Peter: Hey, Mr. Strange, Sir?

Peter: Hey, Mr. Strange, sir?

Stephen: Doctor Strange, Peter. It is not a made-up name.

Peter: Oh okay, Mr. Doctor Strange sir.

Stephen: *sigh* What is it?

Peter: When we put candles on a cake, does it summon some sort of demon that decides based on their mood to grant our wish or do the complete opposite of it?

Stephen: ..I believe the lessons of mystic arts didn't cover this.

Tony: What the fuck—why did you have your finger up my ear, honeybear?

Rhodey: You were sleeping with your eyes open. Go to your room and sleep on a bed like a normal person.

Tony: I can't, Peter's patrol still hasn't ended. It isn't his bed time yet.

Clint, whispering: It's Thursday, he's not even supposed to be here.

Natasha, sighing: We know.

Peter, high on coffee: I'm shitting, crying, throwing up, stepping on nails, and fucking fighting god

Harley: I only shit and cry, you’re a talented multitasker.

Tony, who walked into their convo: What the fuck, you two?

Tony: Honeybear, I.. I really hope I'm not like Howard.

Rhodey: You're not, Tones. Trust me.

Tony, sighing in relief: Oh yeah? Guess that means I'm officially a DILF then.

Rhodey: Yeah— wait what?

Tony: A DILF? Devoted Involved Loving Father?

Steve: Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes.

Peter, nodding sagely: So, that way when you criticize them, you are a mile away from them and you have their shoes.

Tony, tearing up: That's my boy.

Steve: When I was a kid, I used to be so weird.

Bucky: Even now that you're a century old, you're still fucking weird.