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    Summary

    Peter lay sprawled across his narrow bed, eyes locked on the ceiling where cracks branched out like forgotten roads on an old map. Sleep had turned into a stranger these days, slipping away just when he thought he might catch it. But as he stirred awake and crossed the threshold, a sudden chill wrapped around him, raising the hairs on his arms. His spider-sense tingled at the base of his skull, a subtle buzz that warned of something off-kilter.

    There, propped casually against his desk, stood Tony Stark.

    Peter's heart stuttered. Tony was dead. Gone since that final battle against Thanos. Yet something wasn't right. Tony's form shimmered at the edges, translucent in places, like a hologram struggling to hold its signal.

    "Nice setup you've got here, kid," Tony said, his voice carrying that familiar blend of sarcasm and affection. "Really leaning into the minimalist vibe."

    "You're not real," Peter whispered. "This has to be a hallucination."

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