It was never a choice. Not really. Being told to decide whether to let all his friends, family, and millions of people live or die was never a decision. There was only ever going to be one answer, no matter the cost; no matter the price he had to pay.

But, Peter thought, he had never imagined the consequences would be quite like this.

It was one thing to no longer be with the Avengers, to no longer be a part of their lives or help them save others, or even – every so often – the world. It was one thing to no longer have Tony – the man whom he had idolized for so long, whose attention he had finally been able to get, whose protege he had finally been able to become. And then to finally become an actual Avenger after the dealings with Thanos; to finally reach his goal, his dream….

But that was then. That was Before. None of that mattered now. Now, all that mattered was finding where his next meal was going to be; all that mattered was making sure he minded his own business and let other people mind theirs. All that mattered was making sure he never got involved with Tony Stark or the Avengers ever again.

In the end, that part was easy. For Tony Stark, the Avengers, and all the millions of other people in New York City, he was just another street bum; just another teen-runaway living on the streets and scrounging for food in dumpsters.

Yes, in the end, keeping a low profile wasn't the difficult part. No, the difficult part of this ordeal was a whole other pain entirely.

But it was better this way. No matter what, it would always be better this way. Because if it were any other way, they all would be dead. And Peter could never have allowed that to happen.

It all started nineteen months ago.

Nineteen months ago, Peter had been fighting someone – a humanoid creature who called himself Seftis. He had been causing trouble for weeks, destroying ships coming into port and random cars that were driving near the docks. He would appear out of nowhere, hovering in the air like a drone, shooting mists of orange fireballs from his hands. The who and the why had not been important at that point; at that point seven people had already died, and all that mattered was bringing him to a stop.

The twist in the problem came shortly before Seftis appeared for a the fourth time.

A rift had suddenly opened up in the sky above Washington, D.C. So closely had it resembled the one that had appeared a few years ago when Thanos had first attacked, that Tony had no choice but to leave New York and see what it was. The war with Thanos was still so fresh, and no one wanted him to have somehow returned, or for a copycat to be trying to replace his efforts.

So Peter had, for the most part, been left to fend for himself. Bruce remained at the compound not far away, but aside from him, Peter didn't know where the rest of the Avengers were. He was confident though that if he had to, he would easily be able to call them for help.

In the end, though, he hadn't been able to call fast enough.

Forty minutes after Tony had left for Washington, Seftis had arrived.

Peter had swung between the buildings, chasing after him as fast as he could. It went on for almost two hours, so constant to the point where Peter had begun to grow concerned as to whether or not his shooters would have enough webbing to keep going. He had convinced himself there would be enough to at least fend Seftis off for another day.

There wasn't.

He had just turned into an alleyway, pressing the trigger for another shot, but nothing had come out. Panicking, Peter had pressed it again, but again, nothing happened. He ran alongside the building as he switched hands, trying to shoot from his left. Half a shot streamed out, barely grasping the other building. By that time, however, Peter had met the wall's end and with no more webbing, he stumbled and crashed into the ground – hard.

Dazed, it had taken him a moment to reorient himself. When his eyes managed to focus, all he could see was Seftis' smiling face above him.

Peter swung his fist, but missed, and with a swift kick he was sent flying into the side of the concrete wall. He quickly got back up, but before he could so much as run, Seftis' orange mist had surrounded him and was holding him high above the ground.

Karen told Peter that help was on the way, that she had alerted Tony to his distress along with Bruce and Natasha Romanov, the latter of whom was in another district of New York, the only Avengers close by.

By now, Peter was beginning to lose consciousness. He didn't lose hope though; he knew that at any time, at any moment, someone would be there, that someone would hear his distress call and come to his aid.

They had and they did; but by then, it had been too late.

Just as white dots had begun to dance around his vision, Peter was suddenly thrown to the ground as Natasha's bullet tore through Seftis' temple, flying out the other side. Seftis didn't even blink.

Still catching his breath, Peter had watched helplessly as the Black Widow and Seftis fought. He had tried to get up, but just as he'd risen back to his feet, Natasha's gun was ripped from her hands and shoved straight through her chest.

He had gone numb, then, not entirely sure that what he was seeing was real. He had watched as Bruce showed up a few seconds later in one of Tony's suits and turned into the Hulk.

Peter had tried to help; he climbed up the Hulk's body to attack Seftis from there, but then Seftis had gotten in a good hit to the Hulk's head, and then from then on, everything had spiraled into chaos.

Peter had kept getting knocked aside, almost as though he was more of a nuisance than an actual threat. It wasn't until the Hulk was finally knocked to the ground, an orange spear standing in his chest – where the heck had that come from? – that villain finally turned his attention back to Peter.

Karen spoke words of comfort, as best as an AI could that is, insisting that Tony was going to be there at any moment. But then Seftis had started to advance, stepping over Natasha's prone body – God, was she, was she actually dea – until he stood over him, a smile stretched wide across his face.

He had held out his hand, reaching ever closer until his fingertip touched Peter's forehead. The next thing Peter knew, everything went black. The city of New York disappeared and all that was left was Peter and this dark, evil thing, this creature, this – this –

Until then, Seftis had never spoken. He had never so much as uttered at word, much less explained what he wanted or why he was doing what he had done.

His voice, when Peter heard it, felt like the most terrified, most haunting of human screams, as though someone were having their heart ripped out of their breathing chest, as though they were being ripped to shreds alive. Peter's hands had instinctively gone over his ears, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to shut the deafening screams out; he hadn't realised that his own screams had started to join them, until –

There was another touch to his forehead and suddenly the screaming stopped. Everything was silent, and all that Peter could feel was a fading burn from where his skin had been touched.

Peter unclasped his ears and looked up, meeting Seftis' eye.

"Hello Peter," the man-creature said. "Such a pleasure to meet you."

Peter had struggled at first to speak, his words fumbling off his tongue. Finally he managed to say, "Who are you?! What the hell have you – I'm going to kill –."

"We can't talk long, I'm afraid," Seftis had said, cutting Peter off. "For a decision must be made, and time is of the essence."

Peter tried to move, tried to take a swing at the man, but he found his body almost immobile, his arms and legs unable to move any more than a few inches at a time. Looking down, he saw thin, misty orange strings tied round his ankles and wrists.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Peter asked, looking back up. His heart was racing, pounding in his chest as he tried to think of a way out, of any way out –

"The choice you have to make is simple," Seftis said. "Either your friends, the Avengers, and millions across your northern continent die… or they live."

Annoyance bristled in Peter's chest, and he tried to keep from shouting. "Oh come on," he said flippantly. "Shove it with the theatrics and just tell me who you are! What the hell do you want? I'll let you know, it may have been easy to kidnap me, but as soon as Tony and the other Avengers find I'm missing, they'll have you laid out in a second –."

"My, my," Seftis interrupted, beginning to walk. "You sure have quite the temper, don't you? I'm sure friends such as Tony Stark would approve of such antics; I've no doubt he's a key exemplar in that department. Others, however, might prefer to call one who behaves in such a fashion a reckless fool."

Seftis walked around him, his dark eyes never leaving Peter's. "Now I ask you again: which do you choose? Life, or death?"

Peter glared at the man, struggling to move against his bonds. "I'm not making any stupid choice like that!" he growled. "Besides, who do you think you are that you can just kill everyone just like that? We've already dealt with one crazy psycho who tried that, and in case you haven't heard, it didn't end well for him."

Seftis snapped his fingers and an orange mist crackled to life in front of him, tendrils flickering through it like embers floating in the sky. Within it Peter's eyes caught movement and he frowned, staring until the images began to make themselves out. In one corner he could make out what appeared to be trees; next to it he saw a strangely familiar figure. As the image became clear, he realised with a start that it was Clint Barton. Hawkeye.

He was crouching outside a small house in what appeared to be an acreage, surrounded by fields and trees. A young boy was in front of him, an axe in his small hands and a stump in front of his legs. As Hawkeye's lips moved behind the boy's ear and he pointed, it was clear what he was doing – he was teaching his son how to chop wood.

It was such a mundane scene, it was so typical of a parent and child, so typical of a father and son, that Peter was left to wonder why on earth he was watching it at all.

"You see," Seftis sighed, "life is so incredibly precious. The experience of a father teaching his son, passing on all that he's learned so that his child will be able to survive in the world when he's not there… seeing the son look adoringly into his father's face… it's all so beautiful. Just as it should be."

Movement caught the corner of his eye and Peter jerked as he realised that there was someone in the woods, right behind where Hawkeye and his son were standing.

"But alas," Seftis continued, "not everyone gets what they should have; and far too many sons grow up without their father."

The shadow in the trees moved, stepping out into the open and picking up an axe that was laying on the ground. It was a dark form, not a single feature able to be made out, save wisps of black that rolled off the edges of its humanoid-like body.

"What – what are you… no." Peter's eyes flashed to Seftis, his heart starting to beat heavy in his chest as he realised what was happening. "Stop! Stop him, you can't – you have to stop –." The shadow raised the axe behind Hawkeye's head and Peter instinctively stepped forward, panic racing through his entire body. "Stop!"

The mist grew and began to surround him, encompassing him entirely until everything else around him disappeared. Hawkeye and the shadow, however, stayed where they were, until Peter suddenly realised he was standing in the clearing with them.

Peter didn't care to wonder how he had gotten there, instead shouting with everything that he had: "Hawkeye, look out!"

Clint jumped, startled for half a second before his instincts kicked in. He immediately shoved his son behind him and grabbed the axe he had been holding, holding it up in front of him, ready to attack. His eyes landed on Peter and they widened slightly, confusion flickering across his face. "Peter Parker?" he asked. "Peter, how – what are you doing here?"

The shadow raised the axe, about to strike.

Peter struck his arms forward, trying to shoot his webs, only to find that nothing came out. With nothing else he could do, Peter started running towards them, screaming at the top of his lungs: "RUN!"

As he was about to reach them Hawkeye turned, just in time for the axe to come down and strike him right in the middle of his –

Peter skidded to a halt, and everything came to a sudden and horrifying stop.

Hawkeye's body dropped to the ground – except it couldn't be, it couldn't just be his body because there was no way that he – there was no way that he was actually dead, even though – even though –

The shadow continued to hack away at Hawkeye's body. The ringing that Peter hadn't realised were in his ears began to fade, only to be replaced with screams. Looking to the right, he realised that Hawkeye's son was still standing only feet away, watching his father as he was –

Peter could hear the sound of a woman yelling, then screaming, but he wasn't listening. He started running to the boy, because while the shadow was distracted maybe he would be able to grab the child, and –

Then suddenly, when Peter was only a few feet away from the boy, the shadow turned and before Peter could reach him, the shadow took its clawed hand, and –

No. No, this couldn't be happening. There was no – there was no way that this was actually happening. This had to be a dream, it couldn't be real, it had to be a –

The scene in front of him dissolved, and Peter suddenly found himself standing in the middle of city streets. He blinked rapidly, looking this way and that, wondering what the heck had happened.

It took him a moment to figure out where he was, to realise he was no longer in on the acreage with Hawkeye and the shadow and –

The sound of tires screeching followed by a car's horn suddenly screamed in his ears. Peter started to turn, catching the image of a car coming straight towards him, followed by running footsteps and then someone was grabbing him, and –

"Geez kid, what the hell do you think you're doing? What'd you do, follow me all the way to Washington?"

Peter blinked, looking up to see Tony in his Iron Man suit looking at him with what appeared to be both angry frustration and relief.

"I mean, how the heck did you follow me, anyway? Did you hitch a ride on my suit? I swear, if you ignored my orders just to get a thrill, when you were supposed to be watching out for that guy back in New York, I swear –."

Peter's mouth was dry and he swallowed, trying to form words to speak.

"Mister… Mister Stark… Mister Stark, there was – that guy we were fighting, he – he took me and – and there was this other guy, and he was at Hawkeye's house and he –."

"Whoa whoa whoa," Tony interrupted, raising his arms. "Slow down kid. Who did what now? And what's Clint got to do with it?"

Peter was going to be sick.

"H-he killed him," he finally managed to get out. "There was a creature, and it – it was behind him and… and it killed him. It killed him and his son, too. I tried to stop him, I tried to save them Mister Stark, I swear I did, but he killed them just before I could reach them, and I… I…."

Peter watched as the colour drained from Tony's face, as he seemed to – for once – believe Peter without question. They stared at each other for only a moment longer, before Tony turned away, talking to Friday so fast that Peter almost couldn't catch his words. Not that he wanted to. Because right now all he wanted was to find a place to throw up.

Tony walked away, and Peter started to follow.

He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye at the last second. By then, it was too late.

It was the shadow creature. The same one that had attacked and killed Hawkeye. It was hiding in the alleyway, hidden amongst the shadows. Just as Tony passed it, it jumped out, claws extended and heading straight for Tony's throat. Peter shouted and started to run as fast as he could towards them.

But everything happened too fast. Tony had barely managed to defend himself before a second creature appeared on Tony's other side. In less than a second its claws had pierced Tony's armor and went straight through the other side.

Peter's whole world came to a halt.

… what? But this – this couldn't… how could – there was no way that, that….

Just as blind terror and panic began to take hold, everything around him once again dissolved into nothing, and he once more found himself surrounded in darkness.

The orange mist that had been in front of him before suddenly appeared again, like a fire erupting back to life.

Peter's knees felt weak, and he struggled to keep standing. He wondered where he was, if he was with another one of the Avengers, or….

"I hope that gave you at least a little taste of what will happen, should you choose wrongly."

Seftis. He was back with Seftis.

Peter fought to take a deep breath, without making it seem painfully obvious.

"So they're not dead?" he asked, trying to quash the flicker of hope in his chest. "Hawkeye and Tony, the Black Widow and Bruce…?"

Seftis walked behind the mist, watching Peter through the flames. "No, they're not dead. Not yet. But they will be, should you make the wrong choice. So choose: either your friends and family live, or they die."

The mist flicked once again, and images of all the Avengers, Peter's friends, and even Aunt May appeared across it; they were all in their own part of the world, each doing their own thing, each living their own were laughing, some were working, some were training. But for Peter, what was most important was that each of them were alive.

Focusing back onSeftis, Peter frowned.

"And so what…? What's the catch? I'm not an idiot, you know. You don' t… you don't just do all this, kidnap me and threaten everyone just to – just to ask me whether I want them to live or die!"

A smile slowly pulled across Seftis' lips.

"You're right."

Peter's heart was nearly beating out of his chest in panic and anger, and he wanted to scream. "Then what –."

"If you choose for them to live, then I will require something in return."

Peter glared. "And what is that?"

"Memories."

Peter blinked. "What?"

"Memories. More specifically, your friends'."

"Memories," Peter repeated. "You want… you want their… their memories." His eyes turned to the Avengers in the mist before him, brows furrowing in confusion. "So what – you want… you want to give them amnesia?"

Seftis smiled, shaking his head. "No, dear boy – of you. What I want is their memories of you."

It took Peter a moment to understand what he was asking, but when he did, he had found he was only more confused than before. "I don't… I don't understand. Why would you want that? What the hell does their memories of me matter to you?"

Seftis lifted his hand in the air, and orange spears suddenly appeared behind each person in the mist, and from what Peter could see, not a single one of them were aware.

"Is that really what's important right now?" Seftis asked. "Just know that I have no qualms about killing any of them – or any other person in your little part of the world. Their lives do not matter to me. Now make your choice."

All of the spears began to spin.

Peter struggled to find words. Who the hell was this guy? Where had he taken them? Why the hell was he going on about needing memories? And everyone, what – were they even really there? Or was he just showing him some fake, magical video about everyone dying, so that he would agree to what he wanted?

But what if he was telling the truth?

The emotions he had felt when he'd thought Clint and the others had died before roiled within him. He couldn't… he didn't want to see that again.

But what if –

"Five."

Peter jumped, his eyes widening in shock. "Wait, what?!"

"Four."

Peter's head flung to the Avengers and back to Seftis. "No, stop! Stop!"

"Three."

Peter tried to move, tried to take a swing at the man, tried to stop him, but his arms and legs wouldn't budge. "I said stop!"

"Two."

The spears began to move, rushing towards each person, all still blissfully unaware of the –

"One."

"Their memories!"

The spears came to a halt inches before each body, hovering in the air.

Peter had breathed heavily, struggling to form words. Finally he spoke. "Their memories." He turned to Seftis, his heart beating loudly in his ears. "Their memories. Take their memories of me and just… just let them live. Please don't kill them. Just let them live."

Seftis had smiled, his lips parting to reveal cracked, yellowed, and rotting teeth. "A good choice, my boy. A good choice indeed." He'd lowered his hand and all of the spears disappeared. A few seconds later the orange mist dissolved and the images of everyone – of Tony, Steve, May, Bruce, Ned – dissolved along with it.

In the blackened silence, all Peter could hear was his own, gasping breath and the racing beat of his heart.

Seftis didn't say much after that, he just smiled – and damn, did Peter hate that smile – and placed a burning finger once more against Peter's forehead. "And Peter," he said, "if you try and worm your way back into Stark's life and his little fold of Avengers, or anyone you once knew, it will not end well."

And with that, everything went black. Peter had woken up in an alleyway near Queens, and after that, well… after that….

Peter would rather not remember all that. Suffice it to say, Seftis had proved good on his word, as he would find Tony, Bruce, May, even Hawkeye – everyone was fine. He couldn't even find word on Seftis' attack. It were as though those last few weeks with Seftisin New York hadn't happened. He had made the right choice, then. Everyone was fine, and everything was back to normal.

At least for everyone else.

But Peter was okay with that. Because if he had to make the choice again, he would make the same one every time. Even with all that had happened, even with the way things were now, he would still make that choice. Because a life with his friends and family in the world was far better than a life where they weren't.