The cloaked Milano idles in the air, too high for anyone to bump or crash into. Peter only knows where she is because she has a hum to her that other Terrans could mistake for cars or heating systems in old buildings. Peters knows though; it's the soundtrack to his best battles and the lullaby to his nights.

Peter's the one to undo the cloaking and lower the ramp. After entering, he takes a deep breath and just relishes the smell of his ship again (something he failed to appreciate before). He doesn't have time to reacquaint himself with her and the small changes and updates that have happened in the past four years.

"Okay, we have to go to 40, 75," he mutters aloud, punching the coordinates into the nav computer. He never knew, before he remembered, why it was important to know the coordinates or everywhere he went, but it was, and he can recall them perfectly. Those numbers and the additional calculations for the wind in the troposphere, and the time limit filter and sort through his mind in a way geometry and algebra never did, and he wants to laugh, because of course, no wonder he felt so stupid.

He only has a fourth grade education by earth standards. His mind is trained for complex calculations for the delicate task of navigating where there is no computer nor map in uncharted parts of the galaxy, not for finding the length of a hypotenuse using Terran mathematical terms. The math was never too hard… it was too simple.

Doing the mental calculations, he taps in the numbers in rapid succession.

He steps back, taking that breath he forgot about, feeling adrenaline and pride. His mental skills haven't deteriorated which is good. Physically, he doesn't know... He shakes his head and moves to the controls and punches the auto system. He feels all of them staring at him and turns to meet their gazes slowly.

Gamora's eyes are oddly glazed. Drax has a wide smile on his face, mirrored by Groot. And Rocket has a couple tears in his eyes again. It's the smallest of the group who recovers from his stupor first. "Come on, let's get a move on. Groot, I need to put together a couple more Enforcers if we're gonna take on the Chitauri."

"I am Groot."

"Don't get your branches in a knot," Rocket snorts, heading to the corner of the room where he has some scrap metal on the floor. Quill notes that he doesn't leave the room, and Rocket's eyes still drift towards them every now and then while he works.

"I need to change," Peter says, looking at his slacks and button up. "I refuse to save the world wearing khakis."

"Please," Gamora says, barely hiding her distaste for the clothes. She walks with him the three meters it is to his cabin.

"All my stuff still here?" he asks.

"We haven't touched it."

When he opens the door, he sees exactly how true that is. Everything is covered with four years' worth of dust. His clothes are in the bureau thankfully, so his jacket and pants are clean. He's lucky wore disguises during that mission that bombed so hard he ended up on Terra, or else he would've lost the duster Yondu gave him for his 25th birthday. Peter smiles at the sight of the red Ravager's leather. It's been so long… too long.

Gamora seems to think so too, because she has a rare, soft smile on her face as she sees him poring over the clothes.

"I'll leave you to it," she say after a few moments of watching him. She leaves and the automatics door slides shut behind her.

Peter immediately strips off his yellow button up and throws on a heather gray tee made from Xandarian space material he never realized he missed so much. The khakis are the next to go. Peter throws them to the corner without another look. His dark jeans go on, and when he sticks his hands in the pockets he finds a couple of units and he smiles at the surprise. His holsters fit back snugly on his waist. He needs some weapons to fill them, but he's sure Rocket can hook him up.

Peter kicks off his dress shoes and finds his combat boots, which thankfully still have jets hooked onto them. A little digging through his draws finds a trigger to lite them. He finds a spare helmet attachment and he binds it to the skin behind his ears and taps to see if it activates. Not his favored face-mask (these eye-lenses glow more purple than red) but it'll do in this case; he deactivates it for now. The last thing to go on is his red Ravager's cloak, and the way it sweeps over his calves before settling is beautiful.

All put together now, Peter feels like he's in his own skin again. There isn't time to relish in the feeling because they've got to hurry and save the world. As he adds on a few last accessories, Peter thinks the whole thing over.

He's weathered a lot of alien invasions before, but never one on his home planet. This invasion has to be seriously illegal on, like, multiple levels. Terra doesn't have the technology other planets do. They'll be easy pickings.

Peter can't let that happen. Not while April—

Taking a deep breath, Peter runs a hand through his hair to rumple the somewhat office-approved hairstyle, and steels himself before exiting his chamber.

Everyone's heads snap towards him as he exits, and he shoves his hands into his pockets.

"So, where we at with weapons, Rocket?" he asks.

"Two Adron Enforcers ought to change their minds for this Class XII violation."

"I like the sound of that," Peter grins. "What do we know about the Chitauri?" For this, he looks to Gamora who steps forward.

"The Chitauri are cybernetic hive civilization. They are subservient to Thanos." She clears her throat. "Their biggest advantage is that they have a staggering number of soldiers, all of which are managed from the mother ship, but you'll never see that on the battle field."

"They're not the most impressive mooks in the universe," Rocket adds.

"I have beaten many chitauri without meaning too," Drax boasts.

"The fact Terra has no protection is really what's going to make this such a rough job," Gamora says.

"I am Groot."

"Yeah, yeah, we'll protect people and plants and etc.." Rocket waves it away.

"So, what do we do?" Peter asks.

"From what I saw, it looked like they were coming through some kinda portal," Rocket inserts. "For a portal that can transfer their army over that kind of distance, we're talkin' a big power source."

"Like what?" Peter asks.

"Like an infinity stone," Gamora realizes, shaking her head.

"Did Xandar lose the infinity stone already?" Peter groans. "I'm gonna say it; they had one job."

"Not that I know of," Rocket says. "But if they do, we better be the first fucking people they call to apologize."

"Damn right." Peter rubs his forehead. "So possibly a second stone then. Where does that leave us?"

"I say we go straight after the infinity stone," Gamora advises before pulling up live feed of the battle on a holo. "It doesn't look like they're all the way through the portal."

"Yeah, maybe we can shut it on them," Peter says. "At the very least we can try and keep more from getting in."

"Blowing up the mothership would be much faster," Rocket says.

There's a silence, and then Peter asks, "Can we do that?"

Gamora grins, all teeth. "If you brought the firepower, Rocket, then I don't see why we can't." Drax laughs and Peter feels insanity and thrill wrapping around his mind. Breathless laughter escapes his lips and he leans against the Milano's walls for stability.

"I honestly don't know how I got roped into becoming the go-to guy for stopping worlds from ending," Rocket gripes, but it's light.

Peter grins. "There are worse habits."

"The pay sucks," Rocket snorts.

"We'll hit up Nova Prime for some units after this. Or maybe Vanaheim for cleaning up their mess since this is under them." Peter immediately falters after speaking, because he hasn't made his mind up about rejoining them in space, right? Or has he? But April—

Fuck. He can't think about this right now.

"ETA?" Peter asks Drax, turning away from Rocket's grinning face and Gamora's strangely earnest eyes.

"Six minutes."

"Okay. I'm screwed." Peter hates feeling so unconfident, but he doesn't remember the last time he did any actual fighting since crash landing.

"What is wrong?" Drax asks.

"My reflexes are shit," he replies miserably. "I haven't fought anyone in, like, four years."

Gamora steps up to him and quick as a flash has a knife to his neck. His hands twitch before executing a quick kick to disarm her. She jumps back and out of the way easily, but she's smiling.

"You are slower, but it is impossible to forget some reactions."

"Thanks," Peter says ambivalently, adrenaline pumping.

"You'll be fine, Quill," Rocket says dismissively. "From the looks of things, the Chitauri are more interested in biting you in half instead of sparring."

Peter is going to quip something snarky to soothe his nerves, but Drax's next words cut him off. "We will not let anything happen to you, Quill," he assures as he fastens his choice knives to his leg holsters.

"Exactly." Gamora nods.

"That would be a damn waste of the time we spent looking for you," Rocket says in agreement before handing Peter twin pistols.

"I am Groot!" Groot crows.

Peter grins at all of them before strapping the guns to his hip. Inwardly, he is awed as he realized how much time they spent searching for him. It's amazing, and ridiculous, and he would've done the exact same thing.

The stereo catches his eye.

Picking the cassette up from the shelf, he runs his thumb over his mother's faded cursive and loads the tray on the wall.

"I think we have time for one song," he grins.

"The violent one," Drax advises.

"'Cherrybomb' it is," Peter agrees, and the song filters aggressively through the speakers.

Hello Daddy, hello Mom
I'm your ch ch ch ch ch cherry bomb
Hello world I'm your wild girl
I'm your ch ch ch ch ch cherry bomb

"I'm ready to save the world," he says for them and himself.

The mess is clear from a few miles off and when they get closer, it's hard to make out the sky with all the Chitauri and the giant portal lurking over everything.

"I never liked New York," Peter declares, even if it is his first visit.

"Yeah, I wasn't going to say anything but Terra's a friggin' dump," Rocket says.

"It doesn't look like this normally," Peter defends.

"Still, look at this rubble? What is this, their first invasion?" Rocket grins sharp against Peter's ire, cackling as he gestures to the Stark skyscraper. "Computer says the source is thata-way." Great surges of blue energy explode from something near the top, linking it to the portal.

"That's not particularly subtle," Gamora says.

"Terrans aren't particularly smart," he snarks back. "Any idiot would know to knock over the glowy thing making the sky open like a parallel dimension."

"Well, it seems like we're the idiots with that honor," Peter says, grimacing. "Rocket, you and Gamora see if you can find a way to into that portal to blow up the mothership. Me, Drax n' Groot will do crowd control and see if we can't find the off switch for that thing."

The hatch opens up ready to deposit them into the field. Peter slams his mask over his face, already knowing he's going to smart tomorrow.

"Quill, you said that Terra had no fire power," Drax intones. "And that they were going to 'fuckin' die.'"

"Yeah, I did say that," Peter says, checking his pistols and praying he has enough fuel in his rocket boots to carry him through the battle.

"Then what is that?" Drax points to the red and gold shape flying through the air raining holy hell on any nearby Chitauri.

"That's Ironman." Peter stops as what he says registers again. "Fuck, that's Ironman!" He scrambles down the deck and sees the red chrome machine dart behind a building. "He's a terran. A good guy. I mean, Ron says he's a commie, but—"

"What's a commie?" Drax asks.

"Anyone who doesn't agree with Ron and believes in healthcare, I don't really know."

Groot's hand extends and latches onto a red cape attached to one Asgardian looking mother-thumper shooting past them. His call of "I am Groot!" gets further and further away.

Peter sighs and rubs his neck. "Alright, let's not kill anyone humanish for the moment, huh? Seems like there's more going on here if Asgard's playing ball. And Ironman, commie or otherwise."

Rocket shrugs as he settles into the pilot's chair, not even looking guilty for dodging agreement. Gamora makes more meaningful eye contact before Peter hits his boots and flies up towards the tower. Drax's shout of joy follows him as the destroyer drops onto the stark battlespace. Peter flies straight into some kinda hover board and he spins out, wielding his pistols for all he's worth.

Peter can't worry about anything when it feels like just another day saving the world.

Gamora toggles the joystick of the pilot's seat, gunning down another Chitaurian chariot. Debris flies past the ship, bouncing over the protective barrier.

"Look at those meat-bags," Rocket says, eyeing the Terrans running through the streets. "This is just excessive for garbage like the Chitauri."

"They haven't had much exposure to intergalactic visitors," Gamora replies, eyes tracing a ship darting between buildings.

"I highly doubt that. Gullible people like this? I think it's more likely their government has been keeping it quiet for a long time." Rocket steers the ship around the wreckage of Gamora's latest kill. "I'm just saying, if they were more aware, they wouldn't be running around begging to be picked off."

Gamora looks at Rocket, then blinks. She points and Rocket looks out the side window. A red-haired human stands on a Chitauri chariot, kneeing the support drone and rending him into space junk. She digs knives into the pilot's shoulder blades and then jerks her puppet sideways to steer. The woman seems to sense them, the way her attention pivots away from her last challenge and onto them.

Rocket waves at her, and her face pales. Her arms yank sideways and Rocket maneuvers the ship up and over her head, twirling around buildings as she attempts to crash into them.

Rocket slams the brakes as she darts in front of them and honks the horn. "Hey, lady! I'm steering here!"

Gamora takes a less subtle approach and guns down three larvae ejecting from the carrier ship. The blood and oil splatter the Milano, and Gamora gestures at the woman who looks between them and the debris before veering away, taping some device in her ear.

"They might not all be easy pickings," Gamora says.

"Let's just drop off these Adron enforcers and then get off this garbage heap," Rocket grumbles, shooting towards the portal.

Natasha maneuvers her latest acquisition away from the spaceship and accesses the comm. "Two non-friendlies on a blue and yellow spaceship. Looks like Rocky Racoon and the Jolly Green Giantess. They seem anti-Chitauri, but I don't know how they feel about humans."

"When you say Rocky Raccoon, do you mean a Paul McCartney look alike?" Clint asks.

"I mean that a raccoon is piloting a spaceship," Natasha says, steering her ride up and over a fellow flier before cornering them into a light pole.

"No need to say, Captain, we know you don't get the reference," Tony chimes in. "Flying monkeys, yes. Literal Rocky Raccoons no."

"Is a raccoon a sentient plant-like creature named Groot?" Thor asks. Natasha cranks the count of unknowns up to three.

"No, and it's not exactly a buff alien covered in tattoos either," Steve pipes in. "He's bowling down Chitauri like it's the beer league. I say we don't engage for now, deal with them after they take down Chitauri. Hey, maybe their friendlies."

"Copy that, Cap. And hold onto that super dated reference, I'm coming back for it," Tony says, before dipping from the comms.

"Good luck telling that to Hulk," Clint says. "That's four unknowns… Make it five. Let me know whether we're gunning for them, I have a good view on one approaching the tower."

"Roger, Clint. And they'd have to be morons to engage with Hulk, even if they think he's Chitauri," Natasha replies. She adjusts her own trajectory and heads for the tower.

"I am Groot!"

"Hulk, smash!"

"And I am Thor Odinson." Thor flicks the rubble from his cape, unwinding the vines he finds tendrilled around the hem. He gestures to the flying troop drop swanning about the city. "Shall we?"

Bill stares at the staff flung over the ledge, glowing with teasing blue energy. Behind him explosions rock and jolt the city beneath him. Each impact sends a shudder up his spine, a pang of regret through his stomach. If only he could reach the staff— his arm pangs, his twisted legs ache as he shifts. Bill shuts his eyes, leaning against the wall hoping to god someone comes to clean up the mess he's wrought. He swears to forsake science tomorrow if he can just stop the horrors today.

He startles as someone jets up to the tower and lands on the tile. It isn't Stark, the propulsion boots appear more hand-made and well-used. Red eyes glow beneath russet hair and he seems to overlook Bill as a corpse as he stalks to the machine.

His hand extends—

ZAP!

"Ow, son of a—"

Bill lets out a huff and red lens jerk towards him. Bill stares down the creature, sees the hand twitching over a gun holster, and feels unafraid. He says, "You won't be able to bypass the barrier."

A gloved hand raises upward and there's a click. The mask and lenses dissolve, crawling away to reveal a face disturbingly human.

"And what do you know about it?" the man asks. Bill stares at him, feeling bleary, red-rimmed, and as hopeful as he is suspicious. There shouldn't be a reason for a grunt to be here messing with the machine. That makes it possible he's dealing with an unknown Avenger, or some interested third party. There are a lot of supers and heroes popping up these days. If Bill can pass on his theory to destroy the machine, then he'll have done all he can… On the other hand, this could be Loki's machinations, and Bill feels too heady and paranoid to lean into to hope fully.

"I built it," Bill says at length.

The man curses. "Christ man, why? Aren't you Terran? Human, sorry."

"Aren't you?" Bill asks, boring into the man. "I'd have thought so with such a mid-west accent."

"Yeah, I kind of live here. I mean, sort of against my will. I had amnesia—" A hand finds his forehead. "Look, I really don't support this invasion stuff. Can you help me or not?"

"That story seems too stupid to be Loki," Bill muses. "But that I'm believing you might mean that it's actually the perfect story to convince me."

"Who's Loki? Wait, isn't he one of the Asgard royals, or in that Vannaheim I'm thinking of?"

Bill feels his eyes shuttering. He talks more like someone from space now and that makes him that much more unknown. The man seems to realize his misstep and scrambles to regain the ground lost. "I mean, yes I lived in space for a while, but I also have a fiancé on Earth. And a great appreciation for Earth music."

"Oh really," Bill mutters, head hitting the back of the wall.

The man jumps, and barely steps out of the way as a boot swipes where his ankles used to be. He reels back, staggering away as Natasha creates space between Bill and the stranger.

"How you doing, Bill?" Natasha asks, knife appearing in her hand. "You seem much better."

Bill feels like his brain might pour from his ears and more than one appendage is broken, but this is the sanest he's been for weeks, so he nods. He gestures to the man and his pistol. "Meet my mid-western friend. Might be Loki, or just a space explorer with an appreciation for Earth music."

"That so," Natasha asks, pulling his knife up.

"Oh, come on! I'm just trying to stop this garbage." The man glares at them, and after a moment, starts tapping his foot. Bill stares as his hips join in the action at the man before him starts singing. "When I die and they lay me to rest, gonna go to the place that's the best. When they lay me down to die, going up to the spirit in the sky." His voice strains as he reaches for the falsetto of the chorus. "That's high—Spirit in the sky!" His voice drops, "That's where I'm gonna go when I die. When I die—"

Natasha throws a knife, and he ducks it, turning the dodge into weird turns and jerks of his hips. When he scrapes up a moonwalk in his rocket boots, Bill holds a hand up.

"Stop. Please stop. I…"

"I'm not Loki, or whoever," the man interrupts. "The seventies were glorious, dude."

Natasha's eyes never leave the man, but she does fall back to Bill. Her posture is suspicious, but he senses her waiting for him.

Bill feels his lips twitch. "I… believe you. Not for your knowledge of Norman Greenbaum, but because for a megalomaniac god to sing and dance is, in fact, the limit of the boundaries of possibility." He lets out a long sigh. "My name's Bill."

"Black Widow," Natasha says. The man goggles a little but makes a show of holstering his weapon.

"So, that's how it is. Call me Star-lord," the man says. "Now what can we do about this thing?"

Gamora's hand has nearly worn a groove into the toggle. Past the gateway, the Chitauri airspace is riddled with cruisers gunning for them. Rocket bobs and dips and steers into the chaos, leaving Gamora to swing the guns and clear a continual exit from the encroaching ships.

"Hey, uh, are you almost done up there?" Peter's voice pipes into the speakers. "I'm ready to blow the portal when you're clear."

Gamora grunts, eyeing the energy gauge of the barrier. "We don't have a clear shot yet. If we blow up these grunts instead of the main ship we'll have wasted our shot."

"Can you ask someone else to tilt the thing?" Rocket asks. "'Cause we could do with a little assistance."

"It's not exactly as easy as knocking it over," Peter says.

"What did I say about Terrans," Rocket mutters.

Gamora growls depressing the trigger. "I'm going to say it; you had one job."

"Hey, uh, Black widow. Miss Widow? Ma'am?" Peter's voice is professionally unprofessional as he talks to someone off-screen. "Do you have anyone who can provide air support? We got a little somethin-somethin we wanna give the Chitauri."

The answer is muted, and Gamora guns down a couple drones even as they take hits. Her eyes jerk through the lines, trying to make space. They need space.

Red and gold shoots past them followed by a laser beam which blows a neat line through the ranks. The man of iron Peter mentioned.

"Hell yeah, Commie man!"

He glances at them and then does a genuine double-take as he sees Rocket cheering.

Gamora doesn't care one bit, pressing the gap before them and flipping the toggle up to reveal a red button. She lets an adron enforcer fly through the empty space and it lands with a sweet impact. Red glow builds and swells, knocking the Ironman back. The Milano rides the wave.

"Close the door, Peter. We're coming for you."

When she sees him, right where he should be, Gamora fills her heart brim.

"You waited this time," she says. His face screws up, guilty and pleased.

After big battles, there's always Fallout. People crawl out from shelter and some have to be rescued. If the saviors are all conveniently assembled there might be a round of applause, before they hustle off to eat and drink their fill after pushing themselves past possible limits. Then they help move shit and get people to doctors and what not. Peter's old hat at it by now, and as he gathers at the base of the tower, flanked by his family and a few new faces, he is ready for some water and at least golf-applause.

What he gets instead is flashing lights, and a sudden rush of camera lenses. His mouth feels dry, and goddamnit this is not the time. The Avengers are already scattering, jumping away or downright disappearing, leaving Peter to try and deflect attention from his entire non-Terran crew who seem nonplussed but truculent as ever.

A female reporter bustles up to them. Her face is too pale and ash-streaked to have arrived after the attack. Peter feels something in him soften.

Her tone is sharp, even as the tenor of it is smothered in dust. "Our heroes of the hour. Spare a few questions? What do you think of the Avengers initiative? Have you enjoyed being a member?"

Rocket scoffs before Peter can. "Are you kidding, lady?" Rocket sneers. "We ain't working with those morons."

"We," Gamora states, words weighted and firm. "Are the Guardians of the Galaxy. Our domain is all of the cosmos."

The reporter looks stunned, skeptical, and impressed all at the same time. "That's a lofty title to live up to."

"I am Groot."

"We make do," Rocket echoes with a toothy smile.

"I agree. We fight and have brought much destruction and thus have had fruitions affairs," Drax adds.

The reporter nods and Peter watches her rally. "If you are from the galaxy, then perhaps we ought to say thank you for coming, even if it was your job. There is some concern about the fact that you've never come before. There have been other alien threats."

"This planet is an F-class, underdeveloped shit—"

"This isn't really our territory," Peter jumps in. "Most of our equipment is really advanced and dangerous. The only reason we came here is because I'm Terr— I'm from here."

The reporter's eyes narrow. "Who are you?"

Peter pauses for a long moment. Feels the tension and weight in his words.

He deactivates his mask. "My name is Peter Quill."