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Most kids long for summer vacation, and don’t get Flash wrong, he liked the freedom that came with it. Unfortunately, he just didn’t always enjoy how much free time it came with.
During the school year, with extracurriculars, parties, and homework, it was easy enough to keep the empty, broken home from consuming his thoughts. During the summer, between his mother traveling the world and his father constantly disappearing on one business trip or another, it became a lot harder to ignore.
He had Roberta, the housekeeper. She was nice. With every year of Spanish he took, his speaking and understanding got better. Her English was constantly improving too. But she was a far cry from having an actual parent home.
That’s what friends were for, though.
His empty house became the default hangout spot for most of the summer, which was nice. It made him feel less alone. Unfortunately, Brad and Jason’s families always planned vacations together, which meant that for the last two weeks, Flash had been fighting off that familiar loneliness that kept trying to make itself comfortable in the center of his brain.
The one saving grace he had to look forward to this weekend was that both of his parents would be home. Better yet, they’d be attending the Mayor of New York City’s exclusive birthday party together.
Not only would they be forced to put on a united front, but events like these always made Flash feel important — even if it was only by association.
His father sat on a five-man legal advisory board for Mayor Wilson Fisk and had been part of the man’s semi-inner circle since Flash was eight years old. He’d been attending fancy galas and exclusive fundraisers for as long as he could remember. A lot of people thought these events were boring.
Flash loved them.
He loved being in rooms full of influential people. He loved recognizing names from headlines and television interviews. He loved knowing he had access to people most others only saw on screens. That because of his last name, he already had one foot in the door.
One day that would mean something.
Especially with his growing Instagram following.
He was going to be the next Kardashian — except significantly less brain dead.
Events like this felt like laying bricks for that future.
The Plaza Hotel had hosted more exclusive parties than Flash could count over the years. Enough that when they stepped out of the car and handed it off to valet, tucked neatly between his parents, the hostess smiled immediately.
“Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. Eugene,” she greeted warmly, looking down at her tablet before checking off their arrival.
Maybe it was silly how much such a small interaction mattered.
At school, he was Flash Thompson. He had the Flash Mob. People knew who he was.
Or at least they used to.
Things had changed ever since some of the Academic Decathlon kids found out the truth about Peter.
But here?
This was a completely different league.
He might not have been the most important person in the room — it was the mayor’s birthday party, for crying out loud — but out of everyone he associated with at Midtown, he was the one standing here.
None of his classmates could compete with that.
Technically… Peter could. He was Iron Man’s son, for crying out loud. But Peter wasn’t here.
And anyway, public opinion on Iron Man was complicated these days. Public opinion on the Avengers as a whole was complicated. Being associated with them wasn’t necessarily the automatic cool points Flag used to assume it was.
That fact alone makes Flash smile to himself.
After passing the hostess, they stop at coat check. Even though it’s summer, everyone is wearing business jackets or formal blazers. This is the kind of event where appearances matter.
His mother hands over her purse. His father removes his jacket. Flash shrugs off his own blazer and watches the attendant whisk it away before they continue inside.
The ballroom is wrapped in rich burgundies, creams, and silver accents. Crystal chandeliers hang overhead, casting warm light across polished floors and tables decorated with towering floral arrangements.
The room is already teeming with influential people. Politicians. CEOs. Investors. People who matter.
And for one night, Flash gets to belong among them.
They’ve cycled through a handful of greetings with New York socialites who frequent the same circles before Mayor Wilson Fisk finally makes his way over.
Standing in front of him now, shaking his hand for what Flash is pretty sure is the fifth time in his life, feels like a victory all on its own.
“Mr. Thompson. Mrs. Thompson. It’s nice to see you again,” Fisk says warmly before shifting his attention to Flash. “I see Eugene is growing up quite nicely.”
The mayor’s handshake is firm. The approving nod that follows is immediate.
Adult code for: good handshake, kid.
Flash can practically feel his father’s pride radiating beside him.
“Harrison, don’t forget about the meeting in an hour,” Mayor Fisk says, fixing his father with a look Flash can’t quite decipher.
“I’ll be there,” his dad confirms.
And just like that, the mayor is moving on to greet the next group of guests.
Sure, it was brief. But still. How many people could say they had an in with the mayor?
Not many.
Definitely nobody at Midtown besides Penelope Baker, the senior whose aunt is Fisk’s secretary. But she’s technically graduated now. Which makes Flash the coolest person at school. Plus, she was kind of a bitch if you asked him.
“Hey, Flash.”
He blinks, realizing Penelope and her family have approached.
“Hey, Pen. Cool party, right?” he asks, grateful to finally have someone remotely close to his age around.
“Eh.” She shrugs like the entire thing is beneath her.
Immediately, Flash regrets sounding impressed.
“I mean, Anne Hathaway’s birthday party tops this by, like, a million,” she says, inspecting her manicure instead of looking at him. “But yeah. This is alright.”
See?
Bitch. The way she always acts like she’s better than everyone else is genuinely impressive.
“Yeah, we couldn’t make it to that,” Flash lies easily, smiling sweetly. “We were sailing in the British Virgin Islands.”
Penelope just hums. Which somehow annoys him even more because he knows she doesn’t believe him.
It doesn’t help that their parents have already launched into one of those conversations he knows will have them standing there forever.
A quick glance around the ballroom has Flash searching for literally anything else to focus on.
That’s when he notices the security. Not unusual on its own. A party like this obviously has security. But the guard directly across the room has a finger pressed to his earpiece and appears to be listening intently to something. A second later, he speaks quietly into it. Flash can’t hear what he’s saying from this distance.
Penelope must notice where he’s looking because she’s staring too now.
Then more guards start appearing.
Not replacements. Different. These guys are wearing nicer suits. More coordinated. More serious.
One by one, they begin taking up positions around the room.
A few possibilities immediately race through Flash’s mind.
Maybe it’s just a shift change. Though that seems unlikely.
Maybe the governor arrived.
Or—
His stomach does a small flip.
Maybe the president just showed up.
Secret Service would definitely explain all the extra security.
He doesn’t have to wait long to find out.
The doors open and, within seconds, it’s like the entire room shifts.
Attention follows them like gravity.
In walks Tony Stark in an impeccably tailored suit, looking like he just stepped off a runway. On his arm is Pepper Potts, her floor-length midnight blue gown looking equally expensive and impossibly elegant.
And then, most surprising of all, is Peter Parker.
Peter isn’t wearing that ratty suit he wore to the Midtown awards ceremony last year. Though Flash supposes that makes sense, all things considered.
What doesn’t make sense is the fact that he’s almost positive he saw Peter’s suit in the newest Giorgio Armani winter collection. Not only is he wearing it. He’s pulling it off.
“Is that Peter—”
“Parker? Yup,” Flash cuts in before Penelope can even finish the question.
“He’s Iron Man’s kid?”
She still isn’t looking at him. Her entire focus is fixed on Peter.
“Has he always been this handsome?” she asks a second later, not even giving Flash the chance to answer the first question.
Flash wants Thor to descend from the heavens and strike him dead on the spot.
Everyone in the ballroom is staring at Peter Parker.
And there’s no point pretending they’re looking at Tony Stark and Pepper Potts because Flash knows better.
Sure, people are interested in them. But they’re fascinated by Peter. He would be too if the situation were… well.
Different.
When Flash glances back toward Penelope, she’s gone.
Just completely abandoned him.
Now it’s only him and his parents watching as the Baker family does exactly what everyone else is doing: orbiting the Starks and waiting for an opportunity to insert themselves into a conversation.
Currently, though, they’re occupied.
Mayor Fisk himself is speaking with them, looking absolutely delighted about it. In fact, Flash is pretty sure he’s never seen the mayor this animated before. He’s clearly laying the charm on thick.
Tony looks bored. Peter somehow looks even more bored.
Which is deeply irritating because that’s the mayor of New York City. Flash had been excited just to shake the man’s hand.
Meanwhile, Peter and Tony look like they’d rather be literally anywhere else.
Pepper seems marginally more interested than the two of them, but even she appears to be running on social battery fumes and they only arrived five minutes ago.
Of course, from there, the mayor personally escorts them to the empty seats at his table. The seats three seats Flash had been eyeing ever since he’d gotten the lay of the land.
His family had already been assigned their table, so he knew they weren’t theirs.
But he’d at least hoped they were being left open for some important last-minute guests.
Not Peter freaking Parker and Tony Stark.
Somehow that’s worse.
It’s hard to focus on anything else after that. God knows he tries. He doesn’t even know if Peter has noticed he’s here yet. Which, embarrassingly enough, might hurt worse than if Peter noticed and ignored him entirely.
Because now Flash is the insignificant one.
At school.
At these events.
Everywhere.
Back at Midtown, at least he used to be somebody.
Flash Thompson.
The guy everybody knew.
The guy everybody wanted to be around.
But here? Here he isn’t even in the same league. He’s just the son of one of the mayor’s legal advisors.
Peter Parker is Tony Stark’s son.
How the hell are you supposed to compete with that?
His feet move before his brain can catch up, sliding his chair back from the table the second he sees Peter heading toward the long dessert station.
He gets maybe ten steps away when a large presence plants itself directly in front of him.
Flash’s eyes trail up an impeccably tailored suit until he’s met with piercing green eyes and a cropped buzz cut. Clearly one of Stark’s security guards. A creepy one at that. The guy just looked scary, which was probably the point.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the man asks gruffly, promptly blocking Peter from Flash’s line of sight.
“Um… getting dessert?” Flash squeaks out.
Definitely more pathetic than he’d intended. To be fair, he wasn’t about to go bully Peter. He learned that lesson already. School was one thing. A work function his dad had dragged him to was another.
If he embarrassed his father in front of colleagues, Flash was pretty sure he’d be disowned before they even made it home.
“I know who you are, Mr. Thompson,” the man says evenly. “You can wait until Mr. Stark is done at the station—”
“Mr. Walter, it’s fine. Really.” Peter appears from around the security guard carrying a plate that contains exactly one cookie. “Flash and I are cool now, right?”
Walter looks between them uncertainly.
Flash does his absolute best to look harmless.
The man presses a finger to his earpiece. Peter’s gaze immediately flicks toward the mayor’s table. Flash follows it.
Pepper is holding onto Tony’s arm, though her attention remains fixed on whatever conversation she’s having with the mayor’s wife.
Tony, meanwhile, has completely turned away from his own conversation and is staring directly at them while talking quietly to the same security guard from the field trip — Happy Hogan.
Peter offers them both a thumbs-up.
Several more uncertain seconds pass before Walter finally steps back. Though those unsettling green eyes never leave Flash. His skin practically crawls under the scrutiny.
“Sorry about that,” Peter says awkwardly, stepping back toward the dessert table. He grabs an extra plate and offers it to Flash.
Flash takes it, grateful to finally have something to do with his hands after that painfully awkward introduction.
“All good,” he says, surveying the ridiculous spread of desserts. “So… you’re a Stark officially now?”
Peter glances over.
Flash catches the small smile tugging at his lips.
“Yeah. I mean… I kind of already was,” he says with a shrug. “But it’ll actually be on my paperwork next year. Parker-Stark.”
He says it like that’s not the coolest thing Flash has ever heard in his life.
Personally, he’d drop the Parker. It’s a mouthful. But he’s also not remotely surprised Peter’s keeping it.
“So your parents are bac—”
“Appearances only,” Flash cuts in quickly, shaking his head.
It confirms Peter had noticed him before now, though.
Which… Okay. That does soothe his ego a little.
“Ah.” Peter winces. “That sucks. I’m sorry, Flash.”
The sincerity behind it almost makes him choke. He’s done absolutely nothing to earn Peter Parker’s kindness over the years.
Nothing.
And yet Peter still hands it out freely like it’s an unlimited resource. It’s almost infuriating.
“Yeah,” Flash finally says. “Me too.”
Peter nods quietly before reaching for another pastry.
“Is this your first big gala?” Flash asks.
“Is it that obvious?” Peter grimaces.
The plate in his hands now contains what can only be described as a mountain of sugar.
“Nah.” Flash chuckles. “Honestly, you’re kind of a natural at it.”
And he is.
The only reason Peter stands out at all is because of who he’s standing beside, not because he looks out of place.
“Cool,” Peter says. “I can’t wait to go home, though. This suit is ridiculously uncomfortable. And don’t even get me started on the shoes.”
“Dude.” Flash stares at him. “You’re wearing, like, a five-thousand-dollar suit. You don’t get to complain.”
Peter freezes.
“This is five thousand dollars?!”
The shriek is loud enough that several nearby guests glance their way. Nobody seems particularly bothered. Walter, however, somehow looks even more alert than before.
A chill runs down Flash’s spine.
Yeah, that guy gives him the heebie-jeebies.
“Yes,” Flash says slowly. “It literally debuted on a runway in December. That’s basically fresh off the press.”
His attention drifts back toward the bodyguard.
“Is your security guy always this terrifying?” he asks, getting distracted halfway through his own train of thought. “Because seriously, every time I look over there, he looks like he’s planning my funeral.”
Peter follows his gaze.
Then, to Flash’s surprise, laughs.
“That’s just how Walter is,” Peter says, glancing over at the man in question. “He’s… intense. And really eager to please my dad and Happy.”
Peter smiles at him.
Walter seems to settle a fraction at that, but Flash still doesn’t quite trust him.
“Maybe he just doesn’t like me,” Flash mumbles.
“That’s…” Peter grimaces. “Probably true. FRIDAY went through the guest list and told us you’d be here with your dad. Walter got a very intense rundown from Tony.”
Flash blinks several times. There is so much to unpack in that sentence alone. The difference in their lives is glaring.
Peter’s parents go out of their way to protect him in a way Flash is pretty sure his parents never would. Not unless there was something in it for them.
And the technology. Knowing who would be attending before anyone else?
Flash is pretty sure the mayor doesn’t just hand out guest lists to random people.
Then again, judging by Fisk’s reaction earlier, maybe Tony Stark gets whatever he wants.
“Everything okay over here?”
The familiar voice cuts through Flash’s thoughts.
Tony Stark appears beside Peter, eyes immediately assessing the situation.
The scrutiny feels far less unsettling than Walter’s. Which is both comforting and deeply confusing.
“Everything’s fine, Dad,” Peter says before Flash can even think of an answer. “We’re just catching up. I told you last night that Flash and I were chill.”
“I just wanted to make sure,” Tony replies.
His gaze shifts back to Peter for a second, like he’s checking him over. Then he looks at Flash.
“Nice seeing you under better circumstances this time, Flash.”
He even flashes him a grin. Though it looks a little strained.
“Y-you too, Mr. Stark,” Flash manages.
“Pete, you were supposed to bring Pep and me dessert like ten minutes ago,” Tony says, glancing at Peter’s overloaded plate. “I think if she doesn’t get her hands on a slice of that cheesecake soon, she might actually strangle that woman she’s talking to.”
Peter snorts.
“Pretty sure murder is illegal.”
“Only if she gets caught.”
“Dad.”
“Kid.”
Peter rolls his eyes so hard Flash is surprised they don’t fall out of his head.
“Sounds like I should go,” Peter says, offering Flash another apologetic smile. “Good seeing you, Flash. Hope you’re enjoying your summer.”
“You too, Par—”
Flash catches himself.
“Stark.”
Peter immediately shakes his head.
“Parker-Stark.”
“Right. Parker-Stark.”
Peter grins before allowing Tony to steer him back toward the mayor’s table.
Flash watches him stop long enough to grab a slice of cheesecake.
And another cookie.
And what looks like three miniature pastries.
Apparently, being the son of a billionaire doesn’t stop someone from hoarding dessert. Who knew?
He eventually grabs himself a slice of cheesecake and a cookie before heading back toward his own table.
His parents appear to be quietly bickering.
Luckily, the night is almost over. Dessert drags on for another twenty minutes. People mingle. Staff begin clearing tables. The ballroom slowly starts emptying.
“I’m gonna hit the bathroom before we leave,” Flash tells his mom.
She barely looks up from whatever passive-aggressive argument she’s having with his father.
“Okay, honey.”
Flash slips away toward the hallway.
The bathroom is thankfully empty.
At least, it is until he’s settled inside one of the stalls.
A minute later, two men walk in.
Neither of them seems aware he’s there or maybe they just don’t care.
“You sure about this?” one voice asks.
“It’s what the boss wants,” the other replies.
“Well… alright then. I’ll send the details over in the next twenty-four hours. I’ve gotta get back out there before they realize I’ve stepped away.”
“I’ll head out a couple minutes after you,” the second voice says. “Talk soon.”
The door opens.
Then closes.
A second set of footsteps lingers briefly before disappearing too.
Flash stays exactly where he is.
Motionless.
The conversation leaves a strange feeling in his stomach.
Not necessarily bad.
Just…
Off.
Still, it isn’t really any of his business.
By the time he returns to the ballroom, most people are gathering their things.
“Ready to go?” his mom asks, holding out his suit jacket.
He slips into it and glances across the room.
The Stark security detail is filing out first.
Behind them are Tony, Pepper, and Peter with their respective bodyguards.
Peter spots him and offers a quick wave, Pepper follows it with a warm smile, and Tony simply nods. Walter and Happy both give him looks that make it abundantly clear they’re still not his biggest fans.
And honestly? Fair enough.
After tonight, though, Flash decides that maybe Peter Parker-Stark isn't so bad.