As Long As The Sun Burns

Chapter Twelve

"Hey kiddo," Tony called, smiling at the sight of Peter sprawled out on the couch, snoring loudly. Tony lightly shook him awake, cooing internally at the sight of Peter yawning and sleepily rubbing his eyes as he awoke. "Come on kiddie. It's time for dinner."

"Huh? Dad?" Peter asked, blinking the sleep from his eyes. "What's for dinner?"

"I ordered pizza." Tony said, walking into the kitchen with Peter trailing behind him. He ushered Peter into a chair and set a plate of cheese pizza in front of him. "I didn't feel like cooking today."

"Thank god," Peter mumbled. He wasn't sure if he could take his father's cooking experiments today.

"I heard that." Toy called from where he was standing, pouring him and Peter a cup of soda. He poured Dr. Pepper into Peter's glass and Pepsi for his own (there have been several arguments over which soda is better. They have not come to an agreement. Tony doubts they ever will.)

Peter grunted as he ate the pizza, still half asleep.

"You know, Peter," Tony said, setting Peter's glass down in front of him before pulling out the chair next to Peter and sitting down. "You've been really tired lately. Are you feeling okay? Do you think you're sick again?"

Peter shook his head quickly. "No! No, I'm okay Padre. Promise. I've just been having trouble sleeping, is all."

"Really? Well, why didn't you say so? What's keeping you up?" Tony asked.

Muggers. Robbers. Thieves. Murderers. Super Villains.

"Nightmares," Peter said, taking another bite of his pizza. Tony paused mid chew and looked over at his son. Peter's hair was frizzy (but that was probably from sleeping on the couch) and his face was pale. He had dark bags under his eyes and he looked like the walking dead. What could be causing such horrible nightmares? Was he having nightmares about Ben again? Maybe he should call a therapist.

"What about, kiddo?" Tony asked, trying to sound casual.

"I don't know," Peter felt horrible about lying. He never liked lying to his Dad, but this time it was necessary. "I can never remember them. Only waking up scared."

Tony frowned. "What do you do when you wake up?" he asked.

"I just stay awake." Peter said. And technically, that wasn't a lie. If he woke up in the middle of the night, he'd just put on his suit and go swinging around Queens and sometimes Brooklyn and help anyone in need.

"Why don't you ever wake me up?" Tony asked. Peter looked at Tony with a dry expression. "What?"

"Dad, I'm fourteen. I'm too old to wake you up because of nightmares." Peter said. Tony huffed.

"Peter you're never too old to ask for help," Tony said. "I have nightmares too, you know. Sometimes I dream that you've been hurt of god forbid, killed and I have to go to your room to make sure you're okay."

Suddenly, the pizza in his mouth felt dry and bitter and he couldn't convince himself to swallow.

"What I'm trying to say," Tony continued. "Is that if you have another nightmare, you can always wake me up. I'm always here for you kid."

"Thanks Dad." Peter whispered, his voice soft and remorseful.

Tony, oblivious to Peter's internal struggle, merely pulled Peter in for a hug and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Anytime bambino."

The guilt threatened to swallow him whole.

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