The First Shoe Drops
Peter has become scarily accustomed to the sounds of Flash’s parents’ voices. They permeate every FaceTime call the two boys share, droning on in the background under the staticky sound of Flash’s record player.
“Parker, are you even listening to me?” Flash asks. Nope.
“Uh, not really, sorry,” Peter mumbles. “What’s that record you’re playing? It's really good.”
Flash looks self-impressed, as he tends to do when Peter asks about his music preferences. “It’s Bleachers, they’re really not that underground. At least, not if you know good music,” Flash preens.
“Guess this is just another area where you’re better than me, asshole,” Peter jokes. Kind of. Flash definitely is better than him, but not because of his music taste. Just because Peter is kind of the worst human-like-mutant-thing ever invented.
“Guess you’re right! Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted, I was gonna ask what you thought of that Spanish assignment. I thought it was bullshit,” Flash states.
“Oh, for sure, it was utter ass. Who the fuck takes an entire point off for every grammar mistake? Do, like, half a point at most!” Peter agrees.
“Can’t wait to get to college and not have to deal with this,” Flash says grumpily. Peter’s a bit shocked, if he’s honest.
“What do you mean? You love school, you have the highest GPA in the class. Plus you have, like, the best house ever. Why would you want to live in a shitty dorm?” Peter asks, surprise coloring his voice.
“Seriously? Parker, you know my life isn’t perfect. Don’t pretend you don’t hear the shit going on downstairs, even though it shouldn’t be possible. I see you flinch when my mom yells, I know you hear my dad slamming shit. Just because you pretend not to notice doesn’t mean you don’t, like, notice,” the fight leaves Flash’s voice near the end of his last sentence, as he realizes what he just gave away.
“T-that really wasn’t my intention. I just, well, I don’t know,” Peter mumbles. He really didn’t mean to bring that up, he honestly wasn’t thinking about how the constant fighting actually affected Flash.
“Just drop it,” Flash grumbles. Peter nods and watches as Flash turns the volume knob on his record player.
“So, college. Still Harvard, for you?” Peter asks awkwardly.
“Still MIT for you, dweeb?” Flash shoots back, grinning a little as he teases the other teen.
“Duh,” Peter responds, laughing a little under his breath at the nickname. Flash starts up the conversation again, and suddenly it’s like they never argued. He thinks back to how MJ used to drop arguments like this, how she would never hold a grudge. He remembers how Ned would refrain from speaking to him for days on end over one stupid comment, but would always drop it to listen when Peter really needed him.
Peter shakes his head, dispelling the thoughts from his ever-saddening mind. He can’t think of them anymore; he finally ruined it with them. He started an argument that MJ couldn’t ignore, stopped talking for too long for Ned to come listen.
But… now, he has Flash. Flash, who never lets arguments become arguments. Flash, who uses music to drown out fights and talks even more than Peter ever did. Peter hears Flash switch out the record and begin a new tangent, feeling himself take a deep breath for the first time all day.
---
Flash shows up to school that Thursday with his own bruise. It sits high on his cheekbone, narrowly avoiding becoming a black eye as it highlights his sharp features. Peter can’t stop staring at it, both out of wonder and fear. Flash somehow looks just as gorgeous even with the injury marring his features, but Peter can’t help the sharp tug in his chest each time he sees the boy’s face.
Flash does his best to loudly dissuade any suspicion about his injury. He brags to anyone who will listen about the “sick fight” he won last night, asserting to his pals that they “should’ve seen the other guy.” Peter doesn’t believe there was a fight, though, and he’s pretty sure he heard the other guy the night before. He thinks Flash can tell that he knows, too, because the teen is overly rude to Peter during chemistry. He isn’t outwardly mean, per se, but he is far less gentle with the other boy than usual.
For once, Peter isn’t the only one flinching at their shared desk. For the next week, each time Peter moves too quickly or speaks too suddenly, Flash freezes and his eyes go wide. Peter makes up for each and every flinch with a tight grip on his own arm, punishing himself for making Flash uncomfortable or scared. It’s a painful week, but Peter forces himself to learn. He can’t be the monster.
They still text every night, but FaceTimes have been reduced drastically as Flash tries to hide the increased shouting happening behind him. The two boys text almost nonstop over Thanksgiving break, having had Wednesday through the end of the week off. Peter doesn’t know what to do, how to help. It doesn’t seem like Flash really wants his help, and Peter refuses to become another burden in the other boy’s life. They only have a little over a semester left of high school, so Peter decides to focus on just getting them both to college.
As for himself, Peter spent the holiday wallowing in guilt and self-hatred, beating himself up for indulging on Thanksgiving day with May. He spends every night out of patrol, pushing himself harder and harder even as he feels himself growing weaker. The lack of a school-provided meal once a day has started to affect him. He gets dizzy every time he stands, black spots invading his vision for seconds after he rises. If he sits up too fast in the mornings, he can taste the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth as it rushes to his head. May works every day except for Thanksgiving Day, coming home frazzled and frustrated with the New York population. She starts sleeping more, leaving Peter short notes on the backs of receipts and lists rather than talking to the teen. Peter stays out of her way, and she stays out of his.
Peter makes daily runs to grocery store dumpsters, taking advantage of his lack of school to hit places that would usually be too far out of his range. He refuses, however, to go to any soup kitchens or shelters that are booming during the holiday; he doesn’t deserve these people’s charity, there are so many more people who need it more and these places are so under-funded.
---
On the last Saturday of November, Peter finally discovers how bad Flash has it. While Peter is swinging through the wealthier part of the city at around 4 pm, he hears screaming followed by three gunshots in rapid succession. Shifting his direction to go toward the outskirts of the city toward the sprawling mansions, Peter finds himself crouched outside of a very familiar house. Is this… Flash’s house?
Peter knows he doesn’t have time to think, no matter whose house it is; he needs to save anyone he can. Heroes don’t hesitate. Peter swings through the open window in the backyard, already hearing more commotion break out inside. He stops in his tracks when he sees the scene.
There is a woman on the floor, her body crumpled in a heap like a puppet with cut strings. A man stands a few feet away from her, profile facing Peter as he raises the hand nearest to Peter up to his mouth. In that hand is a gun. Peter’s Spider-senses shock through his system as he sprints toward the door, keeping his eyes on the man even as he moves. A loud bang echoes through the empty mansion, stopping Peter in his tracks.
Flash’s father drops to the floor, his arm falling loosely by his side as his body hits the floor. The gun in his hand goes off yet again from the force of it hitting the floor, a bullet whizzing past his lifeless body. There is brain matter on the expensive painting behind him.
Peter was too late. He hesitated at that window, he should’ve gone in as soon as he saw that there was a dead body. He failed. He failed and now Flash is a fucking orphan.