Spiderson Oneshots

Eternal Portion of the Fair--Peter and Loki

Warnings: Language, death and murder mention, some religious commentary, taking out frustration on someone, fighting, weapons that go with said fighting, injuries, and near-death experiences.

A couple notes before we start. Many moons ago, one of the warnings I included was that the oneshot was long. That was a lie. This is long. This is like three times the length of that one. So grab a snack and settle in; we'll be here a while. Secondly, this fic includes Loki. It has no spoilers for the show. In fact, this fic just turned into a full AU. I guess you could describe it as Infinity War and everything after didn't happen. Don't look too far into it. Enjoy!

Peter has a knack for being in places you wouldn't expect him to be. Not that it's necessarily a bad thing, but he's one that you can find crammed into odd spaces to read or hanging from the ceiling to puzzle out a problem. It's startling, even though he's been at it for years.

Case in point: his favorite spot to study at the compound. He's not up there often, but when he is, he's a bit hard to find, especially when he doesn't want to be. One such time, as it is now, is when he's finishing up his schoolwork for the weekend. Peter likes quiet to think and puzzle, and it comes with the added bonus of not having people look over his shoulder to judge just how long it takes to do something. And, unconventional as it is, he finds that the most private part is in the containment cells.

In his defense, they're not usually in use. Prisoners are usually taken to places with better security and overseen by the public eye.

Against him though, Peter really should have checked before swinging in from the vents like he owned the place.

He drops his bag with a thump onto the ceiling of the main containment cell. Long ago, he might've tried to be quieter to avoid discovery, but now he knows that no one is ever in here, so he doesn't bother.

Peter plops down, pulling his bag over to him. It's irritatingly heavy with an unfair amount of homework for a weekend. A math textbook is dropped onto the ceiling, then a notebook, a history textbook next, another notebook, and a thick book of Shakespeare on top. Digging in the bag, he pulls out a pencil and a calculator before turning back to survey his options. Might as start with the most painful, he thinks. Pulling the book of Shakespeare off the top of the pile, he grabs one of the notebooks to write down observations for the inevitable essay.

He lays back, heavy book held above his head as he extracts the bookmark and lays it to the side. He's somewhere in the middle of Macbeth, which he doesn't really enjoy, but it's better than Romeo and Juliet. He had to read that a bit ago, and he really doesn't understand why it's the most popular play of Shakespeare's. Not that any of them are bearable, though.

One particular issue he has with Shakespeare is Peter's lack of ability to comprehend it. That isn't exactly Shakespeare's fault; he just wrote in the English of his time. Peter is just annoyed that he's expected to read it like it's some children's book. To be able to understand it with some semblance of speed, he's found that he has to read it aloud, which is part of the reason he found this hiding spot.

Inhaling, he starts off at a part of Macbeth's. "If thou speak'st false," Peter reads in a low voice. "Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth, I care not if thou dost for me as much—"

"If you're going to read aloud, would you speak loud enough that I could hear?" a voice says, bitter and irritated and slightly muffled from within the cell. Peter promptly drops the book—why is it so heavy?—on his nose and yells.

"What in the fucking hell?" Peter rubs at his nose after casting aside the book, blinking away the tears of pain. He flips over, looking through the glass.