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1. “It's Not Her”
"Flash, it's not her."
But Flash can't hear him. Well, he can, he's standing right next to him, but he didn't register what “super best friend” just said.
Because Chloe is at his school.
The girl who sexually assaulted him a few months ago is at Midtown Tech right now.
"Flash." Peter steps in front of him, blocking the other's view of his tormentor. "I know it looks like her, but I promise it's not." He starts to grab his partner's shoulder but recoils at the last second. "She's not here."
Flash's gaze snaps to the fellow teen's. Peter is wrong; he's got to be wrong because who else could it be?
The other boy chances a look past him, at the demon who's standing at the front office window, just steps from the front doors of the school. Long, straight brown hair, pale complexion, even wearing a pink skirt—
Wait.
She's too old.
There are wrinkles in her face and hands. She's not 16 years old, she looks at least 40.
"It's not her," he whispers.
"It's not her," Peter echoes with an encouraging smile, "It's just a mom picking up her kid early from school."
Flash nods his head, leaning against a random locker behind him to catch his breath. His heart rate continues pumping at the speed of lightning, and he's tightly gripping his backpack straps to keep his fingers from trembling.
"Deep breaths," Peter whispers, "Take some deep breaths. It's okay."
But he can't, Flash doesn't know how. His gray hoodie is suddenly too tight, and he can't focus on anything except his “super best friend.”
He takes solace in his partner: Peter is wearing a brown jacket with a science pun graphic T-shirt underneath, carrying his purple backpack around his shoulders. Flash focuses on the other’s smile, how it's warm, patient, cute...very, very cute.
The blaring sound of the school bell makes him jump. "What the fuck?" he mumbles.
"It's okay."
"Shit, it’s the second bell." Flash takes notice of the empty hallway, and that Chloe imposter is now gone with her kid. "We're late."
"It's just chemistry. Mr. Harrington won’t care."
Again, Peter makes no move to initiate physical contact, not even hurrying him up so they can get to class.
He's too good at this.
Flash starts walking, and the other teenager follows suit. With no one else in the hallway, Flash grabs his partner's hand, tightly squeezing it while looking everywhere to make sure Chloe doesn't randomly pop up somewhere. Logically, he knows Peter's "spidey sense" does that work for him, but no harm in a secondary check, right?
"She's not here," Peter says, "She doesn't know you go to this school. She doesn't even know your real name."
The other boy nods his head, pausing in front of the door to the chemistry lab, reluctantly letting go of his partner's hand.
No one knows how deep this "friendship" goes between them; it's not that Flash is ashamed of what they have—it's actually quite the opposite—but he's not ready to come out and answer questions he doesn't have answers to. He knows he’s asexual, but is he also gay, bi, or pan? He doesn't know.
He just likes Peter. Can't that be enough of an answer?
Peter opens the door and leads them inside, interrupting their teacher, Mr. Roger Harrington, mid roll call. “You're in luck,” the elder quips, "Haven't called your names yet."
The boys mutter apologies as they settle at their usual table in the back. Ned shoots them a confused look from his seat next to Betty and MJ at the table in front of them, and Flash pretends not to notice. Things are still weird between them since he and Peter became friends, but at least Ned isn’t giving him the stink eye anymore—although, it would still be well deserved.
Flash's leg won't stop bouncing against the stool, continuously fidgeting with his pencil while trying and failing to listen to the lecture. It's an important one too considering this will be in the midterm that's next week.
Peter offers his hand under the table and Flash graciously takes it. He continues taking deep breaths, mentally kicking himself at how stupid he's acting.
Once again, Chloe ruins his day, and she's not even here. Today started out as a good day, too: May invited him for pancakes when he picked up Peter this morning for school, managed to score a B on a calculus assignment—the first decent grade he’s received in a while—and Peter surprised him with a subtle ace pin to put on his backpack, a sunset scene using the same colors as the flag.
But no. A split-second look at a random woman, and now, he can't get out of his own head.
He stares at his teacher talking, but can't hear anything he's saying. The monotone voice is draining, and he's growing exhausted thanks to the anxiety simmering down.
A nap, now that he could kill for right now. Sleep has been hard to come by since the "Chloe Incident", and like a light switch, it's all he can do to stay awake.
Flash covers his mouth to stifle a yawn, and a second one right after, his eyes drooping with fatigue. At one point, he locks eyes with his teacher, and Mr. Harrington sends him a look the kid can't decipher, too out of it to comprehend.
"Still on for coming to my place after school?" Peter whispers, leaning in close to his partner.
Flash shoots him a look of surprise. "You still want me to come over?"
"Of course. But if you want to be alone, that's okay too."
Flash stifles another yawn. "I don’t want to be alone, but I'm not gonna be much fun."
“You’re always fun,” the hero says with a smile, “We can just chill out and take it easy. Does that sound okay?”
Flash's eyes droop, forcibly jerking his head up to keep himself awake. "Sounds perfect."
He continues staring at the teacher, the whiteboard, trying to take in what's being said, but a few minutes later, Flash finds himself using his open textbook as a pillow.
It's getting harder to keep his eyes open, and staring at his partner isn't helping matters, since he always associates Peter as safety.
Between his struggle with insomnia and the anxiety wearing off, it's all catching up to him at once. It’s not even lunchtime yet; how can he pay attention to the rest of his classes in this state?
Peter takes off his jacket, and lays it over his partner's shoulders. "I'll take notes for us."
Flash doesn't have the energy to argue, or try to stay awake. He knows he'll be called out for sleeping in class, so might as well take advantage before Mr. Harrington notices.
The warmth of his partner's jacket puts him out like a light.
2. A Good Sign
Flash's grades are slipping.
Until recently, he kept up with school pretty well after the “Chloe Incident.” Homework and studying was a great distraction; it gave him something to focus on when his brain kept bringing up those not so fun memories. He would find himself looking forward to studying with Peter after school, not just for the company, but in addition to being a superhero, his partner is also a good tutor.
However, between the nightmares and growing insomnia, Flash is losing focus in school. He flunked his most recent history test, managed to barely scrape by with a C- on the last calculus quiz, and there is a five-page English essay due tomorrow and he hasn't even picked a topic for it.
The big kicker is the D+ he received on his chemistry midterm.
Which is what has led him to today's free period, sitting in his academic counselor and chemistry teacher, Mr. Harrington's office, with a bobbing knee and waiting anxiously while his teacher is silently looking over his file on the computer.
Flash was expecting this but dreaded it nonetheless. He studied with Peter for hours for the damn chemistry test, but no matter how many times he read through his partner’s notes or used flashcards, his brain wouldn't retain the information.
Mr. Harrington clicks his tongue, squinting at his computer screen. Flash doesn't know how he's going to react; he's known his teacher for several years at this point, through both classes and coaching in Academic Decathlon. Maybe being one of the Quiz kids will work in his favor?
“This is quite the conundrum,” Roger says, shooting his student an unreadable look.
Flash nods his head, sitting on his hands because he doesn’t know what to do with them.
What does that mean?
His counselor is a tricky one. Out of all the teachers Flash has had, Mr. Harrington is the only one who has suspected he doesn't have a good home life. Over the years, Flash has often been on the receiving end of several suspicious looks of concern, or an “I'm always here if you need to talk” after he returned to school from being out “sick” with a black eye or busted lip.
It's been a few years since his parents hit him, however, and even then, he's kept up the Honor Roll.
To his teacher, this is a conundrum indeed.
Said man turns to his student, leaning back in his seat in a way that shows he's trying not to be too professional.
Flash appreciates that. Maybe things won't go as bad as he's thinking they will.
“How're you doing, Flash?”
He has no idea how to answer that.
I haven't had a full night's sleep in months, and my parents haven't been home in six days and counting.
I'm doing fucking spectacular.
“Fine,” he says.
Roger raises a confused eyebrow, giving him that suspicious look Flash knows all too well. “You sure? ‘Cuz you look pretty tired to me.”
Flash doesn't respond. It's the truth, and he's too tired to think of a lie. What gave it away? He didn’t think the circles under his eyes were that noticeable.
“I wish you talked to me before things got this bad,” Mr. Harrington continues.
“I didn't know things were this bad.”
“Flash—” Mr. Harrington cuts himself off with a sigh, shooting him a disbelieving look, “I know you. Grades don't plummet like this for no reason.”
Flash tightens his grip on the backs of his thighs, his right knee uncontrollable with how much it's shaking. He doesn't know what to say, so he chooses not to respond. Whether that's a good decision or not, he doesn't have a clue.
“How're your parents doing?”
No idea.
“Fine, I guess,” Flash says with a shrug, “Same old, same old.”
There's that look again.
Little does he know that his parents are only a piece of the problem.
“Do your parents know?” Roger asks, “Have they asked you about your grades? Or do they check them online?”
Again, the kid shrugs. “I don’t know if they check, but if they did, they haven’t said anything.”
The elder purses his lips, studying his student like a math problem. “Your grades have been falling for about a month now, and your parents haven’t said a thing?”
Flash curses to himself. Maybe it’s chronic exhaustion, or overall anxiety, but he can’t think of anything else to say that could get him out of this situation.
Maybe he can blame it on laziness. Knowing he wouldn’t get caught, he just stopped caring. His parents not checking in with their kid about his grades would be evidence of that.
But this teacher knows him. And unfortunately, he's not stupid.
“No, sir,” Flash says. He chances a look at his teacher and wishes he didn’t.
Mr. Harrington is perplexed, concern written all over him.
“Flash, you know we have to get your parents involved—”
“Please don’t,” Flash interjects, eyes wide with fear, “I, I’ll get my grades up, I promise, just please don’t tell them.”
“Would they care if they knew?”
“Yes, they would definitely care.”
“How much would they care?”
“A lot…” Flash trails off, not wanting to reveal more than he already has. They would care, they would care too much; not about why their kid’s grades dropped, of course, just the fact that they have.
The few seconds of silence is awkward, and the teacher’s face morphs into pity, just like what Peter’s does when Flash has a nightmare or flashback.
“Flash, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on,” Mr. Harrington says, his voice softening, “And I know you know that. This isn’t exactly our first rodeo.”
Said boy nods his head, hanging it in shame.
Yep, his teacher has suspected this for a while. However, there’s nothing he can do if there is no evidence, or if the kid doesn’t say anything.
“What’s baffling me, though,” the older male continues, “Is why now? After all these years, why are your parents affecting your grades now?”
“‘Cuz they’re not.”
Flash surprises himself at that answer.
No, he’s not going to tell him about Chloe. He doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from that shame if his teacher also knew.
Again, the man studies him. Flash can tell the gears are turning in his brain, going through too many “what if” scenarios.
“Did something happen?” Mr. Harrington says, “A death in the family? Car accident, break-in, or something like that?”
“Uh,” Flash grits his teeth, “Or something.”
There, he admitted something happened, something that affected him enough to permanently screw up his sleep cycle and lose control of his grades. Hopefully, his teacher won't ask for more details.
“Does it involve another student?” the elder asks.
“No.”
Mr. Harrington gives him another look of pity, fidgeting with a nearby pen on his desk. “Warm milk and honey helps me sleep.”
Flash is taken aback. Wouldn’t his counselor want more details? “Tried that.”
“How about taking a low dosage of a melatonin supplement? They help you sleep, and you don’t have to be 18 to buy them. I think you can even get them in gummies if you want to disguise them as regular candy…and they might be easier to hide.”
An appreciative smile escapes the boy. “Hadn’t thought about that, I’ll check them out. Thanks.”
Again, his teacher leans back in his seat. “You know we can't change these grades; they're already posted. There's no shot of any retakes, I'm afraid.”
Flash solemnly nods his head. “Is there any hope for me?”
“Oh yeah.” The man smiles, the first one seen this session. “Yeah, you got plenty of time, but consider this a serious wake-up call.”
Again, the boy nods his head. He releases a deep breath, letting himself relax for the first time since the meeting started. His right knee still hasn't gotten the message, though.
“Do your parents know? About the thing that happened?”
Flash shakes his head. “You're dying to know, aren't you?”
“What I feel doesn't matter. I'm not going to push if you're not comfortable telling me, but going off of what you've told me just now, everything’s starting to make some sense.”
“What happens now?”
“Well, how much sleep have you gotten this week?”
A humorless laugh escapes the boy before he can stop himself. He's about to spout some sarcastic response but his counselor beats him to it.
“That answers that question.”
Just like that, the tension thins out. A weight Flash didn't know he had is lifted off his shoulders, and he slumps in his chair alongside his teacher, sharing chuckles between them.
There is time. The school year is still far from over, and everything will be okay.
“So,” Mr. Harrington says, “What's on the docket for you for tonight homework-wise?”
“The usual,” Flash drawls, “Calculus, chemistry, Spanish, and I gotta read a chapter in history that’ll probably lead to a pop quiz tomorrow—”
“Can I ask you something off the record?”
“Yeah?”
“How much of that history passage are you actually gonna read?”
A genuine laugh escapes the boy. “Off the record? Not a damn word.”
The elder joins in. “Yeah, I wouldn’t either. It was like pulling teeth to get me to study history when I was in school.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Chemistry shouldn’t take long, if that helps any. Any other homework you have to do tonight?”
“Uh, I got a 5-page English paper due tomorrow that I haven't even started.” Flash then says with a grimace, “I won't be sleeping tonight for two reasons.”
“What's the paper on?”
“Uh…” again, the teenager trails off, trying to think back to when that paper was assigned, quickly drawing a blank.
“I don't know,” he continues, surprising himself once again, “We’re s’posed to pick something and write about it, but I dunno what I'm supposed to pick. And I don’t know what to write about the thing I’m s’posed to be picking.” He puts his head in his hands, the panic coming back at full force. “I'm done for.”
Yep, I’m gonna fail English. Cool, awesome, fan-fucking-tastic.
His teacher hums in response, turning to his computer. “Maybe not.”
Flash’s head snaps up, leaning forward to look on in curiosity, but he can’t see anything due to the privacy screen over the monitor.
A few clicks of the mouse, taps on the keyboard with no explanation, and the kid grows more and more confused. He keeps quiet, not wanting to interrupt and possibly change his teacher’s mind.
“Tomorrow’s Thursday,” Mr. Harrington says, “If I say you can get that paper in by Monday with no penalty, will that be doable?”
Flash’s eyes widen in shock. “You’re giving me an extension?”
The other male smiles, gaze not faltering from the computer screen. “Can you turn it in on Monday, yes or no?”
“Yes. Yes, that, uh, that’ll work.”
“Good. Email’s sent, and I’ll let your teacher know first thing in the morning.”
Flash’s jaw drops. “But what if she says no—?”
“She won’t,” Roger says with a smirk, “I’ll make sure she doesn’t. That gives you the weekend to take your time and most importantly, get some sleep.”
“But that’s the thing, I can’t sleep. I keep getting bad dreams.”
There’s that pity look again.
However, Flash finds he doesn’t mind it; just like Peter, his teacher wants to help him. And to be honest, he’ll take any advice he can get right now.
“Try the melatonin—make sure to take the lowest dosage first,” Mr. Harrington says, “Try that milk and honey trick again. Taking a bath might also help, if you’re able to take one.”
“Yeah, I can.”
“As for the rest of your homework, do only what you can tonight, okay? Sleep is important, and I’d rather you do what you can correctly than rush to get something done while you’re half-asleep, and it ends up being wrong anyway.”
“But what happens if I don’t finish? What if I can’t get everything done?”
“Come see me before first bell tomorrow and we’ll discuss it then. I'm always here 30 minutes early anyway.” Mr. Harrington concludes with a smile, “Now, how’re you feeling? Besides tired, of course.”
“Um,” Flash shyly scratches the back of his neck, “A lot better than I thought I was gonna be. Thank you. Seriously, thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Now, I know I don’t know details—and I don’t ever have to know the details—but whatever it is, it’s gonna get better. In time, things will get better.”
“Peter says that too.”
“I’ve noticed you two have gotten closer as of late.” The older man raises another suspicious eyebrow. “And, if I’m not mistaken, this fits in with the timeline. I’m assuming he knows about the thing?”
The teenager nods his head, a smile escaping him. “He’s a good friend; he’s been amazing, actually. He’s the reason why I’m not worse off than I already am.”
In so many ways.
“Yeah, he’s a good kid.” Mr. Harrington then says with a smirk, “So, just ‘friends’, huh?”
Flash’s skin prickles with goosebumps. “What?”
“Just an observation is all,” the other male says with a shrug, “I mean, you two are very cute together—”
“Are you serious right now?” Flash’s eyes widen in fear. “How do you know? No one at school even knows this yet.”
“You notice things from the front of the classroom, like holding hands under the table, smiling extra wide at each other, or my personal favorite: when Peter put his jacket on you when you fell asleep in my class.”
“I’m still surprised you let me sleep the whole time.” Flash hates himself for the way his cheeks are heating up in embarrassment. Looking back on that day, that’s still some of the best sleep he’s had since before the “Chloe Incident.”
“You looked like you needed it. And I was right.” His teacher’s expression turns sympathetic. “Your secret’s safe with me, just hide it better.”
The kid laughs despite the situation. “My parents don’t know about us either.”
“I figured.” Mr. Harrington gestures towards the door. “Now, go on, get outta here. Free period’s almost over.”
Flash stands up and grabs his backpack. “Thanks again,” he says by the door, “That, uh, that helped more than you know.”
“You oughta know my mantra by heart by now,” his counselor says, his smile not faltering, “I’m always here if you ever want to talk.”
Flash nods his head. A satisfying warmth blossoms in his chest, one that makes him feel safe, not unlike when he’s around Peter, or his sister, or even Aunt Roxie.
If he ever did want to tell his teacher, he’s taking this as a good sign he can.
3. “We Can Fix It”
The nightmares are getting old these days.
At first, Flash thought this was a good thing. Reliving the same memory over and over means it's no longer scary. He's used to it, he knows the outcome, and he should be able to sleep right through it.
But no.
No matter how many times he's dreamt about the "Chloe Incident", it still scares him, leaving him waking up in a panic with sweat in his brow.
Peter is sleeping over, and tonight is no different.
Flash's latest dream puts him inside Midtown Tech.
The image is hazy, especially around his peripheral vision, and it feels like he's walking on air. He doesn't know where his backpack is, but he doesn't care because he's too busy desperately searching for a bathroom.
He's alone, all alone in the bright hallway and looking in all directions at the endless stream of blue lockers. Where is everyone? Where are the classrooms? Most importantly, where are the bathrooms?
Flash’s head hits his pillow in a futile attempt to wake up. His dream self walks around a corner, having to stop and gather himself to prevent an accident.
Then, he freezes.
He wishes he didn’t walk around this corner.
Amidst another stream of lockers is the front office window. There is no door to access their bathrooms, but even if there was, he'd rather piss himself than walk over there.
Chloe is standing in front of that window.
She's wearing her usual black bra and pink skirt, the same garb she wore that fateful night at the motel.
This isn't real. Chloe wouldn't be allowed to even step foot in a school without a shirt on. His head hits the pillow, and this isn’t real.
But it also is.
Flash wills himself to move but he can't. His feet might as well be nailed to the floor because he physically can't.
Despite the black bra, Chloe looks…normal, too normal. She's writing something on a sheet of paper, on the small counter by that window. Her brown hair is straight like always, her cheeks rosy and paired well with her seemingly innocent lip glossed smile.
Move.
Move while you still can, you idiot.
But he can't.
The paper is then fed under the window's glass, and her head turns, locking eyes with the boy.
There are those too familiar phantom pains in his groin, worsening his aching bladder. Again he looks around but all that meets him are generic lockers. Surely, if the front office can appear out of thin air, a toilet can too?
Then again, the last thing he wants to do is expose himself in front of her, and risk her wanting to finish what she started.
He faces forward and suddenly, Chloe is mere inches from his face. That same innocent smile hasn't faltered.
This is so stupid. In previous dreams, she's a monster, zombie, or some other villain.
But in this one, she's just a girl.
A teenage girl shouldn't be affecting him like this.
His head hits the pillow. His legs won't stop shaking due to fear and his pressing need but no amount of willpower is making them move.
“You do it once, and your dick will be home free, you know,” Chloe says, just like that night, and in the hundred or so dreams since then.
Her voice echoes. Someone had to have heard that, right? But they're the only two people in the school.
She's not supposed to be here. How did she find him? Will he have to change schools? How will he convince his parents to do that without telling them what happened?
She reaches forward, and he pushes her arm away. “No,” he says.
That surprises him; he didn't say no that night. Well, he did, he said no several times in different ways, but never outright like that.
It wouldn't have mattered anyway. She wasn't going to listen, regardless.
Again, she reaches forward and he pushes her arm away. “No,” he repeats.
Her smile doesn't falter. It's creepy, like she’s a demonic doll from a horror movie who's out to kill him, or worse.
She reaches forward again but this time Flash doesn't push her away. Instead, she starts rubbing his back, not in a predatory way, but more…caringly?
“Flash, wake up,” Chloe says.
But it's not her voice.
His head hits the pillow. His hand cramps from how tightly he's formed a fist.
She reaches for the hem of his shirt, and he doesn’t stop her. Why doesn't he stop her? He just did a few seconds ago. “But first, this needs to come off,” she says in her voice.
Flash looks down and is surprised to see he's wearing the same blue shirt he wore at the hotel, even the same pants and sneakers.
This doesn't make any sense. He threw out all the clothes he wore that night, including his shoes.
This isn't real.
“No,” Flash says, pushing her arm away once again.
The warmth on his back intensifies. “Flash, it's okay,” she says, using that foreign voice again, “You're not there anymore. You're safe.”
Clearly, he’s not.
“Babe, wake up,” she continues, “It's okay.”
Babe?
This is by far the weirdest Chloe-related dream he's had.
“I can fix it, you know,” she says, her voice returning to normal. Chloe leans forward, her lips puckered for a kiss.
“No,” Flash exclaims, leaning backward to avoid her face. He uses every ounce of energy to move his feet, but they are planted solid. Did Chloe do this? Did she superglue his feet to the floor or something?
Despite the warmth on his back, her hands then reach around her own. He remembers this so well, it could have happened yesterday.
She's about to take off her bra.
“No…no.” He can’t look away. And for some reason, he doesn't need to use the bathroom anymore.
“Flash” Chloe says in that other voice, “Wake up!”
Finally, Flash wakes up with a gasp. The back of his neck is sticky with sweat, and he’s so hot he feels feverish. He's laying on his stomach, next to Peter who's leaning on his side and softly rubbing his back. "She's not here," Peter says, "It was just a dream."
Flash looks around his bedroom, taking solace of the nightlight next to him, the window that Peter always uses to sneak in, his backpack leaning against his desk.
He's not in that motel room. Chloe doesn't know where he lives, and he’s wearing a black T-shirt, not the blue one from that night.
He puts his focus on his "super best friend." Peter is smiling but his eyes are sad. Flash has seen that look on him plenty of times, and it never fails to make the other boy feel guilty, even though he knows it’s not his fault. The soft circles on his back soothe him, and he takes a moment to let the panic subside.
"Thanks," Flash whispers, "Again."
"Don't mention it. You never have to mention it." Peter's face falls. "So, uh, don't freak out. It's all completely fine...and nothing got on me, if that helps."
"What?" Flash shifts and the movement has his eyes wide with shock.
There is a strange warmth between his legs that’s uncomfortably cooling with each passing second.
With a horrified gasp, he hurriedly sits up and pushes the covers off of him. He can't stop staring at the large stain, the stench worsening his embarrassment. There is a reason why he no longer had to pee in his dream.
For the first time in over a decade, Flash has wet the bed.
And it just had to happen with his partner laying right next to him.
"Oh my God."
"Flash, it's okay—"
"Oh my God—"
"We can fix it."
Flash's gaze doesn't falter from the stain. "But the mattress is ruined.”
"Flash, look at me." Peter nudges his arm, sitting up as well. It takes a few seconds for Flash to find the courage but when he does, Peter's warm smile puts him a little more at ease. "We can fix it," he repeats.
“How?”
“Google’s our best friend.”
"You're being way too cool about this."
"'Cuz it's not a big deal."
Peter's grin doesn't falter, and it's contagious.
He's too good at this.
Flash takes a deep breath, slowly nodding his head. "Shower first, though. And none of it got on you?"
"No, I swear."
"Thank fuck. Be right back."
Flash grabs a change of clothes before hurrying to the bathroom. He turns on the shower the hottest he can stand and for a few minutes, he stands still under the running water, his skin reddening under the heat, but he doesn't mind the sting. He views this as a way to not only rid himself of the accident but also to wipe off any last remnants of Chloe. Of course, he knows any scent or trace of her is long gone but his brain isn’t listening to much logic right now.
He's pissed at himself, no pun intended. It's been a few months now since the "Chloe Incident." Things were supposed to get better over time, but this has taken him 50 steps backwards.
Why?
These nightmares are a dime a dozen; why did this one affect him in this way? And why, why, why did this have to happen while Peter was sleeping over? Yes, he’s understanding, but it's embarrassing. It's going to be a hard pill to swallow to get past this one.
Flash spends way too long in the shower, but he doesn't care. Sure, he's keeping Peter waiting with a beyond smelly bed, but as long as he's clean, a thread of his dignity is still intact.
He turns off the shower and pulls back the curtain, the chill hitting him instantly. He dries off and puts on fresh sleepwear before entering his bedroom, and stopping in his tracks.
His "super best friend" has stripped the bed, and is currently pouring baking soda over the urine stain.
Flash doesn’t know whether to feel grateful for the help, or utterly mortified that the help is needed. "You didn't have to do that," he says.
"I know," Peter replies with a smile, "But I wanted to. I read that sprinkling baking soda over it helps, but it’s gotta sit for, like, eight hours or so."
"I still can't believe I did this."
"Hey, it's over now, and everything'll be fixed in no time. I thought about putting your sheets in the washer, but I figured you'd want to add your clothes to it."
The other teenager nods his head. "Yeah, I'll do that.”
“Where d’ya want to sleep for the rest of the night?”
You still want to sleep in the same bed as me?
“Uh…we got a guest room.”
-
The washing machine sounds louder than usual, but that could be Flash still overcome with humiliation. He can’t look at Peter upon the two of them sitting on the queen-size bed in the guest room and leaning against the white headboard.
The floral bedding somehow makes Flash feel worse than he already does, the design such a stark contrast from the blue and gray striped comforter he has in his own room, like it’s taunting him. He feels his partner's gaze, finding himself fidgeting with some loose thread on the white sheet.
"You tired?" Peter asks gently.
It almost scares Flash with how good Peter is when it comes to anything relating to Chloe. He's not making a big deal out of an embarrassing situation, hasn't raised his voice, or hardly mentioned the "elephant" that is currently in the washing machine. Peter is also keeping his distance; he’s sitting on the bed, yet making no move to hold hands or reach out for a hug or kiss.
The only good thing to come out of the “Chloe Incident” is Peter Parker.
"Nope," Flash says, "That was...something."
"It sounded like a scary dream you had."
"I swear, this has never happened before."
"I believe you," Peter says with yet another smile. Flash can see it out of his peripheral vision.
"But it doesn't make any sense. I get bad dreams all the time; what made tonight...do this?"
"Do you want to talk about it? Maybe we can figure it out together."
"Seriously, how are you so cool about this?"
"'Cuz it's not a big deal, like I said."
“It is to me.” Flash glances at his partner, but quickly looks down in embarrassment. “It's just—out of all the times for this to happen, and it has to happen when you're here. It just really sucks.”
"I'm actually glad it happened while I was here."
Flash shoots him a confused look. The positivity radiating off of him is truly something to be admired. "Seriously?"
“Yeah,” Peter says with a shrug, “You weren't gonna tell me this if it happened while you were alone, and you'd be beating yourself up a lot more than you are right now. At least, I hope you're not beating yourself up too much 'cuz it really isn't a big deal, honestly.”
Flash is speechless. His 16-year-old partner just wet his bed with him in it; how is he not grossed out by this?
Peter then says, "I can leave, though, if you're more comfortable with that. I don't mind—"
"No, please stay." Flash grabs one of Peter's hands and squeezes it tightly. "Unless you don't want to stay—"
"Flash," the fellow teen says with a chuckle, "I want to stay, and I'm glad you want me to stay too."
Flash scoots closer to him, to the point where their knees are touching. "Thank you, for everything and all. I'm still not tired."
“Good thing it's Saturday, and we can just stay up for the rest of the night.”
“But I need to sleep, so I can do my damn paper.”
“You got a good start on it last night, and you got the whole day to sleep.”
“I’ll be shocked if I can get back to sleep. Maybe I should take another one of those sleep gummies.”
“Do you want to talk about the dream you had?” Peter repeats, “Maybe talking will help.”
Flash groans. "I had to pee in my dream."
"Ah, that would do it."
"Chloe was at school." The boy’s gaze goes to his lap, purposely avoiding looking at his partner. “Remember when I thought I saw her? My dream, uh, made me actually see her.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “I couldn’t move…again.”
There are those all too familiar phantom pains, along with a palpable silence that makes Flash regret opening his mouth.
Peter gently squeezes the other’s hand. “That sounded really scary. Our brains really do suck sometimes.”
Flash nods his head. “Y’know the worst part?”
“What?”
“She looked normal in this one. At least in other dreams, she’s like a monster or something, but in this one, she looked exactly the same as she did in that motel.”
“What makes that the worst part?”
“‘Cuz it’s a girl who did this.” Flash tightens his grip on his partner’s hand, to the point where it starts hurting, but he doesn’t let up. “She’s our age, dude, like…I’m so scared of a girl that it made me wet my bed. And you saved me before it even got that far, like, how pathetic is that?”
Peter starts rubbing his partner’s hand with his free one. “Flash, look at me.”
Said teen doesn’t want to but after swallowing another bout of pride, he succumbs to defeat. Again, Peter’s smile is warm, sympathetic, safe. Flash doesn’t understand how one smile can make him feel safe, but he’s certainly not questioning it.
“Someone hurt you,” Peter says, “It doesn’t matter who did it, or how old they are, or how nice and innocent they look on the outside, someone still hurt you. And the way she hurt you takes longer to process than other things do.”
“How long does it take?”
“I wish I knew…I really wish I knew. I want to help you so bad, but I don’t know how.”
“You’re already doing it,” Flash says with a smile, “And you’re doing a good job. I just wish your superpowers could also work after the fact.”
“Me too. I’ve thought that so many times, actually.”
Flash then reaches over and gives his “super best friend” a hug. It’s awkward since they were already sitting so close together but simple hand holding wasn’t enough, and he needed more. The additional body heat provides much needed comfort, and well, Peter just overall gives amazing hugs.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Flash says.
"No worries. I know you’re still beating yourself up, but all that sounds like a valid reason to wet the bed. I probably would've done the same."
Flash grunts as he lets go. He knows that last statement was just to make him feel better, and to be honest, it works slightly. "What if these dreams keep getting worse? What if this happens again?"
"Babe, you already got enough to worry about. Don't add something to your plate that might not even happen."
"But what if it does?"
"Then we'll cross that bridge if we get to it." Another grin spreads across Peter's face. "What d'ya want to do now?"
"You mean besides crawl under a rock and die?"
“Yeah, preferably no dying,” Peter says with a chuckle.
"I just want to do nothing."
"Sounds good to me."
The boys lay down and Flash curls up next to his partner, pulling the covers over the two of them while Peter wraps an arm around his shoulders.
"I don’t want to get another bad dream," Flash mutters.
"I hope you don’t get another one for a while. If you do, I can keep reminding you Chloe’s not here, if you want.”
Flash smiles in his reply. "You already do that, though. I'd rather you'd just talk about you saving me."
"You got it." A yawn escapes Peter, with his partner soon following suit, much to his annoyance.
“My stuff’s still in the washer,” Flash says with a groan.
“I got it, don’t worry about it.”
“No. It's my mess, I'll get it—”
“Flash.” Peter's tone is firm but not maliciously so, and his partner looks up to see a smirk etched on his face. “We're ‘super best friends’, right?”
Flash playfully rolls his eyes. “Right.”
“So, that means you can share your messes, just like how you help me with mine.”
The other boy’s eyebrows narrow in confusion. “You haven’t had any messes.”
“Are you kidding? You ask how I’m doing with the MS, and always make sure I’ve eaten something. You came with me to a doctor’s appointment, and you were there during that storm when I had to deal with the loud thunder.”
“You were also there ‘cuz I’m scared of the dark.”
“And I’m scared of the dark too.” Peter tightens his grip on his “super best friend”, another yawn escaping him. “We’re pretty good at helping each other out of our messes.”
“Yours didn't feel like messes.”
“Just like how yours don't feel like messes to me.”
Nothing could have stopped the warm static that covers Flash from head to toe, emitting another yawn as well. Maybe a second sleep gummy isn't needed after all. “Babe, you’re finally making me tired.”
“Good. If you get another bad dream, I’ll wake you up faster next time.”
"Sorry in advance if I pee on you."
"Relax, you're not gonna pee on me." Peter starts to laugh, but it turns into another yawn.
"But if you do," he continues, "We can fix it."
4. Free Therapy Session
"Genie, wake up!"
Flash wakes up with a start, hurriedly turning to lay on his back so he can fight against the Chloe-disguised monster that was once again plaguing his nightmares.
Before him isn't his tormentor, however, but his older sister, Jessie, kneeling at his eye level, and staring at him with utmost concern.
Oh, that's right. He's not in that motel room, or even at his house. He's staying at Jessie's apartment that she shares with her girlfriend, Stephanie, for the weekend, and is sleeping in their second bedroom.
"You okay?" Jessie says as she turns on the lamp on the bedside table.
Flash nods his head as he sits up, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. "Was I that loud?" he says, his voice surprisingly dry.
"Nah, the walls are just thin. Nothing wakes up Steph, though, she can sleep through a damn earthquake."
"Must be nice.”
“Tell me about it,” Jessie says with a chuckle, “I'm making hot cocoa, want one?”
At her brother's nod, the 21-year-old stands up and heads to the kitchen to make said beverage. With her now out of the room, Flash looks under the light blue polka dot bedding, releasing a sigh of relief. That time he wet the bed recently really must've been a fluke, like Peter said, but the possibility of it happening again has plagued him with more paranoia than he cares to admit.
He props a pillow against the wall, taking in the room to calm himself down. It’s the smaller of the two bedrooms, with a closet that has folding doors and a night light next to the bed. Flash tries to ignore the fact that Jessie clearly bought the night light for him…but he appreciates the consideration, all the same.
There is a TV on top of a cabinet in front of him, both of which used to belong to his parents. A nearby bookcase has three shelves and is filled with cookbooks of various sizes, to the point where one of the shelves has started bowing under the weight.
Despite the lack of decorations, the vibe is homey and lived in. Maybe it’s because his sister feels comfortable here, and she doesn’t need to put on a front like she did when she lived at home. Since she lives with her girlfriend, never being alone could play a factor into the atmosphere too. This gives Flash hope that he and Peter will live in a homey place together someday.
Jessie walks in a few minutes later with two mugs of hot cocoa in tow, each containing a peppermint stick and a mound of mini marshmallows. She hands one to her brother before settling into the other side of the full-size bed. "Want to watch anything?" she asks.
The boy simply shrugs, so she puts on the last show she was watching on a low volume, some new dating competition show.
It's awkwardly silent for a few minutes but the hot chocolate is a delicious distraction. Flash knows his sister is dying to ask about the nightmare, but she's keeping her distance. Eventually, though, she'll crack and ask anyway, as she treats silence as her literal worst enemy.
"How's uh," Jessie says, "How's all that going?"
Flash smiles between sips of his drink.
Like clockwork.
"Okay, I guess."
"Gene, that dream sounded just as bad as that other one I woke you up from. Are things really 'okay'?"
Flash groans in his reply. "What d'ya expect me to say, Jess? Things are as fine as they can be."
"But they don't sound fine at all—"
"Things are better than they were."
"But that doesn't mean things are fine."
Another awkward moment of silence lingers between them.
Flash doesn't know what the hell to do. He's just a kid; how can a kid make an unfine situation fine again?
He can't go to the police without telling his parents, nor can he look into any kind of counselor or therapist for that same reason.
Flash is stuck dealing with this on his own. Sure, he's got Jessie and Peter, but they can only do so much.
It sucks.
This whole situation really sucks.
"I have to say everything's fine," he says, "'Cuz what other option is there?"
He sees her pitied expression out of the corner of his eye, just like the one Peter has given him. Sometimes, Flash regrets telling her about the “Chloe Incident”, because now she also has this burden to carry with no real end in sight.
But misery also loves company, and it is nice to know he’s not alone.
"You can admit things aren't fine," Jessie says, using her peppermint stick—turns out, it’s an edible spoon—to eat some marshmallows, "It's impossible for things to be fine all the time."
“But since Chloe, things have been more unfine than fine, it feels like.”
“Have any fine things happened since Chloe?”
Flash smiles before he can stop himself, hiding it with another swig of hot chocolate. “Well, yeah—”
“Name them.”
“What?”
“You heard me, Gene-pole, name them. What are some good things that happened since Chloe?”
Her brother starts laughing. “Are you serious right now?”
“Yep. Consider this your one free therapy session.”
“My one free therapy session? Gee, thanks, bro.”
“It’s what I’m here for. Now, stop stalling and name them.”
“Fine, fine.” Flash slurps the rest of his marshmallows before he starts, biting into his own peppermint spoon. “We hung out for the first time in like two years.”
“Aww, I was hoping you’d say me first—”
“Shut up.”
“Okay, what else?”
“I met Stephanie, and she gets the little brother seal of approval…for now.”
Now it’s Jessie’s turn to bust out laughing. “Noted, okay.”
“What?”
“I just had an image of you trying to kick her ass if we broke up, and her absolutely pummeling you.”
Flash gasps in mock offense. “For the record, that's too much work. My version of kicking someone’s ass is just saying a bunch of shitty things about them online, and to their face.”
Like I used to do to innocent kids at school.
Not something I’m very proud of.
“Speaking of,” Flash continues, “She doesn't know about Chloe, does she?”
“No, don’t worry, she doesn’t know anything. That’s not my story to tell; I wouldn’t do that to you.”
He lets himself relax. “Thanks.”
“Alright, what else?” Jessie finishes the last of her hot cocoa and slumps more under the covers, passing the empty mug to her brother to set aside. “C’mon, there’s gotta be other things.”
“I got to meet Spider-Man.”
“Ooh, good one.”
“I found out I’m ace.”
“Cool, cool, very important. I’m assuming that’s why you wear so much purple now?”
“I don’t wear that much purple.”
Jessie yanks the covers off of his lap, revealing purple checkered pajama pants. “Okay, I’m wearing purple pants, so what?” Flash says.
“You wore a purple shirt when you came to visit today, and you also now own a purple backpack with an ace pin.”
“Hey, Peter gave me the pin. That doesn’t count.”
“Who’s Peter?”
Flash curses to himself. For a split second, he forgot that they haven’t yet come out to anyone as a couple. Maybe his sister can be the guinea pig?
He downs the rest of his hot cocoa to stall, setting it aside before he too slumps more onto the bed, pulling the covers up to his chest. “Another good thing that’s happened since Chloe.” He then says with a smile, “Probably the best thing that’s happened since Chloe. Next to you, of course.”
“I better be first, you little shit.” Jessie turns on her side, shooting her brother a beam. “Soooo, who’s this Peter kid?”
“He’s—so, I may or may not have a…relationship person.”
His sister emits a squeal that's loud enough to make his ears ring. “Dude, are you trying to make me deaf—?”
“Tell. Me. Everything.”
“It’s not like he’s the first person I’ve gone out with.”
“But this is your first relationship, isn’t it? Genie, that’s, like, a huge deal.”
“But there’s something you gotta know: Peter isn’t my boyfriend.”
“So, he’s a friend?”
Why didn’t I just make things easy and say that? I mean, it wouldn’t be a lie.
“Well, no,” he says, “He’s my…‘super best friend.’”
Jessie, understandably so, looks confused beyond words. “Uh-huh….”
“It’s not romantic. We’re in a relationship, it's just not a romantic one.”
“Oh, you’re in a QPR?”
“What’s that?”
“‘Queer platonic relationship.’ I've heard they’re common with aromantic people.”
“Really? Actually, that makes a lot of sense, ‘cuz Peter’s aroace. It’s cool to know what we have has a legit name for it, though.”
“I don’t know, I think ‘super best friend’ has a nice ring to it.”
“Me too,” Flash says with a grin, “Uh, no one knows about us, by the way. Well, one of our teachers does, but that’s only because he figured it out.”
“Noted. Does this mean you’re into guys too?”
“I don’t know, that’s the weird part. Peter’s the only guy I’ve liked like this. It’s one of the reasons why we haven’t come out yet.”
“Yeah, the labeling stuff’s harder than it should be. As long as you’re happy, though, I wouldn’t stress about it. And if anyone asks, it’s none of their business anyway.” Jessie’s face falls. “Does he know about the Chloe thing?”
Her brother nods his head. “He was the first person I told, and we weren’t even together yet.”
“Wait, you said before you told me, only Spider-Man and a friend knew about her. Was Peter that friend?”
Heh, he was both.
Again, Flash nods his head. “He’s been amazing with this whole thing. Just, he knows the right words to say, when to give me space if I’m going through something, always putting me first before anything.” Warmth blossoms in his chest, a feeling similar to Peter’s hugs. “I don’t deserve him.”
“Don’t ever say that, Gene-pole, you hear me? Yes, you do, you deserve all the good things. And if this Peter kid was here right now, I’m sure he’d say the same thing.”
“Without a doubt.”
“So, when can I meet him?”
“When I’m ready for you to meet him.”
“Which is when exactly?”
“I don’t know—”
“How ‘bout next weekend?”
A laugh escapes him. “Holy shit, you’re impossible.”
“Well now it’s my turn to give the sibling seal of approval, and I’d rather do that sooner than later, thankyouverymuch.”
The teenager rolls his eyes. “I’ll think about it. Happy now?”
“For now. So, what have you learned today?”
“Don’t tell me you’re actually treating this like a therapy session.”
“It’s still your one free one, so you better take advantage.”
Flash snorts in his reply. “I don’t know, that good things still happen when there’s shit going on?”
“Exactly.”
Jessie sounded firm just then, not in a bad way, but more like she wanted to drive home the reason for this silly conversation.
He turns to his sister, noticing the dark shift, giving her his undivided attention. “I know what happened sucked,” she says, her voice noticeably more somber, “What Chloe did to you was horrible. I can’t imagine dealing with all that, and-and I wish I could take it away from you.”
“Jess—”
“But try and think about all the good that’s happened since then too: Peter, us, your identity, and future good things that just haven’t popped up yet—’cuz there’s more good stuff coming, I know it.”
Jessie concludes with a sympathetic smile, “Try not to let Chloe ruin all the good. She doesn’t deserve that much power. If your mind ever goes blank on the good, I’m always a text away to remind you.”
Flash takes a moment to let everything sink in, continuing to stare at his sister in utmost surprise.
She’s right. Every word she said is true, but it’s easier said than done. The good is hard to see when it’s clouded by all the bad.
However, if it wasn’t for Chloe, he and Peter would have never gotten together; they wouldn’t have even become friends. If Chloe never happened, Flash would be deep, deep, deep into the closet, and refusing to accept himself with his new identity.
Yes, he wishes all the time that the “Chloe Incident” never happened, and that traumatic experience has irreversibly changed him as a person.
But some good came out of it too. He has the good to hold on to, and that’s something Chloe can never take away from him.
“Y’know,” he says, "This ‘therapy session’ could also count as something good.”
“Clearly, I missed my calling.”
Flash chuckles in reply. “Um…I don't want this good thing to end yet.”
Jessie smiles wide. “You're in luck. The rest of my night just opened up.”