Archive of Our Own

Flash checks his phone as he stumbles down the stairs. When did the world get so bright? He wonders, head pounding rhythmically and sinuses screaming in agony. His eyes feel heavy. How do eyes feel heavy? He trips over the bottom step, missing the slightly warped wood, his heel catching the little overhang and sending his body forward. Flash catches himself on the wall but still manages to skid on the hardwood floor leading from the stairs to the kitchen. His head spins as his body flails, his ears already ringing from waking up from a mid-morning nap. His fluffy slippers are starting to become a pain. Almost as much of a pain as waiting for his boyfriend to text him back.

Once he finally rights himself he tightens his Spiderman bathrobe and resumes his search for chicken noodle soup. Flash's mother always leaves some in the back corner of the cupboard for just this reason. "I'm sick of hearing, physician, heal thyself," she likes to say. "We get sick, just like anyone else." Flash realizes how much he takes constant access to vitamin C and electrolytes for granted. His phone chirps in his pocket. Flash winces. When did the world get loud, too? Upon finding a distinct lack of chicken noodle soup, he decides on spicy Thai chicken and a slice of toast. Maybe he could clear out his sinuses with the spice, even if it made his stomach absolutely miserable.

If it's not Peter, he's not answering. Peter needs to start talking to him more. Soup first, though.

After pouring the soup into the pot, his phone chirps again. He clumsily pulls the device out of his pocket, smiling when he sees the screen. “That sucks, babe. Wish you were here” followed by a gif of a crying puppy, and then a very nice selfie of Peter on the bus. Flash takes a picture of himself in his robe, with his bedhead, stirring his soup. “You should ditch the field trip and come take care of me.” He replies. He sets his phone on the counter for ease of grabbing.

The message goes through. Flash turns back to his soup, humming to himself.

His phone chirps again. Expecting a selfie, or something equally cute, he picks it up quickly, face falling immediately when he sees that it's not a message from Peter. Half his class is blowing up his phone, even Abraham surprisingly. They all say the same thing: dude, you have to turn on the TV. Something crazy is going down. It’s aliens again. No response from Peter.

Flash groans and wanders over to the TV, fumbling when he tries to turn it on. “Oh. My. God.” The remote clatters to the floor. A giant spinning wheel floats in the air, looming over New York like a dark cloud. Or an evil donut. He spots the school bus in the corner of the news footage and feels even sicker. Peter, he thinks, oh my god, Peter. He tries to phone his boyfriend, but his call goes to voicemail. He tries again. The same. Peter needs to talk to him. He needs to hear his voice. The bridge was still intact and the bus was still there, though his classmates were streaming out in a panicked single file line. Why wasn’t Peter picking up? Maybe his phone was trampled during the rush from the bus? Maybe Peter was trampled!?

Flash flops onto the couch, unable to summon the energy to pace. He sneezes. His chills return in full force. He feels frozen in front of the screen, watching the donut of death come closer, firing lasers into the New York sky. Flash remembers the Chitari invasion eight years prior. He'd been a terrified child then, hiding under his parent's covers, Jesse clinging to him with small shaking arms. Now he was a terrified teenager, but things would be okay. He didn't know then that the Avengers would stop the invaders, but he knew that now. His parents were probably on their way home, and the family would be together, and they would just watch another heroic battle above the city. Maybe Spiderman would be there.

The ship starts to leave. Flash breathes a sigh of relief. All he needs now is to hear from Peter. His anxiety won't go down until he hears his voice.

Flash feels his phone vibrate and chime. He looks down. Peter called him back, but he hadn’t heard it ring, even though he’d turned it up to the highest volume. At least there was a voicemail, even if he’d missed the call. He keys in his voicemail password, his fingers slipping. All he needs is to hear Peter’s voice. It makes him feel warm inside like everything is going to be okay.

"Hey, babe. I mean, Flash. Eugene. I...I can't do this. No, I have to. I can't leave without saying goodbye. I have a lot to tell you, and I don't know how. I'm no good at this. I'm the worst."

Flash’s confusion rises. Peter could be weird, and a little flaky, but this was next level. He leans forward as if Peter were in front of him, talking to him. He tries to imagine his boyfriend on the opposite couch, his elegant hands (Flash had been paying attention in English) balling the fabric on his knees, biting his soft lips, looking everywhere but him.

“I guess first...I’m Spiderman.”

Flash drops the phone. Luckily, Peter had gone silent after that so he doesn’t miss anything important while he tries to pick up the device. “That's so...ugh, okay. Remember the field trip in grade nine, where we went to OsCorp? Remember the spiders? Why am I talking like you can talk back? Get it together Peter. Anyway, I got bitten by one of those spiders and I got powers. I'm not a mutant or anything, not like J. J. J. says. Not that there's anything wrong with mutants. I know a few. They're pretty cool, and that's...not the point. I only have a few more minutes until I get too far into the atmosphere to send this through."

Atmosphere? What the hell?

“That’s why I leave randomly, and cancel plans without warning, and why you can’t find me when things go wrong. So I guess I, Spider-Man, do know Peter Parker. You better apologize to Ned.” Peter laughs nervously on the recording. “I have to help Mr. Stark. Iron-Man. I’m on that evil donut thingy. I can’t just ...I have to help him, you know? I have all this power, and I need to use it to help others. I don’t know if I’m coming back.” Peter’s voice breaks. He sounds like he's a few moments away from sobbing. “I’m so scared, babe, but I have to do this. I didn’t want...I have to protect you. And the whole Earth. If these alien jerks succeed you could die, and I can’t let that happen. And I knew that if I heard your voice, or May’s, I wouldn’t be able to go. So I wanted you to know where I went, and that I wanted to keep you safe. Because...”

Flash knows that a heart doesn't stop, not like in a movie or book, but damn, does he feel like it lurches to a halt.

"I love you, Flash Thompson," Peter says, his voice calm and clear. "I love you so much, and if nothing else...I wanted you to know that. I know you wanted us to stop saying it because it was immature and we don’t really know and all that stuff but I still feel that way, you know? I know in my heart that you feel the same.” Flash hears a long metallic clanging and a low whine. “Okay, almost in. I have to go, Flash. I’m going to do my best to save you. I love you. Goodbye.” The line goes dead.

Flash crumples. Somehow, his flu doesn't matter anymore. All he wants is Peter. He wants to scream and cry and rage, settling for lying on the couch in the fetal position. Tears run down his face. His emotions contradict each other and his thoughts are so loud. Loud and bright. Loud and bright.

Peter loved him, and yeah, he loved him back, but he kind of hates him right now. Peter being Spider-Man was probably the best thing ever but being Spider-Man took him away from him. Peter was gone. Peter loved him and he was gone. All he wanted was to talk to Peter, and now he couldn't. Now Peter may never talk to him again.

Later, he watches his own hand turn to dust and looks up at his parents with terror in his disintegrating eyes. He realizes that Peter failed. He only hopes that, wherever he's about to end up, Peter wouldn’t be there with him. He’d tried, damn it, and that to count for something. Peter’s life was worth more than turning to dust on some alien planet alone.

Flash reaches for his mother, his hand sliding through hers, before vanishing completely.