Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Space is a lot like an ocean. One that stretches infinitely in every direction, pockmarked by a large number of habitable planets and spacecrafts, like islands dotting the endless and barren water. But in comparison to 'infinite', 'large' is laughably insignificant. Which means that sometimes resources were low. Food, fuel, and weapons are all essentials if you're traveling through the void. You never know what could happen out here.

Nate has enough food and fuel to last for a while. Not that he'd pass up the opportunity to get more. But what he really needs is a weapon. More weapons. As many weapons as he can get his hands on. Which is why he's here, about to crack open the deep space equivalent of a nuclear missile silo.

To even approach the station, Nate has to force override the safety protocols on his vessel. Everything about it, from the cloaking field, to the multilingual warning signal that activates when he comes within spitting distance, to the markings carved into the outside shell, screams 'danger, stay away.' Most people probably would. But Nate's always been the type to reach for the biggest gun.

The fact that there's even a docking mechanism tells Nate that this unmanned station used to be manned. That and the still-functional grav generators when he enters. The security is high, but outdated. There isn't even a psy-lock added to the system. With his powers, it's almost too easy to force his way through.

A station like this should be holding enough firepower for an army. He'll take as many guns as he can carry, and whatever ammunition he needs. There are probably some weapons in here that can rip a planet in half, and while that idea is nice, Nate knows well enough to draw the line somewhere. The whole point is to get his daughter out alive, and the shockwave from that alone would liquefy brains within the range of a light year. He won't turn down a few plasma canons, though.

But there's nothing. The first chamber is devoid of anything, not even so much as a rifle, and as soon as he takes a step, a multilingual warning message starts playing. The AI's voice echoes in the small corridor, rapidly repeating the same words in every mainstream dialect. After a few languages that Nate already understood, it hits English.

Danger. Do not proceed.

"No shit," Nate mutters aloud, walking across the sterile space. "That's what I came here for."

A small electronic sound blips at him, and a line of lights on the wall turn from white to blue as the AI engages.

English detected.

This station has been quarantined. Please evacuate.

"Quarantined?" Nate repeats, feeling a chill down his spine. A deadly virus is the last thing he needs, and the possibility that he's already breathed it in makes his blood run cold. "What is under quarantine?"

Subject W1750-N, alien symbiote. Also known as 'Weapon X'. Also known as 'red symbiote.'

This station has been quarantined. Please evacuate.

There's a door with a heavily fortified glass port. Nate approaches it, more curious than anything as he peers inside. There's nothing in the room except for a small, clear containment cell, filled with an inert red liquid.

A symbiote isn't exactly what Nate had in mind when it came to weapons, but the idea isn't entirely outside what he's willing to consider. He only needs to know what he's working with, and to know that he has to ask the right questions.

"What are the capabilities of the red symbiote?"

Symbiotes are a sentient alien species which enhance the strength and reflexes of their hosts. Symbiotes have the ability to shapeshift and manifest weapons. Subject W1750-N specializes in accelerated regenerative properties.

"Accelerated regenerative properties?" Nate repeats. "You mean healing? Elaborate."

I'm sorry, I'm not sure how to answer that. This station has been quarantined. Please evacuate.

This tech was a little old to get confused so easily.

"How do the red symbiote's regenerative properties work?"

Red symbiote can regenerate the cells of itself and its host without known limit.

Nate takes a second to process that statement. "So it can't be killed?"

There is no known method to successfully terminate subject W1750-N. This station has been quarantined. Please evacuate.

So far Nate hasn't heard anything to explain why the symbiote was locked away like this. Some people didn't understand them and felt threatened by symbiotes no matter what, but Nate has run into a few before, and as long as they had a good relationship with the host, they seemed fine. Most of them, anyway.

"Why was this symbiote quarantined?" he questions.

Repeated attempts to introduce subject W1750-N to a bond proved unsuccessful. Hosts 1 through 14 failed to maintain control of joint form. Attempts to separate the host proved fatal 64.286% of the time. Bonding with the subject is ill advised without an independent failsafe equipped with a sonic disruptor.

In other words, the people who'd been experimenting with this thing couldn't figure out how to work with it, much less how to get it off again after. But they must not have known much to start with, because even Nate knows there's a huge difference between just wearing a symbiote and fully bonding with it. A bond isn't meant to be broken.

All the while, the red liquid that's pooled at the bottom of the containment cell hasn't moved at all. These people hadn't been able to figure out how to utilize the symbiote, or how to kill it, but apparently being left to starve to death for years did the trick just fine.

"Idiots," Nate mutters. This little expedition has proven to be a massive waste of his time. He's thinking of what to ask the AI next so he can figure out if there's anything else here worth looting, when his ship's warning system goes off.

<Proximity alert.>

Despite this small sector of space being cloaked, something followed him in.

Right now, that can only be one thing.

Nate silences his communicator, and goes stock still as he reaches out with a burst of telepathy to asses the situation. He can sense the crew of the intruding ship and it's already far too close. It'll be on top of him within seconds. Not much of a warning. There's no time to get back into his ship and get the fuck out of here.

Nate already regrets destroying the security system when he forced his way inside. He further regrets having to destroy the AI, but Nate can't risk whoever boards this station asking it if someone else is here.

He's more careful when he uses his powers to open the inner chamber. It's heavily fortified, but with a little focus and mental ingenuity, Nate coaxes open the security system without destroying it. As soon as he slips inside, he lets it activate again, sealing himself inside with the dead symbiote. Hopefully it'll be enough to keep anyone else out .

Nate slips into a blindspot where he can't be seen from the porthole window, and then he waits. There's nothing else in this room except for the symbiote, locked into place in its containment cell. Naturally, his eyes are drawn to it, the color a vivid disruption of the otherwise bland white chamber, even if it is long dead. But as he stares at it, it seems to quiver under the harsh white lighting.

It must be a shockwave that Nate can't feel. Maybe something happening with the ship outside, or the grav generators in here. He tries to focus his powers on the approaching ship, to be prepared for when they come to search the station. Even if they realize he's here, Nate thinks he could take them on. Having a weapon would be better, but he has the door as a chokepoint. Take out the first one or two when they come, and use their bodies as a shield against weapon fire from behind. After that, well--

The symbiote shudders again, visibly. Ripples undulate across the surface, building into a pattern of wobbling waves.

Unbelievable.

The fucking thing is still alive.

The station hasn't been boarded yet, so Nate lets curiosity get the best of him. He approaches the container, pressing his palm against the glass. The warmth seems to rouse the symbiote more, pulling itself from a liquid state and into something more viscous.

"Well, now. Hello, handsome," Nate says, and then watches it swirl, strands of red rising and twisting into curling fronds that separate and flow back together endlessly. It's lively.

A lot more possibilities run through Nate's mind. The symbiote could make for a decent distraction. With--

SHH-KRACK!

Before he can even finish the thought, there's a ground-shuddering jolt and the floor underneath him lurches, making him fall down. Half of the lights go out, accompanied by a spray of white sparks and the crackle of electricity. The room plunges darker still, the remaining lighting replaced by the ominous glow of red emergency lights. Everything feels like it's been tilted by about ten degrees. There's a high pitched ringing, which Nate assumes is in his head, until he realizes the sound is coming from the station. An alarm, maybe. Beyond that, he can hear something else. A low hissing sound as the air in the outer chamber escapes into the vacuum of space.

They never bothered to board. The ship just open fired.

Nate can't believe he didn't consider this outcome.

One hit from their weapons and the hull has already been breached. The red symbiote moves erratically in its container, overstimulated by the chaos after years of solitude.

His suit doesn't have a lot of air. It's meant for moving between ships, not being thrown into a debris field. And as soon as the next hit comes, that's what this entire quadrant will be. A debris field, with himself caught in the middle of it.

Maybe a symbiote isn't what he came for, but it's sure as hell better than nothing right now. He doesn't hesitate to claw his way forward and grab onto the containment cell. In another two seconds, he might not have gravity working in his favor to let him reach it. But he does hesitate to smash open the glass. The alien symbiote presses toward him, blood red tendrils seeking out the heat from another lifeform.

The way it moves is as unsettling to look at as it is beautiful. Some part of him feels the way a prey animal probably feels when staring at a predator. A 64% fatality rate with prior hosts, and zero success with maintaining control is what makes him falter. But Nate knows his mental fortitude is far stronger than most. The fact that he can still use his powers at all, while having to constantly tamp down the techno organic virus in his system is a testament to that.

But he doesn't hesitate for long, because another blast tears through the station, accompanied with the sound of screeching metal that goes deathly silent with the sudden loss of air. Nate pulls the glass cell down, hurling it towards the floor as hard as he can, but he can't tell if that was enough to smash it open, because the grav generators have just failed and the entire station rips in half. It feels like he's falling as he's thrown out into the void, but there's no up or down anymore, only relativity, and relative to where he wants to be, he's moving away. Away from the symbiote. Away from the other fragments of the station. Towards debris. Towards the enemy ship. Towards the endless void beyond that.

Please, he thinks, desperately, reaching out with his power.

The last thing he remembers is blackness.

Then nothing.

-

There is an ocean. A vast ocean that stretches infinitely in every direction.

Oppressve and black.

Despite being infinite, he feels himself at the bottom of it. The weight around him is crushing, suffocating.

He's drowning,  but at the same time he doesn't die. He just drowns, and drowns, and drowns.

Then, despite being infinite, he finds his way towards the surface, where the black dilutes like ink, fading into red.

Red. Red. Red.

Even with his eyes closed, he sees it still. Both bright and deep in color at once. Warm as fresh blood on his skin. He knows he's somewhere closer to the surface, like he should be able to simply reach out and break through, but something keeps him under. Tendrils that are formless but strong, coiling around his legs, around his waist. Locking around his wrists, his throat, like a possessive grip. It forces its way into his mouth, into his nose, filling his lungs. He's drowning in the red, but he can still breathe, and he breathes it in, and that dark ocean is just as vast inside of him as it was on the outside, and when he opens his eyes they aren't his anymore.

-

Well now.

Now.

Hello. Hello, handsome.

Now. Hello.

Hello now.

It takes a long time for Nate's mind to right itself. It feels as if he's woken prematurely from a deep sleep, slow and disoriented, with no sense of how much time has passed. He can feel the cool, gritty metal of a floor pressed against his face, and see the interior of a station or ship that isn't familiar to him. When he tries to move, to sit upright, his arm only twitches for an instant and then all of his muscles go tense against his will, locking in place. He can't get up. Can't even lift his head. His body just won't respond.

No.

Now. Hello. Hello. Please.

Only then, his mind fully processes the voice that keeps repeating in his head. The words seem so familiar.

Memory comes back to him in pieces. The station he'd found. The symbiote locked inside of it, first dead and then very alive.

Alive. Very alive. It repeats back to him, picking up on his thoughts. Locked inside. Very alive. Very. Very.

There's a terrible claustrophobic feeling that washes over him, something projected from the symbiote. Loneliness, so gnawing and intense that Nate feels like he's drowning all over again under that endless ocean. Suddenly, the symbiote lets go of a small amount of control, as if remembering its host still needs to breathe. Nate gasps in lungful after lungful, shuddering with relief to have air and the return of some autonomy over his body.

Lone-li-ness, it says, in the recesses of Nate's mind, every syllable drawn out as if savoring finally having a word to put to the emotion. Very alive. Lonely. Lonely. Hello, handsome. Breathe.

Nate does, never so grateful in his life to feel air entering his lungs. His limbs feel like they've been pinned to the floor, too heavy to move. Other than that, he seems okay. No injuries, nothing hurts, and he isn't outwardly changed. It seems as if the symbiote is just sitting inside of his body at the moment, feeling him out and keeping him immobile in the meantime. Why it's doing that, he has no idea. He's never heard of a symbiote doing something like this. After years spent without a host, he'd think it would want to go somewhere.

Years without a host, it repeats, snatching up words from him almost eagerly. Years. Years. Want to feel. Nothing hurts. No hurt. Host. Hello, handsome. Hello. Hello. Okay. Hello.

Nate tests the limits of his freedom, licking his lips to wet them. He manages to move his head, trying to survey his environment, and then that slight bit of movement is pinned down immediately, his muscles tensing up against his will.

He tries to speak, but the words dry up in his throat. Partly because he hadn't realized how hard it would be to take control over even the most simple actions, and partly because the symbiote has clamped down on everything again except Nate's breathing. There's an edge of fear in the pit of his gut that he only manages to keep in check thanks to years of experience facing life-or-death situations. But at the same time, bizarrely, he feels a happiness so strong that it's almost painful. It takes him a few seconds to realize that the conflicting emotion is the symbiote in his head, in his bloodstream. He still can't move, but when he tries to speak again, it's much easier.

"Where are we?" Nate asks. The sound of his own rough voice triggers an unexpected reaction, tears welling up in his eyes. It's strange to feel emotions that aren't actually his own. The symbiote doesn't answer him. Maybe it's too overwhelmed, or maybe it still doesn't remember the right words. It's been alone for so long, Nate isn't sure it really knows how to speak.

"Looks like… a Skrull ship," he says, with a sense of dread that definitely is his own. They're the ones that just tried to kill them both. If they've been brought onboard, Nate needs to be able to move so they can fight back.

Skrull ship, it confirms. Skrull. Skruuuull. Dead. Kill them. Dead. No injuries. Very alive. Happy now. Hello handsome. Okay. Hello. Hello.

Nate is quiet, trying to comprehend the fact that they are inside the enemy ship. He's been avoiding them for so long, trying to get his ass in gear before he faced them, so he could get Hope back from the bastards that took her. It's hard to understand what the symbiote means. If they're dead already, did that mean it killed them while he was still unconscious?

Killed them. Skrull. Dead.

"Thank you," Nate sighs, and the symbiote repeats the same words back to him, over and over.

Thank you. Thank you. Happy now. Thank you.

"I need to get up," Nate says, making an attempt, but it feels like he's waded into cement, and the harder he struggles, the harder it is to get out. As soon as he gets a bare amount of control, the symbiote snatches it away again, dragging him down.

No! No. No. Nononono.

Now. Words. Want to feel. Hello. Hello.

"You want me to talk to you?" Nate guesses. The symbiote can obviously pick up on all of his thoughts, but every time he speaks out loud he can feel the happiness spilling off of the other in his head. It makes him feel like laughing and crying at the same time.

Talk, it repeats, basking in the words, the emotions, and the chemicals in Nate's brain that it's been deprived of for so long.

"Okay. I can talk to you," Nate says, breathing out, trying to keep his composure. "I just need to know for sure-- Where we are right now, are we safe?"

Safe. Keep. You. Safe. No injuries. Very alive. Safe.

"Thank you," Nate says. "I'm grateful for that. I really am. Thank you for helping me."

Grateful, it purrs in his head.

Nate licks his lips again nervously. "Listen. I need to get up. Wherever we are, we can't stay here for long. There will be other Skrull ships, so we need to leave."

No! Will. Leave. Me. Stay. Stay. Stay. Safe. Host. Keep you. Keep you. Alive. Safe.

He can feel the symbiote coil around him from the inside, every muscle in his body tightening so strongly that Nate starts to feel afraid it will injure him accidentally. It's hard to not fight against it, but the more he instinctively struggles, the tighter it clings to him, and the more he feels his fight-or-flight instinct trying to kick in.

"I'm not leaving you," Nate grits out, trembling with the effort to maintain control before it oversteps again and takes away his ability to breathe or blink or speak. "We can work together," he reasons. "But only together. Only if you trust me. I got you out of there, right? I trusted you. I am trusting you not to kill me. I need you to trust me. Let me get up. Please."

Nate can feel what it feels. The hum of anxiety, the jittery, indecisive hesitation before it finally relinquishes control, little by little. His limbs move shakily at first, as if remembering how to use them again. Slowly, Nate pushes himself up and gets his feet under him. It takes a few long seconds before he trusts himself to stand. It feels like he's pulled every muscle in his body.

Trust. Trust, it says. He can feel the symbiote moving within him, and then welling up through his pores. The red seeps out, slinking over his skin in tendrils, like a caress, like an apology.

Apology, it repeats. Not leaving you. Lonely. Together now.

Nate still feels worried, but the symbiote doesn't snatch away his control. He walks while he still can, stumbling at first. The ache in his muscles starts to fade wherever the tendrils touch him, and then all at once he realizes he feels better.

Better. Safe. Keep you safe.

"Thanks," Nate says. It seems like that healing ability is true after all. The red tendrils keep moving over his skin in thoughtless, self-soothing little patterns. It would almost be nice if it weren't so unsettling, but he tries to ignore that while he moves through the ship, getting his bearings and trying to find the control room.

It's a little surprising when he passes his first dead Skrull. The symbiote had told him that it killed the Skrulls on this ship, but actually seeing it is different. There's green blood on the floor and splattered across the walls. Still dripping. He has to avoid stepping in pools of it.

Dead. Pools. Dripping, dripping, it sings to him happily as they pass by. The next area is like a mass grave. Bodies piled upon bodies, some torn apart in horrific ways that leave them unrecognizable. Nate has to pass through here, to go back the way they came.

It's hard to believe that the symbiote did all of this while he was unconscious. Brought them here into this ship and then killed everything that tried to hurt them, until it was safe. Then just laid down and waited for him to wake up. Nate tries to feel around its thoughts for any ulterior motives, maybe some secret plan implanted by a previous host, but there's nothing he can sense aside from the protective, paranoid clinging of its formless being around his mind and body. Something about it reminds him of those old tales about dragons that slept curled around their hoards of treasure. Possessive. Dangerous.

The symbiote keeps repeating different words from Nate's thoughts, rolling them around restlessly while Nate makes his way through the ship. Hoard. Hoa-rd. Ho-a-rd.

It should worry him how easy it is to tune out the symbiote's verbal ticks, but the endless repetition in his head is almost comforting compared to its behavior earlier. As long as the symbiote trusts him, he doesn't mind letting it prattle away in his head.

It's crazy. And it's incredibly lethal. And Nate has no idea how he's going to get this thing away from him later, but he doesn't let himself think about any of that right now.

He finds the control room, drags a couple bodies away, and sits down at the computer interface. Using his powers, combined with the techno organic mesh inside of his body, Nate can learn almost anything he needs to know. With the symbiote in his head, the information is even more than what he's used to. When he tries to access the crew personnel files to see how many should be on board, he can also see their faces, and the way their blood arced through the air when they died. It's too much information to take in, and Nate has to disengage, but at the same time he knows it's all still there in his head, every bit of it.

Every bit. Drip-ping, drip-ping, the symbiote says, gleeful as ever. There's a strange sense of pride, as if it's done good. Safe. Together. Happy now?

"No," Nate says, a little sick from the childlike joy this thing feels when it thinks about all the death. "You shouldn't be happy about this."

It recoils at his admonishment.

No? No happy? Keep you safe. Done good. No?

Nate can feel the symbiote's stress rising, threatening to clamp down on him again. "You did good," he reassures it. "But you also shouldn't be so happy about killing. Not even these fuckers."

There's a wordless feeling, a strong confusion that Nate senses from the other. It's trying to ask him why. As soon as he puts a word to the unspoken question, the other grabs onto it gratefully. Why?

"It's complicated to explain," Nate sighs, fiddling with the interface again. "People who get too much joy out of killing aren't good. You kill because you have to, not because it's fun."

Have to. Have to. Skrulls kill host. Skrulls kill us. We kill Skrulls. But. Also. Was fun. We not good?

"I don't know," Nate answers honestly, and the symbiote writhes unhappily over his skin. "You're learning. You can learn to be good."

The symbiote stays quiet, sulking while Nate figures out where they are. Once he orients himself, he digs deeper, seeking out the locations of sister ships, bases. Sifting through their files, their resources, until finally something sticks out to him. Something that would have all of the resources they'd need for their experiments. The most likely place to find Hope. Their new destination. Time to go.

The other is restless on his skin, restless in his head, wondering why Nate is moving with such purpose now.

"Coordinates…" Nate says as he inputs the commands. The ship won't respond, an error message flashing over the console. "The engines are offline. We need to do a manual override."

When he gets up to head to the engine room, the symbiote turns thick in his veins, like syrup.

Leaving? Why?

"I need to restart the engines so I can get out of here," Nate says again, still moving forward, but with increasing difficulty. The red seeps out again, covering his boots, his legs. It spreads out over his clothes and underneath simultaneously, enveloping him until it reaches his waist. It feels like he's standing in quicksand, holding him fast one moment, and then slowly letting him move the next.

No. NO. Stay. Not leaving.

"I have to go ," Nate growls out, feeling frustration and anger surge in him as the symbiote fights back against him harder. He can't take this shit anymore. Keeping him from moving is one thing. Keeping him from saving his daughter, that's a whole fucking mistake. He's handled worse on a daily basis. Since he was a baby, the techno organic virus in his system has been eating him alive every second of the day and it's only been held back by his mutant power and his sheer force of will. If anything is going to kill him, it'll be that. Someday, it will. But not today. Hope needs him. And there's nothing in this world that could keep him from her, least of all a goddamn sentient puddle of goo.

One second, it's holding onto him, weighing him down, and the next second the weight is lifted.

Nate breathes in, taken aback by how much energy he just exerted. It's strangely calm, as if it finally realized how useless it is to fight with him. Nate understands how the symbiote works now. He can fight this.

No, it says, sounding strangely cold. Useless.

Just like that, everything goes red again. Outside, covering his body, and then inside, obscuring his vision. He feels himself collapse to the floor, his body taken away from him an instant. That deep red ocean washes over him again, warm and thick as blood. Drowning every part of him until there's nothing left that's his, not even his thoughts.

He didn't even stand a chance.

Understand now. You leave us. You not good. Not good.

Lonely. Years and years without. Keep you. Don't need you. Just keep you.

Need to do manual override.

There's nothing Nate can do. Can't even form a thought to argue, or reason, or beg. It breathes for him, covering him, holding him down. Even the techno organic virus is halted in its tracks by the symbiote alone, and Nate's powers have been made inaccessible. Nothing belongs to him anymore. Then it pushes deeper into his mind, probing, searching, in a similar way to how Nate had searched through the computer on this ship. Just using him for whatever it wants.

Language is first. It hunts for new words, taking them in with a voracious need. Words that Nate didn't even remember he knew.

Extrapolate. Loquacious. Stalactite. Intravenous. Churrigueresque.

They feel different somehow, the combination of sounds like colors in his head. Blue-yellow and red-purple and green-pink. It works through them rapidly, finding words that it likes and rolling those around the most, letting the syllables bubble and drawl and repeat, moving from one satisfying word to the next. Eventually it runs out of larger ones and finds smaller ones that are even more fun, like Crunchy and Awkward and Poptart.

Don't need you now. My words. Mine, the symbiote tells him. It takes control of his mouth, tongue running over teeth that are sharper than Nate remembers. It's harder for it to figure out how to use his voice, only managing a handful of sounds. "Pop" is the only thing it manages to say. Nate can feel its delight at the consonant bouncing off his lips, but everything else is too difficult and after repeating that word only a dozen times it gets bored.

Then it burrows in other ways, unlocking memories and drinking up the emotions that come with them. It likes the resentment Nate felt whenever he and his father had argued. The conviction Nate held to prove him wrong, to prove everyone wrong. It likes the awe that had filled him when he stared into the heart of a dying star. That feeling was only comparable to how he'd felt when he'd looked into his daughter's eyes for the first time. Suddenly, she's all he can think about. The little squeal she'd made when she shot her first target, grinning bright enough to put a quasar to shame. The way her nose crinkles up when she laughs. The spattering of freckles across her face like constellations. He knows them all better than he knows the stars themselves.

God, he misses her.

Lonely.

It's only then Nate realizes that the symbiote has backed off a little. His breathing is his own again. Painful, like the phantom ache in his chest. There are tears in his eyes and this time he can't say they aren't his. Maybe they're theirs.

Nate tests his limits again, careful not to push too far. He can think freely at least. That level of suppression hadn't lasted long, but it was terrifying while it had. Nate no longer has any illusions about his own role in this. There's nothing he can do if the other doesn't allow him to. He can move his mouth again, and knows that the symbiote enjoys hearing words spoken aloud. Better put them to use, then.

"My name is Nate," he says, and it repeats him, testing his name out. "My daughter's name is Hope." As he expected, the symbiote delights in the 'p' sound in her name, drawing out the airy 'h' and the solid 'puh' at the end. It tastes like the color yellow.

"We were together," Nate explained. "Then the Skrulls took her from me. Now I'm alone. Just like you were alone."

A-lone. Lonely.

We're together now. Happy.

"I know you're happy. But I'm not," Nate says. "I need her back."

Why? Not alone. Take care of you, Nate.

Nate shakes his head at that. "I know I have you taking care of me, handsome. But I need to take care of her," he says, voice breaking as it occurs to him that he could fail to save her. That he might not ever see her again. "She's my everything."

The other is quiet in his mind, pondering.

You are my. Only. thing.

The pain shared between their connection is so intense,  Nate has to close his eyes against it. As formidable as the symbiote is, it doesn't truly feel hostile. Instead, there's a deep and awful longing, like homesickness. That's something that can't be so easily cured when you never had a home. For Nate, home was wherever he and Hope were together.

"Not leaving you," Nate promises. "Couldn't if I tried, you know that. But I need her. I need you, too. Can't save her without your help."

Together?

"Yes, together, you dumbass," Nate says, his frustration mixed with hesitant relief.

Dumbass, it repeats. Goddamn sentient puddle of goo.

Nate winces. "I'm sorry. Shouldn't have called you those things."

Meat stick.

Nate laughs in surprise. He wasn't expecting for it to come up with an insult, and the symbiote delights in the sound of laughter and the way it feels to experience something funny.

"Okay, I deserved that. Are we even now? Will you trust me again? Work with me?"

Why? Got everything. Got you. Can do everything. Don't need you. What can you do? What you do that we can't?

For a second, Nate feels a little uncertain. If the symbiote can control him utterly, there's not much he can offer that it can't just take from him. He could easily end up locked inside of himself forever. But the fact that it keeps giving him scant inches of freedom and keeps letting him speak tells Nate that it doesn't actually want that. If it did, it would have done that as soon as they merged. There's something else that it wants from him, whether it knows that or not.  But Nate feels like he's finally figured it out.

"You're strong. And you're smart. I'll admit that," Nate says. "But I can think of a couple things that you can't do on your own."

What? Like what? Like what?

"Talking, for one," Nate says, careful to enunciate his words, to let the other really know what they can feel like. "Thinking is one thing, but talking… You really enjoy it, don't you? That's why you keep letting me speak. The way words sound, the way they feel on your tongue. The colors they make in your mind. I'm betting you haven't had anyone talk to you in a lonnngg, long time. All that silence. It must've been unbearable. But if we're not working together? I'll never talk to you again either."

The symbiote hisses in displeasure at that threat.

Can learn. Don't need you.

"Sure. You'll learn. Eventually. Good fucking luck figuring it out on your own, though," Nate says. "There are words you'll never be able to experience. I can promise you that. But," he adds, putting heavy emphasis on the word. "If you work with me, then I'll give you what you can't get on your own. Words. And... other things."

What other? Like what?

Nate doesn't answer that. Instead he says, "Let me have some control."

Why? Why? Why?

"Trust me?" Nate asks. The fear in this entity is as bewildering to him as it is saddening. Nate hadn't known how much absolute power this thing was capable of, how helpless he'd be against it, but surely it knew. There is no possible way he can act against it. Not here, alone on this ship. But it still trembles in his blood, afraid to let go of control. Afraid of being alone again.

"Come on, handsome," Nate coaxes, and then he closes his eyes and waits patiently. The release comes slowly, easing off of him in ebbing waves. He doesn't hurry to fight it, just waits until the other lets his muscles go slack. The red covering his arms dissolves, beading into tendrils of liquid that flow over his skin, wet but dry at the same time.

He can feel what it feels. Still fearful. Anticipating Nate's next move. Anticipating the hurt.

Nate lifts his arms. Wraps them around himself, around the symbiote clinging to his skin. Squeezes as hard as he can. As hard as he plans to squeeze his daughter in his arms as soon as he finds her again.

There's a voiceless sound in the back of his head, like an animal whining in pain. Stress. Confusion. An emotional ache that's almost too much to bear. Nate relaxes his hold a little, rubbing his hands over his own sides, over the red covering him, petting it in soothing strokes.

"It's okay," he says, while it keens in his mind. It's never encountered anything like this before. Kindness. Comfort. Those are foreign concepts. It keeps waiting for Nate to make it hurt.

"Not gonna hurt you," Nate promises. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me before. You're just afraid, aren't you? Nothing to be afraid of now."

It projects pain at him. It shows him all the previous hosts that had tried training it to be a weapon. The hosts that had fought against it, and tried to force it to be silent, to obey. It can't remember their names or faces. Only how their minds felt from the inside. Cocky, demanding, strict, emotionless, naive, hateful, even cruel. The anger and terror coursing through their heads when they realized they weren't strong enough to maintain control. That they had never been in control, not even for a second. The teams of researchers who had resorted to electric shocks and soundwaves so strong they killed its hosts. Bullets that did the job faster. The confusion and anguish it felt when its hosts died. The desperate way it learned how to heal their bodies, how to mend wounds faster than the others could kill, how to make the cells repair themselves and keep synapses firing. The way it had suffered when it was forcibly removed from its last few hosts, each one left alive but increasingly terrified of it. The way it had suffered when they stopped trying to mold it into what they wanted, and started trying to kill it instead. Sonic blasts, fire, poison, vacuums, acid, lasers, drugs -- even trying to introduce deadly viruses. Nothing had worked. It hurt and hurt and it wouldn't die. It couldn't. So eventually they sealed it away and left it there. Starving and alone. Forever.

"Not anymore," Nate tells it, finding a whorl of red on his arm and rubbing his palm over it. It shudders under the touch, still unaccustomed to feeling something that isn't hostility and pain. "Together now. Remember? It's gonna be okay."

Okay, it repeats, as if trying to believe that. Okay.

"Alright. Not to interrupt this tender moment, but our orbit went from decaying to nonexistent half an hour ago and we should really get a move on. Sooner rather than later," Nate says.

De-cay-ing? It recognizes the word, but not in the context Nate just used.

"What I mean is, without our engines, we're actually hurtling towards the nearest planet," Nate explains. "It'd be a day or so before we crash but I'd rather not wait that long. What do you say we get the fuck out of here?"

Fuck, it repeats, like a child that just learned a bad word.

"No. No, that's not what I wanted you to take away from that."

Let's get the fuck out of here.

"Okay. Great," Nate huffs, pushing himself to his feet. He's had the goddamn thing for less than an hour and he's already taught it how to swear.

Goddamn fuck.

"Hey. How about you focus on something else?"

Like what?

"Like… Pop," Nate lets the consonant bounce off of his lips, the little burst of sound so much more satisfying than what it had been able to produce on its own, and it shudders with pleasure.

Do that again!

x

Chapter Text

The problem with the engines turns out to be an easy fix.

During the attack on the crew, an emergency cutoff switch was tripped. Judging by the dead Skrull next to the engine's core, Nate figures it was only the first step in a no-win-scenario plan to sabotage and destroy the ship. Somehow the symbiote managed to find and kill the Skrull before it could finish. That implies a frighteningly efficient level of killing prowess that Nate doesn't particularly want to think about.

It'll take a good amount of strength and a hard telekinetic push to get the engines going again. Easy, but not without its drawbacks. Using that much of his power means less to keep the techno organic virus in check. Even if only for an instant, even if the loss would be negligible, it still means the virus will claim a little more of his body. Nate acts anyway without a second thought.

It surprises him when he feels a small thrill pass through the other's mind, like a cat finding small prey to pounce on. Instead of spreading, the virus is immediately stamped back by the symbiote.

Nate hadn't even thought to give it a heads up about what he planned to do, or the consequences of losing even a little bit of his focus on the virus. Earlier, the symbiote had just taken control of every part of him indiscriminately, including the virus itself. It hadn't considered them any different. For the first time, it occurs to the symbiote that the metal merging into Nate's flesh isn't actually supposed to be there.

You have another symbiote, Nate? It asks, in a way that reminds Nate of jealousy.

"No. It's technically living, but it definitely isn't a symbiote."

Techno organic, it says, and then seems to stop short.

"Virus," Nate provides.

Yes, that. But was going to say... 'Bitch.'

"Feeling a little possessive?" Nate asks, grinning at the absurdity of this intelligent entity being jealous of a disease.

It grumbles in his head in response. Can kill it for you. Let us, Nate? Come on. Please.

Getting rid of the virus was what Nate had always wanted, but the uncertainty of how that would work makes Nate hesitate.

"I don't know. It's integrated pretty far into my body now. If you kill it, what am I going to have for an arm, chest, spine, and everything else?"

Can be those things.

That answer feels naive. Nate hates that he doesn't want to say yes, but he has no idea what would happen. He's not sure he wants to risk needing the symbiote to live. Not if separating them could be as easy as a loud noise.

Wouldn't leave you, Nate.

"I'll consider that offer," Nate says, and then changes the subject. "Did you happen to notice where they keep the food in this heap?"

-

Nate sets the ship on a course for the coordinates he'd picked out earlier. The place where he thinks they'll find Hope. He won't be able to tell until they get close enough for him to reach out with his power and try to feel for her, but with the symbiote to assist, Nate feels optimistic.

Then they go raid the food supply.

Nate only intended to eat a ration or two, but as soon as the symbiote gets a taste, it goes a little wild. He hadn't realized how much hunger was lying dormant in this thing. To be fair, it's just as surprised by the ravenous feeling, like it had forgotten. They both come back to their senses afterward, Nate realizing that he'd just eaten an inhuman amount of food, even by his standards. But he doesn't feel sick from overeating, he just feels satiated for now, like he might be ready for more in half an hour or so. It seems like the symbiote metabolizes food quickly.

"How strong are you?" Nate wonders aloud. He knows that it managed to dispatch the entire crew, so it's not really a question of if the symbiote is strong, but literally how it fights. If they can't move together as one, there might be trouble.

Want to see?

"Yes. Show me."

The symbiote seeps up from his skin and wraps itself around his body, submerging him inside of itself. The red covers him completely, erupting in patches of black over his eyes, shoulders, and down his sides. It molds itself to him, and Nate feels his body being molded in turn. He feels impossibly taller and broader than he was before. His teeth fill his mouth like daggers, and his hands become clawed. The changes should frighten him, but none of it hurts. Somehow it feels natural this way, their forms meshed together into one seamless whole.

Nate tests how it feels, envisioning an enemy standing in the space before him and striking through it as he would in combat. It's easier than he ever imagined, the two of them working together, anticipating the other's actions as if they were the one who intended it, until neither can tell which of them is really in control. As he strikes out, his right hand shifts form, into an organic blade that feels like a perfect extension of his own body. Then the left hand shifts as well, in a far less organic way, the techno organic mesh rearranging and assimilating into a similar but somehow more sinister weapon.

Nate pauses, assessing the symbiote's creations.

"It's not a big fucking gun, but I can work with this," Nate says.

In response, the blades get bigger. He laughs.

"Don't overcompensate. They were perfect before," Nate assures it. "Besides, it's not the size that matters, it's how you use it."

Cut things, the symbiote says.

"Yes. That is how you use them," Nate agrees. As soon as he wishes his hands were normal again, they are. The symbiote melts off of him, ending their joined form.

Instead of sinking completely into his body again, it decides to stay on him from the waist down, with vine-like threads of red lingering on his face and arms.

Nate looks himself over, feeling different somehow even though his height and shape are back to normal. "You did something. What did you do?"

No - thing, it says, breaking the word into its two parts, as if it doesn't know damn well that they sound differently as a single word.

"Stop being cute. I know you did something." It takes Nate a couple seconds longer to realize that he doesn't feel the virus as intensely as he usually does. "You killed it," he says, and then, upon further reflection, "No. You weakened it."

Don't like that thing. Metal bitch.

Nate has never been able to communicate with the virus, but the symbiote's level of jealousy toward it makes him wonder if it can. The idea of two alien viruses fighting over him for turf is almost as funny as it is disconcerting.

Virus, Nate? Not a virus!

"I know, I know. It was just a turn of phrase," Nate says.

Want you alive. Happy. Take care of you. That thing do any of that for you?

"No," Nate says.

No! it agrees loudly, vindicated.

Nate snorts and focuses on heading back to the ship's control room. He needs to be ready when they enter Skrull territory. The symbiote doesn't really help whatsoever, clinging to his legs as he walks. It feels almost like trying to cross a pool, the water pushing back against him with every step as he wades through it.

Like that, it says.

"You like what? Being a pain in my ass?" Nate asks, and then makes sure to project the sense of affection that he intended in the insult.

How you think. About us. Your brain-pictures. Dragon. Ocean. Am not dragon, though. Not water.

"Metaphors, you mean?" Nate asks, and feels it question him for a meaning. "A metaphor is comparing one thing to another to show how they're the same in some way, even though they're very different. You're not literally an ocean. It just feels that way sometimes. Overwhelming and powerful."

Yesss! Like that.

"Of course you do, cocky bastard," Nate says, unable to help himself from letting a fond grin slip, and he feels the same emotion reflected back at him. "You should have a name, I think," he says. "Doesn't feel right, not having something to call you."

Handsome, it reminds him, mentally preening.

"That's a pet name, you slog," Nate says. "You call me that, too. You also call me by my name. It'd be nice to have something to call you."

A naaammme. Nate. Hope. Understand now. Will think of a name.

Nate can feel it thinking, turning over all of the words it's learned and the thoughts it's gleaned from Nate's head. Rolling waves, and ripples, and ink-in-water, and oppressive weight.

"If you settle on some dumb shit like 'ocean' I'm gonna stop calling you 'handsome' and just start calling you 'pretentious twat,'" Nate warns it.

Half-metal bitch.

"Talking slime," Nate rejoins.

Useless solid .

"If I'm useless, you can get the fuck off and walk," Nate says, jerking his thumb at the mass of red covering him. It clings harder to him instead, not impeding his movement, but making a wordless gesture to show that it's joking as much as he is. It moves over his skin almost reverently, and everywhere it touches him, it seems to be saying without forming words; mine, mine, mine.

Nate makes it back to the control room, despite the symbiote doing fuck all to help -- even finding it amusing that Nate had to adjust to walking through the heavy, thick sensation.

Wade, it says when he sits down. It sounds satisfied. Nate. Hope. Wade.

"Wade," Nate repeats, and the symbiote shivers happily. It feels right somehow, and has the added benefit of being an actual human name as well as a word. "I like that. But you do know that names don't all have to be four letters long and end in an 'E', right?"

It's silent for a beat.

Whatdoyoumean.

"Never mind. Wade is nice."

The symbiote doesn't never mind. Nate can feel it poking at his brain.

Nathan, it says, sounding bitter.   Name isn't even Nate. Is Nathan.

"Yes. Nate is short for Nathan," he says.

Hope short too?

"No."

Hopeathan.

"Stop."

Wathan.

"Stop that," Nate says, but it's hard to scold Wade when he's trying not to chuckle at the same time. He sighs, leaning back in his seat. "God. I think my daughter will like you. The two of you would have a lot in common."

Curiosity niggles in his mind.   What is 'daughter'?

"Daughter… my child," Nate says, but quickly finds that words just aren't enough. He tries to express it through feeling instead. How much he cares for her. How much he loves her. How he's watched her grow over the years into a fine young woman, but still half expects her to be his little kiddo who barely came up to his hip. How he'd be willing to die for her, without hesitation.

Spawn! Wade says, perking up with recognition. Your spawn.

That isn't the word humans would use, but there's so much heartfelt adoration behind the term that Nate isn't offended. It's just a different word for the same familiarity.

"Yes, my spawn," Nate says. "Although, I didn't… have her myself," he adds, hesitantly, not sure if it will understand. "But ever since that day when I held her in my arms as a baby, she was mine . I knew I'd love her forever."

Never spawned, it says, with an aching disappointment that Nate knows all too well. Can't now.

Nate makes a sympathetic sound. "They don't always have to be yours to be… Yours . You know?"

A tendril curls around his throat, moving around the back of his head and upwards, like fingers sliding through his hair, and Nate puts his hand over it to ease the ticklish sensation.

Mine.

"That's not quite the same," Nate tells it, although he doesn't exactly mind. "Similar, though."

Metaphor?

"Not that either," Nate says. He tries to explain what makes a metaphor a metaphor, and also the difference between a parental relationship and whatever the hell he'd call what they're in right now. But Wade gets bored partway through and discovers a fondness for having a solid form to play with, taking control of Nate's hand to tap his fingers against the hard surface of the console. The movement, and sensation, and the noise is all riveting stuff for a symbiote.

Nate doesn't quite pay attention to the fidgeting until it ramps up in intensity, both hands drumming energetically on the console.

Sorry, it says, stopping all at once. Be quiet. Promise.

"I don't think you could keep that promise," Nate replies, taking note of the single finger already tapping again. "Nor should you," he adds. "It'll be awhile before we get where we're headed. You might as well be entertained in the meantime."

Mean it, Nate? Really?

"Really. You'll not only stay out of trouble, but you'll become accustomed to motor function," Nate rationalizes. "Do as you will. I'll be meditating."

What is 'meditating?'

"Sitting quietly and clearing my mind of all thoughts."

Boring! Borrringgg. Boring. That sounds boring.

"I figured," Nate says. "That's why I'm not asking you to do it with me. Just take it easy."

Will be quiet, it says again, already tapping away with Nate's fingers, but softer than before.

-

Nate said meditating meant sitting quietly and no thinking.

But he's thinking a lot.

About ocean waves and calm and breathe in, breathe out.

About ship schematics and mentally disassembling and reassembling mechanical parts and need to save her.

Wade stays away, letting Nate think his not-thoughts without interruption.

Nate also didn't say he'd close his eyes.

Can't see through Nate right now, but can still feel. It's enough. It's a lot .

Everything feels different through Nate's skin. Their skin.

Tapping Nate's fingertips against the console makes a good noise, and a tiny jolt of sensation. But Wade wants to be quieter, so it stops doing that. Taps each of Nate's fingertips together instead. Now it's silent, with double the sensation when the pads of their fingers meet.

Touch is duller through Nate's body in some ways, but more interesting in others. Wade can't pick up on the electrical impulses through him, but the friction of skin on skin is a novel and satisfying experience. It touches Nate's face and discovers the texture of stubble against their palm, rubbing over it again and again. The sensitivity when their fingers brushes past their lips is even more intriguing, and then it accidentally discovers the ridge of teeth just inside Nate's mouth, and beyond that, the slick wet heat of their tongue, and it needs to touch everything.

It's strange to be in control of bone wrapped in muscle and flesh. To be in control of Nate's fingers, but also the jaw and teeth biting down on them gently, and also the surprisingly flexible tongue moving between them. Well, barely in control of any of those things, because it's just pure sensory overload of warm-touch and sharp-bite and slick-slide and wet-drool.

Wade adds another finger to chew on, greedy for more sensation, and then wonders how much more could fit inside. More fingers, more to touch, more to feel.

Just short of cramming their entire fist into their mouth, Nate stops them.

What the fuck are you doing?

No - thing, Wade answers, pulling their hand away and oh-so-casually wiping the excessive saliva off on Nate's clothes.

"Ugh. Can't leave you alone for a second." Nate tries not to think about how wet his fingers are as he wipes the drool off his chin.

Sorry, the symbiote says, but Nate catches himself already absent-mindedly running a finger back and forth over his bottom lip.

"How sorry could you be?" Nate wonders. The symbiote answers by running the pad of their finger over their teeth and vocalizing a soft hum of agreement.

We need to establish some boundaries, Nate thinks, letting his eyes fall shut.

Nate?

"Hm?"

Skrulls.

Nate's eyes snap open again, and he rises from the chair to go look. A Skrull ship is drifting closer, decelerating as it approaches their ship. If they aren't already aware of the crew's fate, it'll only be a matter of time. Wade covers Nate instinctively, wrapping him in a protective layer of red.

"Do you have a plan?" Nate asks, already thinking ahead to how vast their numbers might be.

Kill them all, Wade answers.

"I appreciate the aggression, but we might want to try a more productive approach," Nate says.

What do you mean?

"The goal isn't to kill Skrulls, the goal is to find my daughter," Nate reminds it. "The easiest way to do that would be to ask where they've taken her."

Skrulls tried to kill us. Think they'd just give us an answer?

"I didn't say we have to ask nicely," Nate smiles, and Wade smiles wider, baring pointed teeth.

-

This time, the Skrulls actually board the ship.

"Where is our daughter?" Nate and Wade snarl in a single voice, wicked-looking spikes rising off of their body, ready to strike.

Instead of answering, the apparent leader yells into a communicator, "The mutant has a Klyntarian suit!" and then to the others, "Kill them!"

The Skrull soldiers are quick, but Wade is quicker. The first two soldiers are impaled and hoisted into the air by long, sharp, red spikes. Three Skrulls on either side of the group are snatched up by tentacles and thrown with enough force to kill or at least seriously injure. The remaining dozen or so, Nate pushes back with a blast of telekinesis. The strength of his own power surprises him. It's been a long time since he's been unable to unleash so much energy without worrying so much about the virus in his system.

See? Take care of you, Wade says, sounding pleased with himself.

Focus, handsome, Nate reminds him.

Wade withdraws the killing spikes with a sickening sound, letting the Skrull bodies drop to the floor. Then the two of them move as one when they rush forward into hand-to-hand combat with the Skrull soldiers.

Fighting comes naturally to Nate at this point in his life. It's an old dance and he knows the steps well. With Wade, every move is seamless, like they've done this all before. Like they know what the other will do before they even know it themselves.

The symbiote makes him stronger, but it also heightens his senses in every way. They know where every attack is coming from before it happens. For instance, there's a Skrull attempting to lunge at them with a spear weapon. Nate grasps it at just the right moment and uses the attacker's momentum against them, tossing them to the ground where Wade kills them with a sharp spike through the back. And there's another Skrull with a blaster of some sort, aimed directly at-

Nate feels the impact of the shot tear through him before he feels any pain. One second, he was anticipating Wade's quick action to stop the Skrull or deflect the shot, and the next second, the shot was already taken and the right side of his chest is gone. A searing agony sets in, his nerve endings screaming out that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

"Wa-d--" Nate chokes out, confused by the wound, the pain, and the chaos still surrounding him as Wade fights on without him, red tendrils making lethal strikes. He can already feel the symbiote pushing into the wound, staunching blood before it can pour out.

Take care of you, Wade says again, entirely unconcerned.

Nate's body gives out. He should be on the ground, he knows he should, but Wade doesn't let him fall. More shots fire off, each less severe than the first, but Nate can feel the intense sting of each shot biting through his flesh. Wade isn't even trying to stop the attacks or dodge them. Instead it keeps pushing into his wounds, forcing his body to heal itself. The regeneration is almost as painful as the injury itself.

Underneath the agony, Nate can feel something else -- Wade's thrill for all of the bloodshed, for an opportunity to flex itself to its full potential. Satisfaction as it digs into the raw wounds and pieces him back together as quickly as he's torn apart. A strange, giddy high from the adrenaline surging through Nate's veins. Like it's all so exciting. Nate feels sick.

His vision goes spotty-black. When it comes back again, he can hear Wade yelling at him.

Nate!

Nate? Wake up.

It's disorienting. They've changed locations since Nate passed out, but it takes him a long time to realize that they're only a few meters away from their original place and only a few seconds have passed.

He feels exhausted and overwhelmed with hyperawareness all at once. His body feels fine, but at the same time the memory of pain is still sharp. It feels as if the right side of his body should still be missing, as if the flesh and bone there aren't quite real. Dead Skrulls litter the corridor. He should be dead too. His blood should be mixing with theirs.

Nooo, Nate. No dying. Very alive. Fixed you. Healed you. The symbiote ripples across Nate's body like oil floating on water, moving against his skin in soothing patterns, but he can still feel the echoes of his nerve endings screaming out to him. Will never let you die, Nate. Never ever.

"You let me get shot," Nate says. "Not just once."

No danger. Good at healing.

"Half of my chest was gone, Wade! I can still feel it!"

Just flesh and bone. Easy to fix, it reassures him.

"Is that all I am to you?" Nate asks, bitter. "Just flesh and bone?"

The symbiote finally catches onto Nate's emotions beyond the barrage of adrenaline. Anger. Frustration with the symbiote being too oblivious, or perhaps too self-absorbed to actually care about Nate's wellbeing. And more than a tinge of fear, because Nate finally understood the reason why Wade had been locked away.

No! Want you happy, Nate! Healed you. Kept you safe. Why are you angry?

"Because it fucking hurts!" Nate snaps back, the rage in his voice startling even himself. He takes a second to just breathe, pressing a hand against his chest to remind himself that he is whole, and that he shouldn't be feeling any pain.

Afraid of me, Nate? Gonna lock me away again? it asks, speaking so softly in his mind for such a loaded question.

It really doesn't understand. Instead of feeling sympathetic or sorry for what happened, all Nate can sense from the symbiote is its overwhelming fear of abandonment.

It felt for him when it came to the loss of his daughter, so Nate knows it's capable of empathy. But as smart as it is, there are still some things Nate needs to simplify into a way it can relate.

"Wade… those people who locked you up. They tried to kill you, right?"

It bristles at the memory. Yes. Sound. Fire. Acid. More. Always more. Thought it would never stop.

"Did it hurt?"

Yes, hurt! Hurt and hurt and hurt.

"But you can heal," Nate says, cutting it off with a dismissive tone. "You can heal quickly and you can't die, so it doesn't matter, right?"

It hurt! it shrieks at him.

"But you healed," Nate says again. "Doesn't matter if it hurt before. You're fine."

Yes, matters, Wade insists. If symbiotes could cry, he'd probably be frustrated to tears. Still fucking hurt.

"Yes. It does," Nate agrees, to its confusion. "I'm glad you can heal me, but getting shot in the first place is a real bitch. We're supposed to have each other's backs."

Wade finally seems to grasp the point Nate was trying to make. Sort of. Do have your back, Nate. And your front. And your top. And your bottom.

"It's a figure of speech," Nate says, pressing a hand against his head. "It means… it means we look after each other. Care about each other."

Oh. Care about you, Nate.

Nate shakes his head. "You can't just say that. You have to show it."

The symbiote quivers on his skin, thinking hard. Adapting. Learning. It melts off of him, rivers of red running off of his face and upper body. A red mass forms, rising away from him like a serpent. Two black patches darken against the red, and then white eyes open, blinking at him.

"Ss..ssss-orryy…" it hisses out with great effort from a small mouth filled with tiny, sharp teeth. Then sticky little threads of red reach out for him, wrapping around his chest with a squeeze.

"Thanks," Nate says, reaching out to stroke the symbiote's head. "Now come back to me?"

It makes a soft, happy trill, and nudges back against his hand, then turns its head and bites down on Nate's wrist, not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough to claim with the gentle pinprick of teeth and a wet tongue tasting his skin.

Mine, it whispers, wrapping around his arm.

"Yeah. And you're mine, handsome," Nate answers.

It exclaims wordlessly and envelops him, merging their forms again. Yours! Yes, yours. Nate. Nate, Nate…

Nate doesn't want to cut off Wade's moment, but their time is running out "There are more Skrulls coming," Nate tells it. "Are you ready?"

Nate can feel Wade's thoughts narrow to a deadly single-minded focus. Always ready. Is she here? Our spawn? Hope.

"No," Nate says. "I can't feel her."

We'll find her. Promise. Got a plan?

"Plan is, we kill them all until they stop coming. But leave one alive," Nate adds, his voice taking on a dark tone. "I wanna ask for directions."

x

Chapter Text

Wade proves himself to be nothing if not eager to please. Together they tear through the next wave of Skrulls almost effortlessly, adapting to each other's presence and powers more and more with each second they spent fighting.

Nate only falters once, blindsided by a particularly skilled fighter who drives her spear into Nate's ribs. At least, it would have slid into his ribs, if not for the fact that Wade blocked the impact and took all the damage instead. Nate catches himself a split second later and takes the Skrull out with a blast of telekinesis through the head. It's ruthless and messy, but its effective. Seems like the symbiote is wearing off on him already.

More worryingly, the symbiote is literally wearing off of his skin. Nate can feel Wade's pain as well as open areas where the symbiote is no longer covering his body, leaving them vulnerable.

"Wade?" Nate questions, deflecting a shot with his metal arm. The symbiote has been quiet. Nervousness spikes in his gut. "Are you okay?"

Okay, Wade affirms, although it sounds a little rough. Always okay. No worries.

It takes another half second before Wade reforms, covering Nate completely. As soon as its strength comes back, it assesses the situation and lashes out five vicious spikes at the remaining handful of Skrulls, killing two instantly and snaring the other three like fish.

"What was that?" Nate asks it.

Five is too many to handle. We only need three. One of them will have 'directions.'

"No, I mean that attack. It hurt you," Nate says. "Are you okay?"

Healed, Wade says. But… it hurt a lot. Sonic spear.

"We need to be more careful," Nate says. "They know exactly what you are, so they'll know your weaknesses. The longer we drag ass, the more we lose the advantage of surprise."

Have other advantages, Nate. You have me.

Nate smiles. Their combined sharp-fanged grin appears nothing short of monstrous to their hostages. "What would you like to do, handsome?"

Take advantage of me, Nate.

"That doesn't mean what you think it does."

Nate turns to their first captive. With a mere thought, a dagger-like bolt of crystalized red material shoots from their body and pierces through the Skrull's shoulder. The soldier screams out in agony and fear and then grits his teeth against the pain.

"Red haired girl. Sixteen. Mutant. Your people took her from us. Tell us where she is and you might survive."

"You'll never get what you want," the Skrull denies, shivering.

Nate moves closer and with a thought, wills Wade to uncover his face so he can look the Skrull in the eye.

"I think that's a poor choice," Nate says to him, his voice low and ominous. "See, what I want is my daughter back. Safe and sound. And then I want to put light years between her and your people. But that isn't what my friend wants. He wants to see your blood. He wants to play with your entrails a little. I might let him, because that would make him very happy, and one of us might as well be happy. He killed the entire crew on this ship. He killed the Skrulls that boarded before you. And he killed all but three of your squad. Three of you are still alive because that's what I wanted. So you have two options here. You can give me what I want, or you can give him what he wants. What's your decision?"

"I want what you want," the Skrull whispers back, fearful.

"A good choice. Where is my daughter?"

"I don't -- I don't know," the soldier stammers. "But I can find out," he adds when Nate's face twists up in disappointment.

"Have fun, Wade," Nate mutters as he turns away, as if offering a disinterested command to an attack dog. There's only the slightest hint of hesitation before the symbiote lashes out.

The Skrull drops to the floor.

Now there are only two. One squirms to get away from the symbiote's hold while the other fixes Nate with an unflinching stare. He turns towards the latter.

"Looks like the option is yours now," Nate says.

"I am not a coward," the Skrull sneers at him. "Kill me. I'll never tell you where to find your pathetic offspring."

"Bad choice. Tell me or I'll take something precious from you. I'll kill this one," Nate says, pointing with his thumb at the struggling Skrull as Wade drags it closer to them.

"Please no," the younger Skrull whispers, but the overwhelming fear is paralyzing. "I can help you."

"I've already got help. I need answers," Nate says, still staring at the older Skrull, presumably a high ranking officer or whatever Skrulls went by.

"That one can offer you nothing," the officer says, all too pleased by this fact. "They'll only be a waste of your time."

The words hang heavy like a death sentence. The younger Skrull goes limp in the symbiote's grasp, already overcome with despair. Resigned to their fate.

"Wade," Nate says, and the symbiote responds immediately. The younger Skrull's body hits the ground like so much dead weight.

One left.

The officer's face pulls into a wide, content smile. "You'll get no answers from me, vermin. There is no threat or torture that could break me. You would have been better off keeping the other two alive and seeing what trivial information you could extract from them. By recklessly killing them, you did us all a favor."

"Sorry to disappoint, but they're fine, actually," Nate says. "Wade and I, we communicate on another level. Out loud, I tell him, kill the hostage. But on the inside, I tell him, just knock them out. It's a simple bluff. The only thing I needed to know is which of you had the right information. And if you weren't willing to say so, I'd just have to go through all three of you."

The Skrull straightens up as much as possible, a grim expression on his face. "Clever. But they won't know enough to help you find her. And torture loosens the tongue in unpredictable ways. They'll say anything they think you want to hear."

"Not going to torture them," Nate assures him. "You already tipped your hand. Now I'm only interested in what you know."

"Do your worst, vermin. You could never break my will."

"Doubtful. But I won't have to try," Nate smiles. "Your will doesn't matter to my friend here. He could be in and out of your head before you knew what hit you. But since you're kind of a prick, I'm gonna ask him to make it as painful as possible."

The symbiote rises off of Nate's skin, manifesting sinister-looking eyes, and the barest hint of fangs, and finally the Skrull understands what is about to happen. He has the decency to look both fearful and somewhat regretful before Wade shifts into liquid form and shoots forward, threads of red piercing into the Skrulls eyes like needles. The Skrull screams, but then even that is drowned out by the symbiote's form pouring into his mouth and down his throat, filling up his lungs with its thick, red mass.

With Wade gone from his body, Nate feels oddly... bereft. The world seems duller without the symbiote's sensory input pouring into his peripheries. Colder without the warmth of its being flowing through his veins and covering his skin. Quieter without Wade's voice in his head.

He waits, watching the Skrull tremble violently on the ground and then go completely still as Wade pins it down and picks through its mind, gleaning the information they need. After a few agonizing seconds, the Skrull's entire body goes limp. Then the red seeps up again, pouring from the Skrull's eyes, its nose, its pores, covering the green skin with red until it's completely immersed. Then they -- no, Wade -- pushes itself up slowly, looking at Nate with black-white eyes and licking its new mouth with a tongue that's entirely too long.

"Na-ate…" Wade breathes out, and then tests the soft 'n' sound against its tongue again and again.

"Hey, Handsome," Nate replies, smiling as Wade quietly repeats the word 'handsome' to itself. He likes hearing Wade speak to him, and likes watching the symbiote's pleasure as it experiments with the sounds, but they have places to go. "Come back to me."

"No," Wade says, and then, because it likes how the word tastes, repeats it again a few more times to try it out. "No. No, no, no. Like this-- Thisss. Like this, Nate. Do what I want now."

"You already do whatever you want," Nate reminds it.

Wade scrunches up its face at being presented with logic and then curls and uncurls its fists. "My bo--dy now. Mine," it says, still struggling to form spoken words. "Like this -- better. Host is s--str-- str-- strong. Strong-er. Than you."

Wade looks directly at Nate after it says the last statement, as if to gauge his reaction.

"Weaker, you mean," Nate spits out, shaking his head in disbelief. A wide grin spreads across Wade's face. "Is that what you want? A brainless puppet? His mind isn't stronger than mine."

"Stronger body. B--bigger muscles," Wade says, which is an obvious lie because Nate has several inches and at least a hundred pounds over the Skrull.

"Bigger-- Are you joking?" Nate questions, feeling some genuine ire.

"No. No joke," Wade says, although its expression has all the appearance of laughter without any sound. "Big, big muscles."

"Really." Nate folds his arms. "Guess you won't need mine anymore."

"Nnn-oo-p-e!" Wade looks beyond pleased with itself for getting a rise out of Nate. The little shit.

"Then I hope that scrawny piece of shit gives you better hugs," Nate says. "But I doubt that asshole is capable of love anyway, so good luck."

"So much love, Nate. Soo, so much."

"Is that so?"

"Mmhm. Says I am cu-ute. Smart. Good."

"Okay. Well then, bye ugly. Have fun," Nate says, walking away.

Wade wasn't expecting that.

"Naaaate!"

Wade turns back to liquid form and pours off of the Skrull's body, leaving it to collapse lifelessly to the floor, eyes fixed on nothing, green blood leaking from his ears and nose.

The symbiote flows across the floor towards Nate, snaking around his leg and then covering him up to the waist.

Sorry, Wade says, but its voice is weaker, its thoughts a faint press against his skin instead of in his head. Was lying, Nate.

"You don't say."

You are so much stronger, Nate. Didn't like that puny form and his weak mind, Wade says, but Nate only makes a vague, unimpressed sound.

Missed all this muscle. Can barely wrap myself around your big arms.

"Kiss ass," Nate snorts, but a genuine grin crosses his face for a moment before it slips again. "Did you get any information?"

So much. Know where to find her now, Nate. Let me in, I can show you too.

"In? You aren't already?"

No. Need to go back into your brain. Into your blood.

"You have to ask permission?"

Wade presses against his skin in little undulating waves, restless yet tender. Don't need to, but want to. Will have to go through the eyes. Is best.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Nate wonders. When Wade connected to him before, he was unconscious.

Did it hurt when I left? Wade answers. Truthfully, Nate hadn't felt anything. He'd been too focused on the loss.

Unpleasant, maybe. Made it hurt for him. Made it hurt bad. But would never hurt you, Nate.

There's no point in being squeamish. Nate needs the information, but more than that, he needs to feel Wade's mind in his again. He was starting to get used to that constant flow of consciousness running through his head even when the symbiote wasn't actively talking to him. Now everything seems stagnant.

"Come back already," Nate says, feeling restless. "It's too quiet without you rattling around in my thoughts. I can't hear you so clearly like this."

There's a wordless hum of agreement and then the symbiote flows up across his skin, coiling gently around his neck like a touch, and then spreading in tendrils across his face. He barely even notices when Wade slips in through his eye, and when he does it feels like a warm flow of tears in reverse. He blinks against it on reflex, sees a wash of red across his vision, and then feels Wade in his head again. Settling into every crevice. Touching all of his thoughts, as if to refamiliarize itself and lay claims to all of him again. He's warm, his blood buzzing, his head filling up with all of Wade's little sensory inputs and wordless thought chatter, and he realizes then just how much he'd missed it.

Missed you, too, Wade whispers, curling around Nate's thoughts, around his body. Were you jealous, Nate?

"No," Nate says, but it's a poor lie.

You werrreee. I can still feel it. Feels nice. Why is that?

"Help me tie these two up," Nate says instead.

Wade regards the two unconscious Skrulls curiously. Would be easier to kill them, no?

"No. It makes life a lot harder when you kill indiscriminately," Nate says. "There was no need to kill these ones."

Attacked us.

"Three you could subdue," Nate reminds the symbiote. "Only one deserved to die. These two deserve mercy."

They would not have given us mer-cy.

"Maybe not. But we're better than that," Nate says. "They were already incapacitated, and they were afraid. Killing them now would be wrong."

I see. Beginning to understand, Wade says, but Nate can feel its doubt.

"Violence isn't the only way through," Nate says, as he tears strips of fabric from the Skrull's uniforms and uses it to bind the two unconscious. "And it isn't always the best solution."

Wade thinks of all the many, many Skrulls that they've already killed. Thinks about the attacks, the attempts to kill them both. Thinks about the flesh and bone it had helped Nate's body  regrow. Letting Nate get hurt like that in the first place is still regrettable, but what would Nate have done if he were alone? The symbiote coils around Nate a little harder, feeling grateful for every dead Skrull that isn't them.

Nate finds Wade where the symbiote's settled on his skin and runs his fingers over them. That touch alone would be worth killing millions to keep. For him, Wade thinks it could even learn to be good.

It shows him the Skrull's memories. Where they're keeping Hope. Nate's coordinates were a solid guess after all, but now they know exactly which corridors to go down, and which door to open to find her.

Most importantly, Nate knows she's alive.

He knows he'll win. He'll get her back.

We will, Wade reminds him, threading itself between Nate's fingers.

-

Tracking down the ship where Hope is being held is the easiest part. Getting inside is more of a challenge, but one that Wade enjoys helping Nate find a solution to.

"We won't have a chance to crack through their airlock," Nate says. "They'll be on top of us long before we even get close enough to open the door."

Why not make our own door? Wade asks, as if it could be that simple.

It is.

They abandon their ship well before they reach the larger Skrull base and let it drift as a decoy while they approach on their own. It takes a little bit of timing, since Nate really doesn't like the idea of missing their target and hurtling through space, but they manage. Wade catches them both, latching onto the ship and aligning them with the exact section that Nate had picked out in the schematics. Just inside the hull, there should be a fairly small chamber, with an airlock door beyond it. If he's wrong, well… there's still bound to be an airlock somewhere, but they might make more of an impression.

Wade's blade and Nate's telekinesis combined open the hull of the ship like a knife through paper. Nate realizes, after the initial strike, that he has to be careful, reign both of them back, in order to minimize the damage done. The decompression of the inner chamber is immediate and almost explosive. A Skrull guard hurtles past them, along with several other items from the room they breached, and Nate has to pull Wade's focus back from the distraction, and remind him to focus on just them.

Together, they enter the ship, fighting against the force of the air being sucked out into vacuum of space. The emergency alarms blaring inside make it difficult for Nate to focus on anything else but his grip on the next handhold, but it's worse for Wade. Nate can feel his other start to lose its grip, rippling across his entire body like raised gooseflesh. Its thoughts are frenzied chaotic, even more so than usual, giving way to complete panic.

Loud, loud, loud-

Wade, stay calm. I've got us. Just focus on me.

He can still feel Wade's fear, but the symbiote focuses on Nate's will alone, lending its strength to their hands, reaching out with long tendrils for the next secure point that Nate spots for them. For once, he's the one truly calling the shots for both of them while Wade blindly follows. It's an entirely new level of trust between them, and Nate is grateful for it. He manages to get them both beyond the inner airlock doors before they automatically seal, stabilizing the air pressure once again.

There's still a faint alarm, but the blaring sirens are gone. Nate can practically feel Wade nuzzling him in his mind. Somuchbetter. Thank you…

"Look alive. We won't have time to--"

He's cut off by a barrage of fire from an approaching group of about a dozen Skrulls. The first shot takes Wade off guard and grazes through them, wounding them both. The rest of the incoming fire, Wade deflects completely while healing Nate. But Wade doesn't move or act to strike back, and despite being protected, Nate can still feel the pain his other is suffering.

"Wade. Sweetheart. You're taking direct hits," Nate says, throwing up a telekinetic barrier between themselves and the soldiers to relieve some of the damage being inflicted on his other. "Are you okay?"

Mercy, Nate?

Nate furrows his brow in confusion for a full two seconds, before he realizes Wade's conflict.

"They're hurting you," Nate growls. "We're not giving these ones mercy. Absolutely the fuck not."

He lashes out, summoning as much strength as he can to direct a telekinetic attack at each of the Skrulls simultaneously. There's a sickeningly wet pop, and a burst of green blood splatters the walls behind them. The bodies crumple like rag dolls.

Violent. You are dan-ger-ous, Nate, the symbiote says, in an awed, almost teasing way.

"When I have to be," Nate replies, bristling with anger as he storms through the corridor, stepping over the fallen without another thought. "They took my daughter for their fucking experiments. They hurt you. I could do a hell of a lot worse to them right now."

Of course they hurt me, Nate. Wouldn't let them hurt you.

"You'd do better to kill them instead," Nate advises. "They know why we're here and they aren't going to let us just walk in and take Hope from them."

I don't think anything could stop us, Wade says, its intention like a razor's edge in their mind.

"Looks like they don't know that yet," Nate comments, picking up on the incoming wave of Skrulls an instant before they appear. Nate throws up another telekinetic shield, but then Wade reaches out and forms a barrier beyond that, like a partial bubble insulating them against the onslaught.

"Wade, I just said--"

Hundreds of crystalline spikes shoot from the symbiote's shield like a hail of arrows, cutting through the Skrulls instantly.

The shield dissolves, and they both step forward to survey the bodies now layering the floor. Not all of them are dead, but the wounded certainly aren't going to be a threat to them anymore.

I could do a hell of a lot worse, Wade says, sidestepping out of the way as an injured Skrull lunges at them with a blade. They leap up the wall and climb across the ceiling past the rest of the bodies, following a path that they both remember well despite never having set foot here before.

More Skrulls find them. They drop down onto one, the symbiote's mass wrapping around the soldier's body and consuming it whole while they take out the others with lethal telekinetic blasts and spearlike tendrils.

"Did we just eat someone?"

Don't worry about it, Wade says. Nate doesn't have time to dwell on it, because as soon as they manage to kill the Skrulls in front of them, more appear, gaining an advantage from sheer numbers.

Nate throws up another shield and reaches into their form, through the symbiote's mass, to retrieve one of his guns. He can feel his other's concern and confusion when he brings the weapon out.

Nate? Wade questions, touching lightly at Nate, trying to heal the fatigue that it can sense.

"I'm fine. Just not used to relying so heavily on my powers," Nate explains. "I usually make do without. I can make do without again."

As soon as the telekinetic shield fails, Nate fires back, critically wounding two and taking one Skrull out with a headshot.

With Nate's powers weakened, Wade is left to withstand all the damage on its own once again. It feels Nate send a silent apology for not being able to protect them any longer, but Wade is strong. Wade can protect both of them.

There's no relief from the attacks now. Nate drops as many Skrulls as he can, round after round of plasma ripping through the enemy swarms, but more seem to keep appearing. Wade tries to assist, but keeping itself intact and Nate protected takes a higher priority. As long as Nate is safe, nothing else matters.

A few Skrulls try to ambush them in close range combat. It's a mistake that costs them their lives. The symbiote snatches them and tears them in half before they can do any real damage, flinging the pieces away.

We need to keep moving, Nate thinks, desperately. Don't let them block us in.

Got it.

Wade picks out the path they need to take, and then takes control of their body, running full tilt towards their exit point. The direct approach leaves them wide open to attack, but Wade's skin is thick and they both specialize in brute force. Two tendrils lash out, each picking up a Skrull underling and cracking them like whips full force into opposite sides of remaining group, creating a gap in the line.

The corridor beyond is scattered with incoming Skrulls that Nate picks off as they approach. Wade absorbs any return fire, his healing factor making the damage little cause for concern, but the secondhand pain makes Nate grit his teeth.

Is okay. We'll get Hope, Wade says, stroking over Nate's skin the way they like it. Nate says nothing, focused only on the path ahead of them.

They make it through another airlock door that leads into an empty chamber. There are no Skrulls here, but Nate feels the symbiote's sudden spike of anxiety plain as day.

Danger. Danger, Nate.

Nate pauses, gun at the ready, and takes a second and a burst of telekinesis to jam the airlock door they just came through so nobody can follow.

"Where?"

Dunno. Don't like this. We need to go.

"Yeah," Nate agrees, and then breaks into a steady run to their next exit. They pass through two more airlock doors, opening and then jamming each one as they press forward, moving as quickly as possible.

Their path is suddenly cut off by four Skrulls. These ones are a little different, well armored and each with a spear-like weapon in their hand that appears almost electrified. He shoots one, managing to wound the Skrull, but the others are well trained and attack as a team, forcing him to engage.

Nate doesn't really think before raising their arm to block the attack. He's so close to getting Hope back, so used to the invincibility that the symbiote offers, he just lunges.

Nate, no! Wade screams at him, but even then, Nate doesn't stop. He couldn't have stopped even if he wanted to at that point, but he thinks to himself, he can handle a little pain.

As soon as the weapon touches them, the effect is near devastating. It hurts, but the damage on Wade is worse. The symbiote is screaming in his head, but there isn't really any sound at all, just a silent, radiating agony that makes Nate afraid. It loses control over its form, sloughing off of his body in wet, stringy tangles that drip onto the floor.

"Wade?" Nate questions, gritting his teeth through the pain and trying not to give in to his other's rising panic. He needs to focus on the fight.

"Not so tough without your Klyntarian dog, are you, mutant?" one of the Skrulls sneers at him. He breaks her nose with the butt of his gun and then has to block against a strike, using his gun to keep the electrified spear from hitting him again. Nate can feel Wade somewhere in his mind, alive but shuddering as it recovers from the attack. The symbiote might be unkillable, but it's never been immune to damage.

He barely avoids the swing of another spear, the weapon buzzing through the air where his head had just been. Sonic weapon, Nate realizes. The disruptive effect it has on Wade's form is terrible. He's thankful he didn't get hit again.

Nate… he can feel the symbiote clinging a little tighter to him, trying to pull itself together, trying to form words.

"Save your strength, sweetheart," Nate says, shooting through the stomach of one Skrull and shoving them back towards another.

"I'm not your sweetheart!" Broken-nose Skrull yells, and Nate just narrowly manages to block her sonic spear.

"Do I look like I was talking to you?!" Nate snarls, kicking her away from him. He raises his gun to shoot her, but after using it to block multiple strikes from the sonic weapons, something's fried. He can feel Wade recovering, slowly, and the symbiote covers him again, despite some threadbare patches.

Nate knows when to fight and when to run, and right now his best option is the latter. If they don't, neither will have the strength to protect the other later.

"Hang on," Nate mumbles to Wade, touching his own shoulder just so he can feel the sticky threads of red winding around his fingers. They tighten on his, regaining vitality by the second.

Then they run, with the two remaining, extremely pissed-off Skrulls hot on their tracks. They're a few chambers down before Nate realizes that they've entered unfamiliar territory, but the two Skrulls are still right behind them, not allowing for any time to think.

Need to get out of here, Nate. Go back.

"Sometimes the only way out is to keep going through," Nate says, pausing for breath and also to assess the situation.

Trapped, Nate, Wade whispers, and Nate knows its true. They've been run into a dead end. It was just winding enough to not be recognizable at first glance, but Nate can see there's only one real entry point, and it's behind them.

He turns to face the enemy, ready to make good on his word and keep going through, but the Skrulls pursuing them stop at the entryway.

Broken-nose looks murderous.. She tilts her blood-covered chin up at them, a sneer -- or the pained semblance of one -- twisting up her mouth.

"Two of you and neither saw this coming?" she asks, and then jams the airlock door behind them.

No!

Wade's scream makes Nate's blood curdle, stricken with a terrible knowing only an instant before a deafening, ear-piercing barrage of sound starts. Worse than the alarms. Worse than anything Nate ever heard or felt in his life. The intensity of it makes his head and chest and bones hurt, and it makes the air itself shake violently and his eardrums feel pressure and pressure and pressure.

They form a blade -- a surge of strength that Nate thinks comes from Wade's end entirely, because he can't think at all right now -- and try to cut through the wall the same way they entered the ship in the first place, but before Nate can try to offer a boost, Wade comes apart, dripping red.

No, no, no! Nate, please! Wade tries desperately to stay on Nate's skin, to protect him, Nate realizes, but its grip is weak and failing. Nate feels his ears pop. Feels his head throbbing. Feels something leaking hot from his nose, from his ears. Not sure if its his blood or the symbiote. He drops to the floor, trying to curl in on himself and cover his ears, but there's no relief from the sonic attack.

Wade, he thinks, not even able to hear himself, but hoping that his other can feel it anyway, the same way he feels Wade now, like their minds are one in the same. But Wade is panicking and clawing at his mind in blind desperation.

Can't lose you, Nate, Wade pleads. Can't go back to that. What I was. Wasn't. Wasn't anything. Nothing without you. Don't want to be nothing again. Please, make it stop.

It hurts, and its Wade hurting him, but he can feel the symbiote's painful grip on him growing weaker by the moment.

He can feel Wade dying, and it's terrified.

Not terrified of death, however painful this death is, but of living. Living again without Nate. Because once Wade dies, Nate won't last much longer either.

A weird sense of calm comes over him. Nate stays still, just breathing, while the piercing sonic attack continues. He can feel it in his bones, his blood. He can barely feel the symbiote anymore, but its still there, stubbornly hanging to life, to him, for his sake.

"Let go, Wade," Nate says, barely able to hear himself with his own ears, but they can both feel the words. It's like a shock to Wade's senses.

No. No, no, no. I can't, Nate. If we're apart I can't protect you. I can't... heal you. If you die, I can't… I can't fix that, Nate. I don't know… how.

"You're not coming back to find me, Wade. If you do, I'll kill you again myself. Get Hope."

But… Nate…

"You get Hope and you get out of here and you don't look back. Keep her safe," Nate says. He feels something hot leaking from his eyes, but it isn't tears. His vision blurs red when he blinks and he squeezes his eyes shut.

Na...te...

"She's my everything," Nate whispers. "Now she's yours."

But… you're my...

Nate stays silent, waiting, but he can't hear Wade anymore. Can't feel anything except for the warmth leaking out of him, pooling around his head like blood.

x

Chapter Text

The first thing that comes back to Wade is sensation.

Everything hurts.

Cells regenerate: dividing, replicating, being forced back to life.

Memories reform.

Died again. Ripped away from another host.

Failed.

It's always the same thing. Always the same. At least before it didn't hurt anymore. When Wade was trapped for forever and ever. No more hosts. No more warmth. No more sound or touch. They were so hungry and everything hurt. Everything. Then, eventually, they stopped hurting. Stopped feeling anything at all. Just laid down and rested then. Couldn't sleep -- not like humans do -- but rested. Forever.

Then that 'forever' was interrupted. All of the cold stillness was suddenly warm and loud and alive.

Nate.

Nate, who was absolutely everything after so much nothing.

Nate, who had brought back words and meanings and feeling.

Nate, who made all the hurting feel so sweet. Feel worthwhile. Nate, who was kind to them, when they had never known kind. Never known mercy.

Would have done anything for Nate. 

Keep him safe. Kill for him. Die for him.

Did that, but it didn't help.

Nate's gone now.

The healing finally stops.

The pain doesn't. Not even when Wade tries to stay very, very still and think of nothing.

The memory is still there, and knowing what they lost hurts too damn much.

Can't feel Nate's warmth. Can't feel his heart pulsing. Can't feel his thoughts.

Wade wishes they could actually die, just to forget.

Doesn't work like that, though, so instead, Wade gets up.

Nate gave them freedom. Meaning. Something to care about. 

Hope.

Can't throw that away now. Not ever. She still needs them, needs them both , but Nate is gone and Wade is alive and it isn't fair, but that means she's the only thing left that matters and Wade is the only thing she has. That has to be enough.

Seeing is different without a host. Without Nate. A symbiote's range of perception is unlimited in some ways. Every part of Wade's fluidity is able to sense, touch, and take in sound and scent, and in a way, sight. But it isn't quite the same, as if they aren't able to see as far. But what limited sight Wade has is more than enough to discern where they are. And where they are is trapped.

Smooth, curved glass on all sides, forming the shape of a cylinder. Another prison.

But Wade knows containment cells. Knows them well. 

This one isn't nearly strong enough.

It doesn't take much, especially when Wade has already decided to stop holding back. The first strike against the glass cracks it, creating fractures that radiate out from a single point like a spider's web. 

The second strike shatters the glass cell, and the symbiote spills out, suddenly bombarded by a new range of sensory input.

There's a warm, moving body nearby. Wade takes it immediately, uncaring who or what it is.

A Skrull mind, full of anger and fear. Wade holds it still, probing at its memories while the two other Skrulls in the room shoot their comrade full of holes. Wade doesn't attempt to stop or absorb any of the attacks, but focuses instead on keeping the host alive long enough to learn what it needs to know.

Guards. That's all they are. Peons sent to watch over the dead Klyntar specimen. Well, it isn't dead anymore. But there are sonic weapons close at hand, and that's a problem.

Wade attacks the other two Skrulls simultaneously, driving spikes through their brains before they can decide to switch weapons. Problem solved.

The host's body is bleeding out as Wade walks from the room. As soon as they exit, the wounded Skrull host draws attention and alarm from more guards who rush over to help.

While there's a distraction, Wade passes into the next host through their skin. It's a little harder this way, but it affords Wade some stealth. In order to maintain control, Wade takes over the muscles and nervous system immediately, and then rapidly works up to the brain itself. This method is effective, but also extremely painful for the host and causes hemorrhaging inside the body. Minor internal bleeding that Wade can heal again, if they choose to.

The Skrull screams inside their head. It calls the symbiote monster and abomination. It curses and threatens to string out Hope's guts for all to see.

Wade chooses not to heal the damage. They walk away from the commotion, away from the first fallen host, until the others notice the missing symbiote and the trail of blood and what it means. They open fire on one of their own so easily. Wade lets the host take all of the damage, like a suit of armor made from meat, until the new body is useless.

Then Wade takes another.

That body is also destroyed almost immediately by the others -- Wade barely seizes control of it before being forced to claim yet another, but the onslaught doesn't lessen. They won't stop. They fear it now.

Instead of fully infesting a new host, Wade instead fans itself out, spindles of red splaying in every direction, piercing through armor, through flesh, taking over every living thing that it touches and forcing them to stop.

If they consider it monstrous, then so be it. Wade can give them a monster.

A monster of red, made from loss and grief, possessing all that it comes into contact with and leaving behind nothing but ruin.

Wade moves from one body to the next, forcing each host to walk further, while disabling all of the interlopers around them. All that Wade really cares about is the goal. The right host, the right memory will lead it to where Hope is. Every living thing between it and her is merely a vessel to reach her.

The next mind Wade encounters is different from the others. Not so dark or angry or weighted down with memories of violence and war. When the encroaching red comes for them, they don't fight like the others, full of biting rage. Instead, they try not to cry.

Please. I don't want to die.

Wade pauses, if only for a moment.

Stay out of my way, Wade warns, surging forward to the next host and leaving that one unconscious but unharmed.

Hope is close. So close.

The last host knows where she is. They had guarded over her cell. Held her down while the others hurt her for their experiments. Listened to her scream. Enjoyed it.

The other hosts, Wade had merely neglected and allowed to be hurt, or forced them to be still and quiet. This time instead of hiding, Wade covers the Skrull in itself and pierces through the host's flesh from the inside. Lets the new host suffer and bleed. But doesn't let it scream, not even in its mind. It can only do what Wade wants it to do, and Wade wants it to take them to Hope and open the cell.

She's there. Alive. Cuffed but otherwise unrestrained and left alone in an empty cell. Her left arm is bandaged and her eyes are sharp and shrewd, but her hair… her hair is like wildfire, and Wade had never seen another being that was red before it saw her.

"Spawn," Wade whispers, forgetting everything else. All of that anger doesn't seem so important anymore. Neither does the fact that this host still needs to breathe. It feels like there isn't any air left in the room, but that might just be the borrowed lungs crying out for oxygen. "Nate's spawn."

Wade moves closer to her. Close enough to look into Hope's eyes and realize they're green and that Nate was right; the sight of them is possibly the most beautiful thing in the universe. 

The symbiote reaches out, gently brushing the back of its stolen hand against her face to make sure she's real.

Hope lunges forward, driving something thin and sharp between Wade's ribs. Well, the Skrull's ribs. It would be a deadly wound on its own, but Wade is only a little surprised.

"That isn't nec… ne-cess… ne-cess-es-sary? This host is already dying. Bleeding out on the inside," Wade tells her. "Sorry. Would have let you do it yourself if I'd known."

"What are you?" Hope asks, guarded, fearful, but brave enough to nearly hide it. She already reminds Wade so much of Nate. It should've been him to open that door instead. Not some monster wrapped around the dying body of one of her tormentors.

"Nothing," it tells her. "But your dad called me 'Wade'. Called you his everything."

Her eyes are huge, welling up with moisture that refuses to fall. Wade can't stop staring at her face, at all of the freckles spattered across her nose. It remembers all of them so clearly,  but the memory isn't Wade's. 

"Where is my dad?" Hope asks, her eyes fixed on Wade's, like she's afraid to look away.

"I lost him," Wade says, the words as hollow as the symbiote feels inside. These other hosts aren't the same. Aren't Nate. Without him, they don't feel whole anymore, and Wade isn't sure they ever will again. But Hope will be a good host. And Wade will be a better symbiote for her.

"What do you mean, 'lost him'?" Hope asks, her voice quivering,  but Wade doesn't answer her question. Out-loud words are so much harder to grasp than thought-words or feeling-colors. Somehow, Hope seems to understand the silence, because her face crumples in grief.

"Can't lose you too. Promised I would keep you safe," Wade tells her. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid," Hope says, too stubborn to admit to anything, much less fear in the face of the unknown. But when Wade's fluid form rises off of the host's body, it knows the fear in her. When it covers her, swallowing her up and sinking into her blood, into her head, it tastes that fear, but it doesn't say anything.

Wade pushes thoughts towards her. Warm red shot through with glistening gold. Echoes of Nate's thoughts and memories that had imprinted into Wade. A memory of Hope when she was little, all soft skin and scabby knees, with the finest hair you'd ever seen. The way Nate's stomach had twisted into knots every time Hope was hurt or afraid or lost and the feeling wouldn't  ease away until long after he'd made sure she was safe in his arms again. The way her smile and honey-sweet giggles made him feel like his heart would combust. How proud he was of Hope's fierce independent streak and how much it scared the hell out of him to realize she was growing up. How much Nate loved her. How fiercely he needed to protect her. Always. 

Your dad loves you so, *so* much, kiddo.

There's salt water in her eyes. Wade tries to keep it from falling. Wraps itself around her skin on the outside, and around her veins on the inside. Checks every inch of her, healing the small punctures in her arm where they took her blood and the bruises just under her flesh. Holds her as closely as it possibly can, clinging to every bit of her. Safe. Alive. Whole.

Hope feels very different from Nate. Her thoughts race almost as much as Wade's do, and all of her emotions come through more intensely. She's stronger, too. Not physically, but in another way that Wade can sense indirectly. There's a fire in her soul, deep down, waiting to pour out of her at any moment.

"How do you know my dad?" Hope questions, staring at her blood red hands and testing her movements, feeling out the limitations. Wade has placed none on her. It encourages her to lift her hands, to see for herself. Together, they pull against the cuffs binding her wrists and break them.

Nate was *mine* , Wade says, unable to convey the depth of its meaning in mere words. Everything. Wanted to keep him safe. Happy. Forever. Couldn't do that. Failed him. Won't fail again. He was mine, but you were his. I'll keep you safe now. Promise. Let's go.

"Wait, what happened to my dad?" Hope chokes out, refusing to budge.

Go, Hope.

"Not until you tell me! I need to know exactly what happened."

Wade hesitates to tell her the truth, but knows it won't be any easier to keep her safe if she doesn't trust them completely. 

Skrulls hurt us. Killed us. Couldn't heal him while I was dead. Couldn't keep him safe. When I came back, he was gone. I'm sorry.

"Show me," Hope demands. "Show me the memory. I want to see it," she insists, resisting against Wade gently trying to push her out the door, trying to tell her no. Finally, it relents, showing her pieces of memory, replaying what Nate said before everything went black.

"You died," Hope breathes afterward, a desperate optimism bubbling in her chest, like she's coming up for air. "That doesn't mean he died. We need to find him."

The possibility makes Wade reel. Dying was torment. Wade had lost so many hosts before. When Wade died, they didn't survive. But... Wade never saw Nate die. Never felt it happen. Never saw his body. Maybe Nate made it, somehow. But the worst part is that even if she's right, even if Nate is still alive, it doesn't change anything in this moment.

Told me not to do that. Said I have to get you out of here.

"Yeah, well. I don't always listen to him," Hope says. "That's kind of why I'm in this mess in the first place. But in my defense, sometimes Nathan is a fucking idiot. But he's my fucking idiot," she adds, with the soft, fierce love of a long-suffering daughter. "I'm not going anywhere without him."

It's dangerous, Hope.

"And?"

And… you are so much like your dad.

Hope lets out a little snort. "Stupid?"

Stubborn, Wade says.

A smile lights up her face. "He taught me everything I know," she quips. "Are you going to stop me?"

No. Going to help you. Keep you safe. 

"Why would you help me?" Hope wonders, still leery of Wade's intentions. "What do you want?"

There's only one thing Wade wants, but thinking about it too deeply still feels painful when it's possible that the only person who ever had shown Wade the slightest bit of affection is already dead.

Nate, Wade says, and tries not to think about the fact that it may never again hear that deep, soothing voice or feel those large, strong hands touching them ever again.

"Oh. Gotcha," Hope says, in a strange tone of voice, like she knows something the symbiote doesn't, which is impossible. They share the same thoughts.

"Then let's get him back," she says, all business. "My powers can only copy other mutant abilities, so until we get close to Nate, I'm at a disadvantage. Fortunately, Dad taught me everything he knows about combat, so if we can get a weapon--"

Before she can even finish the sentence, Wade materializes a blade in her hand. Hope blinks once in surprise and inspects it, testing the balance and weight.

"You are a weapon," Hope says, eyebrows raising. "Well, then. It's not a Big Fucking Gun, but I can see why my dad likes you."

Nate likes me for the same reasons he likes you, Wade says.

"You're as headstrong and impulsive as I am?" Hope wonders.

We're both red and we're both very pretty.

"We are very pretty," Hope agrees, flashing a grin. "Are you ready to kick some ass?"

Always ready, Wade says. They could tear through every Skrull on this ship.

"I'm talking about kicking Nate's ass," Hope clarifies, pausing at the entryway only for an instant to check for an ambush before darting out of their cell, moving low and fast. The number of dead and unconscious Skrulls outside only surprises her a little. "I told him not to come for me, and now he says not to rescue him? If he's dead, I swear to Thor I'll find a way to bring him back just so I can kill him myself."

That statement is just, completely bewildering. Killing him again would be the opposite of what we want.

"I know, just let me be mad," Hope says. "Do you have any idea where we should be going?"

No, Wade admits. They can hear more Skrulls nearby, and Wade tilts their head toward the sound with wicked glee. But I know how to ask for directions.

--

Sometime after Nate had felt Wade die -- after what felt like forever -- they turned off the sonics.

Nate was pretty sure he would've died in that room otherwise, lying in a pool of red until his brains liquefied and ran out of his ears like broken egg yolks.

Then they came for him.

Nate wasn't in any shape to fight back at that point. His head was still pounding, both eardrums were most likely ruptured, his chest and body hurt worse than he would have expected, and he felt ready to throw up if the ground didn't stop spinning underneath him. He could still fight back, of course. It didn't mean he'd win.

The symbiote was dead, and they had already taken Hope, which meant they didn't need another mutant to experiment on. If they could unlock her power, they wouldn't really need any other mutants. Potentially, they could have any power they wanted at their fingertips. And so many Skrulls had died at his hands. They hardly needed an excuse to kill him at this point. 

"Alright. Come on, you fuckers. Just do it," Nate had croaked out, trying to push himself upright. Wade -- what was left of Wade, at least -- was still warm and spilled across the floor like blood. His hands slipped in it. Nate tried not to think about that too much.

They came closer, weapons drawn. Probably expecting him to finally cow in this moment and die quietly or beg for his life.

Instead, Nate grabbed onto the business end of a weapon held by the Skrull nearest to him and pressed his head against it.

"Either pull the trigger or get the fuck out of my face."

The last thing he felt was a concussive blast.

-

Nate's head is throbbing as he wakes up, and his entire body aches. He's sitting on a chair in a small room with his hands cuffed behind his back. Very retro.

"Impressive," a voice says. Nate barely gives the Skrull a glance -- some sad old fuck who's probably been standing there the entire time waiting for Nate to regain consciousness.  "That sonic rifle should've blown your disgusting head off. Instead it barely broke the skin. I wonder why that is."

Nate doesn't answer. He's not really interested in giving them any information, but the creepy bastard has already given him enough to figure a few things out. First, that the warm, wet fluid he can feel sliding down his face and neck is from a head wound. And gods, how head wounds can bleed . He couldn't have been unconscious for too long, at least. Maybe only a few minutes.

"Nothing to say for yourself? That's fine," sad old fuck continues. "I was planning on cutting you open to see what makes you tick, and you've already started the work for me."

Nate's more fixated on the warm flow of liquid running down his arm and across the palm of his hand. For an instant, Nate expects to feel the liquid wrap itself around his fingers, touching his skin subtly, possessively. But instead it drips off the tip of his finger and starts cooling against his skin. It's just blood.

Wade isn't here, Nate reminds himself. He wonders if the symbiote is alive again now. Somewhere. But if it is, Nate can't feel it anywhere anymore. Without it, it's like he can hardly feel anything at all anymore.

Nate squeezes his hands together thoughtlessly, and then realizes a moment later what he's done. Both of his hands will be smeared with his blood now.

Red. Covered in red.

"--or we'll start cutting off pieces until you do."

Nate looks up at the old Skrull who is, presumably, supposed to be putting fear into him right now. He'd missed everything.

"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

That earns him a hard crack across the face. Nate takes the hit and then laughs.

Old sad fuck looks like he's just sucked on a lemon. "Is this funny to you, mutant?"

"A little, yeah," Nate says. "My daughter could punch harder than you when she was six."

"Ah, yes, your daughter. You must mean the mutant specimen we captured. The one you've been trying to find," the old Skrull says slowly. "Interestingly enough, when we compared your blood sample against hers… there was no match." The Skrull pauses, as if this should be a devastating revelation. His lips pull back into a toothy grin. "Did you know the mother of your precious child was a harlot?"

"I mean. Hope's parents died before I found her," Nate says. "Never had the pleasure of knowing who they were. If her mom got some strange on the side, that's not really any of my business, but good for her."

The Skrull's face seems to turn a darker shade of green, if that's even possible. "More jokes, mutant? Your species is pathetic. You would forfeit your own life in a pitiful attempt to rescue a whelp that isn't even yours?"

"What part of 'I am her father' do you not understand?" Nate questions, leaning forward as much as he can. The restraints biting into his wrists don't offer much give. "I wiped out half of your crew and I'd wipe out half of the galaxy to get her back. If you were smart, you'd cut your losses now and let her go. Otherwise, I can't see this ending well for you."

The Skrull doesn't look impressed. "How tiresome. It's rather ineffective to try making threats in your current condition. The cuffs on your hands? They're designed to block you from accessing your mutant powers."

The old Skrull motions to a guard, who hands over their weapon, a blaster similar to the one from earlier. He levels it at Nate's face. "What are your odds of survival this time?"

Nate twitches his lips, point taken. His power won't be around to save him. But he'd already expected to die a couple times over by now, so as far as he's concerned, he's still coming up ahead.

"I'd say my odds are pretty good," Nate says. "Considering the fact that if you actually wanted me dead, you would've done it already."

The old Skrull smiles at him, all teeth, and then lowers the weapon and hands it back to the guard.

"Smart. Of course, I'd be disappointed with anything less from an omega level telekinetic. But without that parasitic life form, you were all too easy to capture. You didn't even try. I wonder why that is," the Skrull drawls in a soft voice, the tone of someone who thought they'd already figured it all out. "Or why a mutant of your caliber would need to bond with a symbiote in the first place."

Nate shrugs jokingly, but the cuffs on his wrists catch the movement short. "It's just a preference."

"Could it be…" the Skrull continues, ignoring him, "because you're weak? That techno organic mesh in your system is like a cancer. And without your symbiote to keep it in check, it's spreading, isn't it? Even now, you're slowly dying."

Nate squints at the Skrull. It's true that the TO virus isn't under control at the moment, but that's thanks to the power dampening cuffs. If it weren't for Wade crippling the virus out of petty jealousy, he would have already been consumed by it, and so would any other living tissue in the vicinity. Sure, he's still slowly dying from the disease, but 'slowly' is more accurate than this dumbass even realizes. Old age will probably take him first. Or boredom.

"Alright. So you got it all figured out," Nate says. "So what?"

"So… I believe this makes you a very interesting specimen for us," the Skrull says. "I intend to take you apart and put you back together again. Well, 'together' being relative. However, we'll have to work much faster than usual if we want to get the most out of this opportunity. Post-mortem subjects don't provide as much data." He turns to procure a knife and then takes a step forward, brandishing the blade close to Nate's chest.

Nate glares into the Skrull's eyes. "If you stick that knife in me, I promise you'll only live long enough to regret it."

"Will I?" he pauses to smile, idly tilting the knife in his hands for a moment. "And just what did you have in mind? You'll miraculously break through those cuffs and use your power to flay the skin off of my bones? No… you don't seem to be so creative. Perhaps you'll just bash my face into the floor. Inelegant, but satisfying nonetheless."

"It would be, but I definitely can't break these cuffs, so you've really got me fucked at the moment," Nate admits, and the Skrull snorts softly. "But as soon as I get out of these -- and I will -- you're going to have hell to pay. Your choice."

"Yes. Well, without your powers, and without your symbiote to protect you, you are rather helpless, aren't you?" the Skrull sneers, and then, just to twist the figurative knife a bit further, leans forward and pushes his literal knife into Nate's chest.

"You fucking shitgoblin," Nate snarls between gritted teeth. The blade doesn't go deep, and after a second it's pulled out again, just enough to make him bleed.

"Now, now, let's not be nasty," the Skrull says, casually wiping the blade off on Nate's shirt. "You and I are going to be spending a long time together. The last thing you want from me is animosity."

Nate can feel the TO slowly push into the wound, as usual, but this time there's nothing he can do to stop its progress, and that's terrifying. At least, it was terrifying, until he realizes that the virus is so stunted, it can't even fully stitch the wound shut anyway. He's just left to bleed, and for his body to fend for itself with no aid from the virus, or his powers, or even Wade, and somehow that's a little more disconcerting.

"You're one sadistic little fuck, aren't you?" Nate asks, between breaths.

"I am a scientist," the Skrull replies. "Now, let's learn something together."

Before the old Skrull can continue, Nate feels something shift in the air, like a static electricity ready to crackle against his skin. He sits up, half wondering if this is something else his captor had in mind, but the sad fuck seems oblivious to whatever is happening.

"My daughter…" Nate says, "She's also an omega level mutant."

"Yes, we know."

Of course they do.  "Do you know how her powers work, exactly?"

"She is able to replicate the power of any other mutant," the Skrull says. "The perfect specimen, don't you think?"

"Not quite. I mean, her powers don't quite work that way."

"Yes, of course. She needs to be within close proximity to another mutant, and then she can copy their mutation. A bit restrictive, but I have some ideas for how we can bypass that little shortcoming. Once we unlock her full potential, the next generation of Skrull soldiers will be like unto gods. You should be very proud."

Nate gives a grimacing smile. "Can I tell you something?"

The Skrull looks bored. "I don't know, mutant. Can you?"

"I think there's a flaw in your power dampening cuffs."

A flicker of confusion and then fear crosses the old Skrull's face, and at that moment they hear the rending of metal an instant before the walls themselves start ripping open, gutting the small room and exposing it to the much larger cavity of the ship.

There's debris everywhere, pieces of the ship's innards and walls suspended in midair by a telekinetic force so powerful it could rip everything apart to the molecular level and then reconfigure it all again. He knows, because he's done it. But Nate has only tapped into his full power a few times in his life, and each time that power was so great that it almost killed him. Hope's borrowed his power countless times -- they live with each other, after all. How could she not? He raised her, taught her how to control it. But it's never been like this before. She's never been able to operate at Nate's full strength. It shouldn't even be possible through the dampening tech, even if it is flawed, and yet that's exactly what's happening.

The destruction comes like a tornado in slow motion, tearing everything in its path apart at the seams in a perfectly-controlled chaos. Reality itself, fragmented, reduced to incomprehensible little bits of metal and wire and plastic and flesh, and set swirling through the air like so much dust. And at the center of that maelstrom, Hope is there. And she is red.

For only one moment, it was like time itself stood still. The Skrulls could only stare in awe and horror at the magnitude of power they were witnessing. Then, suddenly, time lurches forward again. The debris whips through the air like a storm, churning violently. Only a half-scream manages to escape the old Skrull's throat and then there is no throat to scream with, his body seeming to disintegrate as he and the other Skrull are shredded apart, their powdered bones added to the rest.

That electric feeling crawling under Nate's skin suddenly dies off. All of the debris suspended in the air comes falling down, and Hope nearly does as well, her legs threatening to buckle underneath her, but the symbiote curled around her body catches her, steadying her.

"I'm okay," Hope breathes, rubbing her head, and then her focus shoots to Nate. "Dad!"

"I told you not to come," Nate says as she approaches to free him, but he can't help himself from leaning into her.

"I listen as well as you do," Hope counters, pulling at the cuffs and immediately knowing that she can't remove them herself. Wade extends a tendril and slides against Nate's wrist, under the cuffs, then sharpens to a thin blade and cuts through the metal. 

As soon as his hands are loose, Nate wraps his arms around Hope, pulling her and Wade both down to his level and squeezing them as hard as he can.

"Dad," Hope says, but Nate doesn't care if she wants to tell him off. He has no intention of letting go of her anytime soon. She's safe and alive and in his arms again and her hair smells like fire.

"Dad, you're hurt. You're bleeding," Hope says.

"I'll be fine," Nate assures her. "Don't worry about that."

"I'm not worried. Wade is having a breakdown, though. You should probably take him back now, so he can patch you up."

"No," Nate pushes her back, putting some distance between them, and stands up shakily.

"No?" Hope repeats, incredulous.

"You've just overexerted yourself, and we still aren't out of the woods yet," Nate says. "Wade will be able to keep you safer than I can right now."

"I can keep myself safe," Hope objects. "He wants to be with you."

"Please don't argue with me. Wade and I already discussed this," Nate says, "and I seem to remember telling him specifically not to come for me. You were only supposed to keep Hope safe and get her off this fucking ship."

"Geez. Okay. Don't take it out on him," Hope says. "Wade did everything you said. He thought you were dead. I'm the one who didn't listen. And you should be thanking me for that. You'd still be getting tortured by knife fetish grandpa if it weren't for us."

"I had everything under control."

"Uh- huh."

Nate fidgets under her glare, and then finally gives in. "Thank you for rescuing me."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Don't ever do it again."

Hope just smiles, a cheeky, sure-Dad-whatever-you-say that positively radiates that special brand of noble disobedience that runs in the Summers family.

Nate smiles back, and then turns his attention to their surroundings.

"I like what you've done with the place."

"Oh, thanks. Lately I'm digging these open-floor designs, I think it makes everything flow together," Hope quips back.

"You managed to maintain an extraordinary amount of control and restraint," Nates says, much more seriously. "That sort of power… most people wouldn't be able to handle it. If you'd lost focus at all, you could have destroyed the hull of the ship and killed us all."

"Uhh… thanks, I think. I couldn't have done it without Wade, actually. He helped me keep it together."

"I'm proud of you both," Nate says, squeezing Hope's shoulder. Wade slides over his hand, squeezing back and pushing snatches of thought at him all in one simultaneous rush of emotions. Missyoupleaseprotectspawnyoursmineours-

Nate pulls his hand away. Wade's disappointment is the last thing he feels before the tendrils let go.

Hope blinks rapidly. "Um, wow."

"Sorry," Nate says. "Wade can be… a handful."

"Not Wade, you," Hope snips back. "I can't believe I left you alone for five days and you found yourself a symbiote boyfriend. One overprotective dad was enough."

"What I found was our best bet," Nate says, getting defensive. "Wade is strong, and versatile, and-"

"And ridiculously loyal, and kinda sweet -- in a 'capable of murdering the shit out of anyone who so much as looks at my new human daughter' kind of way -- and very, very gay."

"Hope."

"What? I didn't say I didn't approve. You're just as murder-y. He probably learned it from you."

Wade rises up from Hope's shoulder, forming a little snake-like head with black eye patches and beady white eyes blinking open.

"What is 'gay'?" the symbiote asks aloud.

"You," Hope answers, and Wade's little snake mouth pops open in surprise.

"Me is gay?"

"Both of you, just stop," Nate says. "We're in enemy territory, on an enemy vessel, and we--"

A Skrull soldier emerges from a connecting corridor, gaping at the destroyed space, but before either Nate or the Skrull can react to each other, Wade lashes out, spraying black spikes at the Skrull like shrapnel, cutting through him and killing him instantly.

"Continue," Wade purrs at Nate.

"What was that?" Hope asks, alarmed.

"Skrull. Dead now."

"Not that, smartass. The black spikey shit," Hope says. "When you did it before it wasn't black."

"Oh! Waste product!" Wade says, a little too cheerfully.

"Waste…?" Hope's expression changes from confusion to disgust. "Never mind, I don't wanna know anymore."

"Remember when we got shot?"

"You let her get shot?" Nate pipes up.

"Dad, I'm fine, I didn't feel anything," Hope says, and Nate grumbles something to himself.

"Filtered all the bad stuff out of our body. Bullets. Smoke from the air. Things that would hurt us. Repurposed. Returned fire."

That explanation makes Hope's brows raise as she reconsiders her opinion. "That… is kinda cool, actually. Disgusting, but also cool as hell."

"Thank you."

"As I was saying," Nate continues. "We need a plan. I know it might seem crazy, but I was thinking, we could just hijack this entire ship. At least until we can find something a little more practical."

"Oh. Wow. Yeah, that would've been a great idea," Hope agrees.

"Would've?" Nate echoes. "What do you mean, 'would've'?"

Hope sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and then slowly lets it go. "Wade and I… may have… definitely… sort of… already sabotaged the ship by causing some, uh… catastrophic damage?"

Nate narrows his eyes. "What does that mean exactly?"

"Everything is on fire," Wade chirps.

"I see." Nate keeps his tone perfectly even, despite how much he wants to yell. "We do have to find a new ship, you know. Ours was destroyed."

"Wade... did not tell me that," Hope says, just as carefully. "Good to know. You should probably also just be aware that we kinda destroyed the alarm system? So I'm pretty sure there should be a fuckton of alarms going off right now and we might wanna leave soon before we all die. But no pressure."

"Alright. Anything else you want to tell me?"

"We may have eaten someone."

"Yeah," Nate grimaces. "Try not to think about that too much. Anything else?"

"I think I'm gay," Wade says.

"Yes, we know," Nate and Hope both say at the same time, and then glance at each other and laugh.

"Alright, so plan B," Hope says. "We find the escape pods, get out, and stop at the nearest system selling anything resembling a burger."

"We'll go with that," Nate agrees. "Let's get a move on. Wade, you're covering Hope, and I'm covering both of you."

"Serious?" Hope deadpans, but Nate's already on the move, leaving no room for discussion. Wade wordlessly melts back over her, covering her face so that every bit of her from head to toe is armored in the symbiote.

They follow Nate through the nearest corridor, hustling to keep up with his pace. 

"This is ridiculous," Hope-Wade mutters, and then, with a running start, they jump up, kick off from one wall, and sink their claws into the opposite wall, numerous tendrils helping them cling to the surface and climb quickly up across the ceiling to cut Nate off before dropping down again ahead of him.

"What are you doing? Get behind me, Hope," Nate snarls. "You're burnt out, and there can be enemies anywhere in this shithole."

"You're bleeding, you're unarmed, and you're just as burnt out as I am," Hope points out, still moving forward so Nate can't quite catch up, can't force them back. 

Wade's tendrils splay off of their body, like a netted shield, in turn helping them move a little faster, giving sensory feedback of their surroundings, and staying at the ready to protect not only her, but also Nate.

"Besides," Hope adds. "You don't even know where you're going."

"And you do?" Nate scoffs.

"No, but Wade does. He jumped through a dozen different Skrulls before he found me. He knows this ship better than either of us right now. Let Wade do his thing."

"Wade's only thing right now is to keep you safe, not put--"

Nate's interrupted when they come up on a blind junction, the corridor too narrow to tell there's an intersection until they're already on top of it. Before Nate can even react, Wade and Hope do several things at once: they rush through the gap at break-neck speed; their tendrils burst outwards, almost explosively, a criss-crossing network of red suddenly stringing from a hundred different points across the walls, bringing everyone, including Nate, to an abrupt stop; and they drag out the Skrull who had been hidden around the corner, pinning him to the floor under a mass of threadlike tendrils.

Nate takes a breath, mentally trying to catch up with what just happened. The strands of red keep him captured like a web made from tensile cables, unyielding.

"Wade?" Hope questions after a tense moment of perfect stillness and silence. "Everyone's good. Just kill it and let's go."

"Nooo," Wade drawls aloud, while the Skrull audibly shivers. "I know this one."

"Please… don't kill me," the Skrull pleads.

"His name is Gnu," Wade says brightly. The threads keeping the Skrull pinned start to melt and shift together, petting the Skrull's face, playing with the sharp point of his ear. "Remember me? You were like, 'Don't kill meee' and I was like, 'Okayyy'. Remember? Hiiiiii."

"Wade, we don't have time for this," Nate reminds him. Watching Wade be so interested in some stupid Skrull makes him angry. Wade shouldn't be touching him. He should be focused on Hope, and on Nate, and nothing else. The sooner they leave, the sooner everything can be over and Wade could use him as a host again, do whatever he wanted. Why in the hell would he need anyone else?

"I don't want to fight," Gnu says, afraid and trying in vain to gently wrench free from the symbiote. "I… I woke up and everything was on fire. I just want to get off this ship. If you let me go, I can show you a way out. Please."

"Say that again," Wade demands, tendrils sweeping across the Skrull's lips.

"P-please?" Gnu repeats, confused.

"Again."

"We don't need your help," Nate interrupts loudly, putting a heavy emphasis on the last syllable. "Wade knows the way to the escape pods. Right, Wade?"

"Right," Wade agrees, withdrawing from the Skrull's body, to Nate's relief and satisfaction. "I know exactly the way to find out the way to know the way to where the escape pods are." Then, after a beat, quietly, "Gnu… Gnu? Which way are the escape pods?"

"Um… if you keep following this corridor the way you were headed, you'd come to the main hall and you can't miss them," Gnu says, sitting up. "But you're going the wrong way."

"We're going the right way, but we're going the wrong way? Yeah, okay," Hope scoffs.

"I mean, you don't want an escape pod," Gnu says.

Nate rolls his eyes. "Wade, let's go. He's a Skrull, he'll say anything."

"But his head was nice," Wade objects, and it confuses Nate how much that annoys him, even as the tendrils around him start to slough away, allowing everyone to move once again.

"An escape pod will get you out, and it has some rations, sure," Gnu blurts out quickly, stumbling to his feet. "But it's pre-programmed to seek out the nearest Skrull ship and send out a distress signal. Even if you hack it, the controls will be minimal. You'll die in space unless someone else happens to find you. Do you have… friends... looking for you?"

Nate's withering glare is all the answer he needs.

"O-okay. So, what you really want is a scouting ship. That's where I was headed. You can follow me." Gnu looks between them, hesitantly, and then starts to lead the way, doubling back the direction they just came from.

Nate stops him as he brushes by, planting his hand on Gnu's thin shoulder. "To be clear…" he growls, "You're not coming with us."

"Oh… no," Gnu agrees. "I was going to say, when we leave, please stay far away from me."

-- 

The scouting ships are better than they'd even anticipated. Large, fully stocked, equipped with better-than-average defenses, and designed for long-term scientific ventures. The controls are strange at first, as they always are between vessels, but Nate's able to figure out how to take off with relative ease, and it won't take long to adjust to the quirks of the new system.

It's only when they're a good distance away that Nate can finally see the fire consuming the entire aft of the massive Skrull ship. 

He turns to give Hope a look of disbelief.

"What?" she asks, raising one auburn eyebrow. Wade is no longer covering her completely, but still lingers above her skin in swirls and droplets, as if resting. "We don't fuck around."

"I can see that," Nate says. "But just a suggestion? Next time don't set fire to the ship while we're still inside of it."

Hope doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed. "I will consider that suggestion, but I can't make any promises."

Nate lets out a breath. Honestly, he isn't sure what else he was expecting. Hope was just like him. Sure of herself, a little reckless, and trusting no moral compass but her own. Nothing else could make him happier.

"I'll take Wade back now," Nate says, extending his hand towards the red that was spilled across Hope's arm. The symbiote moves slowly, like liquid pooling towards him, but after a beat, Hope shifts her arm away and takes a step back.

"Mmn. Not yet." Her eyes fix onto him with an incisive scrutiny. "Answer me one thing. Best bet?" she asks, enunciating those two words with a pointedness that he doesn't understand.

"What?"

"You said Wade was our 'best bet.' I'm asking what that means."

"It means we would've died without him on our side," Nate says.

"No," Hope tips her head back in exasperation. "You don't get it. Earlier, when I was just trying to give you shit about bringing Wade with you. You deflected. I've got all of Wade's thoughts bouncing around my head, y'know. It's chaotic. When he thinks about you, he gets all soft, and honestly it's kinda gross. But when you said he was our 'best bet' like that, I don't know. It hurt him for some reason. And I'm not sure Wade even understands enough to ask why. So I'm asking."

"We weren't together at the time, so I can't know Wade's feelings," Nate says, as stubborn as he is oblivious. "But I'm sorry if I was terse while I was trying to make sure we didn't get killed."

"Not his feelings. I'm asking about yours!"

"My feelings about what? You were talking about Wade a second ago."

"You're so dense! Stop deflecting!"

"I don't know what you're trying to ask!" Nate objects.

"Neither do we!" Hope shouts back, and then sighs and puts her head in her hands. "Emotions are gross and confusing enough when they're mine, and mine aren't like this. Having to sort through Wade's is just… so much. I don't exactly have any expertise in this area."

"Hope?" Nate questions, beginning to grow concerned. "That's not your responsibility. Just… tell Wade to come back. We'll sort out whatever it is."

"No, you won't," Hope says. "Neither of you are gonna be direct about what you want, because you're garbage at emotions, and Wade has no frame of reference to even understand what he's feeling or why. Which means neither of you are gonna say shit and you're both going to be miserable for it. When we figure out what the question is, we'll ask. In the meantime, you should probably figure out your answer."

The whole tirade feels like it just came out of nowhere, leaving him blindsided. All Nate really latches onto is the last bit.

"How am I supposed to answer a question before I know what the question is?"

"If you can't figure that out, then the answer is no," Hope replies.

"Can't I just talk to Wade myself?"

"Nope. As much as he wants to, I really think the only way Wade is going to sort out how he actually feels is away from you."

"Why?"

"Because it's about you, stupid."

"Oh." Nate feels very stupid indeed. Even moreso, when only then he gets an inkling that Wade might have strong and complicated feelings for him that extended beyond his being a warm and willing host. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh," Hope says, rolling her eyes and heading towards the ladder to the second floor of the ship. "You two can get back together after you think about what that means for a while. Until then, it's we- time for everyone who's red and pretty, which means you're not invited."

"Well, that's just… very hurtful," Nate deadpans.

"Sucks to suck!" Hope hollers back. She grabs the rungs, stepping up, and then pauses. "By the way? A lot of people wanted to make Wade into a weapon. You're the one who finally succeeded. Just something to think about."

With that, Hope climbs up and slips away into the deeper recesses of the ship, leaving Nate alone to monitor the ship's course and think.

But there's nothing to think about. Just teenage dramatics. And symbiote dramatics, on top of that.

Nate all but throws himself down in the pilot's chair and kicks his boots up onto the console a little too heavily.

He'll give it an hour, and she'll be over it. They'll be over it. There's a lot to process, that's all.

Hope had almost died. That's still too much to even think about closely, so he chooses not to.

Nate had almost died.

Wade had almost…

No. Actually, Wade had died. He can still remember it, vaguely. That awful, clawing desperation as Wade's consciousness had been ripped away from his. It was like the fading impression of a night terror -- vivid in the moment, and hauntingly surreal even afterward, when you began to question if it had even happened.  But it was real. It had felt like he'd been gutted open, like he had been bleeding out onto the ground. Without the symbiosis, that gutted feeling still lingers and he just can't shake it off. Like part of him is gone. Phantom pains.

Wade was never a weapon. Not even when Nate had gone looking for a weapon. Not even when he found exactly what he'd been looking for. Something unwieldy, and powerful, and entirely feral. A pure, destructive force.

Nate was the one consumed with vengeance. A single-minded focus. Hope . Nothing else mattered. Not a thousand star systems.

Wade was a balm to every wound. An entire ocean to drown inside of. An endless echochamber of thought and sensation and curiosity. Wade was anything, and everything. And despite all of that, Wade had wanted nothing more than to just be with Nate. But Nate wanted a weapon, and so Wade made himself into a blade.

From the start, Wade had told Nate over and over again that he only wanted to make Nate happy. The idea of losing Nate had been enough to make Wade panic and try to force him to stay with him. Forever. Even while Wade was dying, what actually terrified Wade was the thought of being separated from Nate. Being unable to keep him safe. Nate had pushed Wade away, had told him to protect Hope instead. His only concern was about Hope, and so Wade cared about her too. He hadn't even given any thought to how Wade felt.

But Hope is feeling all of that now. She'd told him so.

Wade is having a breakdown.

He thought you were dead.

It's not like Nate was entirely unaware of Wade's feelings. It's just that there was way too much to process. He didn't have time to wonder if Wade's feelings were genuine, or dangerous, or self-serving. He didn't have time to worry about what a relationship with Wade meant, and if he was essentially selling his soul. He had already assumed that he was, and as far as he was concerned, Wade could have it all. The only thing that mattered was that Wade was on his side in that very moment and willing to help him towards his singular goal.

But now there's nothing else to face except the consequences.

Wade carried out his side of the deal. Their daughter is back, safe and sound and as stubborn as ever. In return, what will Nate be expected to give? His body, his mind? The rest of his life?

He's okay with that. He really is.

It might have frightened him before, to have an unknown entity in his head that was too cold and uncaring to fight against, but he still would have made that bargain.

But Wade isn't actually like that at all. Wade is warm and bright and overwhelming in every single way. An endless flow of words in his head, with bright watercolors of emotion painting all the spaces in between, filling every little empty nook inside of him until it feels like it should all come spilling out.

Without him, Nate's feels strangely devoid. His mind seems like a blank void. His body aches. Everything feels a little colder. He's painfully aware of all the empty spaces between his bones, between his thoughts, waiting to be filled up again.

And there's nothing he can do except wait.

-

-

Hope and Wade find Nate a few hours later, in the engine room.

Nate had taken it upon himself to become acquainted with the Skrull tech and start modifying it to his own needs. If nothing else, it was a good distraction while he tried not to wonder if Wade had second thoughts about ever coming back.

It had already been a long time, and also not long enough, when Hope comes to stand over him. He's on his back, dealing with a mess of wires inside an offline grav drive. She looks deadly serious as ever, even upside-down. Wade is curled around her wrists, and tucked against the heat of her neck. It makes his own skin ache with jealousy, and that's finally an emotion Nate can admit to himself, so maybe Hope had a point.

"Okay. We know the question now," Hope says, her arms folded. "Do you have your answer?"

Nate slides out from under the grav drive so he can give them his attention. Hope really expects him to answer a question they haven't asked yet. Or maybe she already has.

"Is that the question?" Nate asks, suddenly suspicious. "You're trying to trick me?"

"No, I'm just trying to give you a chance. If you don't already know how to answer at this point, you're pretty much fucked, to be honest," Hope says.

"Yeah," Nate agrees. Of course he couldn't get off the hook that easily. But oddly enough, he's pretty sure he knows what they want him to say. It's about his feelings, after all. Feelings for Wade. The only problem is, there's a lot. Way too much to put into words. He doesn't even know where to begin. Any single part seems too small, too foolish to even justify saying aloud.

"You think that I don't see Wade as a person," Nate says. "You're worried that I just used him as a weapon to fulfill my own needs. Before, I would've said that isn't true. But I did do that, and I'm sorry. But Wade isn't just a weapon. I know he… you have your own thoughts, Wade. And I like that. Your thoughts. In my head. Hearing them."

There's a heavy moment of silence, and then Hope makes an exaggerated noise of disgust, effectively ruining all pretence of this being a somber moment. "That's it? Seriously? After what, like three hours that's the best you can do?"

"What do you want from me? A sonnet?"

"A coherent sentence would be a great start."

"I'm not good at just saying things," Nate protests.

"Things? What are 'things'?" Hope pesters, perking up like a wild cat spotting a small, wounded animal.

"Feelings," Nate grinds out, to avoid giving her any further satisfaction of tormenting it out of him. "How I feel, okay? Are you satisfied?"

"Ohhhh you have feelings! You have feelings for your slime boyfriend, that's so embarrassing," Hope teases, deeply amused by all of this.

"Sadist. Are you done now?" Nate asks.

The red on Hope's arms starts to bleed towards him, but she pulls her arms away, putting them behind her back. "You still didn't answer our question."

"How about this. If you ask the question, I will do my best to answer with coherent sentences," Nate says, watching the red on Hope's neck anxiously twist itself into tendrils.

"Okay. But you have to tell the truth, no matter what," Hope says, narrowing her eyes at him.

Nate holds her eye contact, waiting for the question. 

She takes a breath.

"Is my full name really Hopeathan?"

Nate sighs.

Hope smiles, all teeth, and then finally decides to show mercy.  "Just kidding. You take everything too seriously. Yeah, Wade is like, bonkers in love with you, but we weren't sure if you were sweet on him because you actually care about him as a person, or if it was just to manipulate him into doing what you wanted. Also, you were kind of a bitch for a while, and you needed to suffer. But you passed the test, so, congratulations! Take your boyfriend back." She finishes by holding out her hands, where Wade has wrapped himself around her fingers, reaching out towards Nate.

"That was rather anticlimactic," Nate says, getting to his feet.

"Isn't it? Love is gross and overrated. Enjoy."

Hope takes Nate's hands in hers, letting Wade flow back to him. 

Just the warm, fluid contact of Wade's body wrapping around his makes him shiver, the symbiote's thoughts pressing directly against his skin like kisses in time with his heart beat. Nate. Nate. Nate.

"Wade," Nate says in return. Wade's continues babbling faintly, nearly incoherent, just his name over and over again. Nate. Nate. But each reiteration feels so different in meaning, overlaid with thoughts that aren't quite there, but Nate can feel the impressions of them just the same. 'You're alive.' 'I missed you.' 'You're hurt.' 'I'm sorry.' Relief, longing, guilt.

"No, you don't have anything to be sorry for," Nate murmurs, confused by the painful ache of fear and loneliness. Wade isn't even attempting to fully symbios with him yet, as if he's uncertain that Nate would want him back, and the weak connection between them is unnerving to say the least. He has the distinct impression that if he weren't listening for it so intently, he would almost miss Wade's voice entirely.

Did bad. Failed you.

"Wade, you never failed me. You got our daughter back. You kept her safe. That's what matters," Nate reassures him, running his hands over the symbiote resting on his skin. He catches sight of Hope mouthing 'OUR' to herself, her eyebrows raised, and he gives her a withering look that says 'we will discuss this later.'

Did… good?

"Yeah, you did good," Nate says, soothing his fingers over Wade. He's uncertain if Wade can read him clearly in this disconnected state. If he could, there wouldn't be any room for confusion between them, but Wade just won't come, which means Nate has to try to make his thoughts known. "When I said I didn't want you back… I didn't mean forever, you know. My head is a little too empty without you."

Hope barely contains a laugh, keeping her lips pinched shut while Nate glares at her. "What? I didn't say anything. Go on."

"Hope, can I -- we -- have some privacy? I think there's a lot… There's just a lot, okay?"

"What, you can't just tell him you love him while I'm standing here watching you?" Hope asks, innocently.

Nate struggles and then finally finds enough humility to say firmly, "No."

"That's lame. But also, valid," Hope says. "You two are weird. It's cute. And also gross."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. I love you. I'm glad we're not dead. I'm happy for you both. Please keep his fingers out of your mouth around me. I know about that and I wish I didn't."

"I'll consider that suggestion, but I can't make any promises."

Hope cringes a smile. "You two are the worst."

"I love you, too," Nate adds, in reply to her earlier string of statements.

"I know," Hope says, remembering all of the emotions Wade had pushed into her head.

"And so does Wade," Nate adds. 

"I know," Hope repeats, softly. "Goodnight."

Nate watches her leave again, and then waits for a long while afterward, just listening for any sign of something wrong, any indication for concern. He isn't even aware of this vigilance until Wade pushes against him as if to soothe. All good. No more danger now.

Nate lets out a breath, partly in relief and partly in exhaustion. It still feels too soon to let his guard down, and honestly he wouldn't if he didn't trust Wade's senses, but the adrenaline is wearing thin and the lack of sleep since Hope was taken from him is starting to catch up.

"You two were gone for a long time," Nate says. "I was starting to worry you didn't want to come back."

Sorry. Wanted to, but Hope said wait. Said we both needed time to think. Said she wanted to make you sweat.

"Of course she did," Nate grumbles. "What else did she say?"

Hope said if I ever hurt you again, she'll freeze me with liquid nitrogen and jettison my shattered particles into a quasar.

"Ah." Nate winces. "That's… very creative, and a little extreme."

I know, that's what I love about her.

Wade's tone of voice radiates affection, but Nate can hardly feel any emotion coming from Wade directly, nor can he pick up on the constant flow of consciousness from before.

The symbiote lingers on his skin in mottled pools of deep red. Nate runs his hand over one, gently, and Wade comes alive, pushing back against him and curling around his fingers.

Snatches of the same emotions come through, weakly. Relief. Guilt. Longing. It all bleeds together into a singular pain.

"Are you okay?" Nate asks, watching Wade closely. For what, he isn't quite sure. A blemish in the symbiote's vivid color, maybe. Some sort of physical indication of the pain he can sense.

Always okay. Why would I not be?

"Because you died," Nate reminds him patiently, his chest clenching at the reminder. They've already had this conversation before, but now everything is backwards.

I'm okay. Worth it. Worth dying for you, Nate.

The way Wade says it is what makes him falter. Like it's so simple. Like Wade's sacrifice is something almost expected of him, and next to meaningless. 

"Oh. Wade," Nate murmurs, unsure of what else to say. After a few long seconds, he pushes onward. "Even if you're okay now... physically... I know how much it hurt. I know how scared you were. I remember the pain. That's still real."

And I'm not okay, Nate wants to say. And it's okay to not be okay.

But the words don't come out. They sound so clear in his head, but they stick in his throat and wither away. He hopes Wade can pick up on his thoughts, somehow, but they aren't connected and he has no idea what's going through.

Dying never scared me, Wade confesses, lying so still and motionless against Nate's skin. Before I was old enough to know what dying was, they killed me. And then I died and died and died. And then I was alone. And that hurt more than the dying ever could. Hurt so much. I would just… lie very still. So it would stop hurting. I think that was 'death.' And then you…. Then there was You, Wade says, almost accusingly, that simple sentence loaded with so much meaning. If I'd lost you... If I'd lost Hope… I think I would long for death. It would be kinder. So, no. Dying I'm okay with. The only thing that ever scared me was losing you.

"I'm not okay," Nate asserts, the words coming out before he can overthink it and freeze up. "With that. With you dying. It's not something I wanted you to have to do. You know that, right?" Because Wade needs to know.

I… Wade hesitates, trailing off, and Nate swears softly under his breath.

"This thing we've got, whatever you want it to be, it goes both ways," Nate says. "I'm going to do whatever I can to keep you safe, and keep you happy. And sometimes, I'm afraid that isn't always going to be enough, and I'm so sorry."

Having you is enough. If I have you. I'm happy, Wade whispers. But Nate can't feel that happiness coming through right now.

"You have me," Nate says, a reminder and also a promise. "So why aren't you with me?"

The pools of red start to quiver on his skin.

Because... if I bond with you again I won't ever want to leave.

"What's wrong with that?"

Wade makes a small, strangled, silent noise.

"I can't hear your thoughts, love. You'll have to talk to me."

You would actually want that? Me?

"Yes. I don't know how else to make that clear," Nate says. "Are you just going to linger on my skin forever?"

Yes, Wade says, quietly.

"Alright. That's fine, then. I'll miss being connected to you… sharing the same thoughts, feeling what you feel. But I can wait. You can let me know when you're ready."

Wade says nothing. The silence is almost unnerving after being accustomed to Wade's every simultaneous thought, every impression of sense and emotion and color. He can still read the turmoil in Wade even if it isn't being shared inside his head. He can see it in the whorls of light reflecting off of Wade's bright-deep red body -- the way Wade quivers with an almost imperceptible but steady, fluttering anxiety, and then begins to rise up from his skin in tumultuous peaks and points, like restless waves on a storm-tossed sea.

Nate, Wade says, as if remembering to speak.

Nate answers with a small noise, soothing his hand over Wade's form to calm the turmoil, and Wade curls around him once more, twisting between his fingers.

Nate, Wade whispers. Want to come back now. Okay?

"Okay," Nate agrees, and feels Wade melt across his skin in relief. The symbiote flows up and over his throat, seeking out his heat, where blood runs just beneath the skin. Nate hardly notices Wade's return until his vision goes red for a moment. Then the connection comes back, Wade's consciousness spilling into Nate's like ink spreading through water, all of his experiences and feelings and things Nate can't begin to put words to.

There's so much to process, so much information and sensory overload that it's impossible to make sense of any of it. Nate doesn't even try. Some things can't be named or recontextualized without diminishing the original meaning. Instead, he closes his eyes and lets it wash over him, every little thought, every synapse firing in his head.

It's like hearing a language without words. Seeing colors without a wavelength. The understanding is there but also not there, because it's hovering just on the edge of what he's capable of even comprehending.

This is Wade, raw and untranslated. It's a small wonder that Hope had felt overwhelmed trying to help Wade make sense of it all. Trying to find the right words to name exactly what this is. But human language is a flawed and limited thing. Sometimes the right words just don't exist and never will.

But they don't need the right words. There are few wrong words.

Wade can say one thing -- Nate -- and one hundred unspoken meanings touch Nate's mind all at once.

Right now, there's an eager thrill, and also the calm rush of relief that comes with familiarity as Wade makes himself at home again in Nate's mind and in his blood.

There's a paper-frail edge of anxiety and helpless anger when Wade pushes at the memory of his capture.

There's a trembling cold-hot need when Wade sees the memory of the blood dripping across Nate's hand. How Nate's fingers had curled instinctively, expecting Wade's touch to meet his. The jealousy that boiled up every time Wade was with some other host.

There's a warmth and a glint of possessiveness when Wade soothes over his wounds, and the color orange-violet.

There's so much, and Nate isn't even sure what it all means, but at the same time, he does.

You have me now, Wade whispers, a reminder and also a promise.

He does.

Nate closes his eyes and draws in a slow, deep breath, basking in the way Wade feels, in his head, in his veins. Even his lungs feel heavier, like every inch of him has been laid claim to.

Yes. Mine, Wade agrees, from somewhere in the recesses of his mind, and from the depths of his veins.  All mine, Nate?

"Yeah. All yours, handsome," Nate answers, finally feeling at peace. "And you're mine."

x