When human consciousness sinks into a dream, it's often hard to realize when exactly the dream started. Steve wasn't any different. As the patter of rain gradually ceased, he found himself in a somewhat familiar place the next time he opened his eyes.
He squinted, shielded the light with his hand, and, upon standing, surveyed his surroundings. It appeared to be an old laboratory.
Although Steve wasn't a researcher, he could tell that this lab didn't originate from the 21st century. If one were to observe it with last century's perspective, the equipment here would have seemed advanced, but that couldn't conceal the somewhat cramped layout and the scuff marks on the well-worn laboratory tabletops.
Suddenly, Steve spotted something very familiar - a lab bench. The reason it felt familiar was that he had once personally repaired a dent on its cupboard door.
At that time, Howard had made a vibranium shield for him. Neither of them had used such a weapon before, and they neither realized its destructive power. Steve picked up the shield and threw it directly—it hit the opposite wall with a "clang", and when it rebounded, it slit the rope of a chandelier with a "whoosh".
With a "pop", the chandelier crashed to the floor. Steve instinctively dodged backward and with a "bang", the door of the cupboard behind the lab bench got a dent from his collision. Howard was livid, leaving Steve no choice but to repair the damaged cupboard door overnight.
Many familiar items appeared before him as he walked past that lab bench: components of the flying car Howard always bragged about, various models piled in the corner of the room, even a half-peeled Playboy poster on the wall...
Steve could almost see his old friend Howard busying himself at the lab bench while he sat at the table behind, devouring a hamburger.
They were both very busy back then, Howard occupied with providing an array of logistical weapons, while Steve was busy fighting enemies.
Relishing the scenes in his mind, Steve sat down next to the small table by the wall—he could even smell the aroma of the hamburger.
With a "crack", the sound of a wrapper being torn snapped him to attention. He turned his head, expecting to see a finally free-to-eat Howard, but instead, he saw Stark.
Stark held a cheeseburger in his hand. The freshly unwrapped cheeseburger filled the air with the enticing aroma which was witnessed by Steve's swallowing. Stark switched the hamburger to his other hand, saying, "Stop staring, no food here."
"Is this your conscious world?" asked Steve.
"Correct," Stark answered while eating: "You have to enter my dream first, then you can proceed with the dream journey."
"I'm sorry, Tony..." Steve lowered his head, his voice filled with sorrow.
When actually standing in this room filled with detailed memories, the death of someone wouldn't merely be a cold phrase or a notice. Every detail here reminded Steve that Howard had once genuinely existed in this world, leaving countless traces. Yet, Howard's life abruptly ended at some point, and there were no more traces updated here.
As Steve took in all this, he realized that Howard's death had wounded Stark much more than he had imagined for Stark, like his father, was a super genius. Their memories were manifold more powerful than those of ordinary people. Therefore, Stark couldn't forget—the best medicine for healing wounds for most people.
At least, in this dream space, Stark retained all the details of his experiences with Howard. And now, everything was revealing itself before Steve.
Stark walked over and sat down across the small table. The chair opposite was a bit shorter, clearly meant for a child. But now, the towering Stark sitting on the small chair looked rather ludicrous.
With their backs against the wall, Steve and Stark sat at the two ends of the table—one high, one low—like a scale.
Steve turned his head and saw Stark sinking lower than him. He knew that if this was indeed a scale, Stark weighed heavier than him because he carried the weight of his father's death.
Only by watching someone sinking into melancholy and falling down before our very eyes do we learn the unbearable heaviness of death and farewell.
"The reason I allowed you into my conscious world is not to hear your apologies," Stark claimed. He took a deep breath, seemingly making a courage-draining decision, and said:
"I've read many psychology books, done countless analyses, and I think they could help your condition."
Stark lifted his head, gazed through the glass at the blinking light in the opposite lab, and stated:
"The era you and he belonged to has passed, and it's never coming back. Many of the people you knew are no more, and everything you once had is lost."
"You're frantically searching for someone to prove that you had existed. But your existence itself is the evidence that they had been real."