ꨄ tangled hearts • spideypool ꨄ

14 • nightmare

Wade bolted upright in bed, gasping for breath, his heart pounding violently in his chest. His room was pitch black, the only light coming from the faint glow of the city outside his window. He was drenched in sweat, his sheets tangled around him, as if he'd been wrestling with demons in his sleep. For a moment, he didn't know where he was—lost between the horrific nightmare and the dim reality of his apartment.

Peter. Dead. Blood everywhere. The scene replayed in his mind, as vivid as if it had really happened. The rooftop. The gunshot. The desperate pleas that had fallen on deaf ears. The cold, lifeless body in his arms. He could still feel the weight of Peter, the warmth of his last breath fading into the night air, the crushing realization that he was gone.

Wade squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the images away, but they clung to him like shadows. His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. But nothing helped. His heart was still racing, his chest tight with an unbearable grief that threatened to suffocate him.

It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare. But it felt so real.

He reached for his phone on the nightstand, his fingers fumbling in the darkness. He had to hear Peter's voice. He had to know—really know—that Peter was alive, that the nightmare hadn't become reality. His hands shook as he scrolled through his contacts, his thumb hovering over Peter's name. For a moment, he hesitated, afraid that somehow calling would make it real, that he'd hear nothing but silence on the other end.

But he couldn't bear the thought of not knowing. Not for one more second.

With a shaky breath, Wade pressed the call button, holding his breath as the phone rang. Each ring felt like a lifetime, the silence on the other end pressing down on him like a weight. He counted each ring, his heart hammering in his chest, until finally, there was a soft click and a familiar, groggy voice.

"Wade? It's the middle of the night, man. What's going on?" Peter's voice was thick with sleep, but it was warm, alive, and so very real.

Wade felt a wave of relief wash over him, but it was quickly followed by a fresh surge of fear and guilt. The sound of Peter's voice made the nightmare seem even more unbearable, the thought of losing him too much to handle.

"Pete... I... I'm sorry for waking you up, but I need to see you. Can you come over? Please?" Wade's voice was shaky, barely holding back the tears that threatened to spill over.

There was a pause on the other end, and Wade could hear Peter shifting in bed, his tone growing more alert and concerned. "Wade, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I... I'm not okay. I just need to see you. Please, Peter. I—just come over. I'll explain everything when you get here."

Peter didn't hesitate. "I'll be there in ten minutes. Hang tight, okay?"

Wade hung up the phone, his heart still racing. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, trying to steady his breathing. But nothing could shake the images of the nightmare from his mind. The blood, the lifeless eyes, the final, heartbreaking words. He could still feel Peter slipping away from him, and it terrified him in a way that nothing else ever had.

The minutes dragged by, each second feeling like an eternity as Wade waited for Peter. His mind raced with a thousand different thoughts, but they all circled back to the same terrifying conclusion—he couldn't lose Peter. Not now, not ever. The thought of a world without him was unbearable.

Finally, there was a soft knock at the door. Wade practically leaped to his feet, his heart pounding as he rushed to the door and flung it open.

Peter stood there, still in his pajamas, his hair tousled from sleep. His face was etched with concern, and as soon as he saw Wade, that concern deepened. "Wade... what happened? Are you okay?"