I do not own Guardians of the Galaxy: Vol 2.
And I was not almost crying at the end of the movie. There was something in my eye. Both of them.
Mary Poppins, Ya'll
It's okay, boy.
It's alright.
You done good.
I'm proud of you.
His skin was freezing. His bones were freezing. His crooked, twisted teeth were freezing.
His entire cellular structure was crystalizing.
But Yondu Odonta, the new Mary Poppins of the galaxy, held the boy's gaze until his ocular receptors froze him in their sights.
And everything faded to white.
And in that blinding emptiness, he heard . . .
"Where am I? What's going on?"
Such a high pitched voice on such a skinny little runt.
Blotchy round face.
Stained with, what was that, tears?
Jeez, did all humans have to be such quarthaquads?
"Shut that yammering, boy! Or I'll eat you up!"
Then Yondu grinned all his twisted up teeth at him.
And the boy, trembling, shut his yammering.
At least for the time being.
"We're goin' on a little trip," Yondu informed him brusquely. "Goin' to see the galaxy."
The skinny runt shuffled anxiously, fingers playing with a sort of rectangle thing with cords attached to his belt.
Yondu, of course, reached down and yanked it off.
"What's this? A weapon? A homing device?"
The kid immediately freaked.
Screeching and punching ineffectually at the much larger man.
"Gimme that back! That's mine! My mother gave that to me! Give it back!"
And Yondu was surprised by the ferocity of the brat's resolve.
Useless as it was.
And backhanded him to the ground.
"Don't you come after me, boy! I'll tear you limb from limb and toss yer bones inta space!"
The kid, bruise already forming on his face, scrabbled back up to his feet, swaying dangerously.
"It's mine."
The statement was spoke with such deadly, defiant sincerity Yondu was taken aback for a second.
This little punk. This little snot nose son of a skirmsquid.
He had to be the genuine article.
The one his . . . employer had been searching for.
Yondu scratched his bald blue head, pensively.
Then, for the sake of the uneasy crew, gave a gravelly rasp.
"Scrappy little brat, ain't he?!"
Then he hauled the kid up by the scruff of his collar.
"This is my ship, boy! And I'll be be damned if-"
It would a have been a good speech.
Full of proud, threatening authority.
If little Peter Quill hadn't kicked him in the shin first.
"Ow! You little-"
Yondu tried not to dance on the spot.
To the jeers and outraged shouts of his blood thirsty crew of Ravagers surrounding him.
Instead, throwing his wild eyed, snaggle toothed face right in the boy's.
"You don't attack a captain on his own ship, boy! Especially when he's shown you such high class respect and courtesy!"
And dragged him down through the walkways.
And threw him into a grey barred cell only big enough to turn around in.
Slammed the door and locked it.
"You sit in here for a while, boy! You think about where you are and what you're skin's worth."
Then as the child once again rose to his unsteady feet, screaming for his little rectangular thing . . .
"Gimme back my Walkman! My mother gave that to me! Please! It's all I have of . . ."
. . . Yondu ignored him, stomping away.
Gonna have to teach that boy some respect.
The echoing shouts faded away as the kid wore himself out about four hours later.
Yondu stayed put another two hours, just to make sure he didn't care.
And then made his way quietly down to the brig.
The boy was asleep sitting up in the far corner.
Back braced against the dirty wall, legs drawn up against his chest.
Head lolling on arms on knees.
Yondu stood silently, watching him breathe.
The rhythmic rise and fall of his thin chest.
The mop of tangled hair on his head.
The still blotchy young face.
His employer would be looking for confirmation of acquirement.
Ravagers honored their commitments, their deals.
Except he guessed that didn't matter anymore. Dealing in kids for Ego had as good as signed his exile from the Ravager faction anyway.
Him and every crew member that chose to stay with him.
Dishonored. Disbarred. Disgraced.
But, he'd had to.
Because Ego, that unfathomable Being, was offering a small fortune for each and every bounty.
And Yondu wanted to be rich.
And he was.
Until he stuck around, snuck around.
And found out exactly what that jackass had been up to with all of the bounties Yondu had delivered to him.
And Yondu had turned pale under his blue.
And now the next, the last, this boy . . .
Yandu picked at his teeth with a blackened nail.
Dug some yella goo out of his ear.
Rubbed a thoughtful hand over the scruff on his chin.
And watched the sleeping human child.
He was small. Scrawny.
He could probably fit into small spaces. Learn to get in and steal stuff the rest of them couldn't.
He could be . . . useful.
And alive.
Yondu Odonta drew a deep, decisive breath.
Walked silently away.
Returning a short time later with some stale bread and dried darrak meat.
And set them just inside the bars of the cell.
Along with the rectangular thing the boy had gone to pieces so badly over.
And then he left, without looking back.
Without thinking about it any further.
Because he didn't care.
Because he was Yondu Odonta.
Yondu put the future StarLord in time out. Heehee.
As for the rest of it, well, echoes of 'Where the Wild Things Are'.
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