Spider-Son & Iron Dad one shots

Supernatural Enemy

Spooktober.04

a/n: takes place in Homecoming AgeTM

(the monster I chose was a djinn, which basically, following the lore I chose, is a genie thing that puts people through dream state comas and feeds on their blood, poisoning them. yes it was based off of a supernatural episode but listen listen I was inspired)

Peter remembers that he must have blacked out. He was fighting some monster—It was some alien looking thing; a species he's never seen before. He was about to call Tony, as per protocol when he runs into something more unusual that unusual normally is, when his vision went black and fuzzy.

He woke up in a house he hadn't seen in years.

It was almost unrecognizable, really. But Peter had dreamt this place enough that he knew deep in his chest where he was, and he should not be here. It wasn't possible. So he must be dreaming.

Peter takes the comforters off, sliding out of bed. The room was identical to how he left it, if not more grown up considering he was no longer a kid.

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion. That was different. This all felt too real. He reaches for his phone and dials Tony's number.

"Mr. Stark?"

"Peter? Why're you calling me this early?" Tony's voice filtered through the phone easily. "I know you're my intern, but—"

"Nice one. What happened yesterday?" Peter asks with confusion. He needed something to grasp onto. Something normal. Tony's voice was helping. "I remember blacking out, but I woke up in my old house. Like, my parent's house."

"Woah. Parker, are you telling me about some weird dream you had or something? Are you alright?" Tony laughs loudly over the phone.

Peter sighs in frustration. "I'll call you back."

He hangs up before Tony can respond, and then goes down the stairs. He stops in his tracks about halfway down, watching a woman who was most definitely not May at the kitchen.

He narrows his eyes and quietly finishes his trek down the stairs, sneaking into the kitchen.

"Peter! How'd you sleep?" A male voice sounds from behind him. Peter jumps and turns around, his eyes wide.

His dad.

Oh.

Peter looks between the two of them, suddenly connecting the dots.

His mom—Mary, her wavy hair a shade of red-brown, that framed her face nicely. She wore a kind smile, and her face had lines of happiness instead of the stress lines Peter remembered so clearly from his memories.

Then, his dad. Richard had brown hair, like his. His eyes were softer than Peter remembered too, like a man who would know a long fulfilling life rather than a painful death.

Peter hasn't ever had dreams like this. They seemed so clear to him, so present. Peter rushes forward, hugging his dad tighter than ever. "Dad..."

Richard laughs gently, hugging him back. "Hey, kiddo. Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm okay," Peter says. "I'm more than okay, I..."

He pulls away and hugs Mary, too. It's all he's ever asked for, when her arms wrap around him. It feels like a home he's never had the chance to know, like safety and comfort and peace, like innocence and healing from things that seemingly never happened.