Flash Thompson | Agent Venom (thevenomchoseme) wrote in the100, @ 2015-07-12 10:44:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, flash thompson / agent venom (616), flash thompson / agent venom (trn123) |
WHO: Flash Thompson & Flash Thompson
WHEN: July 12th
WHERE: the living room of Flash the Elder’s place
WHAT: Flash the Younger had a rough time of protecting the hunters and fishers and goes to Flash the Elder for advice (aka checking how worried he should be)
WARNINGS: Mentions of injuries and vague allusions to both of the Flash’s childhood history of abuse.
Today sucked. Ok, getting stuck in a weird world that was all forests and bunkers and shit sucked to start, but today sucked worse.
Flash hadn't thought the soldier thing would be that different than back home. At SHIELD Academy, the days were spent training, whether it was getting taught in a classroom or going through exercises and simulations. Well, when they weren't dealing with whatever threats popped up at that time. And, sure, there were tough times. Plenty of pep talks needed and close calls. Spidey almost biting the big one because he and Alex couldn't get their shit together had been a pretty eye opening moment. Plus older him had done this sort of thing before he even got the symbiote, so it should’ve been easy to do the reverse order, right?
Wrong. None of their SHIELD missions had been quite like this. Who would have thought that fighting random ass people with sharpened sticks would be harder and more gruesome than supervillains like Doc Ock.
The fight over and back in the mountain, all the what-ifs and should’ves played through his head. Should’ve paid more attention. Should’ve been more alert. Definitely probably shouldn’t’ve gone running after that grounder because they skewered the other soldier. Or run after them for that long.
Or been so focused on grabbing them that he didn’t notice the trap until he was halfway into it.
Things could’ve been worse. They could’ve been so much worse. If he didn’t have the symbiote, he’d still be in that pit, bleeding out. Or well… depending on where the spikes hit.... bleeding out might have been the least of his problems. But he had the symbiote and between the webbing, tendrils, and reflexes, the crash landing at the bottom of the spiked pit didn’t turn him into a total shish kebob.
Mostly.
His left side from his shoulder to his thigh felt like patches had met the wrong side of a horror movie. He hurt, but pain was nothing new to him. Or, ok, getting smacked around pain was nothing new. Stuck with sharp sticks? Yeah, that was new. And he wasn’t sure what to do about it. Medical, well, he was already having problems getting the symbiote to look more low key and not just in the Agent Venom get-up and even if they were all cool, places like that made him nervous. What he really wanted was to just crash in his bed and sleep for weeks. He felt a lot like after he got shocked. Yeah, another great decision moment for Flash Thompson there… But sleeping with unknown injuries? Yeah, that seemed like an even worse decision move.
So, slightly less bad idea. He took a deep breath before knocking on the door. At least his older self might have a better clue about all of this, right?
Mount Weather had a lot in common with the army. The accommodations were better but the rock face was all around them, making things seem more claustrophobic in nature. There were people of all stripes (and beyond) who had had to come together quickly. Say one thing for the place, there was a lot less hurry up and wait than the army. There was always something to be done here and everyone seemed to have their own pet project (plays, a digital library) as they tried to recreate some of the comforts of home.
There wasn't much in the living room but it was a quiet place, better than the Mess Hall or the Commons where people always gravitated to. Noh-Varr and Clara were probably out and about. Flash was going to be pretty useless if someone was looking for one of them.
"Door's open," he called out, then started to wheel himself in that direction.
Another deep breath and Flash pushed open the door. Only to halt in his tracks. He’d never get used to that image. Yeah, ok, the older Flash had gotten in the chair because he was a big ass hero long before the symbiote, but it was still kinda sorta him, older and a hell of a lot shorter.
And considering what had just happened earlier.... Well, maybe this hadn’t been the better of the bad ideas. For a second, he considered turning tail and settling on the sleep plan instead, even with all the possible bad things that might come along with it. The idea was really, really tempting. Except he was here. The door was open. Turning and running wouldn’t get him out of this and considering how well the older man knew him, he didn’t probably didn’t want to see what assumptions he’d jump to for the retreat.
So instead his shoulders slumped forward in defeat. “Busy?” he puffed out.
"No," the older Flash answered, "not really."
Important was a relative term around here but there were no pressing matters, at least none he was dealing with. If he looked hard enough, he could probably find something happening or it could have just walked through his front door. Why go looking for problems when he had plenty of his own.
It was weird looking at his younger self, talking to his younger self, and even more difficult to see him in that uniform. Flash still didn't know what he was doing on his best days and he couldn't just imagine how times the teenaged version of him had dropped the ball. It was frustrating beyond words.
Plus, he'd been a dick when he was younger and his other self hadn't quite grown out of that phase.
"You wanna sit down before you fall down?" he offered.
Flash raised his chin and puffed up in challenge to that ‘fall down’ comment. Which, again, wasn’t the smartest idea considering the twinge that went through his shoulder and down his side. Tension twinged through his face. Not enough for a full out flinch, but more than he’d ever want to show. Especially when he was trying to out tough some words.
Alright, change up the play. He headed towards the couch with a shrug -- just the right, not the left, not the left. “Might as well. The shit they have is comfier than you’d think for a place like this,” he said. Flopping on the sofa would be the thing to do. Definitely the normal thing to do. And not smart. So, carefully sitting down it was. “Where do y’think they even found ‘em?”
The tough guy routine probably would have worked for anyone else, but the older Flash could see all the signs. Evasion. Bravado. Even odds on denial being next. It was obvious to both of them that the younger version hadn't dropped by to talk about the furniture. Wouldn't have even brought it up if there'd been another topic handy.
Flash rolled around until he was parked in front of the couch and looked at the kid critically. It was clear that the teenager had been caught on the losing end of something. "Feel any better?" he asked, casually to hide the concern. "You wanna tell me what happened or continue your career as an interior decorator?"
That urge to just cut his losses and flee flared up again at that look. Sure, getting it from anyone else would be uncomfortable, but Flash could power through that. Toss out some ‘whatever I don’t cares’ and ‘I’m better than all of this’ and move the situation where he wanted. But getting it from the older man just stirred up that unnerving vulnerability that he knew how to stir up since day one with all his off-hand but completely spot on comments. He really hated that this guy he just met knew everything. All those moments he wasn’t proud of. The things that scared him. All those little things he’d worked hard at keeping from anyone finding out.
Gingerly crossing his arms over his chest, he looked off to the side, finding an oh so interesting spot on the wall. “Your drapes need work,” he muttered, tempted to leave it at just that for a few moments. One quick glance at the other Flash though and he puffed out a tired sigh. “What’s… uh… yours do? When you’re… hurt?”
Son of a bitch.
That much had been obvious, writing on the wall, and all those wonderful metaphors but it didn't make it easier to accept. An indignant anger boiled up within Flash and he bit down that emotion. Yelling was not the way to handle this. He knew how the teenger would react to that. The kid would meet the challenge head on because he was too stubborn to do anything else, even though he was hurt and probably scared.
Flash took a deep breath and mentally counted to three. First things first. His symbiote had a pretty impressive track record when it came to first aid. Hadn't let him down yet. That didn't mean it didn't hurt like a mother and it took time to get him back on his feet, so to speak.
"It tries to fix me up," Flash explained. The kid probably wasn't in danger of bleeding out but who knew how much the symbiote was holding him together. "How bad? What happened?"
A whoosh of relief. Ok, that was a plus. Even though Flash’d had the symbiote for awhile now, everything was still so new. Especially since Connors could tell him every day what he knew about the symbiote and Flash wasn’t even sure if more than 10% would ever sink in. No matter how simple the doc tried to word it. So, basics. Basics he could understand. And a lot of it was intuitive with fighting. But the other Flash saying it, putting it into easy words, that helped.
Although…
“Tries?” he asked a little warily, his full attention turning onto the other man.
Even the symbiote had limits. Everyone did. Flash was in no hurry to test those limits and hopefully his younger counterpart wasn't either. However, if past performance was any indication the bar was set pretty high. He wasn't about to press his luck and damned if that was going to be a shared sentiment. The symbiote's abilities were amazing but there was more to this line of work than some fancy tricks and a feeling of invincibility.
"It's not an instantaneous thing," Flash explained. He did his best to try and sound reassuring. "The more work its doing, the longer it takes." Having the symbiote all armored up probably wasn't helping matters. "How badly are you banged up?"
That made sense, but then Flash didn’t know anyone with instantaneous healing. At least he didn’t think he did. Most did more of the just plain indestructible thing than instantaneous healing. Did Wolverine have that though? Uh, not important...
He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, back to avoiding the wheelchair bound Flash’s gaze. Ok, yeah, he had come here to figure this out and seek advice (which wasn’t something often he did in the first place), but admitting the injuries was another matter completely. Habit. Nobody wants to hear you whining about bumps and bruises. Having them see you as weak did you no good either. And if you whined to the wrong person, well, you might just end up with more bruises than you started with.
But the older Flash knew that well, too, right? His lips pressed together stubbornly. He snuck one glance and then another before running a hand up through his hair and then down over the shoulder pad. “Uh… spikes,” he said quietly, even as his chin jut out in a challenge. “Here.” He fingers around across his shoulder blade and bicep around the edge of the pad before trailing down to two spots along his side. “Here. Here.” A quick brush around his hip before ending at a spot on his upper thigh. “And here.” He paused a second before closing his eyes. “I’m tired. It’s like-” He pressed his lips together over the rest of it. Yeah, today was full of enough fuck-ups. He didn’t need to bring that one up too.
Flash wasn't sure what he'd been expecting to hear but that wasn't it. He winced and blanched slightly. Since the teenager didn't have anything sticking out of him it meant that his younger self or his symbiote had decided it'd be best to remove them. Probably hurt like hell too. Also, a stupid thing to do unless you convenient black goo to stop up the wounds. He wondered if this other SHIELD Academy had covered the basics.
"You'll be fine," he replied. It was the first reassuring thing he'd said yet. "Just try to relax and let the symbiote do its thing."
Tension was a funny thing. Flash was used to it in a way, having to be on edge and ready for action. And sometimes he was just so used to it that he didn’t even notice just how much tension was going through his body until it was gone. Like now. Three simple words. You’ll be fine. Yeah, fine could be - what was it? - relative? whatever it was, but it was still a great thing to hear said. He relaxed fully back into the sofa, his head drooping back to rest against the top of the cushions. He let out a sigh, half breath, half a chuckle, and the last bit of tension, as his arms dropped to his sides.
“I got that. I can do that easy,” he puffed out. “How many times you’ve had to go through this shit? I mean, with the symbiote, not… before.”
"More than a few," the older man replied. He paused for a moment as if to say something more but decided against it. The kid really didn't need to know all the bloodied and bruised details. Maybe if he was lucky, he could avoid it for a little while longer.
It was weird being a mentor. Or was it a role model? These alternate realities needed to come with a handbook. It was one thing to be an authority figure at a high school in Philadelphia but what did you say to a younger version of yourself. One who was headstrong enough to follow in your footsteps. Flash really hadn't worked anything out beyond don't let him get himself killed.
And that was off to a great start.
"It hasn't let me down yet," he continued. "You might want to tell it that it can lose the uniform. Give it less things to focus on."
That ‘more than a few’ sounded like it could have some interesting stories. Good stories, not like, well, earlier today. Something newspaper-worthy and heroic. Like how the articles and news stories about Spidey should be, not the slanted shit that Jameson called news. Even if he at least printed everything about what Spidey was doing…
Flash’d have to ask sometime, but right now… He frowned, his head raising and eyes opening to stare at the older version of himself. “Huh?” he said oh so eloquently before pushing himself up a bit on the couch. “Whatcha mean? I tried to get it to-” He made a face as he waved a hand at Flash’s clothes. “But it ain’t listening. Back home, it always looks like this. ‘Cept there’s the mask too when we’re out fighting.”
For a moment, Flash considered telling his younger self not to move around so much, that he should relax and take it easy. Moving probably wasn't going to make things worse but it probably hurt. But he got it. Being vulnerable wasn't a comfortable feeling.
He could guess what the mask would look like. Black with the same telltale white eyespots that Peter had noticed. Their uniforms had a few differences but most of those were tiny details. Function trumped aesthetic, but it sounded like attitude was a different story.
"Always?" Flash repeated sounding both surprised and skeptical. "What about when you're not doing this type of stuff?"
One blink. And then another. Flash’s looked turned to one of confusion. What else would he be doing? When it got boiled down, SHIELD Academy was superhero school. Everyone just in costume all the time and that was it.
Ok, ok, that wasn’t fully true… He knew some of them had lives outside. The whole Parker reveal of course made why Spidey disappeared every now and then make all the more sense. But for a lot of them, well… And now that the confusion had passed, his jaw set in indignation.
“Yeah always,” he shot back in challenge before shrugging. Or, well, starting a double shrug, holding back a cringe, and then only his right shoulder lifting the rest of the way. “This type of stuff kinda fills up the schedule. Everyone’s in costume anyways when they’re at the Academy, so no point in dressing down when y’don’t gotta.”
And he'd managed to hit a nerve. It was a pretty strange thing to get defensive about. Whatever was going on with SHIELD Academy was probably all work, no play. Though, Flash was damned if he knew what they actually taught. Last time he'd checked there wasn't really a Symbiote 101 to hand out to people. The only playbook to steal from was Spidey's bag of tricks.
"Yeah?" he repeated, clearly not convinced. He could have just let it drop, let the kid get some rest. "What about furlough? Vacations? Or did you sign on for a 24-7 deal? The symbiote's gotta love that."
“Yeah,” Flash countered stubbornly, the tone just setting off that headbutting knee jerk reaction. He had plenty of things to say. Plenty of comebacks armed and ready.
Instead his brow furrowed and his lips pulled down in confusion. "What's furlough?"
"Leave," the other Flash explained. Had he always been this easily distracted? Probably not, Flash was pretty sure he just powered through anything he didn't understand and in high school, that'd been a lot of stuff. In the real world, it was harder to fake it. "Time off."
SHIELD had its reputation but even when Flash was running with the Avengers he got down time. Hell, the Thunderbolts had practically made an art out of road trips. SHIELD Academy should have been doing the holidays and weekend thing.
For a moment, a mix of hurt and crestfallen flitted across Flash's face. With how many times people told him to get out or go away, that feeling welling up and pushing the confusion of why he'd want to leave SHIELD couldn't be stoppered down at first. He thought they'd been doing good...
Then the second word came and understanding dawned. "Oh!" There was that unnoticed tension seeping out of his muscles again. "Maybe they got that. Didn't ask. Don't care. They got nice bunks. The food's good and I can have all I want. The computers and TVs are sweet and there's gym space everywhere. Yeah, people sneak out, but it's still costume stuff."
As much as the older man wanted to facepalm at the short sightedness and possible recklessness of it all, he got it. It was an opportunity to get out of his house and become a superhero. He was lying to himself if he said he wouldn't have jumped at the chance. He just wished the kid had a little bit more maturity and a lot more training.
"Got it," he replied. SHIELD Academy was apparently the happiest place on earth. Still, it didn't sit well that the other symbiote was apparently doing its own thing. "Just don't forget that you're supposed to be the one calling the shots, not the other way around."
Flash gave a firm nod. Ok, good. He hoped his older self would get it. He could sing the praises of SHIELD Academy for days, but he really didn't want to go into why the alternative wasn't a factor. Home, well... SHIELD Academy could look like this universe and still be a better option than home. There was something reassuring and depressing that the other man did get that.
Sighing, he rolled his eyes before he rested his head back against the sofa. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he puffed out. "It tries to get into your head. Take over. We-" He made a face, that bit about pronouns popping up into his head. "- me and it... there was some fighting 'cause Taskmaster and Beetle was using nasty shit to try and get it off me and steal it. Me and it got a good set up going. There haven't been any problems since."
That was reassuring to hear but believing was seeing. Someone had managed to get the drop on him this time but it sounded like the symbiote was on the up and up. Common goals and the reluctance to switch hosts probably went a long way. None of their companions had any complaints still it was hard to take the kid at his word. Probably because Flash had used that line too many times in his career. But right now something else had caught his attention.
"You fought Taskmaster?" He couldn't help but ask. That encounter hadn't been a cakewalk. "And won?"
His head tilted back up, eyes defiant and arms crossed over his chest. "Twice," Flash countered. "And yeah we won." Another face. "We being me and Spidey, not me and... y'know... But yeah, we won. Kicked his ass and tossed him in the river."
"I bet you did," Flash replied. He was convinced but probably not the way the kid had hoped. Spider-Man being in the mix suddenly made things make a lot more sense. He had no doubt that Spidey could take Taskmaster even without an assist. Though he was kind of curious how that had gone but they could go over the play-by-play at another time.
The kid was probably wiped and way too stubborn to show it. When he was that age, Flash had done everything he'd could to keep from appearing vulnerable. Everything else could wait until later. "We can compare notes some other time."
"Hell yeah I did," Flash supplied with a cocky grin before his head lulled back. "Tried to take the goo from me, but there was no way he was winning that. So he tried that join the dark side shit, but why'd I go? So..." He lifted his right arm in a slow punching motion. "Pow."
Except his arm up left him a bit unbalanced... Which just going with that downward force didn't seem like such a bad idea. It'd be less pressure on the tender parts of his body. Plus resting... Except there was the watch dog... He hesitated, weighing the choices. And then he just gave in.
"Y'can tell me 'bout your Taskmaster shit," he said as he stretched out on his right side, pillowing in head with his arm. "I can listen like this."
Yeah, okay. Flash could humor the kid. It wasn't exactly a bedtime story and the lectures could wait until the other Flash was back on his feet. If he happened to drop off during the story, all the better.
"We were in Bagalia fighting against the Shadow Council. They were trying to track down the Crown of Thorns but we got some intel that the Taskmaster had it and he was hanging out in this place called The Hole…"