Shmd

Hi, and thank you for paying a look at my latest idea.

Be kind to each other and do not bother me or the reader about things that you have been already warned about, like the tags of the story.

The TG theme will start strong at the beginning due to our heroine's situation, but it'll settle to something less heavy handed in just a few chapters.

This is neither a tragedy nor a drama, after all.

I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I had fun writing it and coming up with the idea.

With love, Sh'.

PS : There's mention of past child abuse in this chapter, you've been warned.

 

Prologue : Wakey wakey

 

Waking up to the smells of antiseptics and the particular itch of poorly made bed sheets isn't properly conductive to welcome the day in a good mood. Add onto that the fact that I was extremely confident that I had recently left my crumbling body behind, and you can safely assume that I was confused as all hell.

 

I mean, I felt myself go away. Terminal stage brain cancer does not really mess around. Yes, you can tell me 'You probably were hallucinating', but no, hell no, I know what I just experienced.

 

I died.

 

But for some reason I'm alive again?

 

I try to clear up both my mind and my eyes at the same time in what is shaping itself to be an uphill battle when a squeal, then a -relatively- bear crushing hug interrupts me.

 

"You're awake!"

 

The weight on my chest is a person, apparently an adolescent girl, at least I assume from the limited skin contact, voice and voluminous hair that attempts to viciously smother me.

 

I attempt to speak, but a coughing fit stops me.

 

"Oh, you must be thirsty! Lemme fetch you a glass of water."

 

Still bleary eyed, and not totally right there, I finally have a decent look at my casual offender. Voluminous chestnut hair, brown eyes, pouty lips, relatively tall, kind of prim-and-proper fashion wear if you were stuck in the early 2000. I admit, she's fetching, but I don't remember ever meeting her for the life of me.

 

"There."

 

I accept gracefully the glass of water given with a smile, and attempt not to drown myself while swallowing by massaging my throat. It itches like a bitch and I have that really awkward feeling of having my whole windpipe scrapped raw with some sandpaper.

 

After another coughing fit, less hurtful this time, and once I have put the empty glass on the standard bed table that you find in every hospital under the sun, I attempt a smile at the unknown person in the room.

 

"Thank..." I start, just to stop myself.

 

I'm fairly confident that my eyes are bulging out at this point.

 

In panic, I pay a closer look at my hands and arms. Big, hairy, the both of them, bulging with muscles.

 

Oh, no.

 

I press my legs together, feeling a bulge.

 

Oh for fuck sake, please, no!

 

"That's OK, Flash, that's the least I can do! You gave us quite a scare!" She continues, oblivious to my growing panic.

 

"I..." My voice is rough, grave, with still a little tremor in it that tells me that puberty wasn't really far behind.

 

Oh come on, not this shit again!

 

"You were unconscious for three days! Three days! I told you that I was scared before the match, but you just laughed, and now look at you!" She says with a scowl.

 

"I'm sorry," I start, steeling myself, hating where all of this is going already, "But who are you, miss?" I finally ask, not quite pleading, but close enough.

 

My question left her floored, and she look at me with big eyes.

 

"You...", She begin, taking a deep breath to center herself before continuing, "You don't remember me?"

 

Her voice got a little shaky at the end, and I hate myself for what I have to tell her.

 

"I'm sorry, miss, but I don't remember anything."

 

I WANT TO FUCKING SCREAM ALREADY!

 

"But, I'm your girlfriend! Liz Allan!" she exclaims while her tear duct starts to get proper stimulation.

 

My thought process halts itself. Flash. Liz Allan.

 

"What's my surname miss?" I ask, dreading the answer already.

 

"Thompson," she mumbles under her breath, trying her hardest not to let her tears fall.

 

I hyperventilate and feel myself lose consciousness, accompanied by shouts for a nurse to come quickly after that.

 

***

 

I managed to get Liz' to leave me alone after some quick additional explanations from her, once I woke up, again. After she got over the fact that I was suffering from total amnesia, allegedly, things got a bit easier.

 

I'm definitely not in the world I left anymore. I'll need to check the recent news to have a better idea of what I'm dealing with, but I'm fairly confident all of the shit I'm in the middle of is Marvel based. Which earth? No effing clue, hence the need to turn the TV on once I'll have finished freaking over the fact that, for some reason, and it's a really sick joke, I got transmigrated into Eugene "Flash" Thompson's body.

 

Two different universes, two times I get screwed over at 'birth'. Fuck me with some gravel and broken glass.

 

And I couldn't at least take the body of someone interesting, like "Miss Marvel" Carol Danvers, or "Iron man" Tony Stark, noooo.

 

No one would have given two shit if I was rich like him and wanted to swap gender. Hell, I could've even fixed a machine for it and spread it worldwide for shit and giggles and the hope of my brothers and sisters.

 

I had to hijack the body of a petty self-centered loser who got brained by the runner of the other team, go them, because he got too cocky during an exhibit. Yeah, my luck in one volume, come and buy to help a poor lady.

 

Taking a deep breath, I start to evaluate the pros and cons of the situation at large.

 

Pros : a new gig at life, yeah? I mean, this body is supposed to be sixteen, if I play my cards right, I can build something great, and cozy, for myself. I will probably have to study like my life depends on it, because it's the case, and I don't think that the basic jocks that he was really went further than the "My sport grade will carry me, no probs'" approach. And I'll be fucking dead before I put one foot on the field. Except for running occasionally, I hate sports with a passion.

 

Cons : I'M IN FUCKING MARVEL! THANOS! GALACTUS! CELESTIALS! BEYONDERS! AND I GOT SCREWED WITH MY BODY, AGAIN!

 

I know I'm laying it thick about that, but come the fuck on, after one coming out, a hormonal therapy, voice training, a battery of traumatizing operations and all of that, I have to do the whole thing again? With, if I remember right, an obnoxious and overbearing alcoholic father for the re-run?

 

It hasn't even begun and I'm already done with this shit.

 

***

 

My admiration of the doom-tube at least got me some light on my situation. The year is 2006, the internet is booming, thanks to that because I would be the avatar of sadness without Wikipedia and YouTube. Cellphones are a thing, smartphones are not, if I remember correctly, the iPhone will be released next year. Time to save some money because I don’t know how to live without something close to it, even if I despise Apple’s economic model. 

 

Tony Stark isn’t Iron Man ‘yet’. I don’t exactly remember when he’s supposed to step up his game, but it should be before the 2010’s. That’s actually a good thing because it means I can prepare for the worst of the future shitshow somehow.

 

So, at first glance, my life is now MCU-ish, which both reassures me and not. I do not think I'm lucky enough for the time-line to go as I know it should, I'm expecting some pear-shaped variations real quick to be thrown in my way. I know at least two person that are supposedly in my school, Midtown High, that have a cosmic significance and are pulled in trouble like fucking magnet.

 

Jessica Jones, aka Jewel, and, obviously, Peter Parker, aka Spooderman.

 

See, in the Marvel Multiverse, you can have all the variations you want like "Nazis wons the WW2", but the same people will inherit the same power in more-or-less the same way in each universe, with some variations at some point.

 

For example, if Jones is orphaned due to a car accident, I would bet my arm that she's or will be the Jewel of this earth. And promptly mind-rapped by the Purple Man at some point in the future.

 

Maybe I should do something about that.

 

And if Parker goes all starry-eyed into Oscorp for their open tour day, I know that he'll get spooderpower, lose his uncle because he is a petty teenager, and become a chronically depressed photographer stuck in a dead-end job.

 

Might do something about that too, but it's significantly harder.

 

From what I know, I'm supposed to be his, now ex, bully, so I don't really expect him to give me the light of the day. I'll have to pay attention to the day of the open tour at the Green Goblin Tower.

 

There also might be Cindy Moon, locked up for X years after she got roughly the same powerkit as dear Pete, Gwen Stacy who shouldn't get close to Parker with a ten foot stick if she values her future life, and Mary-Jane Watson the eternally kidnapped/ransomed/endangered. Oh, and the Osborn’s son, of course, but fuck him, the guy is a prick.

 

All importants folks in the grand scheme of things, especially the spider ones. The ties to the Underweb make them necessary to exist on the cosmic scale, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you for which reasons because it’s probably far-fetched and convoluted.

 

Life is going to be all kittens and rainbows for little ol' me, I tell you that.

 

***

 

A knock on the door successfully interrupts my, justified, brooding over my newfound situation.

 

“Yes ?” I ask tentatively.

 

God, this voice raises my hackles so much.

 

The door opens to let a teenage girl and two adults enter the room.

 

The teenage girl looks like she is 12-13 years old. She has blond hair, the same shade as me, green eyes, and little chubby cheeks. She is quite short, like 5’ if I should guess. She looks at me with big teary eyes, so I guess she was worried about ‘me’.

 

Looks like my ‘sister’ alright.

 

Behind her, holding her by the shoulders, is a blond woman starting to get gray with a severe look, who tries really hard not to show that she was probably scared shitless by my three days long coma. She shares her eyes with her daughter. Her lips quiver with emotions.

 

On her side, a man with ash blond hair and blue eyes, guess I know where mines come from, is scowling. He is tall, at least a good 6’1, looks positively thin and sickly, pin-pointing that, yes, the bottle is one of his dearest friends to me, and my survival doesn’t really seem to enjoy him that much. The fact that he still wears his uniform clue me in that he probably just got off the job and wasn’t planning to pick me up, but to have an impromptu visit at the bar instead.

 

“Finally awake, what took you so long ?” He barks at me in the guise of a greeting.

 

“Harrison !” Scowls my ‘mother’ at him with a gaze that promises retribution.

 

“Brother !” Yell-shouts the little human-shaped missile that mother accidentally released while berating ‘father’.

 

I’m promptly tackled-hugged by my newfound sister, Jessica “Jessie” Thompson if I remember all the prattle my supposed girlfriend told me correctly. It makes me wheeze in pain.

I slowly put my arms around the sobbing bundle of cuteness who tries her best impression of a koala and gently pat her hair. I sigh.

 

Time to rip-up the bandaid.

 

“Sorry if this is abrupt, but did the doctor told you ?” I start.

 

“Told us what ?” Asks imperiously ‘father’ while making no excuses on his previous comment.

 

Guess that the guy’s indeed an ass. Yeah me.

 

I sigh.

 

“I have only the faintest idea of who you are. The concussion I had apparently gave me a really hard case of amnesia,” I pause, noting three astonished looks on me, “I do not remember a single thing before I woke up. Nothing at all.”

 

“By God…” ‘mother’, Rose “Rosie” Thompson, start.

 

Don’t, if God exists, I seriously want to punch him in the face right about now.

 

Anger starts to distort Harrison’s face.

 

“If this is another way to laze around at home…”

 

“That would be great, but no,” I quipp back, not in the mood to let him get some steam, “I had no clue who my supposed girlfriend, who was waiting at my bedside by the way, was, no idea of the date, nor in which town I was.”

 

I shrug.

 

“Total blank slate. I know how to read, count, talk obviously, but besides that, nothing at all,” I explain.

 

Which is a big fat lie by omission, but let’s go with that for now.

 

You could hear a pin drop. Jessie’s wide eyed, Rosie’s about to faint, and Harrison looks like he swallowed an extremely sour lemon.

 

“So, yeah, nice to meet you ?”

 

***

 

The docs’ still kept me in observation for two more days before allowing me to leave their ward, but nothing changed and they were kind of desperate about it.

 

Not that it will, but let them hope.

 

Jessie’s day at school just ended and I had the pleasure to have both her and Rosie come to pick me up to drive me to home, because they cared and I would’ve been fucking lost otherwise.

 

I had been twiddling my thumbs for the better part of the afternoon and was kind of in a foul mood. Nothing strange so far, that seems to be my new standard.

 

I had the distinct honor of another visit of my ‘jocks friends’, raucous laughter included, accompanied by their girlfriends and Liz’ yesterday.

It has been enlightening.

 

You’ll have to understand, I died at 42. My patience for High School drama and traditional teenage bullshit is very low. And I had to suffer through a whole crash course about ‘who was in’, ‘who was out’, ‘who slept with whom’ and, my favorite, ‘football one-o-one because we totally will kick ass at the national’.

 

The worst part ? I had to pay attention because it allowed me to learn a few tidbits about this reality.

 

And I’m happy to say that the whole gang's here. Not.

 

Parker ? Check. Still a loner and an egghead, not ‘in’ at all.

 

Gwendolyn ? Check. The smartest of the school by a landslide. 

 

The Osborn prick ? Check. Really ‘in’ by the way, blurgh. 

 

Cindy Moon ? Check. Star of the feminine hockey team, you learn something every day.

 

Jessica Jones ? Check. Loner, real cozy with Parker but the guy has some titanium based blinders.

 

At that point, I just wanted to hit something, because I knew I was going to be in the middle of a shitstorm in the brewing, something fierce.

 

Granted, my new situation pisses me off so much that if I was not angry at it, I would be a crying mess. So, for the moment, let’s stay angry and focused. I’ll go zen and focused when I have some ideas of what the fuck I’m supposed to do.

 

I was busy making non-committal noises of agreement, interlocked with ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at the proper times, about Jessie telling me about her school day and life in general when we finally pulled in the alley of a nondescript, non-special, house in Forest Hills.

 

Rosie was still quite shocked that I forgot who she was, but Jessie didn’t care and busied herself at bringing me up to speed with how much of a super sister she was. I’m pretty sure she was lying her teeth off at some points, but she was kind of endearing and I was finding myself quickly having a soft spot for her. Rosie and her came by each evening at the hospital and the both of them grew on me at least a bit.

 

Harrison ? Fuck the guy, honestly. He ranted for half an hour the first day that I was to blame for the situation and never showed afterwards.

 

Once we got out of the car, I earned the ‘privilege’, her words, not mine, of a guided tour of the house by the bundle of cuteness. Which, admittedly, didn’t take that long, and I found myself in ‘my room’.

 

And the cringe is real. I sure hope Flash did not invite the poor Liz’ in this embarrassment of a man-cave.

 

I mean, I can forgive the sports trophies, but the pin-up posters ? Really ? Way to make a girl self-conscious and kill the mood.

 

I arm myself with all the courage I can gather and start to clean up the mess. It’s going to take me a while.

 

***

 

“Eugene, dinner's ready !”

 

Rosie’s voice startled me in my contemplations. I just found Flash’s CD’s collection, and the guy had at least good taste musically speaking. No one who got Adrenaline from Deftones in their collection can be an irredeemable ass in my book.

 

I can’t help but chuckle that he also has In the zone from Britney. A gift maybe ?

 

I’ll listen to Toxic once I’ve eaten. Just for the hell of it.

 

“Comin’.”

 

I go downstairs at a measured pace, not wanting to fall off the unknown stairs in a hurry, that would be stupid.

 

And I find myself face to face with a scowling Harrison.

 

“What were you doing ?” He asks, stepping into my personal space.

 

Great, the guy reek of cheap booze. I can’t help but frown.

 

“Some cleaning,” I answer noncommittally, side-stepping his one-man blockade.

 

And I promptly stop due to the arm he slams to the wall to block my way.

 

“Answer the damn question,” he lowkey growls at me.

 

I slowly blink at him. My favorite way of conveying condescension, never stop to amaze.

 

“I just did. I cleaned up my room. I couldn’t handle my past shitty tastes anymore. I mean, come on, playboy posters ?”

 

The slap came, and I didn’t see it coming. Jessie yelp, Rossie gasp.

 

I look at him, my hands swiping my mouth. Some blood on it.

 

“I gave you those for your last birthday,” he spit at me, “Don’t fucking throw your fucking present away or so I swear…”

 

I narrow my eyes.

 

“Ok.”

 

“What ?”

 

This time, that’s him that didn’t see the punch coming. Combined by my feet behind his own, he falls like the piece of shit he is. I may hate the idea of being a boy again, but bless the fact that Flashy at least had some muscles.

 

Another set of exclamations from the dinner table, I do not care. I pin him down with my feet on his ribcage.

 

“Now listen old man…” I start.

 

“Unhand me,” he yowls, foaming at the mouth and still groggy from the uppercut.

 

“Eugene!” Rosie yells, starting to get up.

 

“Stay out of this,” my voice is cold, way calmer than it should be.

 

I’ve been seething for three days and the guy tried this shit on me ? No fucking way.

 

I step harder, his struggle weakens. If he had two functional brain cells he would punch me in the balls but the guy is too far gone in the bottle for it.

 

“You raise your hand against me one more time, and I’m filing a complaint at the nearest precinct in the hour. You do the same to Jessie, it’ll be even faster, and I will have beaten you to an inch of your life beforehand.” I explain slowly, like I’m talking to a particularly dim child.

 

I inch closer to his face, bending forward, eyes fixed on his own.

 

“Do we have an understanding ?” I ask, my voice sickly sweet and my smile grim.

 

“You owe me respect !” he sputter.

 

“I don’t owe you shit,” I growl, “I don’t know you, besides the extremely poor impression you made of yourself in less than an hour in two meetings combined. You may be a good cop, but you showed yourself to be a shitty husband and an all-around shitty person to someone who’s a pure stranger. That’s how I see you right now.”

 

He tries to talk, but I step harder again. He’s wheezing again.

 

“So I’d suggest you try really hard to change that. Take some holidays, a sabbatical, go to the AA, I do not care. But try, try your hardest or I swear I’ll bury your carrier even if I have to work my ass off to feed Jessie in your stead.”

 

I step back and start to walk up the stairs.

 

“We’re not done yet,” he yells, attempting to rise.

 

“No, we are,” I answer him as I look over my shoulder, “And next in line is your life as a cop if you make one more move.”

 

That particular piece of information finally reach his brains and the wide-eyed look of terror that blossom on his face suddendly is priceless.

 

I climb the stairs, take my wallet, my phone and an antiquated walkman, and go back in the entrance.

 

“Eugene,” Rosie starts, a severe and angry expression on her face as I’m putting on my shoes.

 

“I do not care for his excuses,” I answer coldly, looking at her above my shoulder. It’s awkward to talk to someone while half-bent.

 

She starts to talk back as I rise up. Beside her, Harrison looks ashen and haggard.

 

“You allowed this,” I bluntly tell her and that makes her clamp shut, “You could have put the stops, forced him to stop, you did not. Don’t tell me it’s the first time, there was the force of habits behind that move. You didn’t do shit. You should consider the fact that that is almost as bad as hitting your children yourself before opening your mouth again.”

 

I pause, her mouth flaps open and shut a few times but nothing comes out.

 

Let’s be the bigger person, those folks are almost as old as past me.

 

I sigh.

 

“Jessie, come here,” I ask kindly.

 

The poor thing is still sort of in shock. She slowly bobs her head, rises from her seat and comes beside me. I put an arm around her shoulder and pat her a few times.

 

“We’re going to the dinner, you and I, ok ?” I tell her while smiling.

 

She nod.

 

“Eugene…” Rosie tries. She’s beside herself and doesn't know what to say. Harrison is still shocked that I kicked his ass that hard.

 

“We are going to give you some space to have the conversation that you should’ve had ages ago,” I bluntly cut her, “I’m not afraid of him,” I continue, gesturing in Harrison’s direction, “And I won’t let myself get stepped on like a doormat. Remember, if he tries that with the munchkin next to me, I won’t pull any stops.”

 

I gently pull Jessie with me and we walk outside, shutting the door behind us.

 

We walk for a bit in an awkward silence. The air is a tad humid, the comfortable heat of an autumnal night weight gently on our shoulders. Around us, the Queens is alive, people mingle and live their lives.

 

Once my temper has cooled off, I stop and look at Jessie in her eyes.

 

“I’m sorry munchkin,” I start, searching for words for a bit, “I know that we were supposed to have a good time together now that I’m out of the hospital.”

 

She looks at me with her big, green eyes. Her lips quiver.

 

“I know that it’s hard to understand, but I’m in the middle of a situation where, frankly, I’m kinda lost,” I scratch my head, “You tried your hardest making me part of the family again, and me and Harrison had to ruin it. I mean, the guy’s to blame, but I could’ve handled it better.”

 

I bend to look at her in her eyes, putting myself at her level. I reach with my hands and gently put them on her shoulders.

 

“You must have been so scared,” I sooth her, and I know that my voice, that irking rough voice, has a tinge of sadness in it.

 

She wordlessly nod.

 

“But you know what, that’s ok,” I start with a conviction that I don't really feel, but try my hardest to sell, “All that happened before ? The yells, the drinking and the sadness ? It won’t happen again, not on my watch, not as long as I’m here. You should work hard at school…”

 

She scowls and I have to suppress a smirk. I have a little trouble maker on my hands.

 

“Yes you should,” I insist pointedly, “and have fun while doing it, making friends and simply being a teenager, not feeling scared at the idea of going home.”

 

She clamps, and I know that she was. I had to take a deep yet shaky breath to get my anger at this situation under control.

 

“I swear to you that I’ll make it so, ok ?”

 

She nods and I hear a little “Ok.” escaping her lips.

 

“Great,” I pat her on the head with a smile, rise up and take her hand in mine.

 

We start walking again in a companionable silence.

 

“Flash ?” yeah, shocking, but she calls me like my ‘friends’ and ‘girlfriend’ does. Not that I particularly care, both my inherited name and nickname irks me in equal manner.

 

She doesn’t know and I’m not petty enough to blame her.

 

“Yes munchkin ?” I quipp, a smile ghosting on my face.

 

She scowls, looks like she doesn’t like the pet name, but I find it funny so I’m not about to stop. I never grew up with a sibling in my past life so I have a whole lot of mischief to catch up to.

 

“Thank you,” she says, stepping a little closer to me, eyes downcast.

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

We continue for a bit, letting the noises and colors of the nightlife of the city wash over us.

 

“Say Jessie ?”

 

“Yes ?”

 

“Where is the nearest dinner, exactly ?” I ask sheepishly.

 

***

 

It’s Monday 13th of November, and I finally step into Midtown High proper. And it’s kind of a letdown ?

 

I mean, there’s so much shits brewing here that you would expect it to be grander, majestic, but, really, it’s just a random high school in New York and nothing else. The parking isn’t even that huge from what I’ve seen. It’s going to be a chore to park my car once Rosie finally lets me drive it again. I have to take her on a ride sometimes in the week before she gives me back my keys, which is totally reasonable in my opinion.

 

Daddy dearest has been on his best behavior so far this weekend. I guess our little ‘talk’ worked wonders, he’s now sort of flinching when he looks at me but I couldn’t care less. If fear is the only thing he understands, I’ll give him plenty. This complete one-eighty striked me as odd until I remembered that he also had been a victim of child abuse when he was younger. I must have triggered some pavlovian reflexes. I know that I should feel bad about it, but I honestly can’t be arsed. I’ll let him stew for a while before offering him my two-cents about all of that.

 

Jessie has been a gem. I even helped her do her homework, to everybody's surprise and her delight. The poor thing is struggling with basic math. She’s a surprisingly bubbly and kind child and I can firmly say that I love her to bits. I made her laugh her ass off when we ‘discovered’ that I ‘remembered perfectly Britney Spears’ songs!’ on the walk back home from the dinner, sharing an earbud on my walkman.

 

I’m interrupted in my wool gathering by an arm slipping under mine.

 

“Hey babe,” Liz’ Allan welcomes me, all smiles.

 

Guess she apparently decided to act like nothing wrong happened at all. I can probably blame it on youthful love. Despite my best judgment, I can’t help but arch an eyebrow at her display of public affection.

 

“Hello Liz’,” I answer conservatively.

 

“I figured you needed some help to get your bearings here,” she starts, rapid-fire mode, “Lemme show you where your locker is !”

 

“Much obliged,” I say as she pulls me enthusiastically into the hallway.

 

She prattle and make a whole conversation by herself as she goes. This situation is fucking awkward to me but I don’t really want to shatter her expectations this early.

 

First is her age. The girl is jailbait by a landslide for me and it’s making me a bit uncomfortable to see her act like that when I have nearly three times her age on the inside. Add to that the fact that we have vastly different priorities and interests, she’s kind of vain and vacuous from what I gathered so far, and I feel myself being lukewarm at best with her.

 

Second, the girl is as straight as an arrow, so even if the stars align and her personality shifts drastically, I do not see myself making a move on her once she gets a few more years under her belt.

 

She knows my locker code, lucky me, and proudly opens it for me once we reach it.

 

The cringe is real, once more. I feel the start of a headache rearing its ugly head.

 

I’m welcomed by, you guessed it, another pin-up poster inside of it.

 

I can’t help myself but groan audibly to express my frustration.

 

“Is something wrong ?” Liz’ asks, tilting her head.

 

I wordlessly rip the poster out.

 

“Not anymore, I guess,” I quipp back as I scrunch it.

 

She looks at me with surprise clearly written on her face before nodding.

 

“So,” I start, looking at my timetable, “Looks like I’m starting with French in the first period, could you show me the way Liz’ ?”

“Sure…”

 

The poor girl is kinda looking at me like I am a stranger. Guess that it finally got to her head that my ‘accident’ changed some things.

 

I sigh internally. I’ll have to have a serious talk with her once the fact that my ‘amnesia’ made me a different person ended up percolating in her mind.

 

I am not waiting for it.

 

***

 

I ended up making a few blunders that showed that things were wrong to my classmates in French. Like knowing the language for one, but I shouldn’t have been surprised that lil’ ol’ Flashy usually spent the class sleeping while I’ve been raised by a French mom myself.

 

I also did not spend my time roughhousing and making rude jokes with my ‘friends’ out loud, but have been a model student despite already knowing what the class was about.

 

I do not wear any different clothes and look just the same as previous Flashy to my displeasure, but the others can’t really stop looking at me like I'm an alien already.

 

No matters. Those children, because it is what they are, do not yet understand that High School is where you’re supposed to craft a future for yourself and taking it easy makes them lose their time and opportunities.

 

I cannot help but lightly shake my head when I see this.

 

The one who is the most surprised about it is probably Peter Parker himself. The guy is in my class and spent the majority of it googly eyed at me when I answered the teacher’s questions just fine and without sass.

 

When the bell rings, I cannot help but listen distractedly at the tattletales going on and on about ‘what is wrong with me ?’.

 

“I heard he was amnesic…” Starts random schmuck one.

 

“Must have been hit really hard for him to act like that.” Answers random schmuck two.

 

And multiples variations of it around the class.

 

Today is gonna be a long day.

 

***

 

Second period just ended. Math had been a slug. Not because I’ve been struggling but because I swear the teacher, whose name I already forgot, took it upon himself to make it as boring as possible. Luckily, what we learned today has been something I already knew. I took some time looking at my schoolbook and I should be able to cruise the subject due to my economic background.

 

Sadly, Midtown High is a science school. There’s a heavy emphasis on those classes and I’m going nearly blind there. No choice, I’ll have to study those. Maybe ask someone for some help once the whole school finally got the message that my ‘amnesia is making me turn over a new leaf’ ?

 

I’m interrupted in my planning by some jeering. I turn around.

 

Greeeaaattt.

 

Looks like two of my ‘friends’, Brian “Tiny” McKeever and Jason Ionello, took upon themselves to pick up my slack in my bullying of yet-to-be-spooderman.

 

I can’t help but groan at that. What is wrong with those guys ?

 

Tiny is of obvious irish descent, with brown eyes and strawberry blond hair and a rather portly face that immediately puts him in the sycophant classification in my mind. I do not have any doubt that with his rather chubby disposition, the only thing that makes him belong with the cool kids is his proficiency at boot licking. He is currently blocking Parker’s sole way out of his locker space now that Jason’s arm and height have barricaded the rest of it.

 

Jason is a tall-ish guy, half a head shorter than me but still a solid head taller than Peter, with black hair and brown eyes. He looks like he is all skin and nerves. He has a matte complexion which makes me think that he is from Italian descent, but I’m not really sure, never met his parents after all.

 

I sigh, and step up into the action.

 

“What’s happening there ?” I interrupt the not-so-subtle threats Jason is making.

 

“Why, nothing really important Flash,” he quipps, “I was just asking dear Pete if he could lend me some of his lunch money. I happened to have forgotten my wallet this morning, silly me.”

 

“Yes, you did,” nods vigorously Tiny.

 

Guess I wasn’t that far off the mark with that one.

 

I narrow my eyes.

 

“I see,” I answer, taking my wallet in my back pocket, reaching for a five dollar bill, “There.”

 

I forcibly take Jason’s hand, making him stumble, and put the bill in it.

 

“Happy ?” I ask archingly.

 

The guy looks at me like I’ve started tap-dancing in a rainbow tutu. I pat him on the shoulder patronizingly.

 

“You should have just told me if you had financial issues, there’s nothing wrong with reaching out to a friend, right ?”

 

Oh baby, a triple. I just showed to the whole crowd that I wasn’t keen on him harassing Parker, that I could put him in his place if I was so inclined, not that I would, and ridiculed him for his conduct and poor lying skills.

 

Forget a lemon, he looks like he swallowed the whole lemon tree, roots included.

 

“Yes, Flash…” he answers finally, struggling to keep his rising anger at bay.

 

“What is the magic word ?” I ask innocently.

 

He looks at me wide eyed, an attitude shared by the glorified doormat at his side. It tooks him a bit, but after some shifty eyes launched at the crowd that keeps getting bigger, he finally answers with a look someone who got his teeth pulled out could have.

 

“Thank you, Flash.”

 

At this point, he is seething with a barely concealed mix of rage and shame.

 

“You’re welcome Jason,” I answer with a sage-like nod and grandfatherly smile to really rub it in.

 

The two stooges get on their way, heads down, amids the jeers of the crowd. I can’t help but shake my head at that. Public opinion is a fickle bitch.

 

Mine will surely go down the drain relatively fast if I have to throw my weight around like that every five minutes.

 

Liz’ steps besides me, her eyes locked on the back of the two I just humiliated.

 

“Are you sure it was a good idea, Flash ?”

 

There’s some apprehension and hesitation in her voice. I look at her.

 

I see in her eyes that she’s afraid of tanking her reputation as the most popular girl in school by association with me if I continue to act like the loose cannon I just showed I could be.

 

I shrug.

 

“Seemed like the thing to do to me,” I answer her before making my way to the cafeteria.

 

Behind me, I can feel the weight of the look Parker is throwing my way, probably asking himself if he is dreaming and at what point he will wake up.

 

I ask myself the same thing every goddamn minute buddy.

 

***

 

“So, you’re amnesic ?”

 

I look above my shoulder at the unknown person asking me the one million dollar question.

 

I school my face but can’t really stop myself from making a double-take.

 

The newcomer is relatively tall for a girl, like 5’5, has shoulder length blond hair pulled back by a green hairband and blue eyes. She has a heart-shaped face, a button-up nose and pouty lips, but shows a genuinely curious expression. She’s also wearing all proper-like clothes, a light brown cardigan over a white blouse, an electric blue knee high skirt and black stockings into white mary-janes.

 

Gwendolyn Stacy just approached me by herself while I was eating in an awkward silence with Liz’.

 

“Yes, I am,” I answer her cautiously.

 

She’s also into my class, but was probably too busy being a proper student to be distracted by the oddness of the situation earlier that day.

 

She hmm at that, before asking “May I sit here ?”

 

“Knocks yourself out,” I half-shrug at her.

 

I don’t really know what to do about the girl right now and I’m honestly curious about what all of this is about.

 

“Have a nice meal,” she smiles at us and starts digging in.

 

“Thank you,” I nod to her.

 

A moment passes, but she quickly goes back to her impromptu interrogation.

 

“So, partial or total ?”

 

“Total, I’m afraid,” I answer while Liz’ squirm on her seat, probably upset that I’m giving the time of the day to the eggheadest egghead that ever eggheaded instead of her.

 

“Fascinating,” acknowledges Gwendolyn, “Those are extremely rare. What did you retain ?”

 

“The basics : speaking, apparently French is included, reading, writing, math up to a certain level, but otherwise, blank slate it is.”

 

The look of interest she’s giving me could melt an iceberg with its intensity.

 

“My turn,” I ask, “Why does it matter to you, pray tell ?”

 

I tried not to come too strong on that while letting her now that her answer will determine our future relationship.

 

“Well,” she starts, tugging some hairs behind her ear, “Forgive me if it was a bit rude. You should know that I have some heavy interest in science, and a medical case like yours, Flash, is possibly the most interesting thing that happened since school started.”

 

I cross both arms and legs, contemplating what she just said.

 

“So, you want to ‘study’ me ?” I ask, tilting my head.

 

She smiles at that, which is a pretty thing to see.

 

“More like I want to poke your mind to see how your amnesia influences you now,” she shamelessly confesses.

 

I let a chuckle escape at that, which made Liz’ bristle. I arch an eyebrow in her direction, no surprise, the girl is possessive.

 

The noises of the cafeteria wash over me as I contemplate what she just said. The sun is hitting through the windows on us, the heat becoming  barely comfortable.

 

“Tell you what,” I start, “I’ll let you ask how many questions you want for how much time you want as long as you help me with the science stuff.”

 

Gwendolyn hesitates, eyes shifting.

 

“That’s…”

 

“I’ll throw in French lessons to make it a more balanced deal,” I immediately counter-offer.

 

I’m not about to lose the support of one of the best students in the school to get higher grades in physics, chimy and biology.

 

She narrows her eyes.

 

“Are you sure you can deliver ?” she asks suspiciously.

 

“Sans aucuns problèmes, mon amie. Puis-je te considérer comme mon amie ? Je ne voudrais pas présumer.” I answer fluently, without any accents.

 

She blinks.

 

“Hey!” interrupts Liz’.

 

“Yes ?” I answer while facing her, arms still crossed.

 

“Why don't you ask me if I want French lessons too ?” she half-bristles, half-whines.

 

It’s my turn to blink. I didn’t see that one coming.

 

“I mean, you could totally join us if you want, I don’t think it would be an issue. Gwendolyn ?” I ask archingly the blond.

 

“Not at all,” she smoothly assures her.

 

“So that means that you agree, no backsies ?” I lightly tease her.

 

“I do, but you better listen to me when you ask for an explanation,” she mockingly threatens me.

 

“And I will,” I answer seriously.

 

I was extremely bad with science stuff, and it probably can only be worse in a Marvel Universe. Weird science and alien technology are a thing here.

 

“I have to ask though,” the blond start, “Why the sudden interest in your grades ?”

 

I consider her question for a beat, then shrug when I remind myself that it could be viewed as part of our deal where she gets to probe my mind in light of my ‘amnesia’.

 

“You’re wondering why my interests have shifted from sports to academics all of a sudden, right ?”

 

“That is correct,” she narrows her eyes in rapt attention.

 

“Well, that is because I don’t intend to play football anymore.” I answer nonplussed.

 

“WHAT ?” Liz’ shouts in an outburst.

 

I look at her, not really understanding where that came from.

 

“I mean,” I explain slowly, “I just came back from a five days’ trip to the hospital. The doctors told me that I was lucky to wake up at all. If the swelling had been one millimeter bigger, I was a goner. Do you really expect me to risk my health again for a sport that the current me has neither love nor passion considering what already happened ?”

 

“But…” she starts, looking ashen.

 

“I will tell coach Hendrikson about it this evening. I’m expecting it to go relatively badly, but it is totally out of the question for me to step one foot on the football field again as long as I’m still amnesic.” I say decisively.

 

No one needs to know that I’ll never ‘get better’ after all.

 

“That does make sense from your point of view, I suppose,” Gwendolyn testily agrees.

 

“I spent part of the week-end thinking about it,” I concede to her.

 

“But think about the season, and your friends in the team !” Liz’ says in panic.

 

Why does it matter so much to her ? Is it a status thing ?

 

“I won’t lie, I’m lukewarm about the sport itself since I watched the rediffusion of our previous match, and if my friends can’t understand that I just had a traumatic experience, then I used to be a poor judge of character.” I answer seriously.

 

Liz’ is googly eyed at that statement. Meanwhile, Gwendolyn looks like she just saw the most interesting show there is.

 

The day still isn’t over but I’m already exhausted beyond comparison.

 

***

 

Saturday 20th of january, Central park, Manhattan, 20:17.

 

It has been a bit over three months since I hijacked dear Flashy’s life.

 

He would be appalled by what I made of it, which I find hilarious.

 

Liz’ and I ‘broke up’ less than two weeks after I ‘got back’ to School. We are still friends, surprisingly. I actually managed to make her see reasons, and she understood that the accident changed me.

 

She saw it, after all. I can’t emulate Flash’s mannerisms because I do not know them and mine are distinctive and feminine-ish. My speech patterns are more elaborate than his, I’m calmer than he was, despite a lot of simmering anger at my situation, and I couldn’t handle his old posse. They distanced themselves from me relatively quickly once they understood that I wouldn’t play anymore in the football team and wont use my status as a star player to lord it over the school as Flashy used to do. 

 

Surprisingly, the Osborn prick still tries to be BFF with me since my grades keep getting higher and higher than his. I’m nearly tied with Parker at this point thanks to Gwen’s support and the unfair advantage that I have in nearly all subjects aside from physics, chimie, biology, and, surprisingly, history.

 

Yeah, the history here is a freak show compared to what I used to know. When supersoldiers roam around, it tends to overcomplicate things like WW2.

 

But let’s not blame the poor Captain for my inadequacies.

 

Needless to say that I’m not giving the light of the day to junior and keep dismissing him politely. It wouldn’t be wise to make an enemy of him.

 

But I’m having a serious problem right now.

 

The school trip to the Osborn Tower is next week, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do.

 

I know that I have my whole lot of issues : I’m still hellbent on trying to find a solution that doesn’t wreck the shaky boat that is my ‘family’ and still get my real gender back, but I do not think I’ll be able to starts HRT before being 18 and in college.

 

I went back to my old habits to keep the dark thoughts at bay, a lot of breathing exercises, meditations and laser-like focus on studies. It works, but it is just a bandaid for now. I also, woe is me, keep a healthy sports regimen.

 

I know, it’s a fucking pain in the ass and I loath myself for it, but I can’t really allow myself not to. My life is on the line considering the unwilling company I keep. So, being able to run for my life and carry some weight definitely sounds like a good idea to me considering the shitstorm that is about to be thrown at me.

 

Plus, I’m afraid that if I start getting ‘wimpier’ in daddy dearest’s presence he will go back to his old habits. I personally do not really care, but Jessie’s smile depends on him keeping himself in check. He actually took my advice and took two weeks off from work in October, the guy was strangely relaxed during it. At least as long as I didn’t threw a mean look at him.

 

He should quit the cops and open a private detective office. Taking pictures of cheating husbands pays as much as what he earns right now and would be a lot less stressful to him. I should probably suggest that to Rosie, she may make him see the light of the day.

 

Despite all of that, I still think that I should do something about next week’s situation.

 

Why would I do that ? Because Cindy Moon’s class is coming too and I do not want to risk her being locked away by Ezekiel Sims. Explaining to her what totems are is a good thing, but not being able to think outside the box to defeat Morlun is a big no-no in my book.

 

All that wool gathering about what to do had me take a trip to Central Park tonight. I thought that I needed to clear my head and I had never taken the time to see it by myself.

 

The air is crisp and cold. Amidst the tallest trees’ branches, the lights of Manhattan perks like timid ghosts of modernity. It smells of winter, of old trees withering under the frigid embrace of the season of their demise. The sound of my footsteps is my only companion as I wander, wearing as much clothes as humanly possible.

 

The cold is a bitch here, and I always hated it.

 

As I raise my eyes in frustration because I find no logical approach nor plan that could prevent the disasters to come, I see it.

 

A point of light amidst the stars that keep getting bigger by the seconds.

 

My brain halts, my body promptly follows suit like the well-dressed dog it is.

 

I keep looking at the point of light. I keep denying it in my mind, but it looks like it will land here. In Manhattan, Central Park.

 

No way.

 

I see it in a flash. Just a tongue of flame licking its behind. Then a relatively soft booming sound betrays the size of the meteorite better than it should. It cannot be that big if the impact didn’t even make me stumble.

 

It didn’t land that far, less than a hundred yards.

 

No fucking way.

 

I’m sprinting in its direction before I can talk myself out of it. I take my cellphone to use as a makeshift flashlight to see better.

 

There it is, in all its glory, still smoldering from its entry in the atmosphere.

 

Well, yes way.

 

I was so engrossed by the cosmic significance of the others around me that I forgot one crucial detail.

 

I, or rather dear Flashy, have a cosmic significance too.

 

As the most stable host of the first Klyntar symbiote encountered by humans, Venom.

 

I stay still for a while, immobile, contemplating if I should take that gamble, until the stone finally cooled enough for some black goop to start leaking out of it.

 

With a shaky breath, I step closer to it.

 

I can tell that they are hurting, the stone is still too hot for them and they are not made to deal with heat that well.

 

Pulling my gloves off and my cellphone away, I kneel next to it.

 

Last chance to talk myself out of it.

 

Nah, fuck it.

 

I scoop some of it in my hands, they still. Less than a heartbeat later, the motion resumes, getting increasingly faster. They ooze and bubble out of the space rock, I feel them slither under my clothes, to get as much contact as they can with my skin.

 

They are warm, quite comfy even. They are snug against me and I would find the sensation fascinating if it didn’t remind me of some ‘issues’. No matter, they can help with that.

 

Soon enough, they have exited their vessel and I feel something in the back of my mind, something similar to it, yet alien.

 

As I rise up from my crouching position, I start one of my breathing exercises to stay as calm and centered as possible and slowly start to walk out of Central Park.

 

When I close my eyes, I can feel them peeking at my memories, at what I am, what I’m able to do, at what I know because I can’t really shield myself from it. It is too intimate and we are too young. And I wouldn’t do it anyway because it would hinder their trust in me.

 

For the first time since that fateful day, a genuine smile stretches on my face as the beginning of a life-plan emerges from the recess of my mind.

 

The connection is a two-way street, so I do the only logical thing in my mind as my walking speed gradually goes back to normal.

 

“Hello, you.”