Spiderman: Venom

Patrons scattered, no longer paying attention to the two combatants in their midst. Lights crashed to the floor, and sparks erupted as bulbs burst into shards. Rhino flipped Venom off before smashing his way through the glass-paneled wall. Sandman had already slipped away, flowing more than running after him.

Venom had no other choice. If he pursued them, innocent people would pay the price.

"Run! Run!" he shouted, and the petrified onlookers, frozen by fear, finally began to panic. As the ceiling started to collapse, he fired webs, snagging chunks of debris and pulling them clear of the largest groups. It wasn't enough, as the crowd surged toward the shattered entrance and the crumbling front wall.

He began spraying the strongest and stickiest web fluid he could muster onto the remaining support pillars and the fractured ceiling. Rhino's rampage had caused too much destruction; even if Venom tried to prop it up, the ceiling was bound to come down. He webbed up as much as he could, but it still wasn't enough, and massive fragments began to crash down. He watched as Flash shoved MJ out the door before the ceiling collapsed onto him. In a cruel twist, though Venom was crushed into his symbiotic goo, most people had escaped, but the unfortunate few left behind were buried in the wreckage.

With only himself and Gwen remaining, he shot a web line, ensnared her, and pulled her toward him. He dove under a table in one of the booths, hoping to create a makeshift shelter. As she landed, he cringed at the horrible sound of Gwen's head hitting the floor. She hadn't braced for the sudden yank and fell awkwardly, her head bouncing against the wooden surface.

Venom stared in shock as blood began to pool in her hair. In his desperate attempt to save her, he had doomed her instead.

The TV, still hanging precariously from the wall and miraculously functioning, blared loudly as the cries and calls for help echoed from the survivors.

"This just in: the menace known as Venom has been spotted battling the Fearsome Four. A diner—an honest-to-goodness all-American diner—has been completely destroyed. Reports indicate that several patrons are still trapped. This is proof that these freaks need to be apprehended. These menaces must face justice. I, J. Jonah Jameson, will personally reward anyone who helps capture these vile criminals, especially the one calling himself Venom!"

Peter held Gwen in his arms as her vacant eyes seemed to bore into his soul. He recognized the severity of her injuries—the head trauma, her labored breathing, and the single dilated pupil. It was clear she had suffered a brain injury, and without immediate medical attention, she would likely die.

He closed his eyes, searching for a solution in the depths of his knowledge. But this time, his answer didn't come from his mind. Instead, it was instinct—a tingling sense that urged him to act.

It was a gamble. Whatever had been done to him had rebuilt his body—stronger, faster, more resilient. Maybe he could use that to save Gwen. But how? They were trapped, he had no tools, and he didn't even know how to perform a blood transfusion.

He had to rely on the only thing he had. Clutching her tightly, he pressed his lips to hers and, with no resistance, kissed her deeply.

He felt something rising in his throat—not the bitter taste of bile, but a sticky sweetness. Whatever it was, it flowed from him into Gwen's mouth. Pulling away, he saw her throat bulge as the strange substance traveled down her neck.

Gwen convulsed as the lump spread through her body. He could see it move beneath her skin, coursing downward and branching out as it reached her lungs. Suddenly, she gasped deeply, and Peter gently laid her down.

Faint, white, thread-like tendrils spread across her chest, snaking back up into her neck and then toward her heart. He prayed no one was looking for survivors at that moment; he had lifted her shirt to check for harm, but anyone watching might misunderstand.

Gwen's breathing became steadier. Peter watched with fascination as the white strands traveled through her arms, spreading into her veins and eventually branching into her capillaries.

The wound on her head stopped bleeding, and the same white substance began to ooze from it. He waited until it had stopped entirely and formed a thick white scab before touching it lightly. He recognized the material—it was the same substance he secreted when bonded with Venom.

Somehow, he had infected Gwen with the same organism that hosted him. Thankfully, it was working to heal and repair her damaged body.

The white liquid receded into her skin, leaving the gash shallower but looking significantly better. The bleeding had ceased, leaving only a messy wound rather than a fatal one.

Peter bit his lip as tears filled his eyes. She was alive, even if she had changed. He hugged her tightly, overcome with relief.

Her breathing was steady, and the smaller cuts scattered across her body began to visibly heal. The large wound on the back of her head had stopped bleeding but still appeared severe. While Peter had only basic medical knowledge, he was able to confirm she was stable. Her pulse was strong, and even though her eyes were closed, they now reacted to the dim light from his phone.

He held her close as the sound of the rescue workers grew louder.

"Hello? Search and rescue here! How many people are in there?" a voice called through a small opening, and Peter spotted the inspection camera.

"Two, and she's hurt—head injury," he called back, using his hand to guide the camera toward the wound.

"Help is on the way. Hang tight. If you can move her, lie her flat and support her neck. We'll widen the opening and pass in some supplies to help clean the wound," the EMT shouted.

Moments later, a slender tube was inserted through the hole. It carried a pouch of water, several packets of sweet energy gel, and a roll of sterile wipes along with band-aids and simple medical instructions. Peter cleaned the wound and squeezed himself into the corner, giving Gwen room to stretch out. While waiting, he consumed the apple-flavored paste and gently wiped a damp cloth across Gwen's lips.

As the beams from floodlights piercing the wreckage of the collapsed building started to filter in, Peter felt a sense of relief—it meant they were being rescued.

He was certain he could have lifted the rubble off the table himself, but not without significant consequences. The TV had gone silent, but since no one was blaming him outright for the destruction, he assumed they believed Venom had slipped away.

Before long, hydraulic clamps began hoisting pieces of debris, and pneumatic poles were inserted.

"Stabilize the table before removing any rubble. We can't risk it collapsing on you," someone instructed.

Peter followed the directions, placing a pole at each corner of the table and tightening them securely.

Firefighters constructed a stable tunnel, allowing an EMT to crawl into their confined space.

"I'll take her out first, alright?" the EMT said, slipping a neck brace onto Gwen. After securing straps beneath her shoulders, the EMT carefully backed out.

Gwen was slowly extracted, ensuring she wasn't hurt further, before the EMT returned.

"Let me check you over too, just to be sure, okay?" the EMT asked, shining a penlight into Peter's eyes and then feeling for any broken bones.

"You're good. Let's go," the EMT confirmed, leading Peter as they crawled out of the tunnel.

Peter was guided carefully through a makeshift path of shattered ceiling tiles and overturned furniture.

It wasn't just a thin layer of rubble, as Peter had initially assumed. Instead, they had been trapped beneath the remains of an entire side of the building.

Once outside, Peter was escorted to a medical station. He sat in a folding chair while being examined again, his eyes tracking Gwen as she was loaded into an ambulance.

George had been on-site from the beginning. He had been in the station house when the emergency call came in, and recognizing the address of the diner, he joined the first responders heading out.

When they arrived, they caught sight of a van speeding away, prompting two units to take off in pursuit. But the chaos caused by the three massive freaks battling in the diner demanded their attention.

The police stood by helplessly as the fight reduced the building to rubble. Meanwhile, the gray and sand-like criminals quickly disabled the squad cars blocking their escape. With casualties of their own to deal with, the officers could do little as the fire department took over.

George spotted Peter being led out of the ruins, shortly after Gwen was carried out on a stretcher.

"What the hell did you do, Parker?" George shouted, as if Peter could somehow be responsible for the devastation before them.

Peter ignored the accusation, heading instead to an ambulance. An EMT shined a light into his eyes, checking if he was feeling any dizziness or pain. Peter answered mechanically, barely registering the hands probing his arms and legs for fractures. The EMT's touch seemed distant.

Physically, Peter was fine, but internally, he burned with anger. He had been surrounded, beaten down, and nearly had his hand severed. Once again, he had been humiliated by bullies. A four-on-one fight was never fair, and he swore it would never happen again.

Peter's eyes followed Gwen and her father as they were placed into an ambulance that sped away. Around him, the rescue operations continued.

As his fury ebbed, it was replaced by grief. He noticed several covered stretchers being discreetly moved toward a van marked "Morgue."

He also spotted an EMT tending to Flash, wrapping the young man's legs as blood soaked through the bandages almost immediately. Flash was rushed into an ambulance, sirens echoing in the quiet night as it sped away.

Peter recognized the barista, who was doubled over, retching into a bucket. Beside her lay a covered body—someone she likely knew.

MJ had been one of the lucky ones. Flash had pushed her to safety just before the building came down. For a moment, Peter wanted to resent Flash, but the young man had taken the full force of the ceiling collapse, and Peter couldn't bring himself to feel hatred. He knew Flash might never walk again, but he found it hard to care.

Survivors were interviewed—first by the police, then by a swarm of reporters. The press crowded around the unharmed patrons and staff who had escaped the diner. Peter spotted MJ shielding her face as a young Asian reporter shoved a microphone in her direction, and he stepped in quickly.

"Hey, leave her alone," he snapped, pushing the camera so it pointed downward. "Why don't you go haunt a graveyard? You vultures." The reporter flipped him off before moving on to find another story.

MJ clung to Peter, her face streaked with soot and dirt from the wreckage. Tear tracks cut through the grime.

"MJ?" Peter asked, but she stared ahead blankly.

"Is anyone here?" he asked, his voice rising slightly.

An EMT approached, shining a light in MJ's eyes.

"She's in shock. Was she inside when it happened?"

Peter shook his head. "No, she got out just before the collapse," he explained. The EMT checked her pulse and gave her a brief examination.

"She's fine. Just don't leave her alone, and she'll come out of it," the EMT reassured him, tucking the penlight back into a pocket.

After the EMT left, Peter guided MJ away. They walked in silence to a taxi. Peter thought about contacting her father but decided against it. He doubted MJ's father would be sober enough to help—or that she would even want him there.

Peter sent a text to Aunt May, letting her know they were safe but that Gwen was in the hospital. It wasn't much, and Aunt May deserved better, but at the moment, Peter's focus was on MJ.

Gwen had her father, and Peter had Aunt May, but MJ had no one. Her father wasn't a loving or supportive figure. She would be left to fend for herself.

If she wanted her father to know she was okay, she could call him in the morning. For now, Peter would look after her.

MJ remained quiet during the taxi ride and even after drinking coffee and washing her face. She didn't speak.

It wasn't until Peter brought her to her home and sat her down on her bed that she showed any reaction.

"Please, stay," she murmured, tugging on his sleeve as she crawled beneath her blanket. He nodded, lying down beside her and wrapping an arm around her as she nestled close.

He had tried his best and failed.

He had tried to save Gwen and the others and failed.

As MJ sobbed softly against him, Peter vowed he had to do better.

He had to be better.