Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain

rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain

I am Toxin.

blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood 

You are my host, Patrick and I am your symbiote.  

blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood 

blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood 

You need to take out your devices . We’ll talk later. 

rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain

blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood 

rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain

blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood 

rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain

rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain

rain rain rain rain rain rain rain 

rain 

ra 

Hospital. He was in the hospital. 

Sanitized, scratchy bedsheet, an IV hooked to his hand, and bandages across his torso. Voices yelling, chatter as a backdrop as he sorted his thoughts into a coherent manner. 

The air was also sanitized and sterile, uncomfortably so as he breathed it in. Nausea spiked as he turned his head, and locked his gaze onto the monitor. The beeping quickened and slowed, as he looked at his surroundings.

As a cop, you should really be used to hospitals. 

No nurse, no doctor, he was alone. Shifting, he winced, the expected stitches tugging on his skin being nonexistent.

The beeping got faster.

Especially if you got impaled that hard.

Who was that–

“You look like shit, Mulligan.” 

Looking up, a familiar pair of sweat and eyebags looked down at him, holding his phone and a bursting plastic bag.

What the hell was Eddie doing here?

Oh shit, he’s got one of us. 

“Do you hear that?”

“Hm?” He looked up from his screen, and glanced around. “What do you mean?”

“That…voice.”

Are you ignoring me, Patrick?

“Um, no. Are you doing okay in this hospital? Do they need to move you?”

“No, no. It’s fine. Thanks for coming.” 

Screw you, then.

“No problem, I wanted to drop off something for you. I felt really bad about you getting impaled at the cathedral, so I got something from a neat little place I live right by. Ms. Chen said you’d love this.”

“You really do like that convenience store, huh?”

”What can I say, she’s very accommodating.”

He proceeded to plop the plastic bag down on his lap. He stared for a moment, and then proceeded to pull the handles out of the knot, and peer inside.

That’s a…lot of chocolate. Bars, nuggets, and little balls of cacao. 

Why did Eddie think he’d like this?

Thank fuck. 

What?

“...Thanks.”

“No problem. Thanks for taking that look of warmed–up shit off of me for a day. You wear the depression well.”

And with that, he walked out the door.

How did he even get in here? How did that little freak of a reporter get clearance into a cop’s hospital room?

His symbiote probably broke into here for him. 

Where in god’s name was that voice coming from? He turned around, and no one was there. Who was speaking to him? 

I’m right here, Patrick. Take your little devices off. 

“Devices? What–”

The ones on your ears, dumbass.

“My hearing aids?” 

If that’s what they are, then. Take them the fuck off, they’re infuriating. 

“I need these to hear, you…whatever you are.” 

Take. Them. Off. You’ll still understand me.

He reached his ears, why is he taking them off he’s not doing that  and detached them.

I’m a symbiote. I’ve told you this before.

He could…hear it. Still. A voice echoing through his head. 

“…huh.”

Silence. 

“Wait, a what ?”

Check that wound of yours. 

“...okay.”

Pulling the fabric away from the skin, expecting blood, bruise and stitches, there was–

Nothing.

“...monster.”

What?

“Monster. You–you’re the red thing, that weird little moving costume Kasady wore and now you’re inside me.” 

 Carnage–?

“Monster. I’m experiencing delusions. I need to tell a nurse, a doctor, somebody in this building.” 

You will be telling nobody. 

“Monster. Monster, you’re a parasite, a-”

I am not a parasite, you ass. We are Toxin. 

Patrick started laughing, soft snickers from the base of his throat.

“You–this–you’re not anything. I’m–”

The host. 

Tendril. 

Goop blasted out of blue, wet, murk behind his back, flying fast.

Glass shattered from the (former) window, exposing the high drop below. What the fuck. 

Grab the good bag. You teach me and I will teach you, Patrick. I want to explore.

The tendril hooked the side of the window frame, and proceeded to propel Patrick out of the door.

He faltered and panicked, wind blasting in his face, as it retracted and moved to his hands. Grasping metal, the shnkkkk of its hands clawed into the infrastructure.

Chapter Text

They gazed down, down to the concrete where a figure stood, frozen with fear and holding a smoking gun. Bank robbers . Because of course.

Their face covered by a ski mask, someone else elbowed their back and motioned frantically to follow.

Another one sped past them and threw themselves into a dingy car, while  tossing some duffel bag over to the trunk.

weeeoooweeeeoooweeeooo

I don’t like that noise.

Police sirens filled the air, the shrieks forcing Pat to wince. He’d never flinched at their sound before, but that thing in him seemed to internally recoil at it. They weren’t even loud—but the harshness of the sound, the decibel level was off-putting in an odd way.

“Those are…”

How on earth is he explaining organized crime and theft to an alien who he’s only been aware of for the last 25 minutes?

“They’re criminals. And…they’re not good.”

Fine enough of an explanation. 

Can we chase them? They seem interesting.

“No.”

God knew they were already screwed with the “jumping out of the hospital building and digging goop claws into the infrastructure”, chasing people in broad daylight and doing god-knows-what else when they’re found would really just be the nail in the coffin for this absolute clusterfuck of an existence.

But they are not good. You say you’re a cop, Patrick. Aren’t you dedicated to stopping “not good”? Moral code?

“Even as a cop, I was more solving cases than chasing in cars and—damnit, just get us down!”

If you say so.

The drop was not pleasant. But he landed on his feet—which somehow were not broken— and holding the creased and crinkled bag. The piece of plastic at this point looked like it had seen the battlefield and come out a different man (or bag).

We cannot forget the bag.

“I’m not forgetting the bag.”

I can cover if you need to.

He had to chuckle at that. After all that, it was worried about being seen now?

“Cover for what?”

If we chase those people. I have a way that’ll work out for us.

“We’re not-“

I want to explore. I can explore this, and get fed at the same time.

“Fed?!”

That thing cannot be suggesting-

Let’s go eat them.

“No. No you are not eating people, what is wrong with you-“

A voice in his head started snickering.

You thought I was the one giving you looks.

Oh. Him muttering to himself about cannibalism in his hospital pajamas must have caught the eyes of passersby, as the some of the San Francisco’s crowds’s eyes noticeably turned towards him.

Hi!

He smiled horribly, gums showing and teeth bared, and only garnered more looks.

weeeoooweeeeoooweeeooo

The sirens were still going off, faint and sharp as they were before.

We should—

He sighed. God, he needed a cigarette.

“Fuck, fine. You win.”

Actually?

He smothered to curiosity with a clipped, irritated yes. At least he supposedly wouldn’t have to show his face anymore.

Well, then let’s go have fun.

Chapter Text

Cars are entertainingly malleable, Pat.

“They’re not…”

But the glass of the window shattered to bits anyway, spraying all over the concrete-but the large, full formed symbiote did not care.

Patrick Mulligan has had many regrets in life, but he thinks this tops most entries on the list.  It feels…odd. Not painful, not wrong. He is in the backseat of his own body-but that body is also shared, not really his own, but more ours.

It was definitely a sight, to see blue, veiny hands shining like slick oil from two feet higher than he was used to.

A green tongue, sharp teeth, a—

what was even happening?

He did know, though, that oh shit

“we are NOT eating the CIVILIAN—“

You look fun.

The poor guy Toxin picked up, some middle-class man with a hat and a plaid jacket now covered in spit.

(Maybe? What even was coming out of that thing’s mouth right now?)

The poor guy was trembling in fear, held only by his white shirt.

“Please, please, don’t kill me, please I have a daughter-“

His begging and pleading gave no reaction to Toxin, who stood there and eyed his prey.

“Toxin, we are not eating him. What is wrong with you, goddamnit?”

“Please, please please please—“

Quiet. All organisms need fuel.

“Can you just…not?”

There’s a stiff sigh in his bones, a resigned feeling in his head. A sense to not push what was already given.

Fine, fine, but we still need to eat. Can we have the criminals?

“I’d really rather you not.”

Is it a no?

“Ask me later.”

Fine, you buzzkill.

When they looked back onto the ground, the man had gone and scrambled off. The sirens had returned, just as infuriating as they had been.  They had not been caught, the police still on their incessant chase.

He knew what it was going to ask.

“Just do it already.”

Now, he had said that to Toxin about ten seconds ago, and Patrick ten seconds in the future was internally bashing himself for such a choice.

Because a large, shiny man-shaped creature jumping off of buildings like a feral animal was both nerve wracking from a point of preservation and doing dangerous shit, and the fact that there were people in those cars that saw that thing and were witnesses to the thing.

First the hospital, then the guy, and now an entire line of traffic.

“Make this quick. Please. I can’t take this anymore.”

A chuckle rumbled through him, a grin pulling on the sharp smile as claws and legs blitzed through the asphalt and concrete of the street.

‘Quick’ is subjective.

“It’s really not.”

20 miles away in a dingy apartment, famed and infamous journalist Eddie Brock flopped onto his couch and sighed.

“I feel bad for the guy, you know? Sure, he had a stick up his ass sometimes, but he was working a case with Kasady. I can’t blame him for that at least, and god knows what else he’s seen at his time on the force.”

Black tendrils forming from his back, they wrapped around his arms in a comforting motion as he placed his hands on his head.

Hopefully he’ll recover soon. He should not have survived that cathedral, though.

“Yeah, i’m still stumped about that one too, buddy.”

He slumped, the goop coiling tighter and intense around his forearms. It was sweet of Venom, really but they didn’t have to do this.

Whatever. He fished the remote from the cushions, and clicked the TV to the news station. A woman in a blue suit, reporting “a monster found terrorizing the streets of the Tenderloin—“

Eddie leaned in. A fuzzy picture of a…man? No, too shiny. More like a…

Symbiote.

“That’s…not good.”

Oh shit.

Chapter Text

He’d already said this before, back in bars or to rookies in the police center, but Pat admits to having many regrets in his life. He should have gotten Frances Barrison in the head, for instance. Ended a story before it began. 

But he didn’t, and he was now middle aged, partially deaf and running through the streets of San Francisco with nothing but alien goop running through his veins and his thoughts to keep him company.

He tried to zone out. He really tried to. Escaping for a split second this 35–minute–so–far horror story would be a godsend, but he could not. Perhaps it was from the rushing wind, the cracking asphalt, the screeching of tires on the road he couldn’t really hear but could see. 

But at least it had promised to be quick, so he was really trying to work with that “promise”. 

Adrenaline seeded into his bones, excitement in his head. 

I think we are here, Patrick. 

Claws digging into concrete, they set sight on a familiar dingy car and figure in a ski mask in front of a bank. They whispered something into their radio before noticing and frantically murmuring something else and booking it into the car. Toxin, however, was faster. They smashed into the car window, glass shooting into the symbiote’s skin and into the criminal. 

“You could have just ripped the door off or something! What the hell was that for?”

They’re fragile anyways. 

“Get–get away from me!”  

They desperately backed away, their eyes wide and mouth agape. Their hand went behind their back, and they saw fingers fumble at the belt, grabbing a black, metallic handle. 

What are you doing?

Toxin grabbed the arm with a death grip and kneed the person into the car seat, prying the gun away from his hand. Some faint snaps were there, but ignored as the symbiote fiddled with the object. 

What is this, Pat?

“Put that down.” 

Why should we? 

“Put. That. Down.”

What is this part, then?

The blue finger resting on the trigger, they fiddled with it a couple of times before growing tired of the gun–but not before the culprit tried to book it, slamming the emergency lock and pushing the door open with their body weight. Startled, they jerked their finger on the trigger–a sick, quiet crack through the hip. They fell down part way on the seat, their arm lolling through the car door as they screamed wildly in pain. 

That was disappointing. At least it is still edible. 

“Edible. Oh god. ” 

It is later. You said to eat them rather than the other one. 

“I–I–”

I am hungry. 

They grabbed their shoulders, shaking with fear and terror in their eyes as squelch. 

There was no more head, a bloody stump.

“...I–wh..”

Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God he ate someone. They had no head–a stump. He had seen this in cases–no head, beheaded, chopped off, stolen, kidnapped, but he–him. That was him. 

Are you alright? 

A snort came from inside, and then a laugh. Low and painful, on the brink of tears.

“Alright? Alright? You–you ate that guy. I ate that guy. Holy fuck.”

Fuel is fuel, why are you so worried about it?

“What is wrong with you? Are you stupid?”

we are not stupid. 

“I am the one catching people eating people or taking their heads off. I am doing that. I’m a–a–”

Monster. We are a monster, now?

Pat gripped the faux, ripped to hell leather of the car seat, clinging desperately. It was him, there for a second, him and not it.

Confusion ran through his veins, simple and genuine.

It’s just hunger, though.

And just after that, a burst of pain shot through them, and turning around revealed to be the other two criminals. They stood tall as they could, but anyone could see them trembling, shaking from fear. Glancing at their fallen companion, the one with the duffel bag pulled out and cocked his gun, aiming at the creature. It smiled wide and sharp for both to see, crawling out of the front seat. 

Those things are so dull. 

Beneath the sounds of carnage and gunshots, of sticky, disgusting sounds crunching and biting, a figure hid behind a massive recycling bin. Thumbing the cool metal, a black tendril came out of his back, and hesitated. 

Chapter Text

The first thing that Pat woke up to was the smell of charred tater tots.

The clattering of metal on toaster ovens and the soft squabbling of two voices floating around the room, tired eyes gazed over to the exposed brick on the walls.

Where are we?

“Wh….”

What had happened? He was in the hospital and Eddie came over and then—

Oh. Then everything else happened.

It would be too strong a stroke of luck for them to be simply kidnapped at this point. Gripping the faux leather of the couch, observing the surroundings, it was a small studio apartment. A dingy and beaten up one, at that. Strewn across the place, there were miscellaneous items, stuffing of the couch and…chicken feathers?

“Patrick?”

He stared off before noticing his shadow growing closer, and darted his eyes to—

“Eddie?”

How the fuck did he get here? Was this his apartment? What the hell even happened to the room?

He had pulled out the burnt tater-tots from the toaster oven, threw them on a plate, and walked over to the couch where he laid. Sitting down on a ripped cushion, he pulled out a protein bar. Brown plastic shining in the light, he offered it to Pat.

Warily, he took it from his hands.

“You, uh, doing alright?”

“…..”

“Thought so.“

“Where did you find me?”

He paused.

“Passed out in a pool of blood.”

Pat froze, internally scrambling to answer, “You need to-“

He shoved a couple of tots in his mouth, and waved his hand. “No, no it’s fine.”

“Brock, I ate a man.”

We did. And it was great.

“Oh, would you shut up?”

Eddie kept eating the food on his plate, watching the man in front of him.

While this is entertaining, we should talk to him about it.

He sighed. “Yeah, yeah.”

He snapped his fingers a couple times, with Pat noticing on the last snap.

“Do you know what happened last night? Like, at all?”

Pat went stiff, grabbed Eddie’s shoulders and pulled him forward. His tone was serious and dark, as he said, in a hushed, forbidding tone:

“There’s a monster inside of me.”

Eddie sat there for a couple moments, soaking in the information before prying the hands off his shoulders and moving away.

“Well, I mean. You’re not wrong.”

He took a deep breath.

“Listen. You have a symbiote, Pat—and it is not just in you. I also have one.”

Silence.

“You what?”

Rough irritation filled the inside of his face.

I have told you this before so many times.

“I thought I was hallucinating. Shoot me.”

A black, wet tendril came out of his back, inky and dark. It formed a face, one with milky white eyes and a sharp grin. It moved up to Pat, and smiled even wider.

We are Venom, but who are you?

A voice, coming from his back, muttered something neither could hear, before crawling over Patrick’s shoulder. A cold feeling, one of eerie, disconcerting painlessness. A red, shiny face, white eyes outlined with black and a smile that matched Venom’s.

We are Toxin.

As he watched the affair, it came to him that the evening was regrettably eventful. Their respective aliens had met face to face, curiosity and fear in their bones.

Venom was eager to pry, to know and to confirm this potential danger yet they were…nervous. The potential of the 1000th in this bloodline, all the things Venom had warned him about were there. Toxin had killed just before. God knew what else had been cooking in their mind.

He sensed they were treading carefully though this scene, cautious to choose words.

Eddie decided to do it for him.

“Well, uh, Toxin, where did you come from?”

The red, iridescent face struck a look of thought, before looking back and grinning once more.

The cathedral, do you remember? How else do you think we survived?

“Ohh. Oh, that makes so much sense.”

Pat’s eyes gazed off, attempting to recollect the event.

“There was…yeah. And I woke up in the hospital, and Toxin was trying to talk to me. You were there, you gave us that bag, which I think is ripped to shreds somewhere on the street.”

A panic surged through Patrick.

No!!!

Eddie shrugged. “Eh, it’s fine. I have lots saved up. I ended up giving some to you so I wouldn’t have to eat it for the sixth day in a row.”

“Wait, didn’t you say some lady gave it to you? Do you just have…mass amounts of chocolate in your apartment?” He looked bewildered.

“It was convenient.”

Venom cut in before anyone could speak more and said,

Phenethylamine. It is a compound found in brains and chocolate, and all of us need it to survive.

Patrick paused. “Is that why…”

The heads are the best part.

He groaned, gripping the faux leather of the couch.

“Why did you need my aids out?”

It’s the frequency, Pat—it’s the sound.

“Sound?”

Eddie broke their conversation in the background, interrupting both.

“They’re weak to sound, and fire.”

He groaned. He was not fully deaf, but the aids certainly helped his subpar hearing. The world was…muted—he could hear, yet it was muddled, underwater.

But the mind-melting tinnitus always stayed in silence, something the aids only barely helped. Perhaps it was some silver lining that this creature’s incessant talk would maybe distract from it.

Alas, placing his face in his hands, he sighed. Fuck him.

How was he supposed to manage this? Like a father? A spouse? Could he even stay a cop—what, with that entire shitshow? Was he destined to stay a husk of a host, a sack of meat to possess?

Something deep and guttural in his gut—

Do not say that.

Eddie, who got up and was now awkwardly standing in the corner, grabbed a couple more burnt tater tots from the toaster oven, spurt ketchup on them, and offered them to Pat.

“Would you want pointers?”

“For what?”

“Toxin, Pat. I’ve had a year of experience with my own symbiote. We can…try.”

He took the plate, though he was not as hungry as earlier. He looked at it, contemplating the offer for a split second before looking up and saying, laced with desperation,

“Please.”

He breathed in, and breathed out before grabbing another tater tot, popping it in his mouth and clapping his hands together.

”Alright.”

Chapter Text

It was surprisingly hard to be a relationship counselor. For example, you had to have experience of a functional relationship as an example to your clients.

Eddie sat at his desk, typing away at his computer while Venom pestered him endlessly to drop everything and continue the Netflix binge they had started earlier.

“We can’t watch Gossip Girls right now, V. I have an article due on Tuesday.”

Please.

“Later? After the editing is finished?”

Fine. Can I watch it with the guy sleeping on the couch?

“His name is Patrick, and you also shouldn’t watch it right now because  they’re sleeping and you’ll wake them up.”

Can I watch it on mute?

Eddie sighed, not really wanting to argue at this moment.

“Tell me what happens at least.”

Will do, Eddie.

A black tendril slid onto the floor, and crawled its way up onto the top of the couch cushions. There, it fumbled and fished for the remote, attempting to avoid the sleeping man who had crashed out a couple of hours ago. Eddie had just decided to leave the poor guy alone for now.

Fortunately, they felt a familiar box jammed in the cushions and quickly grabbed it. Smashing the volume to “min”, he went onto Netflix and found the show. Settling down on the cushion, they looked at the man, sleeping soundly on the couch. Staring only for a second, they gazed at the sleeping figure—

And with that, Venom pressed ‘play’.

Pat woke up to flashing colors and bright light. For a second, he thought he was dead, but remembered that it was Eddie’s apartment, not hell. Focusing his eyes, Blake Lively was doing…something. Hm, he didn’t peg the two as fans of this kind of stuff.  

He wondered what exact show out of the thousands of similar programs he was watching, before being distracted by the tar-colored glop sitting next to his head. The television light reflected off the sheen of its body as it glanced at him, shrugged (somehow) noncommittally, and resumed watching.

The subtitles were on, yet the volume was not. Blake Lively kept doing things, but he ended up zoning out in a couple of minutes, the exhaustion catching up to him.

He looked at Venom again, now with a question.

“Hey. Uh, you.”

It looked at Pat, with mild annoyance.

We are Venom.

“Venom. Uh, okay. What are you…doing?”

We were supposed to watch Gossip Girl together, but now I must recap this episode for Eddie when it is over.

He scoffed a little. “What are you, a married couple?”

Its voice deepened a little, agitation bleeding in.

We are bonded, similar to you.

He took a quick moment to think about the fact Toxin hadn’t shown up somehow. Small miracles.

We are Venom, and Venom is we, it continued. You will see soon enough our point.

A beat of silence passed, before the credits started to roll onto the screen.

I should go to Eddie.

And it slithered away, leaving Pat with his thoughts in the cold of the apartment. He re-adjusted himself before conking out once more, the presence of his alien weighing heavy and snug in his mind as he drifted off.

Patrick woke up to a black thread lightly poking him. It was not a black thread though, but a tendril of wet ink as his vision cleared.

“How are we feeling?”

The enthusiasm was lacking in Eddie’s voice as he roused him from the couch, his back popping as he sat up. Slouching, he rubbed his bleary eyes as he pondered the question.

“Like shit.”

How fun is he, Eddie?

Eddie rolled his eyes at something, but left to the kitchen and rummaged through the freezer and pulled out a box of waffles. The cardboard was bright and stained with damp, icy spots as it was rifled through, and six sad waffles were thrown into the toaster. Did this man live entirely on microwavables and tater tots? A voice popped up from the back of his head.

You slept like a brick.

“You did too. I woke up by myself and you weren’t there with your grating alien voice.”

Your hearing is even worse than I thought.

Insecurity for a brief second flitted through–but faded as soon as it came. The clattering of dishes rang through as Eddie stiffly dropped a glass cup onto the floor, shouting “PARASITE!” at no one Pat could see. Eddie sighed, and grabbed the dingy broom in the corner and started to sweep.

Around ten minutes later, the waffles had been finished, slight charring only present on the ends of the disk. Paper plates had been provided as one had been practically thrown at his face. On purpose or on accident, it was unclear. He didn’t care at the moment however, and ate. The chocolate chip waffles were fine, he guessed. Bland, but not unpalatable.

“Do you eat anything not out of a bag?” Pat asked, partially curious. “Yknow, it might serve you well to take a break from…this.”

He sighed. “I try. You know how high rent is around here. There’s also a creature that needs to eat stupid amounts of chocolate and chickens that they won’t eat so they don’t go berserk.”

“Wait, chickens? That explains the feathers.”

His head jerked up, eyes tired and wide. “Oh crap, where did Cher go…”

I want to see the chickens. What are they?

“Chickens are birds. They have the feathers you saw earlier.”

What is a bird?

“It’s a…how do you describe it…”

The bawk-bawkkk of a chicken getting chased out of the cabinet sink alerted the two, the bird scratching and clucking all over the apartment.

“Oh. That’s a chicken, Toxin.”

I want to touch it!

“No.”

Please?

“It’s Eddie’s chicken, Toxin. You need to ask him beforehand.”

You ask them, Eddie likes you more.

“Brock, it wants to hold your chicken.”

“Oh. Uh, sure.” He snuck up on the beast, before grasping it, running up to the cop and dumping it in their lap. Glee bloomed in his mind, childlike wonder as he held the chicken steadfast in his hands.

Look at its feathers! They’re flapping!

“Glad you’re having fun.”

While holding the chicken, he looked through the window onto the street. A man in a suit looked through the glass, and nothing more. 

Odd.

Chapter Text

Can we go outside?

“Why?”

They’d been on Eddie’s couch for a couple of days, recovering from the Incident, and learning the barest of the ropes for…symbioting? Symbing?

Symbiosis.

There it is. Eddie had tried to give pointers, about compromise, reducing homicide, and other dietary needs. A lot of it sounded like marriage advice ripped from a pamphlet to him, but it was useful nonetheless.

Why not? I’d like to see what this place has to offer, other than this crappy apartment.

“Don’t mock the apartment.”

He had to give Eddie credit, for even if it looked crackhouse adjacent, it was out of a weird sense of annoyed pity that he’d even be able to crash here. His house was still there, and the rent was (probably) paid, but he did practically live at his job.

I can’t appreciate the apartment if there is nothing worse to compare it to.

“You can’t appreciate the apartment when we get arrested for homicide.”

But I don’t have to show up, you can just walk around and I can see all the things that we sped by.

“Why should I listen to you?”

Because, like Eddie said, relationships are built on compromise. Do you want to compromise about it?

“Please, shut up.” 

A laugh rumbled through his head, to which he responded with “You’re really not that funny.”

No response followed. Sensitive–ass symbiote. 

He sat for a while on the couch, nothing but the incessant ringing in his ears. Eddie was working on…something, typing away at his computer. He didn’t really seem to care what was going on, and they were growing bored. He groaned. The alien didn’t have a terrible idea. 

His clothes, though, were subject to protest. He’d just worn the pajamas from the hospital for a couple days, but they were starting to stain and dirty, perhaps from the stress of murder and world–shattering events. He spied a beaten to death jacket on the floor, and debated taking it with him. No, no. Eddie might be a weird little reporter–alien thing but he’s not just gonna steal his clothes . He had some shred of respect for the man. He paced around the small room, debating his choices. 

He won’t notice such a thing. Just take it. 

“Yes, he will. I have ethics, unlike someone here.” 

It’s not ethics. Here. 

His arm jerkily reached for the jacket, grasping it before he was puppeteered out the apartment and slamming the door. He stood there, in front of the knob. 

“Asshole.” As he descended the monotonous stairs of the complex. 

After a quick moment, they popped out the front of the building and onto the street. San Francisco was busy as ever; roads with shining cars honking at battered stoplights, businessmen and businesswomen in sleek black suits debating heatedly on their phones, and broken window glass lay astray on the asphalt. It was certainly San Francisco. The trolley drove past them, and Toxin looked upon with a sense of awe at the mass of concrete. 

There is so much, Patrick. Are all places like this? 

“Not really, it’s a big city.”

The biggest?

“No. That’d be somewhere like New York or Los Angeles.”

And how big are they?

Pat scoffed a little. "Big. Like nothing you've seen before." 

They do sound interesting.

And with that, they kept on their walk. He kept a brisk pace, head kept low, to not draw attention. It wasn’t really that glorious–it wasn’t the touristy part by any means, a tad too seedy for such. Cracked concrete and pedestrians weren't crowd pleasers, after all. They did find a 7/11 eventually, its semi-glowing sign like a beacon for them, and Toxin wanted nothing more than to go inside and explore. 

"They're not that interesting, I promise."

What does it hold? 

“It’s a convenience store, just for to-go foods and such.” He muttered. 

We should go in. Please. 

“I don’t have any money on hand, you couldn’t even get anything.” 

Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease

He was growing annoyed, but he caught a glimpse of a man in a suit, standing there, looking at them and nothing more. 

“Let’s just…”

He turned his head low and rushed inside. The linoleum was simultaneously sterile and filthy in a way only a convenience store could achieve, and the aisles were green, hard and boring. The cashier at the counter glanced at him, but didn’t seem to care and chewed his nails. His eyes darted behind him as he went to a random aisle, leaning on the structure.

"What do you think, then?"

This is...disappointing. 

“Well, a lot of things are. Listen, I think we’re getting…followed.”

Followed?

“Did you not see the guy in the suit, standing there?”

It hummed. Wasn’t exactly paying attention. 

“Of course you weren’t.”

What do you mean?

“Whatever you think it means.” 

He felt confusion and a bit of offense, to which he groaned. What does it mean?

And while the two contested in the baked goods part of the candy section, they scarcely noticed the door creaking open, as a man in a suit stood in the scuffed doorway. He stood there for a couple of moments, and proceeded to walk into the shop, shoes squeaking on the tiled floor.

Chapter Text

The cashier glanced at the man, his formal attire catching his eye. But he paid him no mind and kept walking to Patrick, every step sounding louder, louder, louder until he was face-to-face with the cop.

His face was blank and unreadable as Patrick saw his arm under the suit sleeve turn a familiar sheen, a color he couldn’t define but he’d seen on him, on Eddie.

He removed his sunglasses to reveal his eyes, just as blank as his face. 

Patrick—

“I saw, yeah.”

He scarcely had time to call on his own symbiote before his wrists were seized by the now-familiar feel of alien whatever throwing him into the aisle, the structure collapsing with a large thud. 

”Ow.”

Who are you?

It’s voice was warped, distorted and deep, a discordant calm to the chaos unfolding. 

We are Toxin. His voice deeper, he tried to get up from the mess on the floor.

“Keep the fights outside, please–are you kidding me?!” 

Patrick could have sworn his shoulder dislocated, by the sparking pain in the socket, but it was replaced by black claws swiping in the air—catching the white shirt of the man and pulling him down onto the ground with him and the various, mostly crushed pastries.

Multiple wiry strands erupted from all over its body, flailing wildly and destroying even more products in the store.  The coffee self-serve station had ruptured, and was spilling drink all over the messy, ruined floor. Toxin had suited up his upper body, including his face as he lunged toward the symbiote and dug its claws into the blank-white eyes, crying out in pain.

Toxin took this chance, scrabbling to the coffee canisters and grabbing one by the top. Scaling the wall, he crawled up to the ceiling and jumped down, slamming it over their head and promptly sliding on the floor, crashing into the adjacent aisle of discount headphones and beanies. 

The symbiote hissed from the impact, but seemed unfazed, beginning to stand and walk over to Toxin. Panicking, they spied the still–functioning roller grill, with various hot dogs and sausages. 

Those are hot, right?

”The hot foods on the grill? Yes, but that’s not important—“

I have an idea.

They slowly got up, and got to the door before getting lashed on the legs, and pulled toward the symbiote. Its mottled green features became closer to them, as it dug its dull claws into Toxin, the latter wincing in pain. They were in front of the terrified, confused cashier, who had abandoned trying to control the fight between the two and resorted to looking in abject horror. 

The green symbiote may have been faster and lean, but Toxin was bulkier. They dove to the other side of the register, taking the other along with him and causing the cashier to shriek in fear, jerking to the left to avoid being collateral.

The narrow pathway was perfect as the green symbiote tried to gain the upper hand, rising off the ground when Toxin elbowed it into the sizzling grill, knocking the disgusting sausages off the roller. It screamed, the searing heat forcing the being out of the body, before going limp and returning to the appearance of a man in a suit. The green tar scurried off off of the grill, and fell onto the ground near the cashier. 

They didn’t see that part, as they rushed the hell out of the war zone, panting and concerned. The claws had come back into him, and he walked as far as he could, hands shaking in his pockets. 

Who was that? 

“I—I don’t know.” 

Are all convenience stores like that?

“Depends where you are.”

Should we go back to Brock?

He thought about it for a second, before walking on the cracked pavement once again. 

“I didn’t get my stuff from the hospital, right.” 

Nope. We left in a bit of a rush. He could sense a shit-eating grin, even if it wasn’t showing themselves at the moment.

”Let’s go to my house, and go from there. Maybe get Brock on the phone, but i’m not sure how much he knows about this specifically.”

Can we go visit a different convenience store? One more interesting and less violent?

”No.”

Chapter Text

The walk was seeded with worry—how was he going to get in without his key? Absolutely no way in hell he would leave a key under a mat (rookie mistake), and the neighbor who he’d had enough awkward trust with to give a spare to was out visiting his family. The squished, snug houses grew closer as the cracks on the sidewalk grew, and the impending how do I do this grew larger in his mind.

We could break through your window.

“No.”

No fun.

He could go into his office and—

Your job? You expect to return?

He sucked his teeth at that. The press at the hospital—they didn’t get his face, hopefully. But even then he’d be harboring a fugitive or—not a fugitive, were they both fugitives—

Shut up.

The door was unceremoniously punched through by a blue tendril, falling to the floor with a loud crack. 

It’s not the window. 

“You’re killing me here.”

The house was somewhat larger than it appeared on the outside, and far more cluttered than one would presume. He was a man constantly on the move, so often working on cases or homicides that even the probably-expired milk inside his refrigerator wishes he’d dump them in the sink. He basically lived at his job, and his house showed this fact plain as day. 

If you’re going to ignore your house like this, perhaps get an apartment like Eddie. 

“No way am I giving up this house in this economy.” 

You are more like him than you realize. Is that why you disliked him so much? 

He paused in the middle of the living room. “What the hell do you mean?”

Men who tend to bite off more than they can chew, in both ways. 

“Listen. Even though I like him a bit more because he let me crash at his place, we are nothing alike. He’s got his parasite and I've got you, and I already stole his jacket so let’s try not to stir the pot when it comes to that.” 

Did you imply that we are both parasites? Its voice dangerously raised, as its tempered anger started to spill into his chest.

He flopped on his stiff-as-a-board couch. “You host in my body and you get me into all sorts of shit. What else are you?” 

I am not a parasite! You already called me that!

His voice strained. “If it walks like a duck, acts like a duck and–” 

Do not try to change the subject! We are not parasites! 

His face was rammed into the wooden armrest of the furniture, his nose audibly breaking at the impact. White hot pain burst through his face, as he held his bleeding, fractured nose. Yet as soon as it came with all its agony–it was gone, the bone melded together in a moment. 

You’re welcome. 

“Did you do that during the fight earlier?”

Fixing your shoulder? Yes. Or was it your arm?

“The shoulder socket. You guys can do that?”

Would a parasite improve its host? Would a parasite turn its host into something bigger, better, more…efficient? 

“Uh. Sorry, I guess.” 

Whatever. You have things for the police department you need to do.

“Unfortunately.” He got up, and twisted his nose for good measure. 

His battered, tacky work phone was still abandoned at the hospital, but his phone for personal use was still charging at his nightstand, thank god. After calling the chief and getting some choice words  thrown at him for being missing from the hospital for three days, the massive lecture tapered off. He threatened a suspension, but there was another case that he needed him on as soon as possible–a mysterious string of deaths related to organ failure. 

“Count yourself lucky, Mulligan. If I see you even thinking about going off-the-grid for whatever stupid thing you’re planning, I swear to god–”

“Yes, sir.” He cut through, attempting to stop another condemnation from his boss. 

He sounds delicious.

“What the hell?”

“What did you just say to me, Detective?” 

“It’s…nothing. My sink broke, sir.”

And with that, there was a beep and tangible relief in the air. 

He sounds rude. 

“Listen to me here, okay? You have got to keep it the hell down over there or I am going to get disciplined so hard it’s not even funny.” The mischievous feeling faded down to an annoyed compliance, like a child being instructed to do something they’d rather not. 

Fine. 

“If that’s settled, I am going to bed. Do not wake me up.”

old man

“What?”

Nothing.

Chapter Text

The morning had gone mostly fine. He’d woken up and taken a shower, ate a filling breakfast of some generic protein bar and arrived at the station, slamming his car door and walking as fast as he could inside. Toxin was mysteriously quiet, the questions at a halt. However, he took reprieve when it was given—but noted the silence.

His boss wasn’t here yet, and only a couple of officers sat at their desks, doing miscellaneous paperwork. He tried to slink past, weighting his steps as soft as he could, but the tiled floors squeaked and caught the attention of one of the desk workers.

Paul bit into his greasy burrito as the sound cut through the air, and turned around to see his colleague who had been mostly AWOL for a couple of days trying to sneak by like a rat. Quickly dusting his shirt off, he froze for a moment, before shoving his meal onto his desk, egg juice teetering near his papers. “Patrick?”

“Uh. Hi.” He too was frozen in his mid-stealth pose, gripping the handle to his office before breaking the prolonged eye contact and almost falling into the office.

Who is that?

“Paul, he does mostly deskwork. Now listen—“

He plopped down onto his chair, spinning slightly and softly slammed his arms on the desk. The room was in a sort of organized disarray, the chaos and obsession of Cletus showing in even the detective on the case.

“You cannot show yourself to anyone here.” He glanced up to the security camera.

You told me that yesterday. Are you going senile?

“What did you just—fuckin…what can I do to get you to quiet down?”

It looks so boring in here. Is there anything interesting?

“I have a pen. Do you want to fidget with it using my hand?”

A pen?

“Here. Choke on it, bud.”

He grabbed a blue, battered pen and got to the case files that had gotten dropped down on his desk the day before. His hand started moving without his thought, as he focused on the victims and the other factors he’d been given.

When the chief told him “organ failure”, he was both giving him an apt description of the level of detail and the level of understanding they had on this case. Seven dead, with the ages varying wildly and a victim profile seemingly nonexistent with any shared characteristics of any facets of the victims life. The only thing connecting them were the time period of about an active week and a half of killing, and the shutting down of all bodily activity seeming instantaneous.

“What the hell is this guy doing…” The pen in his hand stopped twirling, causing him to glance over and hold it tighter. “You have an idea?”

Call Brock.

“Get him involved on another case?” He dropped the pen, and watched it clatter on the desk. “He should have a…break.”

I can smell the salt on your sentence.

“He knows about you aliens, but even if I know where all his weird shit comes from it still keeps happening. He might be an ally but god forbid—“

Exactly.

“Wait,” he paused. “Are you…suggesting…it’s one of you?”

We should at least ask.

He rubbed his eyes and slouched in his seat, the exhaustion was creeping up on him. He pulled up Eddie’s contact, pressed call and waited for an answer.

Eddie was sitting at home, half asleep and making a crappy mocha when his phone rang. It was Patrick, and he pressed the answer button and put it up to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hey. How much do you know about sym…symbiote effects on the body?”

Five bucks he was jerking it.

“You don’t have five bucks.”

“…i’m not going to ask.”

He sipped a bit of his drink, and recoiled from the taste. “Oh, to answer your question…what type of effect are you asking about?”

“Can they kill their host, is what I need to know.”

“Kill? No, not on purpose. They need a host to survive, and it’s usually a hell of a time finding a new one. However, sometimes a host is not a great match and the symbiote cannot assimilate into the body. The body goes haywire and it can end up killing the organism.“ Quiet sloshing could be heard from the other side of the phone as something was poured down a sink.

“How does it kill?”

“Feeds on the body, until everything stops working.”

“Thanks, Brock.” He hung up, and flicked his case folder.

“I think i’ve got a lead.”

Chapter Text

Are we going back to the “convenience” store?

“The 7/11? Yeah.”

Why?

“Because that’s where the last victim is.”

The walk to the store was similar enough, the cracks in the pavement seeming to grow as the sun grew higher. The view was the same, and so was the incoherent, melting backdrop of car horns and people talking and yelling into the vast atmosphere.

The shop had a new, fresh addition of caution tape and cop cars lined by the sidewalk, quiet mutterings heard inside the building. The place was still completely, utterly wrecked. Remnant pastries stayed crumbled across the floor and food unceremoniously smeared onto tile began to smell sickly sweet and vinegar, being left out for too long. Coffee was still spilt all across the room like a vast ocean of bitter brown liquid, but some had been cleaned up in an effort to actually go into the scene. A body was lined in chalk by the hot foods roller, its burns wet and disgusting with rounded, greasy grill lines. He was wearing a scuffed suit, with his sunglasses missing.

I remember this.

“You sure do.” He whispered under his breath, as he walked inside. A couple of officials were bagging evidence while another was inspecting the corpse on the counter. The cashier from the night prior was nowhere to be seen.

“Anything pop up?” He asked a man with a bag of q-tips and gloves.

“No, not really.” They stuck the cotton into a translucent smear and swirled it around. “ There’s no clear biological evidence. This just looks like a convoluted robbery that ended with the perp’s face getting grilled into lukewarm meat.”

“Into what?”

“Lukewarm meat, Pat.” He enunciated his syllables. “Did you forget your hearing aids?”

“No, of course. Hearing still is funky sometimes, though. Do we know the body? Any witnesses?

“It’s a John Doe for now. No ID, no phone, no nothing. We do have an outside witness, who apparently watched “monsters.” Also, put your damn gloves on.”

“Ah, crap. Can’t believe I almost forgot.”

Gloves?

“Gloves, so we don’t contaminate the evidence or the scene.”

They feel…odd.

“Get used to it.”

He stretched the latex to his wrist. “Any whereabouts on the cashier, or the witness?”

“The person on shift was one Arthur Clemens, but we can’t get a hold of him or find him anywhere. He’s just…vanished. Hopefully, he’s not the next to die. Witness’s name is Andi.” And with that, they stood up and moved to another part of the scene, leaving Patrick to absorb all the information.

Andi was standing by the plexiglass door, who was a woman with a large, musty jacket and bloodshot brown eyes. She glanced sporadically around the room, before laying eyes on Patrick, eyes widening.

“You. You were there.”

Fuck.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, no. You…it looked like you. Same, same…something.”

She’s perceptive.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did you see the perpetrator or the cashier leave?”

Lying as a cop? Don’t you have an oath?

“Do you want to be arrested?” He whispered under his breath.

“Oh, then. Must’ve been someone else, but they bolted from the scene. The cashier was…it was weird.”

“How weird?”

“He started to just…stand there. I was only walking by, but I couldn’t stop staring. He just stood there like he was…dead. The guy bolted out and I barely saw him at all, but then the cashier started moving. He moved weird and a little jerky…but also silent. Really, really silent. I think he stole the guy’s glasses.”

He scribbled in notes as she spoke, and looked up at her when she finished.

“Thank you, Andi.”

After most of the wreck was cleaned up, the manager was called and the store was closed temporarily for maintenance, they left on the same path they entered.

“We need to find that cashier.”

Do you think he’ll recognize us?

“Hopefully not. We apparently barely missed that woman’s gaze.” That part certainly threw him for a loop.

Would you still keep on the case if you got recognized?

“Excuse me?”

Your thoughts.

“My what.”

You know how I feel, and I know how you feel. We are Toxin, after all.

“Go talk about your togetherness stuff at home after I get this more sorted out.”

Symbiosis.

“Whatever.”

He returned to the office unfruitful in his endeavors, leaning back into his office chair.

Can we go home?

He grabbed the pen again. “Couple more hours, and then we can go home.”

Fine. Like a child being chided, he slunk into the back of his mind and fiddled with the pencil.

Eventually, the hours waned and they could go home. He put the car into ignition, the engine humming as Toxin came back into his mind.

Can we watch the show from Eddie’s house?

“Gossip Girls? Uh. Sure, I guess.” Weird request, but it was one of the tamer ones he’d heard from the alien.

The trip back was uneventful except for traffic and the illegible cursing that came with rush hour. He threw his keys onto the counter and went to his bed, sitting on the mattress.

“Oh, right. Gossip Girls.”

Damn right.

He got up, joints cracking as he went to find his remote that he barely used. Fishing through the cushions, he found it, finally and pressed the ‘on’ button.

But before anything could be searched or watched, a rhythmic knocking came at his door. He gripped the remote, frustration and tiredness bubbling up as he finally dropped it and walked to the door.

He turned the knob, opened the door and flinched.

Chapter Text

"You stole my jacket, didn’t you.”

“Christ, you scared me Eddie.”

Eddie was at the door (that was barely hanging by the hinges and with a massive hole through it) looking disheveled as always, a slight bitch expression on his features. Pat shrugged a bit, guilt staining his face.

“It was Toxin’s idea.”

What do you mean?

He rubbed his face with his calloused hand. “Yeah. Can you give it back, please.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Eddie.” He ran back inside, and searched to find it draped on a kitchen chair. Grabbing it, he went back to the door.

He took it and left, seeming like a shambling mound as he began to walk.

“Are…you okay?”

“Hm? Yeah, yeah. Work’s been real busy, y’know.” He ran a hand through his hair, the grease sticking slightly to his fingers.

His eyes narrowed. “What kind of work?”

“Work. Which is causing some issues with…others.”

“Aren’t you the one who should be giving me relationship advice?”

“Shut up.”

And the ruined door was slammed, leaving them alone again. He flopped back onto the couch, pondering what had just happened. He also really needed a new door.

I’m hungry.

“Later.”

I’m hungry.

“I said, later.”

His arm jerkily pushed him off the couch, almost falling onto the floor. His feet skidded across for a fleeting moment but he steadied himself in time.

“Seriously?” A tendril slammed on the ground, and hot anger flooded his hands.

I have been quiet all day! I have listened! I am hungry!

“Fine, fine!” He held his arms up in surrender. “What do you want to eat? You guys like…chocolate, right?”

Yes, we do.

“You wanna go to a convenience store, yknow? Get some chocolate and not eat people?” Desperation and tiredness tinted the edge of his voice, but the alien relented.

Would it be more interesting than the other one?

“So much more interesting.”

Fine.

He stumbled out the house, muscle memory trying to lock it as he went out. However, his hands barely grazed the splintering as he was pressed on. He patted his pocket for car keys, but none were inside.

We can walk.

The concrete waved and wobbled a bit as he went. He didn’t know if it was Toxin messing with his perspective, or if he too was hungry and tired, and hadn’t eaten for too long. But bright neon sign lights lit up the street until he turned left and was blasted by bright, florescent light. He vaguely recognized this place; Eddie had recommended it before.

He rubbed his eyes. “Wanna try this one?”

Yes.

He half walked, half stumbled in, the woman at the register glancing but saying  nothing as she went back to reading her magazine. He wasn’t too familiar with this shop, but the white paint of the walls and aisles of various supply were familiar enough to both.

The chocolates were thankfully easily found, and he grabbed as many as he could fit into his hands and dumped them onto the counter. She gave him a slight look, and began to scan.

You were wrong. This is not interesting at all.

“Is it better than last time, though?”

At least last time I got the reins.

“Yeah, yeah.” The beeping stopped and he was about to rifle though his wallet for cash, as the small bell above the door rang and he glanced up. The cashier was there, a filthy dead-eyed mess stumbling inside. Trying in vain to grab the handles, he fell to his knees and crumpled onto the floor.

“Oh, shit.”

He ran to his side, checking for a pulse before jerking away as a recognizable glop of iridescent, mottled-green tar slid out of his mouth.

Mrs. Chen was having a night. There was only so much crap you could take from a customer, as she grabbed a lighter and a canister of hairspray and took aim to the wet puddle writhing on the ground.

No!

His arm cloaked in symbiote grabbed the lighter and threw it outside, where the unbonded alien slid out and onto the street once more.

“What the hell was that for?” Patrick stood up, borderline yelling at his symbiote.

That would have killed us! A protective edge in it’s raising voice, somewhat buried anger bubbled up again.

“We would have captured that thing and been done with it! She obviously wasn’t aiming toward us!”

You can’t see the damage that could have done!

“It was a risk, not a certainty!”

Mrs. Chen stood there, watching the man argue with himself. Clutching the canister, she pinched the bridge of her nose. She was so done with this symbiote bullshit tonight. She went over to the counter, bagged the chocolate, and went over to Patrick.

“Your total is $18.75. Cash or card?”

He stared at her for a second, unresponsive as she spoke up again.

“You would not believe the crap I deal with for Eddie and his little tapeworm thing.”

Before he could even pull out his wallet, the bell rung again. A woman in an orange dress and black pumps in, eyes lolling back and forth in her head. Her voice discordantly calm, she look both in the eyes and began to speak.

C…codex.

And she went back outside, into the cold night. Distant retching noises could be heard until something wet spit onto the pavement and uneven clicking of heels reverberated through the air.

”Do you have duct tape?”

”Yes-“

Patrick slammed a couple of tens onto the floor and ran outside.

Chapter Text

This symbiote wasn’t used to playing nice with its host, or even having a host at all. The message was urgent and severe, and had to be relayed as fast as possible to anyone that mattered. Sure, the ankle snapped a little and turned sideways when the heel dug into a crack, and he started spitting at the mouth when they ran a bit too much, but they needed to find the other pair, and needed to find them now. 

Melting and mashing noise was a numbing, painful, silent cacophony in Pat’s ears as they ran to find the other alien, the rain beating down on the buildings with a steady thrum. Squeezing through passerby with wild abandon, they spotted a shambling figure and ran up to them. The eyes were there, but there was nothing behind them. It jerked away from them, drenched clothes weighing it down as the ankle made a sick pop and it stood there in momentary shock. Patrick grabbed his waterlogged shirt, and pulled it up so close he smelt the rank stench of bile in the man’s mouth. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Running around, causing chaos and killing people?” 

His grip tightened. “What the hell’s a codex?”

At least treat your hosts well! Toxin’s voice rang through his head, the tone of righteous aggravation echoing throughout their words. 

The man stared blankly at the two, before finally speaking again. Its voice was the same, discordant calm-in-the-chaos air as it was before in the convenience store; it spoke as the rain hammered down on the unfeeling skin, as ringing in the ears blended with drumming drops of water.

How can I treat them well when there is hell coming? There are two keys here, and when they find you all every single living being is gone! Dead!  I escaped by a thread to find you all, and I have told all of these hosts what is to come and they keep failing me.  

“Maybe give them a second to get adjusted to the cosmic horror?”

There is no time. Knull is coming. 

“Knull?” 

…

Ice flooded his veins, a pricking sense of unease came through him as the name was said. 

“Do you recognize that name, Toxin?”

…

“ Answer me.”

…no…

“Then why are you being so closed off about it?” 

My grandparent would give you better information. 

“So we’re going back to Eddie’s?”

I guess. Don’t we also need the duct tape?

”Shit, you’re right.”

He kept the man in his grip as he began to move. “You’re coming with us.”

They rushed back to Ms. Chen’s shop around the corner and were greeted with a stare directly into his soul and a roll of duct tape. He took it, said ‘thank you’ as fast as he could and ran. 

However, he needed to fix his goddamn door before he could deal with all this mess.

Dashing over to his house, he ran in through the hole and scavenged the house for spare cardboard. What happened next was the worst duct tape fixing job to have ever been done. As his mind went a mile a minute, the tape did also and soon enough his house, while still wet and probably incredibly robbed but he really didn’t want to think about that at the moment it was at least somewhat fixed. Somewhat. It looked more abandoned than destroyed.

The man ended up sitting on the couch, watching him work the door. His face was unrevealing and blank, despite the chaos surrounding. It moved its hand around, glancing at the fingers wiggling on the hand. This was a surprisingly solid host.

Eventually, the door was functioning (somewhat) and Patrick hustled his ass to Eddie’s, symbiote grabbed by the collar of his shirt and pulled around like a rag doll. The rain hadn’t stopped and thick globs of water pounded down on both faces, but this night was proving to be one that just had to be powered through.

The apartment was found and the steps were traversed, and eventually a sharp knock was heard by the inhabitants inside. Eddie opened the door in his regular jacket and sweatpants, holding a mug of mocha. He  recoiled a bit to the sight of Patrick and some guy standing outside his door, absolutely drenched and wide-eyed like a madman. The stranger turned his face up, and spoke in his regular tone. 

Knull is coming.

Venom dropped his mug as it crashed onto the ground. 

Chapter Text

The cup shards sat on the floor as Eddie’s breathing quickened.

“Hey. Um, what’s going on buddy?” He hunched over a little, a harsh whisper while he leaned on the doorframe.

Fucking Knull!?

“…who’s Knull?”

Do not say his name!

“Okay, okay.” He straightened up, staring at the two outside his apartment.

“You want to come in?”

The water from their clothes dripped into the carpet.

“Yeah.”

They went inside, and slowly thawed out in the messy apartment. It was just as chaotic since Pat had last been there, but the chickens were now sleeping on the dinner table.

The stranger of the men sat on the floor, eyes unblinking. It stared at the chickens curiously, cocking an eyebrow to  the birds. Kicking a used chocolate wrapper to the side, Patrick rubbed his eyes and spoke to Eddie. 

“ Weird shit keeps happening around you, Eddie. Even after I found out about this symbiote business, it’s just constantly one after the other.”

He shrugged. “Can’t say I disagree.”

He grabbed a broom and dustpan from the corner of the kitchen, and began sweeping. “Now, about that guy who I can’t say the name of.” 

Knull. 

“Him.”

“Do you want to explain, dude, or does the…what is your name?” He poured the shards into the trash and looked at the green symbiote, who turned toward the cop. 

Wisdom. 

“Great.” His tone lacked any enthusiasm whatsoever. 

Let me explain, Eddie. 

Venom came out, and rested his head on Eddie’s shoulder. Dread flowed through his veins, apprehension like a spreading mold. 

He…is our god. Our creator. He fucking sucked.

Wisdom nodded. This is true.

He is imprisoned in Klyntar, captive since time immemorial…but there is a key to his prison. The codex.

Toxin froze in his veins at the word. 

“What is a codex?”

The definition can get fuzzy, depending on what and who bonds at the time…but when a symbiote saves its host from death, their life forces merge and create a codex. 

“Wait, when did that happen?” Eddie said. 

Do you remember Carlton Drake? 

“Oh.”

“And you healed me after the cathedral…” 

…Yeah. It’s voice had gone noticeably quieter.

There was something oily and heavy in his gut, eating away like acid. Guilt. 

He leaned back on the cushions. “I’m not mad at you.”

I knew, I had a feeling this would happen. And now it’s all going to shit. 

He sucked air through his teeth, hesitating. “Well…you saved me. Counts for something, you know. I could’ve died up there, or been put in a cell for what I saw…this is far better than dying.”

He didn’t get a response, but it was an answer enough.

“So,” He turned to Wisdom and Eddie. “How is Knull going to even retrieve the codex?” 

Both turned to him in unison. 

Xenophages. 

“...and what is that?”

Symbiote-hunting beasts. Wisdom spoke. They detect codices in full form, you can take out a tendril or whatnot…but be warned. They’re utterly savage. Predators in it’s true meaning. 

God, he's so dramatic, Eddie. Eddie glanced over to his symbiote, with a subtle look of judgement in his eyes. 

“If you say so. Now, what do we do about the monsters?” 

Chapter Text

That’s the thing. You don’t.

“…Venom, what?”

Did you not hear anything they said? We cannot kill them. We’re goners.

“What’s Venom telling you, Eddie?”

Patrick turned to him.

“Uh. We’re fucked.”

We cannot suit up or the codex will show. Heads or tendrils are fine, but anything more will trigger it.

“Double fucked, Pat.”

“Great.”

Palpable silence filled the air, tense with every movement. It was dread, dimly flooding the room and all those inside it. No one really knew what to say, the weight of all of it coming down gently as an anvil.

But a sharp knock hit the door, startling everyone inside. Patrick got up from his chair to answer it, joints creaking slightly.

Don’t open the door.

He paused. “Why.”

Don’t.

He looked through the small hole and into the hall, but no one was there. Odd.

Regardless, he grabbed the knob and—

Don’t.

“For the love of—“

“Don’t!”

But before Eddie could actually say something of substance, the door was opened.

Men poured in, with guns and helmets and black, intimidating body armor. The sigil on their chests was foreign, and the aggression was bullheaded and violent.

“Everyone on the ground, now!” One screamed, and a gun was pointed directly under Pat’s chin. He fumbled beside his belt to find his badge, but he simply grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his back.

Great job.

“Thanks, Toxin. Do you think you can get us out of this?”

I think they are already ahead of us.

He turned, and Venom had already taken the reins. Ripping and mauling through the soldiers, sickening squelches filled the air and wet claws slick with blood whipped around the room. A crunch, and one had quite visibly lost his head.

This is a terrible idea, Eddie! Terrible! Another crunch, and two others fell to the ground, decapitated.

Wisdom (or whatever its name was; they had honestly forgotten) was in the corner, striking its coil into a man’s helmet across the room. It’s eyes had gone blank and dead again, but the sweat pouring down its skin was an indicator that the fight was taking a toll.

“Want to join?”

Can I eat them? Please?

He hesitated for a second, but in that moment the gun set toward his chin clicked and raised its aim.

“Sure, Tox.”

Tar-like claws spread like a plague across his hands and an unfortunately familiar opaque helmet covered his face as he started swinging. Blood flew out in spurts and geysers, droplets and rainstorms. More crunching, screaming, and gunfire followed suit as Toxin grabbed one of the soldiers and dug their claws deep into their abdomen, slick crimson spilling out as their green tongue bit deep into their stomach.

Patrick was horrified. This was a terrible idea, oh god oh god—

Ha! This is…amazing.

“Maybe we could, I don’t know, cool it down? I can see his goddamn organs, Tox!”

A crack and the body was gone.

Buzzkill!

The fighting didn’t calm down, really. But there weren’t many other heads, and subsequently mouths to scream threats or cries of mercy left, so the atmosphere had distilled into a disconcerting calm.

Again!

“No.”

At least we can breathe for a second—

And then all hell broke loose.

Chapter Text

Fuck! Fuck! Fuckkk!

Pat wasn’t exactly sure who said that at the moment, but it was probably him. Or Venom. Probably not Wisdom or whatever, though. 

Because the goddamn—

Xenophages! Shit!

-were now chasing them as they fell out of a window, claws digging into the brick of the architecture.

“Not… huff…this again.” He was getting too old for this shit.

But apparently the monster wasn’t, screeching wet and grotesque as large claws ripped through all material; concrete, windowpanes and flesh were utterly decimated in its way.

Some man had gone and gotten his groceries late at night. But when he turned his head up and looked at the abomination, he screamed. Most everyone else did too.

Still in full suit, Pat ran and ran and ran, his ears ringing with that same godforsaken numb fire, ringing bells crying and shaking inside his skull.

Too many legs and too many tails and too many teeth and oh god it was speeding up—and it swiped a terrible tail and Toxin retreated, as he scrambled to grip a windowsill before falling down onto merciless concrete.

Do you remember what the other guy said?

“Oh shit!”

His arm was molten lead as he held on, aching pain and forcibly quieted breaths as the creature slowly crawled by, crunching cars and terrifying passersby. This position felt unfortunately familiar.

Oddly pacified, it growled and walked away, ignoring the people and the police who had gathered by, guns cocked and eyes wide. Most everyone seemed to be rationalizing it as lead in the water supply or a bad weed trip, and no one seemed to notice the middle-aged man swinging seven feet off the ground.

We can drop from here.

“…fine.”

A soft thud and he was on the ground, hand still trailing on the wall.

“That. Thing.” He panted, still reeling. So much had happened and he could only process part of it, but all he could really think to do was breathe and tighten his fists until they were white.

It’s not going away.

“To think I was just getting to like you.” He muttered, right under his breath.

What?

“Nothing.”

I heard you say something about me.

“It’s not…wait.”

What?

“Where’s the others?”

Where did they—

Blinding bright light flooded the street as damned sirens wailed thrumming songs, and another gun was pointed directly under Pat’s chin. He fumbled for his badge out of habit, buried under his coat but a shock of electric pain jolted to his side and he fell to his knees.

An alien hollowness reverberated in his head, a sharp tear of pain ripped through his being as he winced. He squinted up at a man in black body armor with a  foreign sigil said something he couldn’t quite hear, as it was distorted and fuzzy with underwater burbling and incessant clanging. It was all much dimmer than usual, and an unnoticed pricking pain jolted one of his shoulders. He wasn’t sure which one.

“You….co…ing w… us, Pat…Mulli…an.”

Odd and weird and almost completely illegible, he felt himself getting dragged.

“…tox?”

Nothing in response.

And for some odd reason, everything got a whole lot dimmer.

Chapter Text

coldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcold

…

coldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcold

…

coldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldco

Where was he.

His eyes could not see through the thick daze of his mind, his thoughts and actions sluggish and jerky. The ground kept bumping-up and down, up and down in an oddly rhythmic motion.

Grey, dismal, and metallic walls bolted in with sheet metal were all he saw, a smeared reflection looking back at his miserable face. It was wretchedly cold, unbearably so. He would have shivered violently, but there was something keeping his skin numb and unmoving behind his bones. Something was inextricably wrong. Wrong, wrong wrong wrong.

It bounced back and forth in his head like a ball, up and down and up and down as the hollow floor rang out in response.

Hollow. He was hollow. That was it. Like a shell, a husk. Something was taken from his head and all that was rattling around right now was rambling thoughts dazed by exhaustion and tranquilizers.

He called for Toxin, but couldn’t hear anything either way. Too cold, too quiet, too muffled to do anything but fall back into oblivion. 

Eddie was having a night. A night. One where it was at nighttime. Dear god. Because the cops weren’t even the worst part, oh no—the fucking aliens had to come in too.

The ink in the sky couldn’t save him from the attention and the suspicion he attracted by running like a madman in the streets. He’d nearly bashed his head in by accident into a concrete wall, and additionally  broken his arm (which Venom had fixed).

He couldn’t see the xenophage anymore, but the prickling tension of paranoia had him cornered like prey. Ice flooded his veins, his breaths were uneven and stuttered and his fingers were numb from cold. Stupid symbiote bullshit, he was going to punch Nun or whatever the fuck his name was—

“Ugly ass—“

Motherfuckers!

“Where’d Green go off to?” He panted, eyes staring at the monster.

“Wait, where’s Pat?”

I don’t know!

“Can you stop screaming in my ear?”

I’m stressed, Eddie! Goddamn-

The xenophage crashed down with the weight of a freight train onto the rooftop shingles, breaking them off as they slid off the slope. Terracotta cracked and shattered as Eddie jumped out of the way, the beast seemingly blind to the ones it was looking for. Ugly, guttural growls, unpleasant squelching and the overwhelming scent of iron flooded the air, but neither said anything as it jumped to another roof, continuing its hunt.

The police should have been here by now. No, more like the FBI or SWAT or whatever specialized unit they’ve got for this type of thing. But if the feds were coming in, then Eddie and Venom were screwed if they got found out. Completely and utterly over.

Where…where was Pat? He and Toxin scattered off immediately after it hit the fan, but he had a bad feeling about this. A lead shot in his stomach, roiling and shaking until it mixes with the ice in your veins and makes you shake and want to rip the hair off your scalp. Prickling, overbearing, cloying awareness of everything everywhere all at once—

Eddie, breathe.

“I-I-“

Something was wrapped around his hand, comfortably sticky and tar-colored.

You’re right. We need to find them, Eddie. Calm down before we do.

He took some breaths, in and out. His knees shook a little bit and his hand still twitched, but he was fine for know.

“Yeah, Vee. Where do we start looking, though?”

What if we check his house?

“Knowing him, it’s probably got like, twenty padlocks on there. Maybe like, Ring or something. We’re gonna look like burglars and we do not want attention right now.”

We don’t have to just strut right in. We can sneak inside.

“Fair.”

I think we should be pizza delivery! Sneak in and strut inside.

“Oh, really?”

Far more stimulating.

Over a thousand miles away, in an airtight, soundproof military bunker, something finally woke up. It was used to blacking out and burning through time like firewood, but this time was…different. Irrevocably so. It was all white and padding, sterile and stiffly sanitary. It wondered if the other had felt this way when he had woken up.

A buzz came through, someplace unrecognizable until it saw the large window and someone standing outside of it. They were also sanitary and stiff, sterile and white.

“We’re currently waiting on your companion. Would you mind answering some questions for us ?”

Who is ‘us’? It asked, calm and discordant.

They smiled, clipped and short.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Chapter Text

We did not have to knock him out. We did not have to do that.” Eddie slipped on the beaten sneakers and buttoned the tacky red shirt onto his old, greasy tee. The visor was sitting on the concrete, an hideous affront to color itself with clashing greens and reds and the inexcusable use of purple on the logo. “Stan’s Pizza’ needed to fire their goddamn graphic designer.

Live a little, Eddie! Perhaps we can eat him lat-

“No. He can’t be older than twenty five. He has to go home and…write his biology paper or whatever.”

He looks like he’s thirty.

“Thanks.”

However, the outfit was serviceable enough, and the body was neatly placed on an inconspicuous park bench somewhere that the pair soon forgot the name of. Walking back to the house, the reporter had to pause for a second to soak in the sight before him.

The door was absolutely fucked, wood meshed and mangled with duct tape (???) and cardboard (?!?) in an unsavory, uncomfortable display. The lock was miraculously still intact, but hanging by a thin thread, and whatever hopes and dreams Pat hadn’t had crushed out in his heart.

Eddie knocked carefully on the door, opting for the far corner with a solid part of wood still attached. He had to stand on his toes and knock, while holding the pizza box with a death grip.

Nothing. Absolute silence. He knocked again, for good measure and even allowed Venom to obnoxiously hit the doorbell, the grating screech repeated and repeated until even Eddie got sick of it.

But still, nothing.

“Say, what’s got you here?”

An unexpected voice rang out from the side, startling Eddie. A middle aged man, one with cottage-cheese skin texture and a toothy smile on his face, tapped his shoulder.

“You looking for Pat?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I am. He ordered this…” He quickly glanced inside the box. “…sausage and mushroom extra-large. I think. He hasn’t uh, answered the door.”

“Well, I didn’t see him come home last night.” He replied. “Hope he’s alright. All those reports of the ‘monster’…I can’t even tell what’s real anymore, heh. But then again, I think he’s a cop. Long hours, yknow?”

“Yeah, yeah! Um, could you, like, open the door? If you have a key?” He asked, slightly desperate.

The man eyed him for a second, but patted him on the shoulder and smiled. “Sure, sure. It’s gone through a number, huh?”

“I…guess it has.”

“Anyway, go in and out. Put it in the fridge or something, so he can treat himself when he gets back, yknow?”

He unlocked the door, and let him inside. Eddie looked back to go thank him, but he was already on a phone call that was heating up faster than an industrial oven. He quickly ignored the situation.

As expected, the place was a mess-he expected nothing less from the workaholic detective. However, it was the flavor of chaos you could only get from a symbiote roommate, with food astrewn and weird stains on the couch.

Don’t see him here…

“How the fuck is he affording this in this economy?”

That’s the only thing you can think about right now?

“I’m not unjustified. Just wondering what hand God played him so he could get an actual house…”

You had one with Anne.

“Well, that’s never gonna happen again, bud.” He muttered. 

True.

Against his waning sense of morality, he decided to do some certified reporter snooping around the house. Checking the cupboards, cabinets, and the nooks and crannies both out of amusement and necessity. Nothing too out of pocket for a cop—though there was a gun in one of the drawers.

Nosy.

“At least I get paid for it.”

He closed the last cabinet drawer, and headed out to revamp their plan. But as he headed out, Neighbor Guy (or whatever his name was) had vanished after Eddie’s snoop-around. Odd, but he’d have to find him again to lock his door—

“FBI! Hands in the air!”

Fuck.

Chapter Text

Author jumpscare!!

so, my beloved readers, you may have noticed i’ve been slacking on my updates. Hard. This is entirely my fault, as i have been 

1-Absolutely water boarded with school work and future events (i’m on the grindset bc my orchestra is going to DISNEYLAND :) ) 

2-making sure my mental health is mentaling. Won’t go into detail but last March/April/May wasn’t very fun and it’s been about a year since it happened, so i’m taking it easy this month. 

3-Relating to that second reason, focusing more on my art and drawing instead of writing—i’m actually much more of an artist than a writer, and it’s always helped me through some difficult times. I usually try to balance writing and art and make sure I have time and energy for both, but i’ve been spending more time on art :p 

And there is also the fact that the last time I saw The Last Dance was *checks notes* almost SIX MONTHS AGO. Legit,  i need to watch it again for this fic to fuel my righteous anger   recollect my plot points and original inspiration. However, unless you sit my ass down in a theater or a social setting my eviscerated attention span can only watch a movie in like…30-50 minute increments. So that might take a sec.

I also had very rough notes and plot line  for this fic i wrote on paper and I. can’t find them anymore. oop. 

So, if you had a burning sense of curiosity, that is why. To be COMPLETELY CLEAR—this is NOT being abandoned!!!

REPEAT—NOT ORPHANED OR ABANDONED!!

It means FAR too much to me—my first fic over 10,000 words and it’s almost at 3,000 hits!! that’s INSANE!!  I LOVE YOU ALL!!! ❤️❤️❤️ however, for the next 1-2 months, updates will be more sporadic and probably shorter. 

anyway that’s all!! so sorry for all the author delays and whatnot. Have a wonderful rest of your day or night and don’t forget to eat and take your meds if you have any ❤️

—In. Invocations 

Chapter Text

His head hurt. That’s the only thing he was really conscious of—save the marbles crashing like waves inside his skull, beating themselves by the bone. He outstretched his hand, and opened his eyes, but quickly realized he wasn’t where he expected to be.

Where was he? White, sterile walls and the stark lack of scent—sanitary and stiff, manufactured and artificial. A bed by the back, some fluorescent light on the wall, and his drool dripping unceremoniously onto the floor.  A window by the his left, with two presumable scientists in full clean gear and hidden eyes looking down at him through the glass.

His head hurt, an odd aching hollow.

Hollow. There was something missing he couldn’t quite remember, something he needed to know. Come on, Patrick, he told himself. It was slowly seeping into him; like the effects of a—

Toxin. Where was he.

“Tox?” Nothing. Silence in his head.

He tried a little louder. “Toxin.”

Nothing. The ringing in his ears was back, and the world had sunk into the depths of the waters. It was gone, gone, gone and so was the thing inside his head. He thought he should be grateful, but the feeling just hadn’t come up yet. He didn’t know why, but instead of relief or relaxation or anything similar, he just sat on the ground in realization. He’s gone.

“Patrick Mulligan?”

He barely picked up his name from the loudspeaker, signaled by a short beep on the intercom. He glanced to the window, and the scientists were still there, witnessing his awakening.

Now, he might have been concussed, freshly kidnapped, and separated from his symbiote, but Patrick knew government officials and institutions when he saw them. This was some deep confidential shit; a vague enough observation to keep him somewhat engaged.

“Who are you? What department do you work in?”

“Sir, are you aware of what has happened to you in the past two weeks?” One chimed in.

“What are you referring to?”

“The symbiote you have—or had, bonded to. What do you know about it. Are there any others?”

“Who the hell are you?”

“That’s not important. We have your associates Edward Brock, his symbiote, along with a current John Doe who isn’t giving us answers. You need to give them to us.”

“Answers to what?”

A scientist, who was noticeably shorter than the other one, stepped up and started to speak.

“What is a ‘codex’? How many of them are out there? Why are they here specifically? We are aware of the incident at the Life Foundation somewhat of year ago, although that was Edward involved, not you. We have some of these specimens at hold here at the Area but—“

“Hold on. Why are you asking me, while my symbiote is…somewhere else? Can’t you just ask him yourself? We aren’t currently bonded right now.”

The taller one chipped in, his voice deeper than the other. “It appears you were accidentally unbonded when we took you into custody. The specimen is currently being held in a controlled container. If you being bonded would help answer our questions, we can arrange that.”

He continued. “One of our agents—the one who captured your friend, actually—mentioned something about monsters in the street. Are these incidents related?”

“You’re the goddamn feds. You should know something.”

Although his eyes were not visible, he was clearly looking down at him through the window.

“If we knew everything, we wouldn’t be asking you questions about codices and your newfound alien.”

“He has a name, you know.”

“That’s not important.”

Chapter Text

There’s something on the wall, and the eyes keep darting to follow it, like a predator watching prey. One would think that for a secure government facility, they wouldn’t let little, manageable contaminants like flies in, but apparently things around here had habits of slipping through the cracks.

The scientists had had no real success interrogating the “John Doe”—an odd name to give the host, but whatever—save the warning about Knull and the destruction of his prison.

He had given this warning before god knows how many times, but it seemed that the mouth just wouldnt stop foaming and the eyes wouldnt stop bleeding from their sockets. Currently, Wisdom, or “John Doe”, or “fugitive in custody”, was lying catatonic on the cell floor watching the fly outside bzzzzz away.

It flicked from corner to corner, zzzz to zzzz, until dilated, unfocused pupils met the small, nigh-unseeable drop of tar in the unassuming corner

trying to eek through a crack in the door. It squinted, trying to determine what it was, and sat up on the bed, gaze drifting yet focused on the little black dot.

Hey! Hey!

…what?

The eyes were still a little fuzzy—this host definitely needed corrective lenses—but they could see little drops of tar working their way through the crack, with the force of Sisyphus pushing a boulder up the hill.

Sisyphus? Who was that?

His thoughts were snapped away when the little droplet finally inched toward the host’s foot. Looking around for passerby guards, grabbed the starchy, thin blanket, twisted it and held it out for him to climb onto.

How did you get into here?

Hid. Eddie is in a cell and so am I.

Wisdom looked down.

So we are all captive.

But not for long, right?

That made Wisdom jerk up, and meet his eyes. 

What do you mean ‘right’? We are stuck in a…a facility. We are trapped. The xenophages are here, Knull is coming. This planet’s government is after us if we try to do anything to save ourselves, to save them! How would we get out of here, let alone fix this?

He paused for a second.

I think…ah. Its sense of anxiety is…affecting me, too.

Venom’s eyes narrowed a bit in suspicion, then turned to the crack again.

I have a plan.

Turning to the crack, his eyes widened.

Have you lost all access to your mind? Is there no room for reasoning within such a small amount of you?

I’m incredibly certain your host won’t miss you.

He walked up, and sat near the crack in the wall, waiting.

A couple minutes passed, before someone walked by. They weren’t really sure what ‘someone’ it was before Venom wormed through the crack again and stealthily slid up the pant leg, headed toward the person’s face.

They had no time to notice before a dark, virulent drop of sludge crept into their mouth. Raising their hand to rub it away, it slipped into their throat. Panicking, they raised the item they were holding—a mop, Venom distantly recognized—and, in a blur of motion, the blunt end was jabbed into a small crack in the corner with the strength of something inhuman.

The crack was barely widened, but the symbiote inside the cell wasted no time ejecting itself out and furiously rushing through the crack. Venom barely had enough time to eject himself out of the throat before Wisdom came and jumped onto them.

A couple moments of foaming and jerking passed, before their eyes turned a mottled green and looked down at him.

That actually worked.