A/N: This was a request by @Intercosmicbooks that I really enjoyed writing because I hardly write dark, emo Peter and yeah, it was fun. I actually wrote this all on  paper thinking that I had 2K of words but sadly, it's only 1.3K. But it's the content that matters, and I ask that you guys leave a comment on this fic because I worked incredibly hard on it and it's one of my favorites to write so enjoy!

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If you granted Peter Parker with three wishes, you’d probably see his face fall as he would slide his hands into his pockets to bite down the pain that trembles through him. The pain that has a permanent ache in his heart, an ache that constantly demands to be remembered, and will forever be. The ache has settled so damn deep into his heart, Peter’s sure that there’s no removing the permanent rest in his heart. 

Where did it all begin?

Depends on how much time you have. 

Some could say it started when the sky quaked, bringing the presence of the Mad Titan, bearer of the title: Thanos.

Others could say it all began when Peter Benjamin Parker was born into this cruel, yet beautiful world. Peter prefers this, because the ache had existed long before Thanos, he just had it under control. He had people who cared about him, and went out of their way to make it known that Peter was cared for. And those people kept him grounded. Stable. But now he’s all alone, and takes residence of whatever Queens or Manhattan street promises the better stay. 

A grime-riddled, weary Peter would have replied to the inquiry by saying either of the following: “For the world to not hate me.” Or, he would’ve replied, “For the people I love to come back to me.” If he was really in a bad mood, he would’ve dejectly spoken, “For me to be dead.”

You’re probably wondering why. 

After Tony Stark snapped the greatest entity of evil to ever roam the Nine Realms, laying down his own life in the process, everything spiralled downwards. Everyone he loved, let alone knew turned their backs and gave up. Captain America chose to lounge through history, tired of losing soldiers in battles he led. Thor took to the stars with the Guardians of the Galaxy, also driven so in mourning, he’d probably kill himself with the alcohol his brain itched for. The Hulk went his own way, mourning for the people he too lost, and what they used to be. Hawkeye saw no more purpose in fighting battles, not when the life and soul of his best friend was the expense for the Barton family to have someone to hold them through the nightmares that plagued far too innocent souls. Everyone packed up and left. And all Peter had, was a broken heart once more with another person he deemed family die before his very eyes. 

And there was no one there to console the trembling shoulders that refused to still. 

Certainly not May Parker, who was absolutely furious that Peter went to rescue Tony Stark and Doctor Strange, completely enraged at the fact that Peter fought and died, leaving her and everything else to suffer. Certainly not any of the moved on Avengers, or Pepper Stark who refused to look at Peter with anything but a seeth of dire hatred, blaming Peter for the cause of her husband’s death. She even coldly worded, “Tony wanted to save you, but if you didn’t die, then my husband would have still been alive! My child would still have a father! You’re a curse, Parker!”

Peter looked away as Pepper stormed off, preventing everyone from viewing the tears that trailed down his cream-colored skin. He didn’t choose to die. No one did. And most definitely not Mister Stark. 

Neither present was Ned Leeds, or the girl of his dreams MJ, to offer their comfort, or extend a hand of solace as the once passionate friendship crumbled into a dire dislike for the Avengers. The Avengers were a beacon of hope, but when they lost for the first time, they lost hard. People looked at the Avengers, but the ones who were personally close, only saw the failure within. And the little of the Avengers that did stick around didn’t want to deal with an “arrogant, stupid, or sensative” kid. With nowhere left to turn, Peter does the only thing he can do: run away. 

So he strolls through the city streets, envying the pairs of loving people whether it’d be romantically, friendly, or fatherly/motherly. He looks away, but his Spider senses refuse to miss the high-pitched squeal of a young child who had just been promised an ice cream cone. Or the gentle giggle that sounds like music that escapes a strawberry-blonde as her  inky black hair colored boyfriend clasps her hand tightly and twirls her around like a princess. Little things that make Peter’s heart scream, “Why can’t I have that too?”

But in Peter’s eyes, he’s imperfect. Because no one wants him. He doesn’t either, but he’s not ready to go. No one ever is. No matter how you’ve lived your life, or the number of sins committed, no one is ever ready to meet their maker. 

He immediately thinks of Tony, and a wave of sadness crashes through him. He really misses his former mentor, they were meant to spend so much time together, and all he had was three years, and then the world worked against them, taking unfair turns against each other to keep them apart. Only this time, there was no second chances. Tony Stark was dead, and there was nothing the world could do about it, except for mourn. That seemed to be all Peter did, but he wouldn’t forget Tony. 

Tony helped him embrace Spiderman to his fullest extent, made him feel like he was actually making a difference, and that he still had a father-figure in his life that he could count on. With Tony, Peter felt that he could tell him anything. Tony was Peter’s rock, when there was no one else to soothe the raging inferno within him. But he was gone, inferno still left spiralling inside of him. 

One gloomy day, Peter trudged through an alley, hood bouncing against his sticky and sweat-plastered curls as soft raindrops splattered on every available surface. Peter looked longingly as the Mother Earth cries, wondering what sent the waterworks combusting. The breeze that blows by sends the water droplets in a multitude of directions, mimicking the multitude of cracks in Peter’s heart. 

As he scours the allet, he hears a rough yet enticing voice beckon to the deepest, darkest part of his brain. Peter. Peter knows he should ignore it, but he can’t hold back the curiosity as he slowly approached the sound that was calling out to him. 

His eyes glaze over a black blob of something, what, he doesn’t know, but what he does know is that it’s alive. Were it any other person who would’ve ventured into this very same alley, they would’ve probably run for their lives and alerted some sort of humanity protection services. But not Peter. 

Peter knows stuff like this exists. He’s watched a man who deemed himself God force people to their knees and stage the first alien invasion of New York. He’s watched robots come to life the same day a country takes flight. He’s watched best friends, the world’s mightiest heroes, pull apart like cotton candy. He’s seen alien warcrafts descend from the sky and levitating aliens with magic that makes Supernatural seem quite possibly alive. He’s seen mere men take on forces beyond humanlike nature that makes Harry Potter childish, because he was there when it happened. It’s monsters, and magic, and everything that he was never prepared for, but he knows he must put on a brave face. He’s not a scared little kid anymore. He’s just a broken, lonely kid with nowhere to go, and no one to love him. 

So Peter knows that he’s risking absolutely nothing as his hand makes contact with the gooey substance, and within a mere second, he feels an explosion through his veins as another conscience mixes into his, and the black goo diffuses right through his very being. 

He’s not sure how he should feel, but the unexpected wave of power is welcome in what Peter deduces to be the first time in years. But it’s accepted nonetheless. Peter feels a stream of something undecipherable course through him as he maniacally smiles and speaks in a tone that is somewhat his own:

“We are Venom.”

A/N: How many references did you catch?