A young New Yorker finds himself in over his head after finding a symbiote that changes him in unexpected ways.

Early access to new chapters, stories, and more plus exclusive votes and non canon XXX chapters here https://www.patreon.com/LightBringerStories?utm_campaign=cre...

Vote on the love interest for free via the link above! ^

Chapter 9 Someone like us

I land hard, stumbling a little as the momentum flings me across the gravelly rooftop. I pull the suit back in before the door slams open.

My mom’s voice cuts through the air before I even fully stand up. “What the hell are you doing?!”

I freeze.

Her voice is sharp, breathless, like she sprinted the last few steps.

“I—uh—I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to scare you, I just… I don’t know.”

She moves closer, and something about the way her arms are crossed feels more like a shield than anger now. “Arin, you can’t do that! We talked about this. You aren’t supposed to—”

“I know! I know, I just…” I shake my head, rub at my arm like it’ll shake the nerves off. “I wanted to. I just… wanted to feel…”

“Feel what?”

“Like I was in control,” I say, quieter now. “Like I still had control of my life.”

Her eyes flash softer for half a second before she catches herself. “That’s not how you do that, Arin. And you—never, ever—do anything like that again. You aren’t—”

“I’m not trying to hurt myself!” I cut in, louder than I mean to. I bite down the lump in my throat. “I wasn’t trying to die or anything, I swear. I just… for one second… I wanted to feel like I chose something. Even if it was just the direction I was falling.”

She takes a breath, slower this time. I can see the tears she’s trying not to let fall, the way her jaw clenches hard to keep everything else inside.

The silence between us stretches thin.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, voice cracking.

“Don’t do that to me,” she says softly. “Not again.”

She steps closer, not yelling now—just looking at me like she’s holding something broken and doesn’t know how to put it back together.

“You could’ve—”

“Died?” I interrupt, but not with defiance. More like I’m already tired of the thought. “I don’t think I really can anymore. At least not that easily.”

She goes quiet. Because she doesn’t know how to argue with that. Her fingers twitch at her sides, like they want to reach for me, but don’t trust me enough to try.

“You don’t know that,” she finally says, quieter now. “And going out like that—swinging through the open air like it’s a damn playground—that’s not brave, Arin. That’s gonna get Alchemax or whoever other lunatic that’s watching find you. People who could kill you.”

I look down at my hands.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, voice small. “I didn’t…”

And then I stop. Because I don’t even know how that sentence ends. I didn’t think? I didn’t care? I didn’t believe it would matter?

I just didn’t want to feel helpless for one more second.

I clench my fists without even realizing it, my voice rising before I can stop it. “I’m already stuck with this! I can’t…”

She steps forward, voice sharp but worried. “What, Arin? You can’t what?”

“I can’t hide forever!” I shout. It echoes across the rooftop, bounces off brick and sky. “I don’t want to! If I’m going to be like this—stuck like this—why can’t I try and actually enjoy it? Is that so wrong?”

Her expression shifts—pain, fear, anger, all twisted together. “Arin, there’s a difference between hiding and being stupid.”

That stings more than it should, and I step back like the words physically hit me. “Don’t do that to me,” I snap, my throat tightening. “Don’t talk to me like I don’t know what I’m doing just because you don’t know how to deal with this.”

Her breath catches, and for a second, it looks like she’s going to say something else—something final—but then she just looks away, jaw clenched, holding it all in like she always does when she’s scared.

And I hate that I made her look like that.

“I’m not a little boy anymore,” I say, softer now, but firmer, trying to hold myself together even as my chest tightens. “I’m not even a guy, not really. And I don’t know if I’m even supposed to be called human anymore with all of… this.” I glance down at my hands, thinking of what’s underneath, of what’s always underneath now. “I’m not trying to scare you. I’m going to be fine. I promise.”

But she doesn’t believe me.

“You don’t know that,” she snaps. “Not when you do things like this. Not when you clearly have no intention of stopping. What’s next, Arin? Are you going to try and be a superhero now? Is that it?”

Her voice cracks like a whip. “You’re going to get yourself killed. You’re not a boy—” she swallows that part down like it hurts her throat, “—and I’m sorry, but that doesn’t matter. Because what you’re doing… it’s going to get you killed, or worse.”

Her eyes are wet now, but she’s still standing like a wall, like if she shows weakness she’ll break apart. And I hate it because part of me wants to run again—swing away and not look back—but the other part, the bigger part, knows I can’t.

I made this mess.

I nod, barely. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I don’t know what to say—because she’s right, and because it hurts to hear it, even if I need to.

She steps closer, her voice softening but still edged with something sharp. “You don’t need to say anything. Not right now. You just need to not do anything like this again.”

I look away.

“And if it’s that thing making you feel like this,” she continues, “then you fight it. You hear me? You don’t let it take over. You don’t let it make your choices. You’re still you. And you can still have a life.”

Her voice wavers, but only a little.

“Even if it’s not as Arin. Even if it’s as Elisa.”

The wind brushes across the rooftop, catching in my hair that’s still unfamiliar, still strange. I blink fast, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“I’m trying,” I whisper. “I’m trying really hard.”

I feel her arms wrap around me before I even realize she’s moved. I freeze for a second, then let myself sink into it, into her warmth, into that safety I’ve been pretending I don’t need.

Her voice is right by my ear, trembling just enough to crack the edge of her calm. “Just keep trying. Please. I love you too much to watch you get hurt.”

“I will,” I say, barely louder than a breath. “I promise. I’ll try.”

She pulls back just enough to look at me, her hands still on my shoulders like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go. Her eyes are wet, but steady. I’ve never seen her like this—so fierce, but not angry. Just scared.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” she says. “Not to me. Not to anyone. You’re not some… monster, or experiment, or hero. You’re just a kid. My kid. That’s enough.”

I nod, but I can’t bring myself to say anything. Because I’m not sure I believe that. I want to. God, I want to. But everything feels too big now—like I can’t go back, even if I tried.

Still, I mumble, “Okay.” It’s all I’ve got.

She lets out a breath like she’s been holding it since I ran off, then looks over her shoulder, back toward the stairwell. “Come on, let’s get inside before someone with a camera sees you.”

I glance out at the skyline one more time. The wind tugs at my hair. Somewhere below, New York is still alive, unaware. Still moving. Still expecting me to figure out who I am.

“I’m not sure who I am anymore,” I say without really meaning to.

She smiles, tired but warm. “Then we figure it out. Together.”

Sue looks up as we enter, her expression softening the moment she sees me again. Reed’s eyes flick toward me too, filled with that relentless curiosity I’m starting to associate with this guy. There’s a beat of silence—awkward, thick—before Reed clears his throat and straightens.

“We’re glad you came back,” he says gently, like I’m some kind of skittish animal. “We were worried.”

Sue smiles, stepping forward. “Look… Elisa—can I call you that?” I nod, hesitantly. “You’re dealing with something huge. We’ve faced symbiotes before, but never a bond this deep, this fast. Which is why we don’t just want to help you… we want to train you. Help you learn how to control it. Not just so it doesn’t control you, but so you don’t have to be afraid of it. Of yourself.”

Behind me, I hear Mom shift, arms crossing tight across her chest. I don’t have to turn to know the look on her face.

“I’m sorry, but no,” she says firmly. “That’s not what we came here for.”

Claire opens her mouth, maybe to mediate, but Mom doesn’t let her. “She’s not some superhero-in-training. She’s a teenager who got caught in something she never asked for. The goal is separation—until that’s possible, safety. That’s it.”

Reed frowns slightly. “Mrs. Coleman, I understand your concern. But we’re talking about a bond that is permanent. Ignoring it isn’t the same as controlling it.”

I glance at Sue. She’s not pushing like Reed. She just looks at me.

“Ultimately,” she says quietly, “it’s your choice, Elisa.”

My heart’s pounding again, for what feels like the hundredth time this week.

Permanent. Train. Control.

Or pretend it isn’t there and just hope that somehow, someday… this nightmare ends.

I look between them. Then at Mom. And I can’t help but feel like no matter what I choose, something in me is going to change forever.

I nod, barely. My eyes sting a little, but I blink it back. I already put her through so much. The worry. The fear. The helplessness she must feel watching me—her kid—turn into something unrecognizable. I don’t think I can keep doing that to her. Not more than I already have.

I can’t.

I lower my gaze. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Reed’s mouth tightens, not in anger, just… understanding, maybe tinged with disappointment. He opens his mouth to say something, but stops short. He sighs instead, straightening his coat. “I can’t say I agree with this decision. But if—”

“If you change your mind,” Sue finishes gently, stepping in beside him, “we’ll be here. You’re not alone in this.”

The words hit harder than I expect.

I nod again, tighter this time, and turn away before they see too much in my face. Mom touches my back lightly, guiding me toward the elevator, as Claire trails behind, quiet.

I glance back once as the doors begin to close. Sue’s watching me still.

I don’t say anything else.

I just ride the elevator down, trying not to think about what I just left behind… or what I might still become.

I kinda zone out after that.

The voices around me feel muffled, like I’m hearing them underwater. Claire and my mom are talking—something soft and serious. I catch pieces of it, little splinters of meaning that don’t quite settle.

“We’re going to go home… but I thank you for trying, Claire.”

“Of course. I know you’d do the same after—”

“We’ve gotta go,” Mom cuts in, sharper than she probably means to.

Claire doesn’t argue. She just nods, gives me a look I can’t quite meet, and steps back.

Then it’s a cab ride. Quiet. Uncomfortable. I stare out the window, watching buildings pass by in a blur of steel and light. I want to say something. Maybe ask if she’s okay. Maybe tell her I’m sorry again. But I don’t.

She doesn’t, either.

The weight of everything just hangs there between us, thick and silent.

The cab pulls up outside the building.

Home. Whatever that means anymore.

I stare up at the ceiling, the cracks in the plaster looking like faded constellations. The weight of the day presses down on me like another blanket, heavier than anything physical. The sheets feel too tight. My skin too unfamiliar. My breath too loud in the silence.

“So back to hiding,” the symbiote says.

“Yep.”

A beat of quiet.

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

I groan, rubbing my hands over my face. “You don’t want to end up in a lab again, right? Being tortured? Because that’s what will happen!”

Silence.

“…Didn’t think so.”

I sigh and roll onto my side, facing the wall. The familiar wall. The only part of my room that still feels like mine.

“Listen,” I murmur, “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry. It’s just been a lot.”

“I don’t want to be hidden either.”

There’s something fragile in its tone.

“I know,” I whisper. “But we’re not ready yet. Not for what comes with being seen.”

“…When will we be ready?”

I close my eyes.

“I don’t know.”

I pull the blanket tighter around me, curling inward as if I could make myself smaller, easier to carry. The room hums with the soft breath of the city beyond the window, but all I can hear is its voice, sitting right there in my head like a second heartbeat.

“Maybe when Alchemax slips up and they’re arrested, we can try something,” I whisper.

There’s a pause before it answers.

“There will always be another ‘Alchemax.’”

“…Yeah.”

“The world will never be completely safe.”

“I know,” I murmur. “But—”

“It’s because of her.”

My breath catches. “You mean… my mom?”

“Yes.”

I turn to face the ceiling again, the darkness pressing down harder than before.

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

A strange gentleness creeps into the space between us.

“We wouldn’t.”

I shake my head. “Not like that. I mean emotionally. Every time I take a risk, every time I even think about stepping into something he’ll even just trying to fix this… she’s already grieving it. Like I’m not her kid anymore.”

It doesn’t respond right away.

“She’s afraid of losing you.”

That quiets everything.

I blink, once, then again—because of the tears I didn’t know were there.

“I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

“Then maybe we change what ‘this’ is.”

I exhale slow, letting the tension slide out of my shoulders as I whisper back, “…We will. But for now, at least, let’s take it easy. Just till things settle, okay?”

There’s a pause—longer than usual.

“Fine.”

It doesn’t sound thrilled, but it’s not pushing either. That’s as much of a win as I’m gonna get.

I close my eyes, the last flickers of city light tracing the inside of my eyelids like memories.

“You know you don’t have to speak aloud for us to talk,” it says.

“I know that,” I think back. “But it’s weird.”

“It’s not weird.”

“It’s a little weird.”

“…Goodnight.”

I smile a little, despite myself. Goodnight.

I rub my eyes as I wander into the living room, still in the oversized hoodie I crashed in. My hair’s a mess, and I probably look as tired as I feel.

That’s when I see her—Mom—sitting on the couch with a small box in her lap. She doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at it like it might explode.

“What is that?” I ask, my voice scratchy.

“Oh, I… I don’t know. It’s—” she hesitates, “—it’s for you.”

Her voice sounds off. Soft. Tired. Like she’s been thinking all night.

She holds the box out and I reach for it, fingers brushing against the smooth cardboard. My eyes catch a small, barely noticeable stamp in the corner—a stylized number 4.

I move into the kitchen, trying not to look too curious, and to grab a pair of scissors.

“Ahem,” the voice rumbles, half teasing.

Right. I don’t need scissors. I glance toward the living room to make sure she’s not looking, then shift my hand. A quiet liquid like sound and a small blade forms at my fingertip. I slice the tape clean and retract it before she can see anything.

Inside—chocolate.

I blink. Chocolate?

Then I see the note tucked along the side, written in Reed’s? impossibly neat handwriting.

“Symbiotes require a special enzyme found in chocolate. Make sure to eat some regularly… or it might begin to seek out other sources.”

I feel the color drain from my face a little.

“Delightful,” the symbiote murmurs, “But also… disappointing. I was kind of hoping for something more dramatic.”

“You really weren’t joking about the brain thing, were you…”

“No,” it answers plainly, almost cheerfully. “But if the great Richards says this will do, I suppose it’s worth a try.”

“Great…” I mutter, biting into the chocolate like I’m chewing through my problems. “I guess I’m supposed to eat chocolate for the symbiote.”

Mom raises an eyebrow, still on the couch, arms folded across her chest. “Why?”

I freeze. Internally screaming. Don’t mention the brains don’t mention the brains don’t mention the—

“It just, uh… needs a certain enzyme to stay balanced,” I say quickly, too quickly. “Says it’s found in chocolate. Pretty harmless, all things considered.”

“Harmless and delicious.”

I almost choke on the bite I was taking. “Yup. Just a little… alien nutrition management. Totally fine.”

Mom doesn’t look convinced. But she doesn’t press further.

I glance over at her, still chewing the last bit of chocolate, and ask, “So… do you have a night shift, day shift, or are you fully off today?”

She leans back on the couch, running a hand through her hair. “Fully off. Finally. Which means I get to spend the whole day worrying about you in person instead of just from the nurses’ station.”

I wince a little. “Right. Fair.”

She gives me a tired smile, then nods toward the chocolate box. “Though I gotta admit, ‘alien requires chocolate’ was not on my list of reasons to call in.”

“She’ll come around,” the symbiote offers, as if it’s trying to be helpful. “Eventually.”

I slide onto the couch next to her, pulling my legs up under me, the box of chocolate still in hand. She doesn’t say anything at first—just glances over, then back toward the muted TV, which isn’t even playing anything. Just some news ticker crawling endlessly at the bottom of a frozen anchor’s face.

“I didn’t mean to scare you yesterday,” I say quietly, after a minute.

She doesn’t respond right away. Just exhales slowly, like she’s been holding that breath since last night.

“I know you didn’t,” she finally says. “But you did.”

I nod. “Yeah. I know.”

We sit there in silence for a while. Not angry, not cold. Just tired. Like two people trying to figure out how to keep existing in a world that changed without asking them first.

“Tell her we appreciate her.”

“Why?”

“Because she stayed.”

That thought settles somewhere deeper than I expect. I glance at her—my mom—and then quietly slide the box toward her.

“Want one?”

She smirks just a little, then picks one out. “Only because it’s alien-prescribed.”

I laugh, and for a second… the world feels okay again. Just for a second.

We both sit there for a while, the faint sound of traffic outside filtering in through the windows, mixing with the occasional crinkle of the chocolate wrapper. It’s peaceful in that weird, brittle way—like glass that hasn’t cracked yet.

I’m just starting to settle—just starting to believe I might actually get one normal, boring day—when Mom’s phone buzzes on the coffee table.

She glances at the screen and frowns. “Claire.”

My stomach twists immediately.

She picks up, voice cautious. “Hey, everything okay?”

I can’t hear Claire’s voice, but I watch as Mom’s expression shifts—subtle, but I know her too well. Her mouth tightens slightly. Her eyes flick toward me, then away. Whatever she’s hearing, it’s not nothing.

She nods slowly frowning. “Yeah… yeah, she’s here.”

My chest tightens. Here we go.

She holds the phone out to me. “It’s… for you.”

I press the phone to my ear, trying not to sound tense, but my voice still comes out tight. “Hello?”

Claire’s voice crackles through the speaker, calm but clipped. “Hey, kid. So—one of the people I talked to before? They want to meet you.”

My stomach sinks, but I try to keep it steady. “I thought it was already too late. Reed and Sue said…”

“Maybe it is,” she says, not unkindly. “Maybe you are stuck with it. But this person’s been bonded with a symbiote before.”

“They want to give you some pointers. Help you learn how to keep control—or at least what they did.”

I glance over at Mom. She’s trying not to hover, but she’s listening—her worry practically vibrating off her.

“What’s the catch?” I ask.

Claire hesitates. “You’ll need to meet them alone. They can be trusted so you shouldn’t worry. But you need to be alone.”

Great. Because that doesn’t sound ominous.

“You can say no,” Claire adds quickly. “But this might be your one shot to talk to someone who actually knows what you’re going through. Reed’s a genius, sure, but he’s never had a voice in his head with fangs.”

I bite my lip, thinking.

“We’re curious. What do they know? Are they like us?”

“I don’t know,” I think back. “But I guess we’re about to find out.”

I lower the phone just a little, covering the mic. “Did you tell her?” I ask quietly, trying not to let it carry—but of course, Mom hears.

Her jaw tenses. She grimaces slightly, already bracing for whatever conversation this is about to turn into.

On the other end, Claire answers before I can say more. “Yeah, but I wanted to talk to you about it too. I wouldn’t have agreed to anything without checking in.”

I glance over at Mom, the weight of yesterday still sitting heavy in the air between us. She’s not looking at me directly, just down at her hands, clasped too tightly in her lap.

“Are you okay with this?” I ask her, softer now. “I mean… after everything yesterday…”

She breathes out slowly. Doesn’t speak right away.

Then she finally looks at me—really looks. Her eyes are tired. Scared. But steady.

“No,” she says, honestly. “I’m not okay with it.”

My heart sinks.

“But,” she adds, “I know I can’t stop you from doing what you think you have to do. And if someone out there actually understands what you’re going through… I’d rather you go hear them out than try to figure it all out alone.”

I stare at her for a moment, unsure what to say.

“It’s not like whoever this is is gonna be training me or something,” I add quickly, trying to make it sound casual, like that’ll make it easier to swallow. “It’s just a conversation. That’s all.”

Mom doesn’t say anything right away.

Just that long pause.

The one that feels heavier than most people’s shouting.

“…You promise,” I ask, quieter now, “you won’t be mad at me?”

Her eyes narrow just slightly, but not in anger—more like she’s looking through me, like she’s trying to figure out what’s really going on underneath everything I’m not saying.

Finally, she sighs.

“I won’t be mad,” she says. “I’ll be worried. I’ll be pacing the living room and staring at my phone every five seconds. But I won’t be mad.”

I give a small, nervous laugh. “That’s fair.”

She leans in a little, lowering her voice. “But if you come home with a cape and a name, we’re gonna have a different conversation.”

I smile—genuinely, this time.

“No capes. Promise.”

I lift the phone back to my ear. “Okay.”

Claire doesn’t miss a beat. “Just head to the roof. They’ll meet you there.”

I blink. “The roof?”

“Yeah. Look, I told them it wasn’t exactly subtle, but they’re not big on front doors. Or hallways.” She sighs on the other end. “Don’t worry—they’re not here to start anything. Just talk.”

I glance toward the ceiling like I’ll be able to feel whoever’s waiting up there.

The roof. Of course. Because nothing in my life is allowed to be normal anymore.

“Okay,” I say again, slower this time.

“Be careful,” Claire adds. “You’ve got good instincts. Trust them.”

I hang up.

My mom’s already watching me.

“The roof?” she asks.

I nod once. “Yeah. I’ll be back soon.”

She doesn’t try to stop me.

But I see her hand drift to her phone.

Just in case.

I push open the roof door and step out into the late morning light. The city stretches out around me—loud, restless, uncaring—but up here it’s quiet, like I’m balanced between two worlds.

I close the door behind me and exhale slow.

They said talk, I remind myself. Just talk.

But my heart’s already racing.

I start pacing. Slow at first, then faster. Each step echoing across the rooftop. Back and forth, arms crossed tight over my chest, hoodie sleeves too long again. I don’t even notice how tense my jaw is until it starts to ache.

“Who do you think it is?” I think toward the voice inside.

“Someone like us. That’s what she said.”

“Helpful.”

“Maybe we should have brought snacks.”

I groan softly and keep pacing.

Every creak of a vent, every gust of wind, every flutter of a pigeon’s wings makes my head snap around.

I hate this.

I hate not knowing.

“Who do you think it is?” the symbiote asks.

“I don’t know,” I mutter, eyes scanning the skyline again. “Could be anyone.”

“Venom?”

I shake my head. “No. Claire said bonded with—past tense. That’s not Venom. He still wears his.”

“How many heroes do you think have bonded with symbiotes?”

I stop pacing, biting my lip. “…I don’t know.”

Because I don’t. Not really. There are rumors online, stories. Times where a symbiote bonded briefly with someone and the person didn’t talk about it ever. How many of them were public?

I stand still now, staring at the ground like it’s about to explode open any second.

And I whisper, more to myself than to the symbiote.

“I hope it’s someone who gets it.”

“If it’s a hero,” the voice says, with a little too much enthusiasm, “that means it’s probably someone cool.”

“Maybe,” I say, folding my arms tighter. My pacing slows, but my nerves don’t.

“Think it’s an Avenger? Or an X-Men?”

I sigh. “Like I said—I don’t know.”

But the thought sticks anyway. An Avenger. Someone big. Someone who could look at me—at us—and not flinch. Or worse… someone who does flinch.

Because what if it’s not about helping me?

What if it’s about checking the box—assessing the threat?

I rub my fingers together, still feeling the lingering static from when the suit formed this morning. That itch under my skin. That tension coiled tight in my spine.

I pull my phone from my pocket, thumb swiping across the screen. Ten minutes? It feels like an hour. Maybe two. I groan and shove it back in my hoodie.

“This is taking forever,” I mutter, more to the sky than the symbiote.

“Told you we should have brought snacks.”

“Maybe they bailed.”

“Maybe they’re watching us right now.”

I freeze, eyes darting to the ledge. “Please don’t say creepy things like that.”

“You’re welcome.”

I sigh and tilt my head back, staring at the clouds like they’ll drop an answer on my face.

Thwip.

A sharp sound slices through the air above me, like a cord whipping tight.

I spin around just in time to see a streak of red and blue arc through the sky.

My breath catches.

They land in a low crouch on the opposite side of the rooftop, red and blue suit shifting in the breeze, eyes narrowed behind the white lenses of the mask.

Spider-Man.

“Whoa,” I breathe, heart skipping a beat.

“Now this is interesting.”

He straightens slowly, casual but measured, like someone used to being watched—judged. His head tilts slightly as he looks me over. Not threatening. Just… curious.

“Hey,” he says finally, voice light but steady. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

I blink. “Uh—no. I mean, yeah. I mean, kind of. Not really?”

Great start.

He takes a step closer, hands raised slightly, palms open. “Relax. I’m not here to fight. Claire filled me in—well, most of it. Enough to know you didn’t exactly sign up for this.”

“Yeah,” I say, swallowing hard. “That’s one way to put it.”

He pauses a few feet away, keeping his distance like he knows exactly how weird this must feel. Like maybe he’s been here before.

“I’ve… dealt with symbiotes,” he says after a moment. “More than once.”

“I know.” My voice is quieter now. “You were bonded once, right? With… it.”

He doesn’t flinch. Just nods.

“Yeah. I was.“

I cross my arms, half defensive, half just trying to keep my hands from shaking. “You’re not here to like… see if I’m gonna be some super villain, right?”

Spider-Man’s head tilts, and even though I can’t see his expression, I can feel the look.

“Nah,” he says, stepping a little closer. “If I came to shut you down, I wouldn’t have landed that gently.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

He shrugs. “Look, when I first got my powers, I made… some really bad choices. So did a few others I’ve met who wore these before you. I’m not here to judge. I’m here because I know what it feels like. You’re not the first,” he says gently. “And you don’t have to do it alone.”

I shift a little, the breeze cutting across the rooftop but not doing much for the weight in my chest.

“So you had a symbiote… and now you, well, don’t. How did that… happen?”

Spider-Man’s lenses squint a bit—the plastic? over his eyes tightening into a kind of thoughtful expression. Or maybe regret.

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” I say quickly. “I just—”

“No,” he says gently. “It’s okay. I think you deserve to hear it from someone who’s been there.”

He walks a slow circle toward the edge of the rooftop, like he’s organizing his thoughts as much as watching the skyline.

“When I first got the symbiote, I didn’t know what it was. I thought it was just… some super advanced alien tech. A smart suit that gave me some nice perks—faster reflexes, no need to hide a suit under every outfit, unlimited webbing. Honestly, I thought I’d hit the jackpot.”

He pauses.

“It took a while before I realized it was affecting me.”

“Affecting you how?”

He turns back to me, voice a little lower now. “It started trying to… fix my problems. I’d wake up after sleeping and find out that ‘Spider-Man’ had done things. Patrolled the city. Broken up robberies. Chased down muggers. I had no memory of it… but I had the injuries.”

My stomach turns a little at that.

“I didn’t understand. Not until I talked to a friend—Reed. That’s when I found out it was alive.”

He goes quiet for a second, the wind picking up his words like it’s trying to scatter them.

“I didn’t know what to think. I mean, it had saved my life more than once. It felt like… part of me. But then the anger started. The aggression. It didn’t make me do things, not exactly—but it amplified me. Made every little frustration feel like rage. Every punch hit harder than it needed to.”

“And you… got it off,” I say softly.

He nods. “Eventually. Barely. But when I did…”

He hesitates.

“That symbiote it never talked to me. Not once. I don’t know why. Maybe it couldn’t. Maybe it didn’t want to. Maybe something had already happened to it before me that left it… broken.”

He folds his arms, the mask turning away.

“But when I rejected it, when I finally pulled free… it was angry. Not just hurt. Betrayed. It didn’t want to let go.”

I swallow hard, suddenly way more aware of the quiet presence in my head.

“…We would never do that to you.”

I don’t respond.

Not yet.

He leans on the edge of the rooftop, arms braced against the ledge, the wind tugging gently at his suit. His voice is steady, but there’s something behind it—like he’s carrying a weight he’s gotten used to, but never really put down.

“Then it bonded with someone who already hated me. For a whole different set of reasons,” he says. “And it became Venom.”

The name hits differently when he says it. I’ve read articles. Seen videos. Heard the stories. But hearing it from him—this version of it—it makes the whole thing feel more real. More human.

“It tried to make my life a living hell,” he continues. “Used everything it learned from me against me. He was smart. Fast. And he knew how I fought. For a long time… it was personal.”

I swallow hard, gripping my sleeve.

“But,” he says, glancing back at me, “after a lot of… encounters—some good, some really not—it worked out. Mostly. Venom doesn’t completely want to eat me anymore, which is nice. And it’s actually doing good things now. A bit misguided, yeah, but not evil.”

I blink. “So… you’re friends now?”

He chuckles. “That’s a strong word. We’re… uneasy occasional coworkers in the big weird job that is protecting people. But a lot of that came down to us being forced to work together. Villains. Crazier things. Times when we didn’t have a choice but to trust each other.”

He grows quiet again.

“I still don’t know how much of what happened was my fault, or its. Or if it really matters.”

My mouth is dry. I want to say something—anything—but nothing comes out right away.

I shuffle a bit closer to the ledge, arms folded, voice low. “So… why did you want to meet me?”

He turns slightly, not facing me fully—just enough that I can see the way his posture shifts. Not defensive. Not aloof. Just honest.

“Because it’s my responsibility.”

The words hit harder than I expect.

He gestures slightly, like he’s trying to find the right balance between explanation and warning. “Because I’ve been in a similar spot. I’ve felt the power, the confusion, the way it changes you before you even realize it. And I’ve seen what happens when people don’t get help—when they don’t get a choice.”

I look down, my foot nudging a pebble across the roof.

“I don’t want to be someone’s cautionary tale,” I murmur.

He nods, quietly. “And I don’t want you to be, either.”

He finally faces me fully. “If I can do anything to make sure you don’t make the same mistakes I did… both when I first got my powers and got the symbiote then that’s what I’m here for.”

“We like him,” the symbiote says. “He feels… familiar.”

“Yeah. He kind of does…”

I let the silence sit for a second before I ask, “Okay, so… what now?”

Spider-Man’s shoulders rise in a shrug, relaxed but thoughtful. “Well, Claire said you’re not trying to do the whole superhero thing.”

“Yeah…” I say, glancing off to the side. “That’s not really… me.”

He chuckles under the mask. “It wasn’t me either, at first.”

“But you don’t have to wear a mask to be in control,” he continues. “Right now, what matters is you keeping yourself safe. The powers, the suit, the voice in your head? That’s a lot. You don’t owe anyone some big moment. No crime-fighting. No press conference.”

I nod slowly, looking down at my hands again.

“So,” he adds, tapping the rooftop lightly with his fingers, “I figure… if you want, I can check in sometimes. Help you learn the ropes—if you want. No tights. No superhero names. Just making sure you’re okay.”

I look up at him, surprised.

“You’d do that?”

“Hey,” he says, holding up a hand, “I’ve been carried through worse by people who believed in me when I really didn’t deserve it. This is me… paying it forward.”

He takes a step back toward the edge, the wind already tugging at his suit.

“No pressure,” he adds. “You’ve got people who care. Claire. Your mom. Me, a little bit now, I guess.”

I breathe out, something tight in my chest unwinding just a little.

“Okay,” I say. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He nods once—short, certain. “Alright then. Step one: you’ve gotta make sure the symbiote knows what’s okay and what’s definitely not.”

I glance down for a second. “You hear that?”

“We have rules now? This is so formal.”

“Okay,” I say aloud, trying not to sound too awkward. “Got it.”

“Step two,” he continues, pacing a slow circle around the rooftop now, “if you ever do want to do anything power-related, you need to learn how. So you don’t, you know, crash into a car or a bus or fall off a building. Trust me—that hurts.”

I laugh—short, but real—and he glances back, and I swear I see his shoulders lift a bit, like he’s relieved.

“I’ll take your word for it,” I say.

He stops, standing in the sunlight, the breeze pulling at the edges of his suit. “And hey, even if you never want to wear a mask or jump off a rooftop again, learning how to stay in control isn’t about being a superhero.”

He points a thumb at his chest.

“It’s about not accidentally putting your head through a wall because of a window washer.”

I snort. “That’s a very specific example.”

“Painfully specific.”

“He is very… likeable,” the symbiote muses.

“Yeah. I know.”

“And last,” he says, lifting a finger for emphasis, “and most important—you’re bonded. Which means it’s not just about controlling your actions, it’s about your emotions, too.”

He takes a step closer, not threatening—just making sure the words land.

“You get scared? It feels that. You get angry, anxious, excited—it’ll pick up on all of it. And it’ll react with you, not just to you. So it’s not just about keeping it calm…” He taps two fingers to his temple. “You gotta stay calm, too.”

He pauses, then adds with a quick wink, “And that includes all emotions, to be clear.”

I feel my face flush instantly, and I glance away. “Right,” I mumble. “Got it.”

“Also fire and sound are a big no for symbiotes it hurts and drives them crazy.” He says more seriously.

“Good to know…”

“Now,” he says, voice light again, “you text Claire if anything feels off. If things change. If you wake up and the fridge is stuck to the ceiling, or if you just need to scream into the sky and punch something really big—I know a few people that won’t complain.”

I laugh, this time a little longer, a little brighter. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He starts walking backward toward the ledge like he’s done it a thousand times, which… yeah. He probably has. So casual. So normal, in this totally messed up, impossible way.

Then he pauses.

Turns just slightly.

“And hey,” he says, the wind tugging at his suit, the city wide and loud behind him. “You’re doing better than a lot of people who get superpowers. Most just decide they wanna scam people and blow up a bank.”

I smile. “Thanks.”

He gives a little two-fingered salute.

Thwip.

The line shoots out, and he vanishes over the edge, swinging off into the city like he’s part of it—like it breathes with him.

I exhale slowly, still watching the skyline where he vanished, my heart finally starting to settle into a normal rhythm.

“Wow,” I whisper, because there’s really no other word for it.

“You did good,” the symbiote says, with what I swear is a smug little edge. “Didn’t geek out. Didn’t faint. Didn’t embarrass us. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” I think back, narrowing my eyes.

“The blushing was… noticeable.”

I groan and drop into a crouch near the ledge, burying my face in my hands. “It wasn’t like that!”

“It looked like that.”

I shake my head, but I’m smiling now. Just a little.

I lean back on my hands, letting the wind brush through my hair as I stare up at the sky. It’s still a little gray, still full of noise and chaos and a thousand things I can’t control—but for once, I don’t feel like it’s pressing down on me.

“Okay,” I say under my breath, half to myself, half to the very vocal presence in my head. “Things are… actually turning up.”

“We agree. Statistically improbable.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still stuck as a girl with a goo squatter living under my skin—”

“We prefer co-tenant.”

“—but people are actually looking into Alchemax. At least more now.”

I swing my legs a little over the ledge.

“And I got to meet three superheroes in two days. Three. Without almost dying. That’s gotta be some kind of record.”

“That’s beginner’s luck.”

“Don’t ruin it.”

The wind picks up a little, brushing the city’s noise back into my ears. But I don’t mind. Not today.

Because somehow, even with everything upside down…

I’m still here.

Still standing.

Still me.

End of chapter 9.