A/N: uhhhhhhh here have some angst about nightmares
Starmora Week 2017, Day 5: Hurt/Comfort
Tendrils of light emerge from the ground and wrap around Peter's wrists and ankles, preventing him from moving forward. He cries out, trying to pull against them, but it's no use; the grip of the light tightens, squeezing his limbs.
"Stop fighting, Peter," Ego advises oh-so-helpfully from a few feet ahead of him, looking down at him with a smile. "This is your destiny!"
"I never asked for this," Peter says with a huff, falling to his knees.
"It's what you were born to do, son," Ego says, walking closer to him. "It was never a choice."
Peter fights against it, anyway, trying to break free. He pulls his arms up as much as he can, grunting through the burning sensation in his shoulders, but the light doesn't give. It reminds him of quicksand—the more he struggles, the harder it is to escape.
"Peter!"
His head snaps up at the familiar voice. He turns and spots Gamora in the doorway of Ego's hall, leading the ragtag group of the Guardians, Nebula, and Yondu. Before Peter can call out to them, Ego sends more light in their direction, scattering the group.
Gamora jumps and dodges whatever light springs up in her path to him as gracefully as ever, and along with the little burst of hope in Peter's chest is some admiration, too.
(Fuck, he loves her so much.)
She finally reaches him, kneeling before him. "Peter."
"I'm okay, I'm okay," he says quickly, pushing himself up as much as possible. "I just—the damn light—"
She's already one step ahead of him on that one, the Godslayer leveled to the tendril attached to his wrist, but before she can cut through, Ego appears behind her with a smirk. Gamora quickly turns to face Ego, but a tendril of light emerges from the ground and wraps snugly around her wrist, forcing her hand to drop the Godslayer. She reaches out to punch Ego, but her other wrist is quickly restrained.
A sudden spike of anxiety over this "rescue" stabs through Peter as he watches Gamora struggle. Ego steps around Gamora to face him.
"The first lesson I had to learn as a celestial, Peter," Ego says, almost teasing, "is to let go of the ones I love, because they would only hold me back from reaching my true potential."
"No!" Peter shouts, eyes flicking between Gamora tumbling a few feet away from him in her struggle with the light. Soon, both her legs and arms are restrained, just like his, and she glares up at Ego angrily. "Gamora!"
"It will hurt," Ego says. "But you will get over it. We're immortal, son; people like your mother and Gamora are just a blink in the long span of our existences."
"Leave Gamora alone, you son of a bitch," Peter growls. "She and the others have nothing to do with this! Let them go!"
"And what? Wait for them to come attack me again?" Ego raises an eyebrow. He shakes his head and leans down to pick up the Godslayer. Peter pulls against the light more desperately, if he can just reach Gamora—
The light forces Gamora to kneel as Ego steps in front of her, pressing the tip of the blade to her throat.
"Peter—" Gamora starts, but Ego presses harder.
"Stop!" Peter cries. "I'll stay here with you, I'll do anything you want, just let her go!"
Ego doesn't look impressed. He looks down at Gamora. "Do you love him?"
Her lips are pressed together in a straight line, her eyes somehow calm in the shit storm happening around them. Peter watches her turn her gaze from his eyes to Ego's. "Yes."
"Gamora!" Peter screams, pulling, pulling, pulling.
"Then you know this is what's best for him," Ego says.
Before Gamora can reply, before she can disagree, before she can tell him off in her smooth-Gamora-way that always leaves Peter star struck and hopelessly, unabashedly even more in love with her, Ego levels the Godslayer at her chest, just above her heart, and, and—
"No!" Peter cries, as he had when his mother died before him. He hadn't been able to hold her, to comfort her, to even look at her when she'd died, and because of that, he knows he failed her.
Just as he's now failed Gamora, too.
Her body slumps against the ground in a growing pool of blood, and then, only then, do Peter's limbs break free from the light, and he crawls to her, vision blurring and head ringing, gathering her up in his arms, but—
She's already gone.
He holds her in his lap, her head lolling back to the ground, and he curls in on her body, cradling her, as if she can come back, as if she'll open her eyes and tease him for being so dramatic. He turns his head up with a scream, wishing someone can somehow bring her back.
He cries out for help.
Until a voice breaks through—
"Peter!"
He opens his eyes just in time to watch the wall of his room pass in a blur as he rolls off the bed in a tangle of blankets and limbs with the person who'd called his name. He lands rather ungracefully on said person, who groans softly at the fall, screwing her eyes shut for a moment.
"Ow," she mutters, pushing herself up into a seated position, and that's when he realizes—
"Gamora!" he cries, throwing his arms around her and hugging her more tightly than he thinks he's ever hugged anyone before, but, hey, that nightmare was, like, the worst nightmare he's ever had, so he thinks he deserves a break. He hugs her tightly, breathing in her familiar scent.
"Peter, what—"
He cuts her off with frantic, tiny kisses, trying to cover as much of her face as possible. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry," he breathes through each kiss. "You're alive."
She manages to reach her hand up between them in their tight embrace to lay her fingers on his cheek, a gentle gesture to tell him to slow down. He presses his forehead to hers, with a deep breath, his nose making that ugly sniffle sound. Her hand moves up to his hair, sifting through his disheveled curls slowly.
"I'm alive," she says slowly. "I'm okay."
"Thank God," he breathes into her. "I thought—I thought you—"
"I didn't."
"Thank God," he repeats, hugging her more tightly.
"I've never seen you have such a bad nightmare, Peter," she says softly, still combing her fingers through his hair. "We need to talk about it."
"It was dumb," he mutters. It's been over a year since Ego, and they won that battle, anyway, so whatever anxieties plagued his dreams tonight were very misplaced. He sighs. "Ego killed you and I—I couldn't stop him, it was like I was just there to watch. By the time I got to you, it was too late."
"That doesn't sound dumb," Gamora says quietly.
"It's just…unrealistic, I guess." Peter shrugs. "Ego's not coming back, and he never tried to kill you specifically when we were fighting him. I just don't know where it came from."
"Perhaps it's a side effect of the pain medication," she says, and he tenses for a moment, trying to remember why he's on pain meds, when a dull ache in his right arm answers him. He groans, looking down at his upper arm around Gamora's head. He'd been nicked by a blade during their job earlier that day, and though the cut wasn't deep, it bled enough to earn him a Gamora Lecture (as he's come to call them) for being reckless.
Despite it being a pretty minor cut, it still stung a lot after they'd bandaged it up, hence the pain meds. Must be something about his "weak" Terran physiology, or something.
"Y'know, I made a pledge in school back on Earth I'd never do drugs," Peter says, trying to force the quiver out of his voice. "I can see now why they discouraged drug use."
"It's for a purpose now," Gamora reassures him, her hand stilling in his hair. "Are you ready to move back up to the bed? Or do you want to stay like this?"
"Stay," he answers a little too quickly, but, fuck it, he just watched Gamora die, he's not about to let go of her. "Just. A little longer."
"Okay," she says, resuming massaging his scalp. He melts into her touch, a small smile forming on his face. He briefly wonders how different things would have been if they'd encountered Ego now as opposed to when they did—how much closer the team may have been, how much closer he and Gamora may have been, how much more would be at risk because of Ego.
What Peter does know is that he's glad he's not fucking immortal.
They sit in silence for another minute or two, Peter simply absorbing Gamora's presence. Of course, given the nature of their lives, he's thought before of what would happen to him in the event of Gamora dying on the job, but no matter how many times he tries to steel himself for the possibility becoming a reality, nightmares like these just remind him how hilariously unprepared he is should he lose her. Maybe it's about simply appreciating each day they get together rather than worrying about their uncertain future, but Peter can't help the anxiety that loves to tease him during the night.
Eventually, his labored breathing returns to normal and his tears dry up. He finally loosens his grip on Gamora, leaning back and sliding his hands down to rest on her hips. She offers him a smile.
"Are you ready now?" she asks, and he nods.
"Thanks, Gamora. For always being here."
"I love you," she says, as if to remind him.
"Love you, too, babe."
She pushes herself up to her feet slowly, reaching her hands down to Peter to help him up. He takes the offer, letting her pull him up. Before he can reach down to gather their mess of blankets, she wraps her arms around him, resting her face against his chest.
"One more," she murmurs, and he can't help the small laugh that escapes him. A year ago, she'd been uneasy when it came to touch, and he tried his best to respect her boundaries; now, she's become much more comfortable around him, trusting him enough to let him initiate contact, and sometimes even initiating it herself.
(He chalks it up to her gradually realizing she's secretly a touchy-feely person, deep down.)
(She denies it whenever he brings it up.)
After they break their hug, they pick up all the blankets they'd pulled down to the floor with them, and somewhat make the bed. It's the middle of the night and they need to get back to sleep, so they just straighten things out enough that it's comfortable.
Once they're settled in again, Peter wraps his arms around Gamora, resting his head on her chest. She runs her fingers through his hair again—he made sure she knew how much he loved that—and hums one of the songs from the Zune softly. He falls asleep quickly from all of that, feeling much safer than he had minutes ago.
He falls asleep only to wake up almost the exact same way as before, because of the exact same dream as before, though this time he and Gamora manage to stay on the bed.
The calming down process is still just as long and grueling as the first time, taking up much of the time they had left to sleep before getting up for the day. The team quickly notices their exhaustion and Rocket makes a point to tease them, but once Peter glares actually maliciously in his direction—pretty uncharacteristic for him—Rocket shuts up.
And, unfortunately, that's not the end of it. He has the dream again the next night.
And the night after that.
And the night after that.
By the end of the week, he's practically a zombie walking around the Quadrant, and though Gamora's a little more disciplined than him with this kind of stuff because of her crazy assassin training under Thanos, he can tell she's not too far behind him in the downward spiral to actual fatigue. Her eyes are heavy, her movements slow, and her patience noticeably lacking. (He especially relates to that last one.)
"Just shake me awake and then go back to sleep," Peter mumbles into her arm in the middle of the seventh night, his eyes drooping quickly. "I can calm myself down."
"I don't think that will be beneficial to either of us," Gamora mumbles in reply, rubbing her eyes. "You would stay up with me, if it was the other way around."
"Not fair," he says through a yawn, shaking his head. "You're not fair."
"If you're feeling brave enough to argue with me," she says, "try going back to sleep."
And the cycle repeats. Peter's not sure the last time he felt actually awake and, like, actually able to do things. Now he and Gamora have to stop each other from slumping into their food at practically every meal, and the team's slightly freaking out over it.
"Can we get a d'ast doctor on board already?" Rocket says, gesturing to Gamora as she catches Peter's head just in time to save him from going for a swim in his bowl of soup. "You two look disgustin' and can barely function."
"Are you sick?" Drax asks.
"Just sick of nightmares," Peter mumbles, moving his head to fall on Gamora's shoulder instead. "Well. Sick of one specific nightmare."
"I am Groot," Groot says from his chair, looking up at them with wide eyes.
"We'll be fine," Gamora says, offering him a weak attempt at a smile. "We're figuring it out."
"Perhaps I can help you sleep," Mantis says, tilting her head.
Peter considers it for a moment. The uncomfortably familiar image of Gamora dying in front of him comes to mind, and he shakes his head. "I need to be able to wake up. There's no way I'm spending any longer than I need to in that hell dream."
And that's that. The rest of the Guardians go about their day while Peter decides to try for a quick nap with Gamora.
They return to their bunk without somehow tripping over each other, which Peter takes as a victory. He lies face down on the bed without getting under the covers, sighing into his pillow. "I hate my life."
"Don't be so melodramatic," Gamora says, yawning. She slumps down next to him, apparently bypassing properly getting into the bed as well. "We'll get through this."
"I want to sleep," he says, turning his face to look at her, "but I also don't want to sleep. Like, I'm tired as hell, but I'm not excited for what happens when I go to dream land."
She presses her lips together. "Ego will stab me through the chest with the Godslayer."
He nods.
"And it always happens exactly in that way?"
"Unfortunately or fortunately," he drones, "however you want to look at it."
The good thing is that it only creates one scary image in his head rather than a million different images, but it's still terrifying and tragic and everything horrible no matter how many times he sees it. Sure, he doesn't wake up in total, complete panic mode anymore, since he's been woken by the dream so many times now, but it still weighs heavily on his mind and just waiting for Gamora to come back from the frickin' bathroom leaves him feeling anxious.
He's about to drift off when Gamora suddenly sits up.
"Damn it," she mutters, looking down at him, wide-eyed. "I know why you're having nightmares."
His eyes open at that, though he can't will himself to sit up, 'cause, fuck, he's tired. So he just settles for a dumb, "Huh?"
She leans over his back to pull up his right sleeve, revealing the scar from the fight the week before, when he'd had an unfortunate encounter with a knife. She makes a tsk sound. "It's from your injury."
Again, "Huh?"
"It's a toxin some people line their blades with," she explains, pulling his sleeve back down. "Thanos used it occasionally to…train us. It—it was never used on me, but from what I saw, when the toxin enters your system, it makes you see encounter your biggest fears in your dreams."
"Who the hell would develop anything like that?" Peter pushes himself up into a seated position then, scrunching his face. Who's so cruel they'd ever want to do that to anybody? (Though, considering this is Thanos they're talking about, he really shouldn't be surprised.)
She shakes her head. "There's no antidote."
He gapes at her. "Again, who the hell—"
She silences him with a look. "Peter. You have to fight back."
"Uh…what?"
"The way to get the nightmares to go away is to win against whatever or whoever is tormenting you in them," she explains. "You have to fight Ego and win, before he can kill me and the others."
"What the—how am I supposed to do that?" he asks loudly, anxiety bubbling up in his chest. "I told you, I can't move in the dream, I just have to watch. I can't even lift a damn finger to fight him!"
"I'm sorry I can't help you more," she says quietly, averting her eyes for a moment. She sighs, then meets his gaze again. "I wish I could enter the dream with you and help, but…the point of this toxin is to force people to overcome their fears. You'll have to fight alone in the dream."
He searches her eyes for a moment, looking for some sort of other hint or clue as to how exactly he's supposed to do this, but there's nothing but sadness and exhaustion there.
…A lot of exhaustion, he realizes. He knows Gamora's been just as tired as him from all of this, but he's been dragging her through the emotional exhaustion, too. While it's his torment they're dealing with, he's been in her position before—outside, separated from the other person's inner turmoil, and feeling completely powerless.
So he nods slowly, taking her hands into his. "I'll try. I'll fight back."
"I believe in you," she says. "I believe in your strength. You may be alone in there, but you're not alone here. Don't forget that."
"You give me strength," he says, offering her a sly grin, but she just rolls her eyes.
"That sounds cliché."
"Whatever, but it's true."
She squeezes his hands then, glancing to their pillows. He lies down with her, curling into her as usual before closing his eyes with a deep breath.
Right. He needs to fight back. Fight back, fight back, fight back…
He's back in Ego's place, fighting against the light trapping him. He pulls against it per usual as Ego watches from the other side of the room.
"Stop fighting, Peter," he says joyously. "This is your destiny!"
"Fuck that," Peter mutters, trying to break free. He's so concentrated on the light that he nearly misses the arrival of the other Guardians, whom Ego promptly attacks with the light. "Damn it, damn it, damn it…"
"Peter!" Gamora calls, running to him.
"Don't come over here, Gamora!" he calls back, falling onto his ass. He huffs in frustration. "I'm okay—help the others!"
"You're not okay!" Gamora insists pointedly, cutting down two tendrils of light in her path.
"I'm moderately okay!" He bites his lip, stilling his movements to assess the situation. The light's restraining him as usual, but when he doesn't fight it, it doesn't restrict him quite as much. If only he had some sort of weapon—
His thoughts are interrupted by Gamora's cry, and he looks up in time to watch the light wrap around each of her ankles, tripping her. Ego's approaching now, as creepy as ever.
"The first lesson I had to learn as a celestial, Peter," he says, almost teasing, "is to let go of the ones I love, because they would only hold me back from reaching my true potential."
"Goddamn it!" Peter yells, pulling at the light more recklessly. "Gamora!"
The Godslayer is in Ego's hand before he knows it and—
"Fuck!" Peter yells upon waking, sitting up quickly. His face feels hot and his breath is coming in short gasps, but when he looks down beside him, Gamora's lying there, looking up at him calmly. She reaches for his hand, intertwining their fingers.
"I'm here, Peter," she says softly.
She rubs the back of his hand with her thumb slowly. He nods, taking a few more moments to catch his breath before lying down next to her again. She presses a gentle kiss to his temple.
"You can do it," she whispers with a small smirk, "Star-Lord."
A small smile forms on his face at that, and he nods, returning Gamora's little kiss.
"I'm trying."
"Hey, hey, Rocket!" Peter yells over the chaos of the fight in Ego's hall. "Rocket, throw me a blaster!"
"Are you crazy?" Rocket yells back, flying out of the way of three light tendrils that appear out of nowhere. He shoots them all down quickly. "I only got one!"
"Just trust me! I have to—"
He turns to gesture to Gamora, but Ego's already got the Godslayer pointed at her chest.
"Oh, for fuck's sake—"
"No matter what I do, Ego always manages to get to you in, like, two seconds," Peter says, pacing across their room with arms crossed over his chest. "I don't remember him being so fast."
"Dreams are a strange place," Gamora offers from the bed, folding some of his shirts. "Have you tried controlling the light yourself?"
He sighs. "Doesn't work."
"Hm." She sets the most recently folded shirt on top of the growing stack. "Perhaps you should stop me before I run to you."
"Gamora, stop!" Peter yells, watching the Guardians scatter, with Gamora heading straight to him, as usual. "Groot needs your help!"
"What?" Gamora yells back, cutting down two tendrils of light in her path. "He's with Rocket!"
"If you come over here, you'll die!"
"I'm not leaving you over there to die while we're all distracted!"
"Uh…" Peter's drawing a blank on how to divert Gamora's path, so he decides to approach it the other way. "Hey, Yondu! Help me outta here, will ya?"
"I gotta do everythin' around here," Yondu grumbles, but he whistles and sends the arrow to Peter anyway, cutting through the light on Peter's right wrist.
"Yes, yes, yes—"
Unfortunately, a new light tendril emerges from the ground sending rocks flying everywhere, one of which breaks Yondu's arrow much like it had in real life. Peter's wrist is bound again and he curses under his breath.
"Stop fighting it, Peter," Ego says, his voice eerily calm. Peter turns to face him wearily; the dream is almost exactly the same each time, but if it's caused by a toxin, it's gotta be able to evolve to fight back against him fighting back, right? He's numbly aware of Gamora's hand brushing his shoulder, before she's trapped, like him.
"This is so frustrating." Peter scrubs at his eyes with the backs of his hands, forcing away the hot tears spilling over. "I literally can't do anything."
"I'm sorry," Gamora says, hugging him more tightly. "I wish I could be there to help you."
Something between a laugh and a sob spills from his lips. "You are there, helping me. Running to save me like the selfless hero you are, even though it just gets you killed."
Her lips curve upward slightly at that, a deep sigh escaping her. "If we ever had to fight Ego again, I would kill him for even thinking of touching you."
"And that's why I'm ready to meet Thanos in the ring," Peter says dryly.
A year ago, Gamora would have probably kicked his ass for even slightly joking about Thanos, but they've come a long way, and they're both tired as shit. It's been nearly two weeks since Peter's nightmares started, and there's still no clear end in sight. He's so over evil dads.
"I'm not letting Thanos near you," she murmurs, resting her head against his chest.
"I'm trying to not let Ego near you, but you're being difficult." He groans, laying his head back against the pillows. "We're on the track to becoming frickin' Romeo and Juliet at this point. Most tragic Terran love story ever."
"We are not a tragedy," Gamora says, lifting her head to meet his eyes. "We are a victory."
Peter's not really sure about that anymore.
Peter goes into the dream that night already defeated. He just slumps onto the floor of Ego's hall ungracefully, staring up at Ego angrily.
"I'm done fighting this," he says. "I'm tired, Gamora's tired, we're all frickin' tired of this. Just string me up and kill me and get it over with."
Ego raises an eyebrow. "You're not going to fight me?"
"I'd rather lose alone than lose after watching you kill my family," Peter says, because this is just getting ridiculous. He's resigned himself to never sleeping through a night without Gamora's dead eyes staring into his soul ever again in his life. "This is all just a dumb dream, anyway. It doesn't matter."
"You're not afraid to die," Ego says. "This is not about your death."
"I wish it was," Peter mutters, looking down at his bound hands. The sensation of the light around his wrists has become far too familiar for his liking as of late, but he'd much rather it touch only him than any of the others. "It'd be a little less horrible, I think."
He closes his eyes with a sigh, resigning himself to the ending he's come to expect.
When he opens his eyes, Gamora's there, restrained like him, facing him with a frown. Ego's holding the Godslayer, standing beside her.
As usual, Gamora's expression is calm as she meets his eyes. This time, however, she tilts her head slightly.
"You won't find your answers here, Peter," she says quietly. "You have a fear you refuse to admit."
He frowns. "Gamora?"
"Ego is not the one you're afraid of," she says calmly, eyeing the blade of the Godslayer positioned just inches away from her chest.
"What are you—"
When he looks up at Ego, he's shocked to find someone else in his place—
Himself.
"What the—"
"—fuck!"
Peter's eyes snap open, only to find Gamora's face inches away from his. She's already awake, simply watching him, and he sighs, squeezing her hand under the covers.
"You wake up saying that a lot," she teases softly.
He's still trying to comprehend what exactly he'd just seen before waking up, because if he's remembering right, it wasn't Ego holding the Godslayer to Gamora, but—but himself.
He killed Gamora.
"What the fuck," he whispers, sitting up slowly. He snags his hand away from Gamora's shakily, holding it to his chest. She sits up after him, her eyes heavy with concern.
"Peter? Did you—"
"I hurt you," he whispers, his hands trembling. He kicks the covers off, pushing himself up from the bed to put a safe distance between them. "I—I think I killed you."
She studies him for a moment, fingers curled around the ends of the blankets to push them away so she, too, can exit the bed, but she doesn't make a move. She simply blinks. "Peter."
"Gamora, that's—you said the dream is about my worst fear, what—what does that—"
He doesn't finish, pushing his shaky hands together. The feeling of Gamora's blood on them has been familiar recently, but never directly because of him.
"Peter," she repeats his name, more firmly this time. Her eyes are locked onto his, unwavering. "Listen to me. It's just a dream. It's not reality."
"But you said it's based on a real problem! A real fear!"
"You would never hurt me," she says slowly. "And you would never kill me. I know you and I trust you."
"But do you know me?" he protests, his hands, now clenched in fists, returning to his sides. "Hell, I don't even know myself! All this celestial bullcrap…"
"The light is gone, Peter."
"That doesn't change the fact that I barely even knew who I was until, like, last year, and how dangerous I actually am! What if Ego lied, what if—what if I'm still immortal?"
"Breathe, Peter."
"What if the light—"
"Breathe, Peter!"
She's out of the bed now, walking around it to face him properly. She's staring up at him like he's no more of a threat to her than Groot, and he's not sure if he finds it reassuring or frightening, because she's lived her life surrounded by enemies and now lets her guard down around her friends and him, and, oh, god, what if he actually hurts her—
His thoughts are cut off with a frustrated sob, and he drags his hands down his face.
"I'm going to put my hand on your shoulder," Gamora says, waiting a moment before following through with her words. She rubs his shoulder gently, her glossy eyes meeting his. "You won't hurt me."
That's all the permission he needs before he pulls her into his arms, embracing her not as tightly as he had after the first nightmare, but still enough to keep her from going anywhere (though he knows she won't). He cries into her shoulder, and she runs her hands down his back slowly.
They stand like that for several minutes, Peter trying to regain some of his composure. Gamora passes the time humming songs from the Zune in his ear, her hands never leaving his back. By the time he's nearly grounded himself completely, she's wrapping up the last few bars of some…Nirvana song?
"You like some of the more intense stuff on the Zune," he comments shakily once she's done.
"It entertains me," she says simply.
He breaks the hug then, catching her small smirk in the dark. "You can't really dance to that stuff."
"Exactly," she teases, and he actually laughs, wiping away the last of his tears.
"Shot through the heart," he says, patting his chest.
She sighs, her expression growing more serious. "We should talk about your dream."
He swallows against the lump that's persistently remained in his throat, then nods. "Yeah."
They venture out to the kitchen for some late night hot chocolate—or, at least, the closest thing the galaxy has to offer to it—and settle at the table, sitting across from each other, while Peter recounts his latest nightmare.
"Ego turned into me at the end," he says, wrapping up his summary. "That's when I woke up and, uh, freaked out, I guess."
Gamora drums her fingers against her mug. "So you were focusing on the wrong problem all along."
"I mean, I am scared of you dying," he admits, staring down at the rest of his hot chocolate. "It was never specifically because I…killed you."
He says the last two words in a rushed jumble, trying to get it out as quickly as possible. She nods.
"It's easy for us to cover our fears with something else, to make them just the least bit less intimidating," she says. "In this case, Ego was an easy front."
"Yeah."
A couple moments of silence pass, before Gamora clears her throat.
"Why are you so afraid that you'll hurt me?" she asks quietly.
He frowns, glancing between her eyes and his mug. "I—I don't know."
"Peter."
"Really, I—"
Then he recalls the advice the Gamora in his dreams had given him, about finding his answers in the real world, and he leans back in his chair with a sigh, rubbing his face with his hand.
"Peter?"
"I don't know what I'm doing," he murmurs, shaking his head. He drops his hand to the table with a soft thud. "I don't know how to lead, I didn't even know I was frickin' part-celestial or had powers, I've never been in a relationship before or even really ever had a lot of friends, and the last person I let myself love this much was my mom and she—"
He cuts off, trying to gather his remaining thoughts. It feels like his brain's been thrown into a blender, because he's struggling to make sense of his fear. As Gamora said, the light is gone, since they killed Ego, as is his immortality, but even without those things, he's a disaster that's waiting to happen and he couldn't even look at his freaking mom when it was her dying wish, so how can he ever be trusted to take care of this team, to be the person Gamora can depend on to have her back?
Gamora lays her hand over his slowly, her usually cold fingers warm from her hot chocolate.
"I don't know what I'm doing," he repeats, a little more clearly this time.
"Neither do I," she admits, shrugging her shoulders. "I didn't learn how to be a friend or partner at any point in my life. I suppose I'm just…winging it."
She hates winging things, hates when he suggests they wing things, but it's a little comforting to know he isn't the only one flying blind here.
"We're a mess," he says.
"Perhaps. But we're figuring it out together, right?"
"Right."
"I trust you, Peter," she says softly. "I often doubt in myself about this particular subject as well—being the person you deserve, without ever hurting you. But I'm trying my best."
"That's all you can do," he says, and she gives him a look. "That's all we can do."
"Exactly."
She drinks up the last of her hot chocolate then, standing from the table with her mug and placing it in the sink. She rinses it out as Peter sips at what's left of his.
"I'm so fucking over evil dads," he says to himself a few moments later.
Gamora shuts the water off, hesitating for a second before turning to face him. "The worst part of it is that our fathers aren't the real monsters to us."
He looks at her curiously as she takes his empty mug from him, briefly averting her eyes with a small, self-deprecating smile.
"The most dangerous monsters are ourselves," she murmurs, turning his mug over in her hands, "because we were raised to be just like them."
She turns back to the sink then, rinsing his mug off, and he thinks back to his dream.
The following night, Gamora falls asleep before Peter, sprawled out across his chest in a half-asleep attempt to support him through his next dream.
Peter's spent most of the past day thinking about everything—the Guardians, his relationship with Gamora, Ego and his evil intentions, his mother—to pinpoint the exact fear: failing his newfound family, especially Gamora, because of his shitty history with emotions and relationships as well as his potentially-universe-destroying powers he'd had for all of one day the prior year.
(His hands held Ego's light for a game of catch and Gamora's hands for a stolen dance on that balcony all in one day.)
(One of these things is infinitely, without question, better than the other.)
He pushes away a strand of Gamora's hair that's tickling his nose, then watches her sleep for several moments before steeling himself and closing his eyes.
Peter pulls against the celestial light tethering him to the ground, glancing between Ego and the quickly approaching Gamora.
"I know who you are," he says to Ego, glaring at him.
"Then you know why I'm doing this," Ego replies, flicking his wrist.
Peter turns, catching sight of Gamora getting tangled up in the light, per usual. The Godslayer drops to the ground with a clatter, sliding across the floor. It stops beside Peter this time. He stares at it for a moment before returning his gaze to Ego.
"I'm not afraid of you anymore," he says, managing to wrap his fingers around the handle of the blade.
"This is your destiny, Peter!" Ego insists, approaching him. "You were born to do amazing things."
"I am doing amazing things," Peter says, holding the Godslayer out toward Ego. "So I'm not scared of you or me or whoever the hell you are."
"Peter!" Gamora cries out from behind him.
"Peter," Ego says, standing in front of him.
But Peter screws his eyes shut, ignoring everything around him. He's done with these nightmares, he's done fighting himself night after night to prove himself a worthy person. He focuses on the weight of the Godslayer in his hands, opening his eyes when the light tendrils around his wrists and ankles fade, freeing him.
When he opens his eyes again, Ego is gone. Hell, everything is gone; the Guardians are all gone, the edges of Ego's hall are fading, the light itself is even gone.
All that remains is himself and Gamora.
Gamora, who's kneeling on the ground before him, restrained simply by the blade of the Godslayer pressed into her throat.
And he's holding it.
"I trust you, Peter," she says, calmly watching him. "Do you trust yourself?"
Finally, finally, he's in control in these stupid dreams.
He drops the Godslayer, letting it slide across the floor away from them, before he offers a hand to Gamora. She takes it, and he pulls her up.
"I do," he whispers, taking his hands into hers. "I do now."
She smiles, squeezing his hands and leaning up to kiss his cheek. He breathes a sigh of relief at the gesture, and their surroundings fade completely.
For the first time in two weeks, he wakes up naturally, slowly, and calmly.
His eyes are still drooping like crazy, of course, given the exhaustion he'd built up over that time, but when he opens his eyes, Gamora's still sprawled out over him, asleep and completely undisturbed.
He blinks.
Tentatively, he lays a hand over her cheek, running his thumb over her silver scars gently. She leans into his touch, even in her unconscious state, and he nearly cries at the sight.
"I will never hurt you," he murmurs, resting his palm on her cheek. "I won't."
She shifts in her sleep then, turning to bury her face more in his chest. He retracts his hand, resting his arm across her back instead.
He closes his eyes, leaning his head back into his pillow.
Fucking finally, it's time to get some goddamn sleep.
"This is a sharp contrast from their behavior the past couple of weeks," Drax comments to Rocket, both peaking their heads into Gamora and Peter's room. (Hey, it's their fault they didn't leave the stupid door locked.)
"I'm just glad there isn't any more flarkin' screamin'," Rocket says, flicking his tail. "Maybe they finally figured out this nightmare shit they kept goin' on about."
"If they continue to sleep, they will miss breakfast," Drax says.
"More for us." Rocket grins.
"They should still eat," Drax insists.
"Alright, fine, we'll put aside some for 'em to eat when they get up." Rocket rolls his eyes. "That is, if they ever do decide to get up."
"Maybe they are dead," Drax suggests.
"Dude!" Rocket looks at him in disbelief. "I can clearly see both of 'em still breathin'!"
"Then they are not dead."
"I can hear you."
Rocket jumps at Gamora's voice. He and Drax both return their attention to the bed, where Gamora's leaning up just enough to glare at them.
"See? Not dead," Drax repeats. Rocket groans.
"I'm outta here before Mom and Dad decide to ground us," he mutters, shaking his head. "C'mon, Drax, let's go."
They both leave then, closing the door quietly behind them. Gamora, satisfied, smiles to herself, lying back down with a yawn. She settles against Peter's chest again, closing her eyes.
"Are they gone?" Peter asks sleepily.
"They're gone."
"Good. I'm not planning on getting up until tomorrow."
"Me, too."
"We deserve it."
"Yeah."
They both fall silent then, and Gamora's about to drift off, but then she opens her eyes again, looking up at him.
"Peter?"
He cracks an eye open. "Hmm?"
"Thank you for trying to save me so many times in your dreams."
"Oh. Well." He closes his eye, leaning back into his pillow. "Thanks for helping me figure out how to actually save you. And our damn sleep schedules."
She yawns again. "We're a team."
"Team 'no more evil dads.' Team 'low self-esteem, but still trying our best.'"
"The former is better. The latter is too brutally honest."
"'Kay, babe." He yawns.
"Goodnight, Star-Lord."
"Goodnight, Gamora."
Then, Gamora actually does drift off, not only excited to get a proper night's (and day's) sleep, but to wake up to Peter afterward and finally resume their hectic, unpredictable lives.
Team "no more evil dads" forever.