Bruised But Not Broken - Irondad/spiderson

Come Back

Moonlight spills through my half-open window, carving silver shapes across the clutter of my room. Shadows stretch and bend along the walls, twisting with each small breath of wind that slips through the gap in the glass. They move like living things—slow, restless, telling quiet stories about the day I survived.

Stacks of books become jagged silhouettes. Clothes draped over my chair turn into unfamiliar figures. Dust glints faintly in the pale glow, and for a moment, even the mess feels gentle—like proof that I still exist here, still take up space.

I sit very still, letting the quiet wrap around me.

For a few precious seconds, my mind empties. No guilt. No fear. No spiralling thoughts clawing for attention. Just stillness. Normality. What once was.

Then the thoughts creep back in anyway. They always do.

I let my eyes close.

The darkness behind my lids softens, reshaping itself into something familiar.

A field blooms into existence around me—wildflowers stretching as far as I can see, colors vibrant and warm beneath a golden sky. I know instantly where I am. I've been here before. Not recently, but deeply. Somewhere my bones remember.

Two figures stand at the edge of the meadow, arms open.

Waiting.

I know it's a dream. I know it isn't real.

But God—it feels so good to see them.

I take a step forward. The flowers sway gently around my legs, brushing my skin like a greeting. The air smells sweet and clean, and their smiles are exactly how I remember them—soft, full of light. My chest tightens with something warm and aching all at once.

Every instinct screams that this can't last.

Every part of me begs it to.

"Hi, Mum. Dad," I manage, my voice breaking before the words are fully out.

"I miss you."

My knees give out.

I collapse into the grass, the phrase echoing inside my head like a wound ripped open all over again. The meadow hums with life—rustling leaves, distant laughter—but all I hear is that single truth repeating, over and over.

The sun dips lower, bathing everything in gold. I drag my fingers through the flowers, memorizing their texture, their colors, like I might be able to carry them back with me. My chest aches so badly it feels hollow.

Footsteps approach through the grass.

Tears blur my vision before I can stop them. I fold forward, burying my face in my hands, sobbing quietly because I'm not ready to lose them again.

"Why does missing someone hurt so much?" I whisper to the breeze, knowing it won't answer.

A hand rests on my shoulder.

Warm. Steady.

"It will always hurt, honey," my mum murmurs, her voice gentle as she rubs slow circles into my back. "But life keeps moving. And you move with it."

The words sink into me, wrapping around my heart like a fragile promise. I breathe them in, clinging to the moment, knowing it's already slipping away.

When I finally lift my head, I can only see their outlines—dark shapes against the blinding glow of the setting sun. I can't make out their faces anymore.

"You can do this, Pete," my dad says softly.

Then the wind rises.

Their forms scatter like dandelion seeds, carried off into the sky.

"I miss you," I whisper again as the world dissolves.

A loud thud jolts me awake.

My breath catches sharply in my chest.

"May—May, is he here? I saw blood. Is he okay?"

Mr. Stark's voice. Muffled. Panicked.

I lie frozen in bed, every muscle locked in place. The floor creaks down the hall—Aunt May must have opened the door.

"He's resting," she says shakily. "I think he had a panic attack. A bad one. He was scared, Tony. Scared to face you."

My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might crack my ribs. My thoughts spiral instantly—the window, the fall, the blood. Everything I've ruined.

"Where is he?" Tony asks.

Footsteps. Three of them. Closer.

"Tony," May warns, voice low. "Don't wake him. His healing barely kicked in. He needs rest."

Silence stretches between them, thick and fragile.

"May... can I see him?" Tony asks quietly, all the sharp edges gone.

"Don't wake him," she repeats.

Light spills through the narrow crack of my bedroom door.

It pauses there.

I don't breathe.

I don't move.

I keep my eyes squeezed shut, heart hammering, pretending sleep while the weight of his presence settles just beyond the threshold—close enough to feel, close enough to shatter me if I open my eyes.