Spider-Son & Iron Dad two shots

Dream Within A Dream

a/n: we're gonna run this ⚠️short and sad⚠️ folks! based on the poem by edgar allan poe

Spooktober 22: Hallucination

Peter's eyes were heavy as he looked up into nothing.

(Last night he had a dream within a dream, the sky was pale orange and swirling with dust and it swallowed him whole. A man with a father's eyes held him in his arms and tried to convince him it would be alright.

He woke up seconds later, and the orange sky burned his eyes. The days passed just as quickly as the years, as quickly as he could count to five, as quickly as a snap of the fingers.)

The city was dark. A power outage had swept through, leaving the streets cold and lit up by nothing but the moonlight above. In any situation, it may have almost been peaceful.

Peter loved his city. He loved New York. The culture, the hustle and bustle, the diversity, and anger, and justice, and righteousness— It was his home. It had always been his home.

(Last night he had a dream within a dream, where his parents died, and then his uncle, and his apartment felt colder and the colours looked dimmer, and his aunt wanted him to try therapy but they didn't have the funds.

He woke up seconds later in a red and blue suit, and he suddenly couldn't remember if the amount of hugs he had received in his lifetime had amounted to the number of punches.)

The blackout was caused by a major electricity outage, meaning most systems were down. Peter had a hard time seeing in the pitch black, even with enhanced vision.

This result made sense.

It was a nice view on the rooftop.

(Last night he had a dream within a dream, where he came home from school and Tony Stark, his mentor, his hero, his idol, was in his living room.

He woke up seconds later and the two of them were in a spaceship. Peter wasn't supposed to be there, and he knew that. Something will be wrong. Something was wrong. Something is wr—)

"Kid! Are you okay?"

Peter looked over the the bright light. The arc reactor, glowing proudly and standing out from the darkness. He smiled, the blood dripping from his lip.

"Mr. Stark," Peter murmured.

"I'm here." Tony leaned beside him. Peter couldn't picture his face very well. The arc reactor was so bright it nearly burned his eyes. He fought back the urge to shut them closed to shield himself from it.

"Thanks for coming," Peter said quietly, his head leaning back on the gravel of the rooftop. "It's been a while since I've—" he coughed, his lungs collapsing and more blood spackled his suit and chin. "—called you."

"Oh, Pete," Tony's voice got sad. "You don't look too good. You should get some help."

"What? You— You are help."

(Last night he had a dream within a dream, where he stood in front of a killer drone, his palm pointed upwards and his view obscured by red and gold plastic.

He woke up seconds later sitting in front of a television with his Aunt and Uncle, and they were all crying and hugging because the missile headed for their home, headed right for Midtown, had been flown into a portal by the famous Iron Man during the Battle of New York. He had been saved for the second time, he will be saved many more, so why won't Mr. Stark show up now?)

"Kid..."

The arc reactor shown a brighter white glow, the blue humming and reverberating through Peter's ears. His eyes were tearing up as he stared into the light.

"It's okay," Tony said calmly. "I'm here for you. I'm proud of you."

(Last night he had a dream within a dream, where Mr. Stark yelled at him, he wanted him to be better, and his face was clearer now, he didn't look angry. He wanted to be proud.

He woke up seconds later and the man was hugging him tightly, kissed his temple, gave him a patronly heartbreaking tilt of the head, and he was so proud, and so lost, and then—)

"I missed you," Peter admitted quietly. "I miss calling you, and having you show up. I just want to believe this, once. Please. One last time."

"You're not supposed to look at the light," Tony said in response, but he didn't move from where he stood beside Peter.

"I know." Peter smiled something tragic, the dark red iron staining his teeth. "I've seen movies, remember?" 

(Last night he had a dream within a dream, where he watched characters from a galaxy far far away take down the most terrible of creatures.

He woke up seconds later to fight his own battles, and learned the hard way what real alien blood looked like.)

Peter have a tired sigh. The exhaustion creeping into his bones settled heavier with every raspy breath.

His voice was growing weaker. He wasn't sure anymore if he was speaking or thinking, but Tony could understand him either way.

(Last night he had a dream within a dream, where Peter couldn't say enough to the people he lost before he lost them, and didn't have enough time with them when he should have, and the finality and horror in the concept of 'enough' haunted him with every thing he did.

He woke up seconds later and found that despite the time that passed, there still wasn't enough of everything, enough air to breathe, enough punches to throw, enough dodges to match the knives, enough webs to stop the guns, and he sat in the dark defeated and thought about it deeply while he bled out on a Manhattan rooftop. He learned with a painful laugh that there wasn't even enough of his own blood.)

"Mr. Stark, I'm sleepy."

"Rest." A hand brushed the sweaty curls out of his eyes. "I'll watch over you, kid."

The light got brighter, flooding Peter's vision until there was nothing but an endless void of space. And within it, he fell asleep, and had a dream within a dream.