Chapter Five

The sound of soldering woke Peter up. He looked over at his alarm clock—5:00AM. Peter groaned and threw off his blankets. He opened the door to his room and went downstairs towards the sound. He ended up in the garage. It was a small, one car garage. His dads kept one family car there that they rarely used now that Peter was older, and their two motorcycles. His dad was crammed in a corner, working on some small electronic device, probably some modification to his suit.

"Dad?" Peter asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His dad turned off the iron and took off his goggles.

"Oh, shit, Pete I'm sorry, I woke you up didn't I?" Dad said. Peter just waved his hand.

"It doesn't matter—Dad, what are you doing up? And where's Pops?" Peter asked. Although, he wasn't actually asking where Pops was, he was more asking why hasn't Pops forced you to go to sleep yet?

"Just working on some repairs, Pete. Go back to bed—I'll take this into the workshop," Dad said.

"Did you sleep at all?" Peter asked.

"Recently? Yes. Tonight? No," Dad replied, gathering up his tools and equipment.

"Then call Happy and get him to drive you," Peter insisted. He wasn't going to bother forcing his dad to sleep. Pops was the only one who could manage that. "Anyway, where's Pops?"

"Asleep, I expect," Dad answered easily.

"A falling feather that changed the currents in the air could wake him up—how'd you get past him?" Peter asked, almost impressed. Dad paused, and then tossed a wrench back on the table. He sighed heavily and then looked Peter in the eyes.

"I didn't," he said.

"I don't understand. You said he's asleep—"

"I didn't say where," Dad said. It took Peter a moment, but then finally it dawned on him.

"He left?" Peter asked. "Where'd he go?" Peter had a sinking feeling that it wasn't on a super secret mission for the Avengers.

"A hotel, I think," Dad said, stuffing the circuits and bits of metal he'd been working with into a duffel bag.

"But…why?"

"To clear his head. For us to have some 'cool off time'," Dad said. Peter didn't like the sound of that at all.

"Well…when's he coming back?" Peter asked.

"A few days, he said," Dad said, zipping up the duffel. He sounded unconcerned, but Peter could read the strain on his face.

"He…he left for a few days and he didn't say goodbye?" Peter asked. Dad sighed again.

"Go back to sleep, Peter. I'll be home later," he said. He got out his phone and instructed JARVIS to call Happy and tell him that he had to drive him to the lab.

"Why didn't he say goodbye?" Peter asked, his brain still not processing this information.

"Because he's coming back soon, Peter. Don't worry about it. We just needed some…space. Go to sleep," Dad said. He put his phone in his pocket and grabbed the duffel. He ruffled Peter's hair as he went back into the house to wait for Happy at the front door. Peter followed after him.

"When will you be home?" Peter asked. Dad looked at him seriously.

"Before lunch time. I promise. We'll go get something to eat together. Shawarma?"

"I hate shawarma."

"Chinese."

"I had Chinese last night."

"Pizza?"

"It's Sunday, Pops always cooks—" Peter meant to say 'a roast', but the words didn't come out when he saw the pained expression on his dad's face. Right. Because Pops wouldn't be home tonight. Peter felt a small pang in his chest, both of pain and of panic. "I like pizza. But get the good stuff."

"Your wish is my command," Dad said, but his voice was a little strained, the joking tone a bit forced. "Go to sleep, Peter." Peter said goodbye and then went up to his room, collapsing back on his bed. His head spun. He grabbed his cell phone off his bedside table, toying with it for a bit. Should he text Pops? Should he find out if he was ok, and when exactly he'd be coming home?

But then, Peter considered, Pops probably didn't know. Peter couldn't believe that he hadn't said goodbye or anything. And why was he gone at all? He'd never left before. He'd never 'needed space'. Peter started a text.

Why didn't you say goodbye?

Delete.

When are you coming home?

Delete.

What did Dad do to piss you off?

Delete.

Maybe it wasn't something Dad had done. After all, hadn't Peter been the one misbehaving lately? Peter grabbed a pillow and hugged it to himself tightly, trying to ease the slowly growing sickness in his stomach. Hadn't Peter been the cause of a lot of their arguments lately? Had Peter driven them apart, and driven Pops away?

No, that was nonsense.

Wasn't it?

He got out his phone, fully intending on sending the next text, but changed his mind. Instead he wrote:

Did you still want to see that movie?

And sent it to Gwen Stacy. He pulled up his covers and rolled over on his bed. His phone pinged.

GWEN

Five in the morning is a little early for a movie.

It's too late if you meant to catch the midnight premiere.

What are you even doing up?

Dad went nuts with the soldering iron.

At five in the morning?

He doesn't sleep. I'm pretty sure he's a vampire. Just holding out the hope that he's not the sparkly kind. Why are YOU up?

Phone wasn't on silent, you woke me up.

Asdk;fjjl I'm so sorry

It's fine. There's a showing today at 3pm.

The AMC on Riverdale and 206th?

Yes.

I'll be there. Will you?

You'll have to go to find out.

Peter grinned and then put his phone down. He turned over in bed, drawing the covers close. He dreamed of short blonde hair and knee socks, but a shadow of two arguing adults loomed in the background…

Peter woke again not to the sound of soldering, but the sound of his own alarm. Peter sighed—would no one let him sleep? Not even himself? He glanced at the clock—at least it was now a decent hour, ten o'clock instead of five. Peter tossed off the covers for a second time and wandered down the stairs, but as soon as he hit the last step, the hairs on the back of his neck raised up.

Something was very wrong. But what? Peter tried to shake it off, but this wasn't any ordinary feeling. It wouldn't go away. He ignored the foreign emotion and went to the fridge to get some breakfast. He grabbed a box of cereal and took it back up to his room. He sat at his computer, eating and thinking about his plan for the day.

For one thing, he had a date with Gwen at 3. Well, maybe. He probably had a date with Gwen at 3. But before that, he had a little…avenging…avengering?...whatever, crime-fighting to do. He gulped down his cereal and put on his suit, still trying to avoid that nagging feeling that something was off. It was probably just leftover from last night, Peter reasoned. Everything felt wrong with Pops gone.

He pulled street clothes over his costume to keep it from view. He turned on the comm. system.

Green Goblin attack at the Grand Concourse and East 165th Street in the Bronx, special units to contain the situation, all other units standby, repeat, all other units standby.

Peter's stomach did a somersault. He'd read about the Green Goblin in the Daily Bugle, but when he'd asked Pops about it, he'd just ruffled Peter's hair and told him not to worry. Peter had assumed the story had been made up or exaggerated, but here was Maria Hill's voice saying quite plainly that he did exist, and that he was attacking New York.

Sounds like a job for the Avengers…plus Spider-man, Peter thought. If ever his dads could use his help, it was now, wasn't it?

The doorbell rang. Peter groaned internally—wasn't the domestic side of life always getting in the way of adventures? It was so boring and ordinary and…Peter opened up the door.

"Delivery for Peter Parker?" said a man in a FedEx uniform.

"I…I haven't ordered anything recently," Peter said, puzzled. He stepped out onto the porch to see the box. It was fairly large—the size of a mini-fridge, maybe. The FedEx man checked the form.

"You ARE Peter Parker, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah," Peter started, still puzzling over the package, "But I didn't order—Suddenly Peter felt two hands on his shoulders. He danced out of the FedEx man's grasp. "Woah—hey—" The FedEx man started towards him, and Peter backed up, coming to the edge of his porch. The man's hands came at him again, trying to pin his arms to his sides, but Peter punched them away. "What's your problem?" He tried to get to the door, but the FedEx man blocked him. Peter jumped up and locked the man's head between his thighs, twisting them both down in a move he'd learned from Aunt Nat but had never been able to execute until his transformation. The man went down hard. Peter's heart hammered. He thought he should feel relief, but still that nagging feeling that had bothered him all morning hit him. He jumped up, making his way to the door, but then he felt another pair of arms around him, and a cloth wrapped around his nose and mouth. Almost instantly the world grew fuzzy. Peter flailed for a moment but his vision went black at the edges and slowly he was pulled back under into unconsciousness.

Peter woke slowly, his head buzzing and the room spinning a little. He shook his head and blinked, trying to clear his vision, and slowly the room came into view. It was a small room, painted grey with cold, grey floors. There was a drain in the center of the room and a single light bulb in the ceiling. Blood stained the floor, but Peter knew better than to panic—judging by the drain, he guessed he was in a former slaughterhouse or something.

Peter was surprised (and delighted) to realize that his hands and feet weren't bound at all. His captors were then either very stupid or very confident in their ability to keep Peter subdued. Peter smirked. Maybe they could keep Peter Parker subdued, but there was no way they could contain Spiderman.

There weren't any windows, and the drain in the floor was far too small to fit through. His only chance at escape, then, was through the door. Peter got up from where he sat on the floor and walked over to the door. He jiggled the handle but his captors were not, at least, completely brainless. The door was locked. Peter sighed, staving off panic with annoyance—he'd have to wait for someone to walk through that door before he could escape.

Peter began to formulate a plan in his head, but as he stepped away from the door, it unlocked. Peter started to rush back to the door but it shut as soon as it opened, and the sight of Peter's visitor stopped Peter in his tracks.

There had been no pictures of him in the Daily Bugle, but there could be no mistaking it. The armor that covered the figure from head to toe was a metallic, emerald green. The visors that covered his eyes were a horrible yellow, giving the Goblin an almost bug-like appearance.

"Peter Parker," spoke the Goblin in a horrible, gravelly voice. Every hair on Peter's body stood on end at the sound. "Who would have thought that the famous Captain America and Iron Man were settled down together, and with a son?" Peter felt his blood freeze in his veins.

"Seriously? Captain America is gay? Didn't see that one coming," Peter said, faking surprise.

"You're cute, Parker, but there's no point in denying who you are," the Goblin spoke. "I know that you're Stark's boy—an accidental child is hardly surprising coming from him."

"You know I think you've got me mixed up with someone else, dude, 'cause I live in Brooklyn, you know, and Stark's got some big penthouse or something, right? I go to public school, maybe you should check out the private schools in—"

"Don't try my patience, Parker," the Goblin spat. Peter fell silent. It probably wasn't the best idea to rile up a crazy man in armor.

"What do you want?" Peter asked. "Money?"

"Tony Stark's head on a platter," the Goblin replied easily. "And you my dear boy, are going to help me get it."

"So, what, I'm your bait? Seriously? Because you're going to have to go up against at least five seriously pissed off superheroes once you lure my dad in here," Peter said, sincerely unimpressed.

"Oh, no, Peter Parker, I'm not luring anyone. We're going to make a trade. Tony Stark's life for yours. And I'm betting that Daddy will come to your rescue," the Goblin said.

"Well, great. Awesome plan, really," Peter said, deadpan, "but did you honestly just come in here to monologue to me about it because I have better things to do. Like stare at that drain, or count the bloodstains on the floor."

"I came in here as a courtesy, Peter Parker," the Goblin spoke, not sounding at all perturbed by Peter's cavalier attitude. "Because you alone can save your father. He will choose to save you—but will you choose to save him?"

"You want him dead—so what is this, you're just playing with your food now? Those are awful manners—did your mother raise you in a barn?" Peter asked.

"It's your choice, Parker. Who will it be, you or your father?"

"Dad, obviously," Peter scoffed. "Let the young live and the old die."

"I'm having difficulty with your sense of humor."

"I'm not joking," Peter said openly. "I'd rather not be slaughtered here like a pig. If Dad's willing to save my life…awesome."

"You…are not what I expected. But I have to say that I like you, Peter Parker. I like the way you think," the Goblin said. He put his hand on the handle.

"Do I get dinner or lunch or something, because I'm starving. Who knew chloroform could give you such hunger pains?" Peter asked breezily. The Goblin just stared at him. Or, Peter assumed that he stared. The yellow glass over his eyes made it hard to tell. "Well, whatever. I'm guessing you'll let me out soon enough. If I change my mind, should I knock?"

"…I guess so." The Goblin pushed down the handle and backed out of the room. Peter let out a breath as he heard the lock click again. It wasn't guaranteed that the door would open again, but if what the papers were saying was true, he would have plenty of trouble subduing the Goblin—and Peter was betting that his goons were still outside.

This was not, despite his dads' best attempts at secrecy, Peter's first incident with kidnapping. In the first, Peter had been six. His dads had taken him on a tour of the helicarrier when disaster struck and they had to suit up. Despite being left in the charge of a member of SHIELD, the agent got distracted in all the chaos and Peter ended up unprotected. Though they had no idea what his importance actually was, members of HYDRA had grabbed him in the fight and held him for three full days as they tried to use him as leverage after losing the battle. During that time, Peter had attempted to escape constantly, but each time he was thwarted by the guards outside his door. He'd managed to get down the hall once by running through one of his captors' legs, but that was as far as he got, and the consequences of escaping had not been pleasant.

The consequences for his captors, however, once his dads and the other Avengers had infiltrated the building, were even less so.

But if Peter had learned one thing from that incident, it was that patience was key. Also that cooperation helped and that his dads would always come and find him.

Still, a little innovation and creative thinking couldn't hurt.

Peter peeled off his clothes, revealing the Spiderman costume beneath. He pulled on the mask and gloves, and then crawled up the wall to the ceiling. He hung off the ceiling by his feet. Here we go, Peter thought. He shot out his hand, spraying the room with his web. Five minutes later, the entire room was covered in it, aside from a strategic couple of areas. Peter climbed across the ceiling, delicately picking his way across his webs until he was on the ceiling above the door. He knocked.

"Hey!" Peter shouted. "Hey, I want to talk to that green guy again!" Peter waited, his every muscle on alert with anticipation. Moments later, the door opened. Peter stuck out his hand and grabbed the man stepping inside with his web. This man, just a crony, went pitching forward head first into the web, shouting all the way. Two more guards ran in, and Peter wrangled them with his web, throwing them further into the room. He watched them struggle for a moment, making sure that they were well and truly stuck, before scurrying through the door and onto the wall of the next room.

It was more obvious now that the area was a former slaughterhouse. From the ceiling hung dozens of hooks, and there were instruments and machines the functions of which Peter had no desire to decipher. He crept up to the ceiling, trying to find the shiny green armor of the Goblin, but the lighting was too dim. He shot off a web, deciding the swinging from the ceiling would be faster, but just before he shot off a second web to swing on, a star shaped blade flew through the air and cut clean through Peter's web, catching him by surprise and sending him tumbling onto the ground, rolling arm over arm on his side. When he stopped he groaned in pain—yeah, he'd have bruises in the morning. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and Peter knew before seeing that the Goblin was about to attack. He rolled out of the way as a knife came down, and he did a backflip to get back on his feet and face his attacker.

"You should really keep a better eye on your prisoners," Spiderman advised the Goblin, disguising his voice as best as he could.

"How did you get in here?" The Goblin demanded, throwing some small device that looked like it might be a bomb. Peter shot a web to the ceiling and propelled himself up to it just as something exploded. Yes, definitely a bomb. It would be good to avoid those.

"Spiders always find cracks, Green Meanie. Like that one in your head, I can see that wide gaping space from fifty miles away," Spiderman said. Peter had to dodge another bomb, quickly swinging away from his spot. The building was, from the explosions, beginning to burn.

Get out, get out, get out, Peter chanted in his mind as the Goblin took to the sky (well, the air) with his glider. Peter swung away, trying to find some opening somewhere. There didn't appear to be any open doors or windows. Peter looked around—he'd have to smash one. Or…

Peter swung through the air, dodging the bombs with the help of his natural instincts (well, his spider instincts—what was he going to call that, anyway? His sixth sense? Or maybe…his spidey sense—ha!). He swung towards a window and stuck there, waiting for his moment, his nerves almost fried. As soon as he saw the bomb hurled, Peter leapt out of the way, swinging back around as the bomb exploded on contact, flinging glass everywhere. Peter swung himself right out the window, making a sharp turn around to stick to the wall outside the warehouse. He looked around, trying to find the spot that would give him the most advantage in the coming, fight, but he couldn't decide. The Green Goblin came rushing out the window after him.

"I'm done playing games, bug boy. What have you done with Parker?" the Goblin asked. Long blades extended from his glider.

"I didn't do anything with him—I opened the door and he ran out," Spiderman said as the Goblin rushed him and Spiderman flipped out of the way and onto the roof. The Goblin was coming at him fast, and there weren't any particularly tall buildings nearby. Peter ran, but the Goblin was catching up, his glider much faster than Peter's feet. Peter jumped to roll away, but the Goblin caught him with one hand in mid-air, holding him up by the neck. The Goblin lifted him up as Peter choked and struggled against his vice-like grip.

"Let's try this again. Where is Peter Parker?" the Goblin asked.

"Oh, well, you see, that's a different question all together," Peter sputtered. "He's probably on the subway by now—" The Goblin roared and squeezed tighter. Peter could no longer cough. He panicked as he realized he no longer had any air supply.

"I will squash you like a bug, Spiderman," the Goblin said, tightening his grip further, to the point where Peter wasn't sure if he was about to die of asphyxiation or have his neck snapped. His vision started to go white at the edges.

"Put the vigilante down, Goblin," said a voice Peter would recognize anywhere. His heart swelled with hope and his brain began to work again through the panic. Pops! Peter stuck out his hand, spraying Goblin in the face with his web. The Goblin yelled and momentarily relaxed his grip on Peter. A moment was all Peter needed—he kicked Goblin in the chest and did a back flip off the glider and onto the roof. The Goblin nearly fell off his glider at the kick, and he flew around erratically as he tried to tear the web off the eyes of his armor. Peter looked up to see Iron Man flying in to the scene. He couldn't see Pops—he guessed that the leader of the Avengers was on the ground, due to lack of flight capability. The Goblin finally managed to rip off the web, balancing himself on the glider and zooming away from Iron Man, who was quickly closing in.

"You're on my list, Spiderman!" the Goblin shouted. He zoomed away, with Iron Man chasing after. Moments later, Thor and Captain America landed on the roof. Captain America came rushing towards him.

"Did you see anything? Did you see a teenage boy? His name is Peter, did you save him?" Captain America asked anxiously. Thick, black smoke billowed from the one open window, and Peter could follow Pops' trail of thought—if Spiderman hadn't rescued Peter, it was unlikely at this point that Peter could be recovered alive. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but knew that, even if he disguised his voice, there was no way that Peter could trick his Pops—he would know his voice as surely as Peter knew Pops'. So Peter just nodded. He could see the relief on Pops' face, like the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Oh, thank God—where is he?" Pops asked. Spiderman pointed towards the city. "He…went back home?" Spiderman nodded. "Not much of a talker, are you?" Spiderman shrugged. Captain America placed a hand on his shoulder. "Well, thank you for your help. You just saved my son's life. That's not something that I will ever forget. We need to talk sometime—" Captain America looked Spiderman up and down for a second "—or, I'll talk, you nod, but I have a son to find at the moment." Spiderman nodded once again, and with that Captain America and Uncle Thor exited the roof. And now, Peter thought, time to race them home.

His muscles ached, and as the adrenaline wore off, raw nerves were left, making even swinging through the city nothing more than an anxiety-inducing activity. He swung home as fast as he could, crawling on the back walls of his neighbors' houses before sneaking in his own back window. He couldn't tell whether or not either of his dads had made it back yet. He hoped that Agent Fury would hold them for debriefing, but he knew that given the circumstances there was no way that he would.

He landed gingerly in his room and stripped out of his costume quickly, throwing it in the back of his closet beneath a pile of dirty clothes, and changed as fast as possible into ordinary street clothes. His ribs hurt from his fall, and he guessed that they were bruised. Woops. As soon as he pulled on a shirt he grabbed his cell phone and went down the stairs. He sent his parents a text:

Guess you noticed I got kidnapped—I'm fine and at home, though, got rescued by Spiderman.

As soon as the text went out, the door opened. It was Pops, mask off and costume on—in broad daylight! But he didn't seem to care. He walked straight to Peter and enveloped him in a hug that was extraordinarily uncomfortable, given the state of Peter's ribs.

"Ow, Pops, ow—"

"You're injured? They hurt you? The bastards, I'll—" Pops said, letting him go quickly.

"It's just bruising, I think, but you can feel free to still do…whatever it is you were about to say that I imagine was horrific because they totally deserve it," Peter said. "Where's Dad?"

"Here in seconds, I expect," Pops said. He just looked at Peter. "I thought we might lose you today."

"Well, you did lose me, and I lost me, but you found me and that's the important bit," Peter said cheekily, but Pops was obviously not in the mood for jokes. He didn't even crack a smile, and the grin faded from Peter's face.

"Someone knows who you are, Peter," Pops said. "The game changes from here on out." Pops started walking upstairs, and he grabbed Peter's elbow, forcing him to come along.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked, bewildered.

"Packing. Packing your stuff," Pops said. "We can't stay here."

"Oh," Peter said. He wasn't going to try and argue. He wasn't going to try and say that he had two superheroes looking out for him, wasn't going to say that he could take care of himself, because he knew that none of that mattered at the moment. "Are we packing Dad's stuff, too?"

"He will, when he gets here."

"Well this will be an easy packing job then," Peter said as they entered his room, "seeing as you're already packed." Peter looked his Pops in the eye, and his Pops looked away.

"Peter—"

"PETER? STEVE?" Dad shouted from downstairs.

"Up here, Tony," Pops shouted back. Peter heard thumping as Dad ran up the stairs, and seconds later he had another pair of arms cutting off his oxygen supply.

"Dad—" Peter started, but Pops was already peeling Dad off.

"Bruising," Pops explained gently. Dad's face darkened, but Pops just said, "Later, Tony. Now, packing."

"Packing?" Dad asked, and Peter thought he heard a note of panic in his voice.

"Yeah, you too. Go pack things for the night—we're staying at the Tower," Steve said firmly. He dragged a suitcase out of Peter's closet. Peter saw a flash of red from his costume.

"Uh, you know, I can pack on my own, it's really fine—how long should I pack for?" Peter asked.

"Indefinitely," Pops replied, but he didn't leave the room.

"Are you seriously going to watch me pack?"

"Yes."

"No, Pops, I'll be fine."

"You were just kidnapped. Again!"

"Pops."

"I'm standing outside the door, then," Pops said firmly. He stood outside. Peter shut the door. He sighed and looked at his phone—six o'clock.

Peter groaned. Pops came bursting through the door.

"What? What is it? Are you ok?"

"What?" Peter asked. "Oh…I'm fine…it's just…I had a date."