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The saga of Peter Parker picking up his phone in the middle of Mr Harrington’s classes and answering his calls on speaker phone- which had led to the whole policy of answering on speaker being scrapped, had been the talk of Midtown ever since it had begun, and Flash Thompson was quite frankly getting sick of it.
Sure, it was funny watching Parker squirm as he picked up the calls. He clearly didn’t want to do it–which Flash didn’t really understand, because it was making him popular as hell and meant he got to flaunt all of these connections that he had. But as funny as it was to watch the boy squirm, it was getting…insufferable. Everyone waited with baited breath for whoever was calling Peter, and then they didn’t shut up about it for weeks, until it had happened again.
Flash had essentially been entirely upstaged—no-one had even noticed when his dad came to pick him up in his new Lamborghini. Flash had specifically relinquished seeing his dad over Christmas (his dad’s time was very important, and he could only spare a bit of it for his son) just to get people to talk about him being picked up, and no one had said so much as a word about it because god forbid Steve Rogers had called that day!
It wasn’t fair, that was the thing.
Peter didn’t even want to be cool. He shied away from the spotlight. When anyone asked about how he knew Tony, or Pepper Potts, or Captain America, he smiled awkwardly and said he couldn’t talk about it.
There’d been Tony Stark, first. That had been a shock, hearing the billionaire’s voice in the middle of a random Calculus class. It had certainly been a distraction from derivatives, a welcome one because Flash was struggling with the more complicated ones. He hadn’t believed it, at first. Had claimed that Peter had set the whole thing up, because there was no way Tony Stark was calling Peter’s personal cell phone to talk about…the military and…lab day. No. Surely Peter had hired some kind of voice actor that sounded like Tony Stark.
Flash was kind of annoyed that he hadn’t thought of that idea, to be quite frank.
They had no proof. It couldn’t just be assumed that Tony Stark and Peter Parker knew each other. That was insane. The school wide rumour, however, didn’t take off as Flash had hoped it would, though, so he was back to tearing his hair out at the thought of Peter and Tony hanging out in a lab. Then had been the ice-cold water bucket of shock, when he’d received an envelope in the mail, a big long document that had been sent from the legal office of Stark Industries, for fuck’s sake. An NDA. That had been the proof everyone had needed. Peter Parker did know Tony Stark. Fine. Whatever. Didn’t change anything. He was still a loser.
Pepper Potts came next. Tony Stark had been bad, but Pepper Potts had been talking about some kind of lawsuit that Peter was somehow involved in, and Flash had looked it up later out of curiosity and found out that it was one of the biggest suits of the decade. He decided not to tell his dad that one of his classmates was working on such a big lawsuit, because his dad would flip his shit and demand why he wasn’t doing the same.
Then there had been some kind of—point person, or Head of Security or something? Flash didn’t recognise the name, so it was whatever. Peter had left the school for the day, so that was good, not having to see his stupid little face. His absence didn’t mean people stopped talking about him, though, the prick.
And then, the final straw. Captain America on the other end of Peter’s cell, ranting about some kind of prank war Peter had going on with the Avengers. He was asking Peter’s advice. Steve Rogers, famous tactician, a superhero, asking for this...nobody’s advice?
Quite frankly, that was absurd, and Flash was…he was riled up. It was getting insane. The things that had been revealed about Peter Parker were bordering on driving him round the bend. So he decided to do something about it. He kept a closeful watch on Peter and noticed that when the boy left Mr Harrington’s class, he left his phone in the pocket of his jeans. That was pretty inaccessible to Flash, who wanted answers that could only be found by accessing Parker’s phone.
So…he bided his time. Waited for lunch, waited for Peter to have pulled his phone out of his pocket, probably to show his nerdy little friends some meme he’d found or something, and then had struck.
He strode up to them and plucked the phone away, holding it out of reach from Peter, who stood up from his lunch table in outrage at his property being stolen. Flash had the advantage of being taller and probably a shit ton stronger than scrawny Peter Parker was. That meant he could dangle the phone away from him without him being able to reach it.
“Flash!” Peter exclaimed, reaching for his phone. He grasped upwards but wasn’t tall enough to get it.
“Ha!” Flash said back, triumphantly.
MJ–one of Peter’s little friends–stood up, too, ready to step in and help. She was taller than Flash, and for a second he thought he was going to lose the power he’d just gained by stealing Peter’s phone.
“No, MJ, I got this,” Peter waved her away, and she shrugged nonchalantly and went and sat back down. Everyone in Midtown High knew how much Peter disliked being helped. Flash often benefited from it. Made his job significantly easier.
For some reason, all of the teachers had vanished from the lunch hall, so there were no figures of authority there to stop him from wielding power over the smaller boy. Flash had chosen his moment perfectly, and he was the centre of attention again. He could feel the eyes watching him, and lapped up the attention with a grin as a crowd started to approach to watch what would happen.
And then–another stroke of luck–the phone started to ring as he held it in his hand.
“Fuck,” Peter swore emphatically, and started to struggle harder against Flash, arm reaching as far as it could go.
Flash grinned. It was going just perfectly. He hadn’t expected that a call would come through, but that was just great.
“Who’s on the phone now, Peter?” Flash mocked, turning the screen to look. “Hmm, shall we take a peek?”
Flash was quite excited, honestly, by the idea of picking up the phone to a celebrity. Finally he could start building his connections, get his life going. Surely they’d be far more interested to listen to what Flash had to say than anything Peter could bring to the conversation.
So he was vaguely disappointed to see a name he didn’t recognise on the screen of the phone.
“Colonel James Rhodes…who’s that?” Flash frowned.
Peter paused in his tracks, and took a breath. “Flash.”
“What?” Flash asked, his arm dropping a bit as he turned to stare at Peter’s face. He looked…actively concerned, and his voice had dropped an octave. Who the fuck was this guy on the other end to make him react like that?
“Flash.” Peter held out his hand. “Give me that phone.”
There was a collective boo from the crowd as Flash hesitated. The phone was still ringing. He had three options, really. He could answer the phone, and win, or he could concede and give it back. Or he could let the phone ring out, but that was really a non-option. He had to know who was on the other end of that phone.
Flash Thompson didn’t concede .
“No,” Flash replied, slightly childishly. He didn’t want to give up the spotlight that quickly. Everyone was just going to watch as Peter answered the call, and it was yet again going to be all about him. That just wasn’t fair.
Peter stopped resisting, and took a step back.
“Fine,” Peter raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. “But it’s your funeral.”
Flash brought his arm down, slowly, testing to see if Peter would grab the phone. But he just stood still, his foot tapping on the ground, letting Flash decide what to do. He took a brief glance around. The entire cohort of Midtown was watching silently, seemingly imploring him to answer the phone. So he swallowed and pressed the answer call button, then put it on speaker, because he’d attracted a crowd and he couldn’t disappoint them.
He waited with baited breath for what would come next. There were two seconds of silence before a voice came through the phone.
“Peter?” The man–James Rhodes, Flash assumed–asked, patiently.
Flash coughed. “Uh.”
He was unsure of what to do. He hadn’t really planned for what he was going to say. Should he inquire as to how the man knew Peter? Ask who he was? Was Flash on the phone to some kind of high-up-person in the army? Pepper Potts had said that Peter had connections in the army–he didn’t want to piss them off. It would be bad for the Thompson name, and his dad would be pissed.
“Who are you?” Flash asked, next. A relatively neutral question, to stall.
“That’s not–hold on.” The man took a second to register the new voice. “Who is this?”
Rhodes then continued, “I’m trying to speak to Peter. Christ, have you kidnapped him?”
Flash spluttered a noise of concern.
“Peter, have you been kidnapped again?” The man asked. “If you can speak, can you please for the love of god say something? I can’t have Tony having another panic attack over you going missing, not again. It was a really awkward therapy session to have to attend with him.”
Flash just blinked, processing that information. Whispers started to go through the Midtown crowd, realising that Rhodes had just let slip that Peter had been kidnapped before.
“Rhodey, I’m fine, I promise,” Peter called out, still seemingly unbothered. “Just hear him out, would you? Humour this, for me.”
Flash was concerned at how easily this was going for him.
Rhodes sighed. “Sure, sure. Just, first. Pete, I need to talk to you about Tony’s surprise party. Did you get the pinata yet?”
Peter started to nod, even though the man on the other end of the call couldn’t see it. “The one we talked about with Hamm–” He stopped in his tracks, face looking guilty. “Er…nobody’s face on it? Because yeah, it’s being delivered to May’s apartment later.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Pete.” Rhodes turned to focus his attention back on Flash. “Alright, who am I talking to, then? Is this the famous Mr Harrington?”
Famous Mr Harrington? Did everyone Peter knew memorise the last name of his Calculus teacher? Had they all been prepared for the on-speaker scenario?
Flash coughed. “No, this is Flash Thompson.”
They could all practically hear as Rhodes’ attitude shifted. It probably helped that they could hear him cracking his knuckles as he moved the phone.
“Oh….” Rhodes’ voice was full of glee, and he let out a chuckle. “Is it Christmas, Pete? I could have sworn we were still in Spring?”
Peter smirked, and called out loudly, “Think of it as a really early birthday present.”
Flash quite decidedly did not like the fact that Rhodes was so cheerful about being on the phone with him. He did not enjoy the idea that this rather threatening sounding Army Colonel knew his first and last name without any prompt. The fact that he knew it from Parker, was, too, quite a bad sign.
“Flash Thompson, eh?” Rhodes repeated. “I’ve been dying to talk to you.”
If that sentence had been delivered with any other tone, Flash would have brightened up at the thought of someone important wanting to speak to him. However, Rhodes’ cadence had suggested that it was not about to be a positive conversation.
“Take me off speaker for a second, would you?” The Colonel suggested, in the way that said it was very much not a suggestion but an order. Flash fumbled to do so, ignoring the disappointed sighs from the rest of the crowd now that they wouldn’t be able to hear the conversation.
Flash let out a nervous breath, and pressed the phone to his ear.
Rhodey began. “I’ve heard some very decidedly non stellar things about you in the time I’ve known Peter, Flash Thompson. He claims that nothing’s ever happened, but I’ve seen Peter Parker come home with bruises he swears are just from ‘falling over’ even though I know he has perfect balance. And the things I’ve heard from Tony….oh boy. You want to go into the tech industry, right?”
Flash swallowed. Rhodes sure as hell was intimidating. “Yeah…”
“Kiss any of those jobs goodbye if Tony has anything to do with it,” Rhodey scoffed. “You are in the opposite of his good books.”
Flash almost let out a squawk. He shot a look at Peter, whose raised eyebrows strongly suggested he was able to hear the conversation that Flash was having (which surely wasn’t possible–it wasn’t on speaker).
Rhodey sighed. “But you know what’s worse?”
He tore his eyes away from Parker and back to the floor.
“What?” Flash inquired, terrified of what he was going to say.
“You’re in mine too. And Tony’s a superhero. He’s much nicer than I am.”
“ Oh .”
Rhodes let out an affirmative hum, clearly pleased the message had been received. “Exactly. I get a suit like his, too, y’know. But mine has guns .”
The realisation dawned in Flash’s mind just then that he was on the line to fucking War Machine, and it made his knees go weak. Iron Patriot, who worked with the everloving President. This is the man who is threatening him right now.
“So.” Rhodes said slowly. “Thoughts?”
Flash blinked double-time. “I swear, I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Stay away from Peter. And me.” The Colonel paused. “That one’s for your own good, really. I don’t know what I’d do if my nephew’s bully came within a two mile radius of me.”
“Sir, I promise,” Flash swallowed. “I’m never going to join the Army.”
There was a deep sigh of discontent before the man spoke again, as if he’d disappointed him.
“It's the Air Force, you dipshit,” Rhodes growled. “And you certainly won’t. If I have anything to say about it, you’ll be blacklisted for life.”
Flash just nodded, terrified.
Rhodes continued decisively. “I think you’ve understood me well enough. Goodbye, Flash. I’d say it was a pleasure talking to you, and it sort of was, but I’d quite like to be passed back to my nephew now so I can thank him kindly for this experience. I have been asking….for quite some time.”
“Okay,” Flash took the phone away from his ear, fearful.
“Wait!” Rhodes’s voice was loud enough for him to hear, and so Flash pulled Peter’s phone back to listen again. “Don’t forget. I can call again. At any time.”
That was enough for Flash, who was pretty sure he was seconds away from collapsing, so he stumbled through a goodbye and shoved the phone back in Peter’s hands, who was just looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Then he scattered, pushing through the crowd of people asking what he’d discussed, and who that had been. He left the lunch hall in the dust, getting as far away as he possibly could.
He’d learnt his lesson. Peter’s phone–and the boy himself–was not to be tampered with. Not when he had people like James Rhodes in his corner.