It was simply something that he could not let go.
Something that refused to change since he was 8 years old, that fateful day when his life was turned upside-down.
The fact he was a mess-up.
It haunted him ever since he step foot (or floated?) into space. It started out as his mom reached out, begging, and pleading for his hand. And he had refused.
Despite all the times she held him close, when he had gotten into a fight.
Despite all the times she gave him good advice.
Despite all the times she helped him, nurtured him and prepared him to become Star lord…
He couldn't give her comfort in her dying moments. Even when she begged, pleaded, tears filling her beautiful eyes, for something so simple.
NO.
He had turned away, let go of a life line. Had left her alone for eternity
Weak, selfish, brat,
Words that he felt described himself in that moment and forevermore. He could still hear the heart monitor let out its mocking Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeppp, systematically announcing another patient's death. His mother's end. His end.
Then he had run.
Run on his mom, leaving her alone after death.
Left his grandpa to suffer two losses.
Left the people he loved, because he couldn't hold it together.
But that was the beginning.
When Yondu had picked him up, and literally forced the grief out of him, and decided to make the boy a ravager, Peter realised how weak he was. He wasn't extra smart or strong or anything, like all the daunting species that surrounded him. Not at all. He was great at being scared though. And he hated it.
He hated those times he would mess up a mission, and how everyone would scorn at him.
He hated the times his fellow ravagers would be surprised he did well on a mission.
And he hated how he had to build walls around his scared 8 years old self as he grew up. Strong steel walls that were hard to dent, and deflected scorn with smart-mouthing.
Heck, he soon forgot about his inner scared self, using his mom's music to celebrate and embrace life. And after the whole infinity stone thing, everything got even better. Not only had he escaped the ravagers, he was seen as a hero, he was seen as Starlord, and he got friends. No, not friends.
A family, okay a really weird family.
That was the first time, in a long time he experienced the affection for his teammates. That feeling of belonging, trusting, joy and yes even love. But it caused his strong steel walls to shake, and crack, exposing some of his 8 years old self. It brought back the nightmares that he had chased away when he was ten.
The first few months of them went unnoticed, or well nobody really said anything if they heard, cause for all he knew, he could be screaming in his sleep. But he didn't know.
But that little comfort was ruined.
They had just finished a small mission for the Nova Corps, and had dragged there exhausted but alive selves back in, knowing they'd receive a transmission of 10,000 units the next day. They were grinning like idiots.
They all collapsed into what Peter called the living room, and Gamora called the Junk room. ( "Then you try something better Gams!") It was composed of a few worn out sofas, a glass table in the center (which consisted of several cracks thanks to Rocket and Drax) and even a cupboard and shelves.
Groot was sleepily swaying in his pot, when Drax slowly got up from the couch he had slumped against 15 minutes ago, and bid them good night.
"I believe it is time to go," Gamora agreed and went to follow Drax.
"Go where?" came Drax's sleepy inquiry from the hall.
Rocket and Peter snorted as Gamora huffed, barely hiding a small smile and left.
Peter stretched out onto the sofa, back arching, head slumped against the arm rest. His arms above his head moved in a sleepy arc, as let out a huge yawn. He promptly swatted rocket off the table as he stretched.
"Oi! Star-Dork! I could have BOMB in my pocket!" He growled, picking himself up.
"G'night sunshine." Peter muttered flinging his free am over his eyes.
Rocket huffed crawling onto the other arm chair. "You gonna sleep here?"
"Mmmm hmmmm"
"Well then don't snore, cuz I'm doing some circuit work, with Groot" Rocket rolled his eyes, silently happy for some extra company.
Peter hummed, and let his exhaustion take over him.
His inner vision filled with absolute darkness, echo like, as though he were in an abyss. The abyss began to spin, morphing, churning in an array of colours, forming into his mother's face.
Peter could feel his head pound and eyes water as he gasped.
It was her.
For a second, it was the beauteous and full of life version of his mother, with her glossy hair that flawlessly reflected off light and eyes that sparkled like stars. Her eyes stared dead on at him, and her full lips tilted slowly to smile at him as though he was an angel. Just like he used to when he was young.
But before the smiled fully formed, her full lips melted into a pale line, as her hair drifted away. Her features contorted into a monstrous version of her. It wasn't her. Peter's vision went into sharp focus.
He was in a very familiar room. His breath hitched. The very room his mother had died in.
The monstrous version of her tilted her head slowly against the sterile white pillow and seem to drink in Peter with wickedly dull eyes.
His walls were breaking. He was losing himself. He was helpless.
"Mom" He breathed. "I'm sorry."
Her pale lips, curved into a snarl, so foreign on her soft face. This couldn't be her. This wasn't her.
As though to prove him, she rolled out of bed. Peter blinked. The next thing he saw, was a pale, frail women stalking towards him. Her normally blue eyes seemed to glow green, her usually white skin was a pasty pale.
No.
He was aware he was taking a step back. He blinked back tears.
"I'm sorry!"
His mother hissed and grabbed his shoulders in a vice like grip.
"You…" She hissed. "You left! I HATE YOU!"
Her grip tightened and suddenly Quill was holding the Stone all over again.
His nerves were filled with acid, set on fire, burning, bubbling. His skin was being ripped apart while his bones were snapping. He couldn't breathe, every movement was a struggle. Was being ripped raw! He was being ripped apart, while purple mocked his vision.
Yondu's voice echoed through, the very voice he used to use when scolding young Peter. Selfish, brat, weak.
The hospital floor cracked underneath, and the world slipped into darkness. As the Abyss floor slipped near the hisses of his falling body turned to voices.
"Oi! Quill!"
The world went on fast forward as his eyes snapped open. The Milano, his mind registered. He jerked up, his body rolling off the small couch and he thunked on the floor.
A small sob escaped his lips, and Peter registered he had tears running down his face. Slowly he pulled his body up and slumped against the couch. Rocket sat on the table across staring him down with uncharacteristically soft eyes, while Groot dozed beside him.
"You okay, there Pete?"
Peter sucked in a breath, nodded and went over to the kitchen to presumably grab a glass of water.
Rocket sighed rubbing his face. He knew how Peter felt. Heck, he had his own fair share of nightmares.
But it was strange to see someone so alive, optimistic and cheerful like Peter to cry, over something as trivial as a nightmare. He was not used to seeing their leader (yes Rocket admitted the dork was their leader, so suck it up) look… scared… and even vulnerable. Heck for a second Quill had looked like a damn child.
Man, I'm going soft Rocket thought.
He started when there was a sound of movement from the kitchen fading towards the hall that lead to Peter's room.
Great, so Peter had left, probably to whimper in his own room. Now Rocket was left wondering whether or not to leave Peter alone, or he could go to his room and try to do what "teammates" did. How Groot usually comforted him when he had his own nightmares.
In the end, he left Groot to doze on the table and stalked towards Peter's room.
Stupid feelings. Stupid empathy. Stupid friendship.
When Rocket arrived the room was ajar, leaving the Raccoon to see Peter sitting with his head in his hands, fists held tightly against his eyes. The self-proclaimed Star-Lord abruptly stood up threw off his jacket and stretched out on his bead, with those ever present head phones.
Rocket crept in and crawled in and sat on to the bed. Peter only flinched when Rocket brushed his tail as he awkwardly lay down beside the man, trying to look comforting and keeping his personal bubble intact.
He watched Peter pretend to not notice and sleep on, until Peter's lips quivered if only barely. He shifted locking his hands behind his head, turning his head towards Rocket and staring intently.
"Why are you here?"
Rocket rolled his eyes. Like this couldn't be awkward enough "Just shaddup and sleep."
He took Peter's silence as a positive response, but could still feel him staring at Rocket inquisitively, so the raccoon added: "and Quill, this might sound weird coming from me, heck this is weird for me… but if you need someone to talk I can…you know, if you have a dream like that." Rocket sighed and shifted so that he was curled up into a comfortable ball with his chin resting on his folded front paws. He sucked in a breath. Usually ranting about a dream to Groot helped. "And… you mind I ask what you dreamt about?"
For a second Rocket thought Peter was going to ignore him until finally the terran whispered "Why?"
Rocket raised an eyebrow. "huh?"
Peter ran his hand through his hair and gave a wet smirk "You know what I'm talking about Ranger Rick."
Rocket sighed. "I get my own share of dreams. Now shaddup and tell me before I take your damn ship apart."
Peter sighed, and turned to look at Rocket. All he saw was sincerity.
So he told Rocket of the day his mother died, and how Yondu picked him up. ("That goddamned idiot!" Rocket growled). For some reason Rocket's gruff concern encouraged Peter to sit up and relate some of his dream. When he was done, Rocket was still curled up, looking sleepy but attentive. Peter slumped as he sat against the bed. His eyes still felt wet, but he felt much better.
Rocket nodded when Peter was done, feeling as though he had a much better understanding of his teammate.
In its own ways Peter's story was just as sad as theirs. Heck, his friend had barely had a chance for a childhood. Because inside was still a child that refused to let go and actually come to terms with this incident. Rocket felt good that Peter had trusted him.
Peter grinned and stretched out on the bed again and patted Rocket on the head, not in a way that made Rocket feel he was a pet, but a friend. "Thanks buddy." After a beat he added: "But you don't have to sleep here all night. Might be awkward."
Rocket rolled his eyes, but found he was warm and comfortable under Peter's hand. Plus he could still see that Peter was shaken up from the dream. "Lay off, aint movin, and if you throw me off a bomb is gonna go off."
Peter huffed and closed his eyes, his hand still resting on Rocket's head.
This is what friendship is, Rocket though as he fell asleep.
Sometime in the night he felt Peter shift, with a slight smile on his face, hopefully having better dreams about his mom. Rocket tensed when arms lightly hugged him pulling him close to another warm body, but relaxed when two words were whispered in his ear.
"Thanks buddy"