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Peter’s bored out of his mind, listening to his history teacher drone on about things they had been learning for the past couple years. Even regular history sucked, but today was a revision day so it extra sucked. He’s always been more of a science guy, obviously. While the merit in learning about the past is definitely seen by Peter, does he really need to know about every single war Greece had ever recorded and the dates of each? Memorizing is hard.
Honestly, he could probably just common sense his way through the test.
Neither Ned nor MJ have any classes with him this morning, and it’s painful to sit in the corner without any company. He absentmindedly doodles on the margin of his textbook, thinking about the new Lego set Ned and him would build tonight.
God, he’d do anything to get out of class right about now.
As if on queue, he feels a slight tremor. So slight that even with his spider sense constantly feeling out for vibrations around him, he can only just barely feel the buzz beneath his feet. This isn’t irregular, the tectonic plates are constantly in motion. While he and Ned had been doing research about just how enhanced his senses had become, they had found out that if Peter focused everything he had singularly on his spider sense and there was nothing around to interfere, he could feel the earth shifting underneath their feet.
What is irregular is the fact that Peter can feel it in the middle of class, while his classmates fidget around him, the microwave runs in the staff room next door and the projector his teacher uses flickers up and down a couple lumens each second. The movement should have been masked by the world around him.
He frowns and does a few calculations underneath his drawings. If he can sense this shift even with all the interference around him, and he can regularly only barely feel this type of thing… that would have been about a two on the modified Mercalli scale.
His eyes widen as the memory of waking up this morning to the feeling of a large truck passing by his house, yet being unable to hear the engine. Because before a large earthquake…
“-arker! Parker! Are you even listening? What was I just talking about?” Ms. Nelson glares at him.
Peter reels, panicking. His teacher continues to stare, unimpressed.
Peter only feels the next vibrations a second before the ground shakes violently. People fall from their chairs, and the teacher stumbles back, crashing into the wall with the whiteboard, her focus no longer on Peter.
Saved by a fucking six or seven Mercalli scale earthquake. And by the feel of it, slowly becoming worse.
Before a large earthquake, there are always tremors.
Peter snatches his bag and runs out the door at a speed that can just barely be passed off as human, yelling over his shoulder for everyone to get out of the building. He takes a sharp right and pulls on the Spider-Man suit, pressing the centre and allowing it to fit over his clothes he didn’t have time to get out of.
The ceiling above him lets out a groan, and screams are heard from across the building.
“Karen, show me a map of the building and all human heat signatures,” Peter orders, “And figure out the structural stability of the school.”
Karen immediately pulls up a 3D image depicting the building, “Stability is at 47%. South-West side will collapse first. Two pillars cracked.”
“How long?”
“Seven minutes, if the earthquake stays consistent.”
Peter sucks in a breath. Every second he stands still he’s wasting time.
The bathroom window breaks easily when he rams himself into it and he quickly makes his way to the area. For the most part, people have evacuated, but there’s one room with the exits blocked off.
“Twelve people are currently trapped to your left,” Karen alerts him, “33% stability.”
Peter webs up rubble as best he can. If he stabilized the top and removed some from the bottom hopefully the room wouldn’t collapse and would allow for the class to escape.
He see the wall slipping. Dust rains down on him, and he coughs. Suddenly he’s stuck, Toomes laughing at him. The plane… Mr. Starks plane but Peter can’t move can’tmovecan’tmove-
It’s just high stakes Jenga. He’s fine. It’s fine. Shelve the fear, he has a job to do.
The wall holds, and the kids look surprised to see Spider-Man at their school. They try to thank him, but Peter’s running out of time, “Get going! Go!”
Most of the halls are clear now, and on the map there are only a few people left. He rounds a corner, pushing a chair off somebody’s leg, grabbing them and shattering another window. He lowers them to the ground, not bothering with the usual assurances.
“14% stability,” Karen says, and Peter tries to muffle the panic he feels rising in his chest. There really isn’t going to be enough time to get everyone out.
Usually Peter’s an unshakable force while doing rescues, but this is different. This is his school. It’s fucking collapsing!
“How many people left, Karen?”
“Two more, opposite side. Near the physics room,” He launches a web at the side of the building, “It is not recommended you enter the building. Three minutes until collapse.”
Peter squeezes his eyes, running inside.
“I strongly advise you turn back, Peter,” Karen says again, a hint of fear entering her tone, “8% stability.”
He rounds the corner just in time to see Flash limping towards the stairs, a bloody figure draped over his back. The building gives one final groan, and comes crashing down on the three of them.
Flash gasps in surprise as the ceiling above him comes down.
This was it. He would die without having made a name for himself in the world, with only Mr. Harrington’s unconscious body to accompany him. He closes his eyes, instinctively attempting to shield himself from the debris.
He knows it’s futile.
Crashing deafens him, and the light disappears around him. He waits for the inevitable crunch of his bones.
There’s a scream.
Oh. It’s him screaming.
He feels his back being hit by something, and pain laced throughout his body.
A moment passes. Then another.
Nothing else happens.
Flash peeks out from behind his hands to see a wall of red near his face. He freaks out, slamming into the ground harder.
The red shudders out a wheeze, and Flash comes to the jarring conclusion that it’s a person. There is a person atop Flash, preventing thousands of pounds from crushing him and his AcaDec teacher.
Spider-Man.
The hero trembles violently, rubble transposing above him. He hacks out a cough, and Flash flinches back when he notices that the red of the suit is slowly darkening near his mouth and in a large spot on his chest.
“Holy shit! Okay. Are you okay? What can I do?” Flash asks, barely keeping the hysteria down.
Because Spider-Man is the only thing keeping the roof up.
He lets out a pained groan from above Flash, and Flash looks around a little desperately. They’ve been trapped in a small opening, with only a little space beside them and the entire fucking ceiling on his back.
Some of Spider-Man’s webs are securing the sides of the walls. Mr. Harrington is beside Flash on the ground, and they’re both underneath Spider-Man.
Spider-Man’s elbow locks, and he almost falls on Flash and his teacher before he catches himself and pushes back up until his arm is straight again.
“C’n you call Mr. S’ark, Karen?“ Spider-Man’s body lurches foreword with a cough, more blood soaking his mask.
Flash isn’t sure who Karen is, but nothing happens. Did Spider-Man hit his head? Flash can’t remember.
“Fuck- Fl’sh?” He asks, and Flash winces slightly at how slurred his speech is becoming. “Need you to fih’ Karen. My AI. In my mask. There’s a wire disconnect’d. Errors are tellin’ me so.”
He inhales sharply, staring with wide eyes. The whole situation seems unreal, “How do I do that?”
“Gotta- F’ck,” Spider-Man whimpers a bit, and Flash feels a sinking feeling in his gut. God, the injuries look pretty serious, and Flash probably isn’t even seeing the worst of it. Even the effort of speaking seemed to be too much.
“Masks gotta’ come off,” he finishes, and Flash’s heart skips a beat.
“It- okay, this is that bad,” he says, mind still unable to catch up, “Are you sure?”
“Yeah- jus’ do it,” Spider-Man says.
With trembling hands, Flash reaches up and grabs the fabric around his hero’s head. In one swift motion, the mask comes off.
There, preventing Flash and his teacher from being flattened like pancakes, is Peter Parker, the quiet kid from his class. The one who freaks out about nerdy things like legos, and blends into the crowd so well it’s hard to notice his presence. His classmate who carries himself insecurely, always looking at the ground in an attempt to make his presence smaller. The kid Flash had been bullying for the entirety of high school.
There’s a large gash along his forehead, blood trails running down to his ears. A darkness under his eyes screams lack of sleep. Flash doesn’t know what to do.
“Parker? You’re Spider-Man?” Flash realizes how judgemental the statement sounds while it leaves his mouth.
Peter sighs tiredly, “Yes, Flash, now can you fix the wire alr’dy?”
“Shit, yeah, um,” he flips the mask around, carefully pulling the shock off his face and boxing it away to deal with later. Peter is Spider-Man, and they’re a couple minutes away from being crushed. “This one, right?”
He pulls a torn wire from the back of the mask. Peter nods slightly, and Flash gets to work twisting the cores together. It’s a dangerous thing to do without a shrinking tube or insulation tape, but there isn’t really a choice. Once the they’re wound together tightly, he tries to hand the mask back to Peter.
Peter shakes his head, “Head h’rts. You do it.”
Flash feels a pang of worry, but pulls the mask over his head regardless. Instantly, holograms begin to appear before him and a voice says into his ear, “Access not authorized. Where’s Peter?”
Flash jumps, and Peter smiles a bit despite the situation, “S’just Karen,” a pause, “Hey Karen, project voice.”
“Are you okay, Peter? My sensors are down, but based on visual you should definitely be seeking immediate medical attention,” Karen suggests, this time her voice heard outside of the mask.
“M’fine for now. Call Mr. Stark.”
Flash chokes. Because, ah, yes, everything about this situation just screams fine. His second thought is oh, I guess that internship really wasn’t fake, huh?
A call icon appears in the corner of Flash’s vision, and a moment later a voice rings through the small space, “Hey kid. Pretty big earthquake, where you at? I’m doing some damage control down at the compound. You at school?”
“I’m not Peter. It’s Flash, from Peter’s class, we need-,“ he’s cut off.
“Flash? Like Flash Thompson? How the hell did you get Peter’s suit? Where is he?” Tony snaps, and he sounds livid. Flash winces. Tony Stark knew who he was?
“We- we need help! He’s here with me and we’re stuck, the school collapsed,” Flash stutters out.
“Okay, stay there. I’m c — mi —- don’t -,” the audio cuts out a few times before it’s lost completely.
“He said he’s coming,” … or at least Flash is pretty sure that’s what he said.
“M’kay,” Peter grunts, shifting his hand a bit. Flash can see him thinking, “He’ll be here in sev’n-ish.”
Flash’s brows furrow, “Minutes? How do you know?”
Peter looks at him dully, “Di’ the math.”
“Can you hold this up for that long?”
Peter doesn’t reply. The bad gut feeling returns.
Flash nods, steeling himself. Without any further inquiry, he unzips his sweater and positions himself so he can use it to stop some of the bleeding from Peter’s stomach. He moves slowly so Peter knows what he’s doing, and is always able to see his hands. There’s a piece of sharp metal embedded in his skin, so Flash works around it, being careful not to jostle the ribs his AI has noted as fractured, possibly broken, in one of the holograms that dance around the edges of his vision. In any other situation, Flash would have been freaking out about the tech.
Peter flinches roughly at the contact, letting out a pained noise.
Flash swallows heavily, turning back to the wound.
“You’re doing good, Peter.”
The words feel like acid on his tongue. Peter’s eyes widen in surprise, through the pain, and Flash continues to occupy himself with the injury as best as he can.
Every once and awhile Peter will groan under the weight of the building, arms trembling in strain.
“You save so many people. It’s really inspiring,” Flash sees Peter relax ever so slightly, as much as he can without letting the rubble come down on them. He continues, “You helped my grandma the other day, you know that? Somebody pulled a knife on her, tried to rob her. She told me you ran after him and got her purse back.”
His mouth feels dry, “There was a necklace in there at the time, one of the last things my grandpa had given her before he died. I don’t think she ever would have gotten it back.”
Peter tries to shrink back involuntary when Flash begins to apply pressure on his stomach. The weight on his back doesn’t really allow him to do so.
“Th’nks,” Peter says, and Flash finally meets his eyes. Peter smiles a tiny grin, small enough that it could be mistaken for a twitch.
Flash wonders why he was ever even angry at Peter in the first place. He guesses that, reluctantly, he might have been jealous. Only in the cold, small crevice of the collapsed building does he finally allow himself to recognize it. All the teachers were always praising Peter, calling him a genius as he effortlessly receives the praise Flash is always desperately needing. His aunt really loves him and never forgets to pick him up from AcaDec practices, while Flash sometimes has to sit for hours after school before his chauffeur comes. Finally, as if to top it all off, there was the Stark internship. Because of course perfect, prodigy Peter Parker would make an internship with one of the most influential companies in the world while still in high school. Of course Flash Thompson was destined to be left in the shadows while other people passed by him, struggling to do even the bare minimum of what he used to be able to.
And now, Peter Parker is Spider-Man.
The hero Flash idolizes, wants to be like more than anything. Because of course he is.
Flash smiles back at Peter.
The sound of repulsors whirring in the distance is faintly picked up, and Flash tilts his head to listen. Eventually the noise becomes louder, before cutting out completely. Light begins to shine through some of the cracks in the walls, and before Flash knows it Peter is being lifted up and into Iron Man’s arms.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y., scan for all injuries,” the frantic voice says from the golden helmet.
Flash doesn’t get to hear the AI’s response, because Iron Man has flown off long before. Flash grunts, propping himself up onto his elbows. Pain tears through his back. His teacher is still beside him, unconscious but breathing steadily, and Flash is relieved to see the paramedics rushing towards them.
He is lifted onto a stretcher while the people around him throw out words like “comminuted femur,” and “disc compression”.
As an oxygen mask is slipped over his head, Flash realizes that maybe it’s time to put the jealousy aside.
…. Peter stole his fucking car! Flash is going to kill the bastard!