Chapter Text
He can see the numbers. The threats. The way it goes up and down as people grow, as people change, as they become more or less. He can see them. He always has been able to see them.
Flash doesn’t hate it, never has, never will. He hardly even notices it after a while, after knowing someone for more than a week or so, it just becomes background noise. Just a number that they wear, it’s not their personality, not who they are, just how big of a threat they can be.
Most are like fours, some fives. He’s seen a few tens, the one time he was there, hiding as The Avengers fought on the streets of New York. All of them were sevens to tens. Iron Man was a nine, Captain America was an eight, boarding a nine. Shifting every few minutes, like it couldn’t decide how powerful he was. Black Widow was a ten, but it flashed. It changed. It moved and danced, like it didn’t want anyone to know what it was. Thor was an eleven, the first eleven Flash had ever seen. Hawkeye was an eight, but every time he jumped, or shot an arrow, or yelled, the eight shot to a nine. Hulk was a ten, but when he went to the man he really was, Bruce Banner, he was a seven. When Flash saw him turn, saw the green flash to pale, it went down rapid. Fell to a six, then a four, then a one, then a zero, then the number vanished. Then, so slowly, it went back to seven as Banner stood up and looked around.
All these superheroes were bizarre to Flash. Because he had only ever seen seven and under. Never an eleven, or ten, or even a nine, or numbers that changed every few seconds.
There are few like him, he learns. Googles it when he’s old enough to realize what it is. He doesn’t tell anyone, keeps it a secret. He looks up how to handle it, how to keep the headaches at bay, how to keep the panic attacks of when his sister slowly went from a six to one as she got bad again. How before she was sent to get treatment, she was barely a one. How when they were packing her bags, as she sat on the front steps and stared out into the street, the one was dimming. Was nearly gone.
He knows when people are like him, he can sense it because they don’t have complete numbers. They just have something like scribbles above their heads, an unearthly glow around their bodies. He smiles when he sees them, looks at them with an understanding. I know, he wants to say. I get it. I understand.
It’s the worst at school. In public, he doesn’t really notice. People walk by so quickly, pay so little attention, that Flash doesn’t really care. But at school, he knows these people. Sees them in class and hallways, knows who they hang out with, where they sit, he knows them.
Most kids at school are fours or fives. Teachers are often sixes, the school police officer is an eight. In certain classes, the numbers of his fellow students change. Not completely, but they waver. Worriedly, as if they know they cannot live up to the number they own.
When he first meets Peter Parker, he’s a four. Wavering to a five every once and a while, but a four. Ned is also a four. The few times he sees May Parker, Peter’s aunt, after school or the awkward times he sees Peter and May in public, out to eat or shopping, Flash sees she’s six. At the funeral (his parents made him go with them) May is somehow a two and a six all at once. Grief is a confusing emotion, Flash learns. It makes everything fucked up.
Michelle is a five, solidly. She insults Flash when he insults her, and the number becomes bold. Angry, he realizes. Different type of anger than he sees at home, this anger is less softened by love, it’s pure, cold anger. Flash’s respect for Michelle goes up, he doesn’t understand why, but it does.
Peter is a four and Flash likes it that way. He’s not strong, weaker. Sure, he’s smart, gone through more shit than Flash will ever realize, but he can’t fight back. It makes Flash feel stronger. His sister says he’s a bully, Flash rolls his eyes but knows it’s true.
Then, everything changes.
His sister moves away, with their aunt. She’s been out of the treatment facility for more than a year, but she says she can’t handle New York anymore.
“I can’t do this!” she yells at their parents one night. “I need to go."
So she does.
He goes to school, works, makes fun of people because he’s a dick, and goes home. It’s stupid. He hates every moment of it. He doesn’t want to live like this, he wants his sister back home, his parents sleeping in the same room, his world to keep turning like it used to.
One day, one fucking day, he goes to school and stalks over to Peter, has an insult in mind, but he freezes. He stops. He stares and stares and stares.
The number above Peter’s head is no longer a four, but an eight. An eight that flickers to nine every few moments.
Flash can’t fucking believe it.
He looks around, Ned is still a four, Michelle a five, the officer a six, Betty a four, some kid Flash forgot the name of is still a three. But Peter? Peter is an eight?
Flash walks away, goes to the library and thinks. It shouldn’t be like this. Something is messed up, something failed, something made a mistake.
He goes to lunch, only to find that the flickering number above Peter’s head is not an eight anymore. But a stable nine. Just there. Above Parker’s head, like it’s doing nothing wrong. Goddamn it.
“Hey, Flash?” one of his friends say. “You good bro?"
Flash nods, and gets his lunch, frowning the entire time. Goddamnit, goddamnit, goddamnit.
Peter acts normal, sits with Ned, eats the school lunch, laughs at jokes, talks about Star Wars, gazes at Ned’s lips for a moment too long. He acts normal, but there is something off. Like he’s a 3D movie but doesn’t have the glasses on.
The bell rings, Flash goes to class, tries to pay attention. He can’t, not when he knows Peter had changed.
Peter disappears for two weeks. Comes back with a whole new wardrobe, lots of the same clothes but different sizes. Peter got new clothes too, got new shoes without doodles on them and scruffed heels.
Peter comes back, and Spiderman shows up. Peter ditches class and meets and Flash picks on him. Peter ditches Washington and they all almost die. Peter ditches Liz at homecoming, Spiderman steals his father’s car and Flash sees the nine above Spiderman’s head. Liz cries at homecoming and leaves with Cindy, hands interlocked tightly. Liz moves, her dad goes to jail, Peter ditches the meet when Michelle is given the lead of the group. Her sharp five fades for half a moment and Flash feels something in him intensify.
Flash hates how long it takes for him to realize it, hates it. But he realizes it, and everything changes again.
His sister comes home for Thanksgiving and watches Coco with him.
“Are you still giving that Parker kid shit?” his sister, Melissa, asks him while standing in line for popcorn and drinks. Flash shrugs and chuckles. “I guess.”
Melissa frowned, “you should stop doing that,” she tells him. “You’re better than that, or at least you used to be.”
Then she took a step up and asked for a large popcorn and two sodas, while Flash stood slightly behind her, waiting. Wondering.
Peter gets into a fight with some new kid, the new kid is a seven. Flash pulls Peter off of the new kid. Stands in front of Peter as Michelle and Ned pull Peter away more, the new kid punches Flash. And Flash lets him.
Flash and Peter sit next to each other outside the principles office while the new kid gets talked to. Peter speaks.
“Thanks,” Peter says.
“It’s whatever,” Flash responds.
“Really,” Peter whispers quietly. “Thanks.”
Peter Parker is Spiderman and Flash realizes it while Melissa and him are watching Coco.
He leaves the theatre, steps outside into the main area where you get tickets and popcorn. What the fuck, he thinks. How the fuck.
For a second, not even, half a moment, he thinks, Parker is a child and he is fighting in wars. He’s a child. He’s too young, isn’t he?
He’s been through so much, now he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.
He’s too young.
When Spiderman falls from a nine-story building, Flash is watching.
Fucking Parker, he thinks. Stand up. Stand up. Stand. Up.
He does, stands up on clumsy feet. Falls back down. Flash wants to punch something.
Parker- Spiderman rises to his feet and starts to walk. Flash watches across the parking lot as Spiderman webs up the person. Then the police are there and Spiderman is gone.
Flash laughs out of relief.
He is mean to Parker at school, calls his rude ass names and pokes at him in class.
He doesn’t want Peter to know that Flash knows who he is. Really is.
Parker gets put in the hospital and Flash visits him.
He’s sitting back watching some late-night TV show when Flash walks in. “what are you doing here, Flash?”
He cuts right to the chase. “You gotta be more careful, man.”
Peter raises his brows and parts his lips. “More careful with what?"
“More careful with fighting bad guys and saving Queens,” Flash says as he sits down next to the bed. “You act like everything is fine at school or whatever, but you gotta be more careful. You can’t fall off buildings and get shot at then makeup shit excuses at school.”
“What are you talking about?”
Flash chuckles, “I know. You’re Spiderman. And you gotta be careful. Or else you’re gonna fall and you won’t stand back up.”
“I’m not-”
“No use in lying, Parker.” Flash looked at the TV then back at Peter. “Just be more careful. Take better care of yourself. You’re not even seventeen and you’ve almost died as many times as Ironman.”
“Why do you care?” Peter spat out. “It’s not like we’re friends.”
“I know,” Flash nodded. “But I don’t hate you. I don’t want you to die. God, what type of person do you think I am?”
Peter was silent.
“Plus, you’re a good person. A hell of a lot better person than I am. You have a whole life. A cool aunt, an almost boyfriend, which by the way, just date," Flash pauses. Speaks, "you shouldn’t be dead by the time you’re twenty.”
Peter just stared.
Flash stood up and shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Stay good, Peter. Stay good.”
Flash walked to the door as Peter spoke, “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever called me Peter.”
Flash turned around and shrugged. “You’re a nine, by the way. Just like Stark.”