Holding To The Ground

Flash Thompson liked to believe he was a good person.

He might not have been the nicest guy in the galaxy, but some people needed to be put in their place. Like Peter Parker. The kid was annoying and weird, and someone had to tell him about it. Every time Peter asked an unnecessary question, Flash’s blood boiled. He didn’t know what it was about him, but every word from his mouth grated his last nerve.

But that didn’t mean he had no compassion. So when had to stop and take out his ID for an angry teacher right outside of Mr. Harsch’s room, he felt a little bad listening to Peter beg for a grade to impress his only living relative. 

But that pity all but vanished into thin air when Mr. Harsch actually agreed to help him out. Flash felt his entire body heat up. Peter always got special privileges just because he was sad. If Flash asked for bonus work, teachers would laugh in his face.

And his dad had broken a four month sobriety streak the night before and his cable was out and his dog had run away and Peter’s special opportunities were the last straw. So when he strolled happily out of the classroom, Flash followed him until he turned the corner to the part of the first floor no one ever went to except in passing. A second before he grabbed him, Flash saw Peter’s eyes widen.

Flash grabbed Peter’s shoulders and shoved him roughly against the wall. His shoulders slammed against the brick and Peter squeaked in surprise. He cried, “Ma—“ before he clamped his mouth shut suddenly.

“Hey, asshole,” Flash hissed, “how many dicks did you have to suck to get that bonus?”

Peter didn’t answer. His eyes were shut and his breathing was quick and shallow.

”And what was that sob story about your aunt? I can tell that’s bullshit.”

Peter’s eyes screwed up and his head started to shake, as if he was trying to ward off a thought or memory.

”And God, your uncle? You sunk so low using that. I bet you killed him just for extra pity points.”

”I’m sorry, May,” Peter whispered as if he didn’t even notice he was speaking.

Flash loosened his grip. Suddenly, his rage all but drained out of him. “What?”

Peter snapped his eyes open, returning to the school hallway from some far off place in his mind. The color drained from his face. “I—I didn’t say anything,” he said quickly.

”No, you called me May. You told me—her that you were sorry for something. What was it?”

”Nothing, Flash. Just let me go.” 

Flash did quite the opposite. He tightened his grip on Peter’s shoulders and pushed him harder into the wall. Peter gasped. “Parker, what did you apologize for?”

Peter, his eyes wild and frantic, opened his mouth as if the speak. Then, the tardy bell rang, and Flash cursed. Any more late passes and he would get detention for sure. He let Peter go, stepping back and breathing heavily.

”Get to class, dickwad,” he said, but no venom laced his voice.

He watched as Peter, gently rubbing his right shoulder and wincing, slid out of the hallway. Something was wrong with him. Maybe it was a new limp, maybe it was the way he ducked away from any eye pointed in his direction. But Flash knew something wasn’t right, and he thought he had a good idea of what it was.

His mind still whirling around Peter’s apology, he sauntered back to his government class, only to be met with yet another tardy slip.

——

Flash’s friends were having a heated debate over the best type of grocery store, but Flash wasn’t listening. He glanced over his shoulder every few seconds, watching Parker scarf down his geek friend’s lunch like it was his last meal. Ned was talking, but Peter didn’t seem to be listening. He was too preoccupied with eating like a starving man.

Then, suddenly, he stood. He said something to Ned that Flash couldn’t make out, his stance nervous and shaky. Ned nodded in assent and followed him out of the cafeteria doors, leaving only MJ at the cheap plastic table.

Flash rose from his chair. The girl next to him asked where he was going and he mumbled some excuse about needing the bathroom.

He crossed the cafeteria to the near-empty table, weaving between awkward freshman and exhausted seniors. He sat next to MJ without a word. Without looking up from her book, she said, “No, I’m not kicking Peter out, you’re stuck as first alternate until after winter break. Show up at practice on Friday or you’re out of the team.”

”What? No, MJ, that’s not what I was gonna ask—“

She turned a page, taking a crisp bite out of her apple. ”Then no, you can’t copy my English homework, Cindy has it right now. Go ask her about it.”

“No, MJ, it’s about...” Flash let his eyes sweep the room, ensuring no one was watching him. He dropped his voice low and said, “It’s about Peter.”

MJ snapped her book shut loudly, glaring at him for interrupting her. “Goddamnit, Flash, I already told you—“

”No, Jesus, it’s not about first alternate!” He exclaimed. A few heads turned in his direction and he wilted, lowering his voice. “It’s not about that,” he repeated.

“Then what do you want?”

Flash took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be an easy sell. “Look, MJ, I know you’ve been through...some family shit. I know most people don’t see it, but I do. That’s how I know that you’ve had to deal with it. When you’ve been through it, you know how you kinda look everywhere for it? You see signs that most people don’t see? Like...instead of seeing a little girl’s new bracelet you see the burn scar from her mom’s cigarette?”

MJ furrowed her brows in curiosity. “Yeah...” she said, dragging out the word as if its end would bring dread. “What does that have to do with Peter?”

Flash took a breath and said, “I think I’m starting to see them in him, too.”

MJ’s eyes widened. “No, Flash, no way. I would have noticed.”

”But you probably already have! You—you log stuff, MJ, without even realizing! I do it too. I’d been keeping tabs on all the kids who I saw signs in without even noticing until something bad happened. Al, Caroline, Z, I knew before they ever even told Mrs. Juan or anyone else. Think about it.”

“So what? Maybe these ‘signs’ don’t mean anything. Maybe that little girl just fell onto a hot pebble. You’re thinking too deep into this.” But from MJ’s hard-set frown, he could see she didn’t quite believe in her own argument. Her dark eyes pointed down, as if she were trying to solve a complex equation in her head.

”I don’t think I am,” Flash said.

MJ bit her lip and scrunched her eyes shut.  For a long second she stayed frozen, then let her face relax. She breathed out a sigh, and without even realizing it, so did Flash. “Fine,” she relented. “Why do you think Peter’s being abused?”

Flash took a moment to gather his thoughts. Then, he said, “Peter’s always been all happy-go-lucky, right? He’s like an annoying puppy. But these past few weeks...I don’t know, it’s like he’s barely here. He avoids everyone, even his dork-ass friend. Even at lunch he barely talks anymore.”

MJ swallowed. Flash continued, “And you know the dude’s a total nerd, right? But he’s barely got a 3.1 and that’s with all his extra AP points. He’s late to class almost every day now, and half the time he’s passed out at his desk. He’s slipping, MJ, and I know you see it, and I think we both know why.”

MJ stared at him for a long moment. He felt himself sweat under her scrutinizing gaze. Then, she said, “Flash, it just sounds like teenage rebellion. He’s irritable and doesn’t want to go to school. Simple as that.”

”And, and he’s, like, starving! You saw him at lunch today, he ate everything he bought and half of Ned’s stuff in five minutes!”

”He’s a teenage boy, he has a high metabolism. That’s all there is to it.”

She gathered her books and stood to leave. Flash shot up and grabbed her elbow, holding her in place. She stared at him incredulously but he didn’t care. “I’m  serious,” he said somberly. “I really am worried about him. You know he loves school. And—and there’s something else.”

MJ raised an eyebrow inquisitively, almost like a challenge.

”One time when he fell asleep in math, he woke up crying and he shouted his aunt’s name. And then today, when I...Uh, when I pinned him to the wall,” he muttered the last phrase, Shame weighing heavy on the pit of his stomach, “he apologized to May. Like when he does something wrong to her, he knows he’s gonna get hurt.”

MJ pursed her lips, staring at him as if her eyes could see his thoughts. He wanted to shrivel under her sharp gaze but stood firm, her bony wrist still in his hand. Finally, she deflated and said, “Fine. There’s definitely something wrong, I’ll give you that. I don’t know if he’s being abused or selling drugs, and I’ve never met his aunt and I can’t say anything for sure. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Alright?”

Flash relaxed. He let MJ’s wrist out of his tight grip and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Okay,” he murmered, more to himself than anyone else. Then, to MJ, he said, “Thank you. Really.”

She nodded and shrugged nonchalantly. She checked her watch and said, “Hey, I’ve got to get to Dobynn’s room so he can sign my history paper, but I want to see you at decathalon practice.” She gave him a two fingered salute, and before he could even say goodbye, she turned on her heel and left through the smudged glass doors.

Flash watched the point she left from until she disappeared around a corner. He sat down at the table with a sigh and looked around the lunchroom full of five hundred kids, six of which he had unknowingly been watching for months.

Peter would be okay. It wasn’t Flash’s job to care about him, anyways.

Right?

——

Peter walked home from patrol in silence. His suit was tucked safely in his backpack, and with only twenty minutes until curfew, he sped through the streets. He didn’t wave at the few pedestrians he passed, the ones who looked through him as if he wasn’t even there. The ones who always had, no matter how much joy he focused into his greeting. 

He sighed and watched a rat skitter across the sidewalk.

He unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside. He held his breath in anticipation, trying to hear a heartbeat, but was met with only silence. He let his muscles relax; he was alone.

He slipped his shoes off and moved to sit on the couch, but stopped himself. He wasn’t allowed on her furniture. But...how would she know if he sat on it? Surely she didn’t have cameras or anything? Would she even know to punish him?

As his eyes landed on the chipped corner of the coffee table that had left a thin white scar on his temple, he decided he didn’t want to risk it.

He sat on the floor, wiggling for at least a minute to find a comfortable position. Finally, with his legs crossed in front of him and his math textbook balanced precariously on his knees, Peter started on his make-up work.

Two hours flew by as he copied equations in his notebooks and made up for a month’s worth of unfinished homework. He found himself almost enjoying the rhythm of the numbers, simple variables that he could always find an answer to. He had made a sizeable dent in his work before he had to close his book and move on to his second edition. But as he rifled through his backpack, he realized he didn’t have it packed. With all the trouble surrounding May, he hadn’t even noticed the class’s switch into the second textbook.

He stood and made a beeline for his room. He looked closely at his bookshelf only to find an empty space. He cursed. More than likely, he had swept it under a piece of furniture.

Peter dropped onto his stomach and squinted to see past the shadows. He saw lost socks, old candy wrappers and assignments, but no books until he looked under his bed. There, the dim sunlight shone off of the book’s polished exterior. He reached through the dust bunnies and paint chips to pull it out, but stopped when his hand brushed something unfamiliar.

He grabbed down on a cold, plastic surface that gave under pressure. He considered leaving it under the bed in case May had bought it, but his curiosity ultimately won out. His math work forgotten, he pulled out the package and sat up, laying it on his lap. He gasped at what he saw.

Beneath the gleam of clear plastic was a shirt of Ben’s. It was nothing fancy, just a department store logo on soft gray cotton, but it was all Peter had left of him. He had managed to sneak it out of a pile of Ben’s clothes that May tearfully placed into storage, aside from a select few she kept in her closet.

With shaking hands, Peter unzipped the large plastic bag and pulled out the carefully folded shirt. It was just as soft as he remembered, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine warmth coming from a familiar body beneath the fabric.

He brought the bundle up to his face and closed his eyes, inhaling the scent he had longed for for over a year. He smelled chlorine mixed with clean laundry detergent and smoke, and for just a moment was thrust back into the memory of hugging Ben before he left on a long trip, tearfully saying his goodbyes and breathing in the smell of comfort, of home. A single tear slipped out of his eye and wet a dark splotch onto the fabric. He took another deep breath, drinking in his last sense of Ben.

He stayed that way for twenty minutes, slowly curling his body around the shirt until his head hit his knees, caught in a flurry of memories. The apartment grew dark around him, but he didn’t notice. He saw the day he came home with a first-rate scholarship to Midtown, and Ben was so excited that he hoisted Peter into his arms, something he hadn’t done in years. He saw the day he watched scary movies with Ben that May never let them watch and had to bury his face into his shirt whenever a character died. He saw every single memory that he thought was lining gone, in second-long snippets or moments prolonged for far more time than they actually took.

Then, suddenly, the front door opened. Peter shot up immediately, his eyes widening as he heard May’s footsteps pound towards the kitchen. He quickly stuffed the shirt back into its bag as May shouted, “Peter! Come pick up your shit!”

Shoving the parcel behind a mound of old dusty clothing, he called, “O-okay, May!”

He walked carefully out of his room. The house was dark, the only light elongating from the flickering television screen. May sat on the couch, her eyes glued to the soap opera on the television and her mouth chewing fresh strawberries. Peter’s mouth watered just at the thought of eating one, tasting the sweetness of the fruit and feeling the burst of energy that came with every bite.

Then, May shifted as if to stand and Peter hurriedly gathered his school supplies, his growling stomach forgotten.

As he moved to reorganize his backpack, May said, still facing the television, “I paid for that backpack, didn’t I?”

Peter felt the blood drain out of his face. “Y-Yes ma’am,” he murmered. She waved him away with the flick of her hand, and Peter left obediently, his head down and his bag left in a heap on the floor. 

Once in his room, he sat in the one bit of floor the cramped space provided him. His teetering mountain of books was left on the desk, right next to a picture of him and Ben smiling proudly at the camera, a trophy for first place at the regional science fair between them.

As he tried to still the trembling of his hands, he though that if Ben could see him now, he wouldn’t feel much pride at all.