Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Not even Peter. *cries*

I don't want you to go

Uwu

I pull you in to feel your heartbeat

can you hear me screaming: "please don't leave me!"?

Uwu

It was cold. He was sweating.

Mr. Stark... please...

No. No. No, no, no.

I don't wanna go... I don't wanna go, Mr. Stark!

Stop this. Don't go. Stay!

Mr. Stark, please... I don't know what's happening! I don't wanna go!

Why? Why did this keep happening?

I'm sorry, Mr. Stark...

No, it's okay! You're alright! It's gonna be alright!

I'm sorry...

Dust. Just dust. Tears. Don't cry. Don't. Cry.

Tony Stark sat up in bed, sweat dripping from his forehead. He needed to calm down. Take deep breaths. Count to ten.

One, two, three, four...

Once his heart rate had gotten back to normal, Tony looked to the side, only to see his wife, Pepper Potts, sleeping peacefully. Good. The nightmare hadn't been that bad.

He contemplated going back to sleep, before quickly realising it would be useless anyway. So he got up, as silently as possible, got out of the room and closed the door behind him. He didn't really know what to do with himself next, so decided to make a cup of tea. Not that he usually drank tea. He just figured it would do him better than the coffee he'd been drinking way to much lately.

As he made his way toward the kitchen, he began thinking about his dream. Nightmare. Memory. At this point he didn't even know what it was anymore. He'd been having it almost every night after the Snap. And it never changed. It was always the same. He saw the kid, crying, shouting, begging him to help, apologizing, and then turning to dust. Sometimes it was the exact memory of what had happened, other times it was just a different version of the moment, maybe from an other point of view, or in another place, or who knows what. But what didn't change was that the kid always disappeared. Peter always died.

Because as much as it pained him to say it, the kid was dead. No matter how many times he had looked for hope, and maybe even found some, he knew that Peter couldn't come back. No one could. It had been 4 years. 4 freaking years. Hope was something he had stopped believing in a long time ago. Now he had a family: a wife, a lovely little kid, one that was his. But somehow, even after having moved on, the nightmares still came. And he still missed him. He didn't dare say it to anyone, because it would be too painful, but he missed the kid. Every day, there would be that joke, that face, that moment when he would be reminded of him, and of the life that had been taken from him. He had just been a teenager. Just a kid. And Tony knew that it wasn't his fault if Peter had been dusted. But for some reason, every teenager he saw pass on the street made his stomach turn upside down and made his eyes water. He had just been a kid. Even after all this time, he could clearly remember the desperation in Peter's eyes, the fear, as his hands had turned to dust. And just like that, he had been gone. He had left Tony alone. Time helped, that was true, but nothing could make him heal.

The billionaire drank his tea slowly, letting a few tears drop. He wasn't ashamed of them, and they weren't only for Peter. They were for all of the fallen, a constant reminder of where Tony had failed. On where he had let them all down.

The once great Iron Man got up, making his way to his bedroom, passing in front of little Morgan's, his daughter. He slowly opened the door and looked at his salvation, the reason he still got up every morning. There she was, lying compleatly still, looking like an angel. Tony went back to his bedroom and, as he looked at the photo on top of his drawer, thought that maybe hope wasn't such a bad and impossible thing after all. Inside the frame, Peter Parker and Tony Stark continued smiling.

Uwu

Peter walked trought the busy New York, busy like every other day. He didn't care though, didn't look at the blocked traffic, wasn't bothered by the sounds of clacksons and people shouting at each other. The Spider-kid had his own thoughts. It had been a week. Only a week after he had came back, after the battle, after they had won, and after he had-

Well.

He still couldn't bring himself to say it.

Or, at least, think it.

It was still too early.

He just couldn't believe he was gone. All his life, Peter had seen Tony Stark as an untouchable person. As someone almost immortal. Because legends never died, right?

Well, he had learned that was a lie. Because Tony Stark, the great genius billionaire, the Iron Man, was gone. Forever. He wasn't coming back. Ever.

And yes, Peter knew that he would forever live in everybody's hearts, in the happy memories, but somehow, all that crap felt fake now. Maybe it was because Peter had believed in it a long time ago, when his Uncle Ben had died, and had ended up deciding it wasn't true. Because every time he remembered it hurt more, the pain grew and the tears would come back. It was the same with Tony. Peter couldn't tell if it hurt just as much as it had with Ben, but the pain was still imbelievebly big. He felt like his heart had been ripped, and now had a hole, one that couldn't heal, but could just mend itself, still leaving a scar.

The kid had nightmares. Almost every night, he would remember seeing Tony on the ground, his right side compleatly burned. He would dream of telling him they had won and then seeing him give his last breath. They had won. But had they, really?

Because at times, Peter felt like it had come with a gigantic prize. Maybe it would've been better if he had stayed dusted, better than living in such an empty world. Or maybe it was just too early, and after a bit of time everything would go back to normal. For some reason, he seriously doubted that...

Peter didn't realize he was home until he heard his aunt calling him from the window. He entered his apartment, hugging her and telling her about his day. As he texted MJ, called Ned and had dinner with May, he realized that the world kept spinning and that he wasn't alone. He didn't move on, but learnt to let go, because everything around him gave him hope. Hope in life. And in a better world. Maybe nothing would ever go back to how it was, but that didn't mean it would be bad. And as he went to sleep, in a little corner of his room, his old Iron Man costume and a couple of polaroids of a smiling Peter and a smirking Tony shone in the light of the moon.