Um. So yeah, this got kind of long. Sorry? I know I said these were all gonna be interconnected drabbles, but now they're REALLY LONG interconnected drabbles. Oops.

Also, just because I posted this chapter so soon, don't expect the next one any time soon. My update schedule is ridiculously sporadic and I honestly have no idea when I'll write the next chapter. It could literally be anywhere from tomorrow to next year. (Probably not as dramatic as either of those, though. Probably.)

Trigger warning: Implied/referenced assault, medical experimentation without consent. Nothing graphic.

Cassie

Cassie likes to sit in the laboratory and watch Daddy work. She likes the way he hunches over, likes the happy, focused glint that comes into his eyes. His creases soften, his face seems younger, his shoulders relax as if he's dropped some heavy burden.

He gets like that a lot more than he used to; when he's working, when he looks at Hope, when Cassie says something smart and he smiles like he wants to scoop her up and swing her around until she screams with laughter.

So Cassie spends a lot of time in the laboratory. Sometimes she sneaks down there by herself, just to sit among the gleaming tools and watch the ants crawl through the sand in their tank. It's peaceful down here.

One day she knocks over a vial of those particles that Hank invented. The glass shatters on the floor and the solution inside spills everywhere, gleaming and colorful across the floor, seeping into Cassie's shoes. She watches it, transfixed.

"Cassie?" calls a voice from upstairs, and Cassie registers that she's gonna be in trouble for this. In a panic she bends down and tries to scoop up the mess with her hands. A shard cuts into her thumb and red blood swells out, dripping onto the floor to mix with the blue of the solution. There's blue on her hands, too, and even as pain swells through her fingers, she watches the dichotomy of red and blue in fascination.

She hears footsteps, and then a gasp. "Cassie!" says Daddy, and then he's scooping her up and hurrying her over to the counter where they keep the first aid kit.

"Daddy," says Cassie dreamily. "I want to be an ant-person too."

Kate

When Kate was 13 years old, she was assaulted in Central Park. It is without a doubt the most traumatizing thing that's ever happened to her. Afterwards, the cops were no help, and Dad didn't understand. He was concerned, sure, but he never gave her the support she desperately needed. Instead he payed for a therapist and sent her to self-defense classes.

She already knew how to shoot a bow and arrow. She'd been doing archery in music camp since she first went at age 9. Her arms were already fairly muscular, but self-defense classes strengthened everything else. She felt like the string of her bow, taut and fierce. A weapon. A lot of her girls her age would be broken after going through what she went through, but Kate is tough. She refused to be broken.

She usually skipped therapy. Instead, she would go to Central Park and just stand outside of it, staring in at the grass and the trees, trying to forget what had happened to her and trying to remember her own strength.

That's why she was in Central Park when she met Clint.

Clint is ridiculous. He's human trash. He's always covered in band-aids, he wears the same clothes three days straight, and sometimes he forgets to eat. But he's also a spy. A superhero. A husband, a father.

Central Park is a huge part of her life. There, she lost a part of herself. But there she also gained a friend, a mentor, a brother. In a way, Clint is that part of her that she lost.

They go out for pizza after they first meet, after Kate uses his bow to chase off the tracksuit guy. He compliments her skills and offers to teach her some things. He hones her skills beyond what she thought was even possible, and she makes sure he's fed and washed and occasionally pulls him out of dumpsters.

Sometimes he leaves. For missions, he says. And sometimes he's telling the truth. Other times, she knows he's lying, but she doesn't push him.

One day, Clint sits down on the edge of the couch with a serious expression on his face.

"Kate," he says. "I have something to tell you."

"Okay," is what she answers, and then she listens as he tells her everything. Some of it she already knew, like the fact that he used to be assassin and that he's killed people, that he was brainwashed into killing his co-workers before the Battle of New York. Some of it is new, like how he grew up in the circus with his brother, how before that he lived in an abusive home, that SHIELD recruited him and cleaned him up. She learns where he goes when he's not on a mission, listens to him tell about a farm and a wife and a daughter and a new baby on the way.

When he's done, he makes her promise not to tell anyone, and she agrees right away. Then he pauses, looks at her. "Hey, Kate," he begins. "Do you want to come meet my family?"

And Kate says yes.

Billy

Billy wakes up to darkness, so that at first he wonders if he's even really awake.

Then the pain sets in. His head is pounding. His muscles ache. His shoulders burn from where they're pulled behind him, and his wrists sting from cold, hard restraints.

He tries to speak, but his mouth won't open. He registers metal on his face, wrapping around the base of his skull and cupping his skin from his jaw to his nose, so tight that it pinches. It's hard to breath.

Tears spill from his eyes as he squirms in his restraints. He can't move, he can't speak, he can't do anything.

Billy is trapped here, alone in the dark and the cold. He wants Mama. He wants Uncle Pietro.

He wants Tommy.

Footsteps pound somewhere outside of the darkness, and a door screeches open. Light floods into the room and stings his eyes, causing his head to pound harder.

"Okay," says a man's voice in a language that Billy thinks is probably English, and then there are hands grabbing at his arms, fingers digging painfully into his skin. "Take him to Lab 05."

Then they're moving. Billy is pulled along through metal hallways, lit with artificial light. People move around them, clad in black combat armor, guns holstered at every hip. They pass room after room, and Billy wants to see what's in them, but he doesn't dare move after the first time he craned his head around and received a sharp cuff across his ears in return.

Well. He doesn't dare until they pass a room with a glass window and he catches a glimpse of familiar white hair.

"Tommy," he wants to gasp, but can't, and then Tommy screams.

Billy thrashes, kicking out aggressively at his captors, trying desperately to get to Tommy. He has to get there. He needs his brother.

Inside the room, in between screams, Tommy looks up and catches his eyes. His mouth forms Billy's name, and then Billy is being dragged away.

Tommy

Tommy is in pain. Blinding, devastating pain. The man in the labcoat has been poking him and prodding him and sticking him with needles since an hour ago when he first awakened.

At first he screams for Mama and Uncle Pietro. Then he screams for Billy.

After a while, he doesn't bother screaming for anyone. He just screams.

Somewhere on the edges of his hearing he catches the sound of a scuffle outside the laboratory. In between breaths he looks out of the window, eyes frantically searching until they meet his brother's gaze.

Billy doesn't look good. He's surrounded by men in combat uniforms, and the entire bottom of his face is gripped by a large, brutal-looking metal gag.

Then Billy's being dragged away and whatever Tommy was injected with is sending vicious pains down his legs. Tommy thrashes, head banging against the hard metal beneath it.

He screams again.

By the time the pain fades, Tommy is utterly exhausted. They unstrap him from the table and bind his hands roughly behind his back, then lead him on shaky legs back to his cell. He almost collapses on the way there, but arms hold him up and he's dragged the few feet it takes for him to get his feet under himself again.

The door of the cell closes with a bang, and there's the sound of a lock turning.

Tommy curls up in a ball as best he can with his hands restrained and cries.

Sometime later (Tommy has no way to gauge time in here) Tommy hears the sound of another cell door slamming shut. It sounds like it's right next to him, and he stiffens before crawling to the edge of his cell and pressing his ear against the cold metal of the wall. He listens intently and picks up the sound of crying in a voice that is very, very familiar.

Tommy knocks on the wall with his head and the crying stops.

"Billy!" Tommy calls lowly. "Is that you?"

There's a pause, and then a shaky voice replies, "Tommy?"

Tommy slumps against the wall, relieved. "Are you okay?"

"N-no. Tommy they...they were messing with my head. They were messing with my head."

Oh, no. Tommy ignores the pain in his legs and focuses completely on his brother's anguish. "Billy, it's gonna be okay. We're gonna get out of here."

"How?"

"Mama will find us. And Uncle Pietro. They'll get us out."

Billy makes a strangled noise like he's just swallowed back a sob. "What if they don't?"

"Then we'll break out. By ourselves." Tommy doesn't really believe it. They're just kids, and they're trapped in here. But he doesn't want Billy to give up, so, "Like in Star Wars, when Luke comes to rescue them but they're already escaping. The one with Londu."

That gets a laugh out of Billy, albeit a small one watered with tears. "His name's Lando."

Tommy smiles. "Yeah, okay, Lando. We'll be just like Lando."

"We can't both be Lando!"

"Fine. I'll be Han. You can be...Princess Leia."

"Toooommyyyyy," protests Billy, and then they both fall quiet as the sound of footsteps pounds by in the hallway outside. It's several moments before the sound fades, and by that point the mood has grown solemn again.

"Seriously though," says Tommy after a while. "We'll get out. I promise."

Teddy

Teddy never asked to be a space prince. But being a space prince is what he got. And it's nowhere near as cool as it should be.

Mom's dead, and apparently she wasn't even his real mom. He's on the run from not one, but two powerful empires who are both up in arms about whether they want him to save them or whether they want to kill him. The Kree certainly seem inclined to the latter, and the Skrull are sort of leaning that way too.

Teddy is nine years old. He doesn't know how to fight. He's a gay nerd with a passion for Terran comic books.

He's not a 'Unifier'. He's not a warrior.

He's a kid who wants his mom.

Mom died about nine rotations ago on the official cycle of the Nova Empire. He's been running ever since. He shapeshifts so that his skin is purple instead of green. He makes himself bigger and stronger, but not too much bigger. Just so that he melds in with the rest of the crowd. He changes his hair to a deep blue, the color of the Centauri sky at night. He wears inconspicuous clothes. He hides. He roams. He charters ships where he can and stows away where he can't, just small flights from planet to planet. He follows stories.

He follows the Guardians.

And one day, he finds them.

They're in a bar. A noisy bar. He can hear the shouting from all the way down the street. The shouting and the blast of the music.

Teddy swallows down his anxiety at entering a room full of drunk adults and slips quietly through the door, adding a few inches to his height as he does so.

The Guardians are not what he expected.

Rocket the racoon is perched on a bar stool, a line of shot glasses lined up on the bar in front of him. Drax the Destroyer is by his side, and they appear to be racing to see who can down the most drinks the fastest. Groot is a lot smaller than Teddy expected, and is swaying back and forth happily on Rocket's shoulder. Gamora leans against a pool table, looking bored and nursing a tall, skinny glass full of some sort of pink liquid.

And Star-Lord.

Star-Lord is dancing drunkenly, his moves sloppy and off-balance. He holds a huge tankard in his hand, brown liquid sloshing everywhere as he bobs uncoordinatedly to the music.

Teddy swallows. Hard.

He's so dead.

But Mom told him to find this team with her dying breath, and he doesn't really have any other options at this point, so he timidly crosses the floor towards them.

In his head, he'd planned to walk up to them with his head tall, green skin fully displayed and chest forward. He would approach Star-Lord and tell him that he was the lost prince of the Kree and Skrull empires, and that he needed their help. They'd be impressed. They'd usher him aboard their ship and together they would topple the commanding fists of the Kree and the Skrull, and then they'd invite him to join their team.

This is already wrong. He is still purple. He is scared. And Star-Lord is really, really drunk.

He can't approach Drax. He might get his arms ripped off. Rocket is known for being volatile, and there is a gun on his hip and he is also very drunk. Groot apparently doesn't speak any real language, and he is too close to Rocket, anyway.

That leaves Gamora.

Gamora is intimidating.

Teddy takes a deep breath and walks up to her. She turns and looks at him, one eyebrow raised. "Something you want?"

"Um, yeah, I...I was wondering if you—"

She cuts him off with a wave of her hand and a terrifying glare. "Not interested."

"No, no, you don't understand. I'm not…" he looks around carefully, scanning for eavesdroppers, and prickling paranoia travels down his spine. Who knows who could be listening, ready to turn him in. "Um, can we...can I talk to you outside?"

Gamora narrows her eyes at him. "I just said I'm not interested."

"Not like that!" Teddy manages to blurt out. "I mean...I. Um, I need your help."

"With what?"

"Shh!" Teddy nervously glances around again. "I can't...please, can we talk about this somewhere private?" At the look on her face he hurries to reassure her. "Not like that! Nothing like that. Please?"

Something softens in her expression. "Fine. Come on." She sets down her drink and calls to her teammates that she's leaving, then leads the way outside.

Gamora turns to him and folds her arms in front of her chest. "What," she demands.

"Not here," says Teddy, and pulls her towards the alleyway. Her eyes watch him dangerously, but she allows it. Once they're there, alone and shrouded in shadow, Teddy allows his shifting to drop. His skin returns to its usual green, his hair to its natural blond. He shrinks to his normal size, so that now he's peering up at her. Her expression has changed to curiosity and wariness, and her hand moves to rest on the sword sheathed at her side.

"My name's Teddy Altman," says Teddy. "And I'm being hunted. I need your help."

Eli

When Eli was six years old, his dad left.

Eli remembers it vividly, because there was a lot of shouting and doors slamming and things getting knocked over. He remembers hiding in his room with the door closed and his head underneath his pillow, waiting for things to go back to normal; Dad exhausted from work at the construction company, Mom stressed from her shift as a waitress, and both of them worried about the money.

But things didn't go back to normal, because the door slammed one final time and Dad never came back. Eli remembers walking out of his room to find Mom crying at the kitchen table.

Everything changed after that. They never talked about Dad, and they both went by Mom's maiden name, Bradley. For two years Mom worked double shifts at the diner and a third shift at the convenience store on the corner. Mom was tough, but she was also broken, and most of what Eli remembers from those two years is loneliness.

One day, Mom comes home from the diner and Eli's in his room. He bends over his homework and pretends not to listen to her locking the door, putting her stuff down, and opening the fridge only to immediately close it again. The fridge is empty. Eli knows this because he finished the peanut butter for lunch.

There's the sound of a chair scraping against the floorboards, and Eli knows she sitting at the table. She's probably hunched over. Her head's probably in her hands. She probably looks worn down and exhausted, and yet, as always, he knows that she looks beautiful.

Mom sits there for a long time and Eli stops pretending not to listen and turns to work on his homework. He stares at the list of Presidents he's supposed to memorize and distantly wonders why all of them were white.

The chair scrapes again. Eli hears Mom dial something into the phone and then the sound of her talking. He's not sure he wants to hear this conversation, so he focuses on the Presidents.

Footsteps pad softly down the hallway, and Eli feels sick. Mom's coming towards his room and he's pretty sure he already knows what she's going to say to him. It's been a long time coming, but the signs have been there, growing every day for the last two years, spreading with every new wrinkle that forms on Mom's skin.

There's a knock at the door. "Eli?" calls Mom, and then enters.

"Hey," she says, moving to stand beside him, one hand reaching out to ruffle his curls. There's something sad in her face.

Don't say it, thinks Eli. Please don't say it.

"Eli, come sit with me on the bed." She sits on the edge of the Transformers-themed bedspread and pats the space beside her. Silently, Eli does as he's bid.

"Mom?" he asks, his voice cracking.

She sighs, long and tired and broken. "Eli, you know I love you, right?"

He nods, his heart in his throat.

"And I always want what's best for you. But...you're always alone. You don't have all the things I want you to be able to have. Sometimes, I can barely make sure you're fed. And I'm never here for you like I should be."

Don't say it.

"Eli. I think—"

"Mom. No. Please."

She smiles at him sadly, eyes glistening with unshed tears, and wraps an arm around his shoulders, holding him tight.

"I want you to go live with your grandparents."

It's been a long time coming.

Noh-Varr

Noh-Varr probably should have figured this out earlier, but his superiors are not happy with his decision to abandon his crusade.

They're not at all happy.

They tell him to go to Terra and conquer it right now or else, but apparently there's something wrong with Noh-Varr's self-preservation instincts because he refuses.

His superiors are very, very angry. They say he must be punished for this behavior. They call him a coward and a traitor and much worse things.

Noh-Varr remembers the music and shrugs it off. Then he gets on his ship, the Marvel, and all by himself flies it after the Guardians.

It doesn't take very long to find them. They're not exactly subtle. Especially not since they took in Dorrek VIII.

Huh. Dorrek VIII. Right. Noh-Varr had forgotten. Well, they are both traitors to the Kree empire at this point. Noh-Varr supposes they'll get along pretty well.

The Guardians are docked at a space-port for repairs. Noh-Varr lands his ship in the space beside them. The raccoon is fiddling with something on the top of the ship, and when he sees the Marvel he yells for his friends. They come running from inside, gathering to stand before the Marvel with their weapons drawn.

Dorrek VIII is not with them. Noh-Varr thinks that it makes sense to not bring the Unifier out in the sightlines of an empire-class Kree fighter ship.

He's not here to fight, though. He walks out of his ship with his hands at his side, guns still onboard. The Guardians watch him warily as he comes to a stop before them.

"Hey," says Rocket. "Isn't that the kid who beat Quill in the dance-off?"

"He didn't—he didn't beat me," protests Star-Lord. "It was a tie! Anyway. Yes, that's him." The savior of the galaxy turns questioning eyes on Noh-Varr. "What are you doing here?"

"My name is Noh-Varr of the Kree," says Noh-Varr calmly. "And I have heard that you are a team for misfits."

America

Sometimes, America likes to wrap herself up in her cape and lie outside watching the stars. The sky in the Utopian Parallel is purple and blue and silver, dotted with tiny gleaming sparks that twinkle and dance like fireflies.

Sometimes America likes to lie there and imagine herself flying up into the stars. Like her moms do. Like she does in her dreams.

She can fly, of course. She doesn't know who she'd be if she couldn't. But she's never flown that high, and something keeps her grounded. Maybe it's the perfection of her life. The bliss that comes from living in a perfect family in a world made of dreams.

America inhales the scent of wet grass and pictures herself dancing among the stars.

Well, there's America. Who knows when she's gonna next appear. I sure don't. I'm winging this, folks.

All of the ages are the same except:

Cassie — 9

Eli — 8

America — 7

Quick note concerning Eli.

So in the comics, racism plays a very large role in Eli and Isaiah's stories. I intend to reflect that in this story. However, I am white. I am also privileged and my family is well-off. If any of Eli's story comes off as offensive to those of you who are African American or who are financially disadvantaged, I am very, very sorry. And if this is the case, PLEASE TELL ME and I will immediately remedy it.

Anyway.

Please drop a comment, even if it's just a simple sentence telling me what you thought. I love comments, and even the shortest ones make my day.

See you next time!