I Know Your Little Secret

Yeet

Important note: This was my old version of this story. If you want to read the real deal without this useless thing, go to Part One. 

Peter's senses had noticed it before anyone else could hear it.

The sound of a gun clicking, telling the owner who was walking down the hallway with slow, heavy steps that it was ready to shoot.

It had made Peter jump, causing his whole body to change from a sleep-deprived teen mentality to sudden energy in less than a second. He hated it when it happened. Especially when he wasn't able to stand up immediately and take care of the threat without looking like an idiot, let alone show people that he was Spider-Man. It would put too many people in danger, and make Aunt May go batshit crazy. He was the only one she had left, and he wasn't planning to make that a zero. Peter was grateful for the sense thing though, mostly because if it wasn't for this power, he would've been street pizza or shot or stabbed or thrown in front of a bus or all the other things that had almost happened to him while being out as Spider-Man.

The first thing he did when his brain screamed at him to run away, anywhere else than here and get as many as possible with him was tapping his best friend, Ned, who was absentmindedly pretending to listen to Mr. Harrington's awfully boring class on the shoulder, waking him up from his possible daydreaming.

"Hey, Ned? Ned?" Peter whispered to his friend's ear, hoping that he would be the only one to hear it.

Ned shot awake at the tap and stared at his friend with a deadly glare. But when he saw the fear in Peter's eyes, he decided not to fake a threat and give him the usual calming smile.

"What's up, dude? Did Mr. Harrington say anything important?" He asked in a calming tone, hoping it would make his best friend calm down, if even just a bit. Peter shook his head and asked: "Do you remember the weird sense thing that I told you about?"

There was a small silence between the two pals, while Peter could hear the steps coming closer.

"Like... like the spider-sense thingy?" Ned asked without even thinking about how weird that would sound if someone overheard their conversation.

"Yeah, that," Peter answered quietly, trying hard not to throw his hand on his face. Spider-sense blah blah!

The arachnid's face went even paler than before when he heard the steps coming even closer. His hands were shaking, his sweat was worse than an average, anxious teenager and his mind was screaming at him like an annoying alarm to GET! OUT! NOW!

"Ned, it's going haywire and I think I heard a gun. Wha- what should I do?"

Staring at each other, Peter could see that Ned's calming smile that he had plastered on his lips quickly turned into a scared, half-open mouth and his eyes went huge. This was not a joke.

"We have to say something." Ned murmured and threw his hand up, shaking it wildly so that the teacher could notice him more than he already did.

"What is it, Mr. Leeds?" Mr. Harrington asked slowly in a tired and monotone voice, the same way he did when teaching the class.

"S-sir, I think there's a shooter in the school." Ned stuttered.

The whole class stared at him with either chocked or joking eyes. While Mr. Harrington took himself the time to think about what to do, Flash used the moment to start speaking.

"This is some bullshit, sir." He stated and brushed his fingers through his blonde hair that he had decided to bleach because of some hot football player in a movie who got all the ladies. The idiot really thought getting blonde hair would make him prettier.