"See ya later, dad!" Peter called as he turned in the direction of his school while Tony ducked into one of his many expensive sports cars. Peter had always preferred going to school on his own and always in an inconspicuous manner, given his relation to one of the most well-known figures on the planet. And though Peter had, since becoming part of Tony's life permanently, been in the spotlight as Tony's protégée, he liked being able to things that set him apart from Tony, even if it was something as simple as riding a skate-board to school as opposed to driving a car.

Peter went to Midtown Science High School, a good school in almost every regard. He had attended private schools in the past, but in middle school had requested that he start going to "normal people schools;" most people at the private schools, he found, only hung out with him because he was Tony Stark's son as opposed to because they liked him, something that Peter had dealt with all his life and wanted to end right then and there.

Ever since then, Peter had been doing the same thing every school day, which was leaving Stark Tower with Tony and skate-boarding up to ten blocks in any direction to get to whatever school it was that he was going to at the time. Sometimes, Steve would accompany him, racing him (and letting him win) to the school. It happened less and less now that Peter was in high school, but every now and then when Steve wasn't on an assignment, he'd offer to race Peter to just the block before his school, for old times' sake.

When he was at private school, he entertained a slew of different interests, some of his favorite being fencing, and when he was younger, he liked to pretend he was a sword-wielding super hero; music lessons, where he learned how to play violin like Tony, though truth be told, he preferred to play harmonica, mostly because he liked playing pop charts on it loudly to annoy Tony and make Pepper laugh; and, surprisingly, chess.

After Peter transferred, however, he had to give up fencing and orchestra, two activities that the Midtown Science Middle and High schools didn't offer. Midtown did, however, offer a chess club, but Peter slowly got involved with photography, something that he found he enjoyed a lot and chose to stick with throughout high school. He worked with the yearbook people to get good pictures, and sometimes did pictures outside of year book purposes for people who wanted cheaply priced but expensive looking pictures for prom or other functions.

Peter usually had his camera on him all the time, and had it on him as he rode up onto school grounds. Midtown High was a fairly large brick facility, with multiple buildings, a beautiful green landscape, and paved walk-ways. Students flocked onto the grounds from cars parked in the student lot, and there were the occasional students like Peter who either walked or rode a bike or skateboard to school that were also milling onto the campus around him.

As he made his way through the parking lot and up the sidewalk, he hopped off his board and began to carry it; regardless of whom he was related to, he'd get in trouble if he rode it any further on school campus.

Not like it's stopped me before, he thought wryly, grinning.

He was about to hop back on his board and head toward building three, where his first class would be starting soon, but he noticed that there was a large crowd of students over by the student pavilion, a large cement platform with a bunch of tables and benches where students would sometimes each lunch or hang out, and that there were more students heading in that direction.

Oh god that can't be good, he thought to himself.

Peter contemplated whether or not he should head over there; large crowds on the campus this early in the morning usually meant that the resident asshole, Flash Thompson, was having some "fun" with one of the nerdy and or socially awkward kids. Flash and Peter didn't get along, mostly because Flash didn't like the assumed "competition" between him, the resident "popular" kid and Peter, the resident "rich boy, and partly because on his first day in school, Peter told Flash that he looked like he wore a taupe.

That day started a long, ugly history between Flash and Peter, which usually ended in Peter making excuses as to why he had a black eye or why he had blood stains on his clothes.

Peter heaved a sigh. When in Rome, right?

He fell in step behind another student who was making her way to the commotion, a short girl with brunette hair. He followed in line behind her all the way toward the pavilion, and as he got closer, the shouting and cheering got louder. The closer he got, the more he could see that the crowd was more a disorganized circle, one with an opening in the center, but he couldn't make out who was in the middle.

He could, however, hear who was in the middle. The voice was unmistakable, and quite honestly, unsurprising to Peter.

"I asked you a question, punk!" Flash's voice carried over the noise of the crowd. It was deep and menacing, and carried a tone that Peter was familiar with; rage.

"Man, I said I was sorry! What more do you want?" That particular voice was one Peter didn't recognize, though he thought it sounded odd, considering the fact that it was coming from sounded like was ground level.

Peter couldn't see what was going on, but wanted to get a better look to figure out just what in the hell was going on. Struggling and pushing past the tight-knit bodies in the crowd, he eventually made it to the front of the group in time to see Flash dart out a kick to a huddled mass of clothing on the ground.

It was only after the mass let out a pained, scared yelp that Peter was able to see that the clothing heap was actually a pitifully small boy, wearing what looked like was clothes that were three sizes too big for him.

"Get up you little prick and apologize!" Flash shouted down at him. Peter darted his eyes over towards the angry teen, trying to figure out what exactly the boy may have done to him to elicit such rage this early in the morning from Flash.

He started at Flash's head.

Hair's intact… face the same level of douche as it usually is… shirt's fine, pants are fine… oh. There it is.

Flash's feet were sporting what Peter could tell were a new pair of Jordan's, Flash's favorite brand of shoe. And currently, those brand new, shiny red and blue Jordan's were covered in what looked cafeteria breakfast: something that was supposed to be scrambled eggs and another something that looked like it may have been chipped corned beef at some point. Also: lots and lots of ketchup and probably the kid's entire carton of milk.

Peter could only figure that the kid probably accidentally bumped into Flash, knocking his food onto Flash's shoes and leaving the mess that was currently there. And Flash, being the Neanderthal that he was, consequently went, as Peter would describe, bat-shit crazy.

As Peter was eying Flash's shoes, putting all of this together, he saw as Flash's foot went back, preparing for another kick. He heard "Nah man, come on!" come in the form of a weak plea from the small boy on the ground and before he could stop himself, he shouted out.

"Hey Flash, come on now, that's not necessary."

Flash was obviously stunned that someone had called him out, and it showed as Flash snapped his head towards Peter. His irate expression slid almost instantly into one of amusement.

"Parker! Here to play hero?" he jeered. Peter let it slide.

"Flash just let it go. I'm sure the kid didn't mean to do whatever it was he did to you." Peter was rationalizing, which, depending on Flash's mood, may or may not work.

Peter was thinking it probably wasn't going to work.

"Do I look like I care if he meant it? He got his disgusting food on my new shoes! You know how much these cost?" Flash fired back at him.

Peter rolled his eyes. "You can afford another pair, but I don't know if you can afford this kid's medical bill if you keep laying into him like some brainless ape," Peter shot back. Though it was probably an exaggeration, Flash not being able to pay the kid's medical bills, Peter was legitimately worried about the damage Flash might be inflicting on his body; he really was a tiny thing, and Peter could see as he glanced down at him that he was in some serious pain.

Flash narrowed his eyes. "What'd you call me?"

"A. Brain. Less. Ape. Do I need to talk slower for your benefit?" Peter was pushing it now, but he knew whatever Flash would end up doing to him, he'd take it a hell of a lot better than the boy lying on the ground.

Before Peter had time to react any further than his little quip, Flash lunged forward toward him, connecting a hard fist into the side of Peter's face.

Peter stumbled backward, his skateboard falling out of his hands as he landed painfully on his rear.

"Who's an ape now, Parker?" Flash jeered down at Peter, who was rubbing the sore and slowly swelling spot on his check.

Peter let out an ironic chuckle. "Given the needless resort to violence to solve your problems, I'd say it was still you, Flashy Boy."

Flash's face curled into an ugly snarl, and he made for Peter again. Peter locked his eyes shut, preparing for an even worse blow to the face when another voice called out.

"Flash! What are you doing?" came a voice from behind Peter.

This was a girl's voice, and it was strong and firm and clearly not in the mood for any kind of bullshit, reminding Peter of the tones Pepper would have with him or Tony when they did something she didn't approve of.

When Flash's fist didn't make contact with his face, Peter chanced looking up behind him, squinting his eyes to see who had distracted Flash from raining down hell on his face.

He couldn't make out a full face, given that said face was staring (perhaps even glaring? Peter couldn't tell) in Flash's direction. Standing directly behind him was a petit girl with crème skin and shiny blonde hair. Peter thought she looked familiar, but couldn't quite place where he had seen her before.

"Nothing much," Flash said in response to the girl's previous question, bringing Peter's attention back to him. "Just taking care of some trash, ya'nno?" Peter could tell there was a difference in Flash's tone, and could only suspect that Flash thought that this girl was hot or something like that for him to have so easily snapped out of his ire and talking playfully.

"As fun as that sounds, we have an appointment, remember? Tutoring? Trig? Or did you forget?"

Peter was liking the no-nonsense coming from this girl.

Flash cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed. "Uh. Yeah. I mean no. I didn't forget," he rushed. Peter took advantage of the fact that Flash was now distracted to pick himself off the ground. He noticed the other boy was already doing the same, though more gingerly than Peter was; he was clearly hurt far worse.

While Flash was occupied, Peter took the time to check in with the boy.

"Hey, you ok?"

The boy looked startled that someone was talking to him, and jumped when Peter addressed him.

"Uh, uh yeah, I'm ok," he said faintly. "He does this every week for one reason or another so I'm just kind of used to it."

The corners of Peter's lips turned down.

God, Flash is such a dick. This kid doesn't even look older than a freshman…

"What's your name?" He asked the boy. After all, he couldn't keep referring to him mentally as "the boy."

"Chris. Chris Kelly," he responded.

"Ok. You alright to get to class Chris, or you want me to take you to the nurse?"

Christ looked down, embarrassed.

"Can we go to the nurse?" he, asked, avoiding looking at Peter's eye's.

Peter nodded. "No problem."

While Peter had been checking in with Chris, the crowd had started to dissipate, and there were only a few stragglers left. Peter took his attention away from Chris for a moment to see what Flash was doing. From the looks of it, he was getting a good lecture from whoever the blonde haired girl was.

I'm pretty sure I know her, Peter thought to himself. He would have tried to figure out more who she was, but he did say that he was going to accompany Chris to the nurse, and the best time to slip away would be when Flash wasn't paying attention.

"Come on Chris, let's get you looked at."

"And are either of you boys going to let me know who did this so that I can report it to the principal?"

Peter and Chris sat in a brightly lit room with white walls and floors and a hospital bed with crisp, white sheets. A tall, well-built bronze-skinned man stood in front of them, wearing a set of scrubs in a nice shade of lavender. His thick forearms were crossed over each other, and he was giving both Peter, who was sitting on a stool, and Chris, who was on the bed, a look that said "you really need to report this. Seriously. No really. Do it."

Chris had already asked that Peter not tell the school nurse who had inflicted his damage (which was, luckily, just a bunch of really dark bruises; Peter had honestly thought Flash might have broken something, or worse) because he had had problems with Flash in the past, and when the school authorities got involved, it only got worse. His parents would be contacted, though, because he was a minor. Peter could tell that didn't thrill the young man at all.

"No, it's ok, Mr. Philip. It's no big deal," Peter spoke in response to the nurse's question. "It was just a misunderstanding."

Philip, the nurse, raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Whatever you say, Peter," he said deeply. "Just know that if you don't tell me, I can't report who did it, only that an incident occurred, and the school isn't obligated to take any kind of action, unfortunately. From what it looks like, the kid who did this did a nice number on the two of you."

That much Philip was right about; Chris' body had many ugly, angry-looking bruises on it, to the point where it really sickened Peter. Most of the damage done to Chris, though, was easily hidden by clothing; Peter, on the other hand, was sporting a large, purple ring around his eye that most likely wasn't going to go away anytime soon.

Peter shrugged. "We'll be ok." He looked over to Chris. "I'll make sure of that."

"Good. I'm going to go ahead and give your parents a call, Chris, so they can pick you up. Peter, you're free to go unless you have anything else you want to share. "

Peter shook his head. "No, I'm good." Philip looked disappointed that Peter still would not divulge any more information about how he and Chris got their injuries, but didn't press any further and turned, leaving the room.

It was quiet as the two boys waited for Philip to come back. Peter wanted to ask Chris more about Flash, and how many times before something like this has happened, but he didn't think that the young boy would want to talk about it; Chris had already told him that this had happened before, and a lot, and felt that was about as much he was going to get in one setting.

"Thank you, for doing all that," Chris' tiny voice came from the bed. Peter turned his head to look him.

"It's no big deal," he shrugged off.

Chris shook his head. "Yeah, it is. No one steps up to Flash. It was really brave, like, a super hero." Chris' face flushed, embarrassed. "Sorry for the choice of words."

"Nah, it's cool," Peter said with a smile. "Don't worry about it." Peter then moved on to ask something he had been wondering since meeting Chris. "How old are you, Chris?"

Chris bit his lower lip. "Well. I'm twelve. But I'll be thirteen in a month… I got moved a couple grades ahead. I'm a freshman right now, where I'd be in seventh if I followed a normal track."

Peter was impressed.

"That's really cool." He then moved into his next question. "So, I assume you know who I am, right? With the super hero comment, and all. You know who my dad is?"

Chris, who had been slowly starting to keep his eyes on Peter, lowered them again. "Y-yeah…"

Peter smiled. "Tell you what, give me your address, and I'll bring you something by later this week, ok? All you gotta do is promise to try and stay as far away from Flash as possible."

Chris darted his eyes back up to Peter's face, as if searching it for trickery. "O-ok." Chris reached over into his bag, pulled out a notebook and pen from inside, scribbled down his address, and ripped the page out and handed it over to Peter, who got up from his stool to get it.

Peter folded the page and stuck it in his pocket.

"Hope you get better, Chris. I'll see you soon," he said, offering a smile.

Chris gave him a little smile in return as Peter turned away. Then, so quietly that even Peter couldn't hear him, he said "thank you, Peter Parker. You're my very own super hero."

Peter ducked out of the nurse's office, took a sharp left, and headed quickly in the direction of the class he was supposed to be in. He had a nurse's note, but still.

His mind was reeling about Chris, a kid so young having to deal with shit from Flash on a weekly (possibly daily) basis. He wondered if Flash knew how old Chris was, but figured that even if Flash was privy to that information, Flash wouldn't give a damn about it.

Peter couldn't really do anything about Flash (something that annoyed and pissed him off to no end) but he could at least make Chris feel like he had a friend, something Peter felt he was probably lacking at this point.

Another thing that had Peter's mind reeling was the girl who had put Flash in his place. He knew he had seen her or at least knew of her, but couldn't quite place where he had seen her or who she was. All he knew was that he had to find her and tell her thanks; he probably wouldn't have been able to do much against Flash, and her distraction let him help Chris.

It doesn't even matter, I probably won't see her again anyway, Peter thought to himself as he approached his class. He pushed Chris and the mystery girl to the back of his mind, preparing himself for the heavy duty berating he was likely to get from his teacher, and stepped through his classroom door.