The nightmare comes again. The sound of crunching metal, Aunt May's scream, the feeling of weightlessness before impact. I jolt awake, gasping for air, cold sweat soaking my pillow. The familiar surroundings of my room in the Avengers tower register slowly—the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, the desk cluttered with half-finished projects, the Stark Industries sweatshirt Tony gave me draped over my chair.

Not my old room. Not May's apartment. My new reality.

A soft knock at my door. Before I can respond, it opens slightly. "Pete? You okay?" Tony's voice, quieter than usual.

I wipe the tears from my face roughly. "Fine. Just a bad dream."

He steps inside, silhouetted against the hallway light. "The kind with cars?"

How does he always know? I nod, unable to form words as fresh tears spill over. He crosses the room silently and sits on the edge of my bed. Not too close—not invading my space—but present.

"You want to talk about it?" His voice is gentle, not pushy.

I shake my head, staring at my hands. "It was so real. I keep seeing it happen again..." My voice cracks.

Tony sighs softly. "I used to have nightmares too. After New York. After Sokovia. Still do, sometimes." He pauses. "They get easier. Not gone, but... easier."

I glance up at him, the man who seems fearless to the world, admitting he has nightmares too. "Really?"

He nods. "C'mon. I'm making a midnight run for cereal. Your choice—even that sugar bomb you like with the marshmallows."

A small smile tugs at my lips despite myself. "The one with the leprechauns?"

"Against my better judgment, yes." He stands, offering a hand. "C'mon, kid. You can't fight nightmares on an empty stomach."

I look at his hand, then at his face, and make a choice that feels momentous in the quiet of the night.