"Peter! Wake up!"
Peter Parker opened his eyes, blinking blearily into the late-morning sunshine streaming through the cracks in his blinds. The sixteen-year-old was caught in the fuzzy state of being too tired to fully wake up, yet awake enough to make falling back asleep a challenge. He resolved to lay in his bed—his warm, soft, comfy bed, he might have added if he had been awake enough to use adjectives—until the voice called up the stairs again.
"Peter! It's eleven thirty, for God's sake! Get up!" Peter sighed, the voice of his Dad tugging him into reality. With a slightly muted groan, he rolled out of his warm, soft, comfy bed—he was awake enough to use adjectives now, apparently—without bothering to shove the covers off, landing on the floor cross-legged. Peering into his mirror, Peter saw a pale, lanky teen with horrendous bedhead wearing only a white tee and a pair of boxers squinting back at him. Peter shrugged at his appearance, thinking, It's not like I'm going anywhere. His reflection shrugged back at him, seemingly agreeing. Reluctantly, he trudged down to the kitchen.
Peter's Dad, Tony Stark, looked up from his paper. "Morning, Sleeping Beauty," Tony commented, glancing up at his son, smirking. "You look great."
"Tony, don't tease," called Peter's Pops, Steve Rogers, who was busy at the stove making pancakes. If Peter thought it weird to be making pancakes at eleven thirty, his still-sleepy brain didn't register it. "Hungry?" Steve asked the teen.
"Starving," Peter grumbled, digging his fist into his eye in an effort to rub the sleep away, and plopped into a chair at the kitchen table. Chuckling, Tony went back to his paper, leaving Steve to deal with Peter's teenage appetite. The blond man quickly produced two more pans, beginning another batch of pancakes in one and frying eggs in the other. He knew that a "starving" Peter could eat enough food to feed a family of eight.
Just as the delicious smell of eggs and pancakes reached the teen's nose, JARVIS's cool English tone cut through the comfortable morning silence.
"Master Stark, it seems S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Commander Nick Fury is approaching Stark Towers."
Tony groaned. "I was really hoping for a Fury-free weekend. For once." He slumped down in his chair, unknowingly mimicking Peter's posture from across the table, grumbling. "Fine, let him in."
"It seems S.H.I.E.L.D. always seem to turn a normal, peaceful day… upside-down," Steve remarked, not even lancing up from his cooking.
He had no idea just how true those words would be proven.