The Other Shoe
Peter barely remembers getting home. He called 911 from the Thompsons’ home phone, leaving the line silent so nobody would suspect anything. They would probably assume Flash’s dad called right before he…
Peter peels off his suit, sweaty skin sticking to the material. He ends up in the shower somehow, burning hot water pelting his skin. He barely feels it, his mind full of static and his mouth full of cotton. Peter starts to sob--a wet, hollow sound that rips from his throat painfully. The scene keeps replaying in his head, the teen watching over and over as the man’s brain matter flies out from the back of his head, hearing the dull thump of his body hitting the ground on repeat.
Two hours later, Peter gets out of the shower. The water had long since run cold but he couldn’t get himself to move, leaning lifelessly against the tile wall of his shower as he cycled through panic attack after panic attack.
Peter is exhausted, and it’s only 7 pm. He crawls into bed after putting on his oldest T-shirt and Tony’s old hoodie. He snuggles into the well-worn fabric, wetting the sleeves with his tears as he imagines how disappointed Mr. Stark would be in him today. Not only did he not save a life, he couldn’t save two lives. He hasn’t even heard from Flash, not that he expected to. He doesn’t know what to do. Does he tell him? Does he pretend he doesn’t know? Peter feels so lost, he just wants to disappear so he never has to deal with this. For a second, he even debates reaching out to Tony... he shakes that thought from his brain immediately, though. He can't let his old mentor see him like this, he can't let anyone know how far he's fallen.
He knows he’s weak, he really does. It’s not like Peter isn’t self-aware. He knows that he’s a disappointment to his aunt and his old mentor. He knows that he doesn’t deserve the gift of the bite, and he knows that it makes him a mutant and a freak. Peter knows that everyone he loves dies. He knows that he’s bad luck, a curse.
From the second Peter got the bite, he knew he could really be someone. He could be a hero, a vigilante, something. But instead, Peter wasted it. Uncle Ben died almost immediately, he could only help little old ladies and the occasional mugging, and now two people are dead because of him. Flash is an orphan because of him.
Sobs bubble up within Peter once again, shaking the teen’s body violently as he clings to himself for comfort. His nails dig into his arm out of habit, the dull pain so far from enough that he barely even feels it. He starts to sob even harder as his one functioning form of coping fails him, not even attempting to stay quiet as he knows May is working until tomorrow night. He screams into his hands, fingers coming up to grasp at his hair and yank at it from the roots. He can feel his entire body shivering under the weight of his mistakes, his heart feeling too heavy for his seventeen years of life. Peter chokes on his own breathing, not even trying to fight as yet another panic attack rips through his fragile frame.
---
Peter’s phone rings at 8 that night.
“Hello?” Peter mumbles into the phone.
“P-Peter?” Flash’s voice comes through the phone. Peter sits up immediately, putting his phone on speaker so he can set it in his lap.
“Yeah, Flash, I’m here,” Peter says softly.
“God, I… Something happened. Peter, it’s real bad,” Flash whispers, his voice shaking and fear coloring his tone. Peter knows he’s really shaken just by the fact that he’s calling Peter by his name.
“It’s ok, Flash, you’ll be ok,” Peter tries to reassure him, keeping his voice as steady as possible. He has to remind himself that Flash doesn’t know, doesn’t know that he saw the whole thing, that he knows what happened.
“Peter can I… Can we talk in person? Please? I just, I really need to see you,” Flash says. Peter hears his breaths rattle with pent-up tears. "You're, uh, you're the only one. You're the only person who... gets it."
“Of course, Flash. Can you make it to my apartment? I don’t have a car, do you want me to walk to you?” Peter asks hurriedly, wishing for the first time in his life that he knew how to drive.
“I-I can drive, can you just stay on the phone with me?” Peter already hears the door open and shut, Flash must have been waiting by the door for Peter’s approval. The boy’s eagerness to see him mixed with his insecurity to ask makes Peter’s chest hurt.
“Always,” Peter whispers. He hears a car engine start and faint rock music filters through his phone’s speakers. Flash drives in silence to Peter’s apartment, the sound of his music mixing with the whistling of the wind through his open windows. Peter can hear cars in the background, his super-hearing allowing him to catch hints of Flash’s shaky breathing when the music goes silent between songs.
Peter hops out his window to the alley below, jogging around to the front of the building. He watches Flash drag himself from the car, looking dazed and afraid. He doesn’t know what to do in that moment. He reminds himself that he’s the reason Flash looks like that. Peter’s the one who couldn’t keep him from becoming an orphan. It doesn’t seem to matter to the other boy, though, not that he would know.
Flash’s eyes light up just a bit in recognition as he sees Peter, the taller teen running up to wrap his arms around Peter. Peter’s heart stops as he feels Flash’s arms around him, pressing the two boys chest-to-chest with such ferocity that it almost hurts. Peter slowly moves to bring his arms up to cradle Flash’s torso, wrapping his spindly limbs around Flash’s firm torso to rub circles onto his shivering back. He feels Flash’s shaky breaths puff against his neck, his shirt collar already wet with the other boy’s tears. They stay like that for a moment, wrapped in one another’s arms in the middle of the sidewalk, a street lamp illuminating the sheen of tears on their cheeks.
“Peter?” Flash asks, sounding so much smaller than he is.
“Yeah?” Peter asks from his position still cradled between Flash’s arms.
“Can we go in?” He asks. Peter nods, slowly detangling himself from Flash’s grasp to lead the teen up the stairs to his apartment. They go to Peter’s room, Peter closing the door behind him out of habit even though nobody else is there. Peter shoves his suit further into the closet with a sneaky kick, shutting the closet door while Flash goes to sit on the edge of Peter’s rumpled bed. Peter joins him after a beat, nervous and awkward as his childhood bully sits on his bed.
“So, uh, what happened?” Peter asks after a minute of awkward silence, cringing at his choice of words. Way to sound insensitive, idiot.
“Can you, uh, sit down? It’s kind of a long story,” Flash says, sounding so unbearably vulnerable. Peter nods and sits on the other corner of his bed, wishing he could press their legs together or hold Flash’s hand.
-WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND MINOR CHARACTER DEATH-
Once Flash starts speaking, everything comes out. Part of the way through, it seems like he loses track of what he’s telling Peter and what’s his train of thought. Maybe there’s no difference.
“I got home a little after 7:30. I was out with Jess. I was, uh, I was breaking up with her. We just didn’t work… whatever doesn’t matter,” he quickly moves on. Peter’s heart skips a little, at that, but he knows now isn’t the time to ask him about it. “When I got home, the house was quiet. I was so relieved, Peter, I thought they finally stopped fighting. Or, like, at least left for a while so I could just fucking hear myself think for once. I went into the kitchen to get water and then went to the living room to kind of, I guess, appreciate the silence? God, that sounds terrible. I swear I don’t- didn’t- hate them, Peter.” Flash looks up to meet Peter’s eyes and his heart breaks. He looks so scared, so alone. Peter never wants him to feel like that again. “When I got to the living room, I saw them. I saw my, my dad first. He was lying on the ground, Peter, there was so much blood. It was everywhere. I fucking, I stepped in it. I didn’t notice, at first, but it was everywhere. There were little, uh, little chunks in it,” he gags a little, likely imagining the scene. Peter winces a bit, remembering the gruesome sight of Flash’s dad’s brain leaking from his head. “Then, I saw my mom. God, Peter, she looked so pale. I know sh-she’s gone, but she still looked just as scared as she always did around him. Aren't you supposed to look peaceful, when you’re gone? Why didn’t she look peaceful?” Flash starts to cry at that point, sobs breaking through as he pictures his parents. Peter stays quiet, not wanting to interrupt him while he’s being so vulnerable. He carefully scoots closer to him on the bed, making sure to move slowly and look directly at him as he does so. Peter knows how it feels to be scared. He doesn’t ever want Flash to be scared of him. Flash takes a deep breath after a minute. “The cops were already on their way. I guess my dad must’ve called them, or something, before... Before. They got there a few minutes after I did, Peter, I had to explain everything to them. I, uh, I puked like three times. Then, I called you.” Flash glances at Peter shyly, like he’s embarrassed about calling the other boy.
“God, Flash, I’m so sorry. Shit, I- You don’t deserve any of this,” Peter says, lost for words. He decided halfway through Flash’s story not to tell him that he’s Spider-Man; this situation is too hard for Flash, too scarring for Peter to throw yet another curveball at the teen. Peter feels guilty for hiding it, he knows it’s going to come back to bite him in the ass, but he doesn’t care right now. He’ll do whatever it takes to protect Flash from more pain.
Flash shrugs, silent tears snaking glistening pathways down his tan cheeks. "Fuck, sorry for unloading that shit on you. I probably, fuck, I probably just triggered you so fucking hard. I just, like, I knew you'd get it? I'm sorry," Flash rambles, turning pink with embarrassment.
"Don't apologize, Flash, shit. I don't even remember it, if I'm honest? Plus, I have... I've got May. I've got you, too, right? And you've got me," Peter mumbles the last bit, trying to give Flash comfort in any way he can. He feels guilt fester in his chest at Flash's apologies, knowing that it should be the other way around. Still, he's too caught up in the butterflies in his stomach that flutter every time Flash looks at him for reassurance, the frantic, rabbiting thumb of his heart in his ears every time Flash trusts him with another detail.
Flash shifts a little to lean against Peter, resting his head on Peter’s bony shoulder even though he’s far too tall to comfortably do so. "Thanks, Peter," he whispers. Peter tenses up for just a second before melting into the contact. They sit like that for a while, Flash’s breathing slowly evening out. After a while, Peter realizes that Flash has fallen asleep.
Peter decides to move the two of them to a more comfortable position, too tired and overwhelmed to succumb to the moment of panic he feels at being so close to the other boy. He slowly and carefully pulls Flash up toward the headboard, lips pulling into a half-smile as Flash grumbles sleepily but doesn’t wake up. Then, he joins the teen in on top of his comforter and covers the two of them with a spare blanket. Flash snuggles into him immediately, drawn to Peter’s presence for comfort in his vulnerable state. Peter forgets how to breathe when Flash rests his head on Peter’s chest, curling up against the smaller boy. Peter shivers a bit, reveling in Flash’s body warmth. It is a welcome change to the constant cold that invades Peter’s bones, and it lulls Peter to sleep nearly immediately.
He doesn’t realize until right before he falls asleep that Flash called him by his first name the entire night.