Chapter Text
“Don’t look me in my eyes boy.”
There wasn’t anything Flash’s father hated more than his son looking him in the eye.
Mr. Thompson was a rabid animal.
One look could set him off.
Maybe it was because it reminded him that Flash was his son, maybe it was because before the alcohol, before the drugs, he’d caressed his head and told him he had his mother’s eyes.
Whatever the reason, Flash followed his father’s rules.
Even when he began fighting back.
He’d look at the spot right in between his eyes as he swung at his father’s temple hoping it would knock him out (it rarely did).
Today was one of those days.
Flash’s face was swollen under his mask. His skin already damp with sweat as he walked into the locker room of Benny’s.
An illegal boxing ring.
He could feel the bass of music through the floor and the muffled voice of Benny, announcing one of the matches.
Flash sighed. It felt good to be in an atmosphere where violence was welcomed. Enjoyed.
He reveled in it. In blood, in sweat, in victory. Where it didn’t mean a quiet home or worse; the sounds of labored breathing through deviated septum’s and acerbic smell of dried stomach acid on the kitchen floor from a punch to the stomach.
It meant ear splitting cheering. A raised fist.
Respect even love.
Even from the person you fought.
Flash swung his open duffle bag into the locker as he began to wrap his hands in bandages the color of deep ocean. It took more than usual with his knuckles already swollen.
It was then that the door he’d just entered from swung open. The metal door slamming into the concrete wall sounded like gunshot. Flash didn’t have time to turn around before he was slammed face first into a closed locker.
“Where’s my fucking money Flash?” The voice hissed low in his ear.
An illegal boxing ring which people betted on—which he got money from—that he had to give a portion of to Rick but Flash had his mothers medical bills to pay and wasn’t it technically his money?
Flash didn’t say that instead he mumbled, “I don’t have it.
Rick barked a laugh which made Flash’s ear ring.
“He doesn’t have it—“ a shove. “He doesn’t fuckin’ have it!” He spits.
“Well—maybe I shouldn’t have had the heart to stop you from splattering your fucking brains onto the side walk of 34th street.”
In only a second Flash has overpowered Ricks hold to face him, fist clenched.
“Shut the fuck up.” His mouth is dry.
Rick barely glances at Flash’s hands.
Flash wasn’t going to lay a hand on him.
They both knew it.
Rick sneered. Disgusted by the young man’s audacity.
“Win this match Flash,” he sticks a thick finger in his face.
“Or I’m paying your mom a visit.”
Immediately, at the mention of his mom, he relaxes his fists with not a small amount of effort.
“Understood?”
Flash bit his cheek till he tasted blood.
“Understood.”
With that Rick left, slamming the door behind him.
He collapsed onto the bench in front of his locker, Flash could barely breathe, could barely see his hands in front of him.
Rick was a man with many connections, one being King Pin himself. If he wanted to he could kill his mother with a phone call.
This was all his fault. Glory. Victory. Whatever it was he needed wasn’t worth his mother’s life and now he was paying the price all because he needed a way to blow off steam.
After he got off the roof he’d convinced himself to work for his mom if he was going to stay. Get a job and pay for his mom to live as comfortably as she could.
He wanted to laugh.
So much for that.
He wasn’t his mother’s savior.
Flash was selfish piece of garbage who put his needs before others.
Before his mother.
Just like his father.
Saliva pooled in his mouth.
Flash was going to throw up.
Suddenly the door swung open again.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“I said I fucking understood Rick, I—“
“Woah!” A voice sounded, that was definitely not Rick.
Flash flew to his feet and turned to the door.
A man stood in the doorway.
Not a man. A boy. About Flash’s age.
Flash could tell from the lack of hair on his calf’s which were bare as he wore blood red boxing shorts.
An almost halo of light formed around his head. He wore a red mask with white painted on eyes and black outlining it.
Webs were also painted in black on all the way to the top of his head. The only part of his face Flash could see was his chin and lips which curved slightly into a light smile.
“Not Rick but whoever he is, he sounds like an ass.”
Flash had never seen him before. But that wasn’t the only thing that told him he was new to the scene. The fact that he would say something about Rick to another’s competitor’s face made it clear this kid had no idea where he actually, truly was.
Or maybe he did. Maybe he was a test from Rick himself.
At some point the door had closed the boy had gotten closer to Flash. Only a few feet away now.
Subconsciously, he slid a foot slightly behind him.
“Hey! Aren’t you The Bolt?” The spider-boy took another step forward.
“Cause you’re lighting fast, right?”
He seemed amused.
Flash didn’t think anything was funny.
His quick step was impeccable.
His jabs were even faster.
“Not much of a talker, huh?” he frowned.
“Don’t really talk to people without a name.”
The boy’s frowned deepened. He basically pouted.
Flash almost laughed in his face. A test from Rick his ass. The guy barely came up to his shoulder.
He turned his back to him determining that he wasn’t much of a threat and began to pull his shoes on.
“I’d rather have no name than be called The Bolt, kinda corny don’t you think, even cringe if you consider how you punch slower than my aunt in her self defense class.”
The boy practically snorted.
It took only a blink before Flash had crossed the room and was only slightly inches from the other guy’s face.
“Did you come here to get your ass beat?”
Spider-boy smirked, “Nah, I just wanted to have a friendly conversation.”
He took a step forward, closing the gab between them so they were almost chest to chest.
“And get a nice look at my opponent.”
Opponent?
The door creaked open, a voice shouted over the music and roaring crowed.
“The Bolt and uh, The Human Spider, you’re up next.”
It shut.
Closing them in with almost complete silence save for the sounds of there breath.
The boy looked Flash up and down, catching Flash’s eyes through his mask and though he tried to look away he couldn’t.
“Real nice chatting with you,”
Flash could hear the grin in his voice as he pulled his mask over his face and strolled over to the door on the opposite side of the room where the ghost door led to the ring.
He opened it.
The sound of the crowed was more booing than cheering. But Flash saw the guy sit up straighter, his chin go higher.
Everyone welcome…the terrifying, the deadly, The Amazing Spider-Man!
“See you on the dance floor, Sparky.”
—-
$203.50…
$204.00..
$204.07
Flash had ran out of all the nickels, quarters and dimes he had a long time ago, the Penny’s he had found sifting through the couch.
He’d counted the amount of mother he’d have to pay for his mother’s funeral.
His mom was going to die.
Flash repeated the steps he took that night if he was faster in his jabs. Maybe if he hadn’t let…that boy get to him, if he hadn’t looked him in the eye maybe he would have won.
For a moment though, only a moment. He had felt true peace in the ring.
They were trading body blows. Flash was having the wind knocked out of him over and over again. But it felt like his lungs had been filled with more air than ever. He was almost delirious as he felt his hand connect with the cheek bone of his opponent and he grinned as blood pooled in his mouth and he spit it out.
Briefly he wished the match could last forever and in that wish was where his eyes had left the boys fists and feet and to his eyes.
It was over before he could finish a blink.
A punch to the temple.
K.O.
“You good dude?” Someone asked, maybe close, maybe far away.
Flash let his knuckles turn pale as he gripped his desk.
“Fine.”
—
As Flash leaned against his locker he spotted a tuff of brown hair in the crowd. The kinda hair that belonged to his ex-victim.
Peter Parker.
Flash caught a glimpse of a plum colored bruise just above his cheekbone.
They didn’t talk much after he jacked him up after Parker’s Uncle Ben died.
A head nod here. A homework answer there. It looked to him like Peter was in some shady stuff.
His Uncle Ben’s death had changed him. For better or for worse he didn’t know. All he knew was he didn’t let anyone walk all over him anymore, not even Flash.
He wanted to ask Peter, he’d seen more death of his loved one than Flash would ever see, would his mother’s death change him?
What was he even thinking?
Was he really going to sit back and let his mother die?
He couldn’t—he wouldn’t.
An idea came to him.
It wasn’t sure fire but it was the only chance he had.
Flash prayed for the first time in a long time and at lunch followed Peter Parker behind the bleachers.