Sympathetic Pain

YOLO PEEPS! So! I am in yet another Fandom! Guardians of the Galaxy! Da da da daaaa! I've been watching lots of movies with Chris Pratt and this movie is the bomb diggity! So, after watching the movie I looked at fanfiction and I already found a Peter Quill Hurt/comfot community! (Check it out). So ya'll know what this is gonna be am I right? Star-lord hurt/comfort! Yay! (I know, I need to find a new genre). So here it is. Takes place after the movie where Peter takes one (or several) hits for the team! I own absolutely nothing.

Some planets can be so isolated from the world, people wouldn't know so much as what was to the end of their noses. Other people on planets could be so stuck up in another's business that you could get in your ship fly to the next moon over just to sneeze and you come back and everyone will be showering you with "get well" cards. Sometimes, you really don't want to be on one of those planets that know EVERYTHING because, well, some will hold a particular grudge. And instead of raining such things as "Congratulations on saving the universe", they can shower you with punches.

Just that kind of luck for the newly enrolled "Guardians of the Galaxy". It had been a quick top off. Grab some supplies, stock up, get a drink. That was it. But for the first time in Peter's life, he wished nobody knew about the name "Star-Lord". He was sitting at the bar in silence with Rocket, who was holding Groot in his pot. Drax was nearby chatting away with other muscle-made aliens. Gomora preferred staying with the ship and catching up on her "meditative periods". So the guys, supplies already purchased and loaded, were taking a break.

Then the names "Rocket" and "Star-Lord" reached his ears and he almost smiled. He was happy to be recognized for something. Then, came the growling and the curses and the sudden hand that came out of nowhere that struck Rocket across the back of the head. Anger and dread became the epitome of Peter's mind as another fist came in trying to whack Rocket. Peter caught the fist and returned the blow. There was an indignant "I am Groot!" from Groot as he wished to do something for Rocket as he clambered back up into his chair to reach him.

"Is there a problem?" he yelled with venom. Rocket looked up, holding Groot who was making punching gestures and a thumbs up. The all muscle alien that Drax had been talking to earlier was now sizing Peter up.

"Star-Lord," he grumbled. Peter straightened a little.

"About time people got it right," he sighed. The big guy snarled.

"You think you're so good? You blew up a ship and now you're a hero? We all remember the criminal you were. You think the good you do outweighs the bad?" he bellowed. There were some boos and shouted agreements at the other tables.

"I'm -," Peter faltered, "We do a bit of both." The alien pushed him backwards into the bar. Rocket held onto the side so he wouldn't fall and drop Groot.

"Quill," he whispered. He looked over. There raccoon was clutching Groot with one paw and holding the side of the bar with the other. He looked scuffed up from the punch and the fall off the chair. Peter grew angry. How dare they…

He stood up again. "As much as I'd love to partake in your brawl," he said spitefully, "I have other things to take care of." He heard Rocket sigh in relief next to him and hop down off the bar stool. He followed Rocket, guiding him to the door. Drax stood by the door, tense. There was silence in the room as they made their way for the door. Rocket, Groot and Drax were out the door when a deep voice pierced the silence.

"That wasn't a request." Peter turned around just as fist came around and knocked him in the face. He was flung to the side and quick to get up, but not quick enough to dodge the next fist. It took him in the gut and then he was picked up and tossed into the tables. Glasses crashed and then a full bar-fight took place with 1 to 20. The most unfair bar-fight in the history of them all. Peter was tossed over the counter, glasses shattering and raining down on him. He managed to get up, dodge the swing of the bartender, take the last swig of his drink and leapt over the counter. A loud roar of rage and Rocket came careening in, tossing glasses at advancing men in such weak spots that they were down and out. Okay, 2 to 20. The big muscle guy that started it all, made a steel-handed grab on Peter's shoulder and gave another swift punch to him in the gut. Two other men came over and held him up as his chest was beaten to a pulp. Pain was something that just couldn't be avoided in this situation, but he took every pound. Soon enough, he could feel something break, for sure.

Then a glass shattered. A single glass shattered and big-muscle guy went still. The other two men dropped Peter. "Xan?" one asked. Xan fell to the ground in an unconscious heap in front of Peter who was on his knees spitting up blood. Rocket stood on top of Xan's head.

"Xan's out of commission," Rocket spat, "If you want to join the club and help me decorate the bar, by all means, come at me." Neither did, they just froze. Peter stood.

"Don't piss off the raccoon," he managed breathlessly. He gestured to Rocket to go. He picked up a rag as they went and he wiped off his face, already catching scratches and bruises. He tossed the rag away as they made their way back to the Milano.

"Mr. Peter," Drax said out of concern, "You do not look your best."

"Of course not, Drax. I was in a bar-fight," he said, surprised at how tired his voice sounded. It even had a slight rasp to it.

"Gomora will not be pleased," Drax commented. Oh sh-

"I am Groot!" Peter looked down at Groot who was looking up at him with pondering eyes from his pot. Rocket sighed.

"Why so down?" Peter asked. Rocket didn't look at him, distracted.

"Those people were… allies," he said. "Connections to have in case we were in a rut with a job." Peter understood.

"We're all completely rebels," the human noted, "Rough heroes and smooth criminals." Everyone was silent. When they boarded the ship, Peter sneaked off to his small room to clean himself up. Every ache and pain he had made themselves known as he closed the door. He really didn't want Gomora to know.

He sat on the bed looking at the mirror across the wall. He had put it there for specifically this purpose; to be able to mend himself. He pulled out his personal med kit (cause the others would take from the big one often enough) and opened it up. He managed to wet a washcloth in the small sink he had and cleaned out most of the open wounds which were just scratches before there was a knock on the door. Peter bit his lip. Should he answer? What if it was Gomora? He had already gotten his shirt off, he really didn't want to struggle with the item again.

"Quill?"

Rocket. It was Rocket. He let out a breath.

"Yeah?"

"Open the door before I blow it down." A request to come in. He tossed his shirt aside deciding to heck with it. He opened the door and Rocket stepped in. Peter looked out into the hall to look around and made sure no one was around. He closed the door.

"I just don't want Gomora finding out," he explained, picking up his washcloth again. "What can I do for ya?" There was a silence. Rocket was studying him.

"How bad is it?" he asked. Peter looked at him. There were already bruises that littered his torso and he knew that Rocket was worried.

"It's not that bad," he lied. "I've been in bar fights before. I've had worse."

"Like I can't see those broken ribs," Rocket remarked. Peter sighed and sat down on his bed again rummaging through his kit again.

"So uh, you okay?" Peter asked. Rocket took the chair that was in the room.

"You looked angry at that bar today," he admitted. "Why didn't you sock Xan in the first place? And, why didn't you fight him when he was beating you to frickin' mush? You realize you tossed your good reputation with those guys out the window. Did you go all soft when they punched me?" Peter was still pulling out bandages and antiseptic.

"Well," he muttered, then spoke up, "Ah. Well, 1. I just didn't see the need to get into a fight. I mean there was the fact you had just gotten socked. There was Groot who's still in his pot. When it came to being beaten into mush… well, I had a plan…" Rocket snorted. "But one thing I don't appreciate is when people mess around with the only friends I have." Rocket was silent.

"Did you take those punches for me?" he asked. Peter hissed a little as the antiseptic burned.

"Sympathetic pain," he grunted. (Roll credits!). Peter pulled out a needle to stitch up a nasty looking gash. Rocket stood.

"All right," he muttered and just left. Peter was confused. What the heck, he comes in all troubled and quiet and leaves the same way with not much to show for it. Peter resumed with his stitches, after the 6th one, he was sweating and trying not to tremble. The door opened again, startling him and Rocket came back in with a small box.

"Rocket?"

"Shut up, pretty boy. You obviously haven't given yourself stitches in a while," he said climbing up onto the bed. Peter smirked a little. Rocket took the needle and finished the stitches. He stood back. "There, anything else that puts your pants in a bunch?" Peter laughed a little at Rocket's failed analogy.

"I was just going to wrap my ribs," he said. Rocket scoffed.

"How are you even alive? You know they're obviously broken. You have to set them! Where the heck did you get you're medical training?" Before Peter could reply Rocket stopped him. "And if you say Yaundo, I'll give you something to really cry about." Peter was silent before he thought of something.

"Wait a minute… if I have to set…"his sentence was not finished due to a sudden crack in his side. He yelled, his voice caught in his throat and then only a growl emitted. Rocket was silent as he pushed and prodded a bit more drawing a few more yelps as he came across several bruises.

"Bite down on something if you don't want Gomora to hear," Rocket muttered. Peter picked up a rag and bit down on it.

"Hurry up," he said, muffled. Another following crack and Peter yelled, biting down into the cloth. He fell sideways into his pillow and groaned. Rocket crossed his arm.

"You done?"

Peter sat up, pulling the cloth from his mouth and took a breath. "Are you?" Rocket snorted.

"Yeah," he muttered. "That's it. If you feel capable to wrap your ribs then I'm going to go get a snack."

"Thanks Rocket." The raccoon closed his kit and walked out the door.

"Don't mention it," he said before disappearing. Peter took out the remaining bandages and wrapped his bruising torso. He pulled on a shirt, before tucking away his kit and then lying down. He had run errands, engaged in a bar fight, beaten to a pulp, cracked back together and he was freaking exhausted.

When he awoke, there was no sound. He got up and shuffled over to the sink and splashed his face. He was sore all over, his throat was dry and his head hurt but he was sure it was just an achy, healing pain. He left his room, barefoot (what was the point in his own ship?). Shuffling to the kitchen to get a drink he found Groot. Alone. By the sink and on the counter. Peter looked around for Rocket but he was no where to be seen.

"Groot, how the heck did you get up here?"

"I am Groot!" he squeaked loudly. Peter winced.

"Not so loud, I'm on a bar-fight hang over."

"I am Groot!" he whispered. Groot proceeded to extend his arm like little twigs stretching to reach the faucet.

"You never cease to amaze me," he muttered. He grabbed two glasses and filled them both. He gave one to Groot who picked it up and poured it over himself. He proceeded to grow another inch and he looked quite satisfied. Peter shook his head and picked up Groot's pot and made his way to the cock pit. They were in space, so apparently they had taken off.

He looked around the cockpit and found no one there and sat down, setting Groot next to him.

"I am Groot!"

"Yeah, I know, where to next?" There was silence. He looked down at Groot who was watching him with the intent of a story. Peter smiled. "You know, when I was still on Terra. My mom and my pops would take me to this crazy festival that celebrated nothing but fun all the time. They took me once for my birthday, and we got to ride this contraption called a roller coaster. It goes really high up and around, taking you upside down and sideways." Groot swayed with the motion of Peter's arms. "I got my Walkman and first cassette there…"

Gomorrah came around the corner when she heard Peter's voice. It was dry, slightly strained, but happy nonetheless. She peered around the edge to see Peter sitting in the pilot chair talking with Groot who would throw the occasional "I am Groot". She carefully looked Peter up and down. He was barefooted, dressed in loose pants and a t-shirt, something that they usually never wore, even in the Milano. Everyone always came out fully dressed and ready for the day. But this was an unusual sight. She caught sight of the bruise on Peter's right cheek some scrapes on his arms and the bulky form of bandages under his shirt. Gamorah flared. He was hurt and no one had told her about it?! She stalked off to find some answers.

Peter had gone back to bed a little later to take another nap, and Groot insisted on coming with him. He ignored the plant until Groot started to screech and all Peter could do to get him to shut up was to take the plant with him. He set the pot on the nightstand and settled into his bed, vaguely aware of the soft crackling and the smile on the plant's face when he closed his eyes.

The little stick was laughing at him.

A whole day had gone by when Peter disappeared into his quarters. Rocket had to admit that he felt a bit worried for the human. But then Gamorah came into the room and the look on her face could make a grown Craflit* crap himself. Even when she said not a single thing in a loud heated anger, her quiet voice was just as deadly. He had admitted to the fight and the injured Terran, and she stormed out of the room.

When Peter came out, the Milano was quiet. Realizing he hadn't eaten in forever, he headed for the kitchen. He rounded a corner when someone shrieked and he nearly jumped out of his own skin.

"QUILL!" Gamorah shouted stalking down the hallway towards him. And she only used his last name when she was really, really mad. Mad was an understatement in this occasion. Rocket trailed behind with regret and sympathies on his face, and not many things made him look that way either.

"Gamorah?" was all Peter managed before Gamorah interrupted him.

"A bar fight?!" Oh.

"Is that why you're so upset-," she interrupted him again.

"I don't care about your foolish antics!" she yelled. "But broken ribs and a concussion?! Don't ever hide that from me again! Everyone was lying about your whereabouts, and that is not how you establish a partnership!" Peter looked at her questioningly.

"We're still at a partnership…" Gamorah interrupted him yet a third time.

"No! But it's not how you establish-," this time Peter interrupted her.

"I get it! We lied! But this is what we were trying to avoid, okay?! Now look, I'm fine. We're okay! And bar fights happen! Broken ribs and concussions happen! But we're good and lying to you won't happen again!" A pause. Gamorah nodded and stepped back. She then, like lightning, no doubt, punched Peter in the gut. He gasped and leaned over. "Gamorah…" he wheezed.

"If you were fine, you wouldn't react like that," she stated matter-o-factly. Peter caught his breath and stood up again.

"I'm on the mend," he clarified. "I'm not going to die, but I'm surely not fixed. On Terra, you don't just punch somebody in the gut when they say they survived something. They make them pot pie and wish them a full recovery. Gosh! People!" He walked away, grumbling about manners and other things while rubbing his chest and the new bruise that was coming around.

Gamorah had heard it all from Rocket. The punch, the offense, and Peter's stupid willingness to defend his friend. The beatings, and the fact that Peter wouldn't back down from an offense on his friend. She had to admire that from the Terran. It was something different that he had that the rest didn't or were only getting a grasp of. He was willing to suffer for others when he didn't need to. He had applied logic, stupidity and morals but it all worked out, even if it didn't work out for him.

Shelooked at Rocket. They were silent for a minute.

"What's pot pie?" she asked, questioningly. Rocket shrugged.

All right! That's it! This was just supposed to be short, but do you want more? Just a question! Should this be two parts? Let me know in the comments! Love to hear from you guys! First Guardians of the Galaxy fic! Hope you enjoyed! Adios! thegirlwhoneverforgot