Peter has had the absolute worst day.
When he left the house that morning, his parents were fighting (over something trivial; they have the most stupid fights). He hates when they fight.
Then at school, he flunked his English test (because crime-fighting doesn’t leave much time for reading decrepit plays about stupid teenagers) and ended up looking like an idiot in front of Gwen.
And then, he put down his backpack for like two seconds to stop a mugging in his civvies and when he turned around, some jerk-face had run off with it. He spent a whole freaking hour, tracking the dick down because, besides the homework he needs in order to not fail all of his classes, he also had his mask and his school ID in there, which, had the they been discovered, would have been decidedly not good.
So it’s late and Peter is tired, and sore, and grumpy, and would really just like to collapse into bed. He slumps through the front door, throws his stupid backpack onto the hallway floor, and looks up to see his parents watching the news (or rather, glaring at it) from opposite ends of the couch.
“Are you kidding me?!”
Steve and Tony look up from the couch in surprise.
“Are you still mad at each other about the stupid toaster? It’s a toaster! So what if dad turned it into a robot? He can buy you a new one, pops! Or build you one! So, stop being mad at him, ‘cause he’s bound to do it again. And dad, stop turning our house-hold appliances into robots!”
His parents blink at him stupidly, and Peter huffs at them as he rolls up his sleeves.
“Jeez, it’s like living with freaking children.”
He shoots a line of web at each of them and jerks his wrists across each other, pulling his parents across the couch and slamming them into each other. He shoots some more web to glue them together.
“Now kiss and make up,” he says, stomping off towards his bedroom.
Peter pauses on his way through the kitchen and yells back to them, “And I’m taking the toaster! …Maybe he can help me understand Shakespeare.”
