabbed it. 

It was a finger segment. Heavier than he expected it to be. The vibranium was cool and smooth in his grasp, the two ends lined with a silicone-esque material in golden yellow, protecting an interior criss-crossed with intricate, delicate circuitry.

Hair and hotel carpet lint had stuck to the lubricated joint surfaces on both ends, along with the residual glitter which Eddie could now see had become lodged in the crevices.

“Give me that,” the piece was snatched out of Eddie’s grasp.

Barnes threw himself back in his seat and ducked down over his knees again. Eddie retreated behind his mug till all he could see of Barnes was a mess of bangs and an impression of wild eyes twitching back and forth between the siren call of the computer with its hopefully new intel, and his own body part lying in fifty separate pieces scattered over the small tabletop. 

“Can’t you just run it under the tap to get all the crap off?” 

No response. Eddie chanced a more direct glance, and was almost annihilated by Barnes’ glare.

“You know, when you do that it’s like you got one long eyebrow all the way across your-”

Barnes’ fist clenched around a pair of miniscule tweezers. They were starting to bend.

“Jeeze, fine, put your own dumb hand back together,” Eddie purposely bumped the table as he pushed his chair back, grabbing his coffee and the laptop. “I'll see what we got.”

~~~

Twenty minutes later, all Eddie’s personal growth (or whatever he’d achieved the night before by pouring his inebriated heart out) had burned off like so much steam.

He jumped off the bed and slammed the laptop down on the table, causing all the bits to jump and the Winter Soldier’s jaw to clench dangerously. “I was fucking right! Look!” He hit play.

It was a high angle shot of a stereotypical holding cell with bars on three sides and one concrete wall at the back, a bunch of scraggy individuals scattered around pacing, staring, sleeping. The feed quality was decent enough, and in color, but there was no sound.

Tucked into a tiny ball in the corner near the back, nearly obscured by the tall, broad-shouldered dude on the bench beside him, was Rogers. 

At first Rogers’ face wasn’t in the shot- he had his head down and his legs pulled up against his chest with his arms around them, but when his buff neighbor started to talk he lifted his head to respond. He looked like absolute shit. Dirty, hollow eyed and greasy haired, still in the same gross clothes, and from the queasy expression and the way his Adam's apple kept bobbing as he swallowed, he too had been applying booze to his troubles. 

Eddie side-eyed Barnes. Anytime Captain Dreamboat was involved the World's Scariest Assassin totally lost his poker face and showed every card he’d ever been dealt. He’d set the latest piece of his arm down and leant over to watch the clip with sombre attention, like a Labrador who’s favorite toy was gone over the neighbour’s fence.

Eddie knew what would happen because he’d already watched through the clip twice so he could have his meltdown privately and fully internalized, the way nature intended. Except that he sucked at internalizing, and if he didn’t share his feelings with somebody they were going to be calling Natasha for a fourth laptop.

The big dude next to Rogers was wearing a tight purple button-down with the sleeves rolled up over thick forearms, and he kept shifting closer to Rogers and sneaking unsubtle touches. When he slid a hand over one skinny thigh it was yanked off and practically thrown back in his lap as Captain America scooted the last few inches deeper into his corner, scowled ferociously, and told the guy something presumably along the lines of “fuck off.” 

Barnes looked at least half as sick as Rogers did. He was gnawing on his lip, which looked weird on a guy who didn’t have normal-person tics most of the time. He abandoned his body part collection and shimmied his chair closer, metal shoulder socket jabbing Eddie’s bicep as he totally hogged the view.

Rogers was just sitting there, eyes closed, head tipped back against the concrete wall. The position made the gaunt hollows of his angular face really pop, even with the overgrown beard. The skin beneath his eyes was a bruised blue. Eddie reached out to skip forward but his hand was caught in a crushing grip.

“Oh fuck off, I’m just moving it ahead. Nothing happens for the next twenty minutes.”

“Don’t.”

“Why? There’s nothing to see.”

Barnes turned his anxious stare on Eddie. “Steve looks… bad.” 

“Duh, he’s in the drunk tank.”

“No,” Barnes started, then cut himself off. “It's… even when Stevie was sick real bad, he always put himself together. And he’s skinny. Skinnier’n normal even, I mean.”

Eddie took a deep breath, blew it out, and refocused on the screen, trying to see something more than Venom hanging out with Captain Jackass instead of him.

“I guess. I mean, yeah, he looks pretty bad, but wasn’t he always small? Uh- before he was… big, or however you say it.”

Barnes actually scoffed. “S’not that. It's...Stevie would never let himself go to shit like this.” He was biting his lip again, the corner of his socket really digging into Eddie’s shoulder now- did he not notice that?

Eddie leaned away to put a little distance between them and decided to let Barnes fret since they were apparently going to watch the entire twenty minutes of nothing happening.

Ten minutes in he was pretty sure Barnes was going to eat through his own lip before the video finished. On the screen Rogers scratched and shifted, tilting his head and shuffling his skinny limbs around, trying to get comfortable in a place specifically designed to be not. The new position highlighted the bowstring tendons in his neck, the protruding clavicles, and a small patch of bony shoulder that was just visible through the stretched neck hole of his beleaguered hoodie.

Barnes’ face was crumpling in misery and he finally looked over through his fringe as if Eddie had answers. “Is it- is it eating him? From inside? Can it do that?”

And- there were a lot of things Eddie could say here, because technically yeah that was totally a thing that could be happening, but that bit of data probably wouldn’t improve the general level of freaking out.

“V’s not eating him, but they do need a lotta calories.”

“So it’s starving him.”

“What?” Eddie laughed. Okay, that was absurd. “Definitely not . Venom is probably bitching at Rogers to bite off every head they see and chase the brains with Hershey kisses. They are- let’s call it enthusiastic- about getting enough to eat.”

Eddie’s elaboration did not appear to be having the intended soothing effect. Barnes’ mouth was a little slack and he looked wide-eyed back to the screen, where Rogers’d managed to coil even deeper into his safe spot.

Eddie sighed, feeling guilty, which wasn’t fucking fair. He was seriously the last person who should ever try to comfort anyone. Ever.

He considered trying the ol’ reassuring-pat-on-the-shoulder but Barnes’ shoulder was metal and also mostly AWOL. “Look,” he said, as the video continued to reel through fuck all, “If V was gonna eat him, Rogers’d already be worm food.”

Barnes’ head shot up. “What?”

“What? ” Eddie parroted, mocking, “We’ve been over this. V is a badass, super-strong alien, and they’re clearly invested in Rogers.” Eddie had to take a pause to unclench his jaw, because it sucked and he was only fucking human, “V would tear the head off’a anyone who laid a finger on your buddy. If he’s injured they can heal him, regrow entire lim-” Eddie’s eyes flicked to Barne’s shoulder socket, “-uh organs, fix broken bones, the whole nine yards. They’re definitely not starving him.”

“But Steve doesn’t need any of that, he’s already a super soldier,” Barnes argued, eyes never leaving the screen. “Was a supersoldier,” he corrected solemnly. “Being controlled by your alien would-it’d-” Barnes cut himself off, going kinda green around the gills, and okay, maybe the guy had some legit issues with people fucking around in other people’s heads.

“Lemme put it this way,” Eddie said, trying for a different angle. “Does it look like he’s being controlled? Or forced? At all ? Not only in this video, think about all of them. As far as you can tell, is Steve acting like himself?”

“He-” There was a moment of silence where Eddie got to watch Barnes scroll through his entire internal database, face flickering between almost-expressions before he settled on safe, neutral blankness. “He… is,” he finally admitted, hunching his shoulders.

On the footage, a new guy was tossed into the holding cell. He was flailing around erratically and everyone gave him a wide berth. The burly dude beside Rogers put an arm around his shoulders as if to protect him. 

Barnes shot to his feet, chair tipping over backwards. He was gripping the edge of the table hard enough that his flesh knuckles were going white. Several vibranium segments hit the floor with tink, tink, tink sounds and rolled off.

“Barnes. Bucky.” The Winter Soldier looked about ready to gallop downtown and blow his bestie outta the Canadian drunk tank, and everything else be damned. “Just watch the fuckin’ tape.”

This was the fun part. Rogers shoved at Purple Shirt’s heavy arm and spit something belligerent. Little or not, the guy had a face made for bein’ pissed off, he really did. When words failed to make Purple Fuckface back off, there was a- shift. Rogers grinned, and then Venom exploded over him and lunged forward and slammed a whole lotta claws deep into the wall only a hair from guy's head.

“Holy shit,” Barnes’ death-grip on the table eased.

“I told you.”

V loomed gorgeously huge and threatening, slathering perv dude in wet tongue as they trailed wicked black talons along his shirtfront and growled something into his ear that made the guy turn whiter than hotel bed sheets.

Purple-shirt was nodding furiously and visibly shaking by the time Venom melted back into Rogers’ tiny frame. He scrabbled frantically backwards, nearly falling off the bench, and Eddie smirked at the growing wet stain on the front of dude’s pants. It was weird to feel jealous and proud at the same time.

Rogers returned to base camp and stretched his legs comfortably out along the bench. He said something to purple-shirt, who quickly scrambled to put more distance between them, and Rogers’ lips quirked- the smug little bastard was enjoying this: Venom’s power and protection and the absolute confidence that nothing could harm them. Everyone in the cell was crowded at the other end of it now, leaving plenty of free lounging space. Eddie would’a cheered the little twerp’s chutzpah if he wasn’t, you know, busy hating him.

Barnes righted his chair and slid in, dragging the laptop closer. He scrolled back and watched the action again twice over, cataloging and recording every twitch. Then he carefully closed the lid of the computer and sat back. “Oh.” 

“See? V’s got Captain America’s back. Nobody’s gonna lay a finger on him.”

Barnes had apparently already tuned him out, and was carefully corralling prosthetic components back into their neat rows with zero appreciation for Eddie’s amazing and helpful insights. Cool. Whatever.

Eddie slumped over to the counter, dumped the coffee and made a new pot. The room filled with the bitter scents of Maxwell House and chemical solvent.

He sat back down at the table and huddled over his cup, thinking sad thoughts, until Barnes slapped a fragment of metal hand into Eddie’s free one.

“Whoa, whoa, slow it down,” Eddie said, fumbling with the piece, trying to give it back. “What happened to-”

“You do it like this,” Barnes cut him off, demonstrating how he was using a brush to dab solvent on each contact point, then applying fresh lubricant before setting the piece aside for the next one. He produced a second tool and set it beside Eddie’s mug with an expectant look.

Great, now he wants my help. Three minutes ago it was all “don’t look at my stupid arm, Eddie” and “your alien is gonna eat my boyfriend’s spleen, Eddie.” 

Fine. Eddie cautiously picked up the little brush and fiddled with it, half expecting Barnes to change his mind and grab it back and maybe backhand Eddie for touching it in the first place, but dude just nodded and offered another demonstration of how to do the thing.

Cleaning glitter out of the Winter Soldier’s cyborg arm wasn’t the ideal way to spend an evening, but having something in his hands kept Eddie from fidgeting. Barnes hadn’t said, but it was obvious that some of the work really did require two functioning hands. Especially once the pieces were all clean and they needed to be fit back together. Eddie wanted to ask how Barnes’d managed to get them all apart by himself, but decided to not.

“Hey check it out, you should wear it like this,” Eddie announced after a while, because toiling away in grim silence was not his thing and Moody McBiceps could just fuckin’deal. He held up the now-mostly-reassembled hand. He’d fit the middle finger on backwards, so it curled towards the back of the palm instead of the inside.

Barnes gave him a flat look, but Eddie was a connoisseur of flat looks and had never let them hold a good joke down. Guy had to crack eventually.

Right?

“What the hell am I going to do with it like that?”

“Uh… creatively… flip people off?”

Barnes did the eyebrows again.

“You know, this thing is crazy heavy. Just the hand has to weigh more than my whole arm. Doesn’t it mess with your back?”

“Supersoldier.”

“Still,” Eddie said, drawing the word out as he hefted the hand a couple times.

There were oily splotches all over his sleeves and solvent had eaten a couple holes in his left shirt cuff. He made a show of rubbing at them, but really he was side-eying his roomie because the guy had no chill and Eddie knew there were questions piling up behind his face.

“Shit, this was my favorite shirt,” Eddie said, like a lying liar. He was gratified when Barnes did a different eyebrow thing that looked like guilt, except then Eddie felt like a jackass. He seriously needed to build up some resistance to the Barnes big-eyed sad kitten face. He sighed. “Relax, I don’t actually give a shit. Anyway this is your shirt. I stole it from your duffel when you were using up all the hot water.”

Barnes made a noise like a hyena spitting soda through its nose and Eddie almost dropped the hand in his- hand but thank fuck he didn’t cause he wouldda sacked himself and then he’d cry in front of a war hero and he had no pride but still. He chanced a look and holy shit, that was a real grin, maybe the first one Eddie’d ever seen on Barnes’ face.

He wasn’t about to go spewing crazy shit, like ‘me and the Winter Soldier are totally besties for real!’ but he was suddenly a lot less worried about another broken humerus.

“Steve…” Barnes returned to his favorite subject once he'd settled down and got back to de-glitterifying, his eyes flicking to Eddie’s then back down.

Eddie waited.

“He’s…”

“Yeah, that’s definitely one way to put it.”

“Shut up,” Barnes snapped, and visibly struggled through his verbal constipation. “He’s… cooperating with it. Steve’s really cooperating with the parasite. On purpose.”

Eddie huffed. “Looks that way.”

“And it’s protecting him.”

“Obviously.”

Barnes lowered his hand to his lap, leaned back in his chair, and breathed an actual sigh of relief like that was a thing people did in real life.

Eddie was watching Barnes’ face, and suddenly felt extremely fuckin’ dumb. Holy shit.

Okay. Okay, stay cool. It's not nice to like, make people talk about this stuff. Gotta be patient.

Eddie ran out of patience and jumped straight into babble.

“So. Uh. So after Riot- after the rocket exploded and me n’ V fell- I woke up in the hospital. V was really hurt, burned almost to death, and I thought they were gone. That I was alone again. But… Anne was there. She was sleeping in the shitty hospital chair. She had work papers scattered all over the table and her hair looked like crap and she’d kicked off her heels,” Eddie put the mechanical hand on the table and spun it around with little flicks of his fingers. “Guess I made a noise or something, because she woke up.”

Eddie laughed to himself, remembering it. “She was so mad, she yelled all kinds’a shit at me and then the doctor came and made her leave and cool off. But at first, before that, she got this look on her face like… this look like how you got just now. Like all that mattered was that I was okay and I really didn’t hear the rest of what she said, and I don’t have a clue what the doctors said either, because I needed that so fuckin’ bad.”

Eddie pulled himself outta memory lane and glanced up at Barnes, feeling dumb for getting all sloppy about this because probably the guy wouldn’t get it anyway and he’d never actually put this into words before, not even to himself.

Barnes looked- confused. “Your file said Anne Weying broke her engagement with you after you got her fired.”

Eddie slapped his palm over the metal hand, stopping it mid-spin,  “So what!? That’s not the fucking point I’m trying to make here! ”

“Then what is the point?” 

Eddie banged Barnes’s fist on the table. “The point is you just made the same exact face! The point is you didn’t say shit when I ragged on you about having some epic romance with Rogers. The point is I can’t believe you didn’t bother to mention you’re actually in love with Captain America you enormous fuckwit!”

Barnes. Blushed.

Motherfucker!

Eddie shoved away from the table, charged across the room till he smacked his shins on the mattress, whirled around and stomped back to the table. He clutched at his hair with both hands, ouch, pulled them down, then couldn’t decide what to do with them and pointed both index fingers at Barnes’s crimson countenance. 

“The absolute cherry on top of this triple decker shitfest is I might be the only person on the planet who knows this. Right? Oh my god, look at your face, I’m right.” Eddie waved his hands in the air then clutched at his head some more. He was gonna bill this motherfucker for his breakdown, he really was. Why couldn’t he be one of those scumbag journalists who screwed their sources and got their own talk show. “And I can’t tell anybody. I can’t even tell V! Because they aren’t here! Biggest scoop of the century and I can’t say nothin’ to nobody! There are twenty five conspiracy subreddits about this and like, a trillion words of fanfiction!”

Barnes’s eyes widened and his blush was washing out to pale. Eddie scrambled to reign it in cause buddy looked on the verge of bolting.

“Not that I would! Say anything. Because privacy is important! But, jeezus fuckin’–this is just like my life, actually, I don’t know why I’m even surprised. Of course the Menace of the 20th Century and America’s Blondest Good Guy are a thing and of course I can’t do diddly squat with that knowledge because I’m basically a decent person and kind of a loser.” 

Barnes was leaning forward, he was… he was putting his face in his hand. Shit. Should Eddie try the comforting shoulder pat thing after all? Fuck. Fuck, the Winter Soldier was gonna weep over his hundred year fairy tale tragedy and it was all Eddie’s fault… “Hey man, no c’mon, it’s fine! Of course it’s fine. I’m happy for ya. For real.” Eddie slumped against the blackout curtains. “Sorry I, you know, lost it.”

Barnes’s shoulders were trembling. Shaking.

Wait. 

“Are you…? You’re laughing ? You’re laughing. That’s–that’s great. Fine. Enjoy!” Eddie flung himself back in his chair and kicked it back on two legs. Barnes was still facedown in his own elbow. “Glad we were able to share all our deepest shit and everything. Catharsis! I feel great now. You?” 

“Yeah, actually.” Barnes raised his head and wiped tears off his antique features with an edge of the solvent rag. He looked… shockingly human. 

Human. Wait. Eddie sat forward again,“Okay so buddy. Bro. Real talk, if Cap’s with you, does that mean he’s gonna ditch V? He’s probably not up for an alien three way, right? Are you up for an alien three way, because you don’t seem the type, booty shorts aside and no offense, I’m sure you’re very open minded for a hundred year old-” 

“Damn, kid. Do you ever shut up? ”

“Uh, history says nope. Also, one of us has grey in his beard and it ain’t you.”

“Jesus Christ.” Barnes was still kinda pink and blotchy across the cheekbones but it made his eyes intensely blue, and okay, maybe Eddie could kinda see the appeal if you were into vintage. Barnes cooled it with the fuckin’ giggles and straightened in his seat. There was renewed determination in his expression. “Look. We’ve been running behind Steve and your alien, and it’s not working.”

“No shit. If I had a better plan, I’d be doing that instead of greasing up your freaky robot arm,” Eddie punctuated this by releasing the backwards finger and re-inserting it into the knuckle the correct way, wiggling it to make sure it was right.

“We’re not going to catch up with them by following behind. We need to change our approach.” Barnes gathered the rest of the prosthetic sans hand. “Steve tried to get into an Avengers safehouse and failed. If he’d contacted the Widow she’d have said something. Same for any of his other pals, but he hasn’t. I thought the alien was stopping him, keeping him prisoner, but that ain’t it.”

With an expectant look, Barnes held the metal arm so the wrist was pointing towards Eddie. Eddie fitted the reassembled hand gingerly onto the end of the arm. It clicked into place and Barnes set the whole thing on the table. He pulled his pyjama top over his head and twisted his ridiculously jacked torso so the exposed socket was within Eddie’s reach.

Eddie was definitely not staring at the Winter Soldier’s chest and shoulders and the messy puckered scars that scored all of the flesh where it connected with the metal, except he totally was and it was making his guts feel very uncomfortable and confusing things that he was going to repress forever.

“There’s a little thing at the bottom,” Barnes said, gesturing to it before he picked up his prosthesis. “A tab. Inside. Press there, and I’ll be able to attach the arm.”

“You want me to stick my finger in there?”

Barnes blinked at him. “Yes?”

“Don’t I need a glove or something?”

“For what?”

“Uh. Like… germs?”

“It’s not alive, Brock. It’s metal.” Barnes gestured impatiently with the prosthesis. “Come on.”

Eddie eyed the small opening. He really needed to stop thinking his life couldn’t get weirder…

He squashed down a shudder and raised his finger to the opening between the two plates near the bottom of the socket where Barnes told him to go.

“Hold on.”

“Why? I’m doing it like you said!”

“We forgot the lubricant.”

“Oh fuck off.”

Barnes fished a small tube from his little case of tools. “Here. Squirt some in first. And in the main part of the socket.”

Eddie took the small tube from him. ‘Silicone Lubricant’ was printed along the side. Of course it was.

He applied a stripe of the clear stuff to the main socket, and another into the opening, then handed the tube back.

“You forgot the cap.”

“It’s right there!”

“Brock.”

Barnes was holding the tube in his hand. His one, singular, hand. Eddie grabbed it and put the stupid cap on and jammed the thing back into the bag of tricks before Barnes could say anything else.

“Okay, now ?”

“Yeah, go ahead and put it in.”

“When the fuck did you grow a sense of humor.”

When Eddie finally pushed a finger between the two big plates near the bottom of the socket it was unexpectedly warm. Gross. There were sharp metal ridges and he was convinced the plates would pinch or even sever his most favorite finger if Barnes moved wrong- Venom wasn’t around to conveniently grow back any lost digits. Okay that’s stupid, then there’d be a piece of my finger stuck in there… fuck fuck stop thinking dumb shit.

Eddie had to reach about three inches inside the Winter Soldier’s metal shoulder before he felt the button thing and pressed. It took more force than he’d expected, and it was all slippery from the lube.

The entire socket whirred and the sections around the center drew open like a space-age cybernetic flower, revealing metal and wires in colorful sheathing and some nicely cyberpunk blue lights.

“Oh fuck me, I got my fuckin’ finger in your-”

“Hold it there,” Barnes ordered, cutting off Eddie’s moan which was kind of a blessing for everybody. “It’s going to feel tingly when the electrical connects, but don’t take your finger away.”

“Wait, what do you mean ‘tingly?’”

Barnes took a breath and held it, then shoved the prosthetic hard. Eddie had to fight not to jerk his hand away when the metal shivered and- well- tingled - where he touched it, but he wasn’t about to wimp out. He chanted fuck fuck fuck in his head and waited for it to be over.

“Okay,” Barnes said a moment later, his voice strained, “slide out. Slowly.”

Eddie gratefully, carefully, removed his hand, wiping stickiness off it onto his shirt. Bucky’s shirt. Fuck, this whole mess was not making it into his tell-all autobiography.

The entire mechanical arm did a rotation like a windmill, then all of the plates popped open- even the big ones over the shoulder- and Barnes was shuddering and gnashing his teeth.

“You actually feel that?” Eddie asked before his brain could tell his mouth to shut up.

The plates snapped shut one after the other, aligning and re-aligning as Barnes opened and closed his fist several times and wiggled his metal fingers, thankfully ignoring the question. What a bro.

“Holy fucking- that was. I need a drink now. Maybe a lobotomy,” Eddie said and then bit his motherfuckin’ tongue.

“They’re not as much fun as they seem.”

Eddie met Barnes’s eyes and they were wry and the corner of his mouth lifted just a bit. 

“You’re the expert.” Eddie muttered, then collapsed onto the bed and wiped both hands on the greige duvet. Barnes sank down next to him exactly like a guy who felt normal shit like ‘tired’ and ‘overwhelmed’ and ‘how is it only Tuesday.’

“Okay, I hate to be the one to ask this, but what next. Because as much fun as I’m havin’ on this extended road trip, I’d really like to get back to my alien and… and your boyfriend, sometime before the next century.”

“Well. Steve tried his way,” Barnes angled his metal hand back and forth slowly, peering as if for inspiration into where the vibranium caught the reflection of the crappy ceiling dome light and broke it into rainbow streaks, “and it didn’t work. I think he’ll try your alien’s way next. Will it come back for you?”

“Well I fuckin’ hope so, but I got no place for them to come back to.”

“What about family?”

Eddie’s shoulders stiffened. “No. None worth looking into.”

Barnes dropped his hand back into his lap, and didn’t push.

“Friends that know about it?”

“Hard to keep a lotta friends when a ten foot tall symbiote with a big mouth and a taste for human brains lives in my body,” Eddie snapped, sharper than he meant. “I mean- we-uh. We kinda kept to ourselves.”

Barnes nodded and leaned forward to reach his discarded shirt from the carpet. He took it with him to his duffel, folding it neatly before stuffing it in and fishing out a different one. “Co-workers?”

“Been freelancing, mostly online stuff. Keepin’ our heads down, tryin’ to do the low profile thing.”

A few seconds passed in silence. Barnes went back to the table and scooped up the laptop. He settled back onto the bed beside Eddie.

There was little point in sidling around the elephant in the room anymore, but he’d been doing such a fantastic job. Was it too early for a shot of something at least 80-proof?

“They already tried calling your girlfriend once,” Barnes said. “That we know about.”

“Ex-girlfriend,” Eddie corrected, because that was the relevant point. He pushed himself upright.

Barnes’ fingers flew over the keys until Eddie pushed the lid down, keeping his hand flat on top of it. “No way. Not Anne. She doesn’t need to be part of this.”

“They might have called her again-”

“I don’t fucking care! Not! Anne!”

Running around chasing V and Captain Jawline through the Canadian wilds had almost made it possible to put Anne out of his mind. It’d allowed Eddie to entertain the delusion that she wouldn’t get dragged into his mess this time, but he knew- had known the whole time- that Venom would eventually seek her out.

Barnes apparently knew it too, because he calmly pushed Eddie’s hand aside and opened the computer again. Eddie watched him with guilt and fear setting up camp in his stomach.

“None of this has anything to do with her! She doesn’t need to be involved.”

“It’s too late for that, Brock. She’s already involved. If I can access these phone records, then so can any reasonably well-equipped party that knows to take an interest.”

The guilt and fear popped open a camp chair and started making s’mores. Eddie mashed his hands into his eyes and tried to stifle the reflexive urge to punch something. He stood up, pacing a lap around the room, then kicked the bed frame with his sock-clad foot instead.

“Sonofabitch!” he grabbed at his foot, hopping around as pain radiated from his middle toes, through his foot and up his leg, because he was an idiot. 

Barnes waited him out, shifting the computer on his lap so Eddie could see the screen once he flopped back down, defeated. Eddie leaned in and saw a short list of phone calls from out of state numbers to Anne’s personal line, peppered between local calls. One of the former lined up with the timing of the ‘monster phone booth’ videos, and another one came in from the same area code, in the early hours of the following morning.

“They called her back.”

A nod. “It will take some work, but I could access the audio. Either way, I set up an alert, so we’ll know if they call again.”

Eddie tipped back and sank into the bed, wishing it’d swallow him up. That’d solve all his problems. “There’s no point. Even if they don’t run straight to her, those phone calls are going to put her in danger.” 

“Maybe.”

“And if I know V, they probably are going to run straight to her.”

Chapter Text

“Trust no one.”

-The X-files, Season 1, 1994

Steve stifled the impulse to ask again – it’d only been two minutes – whether they were in the clear. Anyway, he didn’t get the chance because his whole entire fucking mind was suddenly saturated with pissy alien irritation and for once in his life Steve had the goddamn wherewithal to keep his mouth shut.

Except- no, he didn’t.

Are you sure nobody saw? Someone is gonna notice if we’re moving without-

STEVEN CAPTAIN AMERICA, SHUT UP! WE ARE FOLLOWING THE PLAN. NOBODY WILL SEE US! WE ARE VERY GOOD AT STEALTH.

Yeah, I know, but what if-

HUMAN NIGHT VISION IS PATHETIC, AND THE WORKERS ARE ALL BUSY SMOKING CIGARETTES AND TALKING ABOUT THEIR TERRIBLE RELATIONSHIPS AND THEIR HELPLESS OFFSPRING.

And you’re sure we’re in the right-

BUTTERCU-P.

Steve would have sighed if he were actively breathing with his own lungs, but Venom was doing that for him too. He might have squeezed his eyes shut and put his head in his hands, but he didn’t have those parts at the moment because he was a goddamn suitcase with a single tentacle protruding out of it in the middle of a whole pile of other suitcases.

Their plane would touch down at SFO in less than eight hours. They’d called ahead to let Anne know, and she’d sounded relieved and excited for their arrival. Well- for Venom’s arrival, anyhow. Anne Weying very obviously did not believe Steve was who he said, even when Venom backed him up. Which-fair. In the entire history of dubious spiels theirs had to be among the most dubious. But she’d been genuinely pleased to hear that the money had come through, and she’d sounded delighted at the prospect of Steve ‘bringing Venom home.’ He got the distinct impression that she was planning to jettison the dead weight of one self-proclaimed Steven G. Rogers at the earliest opportunity.

There was also a niggling at the edge of his mind (it sounded suspiciously like Nat. And Sam. And Bucky.) pointing out that he was strolling blindly into unfamiliar territory armed with nothing but pigheadedness and the conviction that everything would work itself out. Oh, and a sentient goo.

Patience. Patience and restraint. He had them. Sure. Unfortunately, Steve was busy discovering that while he was fine with working as a team and putting the right people in the right positions for success, letting go of the reins to this extent was a whole other thing.

Venom was running this show. Steve couldn’t see or hear a damn thing. He couldn’t even twitch. He was folded into an angular ball and swathed in symbiote; blind, deaf, and wholly cut off from the world at large. He could think loudly in Venom’s direction, but the alien needed to concentrate and was keeping chit-chat to a minimum for once.

Steve waited.

After what had to be at least an eon, Venom finally relaxed the barriers between them and receded from his face. The musty dusty smell of luggage filled his nose, accompanied by the muted roar and vibration of jet engines. 

“We’re in the air? No issues?”

WE ARE NOT GOING TO ANSWER STUPID QUESTIONS, STEVEN.

Steve wasn’t gonna be roped into a childish back-and-forth with a snarky symbiote. Not today. He blinked. He could feel his eyelashes brushing against something, so his eyes were open, but the darkness was absolute. His breaths seemed loud in the cramped confines of the stacked luggage, the damp wash of each exhale blowing back in his face.

He was still unable to move; the only thing keeping him from being squashed into a deeply upsetting melange of man and baggage was the symbiote. Talk about an exercise in trust.

At least Venom was politely sharing its senses with him. Steve could smell and taste perfume and old cigarettes and people’s clothing, their pets and sweat and their hygiene products. The cargo hold was marginally less claustrophobic with something to focus on.

He suddenly got a blast of apple lip balm, and then… vanilla?

“What is that?” he asked, as Venom slurped something viscid from a plastic bottle. “Are we- eating soap?”

VANILLA OATMEAL CONDITIONER STEEEEEVE. IT’S ORGANIC.

“Jeezus. And there is no way you can know that. It’s too dark to read the label.”

DON’T NEED TO READ TO TELL. NO CHEMICALS.

Steve could have argued, but why bother? It wasn’t half bad and it made Venom happy. He thought the same thing when it started eating some kind of scratchy sponge.

LOOFAH!

“Better than K-rations, but hey, take a pass on the bath bombs or I’m gonna be burping up lavender foam for the next two hours.”

Venom ate one anyway.

The personal care snack bar provided a bit of distraction, but after a thorough inspection and ransacking of most of the nearby luggage Steve was bored and getting antsy from being stuck as a human pretzel.

TRY TO MOVE OUR TENTACLES, STEEEEEEVE.

“Yeah no thanks, things are weird enough body-wise as is.”

EDDIE CAN DO IT.

Oh. Well.

A couple aggravating minutes later Steve’d managed to give himself a headache and a full body cramp, but he hadn’t made any headway on piloting his roommate. The amorphous blob that passed for Venom’s physical self was too alien to wrap his head around.

“Sorry buddy, I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

YOU ARE DISTRACTED BY YOUR OWN BODY, Venom concluded, then seeped over his face, sealing him back inside of itself. TRY AGAIN. LIKE THIS. And – ugh – it was poking around behind-the-scenes, and Steve’s awareness was gradually shifting to the outside of himself, where Venom was.

Christ how’re you-

TRY AGAIN.

Steve sort of reached and flexed some- something in his head, in his- their? body, and one of the long protrusions snaking through the luggage twitched.

YES! LIKE THAT! A flare flash of excitement popped bright behind his eyes.

Calm down, I gotta concentrate, he griped, distracted, not wanting to lose whatever it was that he’d just barely found.

Venom fell silent but stayed shoved up close in his awareness, like another dozen hands wrapping around his own, guiding. The tentacle shivered, wobbled, and stretched up, pushing past suitcases until Steve felt open air.

Whoa.

Surprise broke his focus. The tentacle softened like melted plastic, thinning and sagging into a mess of ooze.

But he was doing it. After all, it wasn’t the first time Steve had found himself with new, weird limbs that could move in ways he’d never thought possible.

LIKE US, STEEEEEVE.

I wouldn’t go that far, he answered dryly, but he’d have been smiling if he’d had a face.

~~~

Whoops. Didn’t think stuff would break so easy.

NOT OUR FAULT THAT HUMAN POSSESSIONS ARE SO FLIMSY, Venom answered, MINT?

What?

Venom’s other tentacles were still poking through the mess of burst luggage in search of anything vaguely edible. Steve needed a mouth so he could laugh, and Venom picked up on the thought and slid back from his face. Steve was able to take a real breath.

Venom was already tipping the contents of a plastic container into… somewhere. Steve’s sinuses flooded with the intense bite of wintergreen.

FRESH! 

Steve was laughing too hard to reply.

“YOU DID SUCH A GOOD JOB STEEEEVE! WE ARE VERY IMPRESSED!” Venom’s encouragement came with a side order of warm drool, which proceeded to turn grossly cold on his face.

“Y-yeah, thanks,” he managed. How was your week? Not bad, I got an A in Tentacles 101, coach thinks I have real potential.

“HUMANS HAVE VERY RIGID BODIES.” The alien generously cut him some slack. “BUT EDDIE CAN CLIMB AND SWIM WITH US NOW, AND HE IS GETTING BETTER AT HOLDING THINGS WITHOUT CRUSHING THEM! SOON HE WILL BE BITING OFF HEADS LIKE A PRO!”

Steve suppressed a shudder. “Is that really necessary?”

“OF COURSE NOT, WE CAN EAT PLENTY OF BRAINS WITHOUT EDDIE’S HELP, BUT IT IS IMPORTANT TO DO FUN THINGS AS A COUPLE!”

Steve grinned at the image of Venom poring over ‘15 Unique Date Activities! ’ clickbait. Probably penciling in ‘eat bad guy brains ’ in the margins, with little hearts and stars around it. Sap.

Eventually the plane began its descent, air pressure shifting, making Steve’s ears pop. Venom was jittery, had produced dozens of tiny tentacles and was fiddling with luggage tags, squeezing him just a little too hard, openly streaming memories of Anne and Eddie.

“You really want your family back, huh.”

MISS THEM.

“Soon, pal. But try to remember that Eddie isn’t going to be there. Anne would have said something if he’d been in contact with her.”

There came the thump as the plane met the runway, and Steve took a last breath before his awareness was cut off, the pull of deceleration gone along with everything else. 

After what seemed like hours and hours, Venom finally told him the coast was clear.

Where are we?

SUPPLY CLOSET. It showed him a series of flashes: how it’d managed to ‘fall’ off the conveyor belt system where luggage was sorted, then wheeled them out of sight, then onto a distracted cleaner’s cart. Eventually it'd maneuvered them into this closet and they were finally alone.

Good job buddy.

TOLD YOU WE COULD DO IT, Venom shot back, radiating smug as it sank out of sight.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a real mastermind.” Steve stood and reached up into a long, indulgent stretch. He slung his cheap nylon backpack over his shoulder. It contained nearly all of his worldly possessions, which amounted to a bunch of chocolate bar wrappers and a change of clothes.

Once he was out of the storage closet it was easy to blend into the crowds in the public part of the airport. He headed for the main doors and passed through them into the warm night.

The Bay air was soft with fog and gratefully Steve took a deep breath that didn't slice into his lungs like knives, then stripped off his jacket and left it on a bench. 

The time difference of three hours between Montreal and Cali meant it was still dark. But that was alright. Anne was expecting them, and Venom was surging under his skin, writhing around him beneath his clothes in excitement.

ALMOST THERE STEEEEEVE! ALMOST AT ANNE’S! LET’S GO!

“Alright, hold your horses, I’m gonna get a cab.”

~~~

They didn't get a cab.

Even though it was near three AM the airport seemed beleaguered by some trouble of its own for which Steve didn't have attention to spare, and the pickup zone was packed bumper to bumper with stalled out Ubers and people shouting into cell phones. Screw it. They were so close. He ducked out of the glare of headlights into the shadows and let Venom hoist them onto the roof. Then they ran.

Anne Weying lived in a hilly, schmancy neighborhood of tall, skinny facades all mashed close and fronted by parallel rows of Audis and Mercedes. The streets pitched and rolled towards the distant water, all the buildings worked artfully into the strangely vertical landscape.

Venom dropped down into a narrow alley between two buildings once they got close, so Steve could take to the sidewalk for the last few blocks. He dug his hands into his pockets as he stepped out from the darkened alley, taking a look around. It was instinct to get a sense of the area, familiarize himself with it a little before he went in. He looked around, eyes peeled for anything unusual.

YOUR PUNY LEGS WALK TOO SLOW, HURRY UP! Venom was all but dragging Steve in the direction of Anne’s building and he didn’t have the breath to start in on whose fault the puny legs were actually. They rounded a corner and started more steeply uphill.

STEEEEVE! LOOK! THAT’S ANNE’S HOUSE!

“Alright, I see it. I’ll be deaf before we get inside if you don’t stop yelling.”

Anne’s home shared the same lovely architecture as the rest, and was painted a pale green that looked brown in the glow of streetlights. The front-facing windows were too high to see into, situated over the garage door.

Venom’s elation was bleeding into Steve, making his heart beat fast, his hands sweat, his face pull into a helpless and no doubt goofy grin. “Okay. This is it. You ready?”

WE ARE ALWAYS READY! NOW STAND UP STRAIGHT, AND MAKE SURE WE DON’T HAVE ANYTHING IN OUR TEETH!

“This is as straight as it gets. And anything in our teeth is a you problem, pal.” On top of the pain in his calves from trying to negotiate sidewalks that were practically vertical, there was a twisty wave of butterflies somewhere in the vicinity of Steve’s guts. Venom was doing a tango with his liver and lungs. And not doing the automatically fixing Steve’s minor aches thing. He rubbed his chest. “Nervous, big guy?”

NO! WE ARE NOT NERVOUS! And that was definitely a lie, WE WANT TO SEE ANNE!

Possibly Steve was nervous. Just a bit. He made an effort to smooth his hair with his fingers and ran a hand over the prickle that was already starting on his chin. It had been 70 years and change since he'd introduced himself to a lady from this five foot four vantage point, and it hadn't ever gone well, even when he'd just had a shoe shine. 

YOUR BODY ISSUES ARE NOT NEWS, CUPCAKE. NOW, MOVE!

Well, she’s definitely seen weirder , Steve thought, as Venom marched his legs jerkily up to the door and jammed a finger at the buzzer. He gripped the strap of his bag, shoulders tight, and belatedly ran his tongue over his incisors just in case.

They’d finally reached a safe harbor.

After a couple interminable seconds, a familiar voice came through the intercom. “Hello?”

Steve cleared his throat. “Ms. Weying? This is Steve Rogers. AND VENOM! HI ANNE!” He slapped a reflexive hand over his suddenly too-toothy mouth.

“Quit it- not out here! ” he hissed in a distorted stage whisper.

“Oh,” came Anne’s tinny voice through the speaker, “you’re already here? Alright. I’m… glad you both made it safely, I’ll buzz you in.” Her cheerful tone seemed strained, a bit artificial, and Steve got the sense that maybe she wasn’t exactly overjoyed about their arrival. That was… odd. She’d seemed perfectly amenable when they’d spoken on the phone.

The buzzer sounded and the door mechanism unlocked. Steve twisted the shiny brass knob and stepped into a small landing that fed directly up a flight of stairs. He started up into the apartment, Venom already creeping eagerly out of his shirtsleeves and collar.

At the top, Steve finally came face to face with Ms. Anne Weying. 

He knew from Venom’s memories what she would look like– a little taller than him, with clear brown eyes and straight blonde hair just past her shoulders. She was wrapped in an elegant silk robe over a nightgown, which was appropriate considering that it was the middle of the night. Dammit Rogers, normal people are asleep!

And sure, Steve had expected anything from mild skepticism to extreme wariness–he was a complete stranger, but he was still thrown by the deep frown that formed when she finally saw him, raking him over with a critical eye.

“You’re Steve?” She sounded…disappointed?

Well. Here was another familiar scenario he hadn’t missed one bit. He made an effort to straighten up, unable to stifle the stubborn reflex that made him jut his chin. He knew he wasn’t much to look at, and if their places were switched he probably wouldn’t believe he was Captain America either.

He stepped forward, offering his hand. Venom’s tentacle noodled from the sleeve of his sweatshirt and stretched, eager, towards Anne.

“Steve Rogers, ma’am,” he said in his steadiest voice. “It’s- really good to meet you.” 

Steve stood there with his hand on offer, and Anne looked at him and didn’t take it. And continued not taking it as Venom reached out and twirled around her hand and wrist. “Hi sweetie,” she said, squeezing the tentacle once in her fingers as she frowned at Steve some more. Jeezus. He was not going to flush and he was not going to look away. He’d been invited here, goddammit. 

Anne sighed, disentangling from Venom and letting her hand fall. “Well. I was hoping you were just a random delusional crackpot, but I’m not that lucky. You’re really Captain America, aren’t you.”

Steve withdrew his hand. This whole exchange had turned on its ear. His spine felt like an iron bar connecting his clenched jaw with a suddenly acid stomach but it was not gonna give him ten inches of height or whatever star quality this lady was expecting. “I am,” he said through gritted teeth. “I realize that I look a bit- not what you were expecting. It was easier this way. For Venom.”

Ms. Weying was working her lower lip between her teeth. 

Okay. It didn’t take a genius to get a clue here. It was one thing to offer help to some desperate headcase on the phone. It was another to have that headcase show up at your actual door in the middle of the night claiming to be a controversial superhero who was wanted by every letter agency from coast to coast and harboring her ex-boyfriend’s brain-eating alien. What had he expected?

Venom tried to walk their legs into Anne’s living room, and Steve deliberately resisted. “Ms. Weying, we don’t want to make any trouble for you. If you’ve changed your mind about this, I’ll go.”

“I think that ship has sailed,” Anne muttered, crossing her arms.

A toothy head thrust out of Steve’s neckline, spattering drool onto the polished hardwood. “NO! WE ARE NOT LEAVING!”

Steve tried to cram the slippery blob back into his shirt “Sorry- Venom wouldya cut it out- Sorry Ms. Weying, we got here as fast as we could–”

“WE TOOK TOO LONG BECAUSE STEVEN IS A PUSSY!”

“Hey! Watch your language–”

“SHUT UP STEEEEEVE.”

Anne tipped her head back and sighed, “Look, just hurry up and get in here.” She whirled and strode into the apartment, leaving Steve to follow. He glanced down at his three dollar canvas shoes, toed them off out of respect for her formerly pristine floors, and followed.

Tentacles groped and patted at a shelf of very breakable-looking sculptures and vases. Quit touching things, we’re guests! Steve hissed in his head. 

“QUIT BEING SO UPTIGHT, ANNE IS OUR FRIEND.”

They followed their hostess through an aggressively cream-colored living room, down a wide hall and into a high-ceilinged formal dining space. 

And froze.

Two men in black tactical gear flanked the table. Weying walked coolly into the room, moving past the men and their ridiculously large guns like it was no big deal. Goddammit. He’d waltzed right in, practically gift-wrapped himself. He should have realized something was seriously off, but he’d been too busy failing to make a good fucking impression.

So much for safe harbors.

“IT’S A TRAP!” Venom spilled over Steve’s shoulders, sliding in a wave down his arms and back. It wrapped Steve in shiny black and gave a roar loud enough to rattle the pictures on the walls. It shot up until its head was brushing the ceiling, tongue lashing like a pissed off cat’s tail. The two guards raised their weapons–

Weying stepped neatly into the line of fire.

“Stop it! Come on, all of you. That’s enough !” She waved her arms at the two goons. “Georges, Liam, put the guns away. They’re not going to attack you.”

“YES WE ARE!” Venom sank into a ready position and snarled threat while an absolute flood of saliva splashed down its chest and dripped from between its teeth and oh, that beautiful rug was a goner, Steve thought with bitter delight. “WE WILL CRACK OPEN YOUR HEADS LIKE COCONUTS AND SLURP OUT YOUR BRAINS WITH A BENDY STRAW!”

You tell ‘em, pal.

“Nobody is slurping anything, now stop making a scene and slobbering all over my Masland and take a seat!” Anne jabbed a finger in the direction of the table.

Venom straightened to its full height and slammed both fists on the table. “NO! YOU BETRAYED US!”

“The hell I did! Sit down. ”

Venom snapped its jaws at the two men, “WE WILL HAVE YOUR LIVERS AS APPETIZERS, AND SAVE YOUR SPLEENS FOR DESSERT! ANNE! MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!”

Anne closed the distance between them and poked her finger into Venom’s considerable chest, her pointy nail pricking its hide. “You,” she said, punctuating each word with another jab, “don’t get to barge. Into. My. House. At three AM and start making threats. Sit. Down.”

Venom stalled, torn between outrage and confusion, big white eyes darting uncertainly between their enemies and Anne. 

Now would be a good time to let me drive.

The alien snapped a tentacle out and yanked a chair away from the table, all but throwing Steve into it as it schlooped back inside him. FINE STEVEN! WE WILL DO IT YOUR WAY, BUT WHEN THEY SHOOT YOUR DEFENSELESS SKINNY MEAT SUIT WE AREN’T GOING TO BE NICE ABOUT IT!

Steve barely got his hands braced against the edge of the table to stop himself from cracking a rib on it as Venom used another tentacle to shove his chair in much harder than was necessary.

“You aren’t being very nice about it as it is,” he growled, rubbing his middle. He knew everyone was watching him talk to himself and he seriously didn’t care.

His eyes flicked over Anne, then to the two much less classy people in the room. “Do we need to do this at gunpoint?” Steve asked, flat and dry. Venom was simmering just under his skin, it really didn’t like the look of those weapons.

“Uh- no- well,” the taller of the two guards was a pasty freckled redhead who looked barely old enough to drink. He had yet to flick the safety back on his gun. Steve wasn’t 100% sure whether the kid was terrified of Venom or nervous because he had a presumably loaded weapon trained on Captain America, pocket version. “S-Sir- that is, Captain, I think- uhm-”

“Oh for Pete’s sake, Liam put that thing away. Nobody is shooting anyone,” Anne interjected.

“Well that’s a relief,” Steve muttered, because if people didn’t stop waving guns around Venom was going to snap and he’d end up picking gray matter out of his beard again. “Is somebody going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

Anne slid into the chair across from Steve, pushed her hair back, smoothed the lapels of her robe, lined up the two fancy fountain pens on her right, then deliberately slid a three inch high stack of documents across the table at him. The paper was the long legal kind that never fit in file folders properly, the font extra tiny. He glanced at the pile long enough to catch a glimpse of an official looking logo in red and blue, then back to Anne and her house guests.

“What is this?”

She folded her hands on the table. “This, Captain Rogers, is the answer to all of your problems.”

Steve raised a skeptical brow. “You’ll have to be more specific. I got a lot of problems these days.”

“So do I, Captain. The latest one goes by the name– names– Warden Commander William Radcliffe Anderson III, and he’s a real doozy.”

“FUCK THAT GUY!” Venom popped out of Steve’s left shoulder into a huge head, hot breath making Steve’s hair rustle and globs of saliva soaking into his sweatshirt. 

Steve shot the alien an irritated glare. “Ven-”

“Venom’s right, actually,” Anne said, “Fuck that guy. And fuck his slimy, extorting blackmail, and his sea monster, and especially his weaselly, smarmy face.” She paused here, shooting the two spec ops guys a look that bordered on fond. “Though I have to admit that Georges and Liam have been nothing but respectful since he left them here three hours ago, so they get a pass. But yes, fuck him.”

“WE WILL EAT HIM FOR YOU, ANNE.” Venom promised, stretching out of Steve and weaving through the empty space over the table, then draping itself over Anne’s shoulders and nuzzling her cheek like a half-melted nightmare cat. “KNEW YOU WEREN’T A BAD GUY. WE MISSED YOU. ”

“I missed you too, honey,” she answered sweetly, scratching beneath Venom’s jaw with her nails until its eyes closed in slits of contentment, and even pressing a little kiss to the rounded curve of its head. 

Well, nice that someone was happy. Steve looked down, fixing the legal papers with a sour glare.

He had the distinct impression that he wasn’t going to enjoy what came next. He fingered the edge of the formidable stack, then- paused.

“Hold on. Did you say sea monster?”

Chapter Text

Just because you make a good plan, doesn’t mean that’s what’s gonna happen.  

-Taylor Swift

Barnes told him to wait in the quinjet.

They landed in a small park a block from Anne’s place and flipped on the stealth.

Then Eddie watched Barnes slide into his expressionless Winter Soldier persona like it came free with the creepy blackout goggles and the even creepier muzzle mask, and load himself up with the usual forty-seven different guns and knives and whatever other murder-shit made him feel pretty. This ritual’d gotten familiar and kinda weirdly endearing, and when Anne and Venom between them finally forced Eddie into therapy he was sure his wonky taste in friends would be one of the many topics getting some serious scrutiny. 

The warm fuzzies wilted a bit when Barnes interrupted his customary stalk towards the hatch by whirling around and flattening a metal hand against Eddie’s chest, stopping Eddie from following him out. And wow, their relationship had really progressed or whatever because guy actually used words this time.

“I’ll go in. You stay here.”

“What!? No way in hell am I gonna wait here while–”

“You can either stay voluntarily, or I can handcuff you to one of the seats. Your choice.”

“I’m sure you mean that in a caring and thoughtful way, but I just wanna say–” 

“Eddie.”

Oh god, the first name’d been deployed. Eddie made himself quash the backlog of truly logical and cogent arguments piling up in his brain, but he still flipped the bird as Barnes ninja slithered out the hatch. It clanged shut behind him, trapping Eddie alone in the jet amidst a lot of expensive upholstery and the deep fried fragrance of the Mickey D’s they’d grabbed in Nebraska.

The plane didn’t even have the decency to provide any mysterious blinky lights or ticky noises. There was literally. Nothing. To listen to, look at, or do, unless he wanted to start Simonizing the superpleather. Eddie gripped the edges of his seat and closed his eyes to hyperventilate while the last several hours played over and over on a loop behind his lids.

The PING! of a notification on their laptop– a sound that was seriously starting to give Eddie hives. Or a boner. Both. Then eavesdropping on Captain America and Venom informing Anne they were about to hop on a plane and head to San Fran, and wasn’t that a logistical nightmare that defied imagination. The excruciating agony of being delayed for almost eight hours because Romanoff- Natasha- had the jet and she had “things to do, Brock, other than taxi your ass around the continent, the world doesn’t stop just because–” blah blah political exigency delicate situation blah…. Eddie’d only managed not to drink himself into a stupor because Bucky had preemptively dumped the whole minibar down the drain.

The waiting’d sucked worse than anything, but at least Bucky had gathered some useful intel while Eddie was counting hotel room ceiling popcorn.

Someone- a bunch of someones- had beat them to the punch and now Anne was definitely in danger and it was all Eddie’s fucking fault because he’d been trying to protect her by staying away, and even worse, or at least as bad, Captain Fuckin’ America, armed only with Eddie’s motherfucking symbiote had just walked right into the middle of things and was definitely going to get caught by evil whoevers and then Bucky Barnes would lose his best friend all over again and stop having facial expressions and Venom would end up back in a stupid glass tube in a stupid glass room in a dubiously-legal secret underground science lab where they’d be tortured and starved and forced to live inside awful, shitty hosts, or no host and they’d never be allowed chocolate or to watch Melrose Place or to scritch Sonny and Cher or to eat Bad Guy brains with Eddie ever again, and Eddie was going to fucking die all alone and miserable and empty and- and he couldn’t fucking- he wouldn’t just wait in the goddamned mothercunting piece of shit jet!

He had to do something.

He wasn’t a soldier, or an over-armed and armored SWAT drone, or anything at all. He didn’t even play Call of Duty. Without V he was a marginally-functional perpetual fuckup with a touch of alcoholism and a double dose of self-deprecation, but he could at least throw himself headlong into the fray and fuckin’ try.

So he rummaged through the Secret Avenger quinjet’s supply of fighting-bad-guys stuff and came up with a kevlar vest that would hopefully keep him not-dead for the next couple minutes, then zipped his hoodie over top. He looked at the selection of guns all neatly lined up on one wall but he had literally zero idea how to work any of them and figured Bucky had that covered anyway.

He grabbed a big nasty Rambo knife and tucked it into a sheath in the vest, then took another look at the monitors. They were currently providing a super high resolution view of a lot of fog. Eddie closed his eyes and mashed the control panel buttons at random until he was looking at Anne’s place.

There was the Winter Soldier, crawling down the front of Anne’s building towards her big front window like a leather daddy playing Spiderman. Probably gonna wait for the right moment and bust inside in a cascade of collateral damage and insurance premium hikes. Typical superhero shit.

Eddie took a breath, threw together a vague sort-of plan, and hit the button to open the hatch.

Dew soaked through his crappy tennis shoes as he ran through the dark towards Anne’s place, his heart in his throat. He snuck around the back because there would likely be nobody there, since all the houses were squished tight together and you could only get into the back if you knew where the twisty little alley was that came off one of the side streets, which Eddie did, unlike Barnes with his big shoulders and bigger guns and his stupid ‘wait in the jet I’m a one-man army ’ schtick.

He could sneak up the fire escape and into Anne’s bedroom window. Usually he and V just perched on the roof and peered over the edge because if she knew they were checking in on her she’d tear Eddie a new asshole. It wasn’t like they were peeping at her naked or anything, they just liked to know she was safe.

So Eddie was in the backyard, fence diggin’ into his ass and one foot braced on a cornice, two fingers just hooked over the bottom of the ladder rail which was a lot higher up than he remembered and also slippery from fog and why was this so easy in the movies? When he heard the ginormous CRASH! of Barnes making his grand entrance.

Fuck! He needed to get in now– no more time for skulking around.

Eddie let go of the ladder rung because there was no way he was making it up that thing anyhow, and crashed awkwardly ankle-first to the grass below- ow, shit-fuck-ow!- then pulled himself upright, fully ignoring his brain’s service-ankle-soon! warning and flying up the back stoop to hurl himself bodily against the back door using his shoulder as a battering ram.

He smashed against the decorative window and a few panes shattered, glass raining down all over the place, but the door didn’t bust open like on cop shows because apparently all that shit was a lie and he was gonna do an exposé the second he got a second. He had to knock out the jagged edges of one pane with his sleeve wrapped over his fist so he could reach the lock from the inside and fucking shit he was making a ton of noise and also now bleeding all over everything, shit!

“ANNE!” He scrabbled up the back stairs two at a time making enough racket to wake the dead. “V!” 

Eddie reached the top, exploded into the kitchen and fetched up against a barstool, clinging desperately as his ankle wobbled. He was ready for anything- Anne tied up and gagged and held at gunpoint, or V and Rogers dead on the floor with twenty goons crowded around them and Anne fighting like mad against their hold, or even for V to be with Anne, Rogers MIA- terrible scene after terrible scene unreeled before his eyes.  He blinked them away and tried to focus– come on reality, I’m gonna spank your ass.

Braced in the archway leading further into the apartment was a freckled, linebacker-sized infant whose fire-red hair contrasted with his black combat gear like Quantico gone kawaii. His wide eyes rolling wildly between Eddie and the commotion happening someplace over his shoulder were as good as an announcement that the Winter Soldier is on the field folks! Props to the kid–the brouhaha was not affecting the steadiness of the big, besilencered pistol he was aiming straight at Eddie. 

“Who the fuck are you!?” Eddie barked, and threw himself at the kid because he was upset, okay, and maybe not in the best most self-preservation-y headspace because this kid was in Anne’s house! With a gun! And somebody needed to do something even if that someone was a guy with an almost definitely sprained ankle who had completely forgotten to even draw the big meatchopper shoved in the front of his vest. 

Several things happened.

Anne yelled Eddie’s name from the other room, the kettle on the stove started wailing that teatime was here, and Redhead shifted his aim down and pulled the trigger.

POFFFT!

“Eddie! Oh my god, Eddie!”

SWEEEEEEEEEEE!!! shrieked the kettle.

Eddie crumpled to the floor, his leg also shrieking in white hot agony. On the upside, his ankle wasn’t bothering him at all anymore.

“Ms. Weying please don’t, he could be dangerou–”

“Get the hell out of my way Liam or so help me– Eddie!” 

SWEEEEEEEE!

Eddie looked down at his leg. Oh my god. He was shot. This simple fact seemed incomprehensibly boggling, and he continued to gape as blood soaked through his jeans and started to puddle on the floor and run hotly into his shoe, which was so gross, and oh fuck everything was going weird and he… he was gonna… fuckin’ gonna… 

“I told you to stay in the jet!”

Nope, he wasn’t gonna pass the fuck out just yet.

Bucky Barnes shoved into the room past the ginger kid. And there was Anne! And a second guy in tac getup, what even the fuck was happening.

“Eddie!” Bucky said, crouching at his side and pushing him so his back was against the kitchen cabinets, grabbing up his leg and slapping the metal hand over the place on his calf where bad stuff was happening, but hey at least no bones were broken this time probably. “I told you to-”

“Stay in the jet, yeah. I can’t believe you thought I’d listen. Where’s V?”

Beside Bucky, Anne appeared in a crouch holding a tea towel that somehow got maneuvered to press against Eddie's leg which felt awesome.

“Where’s Venom,” Eddie demanded when he’d finished yowling. 

“Venom’s not here,” Anne said, and her half worried, half pissed off expression was so familiar he could have cried in relief. 

“What about Steve?” Bucky asked, glancing at Anne. He’d pushed his murder-goggles up on his forehead and his hair was sticking out crazily from the strap.

“Captain America? He’s with Venom,” Anne said matter-of-factly. “They went to fight the sea monster.”

“What!?” Eddie and Bucky both said at the same time.

“The gigantic Kraken-Octopus monster? The one that’s been causing a city-wide panic and lurking in the Bay for the last two days?” She looked between them like they were morons. “There’s literally nothing else on the news, what have you guys even been doing?” 

“I think I’m gonna pass out now,” Eddie announced, and did.

~~~

When Eddie came around, there was a cat on his chest.

“Mr. Belvedere- what?”

“Hey buddy, everything’s okay. Just try not to move.”

Eddie’s mouth tasted like he’d been eating powdered tree bark and his leg was throbbing like a funk and soul ensemble. He groaned and closed his eyes again. Denial had to work sooner or later.

“C’mon Eddie, can you take a drink? You need to replenish some of those lost fluids.”

Why the hell was- “Dan? What the fuck.”

He blinked, eyelids sticky and his vision taking several seconds to clear. Mr. Belvedere was still using him as furniture, and Anne’s infuriatingly-likable Eddie-replacement was perched on the coffee table in front of him holding out a glass of ice water with a green bendy straw.

He stared at Dan’s placid, smiling face for too long, then braced himself for fresh hell and dared a look around the rest of the room. In one of their– Anne’s– classically understated modern wing chairs sat James Buchanan Winter Soldier Barnes, with his socked feet propped on the matching ottoman. He had a partly-disassembled gun in his lap, and was leaning towards the opposite chair in a friendly sort of way, apparently trading homicide tips with the red-haired juvenile who was similarly perched, though his socked feet were planted on the overpriced carpet and he had a different gun broken down in his lap, getting some nice wholesome mentorship from his newfound pal.

“What the hell drugs am I on,” Eddie wheezed, voice hoarse from all the screaming earlier, “‘cause I think I’m seeing some shit I know I’m not seeing.”

Bucky’s face made a thing definitely in the smirk category, as if Eddie’s pain and suffering and wild hallucinations were some kinda hilarious old-time tomfoolery. “Shoulda stayed in the jet.”

“You were shot in the leg,” Dan offered, tipping the water towards him again, all I-am-your-kindly-yet-stern-physician. Mr. Belvedere hopped off the sofa to go spread fur on all the fresh black kevlar, and Eddie took a few small sips through the ridiculous straw, then struggled into a sitting position. His leg complained- loudly, and he clutched at the plush blanket draped over his middle.

Anne came into the room looking put together despite being wrapped in one of her silky robes over jammies because oh yeah, it was the middle of the friggin’ night still. She sat on the unoccupied loveseat adjacent to the couch, a teacup in her hand. “Eddie, we need to talk.”

“Pretty sure you already dumped my lame ass once.”

Anne did her I-am-being-patient-with-this-poor-twit expression, which was only fair what with Eddie being all pathetic and shot. She picked a sheet of paper from a huge stack on the coffee table and handed it to him. Eddie glared at it and fisted both hands tighter in the blanket.

“We weren’t married and this is your house, I think I'm done signin’ things.”

Bucky confirmed his and Eddie’s burgeoning bromance by looking awkwardly sympathetic, and swat kid had the decency to seem uncomfortable, but of course it all rolled right offa’ Dan because he was immune and a freak. If Eddie wasn’t the one mostly-secretly harboring an alien goo monster, Dan’d be his first pick for serial cannibal with tongue fetish.

For fuck’s sake focus. Anne was talking.

“-three months without a word or a phone call, and you still have me listed as your next of kin so they called me when you disappeared, and you had live animals in your apartment Eddie! They were only surviving because they were eating cockroaches and drinking toilet water!”

Oh. This was the part where he was getting shit on for being ninja-disappeared. But on the bright side-

“So Sonny and Cher are okay?”

“What?”

“Our chickens.”

Anne set her teacup on a coaster too hard. “Eddie, we don’t have chickens. I turned your poultry over to animal services. I had to pay your rent, and your alien drunk-dialed me from Captain America-”

At the mention of Captain Twelve-pack all the crap Eddie had successfully blocked out since Canada rolled back over him and he dragged the blanket up to cover his face and sank down into the couch.

“-and thankfully Steven and Venom are cooperative and reliable, Eddie, because I was able to negotiate to have all of your records wiped as long as they take care of this monster-”

Eddie popped back up. “Wait, you sent V after a monster with Captain America?”

Anne’s “patient” face was morphing into the next one in the usual sequence which had a lot more judgy eyebrows in it. “If you’d pay attention at all…” she sighed, “I’ve been trying to explain but every time I get a chance to speak someone smashes into my house and makes a scene and I think my adjuster has already blocked my number. So now that we’re all sitting down- calmly , please shut up and listen.”

“I am shut up! I’m shut all the way up, Anne. I’m fucking listening ! Just tell me what the– oh. Yeah. Right, okay. Jeezus, stop with the face already.”

Anne stopped with the face, leaned back and gave the whole room a once-over. Bucky had set his now-reassembled AK-whatever on the coffee table, and was displaying the polite and respectful attention of somebody whose mama’d known exactly which ear to grab. Swat duckling followed suit. The other swat guy was looming in the doorway, and Dan was petting Mr. Belvedere, who purred like a motorcycle.

“This,” Anne said, gesturing to the big stack of legal paper on the coffee table, “Is an agreement drawn up between Warden Anderson and myself, and Steven has already signed it as well.”

Eddie scowled. “Oh so you’re signing shit with fuckin’ Cap now?”

“I’m signing shit with the person who showed up to help when a bunch of armed men broke into my home and started making threats. And they did that because of the disaster you caused, Eddie, which I’m fixing for you, like I always do!”

Eddie inhaled a nice big breath to fire back with when a metal hand clamped onto his shoulder hard enough to make him squeak. He looked up at Bucky, who looked back in a way Eddie chose to interpret as masculine solidarity and not you are about to seriously catch it.

“This squid monster has become a danger to the public and a serious political problem for the Raft facility. If Venom and Steven take care of it, then the Warden has agreed to drop all charges against you, Venom, and the Avengers who were detained there. You can all go home with clean records.”

Eddie blinked. “Really?”

Anne rolled her eyes. “Eddie, if anybody should know the pen is mightier than the sword it's you. Now. Getting Steven and Mr. Barnes’ names cleared is a little trickier, but thankfully the Warden is well-connected, and frankly he will be busting his ass for us, or else. If Steven is able to destroy this monster and save the city, it will certainly go a long way to rehabilitating his public image.”

This was great. This was supercalafragalista-fanfucking-tastic. Except- and Eddie was pretty fuckin’ stuck on this- Venom was out fighting monsters with Steve-jawline-Rogers, and that was supposed to be Eddie’s job.

“So… you just- they just went off together to kill the thing.”

“Of course they did. What did you think they were going to do? Two heroes fighting a gigantic sea monster is our best chance at success. Steven and Venom are cooperating. They make an excellent team. I’m sure they can defeat it.”

Two. Heroes. Venom and- Captain America. Cooperating. An excellent team. Eddie felt gross.

“Did V- did they ask about me?”

Anne took a measured breath. “This isn’t about you Eddie.”

“So no, then.”

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t sound very fuckin’ sorry.

Eddie’s leg hurt. He thought about that chick from the bar in Montreal- Vivienne, and all her optimistic crap about amour and whatever the fuck. Total bull. This was the final nail in the coffin. V didn’t want him back. They had- hell- they had an actual real-life war hero as a host, a guy who ate Nazis for breakfast and could do pinkie pushups one-handed, and what the hell was Eddie anyway? A broke fucking loser, that’s what.

He sniffled. The room blurred.

“Can y-you just, uh, gimme a minute,” he managed in a gloopy voice.

Anne got up and padded back into the other room, collecting Dan and the swat guys on the way, which gave Eddie a chance to dissolve into a soggy mess of snot.

It was just too much. All this running all over the continent after V and he shoulda realized by now that they didn’t plan on coming back. He’d been so sure for awhile there, but it was stupid. He–

A soft fold of cloth was pushed into his hands. Eddie dragged himself out of his misery spiral long enough to find Bucky sitting on the coffee table right in front of him.

“You’re leaking stuff. It’s nasty,” he said charitably, shoving the handkerchief at Eddie some more.

Eddie took it in numb fingers and wiped at his face. “What do you care?”

Barnes didn’t answer. Eddie looked at the worn, folded cloth in his hands.

“They- Venom- they don’t need me. I thought they’d come back, but I was wrong.”

“It ain’t that.”

He looked at Barnes. “What do you know about it.”

“I been alive a long time. Stevie too,” Bucky smiled ruefully. “And he’s been runnin’ headfirst into crazy bullshit since forever. But he still needs someone to come home to. And it don’t mean he doesn’t care. He’s just bad at that part,” Bucky started pulling on his big stompin’ boots and lacing them up. “When he got the serum I was in Europe, but we wrote letters. He never told me. I found out when he showed up in Austria a hundred forty pounds bigger.”

Eddie blew his nose, feeling a little less like he was freaking out. “That’s like, hard core suck.”

“At the time I was pretty happy to see his big dumb face.” Bucky stood up. “C’mon. Let’s go get our guys. Aliens. Whatever.”

“Yeah. Yeah you’re right. Lets do- ow holy mother of fuck-” Eddie crumbled back to the couch. “Okay, new plan. You go and I’ll stay right here.”

Bucky snorted and honest-to-fuck crinkled his eyes up in a way that stripped about five decades off and replaced them with smile lines and holy shit was that a dimple? and Eddie was gonna have to come to terms with having kinda a huge man-crush on the Winter Soldier. “Nah, you’re comin. Won’t be the first injured mook I’ve carried through a battle zone. Up ya go.”

It was hard to argue with the brain-tortured war hero brushing off a gunshot like it was no big deal. 

“Yeah, alright, I’m good, I’m up.” And he was. Wincing, but vertical. “Admit it man, you just want me to charm the alien outta your boyfriend so you can have him all to yourself.

“I can carry your dead weight with two shot legs if the one ain’t cuttin’ it, Brock.”

“You sure you can manage me while you got your emotional support rifle in your other hand?”

“That’s what the holster is for. C’mon.”

Chapter Text

“And then, just when you think that you have experienced all the wonders that this world has to offer, you round a peak and suddenly think you're doing the whole thing over again, but this time on drugs.”

― Douglas Adams, Last Chance to See  

“Well,” Steve said, squinting into the Bay, “we’re definitely gonna die.”

PROBABLY! 

“Getting bitten in half by an octopus the size of a bus wouldn’t be my personal first choice, but I guess it could be worse. At least the water isn’t freezing this time.”

EDDIE SAYS OPTIMISM IS FOR SUCKERS.

Steve grinned. “I’m starting to get what you see in that guy.”

He allowed himself exactly one heavy sigh, because ocean boss fight, and straightened to his full five foot-n-some height.

The hallucinogenic fever dream from the Mariana Trench- or possibly outer space according to Anderson’s half baked intel- had been infesting San Francisco Bay for the last 48 hours and was currently twined around the bridge playing Jenga with a couple of crushed hatchbacks, its gigantic, waving tentacles slapping cars one atop the next until the whole pile crashed into the water.

“At least all the civilians got evacuated,” Steve said, mission mind habit reaching his hand up to his ear for comms before realizing duh, he was already as plugged into Venom as a guy could be. He picked his way down the steeply sloped bank towards the water. Waves slopped over large blocks of shoreline rock, which were dark and wet and disappeared beneath the surface in curlicues of froth.

You’d think a guy’d get used to this kinda thing, Steve muttered in his own head, feeling Venom seep and creep out of his pores in a way he still wasn’t going to admit was reassuring, even if he was mostly past lying to himself about it.

WE WILL DRIVE, SIT TIGHT BUTTERCUP, Venom purred.

Then they were flying down the bank and into the bay, and as soon as they hit the water Venom’s crazy senses flooded Steve’s brain. He hung on and rode the wave of confusing input. It was manageable if he just let it happen, let it wash over him like a brain-melting sensory tsunami.

And the monster? Now that they were in the water with it Steve realized with a trickle of apprehension that what they’d seen on the bridge was only part of the thing- it was truly huge. Gargantuan. Words failed. Metaphors involving tips of icebergs came to mind as Venom propelled them faster and faster down through the bay and straight towards the chaos of innumerable suckered tentacles and a central body like a squid and an octopus mashed together and super-serumed into a nightmare the size of a building.

Venom started to swim them closer and Steve pushed back, leaving them hanging in the water, shoved back and forth by the currents swirling around the bridge supports. Venom that thing would barely fit in Yankee Stadium, it's gonna squash us by accident– it won’t even notice.

SEXY!

Glad you think so ‘cause it’s headed our way.

The beast barely made a ripple as it dragged its entire bulk fully below the surface to meet them head-on.

Above the water, clinging to the side of the bridge and playing with cars, the beast had appeared ungainly, lumbering, all force and no finesse, its shiny hide an underwhelming pink-peach-gray decorated with faint stripes of deeper red. Below, and viewed through Venom’s eyes, the sea monster flaunted a technicolor light display that shocked Steve (and Venom) to stillness.

Whoa, Steve marveled lamely, the thought immediately and enthusiastically echoed by the alien.

STEEEEEEVE LOOK! IT HAS TENTACLES, JUST LIKE US! LOOK AT ITS COLORS! IT'S SO COOL!

Yeah buddy, that’s- it's pretty swell. But we hafta to make sure it can’t hurt anyone. See any weak spots maybe?

The creature danced through the water, pirouetting with a lot more grace than such a hulking shape should. The massive mantle- head?- undulated, jiggled, and the water around Venom and Steve erupted with tingling electrical pulsations, rapid bursts of vibration that reminded Steve of recordings he’d heard of dolphin clicks, only a lot more intense. Venom’s fangs rattled.

WE DO NOT UNDERSTAND ITS LANGUAGE! Venom complained, tongue lashing.

S’probably yelling “prepare to die tiny vermin!” Not gonna matter in about ten seconds, ‘cause I don’t think even you are gonna be able to punch this thing’s lights out.

Water currents churned wrongly as the monster shot straight at them, bowling them end over and and finally sucking them helplessly in towards it. Steve couldn’t tell up from down. 

Venom, get us outta here, we need a plan. This thing is way bigger than we thought.

They writhed and kicked and Venom made their body as streamlined as possible, shifting all of their appendages into powerful flippers and sprouting a long flat tail to beat against the currents, but they were a leaf in a monsoon, and made no progress at all.

STEEEEVE, WE CANNOT ESCAPE! Venom’s adrenaline and fear tingled up Steve’s spine and he fought to think.

Don’t panic buddy, just move!

IT’S TOO BIG, NOT FAIR!

No fight’s fair. 

Inches before they slammed right into the undulating center mass of the creature it twisted with perfect control, giving Steve one terrifying instant to lock onto a shiny, spherical eye larger than he was tall. The iris was a starburst pyrotechnics show of nebula-smoke colors flashing blinding bright and gone the next moment and then they were faced with the business end of the beast, a snapping, gnashing, razor-edged beak, black-tipped and opening wide to reveal conical rings of backwards-pointed teeth and a cavernous mouth with not one but two squirming, ravenous tongues sliding along one another and parting as if it were calling them in to be gobbled up whole, and hi karma, go fuck yourself. 

Great tentacles punched through the water above and below and on all sides. The limbs tightened, caging them in, closing around Venom’s flipper-limbs, winding around their tail and gripping. 

And Venom didn’t seem to be fighting back. 

A hard lump of confusion and anger stopped up Steve’s gullet. It was one thing to run in half-cocked and get himself killed, but it was another thing completely to give up and do nothing and he wasn’t having it. Was the symbiote paralyzed by terror? Steve realized he’d never felt real fear for its own existence from Venom.

Venom! MOVE! Come on! Do you wanna get eaten by this thing?

He thrashed, shoved, tried to wiggle and squirm, but Venom was- dammit!- Venom wasn’t responding at all.

What are you doing? FIGHT!

Venom was silent. Not gone, it just didn’t answer. He couldn’t hope to control its mass; even moving a single tentacle on his own was a herculean effort, much less their entire shared body.

They were already done for.

Venom- what about Eddie? he tried. You just gonna up and leave Eddie behind?  

Nothing. Whatever terrified fugue Venom was stuck in, Steve couldn’t break through. And then the giant tentacles were wrapping around them, squeezing hard and tight, arrays of circular suckers adhering to their flesh and they were being dragged in and in and down, down, down.

Emotion finally trickled in from the symbiote. Venom was pulsing with relaxed warmth, what the hell. Almost…sleepy? And doing absolutely bupkis to try and disentangle them from the crushing tentacles. Maybe the thing had poisoned them somehow?

Steve would have liked to feel he was brave, stoic and totally not descending into panic himself as they were pulled towards the thing, but it was a knee-jerk lizard brain reaction and couldn’t be stopped. He was utterly helpless and he could really use some help managing his own stupid brain chemicals right now. 

Venom! Do something! We are not getting eaten by a goddamned calamari!

TRYING, STEEEEVE. Venom finally answered him, its voice a drowsy purr. 

Try harder- oh shit-!!

And then the sea monster shoved them into its mouth and snapped its beak shut and everything went dark.

Except, it didn’t.

The bioluminescent glow of the monster’s hide carried over to its insides, too. Steve and Venom tumbled end over end, the beast’s two sinuous tongues pushing them back and down past the rows of teeth, which formed black, triangular silhouettes against the rainbow glow, flashes of negative space in the kaleidoscopic light show currently swallowing Steve alive. 

And Venom was… Venom’s body around Steve was losing the familiar brawny humanoid shape. It was spreading, flattening out along the inside of the monster’s mouth, its throat, adhering to the glowing flesh, propelling its slimy blackness into pores, and he could feel the strain and struggle and the effort that was being expended here and he realized that he needed to be still and let Venom do whatever it was trying to do, but there was a precarious edge between being crushed into paste and keeping his tiny human shape all together in one place, and Steve very much did not want to die as paste. He tried to close his eyes, where were his eyes? Where- where did he end? Where did Venom begin? He was losing the edges of his own body. His tentacles, his- their skin was plastered up and inside and everywhere in this alien esophagus, and he couldn’t block out the sound-thoughts from Venom that were feeding directly into his brain.

Is this what your hive-mind feels like? he thought at Venom, no way to know if he was ‘speaking’ it out loud or not. He was entirely in the hands- tentacles- of an alien and what he now suspected was another, maybe similar kind of alien. 

Steve remembered, very distinctly, the overload from the first time Venom had touched his thoughts, piloted his body and whittled his autonomy down to nothing. At the time Steve'd been absolutely certain that the experience was at the far limit of what his mind could tolerate without breaking. He’d managed, though. Survived, and now it wasn’t so bad. Hell, hearing and breathing through his skin seemed pretty normal these days.

This? Right now? This made that previous limit shrink to a tiny pinprick in the far distance, and Steve was sure his mind was actually, physically exploding. He was plugged into the Vita Ray machine with the power cranked to max and then invaded and frayed and splayed, injected and sucked out and plastered, splattered, pumped full and drained and he was just a helpless, insignificant speck, a ripple of nothing in a literal ocean, and Venom was a bridge between Steve- if he even existed as a singular being anymore, with borders or edges or any kind of definition to separate him from the rest- and it. Them.

Venom plugged Steve’s physical meat into the creature and he was in its brain- no, they were all three sharing one consciousness- and it was everything. It was–

It was a god. They were inside of an alien god.

Itself was lost. Itself was alone and stranded. Formerly peaceful and rich in sea-green beauty, the planet was now hectic, more raucous than it had been only a few millennia ago, busy with land life and electromagnetic clamor. Itself was distressed by these changes, made vulnerable. And then the tiny pale stickman had used the Noise to separate Itself from its shellpod. Stolen it and crushed it to crumbs, then run away and locked its skinny stick limbs away in the floating ring, and whenever Itself tried to attack, it was assailed by unbearable noise and light and energy blasts. 

It was unthinkable that a single one of these barely-sentient microbes had managed to so vex a timeless god. Itself wandered for months, trailing after the ring-fortress, waiting for the stickman to emerge, but he always came and went in the sky.

WE CAN HELP YOU!  

Venom’s admiration and excitement burst through the gleaming jumble of Venom and Steve and Kraken-beastgod-older-than-time- holy shit this thing was actually a god-  

Kraken’s sadness, its confusion and hurt.

Holy shit, he maybe-thought and maybe he felt it: a shocked kind of awe, and now Steve understood. This thing wasn’t some kind of mutant monster, and it definitely wasn’t here to vandalize the piddly personal property of the citizens of the greater San Francisco area or anywhere else.

Venom gathered Steve a little more carefully, wrapping around him to keep him from being crushed by the still undulating muscles of the creature’s mouth or stomach or wherever they were now, he didn’t know. WE HATE THAT ANDERSEN GUY TOO! HE KEPT US PRISONER, AND NOW EDDIE IS GONE, AND STEEEEVE IS GOOD BUT NOT AS GOOD AS EDDIE AND WE WILL BITE STUPID ANDERSON’S JERK HEAD OFF AND EAT HIS BRAIN!

The Kraken’s response wasn’t verbal, but Steve could understand it, flashes and pulses of color, emotions pumped right into his poor exhausted synapses and whatever was left of his endocrine system. Itself was intrigued, interested in Venom, who was not at all sticklike and with whom it could communicate in a direct and civilized manner. Itself meant them no harm, and used its two huge sinuous tongues to carefully push them backwards, up from its gullet, back into its cavernous mouth. 

And- oh hey Venom really liked that. Steve felt goosebumps prickle over his flesh, felt Venom’s mass tremble and wriggle with pleasure, and holy shit he was never going to do any tongue stuff again for as long as he lived but it was goooood and he relaxed and just let it happen because in the grand scheme of things, what was being mentally jerked off while a god and an alien mind-melded with his bony ass caught in the middle? Who even cared? Not Steve. Hell, Steve felt like he was on drugs, he was grinning to himself somewhere inside Venom and the tentacle slime and he just didn’t even care that he’d just been barfed up like a hairball by an alien octogod. This entire thing was beyond his pay grade and if he lived he was going to find Bucky and just… just plant one on him and tell him he was beautiful and perfect and that he wanted to get married and Eddie and Venom could come to their wedding and it would be the most wonderful thing in the universe.

This is terrific, Steve observed, and his voice was colors, and Venom was so swell, and Kraken- oh crap, Kraken was trapped here, all alone on an alien world, just like them.

STEEEVE? ARE YOU OKAY? Venom’s gravel voice was colors too. It was reds and blacks and the shiny greenblue of oil slicks, and Steve tried to shake his head but he didn’t know where it was and that was fine.

Oh yeah, I’m SO okay, we juss- we’re gonna deal with that jackass and then me and Buck are gonna live happily ever after. I wanna get a dog.

Steve floated like sloppy goo inside Venom, who hadn’t lost their mind in a sea of color and acid-trip feelings because they were freakin’ aces and they could carry Steve for a bit, no problem. At some point the Kraken opened its mouth, let them swim out, and they were closer to the surface already because it was light, oh hey the world was all gorgeous blue-green, and Kraken followed them as they made for shore, Venom all hero-worshippy and idolizing and forming their body into a shape that partly resembled Kraken, with many beautiful long tentacles all thrashing the water and rounded suckers along them brushing Itself and opening the connection again, all of their three minds mixing like drops of dye in a glass of water, lovely, then drawing apart again so it was only Steve and Venom, and that was okay too, because it was a lot less confusing.

Then it was all Venom sinking their claws into the rocks rushing out of the water, Venom’s corded, thick muscle pulling them effortlessly into the hot, bright sunshine, and Kraken could only follow with a few of its longer tentacles because the water was too shallow here and its body unwieldy and awkward on land, and Venom told it that it should stay out of sight because the humans would try to explode it with bombs and fire.

They skittered fleetfooted up and away and-

-smacked directly, squarely, into Bucky Barnes.

Chapter Text

Who, being loved, is poor?

–Oscar Wilde

Eddie was doing his best.

And what the fuck had his best ever got him? Shot, and wanted by the cops, and missing his alien brain-mate, that’s what.

Bucky had somehow convinced Anne to let them take her fancy, pretentious Mercedes (under the condition that Eddie layered the seats with garbage bags so he wouldn’t fuck up the top grain interior) and Eddie was now hobbling across the rocky shoreline on his still sluggishly bleeding shot leg instead of going to a damn hospital like a smart person, all but dragged in the Winter Soldier’s stomping, combat-booted wake to the edge of the Bay where Venom was last seen via grainy, shaky cellphone clips that were currently breaking the internet.

The best one featured a couple frames of an unmistakable hulking black figure bolting down a steeply sloped bank and diving into the water, with a great angle on the big octopus monster clinging to the bridge in the distance. The tiktokker had helpfully backed the clip with “Surfin’ in the USA.”

[baewatch24_7] chat its giving 2015 tradhero energy make it make sense

[goovibez3498] let them cook [alien face][drooling emoji]

[muricaguy_80] no costume plus dark aesthetic = antihero actualy 

[peakfranfan012] a wild beta appears [rolling eyes emoji]

[ali3nzamonGuss] this is srsly altering my brain chemistry wtf sanfran can it eat the muskrat next #mysquad

Eddie groaned, slipping Anne’s borrowed cell into his pocket. Now that they were finally at ground zero there was nothing to see; they were way late to the monster jam.

Well, there were a straggle of determined influencers with tripods precariously propped on the jagged shore, sporting their best end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it looks and vying for the best boulders like sea lions in mating season. Eddie would’ve asked what they’d seen but Barnes and his no-chill-I’ll-gut-you-with-my-murder-arm attitude cleared them out before he got the chance.

“Would’a been a good idea to talk to some of them,” Eddie grumbled, but his heart wasn’t really in it. The fifty foot radius of panic and despair Bucky cast all around when he got stressed was just a reflex, like a dog anxiety-peeing. The poor guy just couldn’t help it.

Bucky turned to him blankly. “Civilian presence inadvisable in an imminent combat zone.”

Uh oh, roboBucky was back. Team mental health score: plummeting. “Sure, but they obviously saw something or they wouldn’t be standing around out here with their phones out.”

“Based on camera angles they saw their own faces.” Bucky stalked closer to the edge of the water, hopping nimbly along the huge rocks.

For an imminent combat zone, it was pretty peaceful. There was no sign of V, or Rogers, or any kinda anything out of the ordinary. Not unless you counted the military and news network helicopters circling the area, or the apocalyptic jam of abandoned cars snaking all the way over the bridge.

There was only the excited chatter of distant podcasters further down the shore, and the horrible, cheerful morning sunlight sparkling off calm waters, making Eddie sweat through the lightheaded chill of blood loss so his shirt plastered itself to his back and chest.

They stood there for a solid ten minutes without a word between them, staring intently at a whole lot of nothing, until Eddie couldn’t keep himself still anymore.

“We gonna stand here all day? We’re obviously too late.”

Rogers was probably sea monster chow by now, although Eddie was secretly counting on V being fine; they were pretty hard to kill, especially in the water.

“Let's just go back to Anne’s, take a breather, and figure out what’s next.”

“No.”

“Well then what’s the plan? Waitin’ around out here ain’t gonna bring Cap…I mean, ain’t gonna bring them back.”

Eddie assumed the ensuing silence was acceptance. And that blank look was probably grief? Yeah, had to be. Guy was probably a sobbing mess under all the leather and stoicism. Aw man, Bucky really just could not catch one single break. Eddie was intimately acquainted with that feeling.

He hobbled closer and put a tentative hand on the Winter Soldier's burly metal shoulder, squeezing lightly in a way he hoped came off as reassuring. He did feel bad. After all this, their big rescue was a total bust. He sighed. “I’m really sorry man,” he tried, wanting to punch himself in the face. He sounded like a jackass. “You can kill that dickface Anderson guy if it’d help at all,” he ventured, though that wasn’t gonna bring back Captain Broad n’ Blond.

“What do you mean ‘help’?”

“You know, like revenge? For R- for Steve?”

Bucky looked insulted.

“What are you talking about?”

The guy’s faith would have been heartwarming if it wasn’t, yanno, totally delulu. He was like a goth version of that painting of the collie loyally guarding the sad dead lamb or whatever. Eddie glanced dubiously at the ocean. “Bro. We been out here way longer than even your super-serumed boyfriend can hold his breath, and if him n’ V were fighting the monster we’d see something, blood in the water or splashing or the shape of them swimming around. Or, ya know, the monster.”

“There are abnormal fluctuations along the surface of the water approximately half a mile out, and they have been consistent for the last seven minutes, increasing marginally in force and frequency in the last two minutes. They span an estimated two hundred yard radius. In addition to that, the seals and seabirds in the area are becoming avoidant of that location. And Steve can hold his breath for seventeen minutes under moderate levels of activity, but with your parasite’s help he wouldn’t need to. It kept him alive for over 48 hours in rough, freezing open ocean. Steve is fine.”

Eddie made his mouth close before it could say anything stupid. Right. All- all of that. Abnormal fluctuations and- stuff. He removed his hand, letting it fall awkwardly to his side. He tried to shift off of his bum leg, which was throbbing painfully despite the boatload of totally illegal painkillers Dr. Dan had slipped him at Anne’s.

“So we just… hang out here? Wait for something to happen? Get internet famous?”

Bucky jerked his chin towards the open water, and Eddie refocused. The water was churning, a huge swath of it rippling outwards, and there was something rising- its shape was becoming visible as it drew closer to the surface, and here we go, the whatever-it-was was coming for them now and good thing Bucky’d cleared out the Insta kiddos, actually

Bucky pulled out a big fuck-you gun and sank into a ready stance, the weapon trained steadily over the water. Eddie automatically sidled a little to the left to get behind him. 

The surface broke. A long, twisting grey-pink shape appeared, then another, and several more, then a huge, rounded hump of jiggling, rubbery flesh- oh holy motherfuckin’ fuck the mainstream media had Not Exaggerated it was an actual sea monster somebody call Lovecraft.

And it was absolutely coming towards them because a thing that size must need some serious calories. Eddie caught sight of one of the beasts’ eyes as it shifted- easily wider across than a man was tall- with multiple pupils, nice- and then it slipped out of sight, the water closing smoothly over it again. But the dark outline of the monster-octopus-squid-thing kept advancing like an underwater zepplin, gliding along, the surface rippling in its ominous wake.

“Shit. Uh- Bucky? Dude? I know you’re Lethal Weapon and all, but I think maybe we better get outta here. What are you gonna do, arm wrestle it? Make tempura?”

Two writhing tentacles suddenly speared up and out of the water right at the shoreline and Eddie screamed like a chick in a slasher fic and backpedaled with frantic windmilling arms before falling backwards on his ass in the dirt.

He scrabbled to get up, because his limbic system at least was still convinced there was a way out of this, and his fucked up leg screeched when he forced his weight onto it. Even Bucky was stepping backwards but a lot less frantic and he never lowered his weapon. Eddie woulda emptied an entire clip into the thing already if anyone’d thought to give him a gun, but he was up shit creek on that one.

Then, from between the two monstrous, flagellating octopus arms there was a glint of something else: a smaller shape. Black. Shiny. A gorgeous inky streak that flashed under the blue-green of the water and Eddie felt his whole body tighten with excited, hopeful glee as Venom was suddenly clawing their way up from the water in a mess of arms and tentacles searching for purchase along the slimy slick stones.

Their head broke through the foam spray, unblinking eye patches and those perfect sharp teeth, their tongue pink and already leaking drool, twisting, tasting the air, the tip flicking to pick up scent, and for a moment Eddie felt like he was there inside Venom, with them, smelling with their tongue together and he was suddenly confused by his own small weak body and the ache in his leg and he had to shake himself to remember that they were still apart. Wrong, separate, and the silence in his head needed to stop.

Venom tore out of the water and nearly bowled over the Winter Soldier, who’d actually stepped between Eddie and Venom for some reason that Eddie’s brain just could not seem to process. Why the hell would Bucky try to stop V from getting back to him where they belonged?

But Bucky was jamming the muzzle of his weapon into V’s face as the plates on his arm shifted and snapped, his other hand training a second gun on the sea monster’s nearest tentacle, eyes darting between them.

Venom plunged their talons into the dirt for purchase as they stood up, stretching to their full, glorious ten foot height, thick chest muscles gleaming in the bright hot California sun as the water sluiced off of their hide and oh shit fuck they were gonna eat the Winter Soldier’s head off. Eddie opened his mouth to yell-

“BUCKY!” Venom boomed, darting in faster than even a supersoldier could react, grabbing him around the chest and wrenching him into a crushing hug, nuzzling his face and chest, eye patches slivered to slits of pleasure. Eddie went from panicked to jealous so fast it made him dizzy as their tongue slathered Bucky’s’ entire head and face in dripping gobs of saliva, soaking his frizzed hair into a slimy mat that stuck out in a giant drool-y cowlick.

Bucky was wide-eyed and stiff like one of those freakishly real wax sculptures, only covered in mucus. Eddie winced, expecting gunfire but the Soldier appeared to be frozen rigid as he was squeezed in V’s bulky arms like they were long-lost best buddies.

Which- right. Rogers. Rogers still inside Eddie’s alien, sharing their thoughts and feelings and now winding all their extra tentacles around Bucky and checking him over and licking along his throat, his cheeks, one big hand stroking over his chest like a fuckin lover, dragging their claws deliberately over his clothes and flesh and it wasn’t fuckin’ FAIR!

Eddie staggered back and half turned, maybe to run or- or just- just get the hell outta here.

The movement must’ve caught V’s attention because they were looking at him, finally and then they were dropping Bucky like a sack of rocks and leaping at Eddie, and it happened so fast Eddie could hardly keep up but he didn’t fucking care because it was V, coming back to him, coming home. Venom was drawing themselves together and away, pseudopods pulling and squeezing, bleeding from pores and mouth and nose, revealing pale white skin, a shock of dirty blonde hair plastered against a skinny neck, and finally the entire pint-sized frame of Steven G. Rogers collapsed at Bucky’s feet and then all of Venom’s perfect blackness was rushing towards Eddie, reaching for him, and they were hot, and strong, and the most wonderful feeling Eddie could imagine.

EDDIE! V’s voice boomed into his brain after so much time alone in his own head and it was the Best. Thing. Ever. EDDIE, EDDIE, EDDIE! WE MISSED YOU

Aw fuck V I missed you too Love, you got no idea. Jesus, you can’t ever leave me like that. Never again, you hear me? 

WON’T, WE ARE SORRY EDDIE.

And yeah, Eddie knew he was crying a bit and he let it happen, because V was swimming around inside him again, getting deep into his veins, in his cells and his blood and sliding around in his brain. Filling up his chest, layering along his lungs, his liver, wrapping around his kidneys and snaking along his spine and he might’a creamed himself just a bit ‘cause they were in his junk too, and he was so warm, so safe and strong and home in a way he’d missed so motherfuckin’ bad, and Eddie just wrapped his arms around himself for a second and had to close his eyes because he hadn’t let himself really believe it was going to be okay, ‘cause nothing ever turned out okay for him, but it was okay now. Venom. V. Eddie’s one and only person.

The pain in his leg faded as V regrew his muscle and skin, made him whole. “Thanks Babe,” Eddie said, standing straighter. He rubbed his chest, felt V extend a small head from his shoulder. They bumped against him, tongue winding around his neck and their teeth pricking gently at his skin, and Eddie breathed deep, relaxed.

“WE WILL EAT ANYONE THAT TRIES TO HURT YOU AGAIN,” Venom rumbled, squeezing Eddie possessively.  

He felt the familiar nudge of their deep, bottomless hunger, the togetherness of V’s mind twining back into his where they belonged. All was right with the world.

“Steve? Stevie c’mon pal, can you hear me?”

Well, Eddie’s world, anyway. 

STEEEEEEEVEEEE Venom offered in Eddie’s mind, already starting to share flashes of the man who looked- he looked pretty fucked up, actually.

Bucky was crouched beside Rogers, carefully sliding an arm under his bony shoulders to pull him to a sitting position, and holy shit he really was small, just a seriously undersized slip of a guy, lying limp and wet in the dust, his eyes wide and unblinking, mouth slack. He looked most of the way dead.

V, what happened with Rogers? What’s with the smallitude?

And yes, there was the familiar feeling of V playing movies in his brain, a sweet director’s cut with commentary of the last few weeks and yikes, wow, Captain my Captain has not been having a fun time. Eddie reflexively drifted a couple steps closer, but okay, whoa, down boy. Eddie raised his hands and made peaceable motions and Bucky’s snarl eased up just a little as dude remembered about, like, words. 

“What the hell is wrong with him?” Bucky glared over Eddie’s shoulder at V. “What did you do to him?”

“WE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING.” V snapped, their head arcing higher, teeth bared back at the Winter Soldier. “BUTTERCUP IS FINE, DON’T GET YOUR PANTIES IN A TWIST.”

Eddie snorted, tried to abort and get his face into a sympathy grimace, and almost made himself sneeze all over the Winter Soldier’s fainting boyfriend. V was feeding him flashes and snippets about as fast as he could take them in- and Jesus it was a lot and Eddie’s brain was still mostly jealousy soup but now with big chunks of fond floating around in it.

Bucky definitely wasn’t feeling the love.

And then a gigantic suckered tentacle that was oh shit not V’s nudged in past the Soldier’s kneepad and stroked along Cap- Rogers- Steve’s hair and face, dripping slime and sea water all over the place.

BANG! BANGBANG!

Three ear splitting shots, and Bucky was hauling Captain America up in one arm and dragging him protectively close against his own body away from the monster- Kraken-not-enemy! that was oh hey, still here! Totally witnessing their touching reunions and weapons violations and shit. The tentacle flailed and yanked back in a way that somehow conveyed shocked offense, leaking bluish blood from the three tiny wounds, barely pinpricks compared to its size.

“DON’T BE A JERK! KRAKEN IS ON OUR SIDE!” Venom roared, snapping one of their tentacles out and yanking Bucky’s gun out of his hand, hurling it a couple hundred feet into the water and then Bucky was doing Eyebrows of Doom at V and the Kraken which was, according to the highlights reel V was still feeding into his cerebellum, not the bad guy actually and okay, sorry tiktokkers but we are not doing this here.

Eddie sank back as V took over, placing them between Bucky and their apparent ally, which was kinda like an ant doing the soccer mom arm over a 737 but whatever, it was the thought that counted. “Cool it Rambo, there’s army and news and shit.” Let’s get outta here babe.

“DON’T WORRY, WE ARE A HERO EDDIE! WE SAVED EVERYONE! WE WILL BE ON CNN! EVERYONE WILL LOVE US, AND STEEEEVE TOO! HEROES!”

Eddie was grinning, buried inside V’s black, because that was the purest kind of glee rolling off his alien, and they deserved it. That’s great Love, I want you to tell me all about it, show me too, but right now we need to get lost.

Venom sent back wordless agreement, then paused, considered, twisted and brushed against the Kraken’s leathery, slippery hide, opening something intense and fast between them, a communication that Eddie could barely follow.

WE WILL HELP! WILL COME BACK, WAIT FOR US DEEP DOWN, V told it, and it receded, sinking down into the water and disappearing as quickly as a creature the size of a strip mall could.

Well, that was one problem on the back burner, then. Venom paused just long enough to watch the monster’s shape blur out of view in the deeper water, then they turned and loped back to where Bucky was backing away from them with Rogers draped in his arms princess-style, already halfway to Anne’s car.

Eddie pushed for control and Venom gave it easily, and they jogged up to Bucky, who was looking pretty freaked out for a supposedly unflappable assassin.

“I’m drivin',” Eddie said, taking advantage of Bucky having an armload of damp Rogers to snatch the keys off Bucky’s belt and clicking the fob to unlock all the doors. “Make sure you sit on the garbage bags or Anne will murder you.”

Bucky’s eyes slanted to Eddie’s leg with a confused frown. Oh, right. Bullet hole. Former bullet hole. “No prob. It’s healed.”

Seemed like Sergeant Snow-Cone was at his weirdness limit for the afternoon. Whatever, he’d catch up. Eddie slid into the driver’s seat and yanked the door shut behind him as Bucky maneuvered himself, his waterlogged beloved, and his personal armory into the back.

Eddie, elated to finally have a use for his intimate knowledge of the truly sadistic layout of San Fran, took all the windiest most vertical shortcuts and barely avoided mowing down a couple tech bros in Patagonia vests, getting their carload of freak outta the hot zone as fast as he could while prayin’ that no cops or military or whoever were tailing them.

There was still a bunch of shit to deal with, but he was on top’a the world with V inside again, steadily filling him in on everything he’d missed. Apparently dickbag Anderson the high muckety muck was behind all their problems, including Mr. Kraken-monster’s. Well, that was just fine with Eddie. Guy was snack size, as far as him’n’V were concerned, and he couldn’t wait to pick the bone fragments from their teeth.

~~~

At the third red light from Anne’s, Captain America woke up. 

“Heeeeyyy Buck…”

“Stevie?” Bucky breathed. Eddie could see him making big worried eyes in the rear view.

A skinny arm came up and pawed drunkenly at Bucky’s face. “Gosh, wow Buck, you’re so pretty’n’soft… We-we gotta,” There was a swallowing sound like someone who’s tongue isn’t working right, familiar to Eddie from many boozy weekend binges, “D’ya think a gold’n r’treiver’s better or a new n-newf- the big floofy kind?”

“A what?”

“Fer the dog Buck. Gotta decide so- cause we’re gonna get married and-we’re gettin’ a dog.”

And Eddie was pretty sure that was Bucky’s terrified face. He’d never seen it before and it was hilarious. Steve Rogers alive and kicking, or at least flailing tipsily, was having unexpected upsides. 

TOLD YOU.

Babe I know you think Cap’s all hot shit or whatever but you gotta gimme a minute cause I spent the last two weeks thinking you ditched me for a supersoldier and I’m kinda bitter over here.

WHAT!? WE WOULD NEVER DUMP YOU FOR STEEEEEVE! 

Well how’m I supposed’ta know that? All I saw was you and Steeeeve pallin’ around and eatin’ bad guys together, and it didn’t look like you were too broke up about it.

YOU COULD HAVE LOOKED HARDER!

I was kinda busy following you halfway around the fuckin’ world, I went to CANADA for you! With the Winter Soldier! Have you even met that guy? He spoons with an AK at night.

Eddie was trying to keep his eyes on the road and also field glares from Bucky, and Cap was talking about dogs or some shit, and he was gonna-

“EDDIE! LOOK OUT!” V shot out a cluster of tentacles and jerked the wheel of the car so the tires screeched and they narrowly glanced by some chick on one of those e-scooter things. “STAY OUTTA THE ROAD!” they yelled together and flipped her off in the rearview.

Eddie took a breath. Venom, babe, we gotta talk about this later. I need ta focus.

V grumbled and simmered down into Eddie’s shirt.

Steve, meanwhile, was petting Bucky’s stubble, and Eddie could see the whites of the Winter soldier’ eyes.

“Eddie,” Bucky tried in a carefully neutral tone. “Get the parasite- Venom back out here.”

Eddie sighed. Venom seeped outta Eddie’s shoulder and stretched into the backseat, tonguewashing Captain America with familiar affection that was bleedin’ over into Eddie even though he was still committed to hating the guy on principle.

Bucky tried- unsuccessfully- to yank Cap out of reach in the Mercedes’ three inches of back seat.

“Cut it out! Tell me what you did to Steve."

“WE DID NOT BREAK STEEEEVE,” V answered with eighty five percent sass and Eddie kept his face firmly toward the road so thankfully Bucky wasn’t gonna see him smirking and subsequently strangle him with the metal arm. “CHILL OUT. WE ARE SURPRISED YOU ARE SO UPTIGHT, CAUSE STEEEEEEEVE MADE YOU SOUND WAY COOLER.”

“Steeeeeve has never in his life called anybody cool.” Bucky tried to shove Venom back, holding Rogers tighter. “Don’t touch him.”

Two bony arms came up this time and batted at Bucky’s metal one “S’fine Buck, Venom’s been in my- in my me for like- a bunch of weeks. We’re soooooo great, c’mere buddy. S’weird in my head now,” Eddie felt, through V, the sensation of Rogers burying his hand into V’s mass, stroking along their small head like V was a stretched out rubbery cat.

“‘R you guys hearin’ the colors too?” he asked, flopping weakly as he tried to sit up in Bucky’s lap and failed.

Two stoplights to go.

Chapter Text

Most marital arguments…are rooted in fundamental differences of lifestyle, personality, or values. 

– John M. Gottman, The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work

“You don’t seriously think I’m going to honor our agreement with that abomination still doing laps around the bay. And get that reporter out of here, this doesn’t concern him.” The Warden jabbed a finger at Eddie and curled his lip.

“I’m good here, thanks.” Eddie took a relaxed stance against a carved oak cabinet full of framed photos of Andersen shaking hands with other smarmy looking suits. “Full transparency, oversight, the public interest, you know the drill.” 

“I do suggest you reconsider your attitude, Warden Commander.” Nat had casually turned the deadbolt on the big ass door of Andersen’s private office. They were somewhere in the bowels of Alcatraz, because dude had like, a prison industrial office fetish or something, like one of those old timey sailors with a mistress in every port only with more Herman Miller. This place was leaning into the windowless dungeon aesthetic, which was about to be real convenient. Nat’s heels clicked on the polished stone floor as she approached the acre of executive desk behind which the warden was seated. “Mr. Brock is acutely involved in this matter.”

Anderson sneered like a guy with “licensed sneerer” on his CV and leaned back in his leather swivel chair that probably cost more than Eddie’s last bike. “You’re in no position to negotiate with me, Miss Romanoff. This entire facility is full of my people, and I have no intention of capitulating to a washed up ex-spy and a disgraced tabloid hack. When the monster is dead, come back and maybe we can talk.”

“Yeah, speakin’ of monsters,” Eddie pushed off the wall as Venom slowly rolled up over him until they were ten feet of teeth and murder. 

“REMEMBER USSSSSSSSS?” The mirror finish of the fancy desk gave Eddie a cool upside down reflection of Venom lunging forward and snapping the Warden into a tentacle, winding him up and dragging him over and across. Well, until the guy’s pants legs smeared through the spattered drool.

“Oh my god–!” Andersen kicked his feet and wriggled helplessly. Eddie and V hooked their talons in Anderson’s shirtfront, making sure to drag their tongue veerrrry slowly along the edge of his face. The urge to bite off his head was thrumming through them both. 

NOT YET, EDDIE.

Wait, are you actually telling me to hold off eating a bad guy? 

Maybe all that time with Captain Justice had been like, formative, or some shit. Hopefully not too much- red, white and blue were not Eddie’s colors.

Meanwhile, Nat was settling herself in Anderson’s chair, smoothing her pencil skirt and arranging her phone and briefcase carefully out of saliva radius. 

Eddie was maybe a little too into Nat’s toppy ballbuster persona. 

THEM HIPS DON’T LIE.

Oh my god shut up. 

BLACK WIDOW CAN’T READ OUR MIND.

You know that for sure? She’ll murder us.

YOU’D BE INTO IT.

…That’s- not wrong. Shit, focus babe.

BORRRING.

V was right. Andersen was busy doing the usual kicking, screaming, pissing himself with fear thing people did when him and V got all up close and neighborly. F-bomb, f-bomb, begging for his life, offering money or his firstborn, other people’s firstborns, more f-bombs. The ushe. They yawned toothily in his face just to make their opinion clear. The yelling jumped an octave. 

Nat raised a single razor edged copper brow. “You’re getting a little hysterical, Warden Andersen. Why don’t you calm down, and Venom won’t bite off your head.”

“Fuck, fuck! P-Please don’t eat me. Just tell me what you want!”

“YOUR BRAIN PROBABLY TASTES LIKE CAT BARF. WE CAN DO BETTER,” Venom shot with a snobby huff, leaving a slick of drool dangling from the Warden Commander’s narrow chin as they set him on his unsteady legs, then propped him up with tentacles when his knees gave out. “WE HAVE HELD UP OUR END OF THE DEAL, NOW IT’S YOUR TURN,” they growled.

Andersen clung to the edge of the desk, panting. “Yes, just- yes, anything!” He collapsed forward some more and Venom and Eddie helpfully coiled around his throat to raise his head and point it in Nat’s direction. 

Nat nodded appreciation. “I’m thrilled you’re feeling so cooperative Warden Commander, we just need to take care of a few loose ends and we’ll be on our way.” Her tone of voice in no way acknowledged either the fountains of mucus or the choking noises happening a few feet away. She withdrew a pen from her chignon and a clipboard from the briefcase. Possibly, thought Eddie, purely so she could theatrically tap the pen on a hypothetical ticky box as she went over each point. 

Ten to one that paper’s blank.

SHE’S SO MEAN! Eddie could hear the adoration in V’s mental voice. He could sympathize.

Omg don’t gush. 

“Ahem. Please pay close attention, Warden. Our first demand is that Mr. Brock be fairly compensated for mental, emotional, and economic damages related to his extrajudicial kidnapping and imprisonment, and that any charges levied against him for infractions in the course of his capture and subsequent escape will be expunged.”

Anderson gargled and squirmed. Nat nodded seriously and went on. 

“Second, your agency will issue official findings to reflect that Captain Rogers and the other Avengers complied with all necessary national and international legal criteria, may return unhindered to the United States, and that no further charges will be filed against them in relation to this and recent events, as detailed…here.”

A THUMP, as the two inch thick stack of documents Nat pulled from the briefcase landed on the table. Andersen whimpered. Nat’s pen recorded an emphatic checkmark, and she continued.   

“Third, you will cease and desist your harassment of the alien marine entity currently inhabiting San Francisco Bay, and will immediately allow access by the relevant exocological authorities to open negotiations to establish its future legal status as a sentient resident of Earth.”

“Guh!”

Nat’s lips formed a disappointed moue. “I’m still speaking, Warden Commander. Fourth, your agency will issue a recommendation to the Department of Defense to open an investigation into the imprisonment and torture of Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes and seek to obtain remuneration for his suffering, and reinstatement of his citizenship and freedom as an American."

The Warden Commander moaned pathetically, and Eddie took it as agreement, but he didn’t object when V tightened their grip on the guy’s clammy neck. He was getting way better than he deserved, far as Eddie was concerned.

“Lastly, you’ll personally apologize to Venom. Right now.”

“Glik!!”

DAMN STRAIGHT. 

We gotchu covered, babe. 

~~~

Steve had been dreaming. It was a nice dream, with lots of pretty colors and friendship and just a bit of weird tentacle stuff but that was pretty normal these days.

It was really quiet in his head.

That was…not normal.

Venom?

No answer.

Venom? You there?

Zilch.

Weird. He groaned and shifted, and his body felt strange, achy and tired and hungry– at least that part was normal. His feet were too hot, and the rest of him was cold, and– why the hell was it so quiet in his head?

V, buddy, c’mon. Whatever I said, can you just drop it for a minute? 

Silence in his head had never been a problem for past Steve, but at the moment it was ratcheting from strange right into unnerving and Steve groped around mentally for the cords of whatever’d come before, and it was all a jumbled mess he couldn't put together.

He blinked away crusted salt and tried to make the pieces fit.

Anne’s living room slid into focus. He recognized the trendy teal accent wall and the tasteful art. He and Venom had sat here slurping fair trade coffee and getting blackmailed into saving San Francisco from a whole new alien menace, but that had been the middle of the night. By the bright sunlight slanting in through the window it seemed like early afternoon now. Where’d the time gone?

He stretched, taking a personal inventory. No injuries, nothing broken. He was laid out on the overstuffed sofa, and some furniture-conscious soul had put a big towel under him, but his t-shirt was globbed with sea-stinking slime and he was damp through to his briefs. Christ, he wanted a shower. A toothbrush. A response. 

“Venom?” He tried aloud, unable to shake the weird empty sense in his head.

“It’s gone.” 

And that was unmistakably Bucky’s voice.

Somehow, in his confusion, Steve’d managed to miss that his feet were propped up on Bucky’s thighs. He sat there like a moron and stared, because he was obviously seeing things. Bucky was in Wakanda frozen solid, and he sure as hell wasn’t here in Eddie’s terrifyingly competent ex-fiance’s living room giving Steve the world’s most unhygienic foot rub.

He squinted at his feet like they belonged to someone else, then let his eyes slowly scan up and take in the rest of the scene. Bucky. Long haired and stubbled. Decked out in full secret assassin getup complete with the goggles and a boatload of knives and guns and a whole entire different looking arm- where did that even come from? Bucky’s unblinking stare was fixed on Steve. 

A tickle of ice ran down Steve’s spine.

He scrambled free and pushed into his end of the sofa, tucking his bare feet safely under himself. Okay. Okay, Venom was MIA. He was on his own. Bucky was- an unknown. Familiar. Terrifying. Possibly hallucinatory. Now would be a really excellent time to remember the last couple hours.

Steve made himself still and forced his jaw to relax. Nobody was bleeding out, nothing was currently exploding. He had time to think.

Last Steve knew, Bucky had signed himself up for the Wakandan version of disaster prevention via cryotube, and the last thing he expected was to see Bucky defrosted and looming on the opposite end of Anne Weying’s couch with a semi-blank ready-to-comply expression that made Steve’s guts churn.

But. As Steve looked closer, a few details slotted into place. The Soldier was all coiled action. Steve couldn’t picture him sitting at all, much less in, holy crap, sock-feet. There were a pair of  combat boots unlaced and tucked neat against the base of the couch. He was armed, sure, but not holding any weapon, unless Steve counted the prosthetic. He was tense, but not with the unnatural hyper-rigidity Steve’d come to associate with Bucky’s brainwashed assassin personality.

Was this– 

“Bucky?” Steve couldn’t quite erase the suspicion from his voice.

Bucky shifted, the metal arm came up, and Steve bolted to his feet like his cushion was on fire. 

“Steve, relax. You’re fine.” Bucky stayed planted on the opposite end of the couch and his voice was soft and a little rough.

“Relax? Don’t tell me to relax. I’m relaxed. What’s- How’re you-” He scowled at his crappy articulations and tried again. “Where’s Venom?” he repeated, because ‘gone’ didn’t exactly fill in the blanks.

“It's with Eddie. Don’t worry, they’re comin’ back.”

Steve stared. Blinked. His teeth were chattering. Slowly, he lowered himself back onto the couch, curling his legs up. He was starting to get- flashes, bits and pieces. Colors, feelings, Venom and water and fuzzy happy warmth and– other stuff. Maybe that dream he’d been having wasn’t entirely in his head? He didn’t feel high, but it’d explain a lot. “I’m not worried.” he said belatedly.

“Are ya still hearin’ colors?”

Steve slowly shook his head.

“You remember what happened?”

“Yes,” he said instantly.

Bucky’s spine lost a little of its steely line as he leaned back against the cushions, giving Steve a skeptical raised brow. “Yeah?”

“Uh. Maybe… not everything,” he glanced down at himself, picked a fleck of seaweed off his arm. He got flashes of gliding through a kelp field; Venom’d still been with him then, swimming them to shore. “You wanna catch me up?” 

The phrase slipped out automatically. Wanna catch me up? had been their wartime code for everything from “how was Friday night with the fellas, sorry I missed it” to “sooo about that assassination of that KGB officer last week.” It was hard not to default to old habits. It wasn’t like he and Buck had been in the same place at the same time for more than five minutes in this new century unless it was to pummel each other. They had no new habits that weren’t strike, duck, block, fire. 

Well, Steve’s one new habit was dropping by the lab in Wakanda to stare at Bucky’s frozen face behind the glass. Acid was working its way up the back of Steve’s throat.

Bucky’s face reverted to stone and he sat rigid, practically at attention, and proceeded to deliver a mission report so exacting and comprehensive it would have brought tears to the eyes of every paper pusher in SHIELD HR, starting with the moment Bucky’d defrosted to the news that Steve’d taken another unexpected plunge off an aircraft into the briny deep. 

And the longer Bucky talked, the more the acid rose and roiled and burned. Surveillance, interviews, itineraries, crime scenes and incident logs all timestamped with precision. And in between, the real story. Nights in crappy motels, terrible food eaten on a rickety table with knees bumping together underneath, cold coffee and warm beers. Glitter. Shared moments of hope and despair, insults and in-jokes and nicknames and everything Steve had been starving for for seventy goddamn motherfucking years.

He couldn’t wrap his head around it. He couldn’t tell if he was sick or furious because they both tasted like he’d swallowed fire, and right at this very moment he wished he really could bite Bucky's head off, could eat him alive and that wasn’t fucking fair and he knew he had no right to even think it but there it was. After the dumpsters and the scrounging and the fucking endless, endless bars of candy that kept you going just long enough to feel it worse next time, Steve knew about starving. He did. 

This was the kind of hunger you could die of. 

“So what you’re tellin’ me, is you wouldn’t give me five minutes to talk to you before running headfirst for the nearest freezer, but you and Eddie-friggin’-Brock are pallin’ around takin’ a Canadian getaway vacation together as soon as I’m outta the picture?

Bucky’s eyes closed slow, then blinked open. There was somebody behind them now. Somebody annoyed. “For Pete’s sake Steve I heard enough’a that inferiority complex crap already and I honestly thought you were less insecure than Eddie freakin' Brock but I guess you always gotta go the extra mile. We were looking for you, ya dumbass. I thought you were kidnapped by the alien, and Eddie was the only one who knew anything about it. He was…useful.”

“Uh huh.” Steve crossed his arms, trying to make it less obvious that he was shivering, but Bucky noticed, of course.

“You want a blanket? Some dry clothes?”

“No. I don’t want a fucking blanket, I wanna spend an hour with you where you’re not tryin’ to run for the exit!”

“Well Steve, I want you to pull your head outta your ass. Not everything’s about you.”

“Sure seems about me. You were nappin’ in your cozy little Wakandan ice box till what, suddenly a ping went off in your brain that said ‘oh hell, Steve’s in a jam, better swoop in and save him?” 

Bucky’s eyes widened, incredulous. “You were robbin’ corner stores and exploding outta phone booths in broad daylight, and getting thrown in the drunk tank. You were eating fucking brains!”

Steve slammed his fist on the back of the couch. “I was fine,” he snapped, taking a deliberate breath and leaning forward and biting out his next words with what he thought was some truly excellent restraint, “I had it under control. I didn’t need you to drag a civilian all over the continent trying to track me down–”

“Looked to me like you needed a hand. Or did you want me to leave ya to bite off a couple more heads first?”

Steve flew to his feet, restraint out the window. “You didn’t wait until the head-biting to start your little world tour rescue mission!”

Bucky rose to meet him, jabbing a metal finger in his direction. “Apparently you couldn’t wait to jump in the ocean and drown again.”

Steve pushed Bucky’s hand to one side, closing the distance between them. “Well you didn’t wait five minutes before you shoved yourself in cold storage!”

Chest heaving, Steve glared up at Bucky, who glared back. Strike, duck, block, fire. 

Now was the kinda moment, Steve thought, where Venom would have an opinion about his myriad failures as a host and a partner, but there was nothing in his head except a swirling sucking cyclone of feelings he couldn’t look at straight.

Having out-loud two-sided conversations took so much more work than getting his thoughts read straight from the source. 

On the upside, nothing was caressing his spleen, so he’d deal.

Problem was, Bucky’d always been the one to get them out of these blind alleys Steve’s temper got them into. Bucky the smooth talker. Bucky the charmer, with the crooked smile, slap on the back and the peace offering. Look just forget it Stevie, let’s go get a drink. Steve the grumpy sidekick, with a chip on his shoulder bigger’n he was. 

Not real fair, come to think. 

Were feelings ever fair? 

For some reason the question carried the melodious accents of the Wakandan therapist Steve’d seen exactly once before deciding he was too busy and had other very serious and important things to do in the world. When he’d informed Nat of this decision she’d shrieked with laughter and then knuckle punched him in the kidney on her way to the quinjet cockpit. 

Fuck. 

Well. Lots of shit was different now. Strike, duck, block–no. He and Bucky had always fought, pushing and shoving and snarling like a couple’a dogs, but that hadn’t been the whole of them. He wouldn’t let that become the one thing that remained. Time for some new goddamned habits. 

Steve made himself sit back down and take a breath and not spit any more of the vitriol jammed up in his throat. He forced his fists to unclench. There were little half moon indents in his palms where his nails had dug in. He took another deep breath and blew it out.  

“I was only in lockup for a few hours.”

“Six hours thirty eight minutes. Good job with the asshole in the purple shirt by the way.”

“Thanks. Also I uh, got shot. Just a little– but Venom fixed it. You probably missed that part, we were out on an ice floe somewhere.”

There was a grinding noise from the metal fist at Bucky's side. “Okay,” he said evenly, sitting back down so he and Steve were eye-to-eye again.

Steve sighed, the acid in his gut subsiding. He stared at his reflection in the highly polished coffee table. “The cannibalism was– kinda much. I guess.” 

“I thought so.”

They sat there for a while, carefully not looking at each other. A small china clock on the mantel was ticking the minutes away. There were so many goddamn minutes, and Steve knew he was crap at all this– talking stuff. He groped for a way out of this blind alley; it was so much easier to run around punching walls.

“We can’t get a dog, Steve.”

Oh thank Christ. He looked up, ready to grab hold of whatever olive branch Bucky was holding out. Then the words actually filtered into his brain. Wait, what?

“Wait, what?”

Bucky was looking at Steve out from under his stupid caterpillar eyebrow in that way that Steve remembered finding weirdly adorable back when their fights had been over dirty socks and bootleg liquor. His hair was sticking up all around the goggle strap, and he reached up and slid them off finally, rested them in his lap. Long strands fell forward around his face. “We can’t take care of a dog.”

Oh, the conversation in the car. When he’d been stoned out of his mind on octogod juice,  which he not only now remembered, but could actually not forget. Jeezus. “We could get one if we wanted,” Steve muttered mulishly. He dropped his eyes again, scowled and picked at calcifying sea monster slime on his pantleg, “What are you, a model citizen now? Gonna file your taxes and get a dental plan?”

Bucky sighed and stared past Steve’s head, in that way he did when he was being the bigger man and refusing to engage with Steve’s bullshit. It’d been infuriating then and it was infuriating now. “I won't be here.”

Steve felt his blood pressure ratchet back up. “Oh yeah? Wanna tell me where you’re goin’?”

Bucky let the question hang there, sitting corpse still while the yellow glow of the afternoon sun somehow failed to touch him; he looked just as pale as he had on ice.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Steve was back on his feet and it put him eye to eye with still-seated Bucky because he was a solid wall of muscle these days, and screw new habits, Steve wanted to punch him in his stupid face.

“Stevie–”

“Don’t you ‘Stevie’ me you goddamned jerk, why the hell would you even think about running back into the freezer when we finally- no. You know what? No.” Steve got right in Bucky’s face, jamming a finger against one pumped up armoured pectoral. “I’m not.” Jab. “Not letting you-” Jab. “-kill yourself again. We are getting a goddamned dog, and a life and nobody is killing themselves anymore!”

Bucky abruptly stood, forcing Steve to take a halfstep back. He was now staring into a wall of chest. “Oh yeah?” Bucky took a step forward, forcing Steve back another half step till he felt the coffee table bump his calves. “That mean you too, huh Steve? You gonna stop jumping outta planes? You gonna stop running headfirst into gunfire? You gonna-”

“Yes!” Steve stood his ground, grabbing Buck's upper arms and giving him a shake that moved his mass of muscle not at all. “Yes. I am. I wanna-”

“You wanna what.”

Steve was breathing in hard whistles through his nose and Bucky’s stare was sharp as icepicks, daring him. The metal arm thrummed, mechanical bicep shuddering in Steve’s sweaty grip. Neither of them blinked.

“What do you want Steve,” Bucky repeated, voice softening. 

“I wanna–”

Bucky waited, but Steve was getting tripped up, the words were stuck. Warm fingers slid over his cheek. Then, gently, Bucky’s voice- “C’mon Stevie. Won’t kill ya to say it out loud.”

Steve huffed a sound that wasn’t a laugh. “You sure.” 

“Promise.”

Steve closed his eyes. 

“I wanna. Live.”  

Bucky was silent. Steve pulled back so he could catch his eyes again, and found them full of doubt, but also hope, and that endless patience Steve’d been trying to be worthy of since forever. 

“I mean it,” Steve insisted. “Look, I’ve been frozen and drowned and possessed and eaten alive and dabbled in cannibalism, and that’s just in the last week. I think I’m ready to give the other thing a try. I do. I wanna have a life.”

“You’re telling me you changed all your priorities ‘cause you had some close calls?” Bucky tapped the crooked arch of Steve’s nose in a way that’d’ve gotten anybody else a bitten finger. ”You? Captain into-the-jaws-of-death Rogers?”

“You’re never gonna let me forget that one, are ya.” Steve blew out a breath and let his chin drop to a less combative angle. It figured that even after all Bucky’s much more dire crucible of close calls, his priority was still not letting Steve get away with even a little bullshit. 

“Fine. Look. Truth is I been sharing my brain with an alien for the last however many weeks. And, you know. My body. I’m used to weird shit happening to me, but V’s…a whole other level. They got some real out there ideas about a lotta things. How to be a person. How to…well. Meaning of life stuff.” 

“You got a peek through a different window.”

“Whole ‘nother neighborhood, Buck.”

“And you’re sure you’re not high or possessed right now.”

Steve popped Bucky on the shoulder. Ow, armor, right. “Not even a little,” he said, rubbing his knuckles.

“Yeah?”

“I mean, I’m not saying I wanna move to Florida and lie on the beach or nuthin’.”

“It is hard to picture you gettin’ a tan.”

“Shut up. I’m always gonna help people, but maybe I don’t need to be on the speed dial of whatever agency is running this week’s crisis. I wanna do the other stuff too. Get a dog. Get a house.” 

“Get married?”

There was a pause, during which Steve felt a fire engine blush break out on his cheeks and travel hotly all the way down past his collar. He squirmed in the shadow of Bucky’s body, suddenly not sure what to do with his hands, and wound up with them resting on Bucky’s hips. His palms were sweating. He swallowed. Smiled crookedly. “You finally gonna lemme make an honest woman outta you Barnes?”

An ironic eyebrow. “I only been askin’ for your hand for near on a century now. You were the one chasing after a new cause every week.” 

Bucky was looking at him very straight now, and for once Steve couldn’t tell what he was thinking. They had talked over, under, and around this till they’d made themselves dizzy, but there’d always been bills or illness or war, or one of them had turned into an ice cube for a century or so. It occurred to Steve distantly that at this exact moment he wasn’t lookin’ like what one might call a catch, what with the octopus snot and the smell and being back to ninety pounds of temper and cowlicks. His knees had gone shaky. 

Finally, Bucky shook his head slowly. “I am never.” His eyes had started to crinkle at the corners. “Never ever. Gonna let you forget you first proposed to me in the back seat of that shlimazel’s car while you were high on giant octopus spit.”

And Steve was suddenly back in 1938 in a shabby cabbage smelling tenement and that was his guy grinning at him like he was a whole lotta trouble. That look always made him go hot and weak and Steve couldn’t breathe for a second. 

“I know right? I can’t believe they made me into a role model,” he said. 

“They obviously didn’t know you like I do.”

Bucky’s hands threaded into his hair and pulled him in close, and then he was leaning down and pressing their mouths together and Steve’s jitters melted into warm, warm, warm. 

“Hey guys, want some coffee?” 

Steve jerked around. A tall wiry guy was standing in the doorway from Anne’s kitchen holding a serving tray with a carafe and some mugs on it. The metal bicep under Steve’s right hand hissed like a pissed off slinky and he turned back to find Bucky with a look that promised homicide and a shallow grave.  

“Not really the time Dan.”

“Sure, how about some tea? Everyone likes tea.”

“Dan. Scram.”

“Right, okay.” The guy–Dan, apparently–turned on his heel and ferried his tray and his good cheer back out of the room.

“Buddy really don’t pick up on social cues,” Bucky grumbled.

“Pot n’ kettle Barnes.” Steve’s hot cheeks were cooling. Buck sank into the couch. Steve noticed again that he was in sock-feet and it made his insides feel some kinda way that the guy who’d slept in his boots for most of 1944 was relaxed enough to hang out on some lady’s sofa with only one layer of cotton between him and the world. Well, one layer of cotton plus full on tac gear and about sixteen guns, but still. It seemed a positive sign.

Bucky grasped his hands and tugged. Steve let himself fold down into Bucky’s lap with no resistance and laid his head on one burly shoulder. Home had used to smell like sweat and motor oil, Brylcreem and beer. But he sat breathing in the scent of leather and gunpowder (and, faintly, something herbal that was probably hair product, because not everything changed forever) and there it was. Family. Home.

They sat for a while and listened to the sounds of Anne and Dan and the swat kids clattering around and cooking something in the kitchen- probably breakfast based on the smells. There was a news broadcast droning on from somewhere. The clock on the mantel kept ticking to itself.

Steve wrapped his fists in the stupid straps of Bucky’s armor and let himself have this. 

(Part of him desperately wanted to hear Buck call him “Stevie” again. Even thinking it made something in him want to curl up and die. Maybe after all it would be worth seeing that nice Wakandan therapist again at some point, on the off chance there was a way to sort out all his crap. Jeezus. Nat could never know.) 

“Stevie.” 

Steve’s eyes prickled and he mashed his face against Buck’s neck. Buck was carding his fingers through Steve’s overly long hair. It felt unbearably good. “Yeah, Buck?”

“You smell like the docks in August.”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes closed. “Suck it up, Barnes.”

Minute after minute. It’d been longer than he could remember since there’d been so many nice minutes in a row. But he had to ruin it, ‘cause he needed to know.

“Buck?” 

“Yeah?”

“How are you doing, really,” he asked carefully, because he didn’t have the guts to ask straight. Imprisonment, brainwashing, torture, murder… a whole file full of hell. And the war before that. 

The familiar smile was still there, but it wavered a little, like a sign with some of the letters flickering.

“I can’t say its not a pretty fucked up mess in here,” Bucky tapped his temple with one finger, “but I got my moments. I’m at least some of a whole guy now. Workin’ on it.”

“I guess we both got stuff to work on.” Steve dropped his head back to Bucky’s shoulder, then raised it again as a thought occurred. “Hey, you know Venom could maybe. Um. Help. With the mess, I mean. The control words part. They’re good with brain stuff.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed and for a moment the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “When I want anybody’s input on my ‘brain stuff’, I’ll goddamn say so. And don’t hold your breath.”

Steve opened his mouth but Bucky’s eyes narrowed further and he closed it. Steve was…he was letting this go. For now. His theoretical therapist would be proud. “Okay. Okay then. Hey,” he said, pivoting awkwardly, “what happened after we got here?” He still couldn’t fit the final bits of the day together coherently. “Where’s V now? And Brock?”

Bucky’s face tightened in distaste. “The parasite you seem to be on a first name–excuse me, first initial–basis with now, is back with Eddie. It–they–went to take care of loose ends.”

Right. Andersen. The agreement. Crap, the agreement! Steve sat up and started to squirm his way out of Bucky’s lap. “Alright, let’s go. We can catch up with them. I just need some shoes and–”

“Hey hold up. Shoes ain’t all that’s missin’.” 

“What do we need? You got ammo?”

“Yeah, yeah I got plenty ammo, but. Uh. You’re not exactly in fighting form, pal.” Bucky was…he was being tactful. 

Why the hell was…oh. Steve looked down at himself. Right. He was still normal, not a single big jacked up muscle in sight. He inhaled, half expecting a wheeze, but his lungs were clear.

Bucky was watching him from under his brows again, a little wary. Because it wasn’t like Steve used to go off like a grenade at the slightest implication he was below par, or anything. But the place inside that’d held that particular well of bitterness seemed strangely clean and bare. 

“You’re right, I’m not.” He held a hand up and flexed it. It was just a hand, kinda gangly. Perfectly serviceable, though less versatile than a tentacle for sure. “The serum- Venom said they were blocking it before, but I thought once they left I’d go back to how I was.”

“Yeah well, I don’t think a hundred some pounds of muscle grows back in four hours unless you got a Vita Ray machine in the garage.”

“You got a point. I guess Venom and Brock can handle it.” Steve tucked his hands back around Bucky’s neck, and then caught his look. Which was definitely a look. “What. What is that about?”

“Nuthin’. This is just…maybe gonna take some getting used to.”

“What is.” 

“You. Not flinging yourself face first into blue ruin every five minutes. No, no, fuck! Stoppit! You’re gonna hurt yer’ hands I’m in armor chucklehead.”

Steve stopped punching and let Bucky capture his hands. “Probly’ just gave yourself bruises,” Buck said, rubbing them. “Do you feel okay though? Without the serum, I mean.” 

“Yeah. M’fine,” he answered, and his stomach picked that moment to emit a pronounced series of empty gurgles. Smooth, Rogers. “Uh. Maybe kinda hungry,” he amended, ears going hot again.

Bucky was still holding his hands, and at Steve’s words his expression shifted, eyes gone heavy and warm. He lifted one of them towards his mouth and Steve, who knew this blue eyed son of a bitch better than his own soul, was absolutely certain he was about to come out with some horrible line about another kinda “hungry,” which he would deliver in his huskiest whiskey voice and which would, inevitably and embarrassingly, melt Steve like butter in July. 

So it was a good thing Anne picked that moment to come through the doorway from the other room. Steve pried Bucky’s palm offa his middle and scrambled to his feet. Bucky rose more slowly and with a certain grumpy aura, and Steve realized again that he only came to Bucky’s shoulder now. His incredibly brawny shoulder. Hell, Bucky could probably pick him up and- Steve needed to stop thinking about this right now immediately.  

“Miss Weying,” he said quickly, trying to straighten his back and erase the caught-red-handed expression from his face. Anne had upgraded her middle of the night robe into a blouse and high-waisted slacks, and her hair was tidied up for the day. Steve, by comparison, could smell the seaweed and alien god slime on himself, and he and Bucky’d been damn near camped out in the middle of her home all morning. 

“Captain Rogers, you’re awake. Perfect timing.”

“What do you mean?” He ignored the grumble about “timing” that issued from just over his shoulder. 

“Take a look for yourself.” Anne bent to grab the remote from the coffee table and clicked the television on, switching it to CNN.

…the alien versus alien battle playing out in San Francisco Bay over the last 48 hours has taken an unexpected turn. After inflicting millions of dollars of damage on city infrastructure, the mysterious creature known as the Kraken ceased its destructive rampage after a second alien, known for some years as a resident of the city, succeeded in establishing communications with the marine invader. City officials are lauding the muscled monster as a hometown hero.

The footage cut to a very pale reporter holding a microphone as far away from herself as her arms would allow, the Bay in the background, and in the distance the Kraken carefully scooping cars out of the water and setting them back on the bridge.

“Do you have anything to say to the people of San Francisco? Mr.-uh-Mr. Alien, sir?”

Venom crowded in and hunched low, breathing a gust of static into the mic for a moment before it cleared. “YES!” they boomed, and the reporter visibly shuddered, but held her ground as drool poured over her hand and flecked against the camera lens. She squinted up the wall of shiny black chest. “What should we call you?”

Venom visibly puffed up, eyes slitting. “WE,” they growled with apparent (to Steve) affection, “ARE VENOM!” The boom of their voice echoed over the mic and they leapt straight up, clearing the news van and latching onto the brick of the closest walkup, hurling themselves up and out of frame.

The camera cut back to the startled anchor. “Well, there you have it, San Francisco.”

Steve shook his head. “Venom really has the superhero gig down more than any of us. We should get them together with Natasha.” He grinned up at Bucky and found him gazing back in a way that was very definitely a gaze. Jeezus Barnes, you shameless hussy, not right here in front of our hostess and her two dozen porcelain tchotchkes and the goddamn cable news. Steve blushed again and whipped his eyes back to the TV. 

On the screen was a panned out shot of the Bay, the gigantic ocean god in full view and full color, its skin flashing blues and green and pinks, and Venom was- riding it?

Steve laughed out loud. Then Buck slid an arm around his waist and pulled him close. Anne and her tchotchkes stopped existing. The corners of Bucky’s mouth curled in a smile Steve had missed for so long that missing it had almost become part of him, like a broken limb that’d never healed straight. The tips of Bucky’s teeth showed, a little uneven. He was hollow eyed, and stubbled, a little broken, and so, so beloved. 

The smile became more crooked, edged into shit eating. “Sooo…”

“Oh jeezus.”

“I don’t wanna tear you away from your torrid affair with the news cycle or nuthin’…”

“Not this again-”

“I mean, I know where I stand, it's fine, I’d never come between you-”

“It was once, one time, maybe twice, I asked you to wait five minutes for a broadcast before mackin’ all over me–there was a war on! Not like we had the goddamn internet, I needed to hear what was–”

Bucky shut him up. 

It was…real nice. 

The mantel clock did some more respectful ticking and then a polite chime. 

“Uh, Captain America sir? Mister Soldier?“

The red haired swat infant was standing awkwardly in the kitchen doorway. 

“Um, sorry to uh. Sorry to interrupt, but I mean.”

The way the kid was practically wringing his hands seemed kinda uncharacteristic of a hardened minion of the state. Steve, filled for the moment with expansive generosity toward the world and everybody in it, felt a little bad for him. “Just spit it out, son.”

“The cops are here.”

Expansive generosity: gone. Steve felt the bolt of adrenaline rocket simultaneously through his body and Bucky’s like they were one person. Their eyes met. It had gone wrong. The world sucked so of course it had gone wrong, and now they’d have to deal with the fallout and both their minds were instantly calculating a dozen scenarios–

“Yeah, they say you need to move your jet.”

What. 

“It’s blocking the ebike parking.”

Steve stared. Bucky huffed and dropped his chin to rest on top of Steve’s head, then started jerking a bit in an odd way, and after a moment Steve realized he was actually. Fucking. Laughing silently into Steve’s hair. His hair, Steve thought vaguely through the shivery backwash of his entire limbic system resetting out of emergency mode, was probably not very aromatic at the moment, regardless of how much organic vanilla shampoo he and V had guzzled on the plane. And one of Bucky’s chest buckles was digging into his cheek. 

He didn’t care. He and Bucky were propped up against each other like two tent stakes after a storm and he was not moving for anything shy of apocalypse. “Okay. We’ll take care of it.”

The kid left. After a couple minutes during which neither of them went to take care of it, Bucky said, “Steve.”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Before the dog or the wedding or anything…”

“Uh huh?”

“How ‘bout we get our own living room.”

“Sure, Buck.”

“And our own bedroom.”

“Sounds good.”

“With a lock.”

“Yeah, one’uh them.”

“With a good goddamn door.”