same two streets
prologue

Summary: The world tears itself apart trying to right the things that have gone wrong, and Peter falls—for the sake of Tony.

Prompt: Reading through the summaries of some of the Spider-Man crossover with Avengers stories before Spidey: Hoco came out, and I thought well, things would certainly be different if Peter was present throughout the whole Avengers formation and thereafter arcs, and I love secret identities and angsty hiding secrets so this, this is what happens when I can't find the perfect story I want to read—I just wrote it myself and while this is in nowhere near perfect at all, it's a little closer to my ideal "Peter Parker meeting the Avengers but they don't know he's a kid and fifteen with all these crazy emotional baggage shit". Also, I'm very curious about Peter's perspective on the whole, if I could go back in time will I forfeit being Spider-Man to keep Ben alive, but then that would also mean I'll never meet mean Stark—so which one is it, Peter?

A/N: This was mostly written on impulse while I was up ALL night waaiting for fucking Spidey: Hoco to come out on digital release and well, I won't bore you with how well that worked out but just know that I am so mad right now and I still can't watch the film rn. That said, please enjoy as always and leave any comments, criticism and feedback through the reviews and let's all be polite and no flames. Thanks :) Not beta'd.

Disclaimer: I just don't own The Avengers, be it the comics, films or cartoons.

He wakes up, quick heavy breaths, and garbled noise.

Things are different, he can tell because—he definitely does not remember ever lying down a concrete floor of a dark and damp alleyway. He tries to sit up but there's a sudden, searing, hot pain that shoots up his backside that stops him from doing so, and everything is white for a moment—blinding white sight, white noise, white everything. He feels the bile rising up his throat and he knows he's about to panic, so he balls both his hands tight into small fists, and lulls himself into a mantra he's all too familiar with.

Come on Spider-Man.

His ears strain in their attempt to focus on just one thing at a time – from the steady drops of his own blood against the concrete floor, to the erratic gulps of air he heaves in and out of his lungs. He tries to drown out all other noise as much as he possibly can, and feeds into himself the false comforting words of everything being okay—when he knows it himself, they're clearly not. Somehow, it works.

Come on Spider-Me.

After five long agonizing minutes of steadying his breathing, and short-paced self-assurances of I'll be alright and I can do this—he's not really all too sure about that, because with every minute passing by, he feels himself closer and closer to dying, but he can't dwell too much over that just yet—he feels just that little bit calmer, and lighter. He uncurls his fingers and he can finally see things clear again.

"Karen."

He mutters, wondering if he's still in touch with his AI, and praying to god he is – because if he's not, he will never know what to do anymore—not that he ever did to begin with. He slowly stands up, trying to shake the muddy water that's sticking to his suit.

"Yes Peter?"

A beat, and a sigh of relief.

"What happened?"

"I am currently calibrating the system to fit into the current date."

"Current—wait, what?"

Peter chokes out into his mask, eyes wide beneath his focal lenses. His hands are shaking, and his stance is very slanted due to the bleeding on the left side of his lower back. He hisses as the pain makes its presence known, once again.

"What exactly do you mean by current date?"

He wonders if he's been asleep for so long, he's forgotten that a few days has passed since—since Tony almost died. That single thought sends him into another bout of panic, and his breathing quickens, and his heartbeat intensifies, and he feels his burning flesh marking off the hit he took for the man he liked to call his mentor – but obviously, Tony was more than just that.

"According to my updated database, it is currently the eighth of May, 2010."

Peter blinks—and if not for the mask he wears, his jaw would've fallen straight to the ground. Thankfully, Karen was helpful enough to keep all his bones, and every little bits and pieces of his body, intact from the initial shock of what she just said. Never the less, it doesn't make processing the brand new information any better.

"Whe—when you say May 2010, you're joking, right?"

"I am unfortunately not."

His heart drums harder against his ribcage, and he feels that swell of panic coming right back up – although, he's sure it's never actually left and he's just rapidly fluctuating between trying to act like he's calm, and actually freaking the fuck out. He doesn't know what to say, or think, or do—so he just stands there, aching bones and bleeding out, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he is apparently back seven years into the past.

"Tha—that's im—im—possible."

He stutters out, leaning against the mossy red brick behind him, a futile attempt to keep himself from collapsing. He thinks, maybe Karen's malfunctioning—preposterous, hisses through his mind in a voice that sounds all too much like his mentor, and god did he miss those snarky quips of his—and that whatever she's saying right now is all just confused statements due to the impact of whatever that thing that shot him was – it almost shot Tony, he tries to forget, because he knows he's saved his mentor, but there's still heavy unease settling right there in his heart.

"According to my updated database, we are standing in the middle of Manhattan, New York, just three blocks down from the Stark Tower."

"Stark Tower?!"

Peter's voice shrills up a few octaves higher.

"Yes." Karen mechanically responds, and although her voice is normally sweet and comforting, Peter just couldn't find it in himself to calm the fuck down. "The Avengers Tower is yet to be built as the Avengers are currently nonexistent."

Peter thinks he might just faint—and he's pretty sure it's not the blood loss to blame. Swallowing hard, he leans further into the wall, and racks his mind for things that can possibly clear this whole mess up. It takes almost half a minute, before something he would dub as a clever solution comes to mind.

"That's it!" He exclaims with a snap of his fingers. "Karen, contact Mr. Stark!"

There's a few more seconds of silence, and Peter swallows in nervous air.

"I'm sorry, but I am unable to contact Mr. Stark."

"Wh—why?"

"It seems that the number I have is currently nonexistent."

"Nonexistent." Peter let's out, voice hoarse and slightly dizzy. "Of course."

Shaking his head, Peter does the next best thing that comes to mind—he leaves, or at least, he tries to. He wobbles out of the alley he's been holed up in this whole entire time, trying to keep his balance against the mossy red brick. Once he's closer to the open space outside of the two apartment buildings he is under, he is blinded by how bright the actual rays of sunlight flash against his eyes.

"Karen, is there a way to shade this brightness out?"

He struggles to gasp, the pain on his back sharper, digging into his very soul as if to let him know that he's injured, and bleeding, and needs fucking help—as if he already didn't know that.

"Some of the protocols installed into my system are currently unresponsive, it might take awhile for me to boot them up to a start." Karen's soft voice flitters through Peter's ear, and even though she speaks of bad news, he really isn't all that disappointed in her. "I am sorry if I am unable to help you, Peter."

Peter smiles as a form of reassurance, but it only comes out as a wince accompanied by a small whine.

"Can you at least show me the fastest route back to the Stark Tower?"

"Of course."

With a heavy breath of relief, Peter stumbles further out into the wide and bright open world, following diligently the instructions Karen provides for him.

He walks past tall buildings – skyscrapers that would no longer be there in seven years time, but he still remembers seeing them as a child. There's a few streets and blocks that are different, and many alleyways that stay the same as ever. But the most promising difference is the air of security that surrounds the city in all its dusted and polluted glory. Sure—in a few years time, there'll be superheroes saving people's lives and ensuring public safety, but with that comes a few more dangers than bargained for, and Peter – for the first time – wonders how worth it the world he's been living really is. Everyone right then is clueless, continuously living their mundane lives, unknowing of all the things the come and the changes these will bring in the next few years.

Peter tries to hold on to the thought as an anchor to keep himself awake and alert, but the amount of blood he's lost, and is still losing is – for the lack of a better word – insane. He's surprised he hasn't gone to shock yet, but he thinks it's because his healing powers are working overdrive to keep him alive for as long as possible.

He hides by the corners of every building he comes across, ensuring nobody sees the bloody mess he is, until he gets just a few meters closer to the main building. Still crouching amongst the surrounding buildings, Peter scans the area for any close-by manholes he can use as an underground entry, and finds one just across the street.

"Karen, guide me to where that tunnel leads to."

"Of course Peter."

Karen is obedient and lays out a map before Peter, more detailed than the one on the way to the Tower. Peter slides from his position and ducks into the shade of cluttered trashcans by the manhole, before lifting the heavy lid off and jumping down. He shoots a web at the lid and throws it back to place. Once landing safely underground, he takes a quick glance around, before running off to follow the route outlined by Karen's map.

"Karen, ETA to the med bay of this tower!"

"Fifteen minutes."

"Okay."

Peter nods to himself, satisfied. His steps against the murky waters and the damp sewage floors are fast and rhythmic, just like the breaths he takes in, and the beating of his heart. He tries his best to steady his vision, but things get blurry, and blurrier, with every step of the way.

"I must warn you Peter, you have lost a significant amount of blood—it is a wonder you have not gone through shock yet." Karen softly reprimands, and Peter he me as if to tell her, same Karen. "However, anymore will definitely cause you to faint, or maybe even kill you."

"I know."

"Your healing is beginning to slow down, and you cannot run on adrenaline any longer."

Peter swallows thick the information. He doesn't reply to her fretting, and instead, he picks up his pace and breathes in more of the slimy and dirty air around him.

"Karen, I need you to override the security within the Stark Tower."

He says, after a few minutes.

"I am not sure that is a very good idea, Peter."

"Karen, please." Peter pleads, breathless as blood continues to overflow from his back. "You told me that I can't run on adrenaline any longer. Without proper equipment, I won't be able to heal myself, that's why I need you to get me into the tower without alerting anyone—especially Mr Stark."

There is a sullen pause, and Peter wonders if an AI can even contemplate.

"I will see what I can do."

Peter lets out a shaky sigh of relief.

"Thank you."

"I cannot guarantee that I will be able to."

"But you're going to try right?" Peter asks, hope high in his tone of voice. "Mr Stark built you way after all the tech inside the current Stark tower, which means you have the advantage—you know every encoding programmed within the facility, while there's components within you that's alien to the technology they have right now."

"You are right." Karen agrees and Peter tries to distract himself from the wave of dizziness that sweeps his entire body with the mental image of a faceless woman nodding at him, just like how Karen would right now – if she were real. "However, I still need to be connected to a mainframe source."

"I'll find you one Karen, just give me a few minutes."

Peter's heavy breathing becomes more prominent, and try as he might to go faster than he already is, his steps become rather sluggish and tired. But he doesn't think about that, all he sees is the long tunnel ahead of him—and finally, an access point.

"There!" He exclaims, ready to jump up to the first vent he encounters. "Where's this going to lead me, Karen?"

"The chemical dump lab on the same floor as the Medical wing."

"Great."

Peter's struggling to keep his eyes open, but the new hope sparks just a little bit more life into him – enough life to pump some much needed adrenaline into his veins. He crawls steadily through the vent, leaving a trail of thick and dried blood behind—but all he cares about is getting to the med bay before he passes out.

He reaches the end and climbs up the ladder propped against the wall. One more vent to go through, and he arrives. He lands in a stumble at the lab, toxic trash surrounding him, with large beakers and bags of disposed chemicals. Peter tries not to breathe in anymore than the little oxygen the room provides, but his heightened senses make doing so a whole lot difficult. So the chemicals mingle through his nose and he feels even more lightheaded than he already is.

"Shit."

He discretely moves across the room, aiming for the door closest to the lab table, but the door opens and Peter has no choice but to jump up to the ceiling and cling to it, hiding between the pillars of the lights. The heat radiating from both side is hot and searing, especially against his crusty skin and bleeding back. He bites his tongue to stifle a moan as Tony Stark enters in flourish, with a grumpy Happy Hogan in toe.

"And I think I've marked off all the materials thrown into these waste bins – hopefully none of them were accidentally mixed in with the others – while Pepper's ordered a new batch of supplies to further the testing."

Tony speaks fast, the embodiment of flamboyance and genius wit all rolled into one.

"Well, what do you want me to do with the leftovers from the unsuccessful ingredients?"

Happy huffs in that same way Happy always does, and Peter could cry because he hasn't seen that face in a long time and he really really does miss it.

"Some of them are radioactive, so I need you to be very careful with those, especially the alloy for—"

Tony stops mid-sentence and swiftly looks around. Peter holds in his breath, and Happy quirks an eyebrow up.

"Tony?" Happy inquires, one hand holding a clipboard, the other tapping a pen against said clipboard. "Boss, what's wrong?"

"I smell blood, lots of it."

Happy takes a minute to stop tapping, and takes a quick sniff at the air. His face forms a sort of unreadable confusion, before it turns into disgust.

"You're right—what the fuck is that?"

Both men begin to frantically look around the room, and Peter buries himself further in between the lights, skin burning from the direct contact with the heat.

"Did you throw away the rest of the raw iron I was unable to use and mix it in with one of the more reactive substances?"

Tony asks skeptically, firmly standing by the entrance, one hand on the door and the other on his hip.

"No—of course not." Happy protests in unmasked offense. "You know I know you were planning to use those for more prototypes."

"Then what—"

The door is pushed off of Tony's hold, and feisty cherry blonde woman enters, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

"What are you two still doing here?"

The infamous Virginia "Pepper" Potts exclaims, her feet tapping impatiently against the marbled floor of the lab.

"We're sort of in the middle of something here Pe—"

"No!" She snaps, pulling Tony out of the room by his wrist. "We have a gala to arrange—Tony, you haven't even dressed yourself yet, never mind prepared what you're going to wear for tonight, and you Happy, I thought you were better than this!"

"I am sometimes!"

Happy calls out as he follows them both out but—before he completely leaves the lab, he takes one long scan around the room, just to make sure everything's in place. His nose wiggles a little, but other than the awful stench, nothing seems to be different. With the thought of figuring it out for later, he shrugs and leaves, closing the door behind, and Peter lets out a long breath he never knew he was holding. Listening to the clicking footsteps, Peter stays still, straining to hear how faraway the three people are before deciding to land safely back onto the ground—except, it wasn't really safely because he lands heavily on his left foot and the impact travels up and down his spine, and further increases the pain on his already bleeding back.

He hisses, hands tight in a fist, but he doesn't waste a moment of opportunity. He scans the room for a power source, and sees one just by the mess of beakers, and one Bunsen burner. He hops over and takes off his mask.

"Okay Karen." He mutters, his voice wet and heavy. "Let's hope this works."

He tugs at the chord hidden under a small flap on his Spider mask, and pulls it out. He installs it into the wall plug, and his whole suit activates in a quick succession of flickering lights.

"Initiating system override."

Peter hears the whirs and the fanning within his suit as Karen works her way into the security mainframe. He chews nervously on his bottom lip, careful not to bite too hard in case he starts bleeding—and he really doesn't need to lose anymore blood than he already has right. It takes a lot longer than he anticipates it would, and his ears perk up to listen to any and every other extra sound from outside of the room, just to ensure he doesn't get caught. And with a click, the suit lights up again and Karen speaks.

"Override complete. Security breach successful."

Peter has honestly never been so happy to have hacked anything in his whole entire life.

"Great." He breathes out another sigh of relief – something he seems to be doing a lot this particular day – and pulls the chord off the plug, whilst sliding the mask back on his head. "Karen, can you turn off all cams and unlock the Med bay?"

"With pleasure."

Peter doesn't waste anymore time, running out of the lab as fast and as silently as he can. He climbs up the walls to the ceiling, crawling his way to the med wing for optimum invisibility. He doesn't think he can hold on much longer as his sweat has begun to seep out of his gloved hands and interfere with his hold, but he strives on.

Upon reaching the med wing, he takes a quick look around for any empty rooms, and there's one—sitting perfectly, right at the very back corner of the spacious hospital-like hallway. With much perseverance, he crawls his way onwards, and slips in unnoticed by the frantic doctors and working nurses, and crashes himself onto the floor.

"Finally."

He breathes out one last sigh of relief, his whole body aching all over. He lies down on the clean white tiles, palm over his heart whilst the other hand grabs his mask off his face. He looks to the cupboard on his right, and sees a first-aid box. Lifting a slow hand up, he shoots a web and pulls the box towards him. It lands in a soft clatter on his stomach.

"Fuck."

Peter sits up to undress the top half of his suit, and his hands shakily open the first-aid box he's placed on his lap. His breathing continues to be heavy, deep, and shallow. Picking up all the materials he needs, he twists his body to the side in hopes of getting a clearer view of his bleeding back. With how he is right then, he doesn't get too far with the flexing, but he can at least see the damage—dried brown blood and white puss coming out of his left backside. He nearly throws up, but he's ever the optimistic as he sets up the thread and the needle.

Peter thinks everything will all work out. He can figure all those other little details out later – about where and when he actually is at, what the actual fuck is going on, and how he ended up like this. The important thing is the needle he holds between his thumb and index finger, and the thread that runs through its small hole. As long as the fact remains—Tony is safe. Whether it's Tony from here or his Tony, it doesn't really matter now does it?

If it was him or Tony Stark, it will always be Tony Stark.