Hey, One Question: What The Hell

Grumpy Beginnings

Authors Note: Reader is somewhere between the ages of 15-17, it's up to you.
Key:
Reader thoughts: in italics
Symbiote mentally speaking: in bold
Symbiote speaking aloud: ALL CAPS
And now back to the story!

You had been living on the streets for almost a month when it found you.

***
It was a beautiful day. You woke up (unfortunately), fed some pigeons, had an existential crisis, dodged questions from some well-meaning couple, ate a sandwich and ended up here. In your favorite alley. (Note high levels of sarcasm.) You may not have liked it, but it was close to the Rolling Pin, a bakery where you washed dishes and mopped spilled flour two evenings every week.

"Kids these days. Pathetic." The mans disgust rolled over you as he strode by, voice just loud enough that only you heard. "Get a fucking job."

You gritted your teeth, biting back a retort. Barely. The last time someone said something along those lines, you'd spat something about how 'they should follow their own advice and move out of their mom's basement. As immensely satisfying as defending yourself had been, it wasn't worth the kick and bruised/cracked ribs that were the result. So instead you wrapped your arms a little tighter around yourself and stewed darkly about what you'd like to do that asshole. Maybe pick off his fingernails and pull out his annoyingly white teeth.

You sighed, tipping your head back till it connected with the stained-by-God-knows-what alley wall. When the day bled into evening, you slung your backpack over your shoulder and headed towards the shop.

The bell tinkled merrily as you stepped through the door, taking a deep breath of the incredible smells and feeling the tension drain from your shoulders. The sweetest old lady you had ever met turned around at the sound of the bell over the door, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.

"Ah (y/n), right on time, as always."

Susannah, or 'gramma Suzy', as she was affectionately known by her employees, was an angel sent to bless humankind with her baking. Seriously. She once got accused of putting pot in her brownies, because they were 'too good to be legal'. (Of course there wasn't any pot in the brownies. It was in the surprise cupcakes.) But every Monday and Friday she needed a little extra help around the shop, and there was always plenty of odd jobs for you.

It didn't hurt that you always left with a bag of day-olds and misshapen rolls.

Suzy drew you in for a hug that smelled faintly of vanilla and left a dusting of flour when she pulled away, eying you critically. "I hope you're gettin' enough food, dear. You're all skin and bones."

You shrugged, quirking a smile. "I manage."

"Hmph." She didn't look convinced, but let it drop. "Grab yourself a muffin or somethin' on your way to the back."

You grinned your thanks, snatching a broken blueberry muffin as you dropped your bag in a corner of the kitchen and grabbed the broom.

***

The scent of spoiled milk and day-old takeout filled your nostrils as you stepped out the back door of the bakery, nose wrinkling at the stench. Despite the dumpster that smelled like someone (or multiple someones) had died in it, between several ten dollar bills in your pocket and a bag of day-olds in your backpack, things were looking up. Of course that was the precise moment the the universe decided to shit spectacularly all over your day. How rude.

A heavy hand landed on your shoulder and a breath that reeked of alcohol fanned the side of your face as a voice slurred next to your ear. "You look li' you could use a good time, huh? Whaddya say?"

There was a jolt of fear, but you were more pissed and tired than anything else. Fucking really? Could he open with anything more stereotypical?

"Look buddy," you sighed, "I've had a decent day for once. I even had a muffin. Just fuck off and leave me alone. Please."

To your surprise, the hand lifted. You turned around in surprise, only to have a fist become intimately acquainted with your right eye. It was a sloppy punch, and if it wasn't for the large ring he was wearing, it probably wouldn't have done much damage. Instead, it sent you reeling, pain shooting through your skull as your bag dropped to the ground. Creepy Dude grabbed your collar and shoved you up against aforementioned dumpster, bloodshot eyes glaring at you blearily from a face that hadn't seen a razor in weeks and a washcloth in even longer.

"Wha', you think you're too good, bitch? Is tha' it?" You found your voice enough to scream before he clapped his hand over your mouth, the other moving from your shoulder to your neck and starting to squeeze. You squirmed, but he was bigger and you were starting to feel lightheaded from lack of oxygen. Just as you decided you were toast, the heavens opened and an angel armed with a flaming sword descended. Well, what it actually was was gramma Suzy bursting through the grimy side door, armed with 5'3 inches of righteous fury and a rolling pin. But details.

Creepy Dude wasn't fast enough and got a very solid crack to the back of his head. He let go of you with an undignified yelp, clutching his head and receiving another hard whack on his knee that sent him limping away.

"Are you alright, dear? You're bleeding." You flinched as her hand brushed your cheek where his ring broke your skin. Huh. You hadn't noticed it before, but when you tentatively prodded it your fingers came away red. And you could already feel the skin around your eye tightening as it swelled.

Suzy handed you your dropped bag and shooed you back into the shop, sitting you down at a table with the first-aid kit from under the sink. She handed you a tea-towel filled with ice for your eye and tilted your head to the side, running a warm cloth over the cut to wipe away the blood. You gritted your teeth against the sting of the hydrogen peroxide, trying to focus on the cold of the ice on your developing shiner as she bandaged up the cut.

Little was said, but you communicated everything you needed to through a long, hard hug and several profuse thanks-you's.

***

It was almost dark when you got back to where you usually slept, tucked into a corner between a dumpster and a wall. Warm and comfortable? Hell no. But it was safer than in the bushes or a bench, and the light spilling from a nearby street lamp gave you a good view of anyone approaching. You curled up, resting your head on your bag. Tired as you were, even on the cold ground you dozed off in a few minutes.

You jolted awake what felt like a few hours later, pulse racing and eyes straining to see what made the noise that woke you. You relaxed slightly when you realized it was only an old lady wobbling by, tiny and wrinkled. She was moving oddly, but you chalked it up to drugs or age. Harmless or not, you slowly leaned in front of your stuff, tucking your legs in. You felt a spike of fear as a she looked at you, something about it just... wrong. Inhuman, almost.

She sniffed the air, a slow, serial-killer grin spreading over her face. You had slowly been standing up, but froze at the predatory expression.

"WELL HELLO THERE."

You barely managed to avoid peeing yourself at the guttural voice, some deep-set animal instinct screaming at you to get the fuck out of there. You made a move to do exactly that, and would have succeeded had she not shot forward, slamming you against the wall with an inhuman strength.

You froze when she started to convulse, panic spiking as an oily blue-black substance bubbled up from under her skin. You struggled harder kicking at her to no avail as the stuff oozed down her arms and onto yours. She stumbled away, falling to the ground with a thump as a shriek clawed at your throat, barely held back. You scratched frantically at the goo, but it only parted around your fingers, leaving behind a tingle as it crawled upwards.

When it sank into your chest, you finally lost the battle and screamed.