❝ 𝘞𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘔𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯❞ ⎊☾𝙈𝙃𝘼 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙈𝙖𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙡 ☽

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 8 - 𝔹𝕦𝕥𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕤

I could feel the padding of my fingers touch the smooth warm plastic of the chair I sat on.

It smelled like an office.

The faint murmur of conversation around the floor we were on was scattered. The light sound of the clock's ticking was added in the melting pot of audible incoherence.

I could taste my dry mouth.

I distracted myself with these random sensations in an attempt to ground myself again as I felt myself slip out from my fingers. This gradual resurface to my frenzied stress reappeared each time I wasn't kept busy in conversation, and it was starting to become more apparent. But I hoped that the distant conversations from afar and the clock's ticking would miraculously become more deafening to compensate for that.

I was desperate for any saving grace at that point. Because...

It was all so... weird...

To know that you're in reality, to know that you're really existing...

But for your mind- your body, to feel otherwise.

I knew that in reality I was in this room, sitting on this chair driving myself crazy. I knew, or at least I felt like this was all real. But there were so many inconsistencies as to how I got here, how I made it to a completely different country and how I was even alive.

I felt like I made it to my own personal hell.

With the assumption that I, along with half of the world, was wiped out two days ago, it felt like time was just fucking with me. Hell, I didn't even know if it's still been two days. I wouldn't have the exact time frame since I've been kept out of the loop after I actually fucking died. Everyone having a dispute over the event even happening during the meeting as if it were a highschool mock debate made myself plummet even lower.

I began to doubt myself.

'Did it even happen?'

'Was it all just a nightmare?'

'Was any of it real...

were my parents real? Tony, Pepper, Nat, and the others?'

'Were all those moments I had with them just fake..?

'Is anything real?'

"Hey, (Y/n), you okay?"

But fortunately, the sole thing that was able to make me assure myself that it was all real was Peter. He was the only person other than me who said that the dusting across the universe was gospel, he was literally one of trillions who were.

But then I started to overthink again.

'If he was dusted away how is he here with me right now?'

'I was dusted too, shouldn't I be dead?'

'Are we... dead?'

"(Y/n)!"

I jumped, startled as Peter lightly shook my shoulders this time while calling my name to bring me back to sanity. I blinked.

"Sorry..." I frowned, my brain still lingering in the place of insanity and decay I was fighting with.

"Nono, I get it. I couldn't process any of this either." He commented with a nod. "Still can't..." Naturally, he knew what I was thinking. How couldn't he? He was smart like that; could sense what a person's thoughts were practically by how they breathed, it was as if it was an addition to his 'spidey-senses' as he called it. In fact, it probably was his spider-sense at play.