Separated

Days later, Peter dragged himself to the bus stop because the heroin made Tony too paranoid to drive and Happy was taking his allotted time for his annual mental breakdown. Peter sighed. He could stand the birds stealing and eating his lunch in front of him; he could tolerate the stabbing pain of the five-inch heel parade that passed over him; he could understand the bus driver stowing him under a seat as a floatation device. But, under no circumstances was Peter prepared for what happened when he reached school.
He would’ve dragged himself all the way to first period if not for a gracious custodian who yote him down the hall. After slamming into the door, he dragged himself to his desk, but found another pair of legs already sitting there.
“Wha—my legs? How did these get here?” Peter reached out to them, but they kicked him in the forehead. Their days of running, jumping, and walking for an ungrateful master were done. Flash came up beside them and turned to the legs.
“This guy giving you a problem, Peter?”
“What? Flash, since when do—”
“‘Cause I’ll take care of him right now. Just give the word.”
The legs waved a dismissive kick.
“Alright,” Flash flexed his hands. “You’ve got five seconds, kid. One—”
Peter crawled away, bumping into Ned as he reached the door.
“Ned! What the hell is going on?”
Ned stared straight ahead and stepped over Peter.
“Ned! I’m down here!”
Ned froze, grumbled something to himself, tapped his foot nervously and finally turned around. His voice was a whisper.
“I’m sorry, Peter, it’s just that Legs Peter is a lot cooler, more well-rounded, more socially accepted, less terrible version of you. It’s not personal.” And with that highly personal remark, he turned away and sat next to the legs. The teacher entered.
“Who are you?” she asked less cool Peter.
“I’m... I’m Peter!”
She shook her head.
“No, that’s Peter in the desk over there. You can tell because he’s so cool and socially accepted. You’re like Jared from Subway. Get out of my classroom, loser.”
And with that, Peter crawled through the halls, and if it was possible to hold his head any closer to the ground than before he would’ve. The principal was making her rounds through the halls when she spotted him.
“Ew, another rat got in,” she said, about to spike him with her heel.
“No, wait, I’m a student here!”
“We don’t teach rats,” she said while spiking.
“Please believe me! I need help getting to the office! I need to make a phone call! I would’ve just used my own, but since my legs had the pants pockets, they got the phone!”
The principal huffed.
“Fine,” she said, rolling a nearby trashcan over to them. She dumped Peter inside and rolled him to the front office. Once there, she tipped it over and he tumbled out, face red and swollen.
“Thanks... for the... ride,” he said while panting, “I’m allergic to peanuts and that trash was almost exclusively PBJs and a gallon of peanut oil for whatever reason, but I didn’t want to complain.”
“Of course, this is our peanut-trash only trashcan. We put it there for kids like you to build immunity.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”
The principal shrugged and walked off. After Peter had finally knocked the phone off its hook with his epi-pen, he considered who to call.
“I guess Tony technically has custody after he pinioned that lawyer, but I haven’t seen Aunt May in a week... well, I guess she’s been too busy buying sexy leather boots for my legs,” Peter said bitterly. “I’ll call Tony. He can get me some sexy leather gloves and then we’ll see who’s a better Peter.”
The principal returned after he made the call, wheeling a cart with a TV on it.
“Well, we’ve got nothing to do with you now that there’s a much cooler Peter Parker, so I guess you’ll just have to watch this video.” She turned on the TV. It flickered, and Captain America stepped onscreen, flipping a chair around and sitting backwards.
“So, you’re a total loser.”

TO BE CONTINUED??????