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“H-Hey, Mr Stark, can you hear me?”
Laboured breathing.
“It’s Peter.”
A slowing heart beat.
“We won, Mr Stark.”
A choked sob.
“We won, Mr Stark.”
His life is fading from his wise brown eyes with every pained breath.
“You did, sir, you did it!”
Heat burns behind his eyes, growing wet and blurry.
“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, Mr Stark, please, please wake up, please d-don’t leave me, Mr Stark, please!”
Peter startles awake with a gasp, shooting up in his bed, almost choking on the sob that ripples from his throat. His chest heaves rapidly as he tries to catch his breath, hot tears streaming down his face, mind going at a mile per minute. He sits, curled up in the dark, sobbing through the panic, heart thumping against his ribcage, sounding like explosions in his ears.
He remains that way for who knows how long, until his breathing slows and his sobs are down to pathetic sniffles. With the adrenaline of his nightmare washing away with every deep breath he takes, he’s hit by a powerful wave of exhaustion, but he knows attempting to go back to bed will just be wasted effort.
Blindly, he slides off his bed, dragging his blanket with him as he shuffles across the hard wood before slowly opening his bedroom door. FRIDAY, without prompting, increases the hallway light just enough to allow Peter to see without disturbing his brother and father. His bare feet pad across the floor quietly as he walks into the living room. With a tired breath, he settles onto the couch, using the remote to pull up something comforting, Adventure Time. He sniffles as he watches, too tired to really care what was on the screen as he rubs at his puffy and aching eyes, grimacing when he wipes the back of his hand across his leaking nose.
An episode or two pass before he hears a door open from down the hall and the soft scuffle of slippers against the floor, getting closer and louder.
“Peter?” Stephen’s voice catches him off guard.
Peter’s head swivels around, blinking at the sorcerer. He’s dressed in an old sleep shirt and a pair of striped pyjama pants, hair tousled and eyes heavy from sleep.
“Hi, Doctor Strange,” Peter greets him quietly, frowning when his voice comes out as an achy croak, “I didn’t know you were sleeping over now.”
Stephen silently walks over to join him on the sofa, glancing at the tv for a moment before he looks at Peter, face pinched with concern.
“Are you alright, Peter?” He asks softly.
Peter nods slowly, pulling the blanket curled around him closer, “‘m fine,” He lies and turns his attention back to the tv, “Just had a bad dream, that’s all.”
Stephen nods, and the pair sit in silence for a moment. Peter can barely focus on what Jake and Finn are talking about, his spider-sense far too aware of the sorcerer still sitting with him.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Stephen prompts suddenly, breaking the silence.
Peter hesitates, anxious fear invading his veins at having to live through his nightmare for the second time tonight. Stephen seems to sense his fear, because he continues;
“I know it’s scary to talk about, but talking to someone can really help, even if it doesn’t feel that way at the moment.”
Peter frowns, teeth worrying at his bottom lip, “Okay,” He whispers, fingers fiddling with the thread of the blanket, “I was um… I was at the fight with Thanos, not the first one in space - the second one, where Steve used the gauntlet and snapped his fingers.”
Stephen doesn’t say anything, listening intently as he turns down the already barely audible tv.
Peter wets his dry lips as he continues, “Except things were different. I had just given the gauntlet to Ms Captain Marvel, and I was looking around for Harley, but I couldn’t find him anywhere,” He sniffles loudly and coughs slightly at the sharp tingle it sends down his throat, “But then, there was this energy that hit my senses, the same one I felt when Steve put on the gauntlet, but when I turned to look at him, it was dad - he had put on the gauntlet and he was the one to snap.”
He pauses to take a deep breath, misty eyed. Stephen remains silent, patiently letting Peter take a moment to catch his breath before he continues.
“And when I swung to him, he was hurt. I-I’ve seen him hurt before, I mean he’s Ironman, but this time was bad; half of his body was burnt, l-like it was seconds away from disintegrating, and the look in his eyes, like he,” Peter pauses to swallow the bile danced around in the pits of his stomach, choking on his words, “He was alive, but he wasn’t there, it was almost like his mind had died before his body, and I could hear his heartbeat slowing, I could hear everything, even his lungs moving against his broken ribs, and-”
The words die on his tongue, replaced by a shaky sob, bottom lip wobbling as his shoulders shake. A hand is placed on his shoulder, gently pulling his body to rest against another. The sudden comfort shatters his strength and Peter cries, heavy and ugly sobs escaping him as he buries his face within the man's shoulder blade, throwing his arms around him, holding onto him as if he were an anchor.
Silently, Stephen holds him close, one hand wrapped around the boy's back and the other holding the back of his head, threading his fingers slowly through the chocolate brown locks. The soothing movement works well to ground Peter, and Stephen carries on, even when Peter’s cries melt into weak sniffles. Eventually, Peter pulls back, using his sleeves to wipe off the mess on his face with a weak cough.
“Sorry ‘bout your shirt,” He mumbles, embarrassment rushing through him when he eyes the large wet spot on Stephen’s shirt.
“That’s alright,” Stephen reassures him, unbothered by the mess, expression understanding, “I’m sorry, you had to experience that, Peter.”
Peter lets out a heavy exhale and now that his crying has come to end and the sadness has washed away from him, he’s reminded of just how exhausted he is, and slumps back against the sofa, “I hate nightmares,” He sulks, closing his heavy eyes, “Why do they even happen, Doctor Strange?”
Stephen raises a brow at him, “Do you really want to know?”
Peter cracks open his eyes, the sorcerer's sincere expression causing him to sit up in his seat.
“Do you actually know why?” Peter asks curiously, eyes wide, “Is this a magical explanation?”
Stephen’s expression pinches in feigned annoyance, “It’s the Mystic Arts,” He corrects him and relents, “But yes, it is a magical explanation.”
“I still don’t understand the difference,” Peter tells him genuinely.
Stephen rolls his eyes but explains, “Nightmares, and dreams are windows into the lives of your alternate self living in a different timeline,” He explains calmly, “So what you experienced tonight, was what your alternate self experienced.”
Peter stares at him, red brimmed eyes blown wide open, “Woah,” He breathes, exhaling shakily, “Seriously? You’re not pulling my leg, right? Cause that’s seriously not cool, I just stopped crying.”
Stephen chuckles, exasperated, “No, Peter, I’m not pulling your leg.”
“Then that’s… really sad, actually,” Peter frowns, the awe of the revelation vanishing quickly, “So another Peter had to watch dad die? That’s terrible, Doctor Strange.”
Stephen nods, lips pulled into a thin frown, “It is a sad reality,” He agrees, “But the multiverse is an endless spiderweb of chaos; for every possible scenario, there’s hundreds of million timelines for every outcome that could occur. Some are bad, and some are good.”
Peter frowns, troubled at the fact, “So we just have to live with bad stuff happening in every universe?”.
“It would risk causing an incursion and disrupt the stability of the timeline,” Stephen states.
““And we can’t do anything about it?”
“To put it simply; yes,” Stephen nods, “But we should consider ourselves lucky, I’d say our timeline had the best of all possible outcomes.”
Peter nods slowly before his brows suddenly furrow, “So does that mean there’s another timeline where dad and Steve didn’t break up?”
Stephen’s lips press into a thin line, looking irritated, “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Gross,” Peter pulls a face of disgust and Stephen lets out a startled laugh.
“I’m glad we’re on the same page with that,” Stephen smiles, pleased.
Peter cracks a smile before he asks, “So because you can see the future, you’ve seen every possible future, right?”
“Of our timeline, I can, yes, though I require the time stone to assist in order to do it on a large scale.”
“Like how you did on Titan?”
“Exactly.”
Peter nods slowly, processing it all before he speaks carefully, “So, that means you would’ve seen my nightmare, right?” He frowns, “Cause it was actually an alternate timeline.”
Stephen’s expression is grim, “Though it wasn’t the possible futures I saw, as what you dreamt about tonight occurred in an alternate universe; I have seen it.”
Peter’s eyes widened in surprise, “Really?” He asks, intrigued, “So what’s different in that universe? Cause I was calling dad Mr Stark, which now thinking about it, sounds super weird - was he not my dad in that universe or something? And how come I couldn’t find Harley?”
Stephen stares at him with a somber expression, sympathy dripping from his words as he says quietly, “That universe isn’t something I like to think about, Peter,” His words are grim, “And it’s not something you would like to hear either.”
Peter frowns, taken aback, “Oh, sorry,” He apologises sheepishly, pausing for a moment before his eyes are blown wide open, “Wait, so that time I dreamed about meeting two other Peter Parkers-?”
“Actually happened,” Stephen confirmed.
“Awesome,” Peter whispers with awe before he breaks out into a loud yawn.
Stephen reaches over to turn off the tv, FRIDAY raising the light levels to allow the room to be visible.
“I believe it’s time to go to bed,” Stephen tells him, “You have school in the morning, remember?”
Peter yawns, slowly pushing him to his feet, “Yeah, I’m so tired,” He mumbles, rubbing at his eyes, picking up his blanket to fold clumsily over his arms, clutching the fabric to his chest.
He starts shuffling towards his room, before he stops and peers over his shoulder, “Thankyou, Stephen,” He says softly, a small but genuine smile on his lips, “This really helped.”
Stephen stares at him, startled before he settles, “Of course, Peter,” He smiles softly, “Goodnight.”
Peter smiles sleepily and continues on his path to his room with a whispered, “Goodnight.”
~
Tony stirs when he feels a weight get dropped on the other side of the bed and his eyes squint against the dark, feeling Stephen get comfortable once again beneath the sheets.
“Stephen?” He mumbles, face pressed against the pillow, unbothered to move from his comfortable spot, “Where’d you go?”
“Peter had a nightmare.”
Tony hums sleepily, murmuring, “My poor bambino,” He sniffs, burrowing his cheek further into the pillow, “He okay?”
“He called me Stephen for the first time.”
Tony uses both hands to push himself into a sitting position, clapping his hands twice to bring up the lights in order to stare at Stephen with wide eyes.
“WHAT!?”