Disclaimer: "You will never be satisfiiiiiiiiiied"
Geez I haven't written a chapter for this in forever. Mainly because my other story is more fun to write :P (Spider-Ling, Spider-Boy, Spider-Man). But I've been adding to this for months now and finally finished it. It made me kinda sad. :( so enjoy I guess lol
Four men stood outside of the door. It was silent except for the distant sound of metal rhythmically bouncing and grinding together. It was a night like any other, although this time their guard duties had been extended into much later hours. They yawned and blinked their eyes sleepily, rolling their shoulders and drumming their fingers against the stocks of their guns.
The tranquil stupor was suddenly shattered by the sound of a window breaking. Startled, the men ran down the hallway and dispersed into the open space, eyes darting in every direction. The spotless glass that once abounded one wide wall of the room had been ruined, with a jagged hole yawning directly into the black sky and glimmering shards scattered across the marble floor. The guards glanced warily around the suite, but there was no intruder in sight.
"Who did this? Show yourself!"
Wham! A foot came swooping from above and kicked one man in the temple. He toppled to the floor with a strangled groan, and the attacker leapt off the ceiling and pounced on the guard standing behind him, tearing the rifle from his fingers and slamming a fist into his nose. Gunfire began to pop from the two remaining men sporadically, lighting up the dark room with bursts of sparks and puffs of debris. But the shadowy enemy was too fast for them, and they felt something snag on to their feet before their legs were ripped from underneath them. As soon as they hit the ground, layers of thick, sticky goop were sprayed over each of their bodies, and they were immobilized.
The muffled moans of the guards carried quietly through the apartment. The black figure stood among the men, breathing slowly, taking in the details of the room he had invaded. The style was modern and expensive, with very little color outside of the monochromatic pallet. Dull paintings hung on the walls, abstract sculptures sat atop the mantel and between the luxurious furniture, and a long table stood in the center of the dining area, right beside the wall of windows. A glistening chandelier dangled above the dark wood, casting spots of light across its surface. As far as New York City apartments went, the place was a damn mansion.
He looms over the city in his fancy castle and watches our people suffer from high above, he thought lividly, like some kind of twisted dictator. While actively committed to destroying people's lives, Fisk was living in the lap of luxury. He wasn't even hiding. It all made Peter sick.
The far-off sound of metal pinging together met his ear. Wordlessly, Spider-Man snatched up one of the guards and marched down the long hallway, drawing closer to the noise. At the end, he found a door, and kicked it down like a domino.
The entrance opened up into a wide room. The door tore from its hinges and clattered down the small staircase that led to the floor. Inside, the chamber was found to be an impressive workout space, with every kind of intimidating gym equipment one could imagine. There were dumbbells dotted along the ground and stacked on racks in rows that were bigger than his head. A full boxing ring with gloves and helmets at the ready sat on his left. Treadmills, bikes, ellipticals, and other machines were organized on his right. And lastly, in the center of it all, was a large bench press station. Weights the size of monster truck tires were hanging off the rungs, and an enormous figure was laid back on the seat. He was lifting a barbell that was bowing in the middle, grunting with effort. The weight hanging off either side must have weighed at least five times as much as Peter did. The metal hit together after every rep, making a shrill pinging noise that caused the symbiote crawl along his skin.
Despite the ruckus he had caused, the large figure took no notice to his presence, and continued his regime unfazed. Spider-Man stepped down the staircase and strode a few paces forward, then slung the guard to the ground in front of him. The man whimpered feebly.
"If you're going to have my friends killed before cozying back up in your damn penthouse, you should've hired better guardsmen."
With a strained huff, Wilson Fisk dropped the weight back on the rack, then slowly sat upright. He mopped the sweat from his forehead with a towel, then smiled at Spider-Man calmly.
"I didn't have your friends killed. The Sinister Six are not a part of Hydra."
"But you created them," he growled threateningly. "You gave them the money and the cause. You're the one who's been orchestrating all the horrors that have plagued my life and my city. And for what—your own demented amusement?"
The Kingpin stood, rising like a giant from his dungeon. Peter swore he hadn't been this big the last time the two of them had met face-to-face.
"It's quite rude for a boy such as yourself to break into my home unannounced and start throwing wild accusations at me. I am a human being, just as you are, with convictions and motives." His muscles bulged like boulders beneath his thick flesh. All this time, Spider-Man had assumed his monstrous body mass consisted of nothing but Funyuns and blubber. "And to blame all your problems on me is unwarranted," he continued. "What about all the sacrifices I've made to help you, Spider-Man?"
"Yeah. Sending your attack dogs after me, killing innocent people without a second thought, creating some freak underground base to distribute drugs, weapons, terrorists, and trafficked humans around the city, forcing good people to do your dirty work through blackmailing and bribery, taking me and my friends prisoner, torturing us." He fists curled at his sides. "Clearly all things meant to help me."
"Precisely. Everything done to prepare you for the coup de grâs."
"And what exactly might that be?"
Wilson Fisk took a long drink from his water bottle and stood in front of the mirror, which encompassed the entire back wall of the room. He stared at his reflection with a glazed expression.
"As I'm sure you're aware by now, I am a man who meticulously seeks power. Power over others, power over authority, power beyond what I had operating as a simple crime lord. Power in every form, phase, and accessibility. Power over anyone I want, or anything I want."
"Shut up!" Peter cried suddenly. The outburst came from a mixture of his own anger, and that which seemed unnaturally potent and foreign. "Just shut up! Do you know what your stupid quest for power has done to us? What it's turned us into? Look at what your arrogance and carelessness has created!" He strode closer to him, muscles coiled beneath his flesh. "What will having all this power accomplish? You'll never be satisfied. It will never be enough. All your incessant power grab has done is brought us to you. And now it's time you faced our wrath."
To his surprise, a wide grin spread across Wilson Fisk's face, followed by a booming laugh that broke from his throat. The beastly man turned on him. "That's where your wrong, Spider-Man: you are enough. Your power is enough to satisfy me. You, and my precious gift. You are my untamable weapon, my monster."
Peter stopped in his tracks suddenly. He narrowed his eyes, then cocked his head to the side. "What do you...what are you talking about?"
"You, Spider-Man. You, and my venomous symbiote."
Spider-Man went stiff with sudden unease. His eyes wandered down to his hands, which had rectangles of white on the tops contrasted against the inky black. He didn't remember those being there before.
"That's it, isn't it? You're wearing it—or rather, it's wearing you. It's bonded with your body, and now it has you."
Anxiety crept into his throat. Peter remembered when Fisk had tried to feed him to the symbiote after his first fight with the Six, how he'd said it would turn him into a monster, and how insanely terrified he had been. But...it hadn't. He wasn't a monster. He was still himself, only stronger. It hadn't hurt him or changed him in any way. It hadn't, right? He could feel the black suit moving against his skin at that moment, and he swore he could hear, like a far-off echo, a voice whispering somewhere deep inside his mind. A chill crawled up his spine, and he subconsciously strained to clear his head.
"Y-yes, we're bound together. But you—you were wrong about it. It's hasn't done anything but made us—I mean me—powerful enough to destroy Hydra, the Six, and you."
"And it is your desperate belief in that lie that further affirms my desires. You forget, boy: I conducted experiments on the symbiote before it came into your possession. On the subjects it didn't consume, the symbiote took control of their bodies, and replaced their minds and morality with its unquenchable hunger for power. True, some hosts took it longer to overcome, but in the end, the monster's will always prevailed." He shook his head in pained amusement. "Don't you get it, Spider-Man? You are the symbiote's host. It is a parasite: leeching off your life force, infecting your mind, influencing your judgement. You're slipping, just like all the others did. It's only a matter of time before it claims full control over you, transforms you into a killing machine, and satisfies my thirst for power by granting me the greatest of all biological weapons."
Peter scowled crossly. "You're wrong. You're lying. And even if you weren't, why would you target Spider-Man, when you could've bonded it to someone much stronger, like the Hulk or Thor? Wouldn't that make more sense in your demented, power-hungry mind?"
The Kingpin grinned knowingly. "The creature has a history of rejecting hosts if it detects that their wills are stronger than its own, and soon abandons them, if it doesn't eat them. It also seems to have a particular attraction to you of all people. And seeing that you and the symbiote share the same blood, I assumed you were destined to be the host it would permanently bond to. And, I must admit: I harbor a certain hatred against you after all you've done to destroy my good work. I've waited a long time to see everything you are and everything you love crumble away because of your juvenile arrogance."
After dwelling on this for a moment, he scoffed under his breath, trying to sound unfazed. "Do you seriously expect me to believe anything the 'Stay Puffed Marshmallow Man' has to say? Just because you like to put off this dull, omniscient villain vibe doesn't mean you can throw a bunch of wordy BS my way and lie through your wine-stained teeth without me catching on. You tried to destroy me by giving me the symbiote, but instead you only made me more capable of taking you down. Now you're just trying to trip me up, because you've realized just how royally you've screwed yourself. And if you seriously think I'd ever do anything that brings a smile to your flabby, pompous face, you've clearly lost your grip on reality."
"And this, right here, little hero," the towering crime lord sneered, "is what grownups call irony. Because you have been doing my bidding. You already are. You still are at this very moment. And you will continue to, without even realizing it."
Spider-Man stared The Kingpin down with a gaze as stony as a statue. His hands flexed at his sides, then slowly curled into fists. Look at him grin, Peter. Listen to him mock us. He's hurt so many people. He killed your friends. He underestimates our power. It's time for us to end this. Let's do what we came here to do, together.
The voice had returned to his head, but he didn't make an effort to repress it this time. Peter exhaled lividly, gritted his teeth, then charged. He was across the room in an instant, leaping into the air with his fist cocked behind his head, seconds from delivering a devastating punch to his fat face.
Before his knuckles could meet their mark, however, Peter's spidey sense exploded inside his head. In the same instant, an incredible force crashed into his body, and he felt himself go flying sideways straight into a rack of dumbbells that spilled over him boisterously. Aching, shaking, and shocked, he gingerly dragged himself from the pile and stared up at The Kingpin, whose palm was held out, perpendicular to the floor. Did he just...backhand them across the room?
"Is that all you've got, boy?" the monstrous man jeered, dusting himself off. "Perhaps I was wrong. Maybe the symbiote chose its host poorly. Prove to me that you're worthy of its power, and worthy of my ownership."
Anger seized him in a vice, and he flung the weight from his body then bolted towards him again. Fisk wound his arm back for another powerful strike, but Peter was ready this time. He ducked under his barreling fist and somersaulted between his legs, then popped up behind him and kicked him the back. The Kingpin stumbled forward from the blow, catching himself on a treadmill, then whipped around with the machine in his hands, flinging it straight at Peter's head. Spider-Man spun out of the way, flinching as it hit the boxing ring behind him with a crash, and fired a web-line to the ceiling. Locking his legs in front of his body, he swung himself at the monstrous man full-force, ramming his heels into his chest. When that hardly budged him, Spider-Man sprung off and fired a glob of webbing over his eyes, then whipped his legs at the back of his knees. Despite being blinded, Fisk anticipated his movements, and seized him by the ankle before he could knock him down.
"Your fighting pattern is growing sloppy. You're slow and predictable. You cannot win this while you're still battling for control."
Effortlessly, he chucked him like a rag doll across the room, and he slammed into the wall, leaving a crater in its surface. He slid to the floor with a moan, dropping to his hands and knees.
"On the outside you are fighting me, but on the inside you are fighting it." He tore the webbing from his eyes and flung it aside. "Stop fighting it; let it consume you entirely. That is the only way you'll ever be able to defeat me."
Panting heavily, Spider-Man hooked a thread from the top of his hand to a medicine ball and whipped it at The Kingpin's face. He dodged it with ease, but Peter didn't stop. He snagged an iron plate and threw it, then a barbell, then a chair. Objects were flying at Fisk in a ridiculous frenzy, and he quickly found they were coming faster than he could move. He jerked and ducked with sudden alarm, then winced as a bench skidded into his knee. An elliptical bounced off his shoulder, and a shoe pegged him in the forehead. Yelling with rage, he threw strategy to the wind and barreled forwards through the rain of miscellaneous projectiles, knocking them aside with his bulbous arms. Just as he reached the crumpled figure on the ground, seconds from snapping his scrawny neck, Spider-Man suddenly leapt to his feet. Like a speeding bullet, his fist swung and slugged him straight in the jaw. Teeth and blood flew from his lips, and he tottered backwards on his heels, stunned. Peter fell back to the floor, struck with sudden dizziness and exhaustion. He hadn't rested at all since his fight with the Six, and it felt like the symbiote encasing his half-dead body was not helping him as much. Every movement was pushing his overworked flesh closer to the brink, every attack was driven by a power that was not his own. He was starving, sleep-deprived, and shivery with exhaustion; if not for the black suit providing what little strength it was giving to his muscles and making him fight back, he doubted he'd be able to move. Rage not entirely his own had brought him here, and that same rage was barely keeping him in the battle. The Kingpin gingerly wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then grinned.
"Good," he hissed through his bloody teeth, "but not good enough."
His meaty knuckles flew towards the sable hero, but Peter managed to roll out of the way. His hand crashed into the floor, and Spider-Man sprung at him while he was vulnerable, aiming another artificially-powered punch at his head. But to his disbelief, Fisk caught his flying fist in the palm of his opposite hand, and he felt his wrist crack beneath his crushing hold.
"Your will is stronger than I imagined, but your body isn't. How unfortunate."
Peter swung his leg at his stomach, but he blocked it with his forearm. Then, yanking him forwards by the wrist, Fisk cocked back his hand, balled it into a fist, and let it fly. The punch struck his eye: blunt, dizzying, and leaving him reeling for consciousness. It hit him again, then again, then again. Then he was thrown, and a stack of weights toppled beside him. He whipped his foot out of the way of one, but a second landed on his hand, and he felt the bone snap. He cried in pain and frantically threw the weight off with his left, unable to turn his wrist, move his fingers. Before he could regather himself, something seized him by the throat, and he was lifted furiously off the floor.
"Is this the same hero who's caused me so much trouble over the past year? Who defeated my chimeras, turned my own pawns against me, ripped Hydra from the shadows, and dismantled my Sinister Six?" The Kingpin's sweaty, vicious face glared down at him, red with anger, thick as a bowling ball. He picked Peter up like a weightless fishbone and held him carelessly above the ground. "Now look at you. Pathetic."
Spider-Man tried to move, but found that he couldn't. The symbiote wasn't helping him anymore. In fact, it felt like it was fighting him—keeping his legs immobile, his arms stiff. When the hero did nothing to try to escape, Fisk slammed his body into the wall, cracking the mirror and making him gasp.
"What's the matter with you? You're supposed to be my ultimate weapon! Fight back!"
His body was frozen. The black suit was holding him still. Why? Was it trying to kill him? Or was it—oh gosh. It was...making him choose. Forcing him to decide. Death or submission? Destruction or surrender? No! He couldn't!
"You're weak! Give into the symbiote's power, or die!"
You're weak. We are not. Give into us, Peter.
No! Let me go!
Fisk wrapped both of his monstrous hands around Peter's throat. The strength of his hold was staggering, and Spider-Man gagged.
"After all you've done, this is how you face me? Lifeless, spiritless, powerless?"
Give into us. Let us animate the venom inside you. Give into us.
"I'm astounded by your lack of passion. Your complete indifference!"
The shattered glass was cutting into his back. He couldn't breathe.
Let us take control. Let us have the power. Let us be your Venom.
"Is this how you plan to avenge them? All of your precious little friends—the ones that I took from you? The ones I had murdered? They must be so disappointed in you."
His blood suddenly ran cold in his veins. An icy claw curled around his heart like a serpent. The rage, pain, and sadness all knotted up inside him seemed to unfurl in that instant. It flowed freely through his system like poison, feeding the symbiote and making it writhe. It was too much. He couldn't fight it any longer. The transformation happened before he could fight it, and Peter's conscience was consumed.
At that moment, The Kingpin felt the black slime begin to stir and ripple against his hands as he suffocated the young hero. "W-what the...?" he stammered in surprise. It was...growing. Expanding. Bubbling up like living tar. Suddenly startled, he relinquished his hold and jumped backwards, and Spider-Man fell to the ground, bent over himself as if in agony. The black sludge began to swell off his small frame, bulging into thick muscles, monstrous hands, massive legs. In seconds, the size of his body had doubled, donning the shape of something out of a horrifying fever dream. It was unlike anything Fisk had ever seen. The figure was screeching, but it didn't sound human. As the disturbing metamorphosis ceased, he watched as the newly-formed creature slowly staggered to its feet, swaying like a zombie, looming like a monster. It lifted its head, revealing the wide, soulless eyes stretched across its face, and broke into a sinister grin. A snakelike tongue scissored between its jagged teeth, and the beast opened its fleshy maw to release a bloodcurdling scream.
"My God," Fisk breathed in disbelief. "I've...I've done it. I've done it! Look at it you!"
The dark monstrosity heaved raspy breaths as it stood upright, hissing viciously. The Kingpin laughed in delight.
"I've finally done it! You're mine now! Spider-Man is gone, and you're my ultimate weapon! My Venom! I knew it was only a matter of time! You're finally mine!" He smiled hideously. "No pathetic hero will ever stand against me now. No one shall ever deny me of my desires. No more Hydra, S.H.I.E.L.D., or Sinister Six to hold me back. With you fighting for my cause, I will be unstoppable." Wiping a hand across his lips, Fisk strode up to the towering figure, then pointed to the door with a cackle. "Go! Show me and the world your true power! Kill everything in your sight!"
For a moment, the beast did nothing. Its eyes seemed to stare through him rather than at him, and its hands flexed at its sides. Slowly, the creature's teeth slid apart, and a long tongue flickered out to taste the air, saliva dripping off the tip. Then its gaze locked on him, and the monster shrieked with rage. Fisk flinched back quickly, blinking.
"Hey! Do you not understand? I am the one who led you to Spider-Man, and now you are to obey me. So do as I command! Wreak havoc across this city so I can reform it in my own image!"
But the black scourge wasn't listening. It finally had what it wanted, and now it was time to exploit it. With a hiss, it lunged at The Kingpin—much too fast for him to dodge. A crushing punch in the chest sent him flying into the stairs across the room, and he sprawled to the floor, the wind knocked from his lungs. Not a second later, the creature was upon him again, and it grabbed him by the leg and hurled him into the wall as if he were a helpless child. Falling to the ground, the large man wheezed feebly, his head spinning.
"S-stop! I made you! You are my weapon! I'm going to transform the world through you!"
Screeching, the dark monster barreled at him and raked a claw across his chest, spraying the carpet with blood. Fisk cried in pain, but his voice was cut off by a hand clenching around his throat and bashing his face into the ground. The assault was without thought, hesitance, or the smallest hint of mercy. Sputtering and gurgling in shock, he flipped on to his stomach and tried to crawl away, desperate to escape his attacker. He had hardly made it an inch before a foot swung into his side, and he skidded into a table that clattered on top of him. Fisk moaned through the blood in his throat as feet pounding against the floor approached, and his momentary shelter was knocked to the side. The demon lifted his thick, battered form from the ground and began punching him, over and over, unrelenting, nonstop. The world melted into a spiraling cesspool of red, and the only thing he could hear was the monster's screams and the cracking of his bones. Then he was thrown, and his broken body crashed on top of a bench press. He lied there, gasping, a crimson puddle forming beneath him. The ceiling fan hanging overhead seemed to spin in slow motion.
A mountainous shadow slowly descended over him. He could make out a pair of empty eyes and a mouth of jagged, devilish teeth. A long tongue lolled between the fangs and slithered just above The Kingpin's face, curling and twisting like a snake. He felt the monster yank him upright by his shirt, and watched as a thick, deadly dagger unsheathed from its wrist. The razor-sharp projectile was nearly a foot in length, and the beast aimed the point towards his chest.
"D-dammit. I suppose this is what I should've expected," Fisk chuckled painfully, spitting a glob of blood on to the floor. "Look at you. You're exactly what I wanted."
The black creature hissed, then raised its arm behind its head.
"By k-killing me, the transformation will be complete. Spider-Man will be gone for good, and all that will be left is Venom. My perfect, murderous monstrosity." With a smile, The Kingpin closed his eyes and relaxed his body, giving in beneath the creature's unbreakable grip. "So go ahead, Spider-Man. Kill me. You will s-still be doing my bidding. And even when I'm gone, you'll continue to serve me. My weapon, my monster, my Venom..."
A cruel growl rippled in the dark entity's throat. Its slippery tongue dragged across its teeth, and its hand curled into a fist.
But then it froze. Its body went stiff.
N-no! Stop it! We can't! I can't! I don't kill people!
We must. We must get revenge for all the ways he hurt us. We must.
To the creature's shock, however, their bulging black muscles slowly began to diminish.
No! Let me go you slimy bastard! Give me my body back!
This is what we want. We only want to help.
The hand holding Fisk up suddenly let go, and he collapsed on to the bench, coughing and gagging. The long dagger on its wrist retracted back into its skin, and the sable beast stumbled backwards, shrieking and clawing at its head.
I don't kill people! No matter what awful things they've done, Spider-Man doesn't kill people! Now let me go!
Unable to resist a fully-cognizant Peter Parker, the symbiote begrudgingly retreated back into itself until the towering monster was shrunk all the way back down to a short, skinny teenager. His hands were gripping his head, and he was shaking all over. He was free, but completely wiped. Dazed with blinding exhaustion, he fell back against a chair, barely managing to keep himself from blacking out. The room fell quiet until nothing but the sound of the two men's strangled breathing was audible.
The voice had come from behind him. Through the haze hanging over him, Peter recognized who was speaking. He carefully turned towards it, blinking deliriously.
Two men were standing in the doorway at the top of the short staircase. Both were sopping wet. One of the figures slowly made his way to the floor, and his glowing hand fell to the side.
"Holy crap. Are you alright?"
Peter stood up sluggishly, eyes widening in disbelief. His knees wobbled underneath him.
Tony's arm was in a sling and he was dotted with cuts and bruises. The light from the gauntlet covering only his palm fell on the massive form of The Kingpin, which was heaving with ragged breaths.
"Geez, kid, what the hell happened here?"
Spider-Man limped towards him unsteadily, shellshocked.
"You...you're alive? How are you alive? Th-there was an explosion. And the base, I—I saw it flood with water."
The other man, still standing at the top of the staircase, placed a hand on his hip. "I got them out. I was at the other entrance. I had watched the Avengers go down there, and when the water came rushing from the hole, I knew they were all going to drown. So I ran inside and pulled them out, one by one." He ran his fingers through his dripping hair. "They were very hurt and water-logged, so I took them to the hospital."
"But they should be okay," Tony assured him. "Mr. Maximoff here is ridiculously fast. I don't know how he managed to get us all out as quickly as he did."
At that moment, Peter wasn't wondering about the crazy science that had to have been at play for Pietro to rescue the Avengers the way he was describing, or why Pietro had chosen to save them when he had sworn he hated all their guts and wanted them dead the last time he'd seen him. Only one thought was swirling around in his disheveled mind: My friends...are alive.
"But anyway, what the hell was going on while we were down there? Was it the Sinister Six who blew up the entrance and tried to kill us? How did you manage to defeat all of them? And how did you know that Fisk would be...huh? Uh, kid?"
Spider-Man was lumbering slowly towards him. He was cloaked in the strange black costume and looked like a ghostly phantom from a child's nightmare. His silhouette seemed to blend into the dark background, with the white spider and wide eye-lenses piercing through the shadows. Sudden fear rose into Tony's throat, and he took a nervous step back.
He stopped in front of him. Then, to Stark's surprise, the black material that made up Spider-Man's mask peeled away, revealing Peter Parker's hollow face underneath. He looked pale, bone-tired, and badly beaten. And, to top it all off, his eyes were brimming with tears.
"Spidey?" Tony said confusedly. "What's the matter?"
In response, Peter wrapped his arms around him and went limp. He broke into uncontrollable crying.
"I—I thought y-you..." he wept helplessly. Tears poured freely from his eyes; he couldn't make them stop. "I th-thought all of you were dead! I thought I was alone! I wasn't...I c-couldn't..." Slowly he slipped to his knees and buried his face in his hands. His whole body shook as he was racked with sobs. Stark watched all this unfold bewilderedly, standing stiffly as the kid cried at his feet. This was not at all what he was expecting to face when they found Spider-Man. He had no idea that his presumed death would effect him so profoundly, especially now. He glanced back at Pietro, who shrugged carelessly, then carefully knelt down beside him.
"Hey, hey, it's okay. We're, uh, we're not dead, see? You're not alone. We're all okay. And you're alright. Just calm down for me, will yah?"
When the crying hero wasn't quelled, Tony sat down next to him and gingerly wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Partially to try to comfort him, but also to turn him away from the door. At that moment, an army of S.W.A.T. members came pouring down the staircase. They swarmed around the bench press and gathered up the bloody deadweight that was Wilson Fisk, hauling him with effort to his feet. They restrained him with three pairs of handcuffs and held guns to his back as they forced him towards the exit. Tony Stark pressed Peter's face against his shoulder as one of the men strode up to him.
"Thanks for leading us here. We've been after this one for a long time."
Stark waved him off. "No prob. Just be sure he gets what he deserves." Feeling a bit uncomfortable but unsure what else to do, he gently rubbed at Spider-Man's back, thankful that he was starting to quiet down a bit. "You did good kid, 'kay? This asshole won't be hurting anyone else thanks to you. Even through all the crap you've been put through, you did good. You should be proud."
Peter was too frazzled and too weary to respond. Tears continued to drip down his face, but he wasn't really sure why at this point. He was so overwhelmed.
"We owe you one, Spider-Man," he heard the S.W.A.T. guy say, "for everything you've done tonight. Maybe you aren't the menace everyone always stakes you as."
Then the man turned and joined the group that was leading Fisk out of the work out room. Peter was facing away from the scene, but he had a pretty good idea of what was going on just behind him. The monstrous man was marching between the officers like a prisoner of war, bleeding, bruised, and defeated. It was magnificent. The battle was finally over. The Kingpin had finally been dethroned.
But as he staggered up the stairs, weapons trained on his broken body, blood dripping from his nose, there was something coming out of him. Over and over, rhythmic, almost. Not mindless garble or unintelligible noises—words. Four of them to be exact, as if on constant repeat. He whispered them between his torn lips, quiet enough so that only someone with very keen hearing could distinguish them. As the soft-spoken sentence met his ears, fresh tears began to drip down Peter's face, and he squeezed his eyes shut with a shiver.
"Just wait, my Venom. Just wait, my Venom. Just wait..."
Tony continued to rub the young hero's back as Wilson Fisk was dragged away.
In case it wasn't obvious, I imagined the whole "Quicksilver saving everybody thing" based off that scene in X-Men Apocalypse when he saves everybody from the big explosion in the mansion. Cuz that was badass. Honestly (sorry Pietro) X-Men Quicksilver is like a billion times more awesome than MCU one, and he'd probably be the only one able to pull this rescue off so :P I hope you liked this, I'll tryyyy to update again soon, but I'll probably work on my other story first :) sorry love u guys