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Flash would never forget the first time he saw Spider-Man.
It was purely by chance. He’d been walking back from the store, pondering if the distance home was worth catching the bus or if he should just walk it, when a shadow swept over his and he glanced up. It took him a moment to realise the bright blur zooming past him was a person, then another moment to realise that person was Spider-Man. He was swinging from the side of a building by a cord of webbing like Tarzan on a vine.
Of course, Flash had heard of Spider-Man before—everyone had. He’d even seen pictures of him in the papers, most notably the Daily Bugle, which would accuse him of everything under the sun, from petty theft to conspiracies of undermining democracy. These articles always made Flash roll his eyes, but he kept buying the papers anyway, just so he could collect the pictures. But seeing him in the flesh stopped Flash in his tracks. He watched until Spider-Man had swung away, disappearing around a corner, and still, he didn’t move for another few minutes.
Witnessing him arcing through the air with his own two eyes had Flash gasping with awe, his entire body tingling with the sensation of wonder. It wasn’t until that moment that Flash realised a part of him had doubted it, had wondered if maybe Spider-Man wasn’t all some elaborate hoax to sell papers and drum up fear into the hearts of criminals. But no. He was real. Real enough that Flash had felt the whoosh of air breeze past him as Spider-Man had swung by.
A shoulder bumped his as someone passed him on the sidewalk, jostling him. The knock broke the silent revelry Flash was under and brought him back to his senses. He was suddenly full of the desperate need to get home right that second, so he said to Hell with the bus and sprinted the whole way home.
His turtleneck was drenched with sweat by the time he stumbled through the front door. He tiptoed past his dad, who was passed out and snoring in the recliner, the TV still on. Once he was back in his room with the door safely closed behind him, he crouched down and pulled out the old shoebox containing all the Daily Bugle pages he’d kept. He spent hours sat on the floor, the papers spread out all around him, reading over every article again, just to see if he could catch some semblance of the real story.
No matter what that old crab Jameson said, Flash could see the truth. Spider-Man stopping bank robberies, disarming super-powered goons, fighting robots. He was the real deal. A hero.
Flash laid there on his back, staring up at the ceiling and pressing a front-page photo of Spider-Man to his chest. Somewhere out there, right that second, was Spider-Man, fighting the good fight and saving the day.
Flash sighed, and the sound floated dreamily up to his own ears.
After that Flash was determined to tell everyone else what he knew to be true: that Spider-Man was the best thing to ever happen to New York. He founded and made himself president of the first Spider-Man fan club—the first of many, he was sure, but he’d be able to say that he’d been Spidey’s number one from day dot. He went to school and tried to recruit members but found that a surprising number of his peers were hesitant.
“I don’t know, Flash,” Bobby Milcavitch said when he’d cornered him out the front steps of Midtown High. “My dad doesn’t like him. Thinks he’s undermining the police and everything. He’d blow his top if he found out I’d joined his fan club.”
Flash was incensed. He clenched his fists together and bellowed, “Well, maybe your dad needs to realise that Spider-Man’s done more for the city in the past month than the cops ever have!”
A small crowd had gathered around them to watch the exchange. Flash was opening his mouth to continue his speech, partly a defense of Spidey, partly an effort to recruit more members to the club, when a snicker cut through the cluster of people. Flash whipped around to the source of the sound and saw Peter Parker leaning against the railing a few steps above him.
He had his hands buried in the pockets of his blue slacks, his head turned to the side to stare off across the front lawn through the round specs of his glasses. His posture was relaxed and casual, his legs crossed at the ankles, but a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. Flash’s nostrils flared as he puffed out an irritated breath.
“What? Something funny to you, Parker?” Flash barked and the attention of the crowd swiveled up to the object of his ire. “You got something to say about Spider-Man?”
Parker glanced down at him, his eyebrows rising in faux surprise. He pulled his hands from his pockets and held them up in surrender.
“Who, me?” he said. “No way. I don’t think about the guy enough to have an opinion anyways.”
“Figures,” Flash huffed, crossing his arms. “Maybe if he stopped a book robbery it’d get your attention, huh?”
Parker grinned and just the sight of his pearly white teeth grated on Flash’s nerves.
“Oh, if ol’ Spidey volunteered at the library,” Parker said with a lofty wave of his hand, “I’d marry the guy.”
Then he turned on his heel and strolled into the building, Flash silently fuming at his back. Parker had this annoying air of distance between the rest of them, like he was in on some private joke that only he was privy to. It irked Flash immensely but it seemed only right that a jerk like Parker would be all wrong about a stand-up guy like Spider-Man.
It soon became apparent to Flash that the reason so many of his classmates seemed uninterested in joining the Spider-Man fan club was because they’d chosen to be obsessed with the Human Torch instead. The guys on the football team went on about how cool he was, marveling at his flames and impressive flying skills. Girls got all moony over him, sighing over how handsome and rich he was as they stroked the glossy pages of their magazines. Even Liz, who Flash had always thought had a good head on her shoulders, smiled appreciatively at the photo of Johnny Storm someone had pinned to the school bulletin board.
Flash could only roll his eyes. Sure, he supposed his powers were cool and the Fantastic Four had a certain air of marvelous power to them, but the Torch had nothing on Spider-Man. Spidey didn’t have a team he could fall back on. He was a one-man army, a solo operative battling in the fight against evil.
Strong, self-reliant, resilient. All things Flash admired and wished he himself was.
“Did you hear?” Tracy Miller was saying in an excited hush to a cluster of girls around her locker. “The Human Torch might be coming to our school to give some inspirational talk!”
The girls all squealed, clutching each other’s hands and grinning with flushed cheeks.
Flash, a couple of lockers down, could only watch with distaste and thought to himself, Inspire us to do what? Fly around like some super-powered show-pony, looking like an idiot?
He snorted and just as he was turning away, his eyes caught on Parker. Parker was looking over his shoulder at Tracy and the girls with a sour expression. The sharp downward curve of his mouth radiated disgust. He rolled his eyes before continuing on his way, leaving Flash to stare after him in astonishment and dismay.
It seemed a cruel and ironic twist of fate that the only other person who shared in his dislike of Johnny Storm was Peter Parker. Flash mulled it over in his mind before shrugging and silently accepting their shared solidarity. He supposed even the worst people had to be right about something.
Flash spotted Liz sat on a bench along the grassy lawn. She had a book open in her hands, her legs neatly crossed under her skirt. And the best part of all was that Parker was nowhere in sight. More and more often he’d spotted the creep hanging around Liz, seemingly desperate to get her attention. Flash was sure Parker was only doing it to get on his nerves. After all, he’d told the guy countless times to back off of his girl. Liz was just too nice to say it herself.
So, he quickly approached Liz and fell onto the bench beside her, giving her a broad smile.
“Hey, Liz,” he greeted. “How about you and me grab some sodas after school today?”
His smile froze when she looked up from her book and turned a withering glare on him.
“Are you sure?” she hissed.
A cold sweat broke out on Flash’s brow, and he had to resist the urge to mop it with his sleeve. “W-What do you mean?”
Liz threw down her book on her lap with a huff. “The last time we went out you spent the whole time talking about Spider-Man!”
Flash searched his mind for memories of that night. He didn’t think he’d acted any different then than he usually did. “Well, I-“
“So, excuse me,” Liz went on, barreling over his words, “but when a girl gets taken out, she doesn’t want to spend the whole time hearing her date talk about someone else!” She stomped to her feet, her nose up in the air. It was only when she spotted something across the lawn that she perked up and a smile appeared on her lips. “Oh, Petey! Wait for me! Won’t you walk me to class?”
Then she was off, her kitten heels quickly carrying her across the yard to Parker, who only glanced up when Liz was right next to him. She wound her arm through his, and though Flash couldn’t see Parker’s face, he was sure the other boy was beaming with triumph.
Flash watched them go, an indecipherable cocktail of emotions brewing in his stomach. It was easy to focus on the sting of anger and jealousy towards Parker, but he couldn’t ignore the cold slivers of confusion Liz’s words had left. He supposed he did talk about Spider-Man a lot, but only because he admired the guy. As a hero. And for no other reason.
Flash was in his room one night, puzzling over his biology homework, when his dad’s voice boomed from somewhere outside his door.
“Eugene!”
In an instant his whole body was tense. The snarl in his dad’s voice had him wanting to do nothing more than stay perfectly still, but he knew if he didn’t go his dad would only get angrier. So, he rose from his desk on shaking legs and went out to the living room. It was always like this; his dad making Flash come to him, never going to him himself.
Harrison Thompson was already up and glaring, his hands braced on his hips, when Flash entered the room. Flash immediately noticed the empty cans of beer littering the kitchen counter and the hazy sheen over his father’s eyes. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat, trying to think of what he could’ve said or done to set his dad off.
“I ran into Barry Milcavitch today,” Harrison began, his voice low and rumbling, like a couple of boulders grinding together, “and he relayed me something very interesting that his son, Bobby, had told him.”
An icy chill swept over Flash, freezing him to the bone. It was worse that his dad was still in uniform, that his knuckles were bruised, and his fingernails cracked. It made Flash’s offense seem worse somehow.
“Bobby’s always running his mouth,” Flash stammered, hoping he could quell the storm before it erupted, but his dad held his hand up and Flash’s mouth clamped shut.
“Spider-Man’s done more for the city than the police ever have?” Harrison recited, his eyes a blazing fury as he glared at his son.
Flash flinched, his hands threaded together behind his back. “I- I didn’t mean it like that, Dad.”
His dad surged forward, and Flash’s eyes squeezed shut of their own accord, but the blow never came. Instead, his dad barged past him, knocking his shoulder against him. Flash blinked his eyes open, staring with confusion as his dad pushed his way into his room. A moment later Flash understood, and he ran after him, but it was too late.
His father was stood in the middle of the room, surveying the wall covered in pictures of Spider-Man that Flash had migrated from the shoebox under his bed to the corkboard. Flash hung in the doorway nervously, unsure of what to do or say as his dad swept his gaze over the Daily Bugle photos, his jaw jutted out and his lips pressed into a thin, puckered line. Then, with no warning, he reached out and tore a string of pictures from the wall. Flash had to bite back the dismayed cry that wanted to burst from his mouth. Instead, he stood still as stone until his dad had ripped every photo from the wall, scraps of paper raining down around him like confetti.
Harrison wheeled around, the whites of his eyes seeped with red as he looked to Flash for a reaction. But Flash stared resolutely at the ground. They stayed locked in that silent scene for a few heartbeats, Flash looking at the photo of Spider-Man he’d considered his favourite—one of him flipping clean over the punch of a masked villain—crushed beneath his father’s heel.
The silence was broken when Harrison grabbed Flash by the collar and yanked him forward. Flash gasped as he was pulled nearly clean off his feet, then forced down onto his back on his bed. His father loomed, broad and menacing over him, his hand pressing Flash down by the chest. Flash laid there limply, his hands flopped open on either side of his head. He thought, even as Harrison ground his teeth in a snarl, that if he just submitted, just showed his father that he wouldn’t fight back, that he wouldn’t get hit.
Of course, he was wrong. He was wrong every time, but that didn’t stop the thought from flitting through his mind.
When his father eased off him and turned to go, he paused in the doorway to bark over his shoulder, “Stop looking for heroes, Eugene. They don’t exist.” Then he slammed the door behind him, leaving Flash alone in the darkness.
He gingerly sat up, surveying the mess on his floor with resignation. He numbly slipped onto the carpet and began picking up the ripped-up pictures. He tried to salvage as much as he could, sticking some photos back together with clear tape, but others were beyond saving and had to be tossed in the trash. Once he was done, he didn’t pin the pictures back on his wall but fished the same old shoebox out from under his bed and placed them inside. He shoved the box into the furthest corner of his room then went back to his desk.
For now, he would hide Spidey away, but even as he worked on his biology homework, he kept thinking of him flipping over danger, strong and free. And he knew his father was wrong; heroes did exist.
The next day at school Flash was in a foul mood. Whether it was from the encounter with his father the night before or something else, he couldn’t say and didn’t care enough to think on for too long. All he knew was that he was itching for a fight, and he knew exactly where he could find one.
Parker had never let him down. He always chomped at whatever bait Flash threw out, his fuse as short as Flash’s own. So, when he spotted Parker strolling across the lawn towards the front entrance of the school, Flash deliberately bumped him, causing him to stumble and drop his book bag. Books, loose pages, and a sandwich all spilled out across the grass, and Flash felt a pang of regret as he looked at the ruined home-made lunch, but he didn’t have time to linger as Parker was spinning around and fixing him with an angry look.
“Hey, Knucklehead,” Parker bit out between gritted teeth. “How about you stop staring at your feet, trying to count to two, long enough to watch where you’re going?”
Even as Flash squared his shoulders to retaliate, he felt a savage relish. This he could handle. This he knew how to respond to.
“I’d like to see you say that again,” Flash growled, his fingers curling in towards his palms.
Parker raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? Did I speak too fast for ya?”
“You know what, Parker?” Flash snapped, straightening up to his full height—which was, admittedly, only slightly taller than Parker. “You’ve had a creaming coming for a long time.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Parker quipped and something in Flash cracked.
The fact that Peter Parker, who’d always been a weak, little bookworm, could stare at him so openly and defiantly, could insult him without the slightest hint of fear at backlash, infuriated him. If anyone should’ve been afraid of Flash, it should’ve been this guy, and yet he wasn’t. It just added kindling to the fire burning in his chest and he shoved at Parker, making him stumble again.
“Oh, I’m tempting you,” Flash snarled.
Parker moved faster than Flash would’ve thought possible and a moment later his hand was curled into the fabric of Flash’s shirt, his other hand raised in a fist. Flash locked eyes with Parker as he waited for the punch to fly. He could see the rage burning in Parker’s eyes behind his glasses. He could see that he wanted to hit Flash, wanted to hurt him. And for a moment Flash thought he really would, but then the moment passed, and the look in Parker’s eyes softened. He sighed through his nose and let Flash’s shirt slip from his fingers.
Parker glared at him morosely. “Eh. You’re not worth the trouble.”
Flash sucked in a breath but before he could respond Liz had shoved her way between them. She pushed them apart, her words a shrill barrage on his ears as she demanded to know what they thought they were doing, fighting on school grounds. Flash just stared at Parker over Liz’s blond head, trying to decipher the tired look in the other boy’s eyes.
But Parker was already slinking away. He scooped his things up from the lawn and continued on towards the front of the school, his shoulders bunched up around his ears, like he was carrying some huge weight on his back.
There had been a number of fire drills done over Flash’s time at Midtown, but he couldn’t remember a time they’d practiced an evacuation in the event of a supervillain attacking the school. But that was what was happening. He’d been in the middle of an English class when the intercom crackled to life and calmly explained that an unknown criminal was rampaging through the school, so everyone had best get outside. The English teacher, Ms. Goldman, had stood gawping for a moment, the chalk still poised in her hand, when a tremendous crash sounded from somewhere outside. She then dropped the chalk with a shriek and yelled for everyone to grab their things and follow her to the rear exit of the school.
Flash followed his peers, who were all chattering with excitement and fear about what could be happening and why. Just as they were nearing the exit, he heard a voice bouncing off the walls to echo in his ears. All he caught from the grisly sentence was, “Spider-Man!”
He froze. The villain was after Spider-Man? Spider-Man was here?
He glanced ahead at Ms. Goldman, but the old woman seemed more concerned with getting out of the building herself than keeping a close eye on any of her students. So, holding his breath, he quietly slipped away.
Keeping his ears open, Flash followed the sounds of yelling and crashes as they quickly became louder. He could hear the villain clearly now, yelling for Spider-Man to come out, wherever he was. Just as Flash was about to round the corner to the cafeteria, he nearly ran straight into Peter Parker. Parker leapt back just in time to keep them from colliding, his eyebrows nearly up to his hairline as he stared at Flash.
“What’re you doing?” he demanded. “Didn’t you hear the intercom? You’ve gotta get outta here! It’s dangerous.”
“To Hell with danger!” Flash snapped. “Whoever it is is after Spider-Man! He needs our help.”
Parker heaved an exasperated groan. “He needs us like he needs a broken leg. Just get out of here, would ya?”
He took off again, though Flash noted to his own confusion, not towards the exit. Flash shook his head in frustration. Parker could run and hide like a coward if he wanted, but he was going to help.
He ran on in a dead pelt, his shoes slapping loudly against the linoleum floor. He screeched to a stop as he finally made it to the cafeteria, just in time for a table to explode against the wall two feet from his head. He yelped and jumped back, his heart kicking against his ribs.
All around him was chaos. Some kind of robot stood in the middle of the room, projecting the face of a cackling, crazed-looking man on a wide screen. Long tentacle-like appendages wiggled from its body, grasping tables and benches, swinging and throwing them around, and above it was-
Spider-Man.
That day when he’d swung by him in the city, Flash had only caught a glimpse of him, quick and fleeting. Spider-Man had been far above him, a blur of movement, gone the moment Flash had even realised he was there. But now Flash could see him up close and the sight made his breath catch in his throat. Spidey was fast, dodging the blows of the robot with more speed and agility than was possible for any normal human to move with. But that was because he wasn’t normal, he was extraordinary.
“You can’t run away forever!” the robot said with a maniacal grin.
“Who’s running?” Spider-Man quipped back, leaping to the wall and sticking there. “I’m just having fun playing jump-rope.”
Behind him one of the mechanical tentacles slithered up the wall, the tip ending in a wickedly-sharp barb.
Flash choked on a gasp and yelled out, “Spider-Man! Look out behind you!”
Spider-Man whipped around in his direction just as the tentacle shot out at him. With all the grace of a ballet dancer, Spider-Man pushed off the wall, arcing his back as he flipped cleanly over the swiping robot arm. He moved with the fluidity of running water, like this battle was all some choreographed dance. He landed soundlessly beside Flash and before Flash knew what was happening, he was being scooped up in Spider-Man’s arms and thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Flash squawked, kicking at the air, as Spider-Man bounded away, out of the path of the rampaging robot.
“What’re you still-? Why aren’t you outside?” Spider-Man snapped as he nimbly raced up the wall.
Flash, who was directly facing the ground from his position over Spidey’s shoulder, felt a wave of vertigo wash over him as the floor quickly shrunk away from him. “You- They were after you.”
“Still are, Sunshine,” Spider-Man replied as he kicked a window open.
There was a sound like a taut slingshot being released and then Spidey jumped out the window. Flash couldn’t help the undignified scream that burst from his throat. He scrabbled to grab at Spider-Man’s back, but before they could hit the ground they were swinging away in a clean arc. It took all Flash had to hold onto his lunch but then they were back on solid ground and Spider-Man was hauling him back to the floor like he weighed nothing at all.
He set Flash on his feet but had to hold him up by the shoulders to keep him from falling. Flash eventually got a hold of himself enough to keep his knees from buckling and leaned his back against the outer brick wall of the gym.
“That was your one free ride,” Spider-Man said, then with a flick of his wrist, shot a net of webbing at Flash, pinning him to the wall.
Flash gasped and writhed against the sticky substance but it held firm, not giving an inch. As Spider-Man turned to re-join the fight, Flash kicked wildly, his legs the only thing he could still move, and called out.
“Spider-Man, wait!” he yelled. “I can help!”
Spider-Man turned around and gave him a swift pat on the cheek. The large white disks that made up his eyes seemed to bore into Flash, snatching the breath from him. When Spidey spoke, his voice was playful and almost fond, as though he and Flash were old pals.
“You can help me by staying in one piece. Okay, Handsome?”
Flash’s mouth flapped uselessly as his face flared with heat. Even though he couldn’t see Spider-Man’s face through his mask he was sure the other man winked at him before zipping off, back to battle. Flash was left to flounder, his cheeks burning. He stayed like that, glued to the wall with Spider-Man’s webbing, until Ms. Goldman stumbled across him and demanded to know what he was doing.
Flash didn’t think an answer was necessary.
He regaled his classmates with the story countless times the next day. Had anyone asked him to? Not exactly, but he was bursting with glee at the experience. He’d written it all down in the annals of the Spider-Man fan club. He kept some details to himself, such as the thrill he’d felt at being so close to Spidey, feeling his strong hands lift him. Those were for Flash to turn over in his mind in the privacy of his own room as he laid in bed at night. His school fellows got to hear about the more daring details of his exploits.
“That kooky robot never stood a chance,” Flash declared to the small group of people gathered around his desk as they waited for their math teacher to arrive. “Not with me and Spidey fighting side-by-side!”
“Oh, yeah,” Parker drawled from his desk a few rows behind Flash’s. “I’m sure if Spider-Man’s ever in the market for a sidekick, he’ll call you right up.”
Flash glared at him and Parker smirked in response, his chin resting in his palm. Liz stepped between them before anything else could be said.
“Don’t joke like that, Petey,” she chided. “Flash, you shouldn’t have run in there like that. You could’ve gotten hurt.”
“I wouldn’t have,” Flash replied without hesitation. “Not with Spider-Man there.”
A strange expression fell over Parker’s face as he looked at Flash. The smirk vanished and his eyes opened wider, as though Flash had revealed some grand secret instead of just stating an irrefutable fact. Flash eyed Parker back warily. Was he looking at Flash like he thought he’d just said something embarrassing? Was he about to poke fun at him?
Liz bent down to frown at the serene look that had come over Parker’s face. It was only when she was staring at him that he blinked rapidly a few times and shook his head. Then the smirk was back in place and he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together behind his head.
“Liz is right, Flash,” Parker said. “You shouldn’t go charging off into danger. What would we do without your handsome face to look forward to every morning?”
Flash’s chest swelled with irritation and some other pesky emotion that he couldn’t put a name to. “Stick a cork in it, Parker.”
Their math teacher chose that moment to enter the classroom. Liz and the others made their way to their own desks and Flash spun around in his seat to face the front, but not before he caught sight of Parker’s infuriating grin. What annoyed Flash the most though was that it wasn’t his usual teasing grin that he wore when they traded barbs.
It was playful. Fond.
Like they were old pals.
He sat still as a rock, warmth pooling in his cheeks, as the teacher began to talk about long division. He shook his head and purposefully pushed any thoughts of Parker and his jovial smile from his mind, choosing instead to wonder if any pictures of Spider-Man’s fight with the robot would appear in the Daily Bugle. He wouldn’t mind adding that one to his collection.