the spider whisperer

Flash [chapter 39]

It happened sometime between y/n leaving up the stairs and Peter's guard dropping. He'd assumed that there would be a momentary stale mate because King Pin had lost the only two people he'd brought with him. There weren't any signs of a gun on him, nor were there any signs of King Pin wanting to get aggressive anytime in the near future. But the flaw in Peter's planning was that he wasn't expecting the unexpected.

Which he'd gotten accustomed to doing throughout his time as Spider-man.

Someway, somehow, King Pin managed to conceal a gun from the young hero. A weapon. A whole ass weapon. Something Spider-man had grow accustom to smelling out without even the use of his Spidey Sense.

So when King Pin pulled it out so incredibly quickly that Spider-man didn't even have more than a second to widen his eyes in horror at his mistake, you can imagine the shock it bestowed upon Flash and Peter. It's not impossible to imagine the way Peter tried his hardest to scramble and aim his hand so he could shoot a web the would accurately disarm his foe. It's not impossible to imagine Flash's flight or fight responses kicking in. It's not impossible to imagine Flash pushing Peter out of the way right when King Pin pulled the trigger.

It's not impossible to imagine the bullet narrowly missing Peter, and instead hitting Flash right in his stomach.

"Oh, shit," Flash mumbled with widened eyes as he stared blankly ahead of himself. Then he collapsed against a wall, his hand flying to cover the entrance area of his wound.

Everything in Peter's world stilled. He stared at Flash in shock, appalled that he was foolish enough to let his guard drop and make a window where it was even a possibility that Flash would have a chance to save Spider-man. That wasn't how it worked. Spider-man saved the people. Never the other way around.

In the time Peter just stood still, King Pin fled. He went down the stairs to get safely away from Spider-man and have the opportunity to regroup with his lackeys elsewhere.

Suddenly the weight of what had happened hit Peter like a bullet train. "Flash?" he stared in horror. He dropped down to the floor next to his companion. Peter took his mask off in distress, "Flash!"

"Shut it, dick head," Flash rasped out. A small cough followed, blood coming out with it. "You're being too loud."

"Flash you're— you're fine. Everything's gonna be a-okay," Peter spoke. He was trying to convince himself of that more than he was trying to convince Flash of his words. His eyes trailed away from Flash's face and towards the wound he was covering. Carefully, Peter moved Flash's hands to see where exactly the bullet ended up. His hands shook when he saw the amount of blood oozing out. "Shit," he cursed under his breath. "FUCK!"

Initially, Flash couldn't even tell how bad it was. He knew that it hurt like hell and that it would certainly need medical attention soon, but he didn't know just how soon that'd be. However, judging by Peter's reaction, Flash knew it was worse than he probably imagined.

Flash knew right then and there that he would not be living when he left that building.

That was only solidified when everything started getting hazy. It was hard for him to see, and his hearing felt like it was slowly slipping away. "Peter?"

Flash put his hands over Peter's as they recovered the hole to seal away the blood. He could still feel it seeping through his suit though. Tears welled in Peter's eyes. He had a bad feeling this wasn't going to end good, but he was still hoping. Peter was a superhero after all: superheroes always had good endings. Right?

"Yes, yeah, it's me," Peter forced himself to talk. "I'm right here. Y/n's probably almost done with those guys. She'll be here soon. I know she will. She's gonna come down those stairs any minute and fix you up. You'll be alright, okay, Flash? Everything's fine."

"Peter..." tears were now also in Flash's eyes.

Said boy didn't want to hear it though. "You're fine. You're gonna live— you have to live. You've always been by y/n and I to protect us when we truly needed it. We need you!"

"Peter, we both knew I was putting myself in danger when I decided to not only keep your secret, but also help you," Flash chose to talk anyways. It was almost impossible to understand him with how quiet his voice was coming out as well as the shakiness within it. "None of this is your fault, okay? Please remember that you can not save everyone, Peter." He paused to catch his breath. It was getting hard to even talk. "But please, never stop trying your absolute hardest to do so."

"No, no, no, Flash," Peter was on the verge of breaking down. "You gotta stop talking like that. Please. I'm begging you. You're making it out of this stupid hell hole."

But Flash continued. He was not done with his final words just yet. "Peter Parker, with great power also comes great responsibility."

"You're just sounding crazy now, but that's nothing new," Peter tried to joke. He let out and airy half-chuckle. Flash didn't give a verbal response. Not at all. Instead, he went limp in Peter's arms.

Peter stopped breathing for just a moment. "F-Flash?" he almost sounded confused over the whole thing. Because why was he having to deal with the death of another person who brought value to his life? And why it suddenly feel like he was the one the world was against when he was giving his all to save it?

In the end, he gave up on questioning it. He would never get the answers. What he did know was the Flash was dead and he could've done more to have prevented that from happening. But he didn't, and now, all because of his failures as a hero, Flash was dead.

He sobbed silently. His whole body shook with each silent, but extremely violent, cry that went throughout his body. "Flash, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he wailed. His hands left the wound and instead went up to cup his lifeless cheeks. Peter bent down and leaned his forehead against Flash's. His tears streaked down Flash's cheeks as he continued to cry. "Please forgive me. It's all my fault; I failed you. I'm sorry, Flash..."

In an instant, Peter was five years old again. He was back in the funeral home, holding Aunt May's hand as she wept beside him. At the time, he didn't understand importance of what was going on. His uncle was just resting in a weird box, so why was his aunt so sad?

This time though, Peter understood. He knew the permanence of what this meant. He knew that he'd never get to go to the arcade with Flash again. He would never get to make stupid bets over even stupider things that would have no value in a week. He would never again be able to have pointless arguments with Flash for the sole reason that one of the people he had admired the most for the longest time was actually talking to him.

The girl came downstairs a minute later. Peter heard her, but he didn't look up. He couldn't. Because she would take one look at him and know that everything that happened when she was gone was all his fault and that he was a failure of a hero.

At first, she didn't quite understand what was going on. But then she realized Peter was crying over Flash, and she saw the blood that had spread over the stairwell. Putting two and two together, she came to the only possible conclusion. However, she didn't want to believe it. That couldn't have happened. There was no way Peter would've allowed it to.

"Parker," she almost whispered. She crouched down next to him. "Parker, what happened to Thompson?"

"I failed," Peter whispered. He'd stopped crying because he realized that right then wasn't the time. He needed to leave that place. "There's nothing more to it." Peter shoved his mask over his head as he backed away to hide his tear stained cheeks and puffy, red eyes. Then he grabbed his only partner's wrist and started leading her down the stairs. "Let's leave."