Spooktober 14: Scars

⚠️tw: gruesome injury⚠️

a/n: a so-so sequel to "Teenage Dirtbag, Baby"

It was weird seeing Parker without Ned at his side. Especially in gym class, where they were notorious for teaming up in every activity, walking around the track together, doing their warm-ups together, sitting through the lessons together and talking about lame stuff that Flash didn't care about.

"Okay," Coach Wilson called out lamely, looking out at the class with his usual tired, glum expression. "I don't want to bring out the TV, you all basically know what we're doing. It's a new month, so we're doing the Fitness Challenge again to test your skills, or whatever."

He sighed heavily, shifting on his feet. "Any questions?"

The class stared.

"Great. Partner up." He blew the whistle around his neck. He wandered off to the far end of the gym as the students got up from the bleachers, dividing out into groups and getting into different sections of the gym.

Ned was absent today.

Flash was almost exasperated at the thought, embarrassed even, because he had caught himself thinking of Parker, the weird guy on the Decathlon team who was both the smartest and the flakiest.

Not to mention he was just kind of strange. Flash didn't think he could ever forget what happened last month, the weird tumble of events that left him lacking a Midtown sweatshirt and also getting an interview scheduled out for Stark Industries.

His harsh words had dwindled since then, because he was grateful, he was, but he had a reputation to maintain. Parker and him wouldn't ever be friends; it was just how the world worked for too long, and that wouldn't change all of the sudden, not over bandaged stitches or—

Peter crossed his path, and Flash finally looked at him. His eyes widened.

Peter looked... bad. Like, really bad. Like, he should probably be home at the least, maybe a hospital at most.

Dark circles under his eyes, his lower lip puffy and healing from what looked like a split, and there were pale splotches on his upper cheek and his chin, poorly smeared and standing out against his actual skin tone. If Flash knew any better, he'd say it almost looked like makeup.

Flash found himself walking over before he comprehended the action. Not quite walking next to him, but just lingering behind, watching with a morbid curiosity Peter walked alone (was he limping?) to where the rope-climb was.

His moral compass spun, and spun, and spun.

He should say something right? This was the kind of thing you're told to report to a counselor, or a teacher...

Flash flicked his eyes over to Coach Wilson, who looked essentially dead to the world and like he'd rather be doing anything but stand in the vicinity of high schoolers. Flash's lip curled downwards.

Mr. Harrington would care, he decided. He could easily just anonymously send him a note about it. Dust his hands off like nothing happened and he definitely hadn't intervened because he was worried about why Parker was severely injured twice in the span of two months—

Speaking of, Parker was next in line for the rope-climb now, as apparently quite a lot of time had passed in the time of Flash's internal crisis. He was pushed off to the side, hidden behind a group of students waiting to be next, which luckily gave him the perfect advantage to just watch.

Peter grabbed the rope easily, like he had done it a million times before. He had confidence— it didn't show on his face with any sort of determination, but rather in the way he wasn't thinking as swung his hand up in an anchored fashion.

Peter pulled himself up, not even wrapping his legs or feet around the bottom of the rope. His face curled up in pain, his nose scrunching up and his teeth going clenched. The few kids that had been talking to each other in front of Flash suddenly stopped, all of them now watching as the so-called "Puny Parker" was climbing with more upper body strength than anyone else in the class.

Because of the silence around him, Flash could hear him now, the quiet hisses he gave with every move he made. He reached another hand up, took hold of the rope: and again, not even the slightest shake in his arm, even though he was moving slow. Flash had never been more confused in his life.

A few people across the gym were glancing over now, watching as Peter kept climbing the rope with only his arms, slow pained move by pained move.

He had reached a little over halfway up when something caught Flash's attention.

The middle of his shirt, vibrant Midtown Techblue, had spots slowly growing on it. Just under the atom of their logo, a muddy crimson, bleeding through the fabric in the most literal sense of the word. Something caught in Flash's throat, stricken and petrified all at once.

(Peter stood shakily at the bathroom sink, his shirt pulled up, pressing a bloodied hand against his side. His jaw is set in a firm line. His face is blanched, but empty, assured. He didn't look fifteen.

He was looking at Flash with all the bland-irritation in the world as he explained his situation.

"Tore my stitches," he said. Flash had never met a high schooler with so many medical supplies in their backpack.)

A droplet of blood fell down from under his shirt, hitting the mat underneath him with a very dull plinking sound.

Flash tumbled forward in front of the line and brought his hand up to his mouth. He raised his voice. "Parker, you're getting a bloody nose from the rope-climb? What a loser!"

He hoped the other students didn't hear the shakiness in his voice. Nevertheless, it did the job he intended— it warned Parker of the conundrum he had created for himself.

Peter looked down at Flash in alarm, the only time that his arms actually wavered. He quickly brought a hand up to his nose and shielded it away from all the eyes that suddenly turned to him.

He managed to climb down the rope like that, making muffled noises of hurt on the way down. "Sorry," he said weakly. His eyebrows were curved with quiet agony. "I'm— I'll be back, I'll go take care of this."

He walked quickly across the gym, still holding his nose with one hand, holding his bleeding side with the other, and disappeared into the locker room.

"You should tell Coach to clean up the blood. I'm definitely not cleaning that up," Flash said, turning to the other students behind him. He tried to contort his face in disgust, but his heart was pounding in his chest from the increasing anxiety of Parker having a very obviously bad injury.

As soon as he had a minute to escape, Flash followed Parker into the locker room.

As soon as he stepped in and closed the door behind him, he felt his organs rearrange themselves. The faucet was running in the bathroom off to the side of the laundry room, but additional to the sound of running water, was the poorly-concealed sniffles and muffled half-sobs.

Flash tried to catch his breath. He could turn around. He could just leave. He didn't have to do anymore than what he'd already done. If he went any further into the locker room, he wouldn't be the only one embarrassed, Parker would be, too.

"Fuck," a frail cry through seethed teeth. Another pitiful noise, another half-sob, quickly cut off by a choked noise of what must have been Parker gasping for air. "Not now, please not now."

Somehow, that's what did it. Flash forced himself forward into the room, turning the corner into the bathroom.

Peter was sat in the corner of the shower, shirt off and pressed against his side in a bloody balled-up mess, first aid kit cracked open next to his lap. The wound on his stomach didn't look nearly as bad as the first one from a month ago, but it still was enough to warrant concern. His face was soaked with messy tears, of which had wiped away the makeup and left behind the clear imprint of healing knuckle-shaped bruises. 

He didn't look nearly as calm as the first time Flash found him like this.

"What happened?" Flash said dumbly, because he didn't know what else to say. He took several steps forward and crouched down, wincing when he saw the blood on Peter's hands. He pushed away the way it made him sick to look at.

"Nothing," Peter said, which was a ridiculous thing to say when his voice was shaking like a leaf. "I'm okay. Just go back to class."

"Come on," Flash said sourly, agitation coming from the panic. "Seriously? I'm not useless, you know. You just— You need to clean and bandage it, right? Like last time?"

Peter stuttered, another choked sob coming through his throat. He turned his head, hiding his face in his shoulder, and nodded quickly. His whole body was covered in goosebumps. He was trembling. Flash felt way out of his element.

"That's it?" Flash tried again, anxiety welling up again, making his lungs tight. "Nothing else, right?"

"No," Peter said weakly.

"Okay," Flash said, nodding aimlessly. He took a breath and stood up, scrambling around the bathroom. He ran to his locker, got a towel, some soap, and ran back. His mind was going fuzzy at the edges, running on an autopilot he didn't know he was capable of.

He blinked and he was washing his hands. He blinked and he was sitting at Peter's side with a bar of soap and his gym towel.

"Okay," Flash said again. "I got stuff for you to clean up the blood."

Peter took a shaky, measured breath. He set the bloody gym shirt to the side and gratefully took the towel, wiping away carefully at the blood lathered sticky around a stitched-up purplish cut.

"How—" Flash swallowed thickly. "How does this happen to you?"

Peter's eyes shot up at him, as if he had forgotten he was even there. He opened his mouth. He shut it.

"I know you have secrets or whatever, but seriously," Flash laughed nervously, all dry and crackly. "Are you in some kind of gang or something?"

Peter glared with little energy.

"And don't say it's fine," Flash said quickly. "Because it's really not. This is... This is really bad, Parker."

"I'm not in a gang," Peter said tightly. His head dipped down, clenching the towel in his hands. "Listen, I— I really— This was just— I freaked out, it was a panic attack. No big deal. I heal fast, okay? It's nothing to worry about."

Flash's eyes looked over to where the first wound had been. In its place, no sign of a stitch, but rather a thin silver scar, barely visible. He furrowed his eyebrows and then blinked as he looked over the entirety of Peter's chest as a whole, and his arms, and his legs—

Covered in the same thin, silvery scars. His gaze traveled up to Peter's shoulder. A starburst looking mark that stood out against the rest of his skin because of its slightly marred colour. A similar streak of the same tendency across his ribs. A weird dot-shaped scar grazed right under where a short-sleeve would cover.

He finally looked Peter in the face, and the boy wasn't even looking at him, but rather looking at the floor with his eyes shut tight, drawing in careful breaths through his nose and out through his mouth. He looked so stressed, so panicked.

Why?

"...Peter," Flash said after a moment, his eyebrows drawn in a moment of earnest worry.

Peter jerked his chin up. His cheeks still red, stained with tears. He looked defensive and frustrated all at once.

"I can't tell you," Peter blurted. "But I'm— I'm not in danger."

Flash considered this.

"I know," Flash said. He paused. "You're a lot stronger than you let people know about, don't you?"

Peter froze, looking at him with a careful expression, something very intense and too confusing for Flash to understand. He nodded cautiously.

"Whatever, though." Flash bit his tongue. He fiddled around with the hem of his shirt. His tone went sharp and he glared at Peter with annoyance. "Just... stop being dumb, getting yourself into trouble."

Peter nodded assuredly in agreement.

Flash huffed. "Alright, Parker. Let's bandage up your stupid gross horror movie wound before we both get detention for skipping."

Peter laughed dryly and scooted forward. "Ever thought about being a nurse?"

As Flash unraveled the bandage, he looked up with a curious expression, as if to say, obviously not.

Parker shrugged at him. "I dunno. You'd be good at it."

(And if he went looking at nursing schools when he got home, that was nobody's business but his own. He definitely wasn't letting a weirdo like Parker influence his future.)