AN: Hi guys! I'm so, so sorry about the awful delay between updates! Nursing school is truly creativity sucking! But please let me know what you're enjoying about the story so far. :) Your comments and thoughts inspire me to get my writing butt back in gear!
Chapter 3: Hush
Once, in the days where Peter was still a child fairly fresh aboard the Eclector, the crew had made an impromptu pit stop shoreside after finding their ship in need of more than a few tune ups. Via his very loud, very annoying protests about never ever getting to leave the stupid ship, Peter had been grudgingly allowed to tag along as Yondu headed into the marketplace to barter with local junk traders. It was here that they'd experienced an unexpected run-in with someone who'd seemed to Peter to be Yondu's boss.
Funny, because he'd always thought that Yondu was the boss, but he'd kept his mouth shut. Even when he would've liked to gleefully point out the way Yondu practically shrunk under this man's scrutiny just as so many men shrunk under Yondu's.
Stakar something-or-other was clearly pissed at Yondu for reasons Peter couldn't quite make out- except that it seemed to have something to do with the sight of Peter himself. None of it made a whole lot of sense to him, especially as the men's conversation was clipped and full of things half-said, leaving Peter mostly in the dark.
It didn't help that Stakar and his merry men ended up calling for a private conversation with Yondu and Yondu alone.
Thus, here Peter waited. Plopped in the dirt outside of the Ravager's meeting building of choice, digging out of both boredom and- not that he'd ever admit it- nerves. Seeing Yondu be reduced to anything that resembled a kicked puppy had actually been sort of off-putting.
In the midst of his lackadaisical digging efforts, as the sun fell in the sky and the dirt around him cooled, he'd come across an oddly shaped rock. Out of curiosity (as there'd definitely been nothing else to do for the better part of an hour now) he'd held it up to the sky for a closer look.
Light from the setting sun practically danced through the rock and, to Peter's awe, transformed it into a brilliant, translucent blue. Lines of scarlet swirled throughout.
The mystical rock twinkled down at him, and eight-year-old Peter marveled.
Yondu finally emerged and his presence was that of an ominous cloud. He'd sulked right past Peter without any acknowledgment to the boy. Peter had shot to his feet, shaken off dirt and wiped at his face with muddy hands, slipping his treasure of a find into his coat pocket. He'd practically had to gallop to keep up behind Yondu.
A silent Yondu rarely bode well for anybody. So Peter wisely chose to follow wordlessly, allowing Yondu the space to stew as they strode presumably back to their ship. Eventually, though, Peter's smaller legs grew tired of this dumb jog pace he was being forced to keep up.
"Yondu. Yond-uuu. Hold on a sec."
"It's 'Captain' to you, boy, and I'm tryin' to haul ass off this godforsaken planet, so you best keep up."
Peter picked up the pace to round in front of Yondu, attempting to gage the man's expression. "Wait, what happened? Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"It don't concern you."
"But that one guy, Sticker- he was mad 'cause I was with you."
"Stakar," Yondu corrected with sudden bite. "A high standin' Ravager leader. Hell, one of the best we've got." His hand dipped to rummage around his pocket. Nonchalant as his movements were, his agitation was still betrayed by the way he wouldn't stop moving. "Sir high 'n mighty just cut off his alignment with us."
"What? He did? 'Cause of me?"
"No.Will you shut your yap?" But Peter could've sworn the captain's hand trembled as he brought a pick to his mouth. He had yet to look at Peter. "There are rules to bein' a Ravager, see. And I... went 'n broke one rule too many."
"Oh. Well," Yondu's odd behavior nearly stopped Peter from even asking, "what did you do?"
At last, Yondu slowed to a halt. Exhaled heavily through his nose.
"Y'know, you sure do ask a hell of a lot of questions," he finally drawled, straightening to his full height and narrowing his eyes down to Peter, "for some brat who should just be thankin' his lucky stars I haven't eaten him yet." Yet, as his fingers rolled the pick through his jagged teeth, his hand shook once more. "I'll say it one last time, boy;it don't concern you."
Strange. Firstly, because Yondu's turmoil practically radiated off of him in waves, and Peter had yet to know the man to even remotely distress over anything that wasn't lost money. Secondly was that Yondu's 'I'll eat you' threat hadn't even scared Peter this time, and thirdly was the fact that Peter actually wanted to help him.
Yondu hadn't been kind to Peter. Not even by the shittiest of standards. But even still...
"Whatever it is you did... Can you fix it? Can I help?"
Yondu offered no answer. However, something about Peter's proposal seemed to pique his interest. He studied the child before him with a quiet curiosity.
Peter warily watched him back. Shadows fell across the captain's blue face, and they did him no favors; the creases created by his scowl were deepened, and every scar was pronounced. Crimson eyes glinted with the setting sun. Against the gloomy backdrop of the sky, with his jaw jutted and nostrils flared, he looked all the world like a gargoyle, or maybe a monster out of a children's book.
But- as had just brilliantly dawned upon Peter- he also looked exactly like something elsen.
Mama had taught him to always find ways to remind people that they were important. Especially when others had made them feel less than. Sure, he'd previously only applied her rule to bullied kids in his class, or to batty, lonely old neighbors of the Quill's, but he was certain it could also be applied to emotionally stunted pirates from space.
"YONDU!" the exclamation burst out of Peter, startling Yondu right out of his reverie. The child raised to his tiptoes and his hands shot out on impulse to grab the sides of the captain's face. Knowing this was practically an invitation for a quick death didn't stop him from absolutely beaming at his own brilliance. "Yondu, you're just like it!"
The man in question had stiffened like a board under Peter's tiny, mud encrusted hands, looking two seconds away from ripping them off or hurling his arrow through Peter entirely. Miraculously, he didn't do either. Rather, while allowing the child's hold, face scrunched in a way that made him look constipated, he asked: "I'm jus' like what?"
Currently, Peter's eyes have landed on the rock he'd so proudly presented to Yondu all those years ago. It sits atop the captain's desk discreetly among other items pulled from Yondu's 'box of treasures'.
Upon receiving Peter's incredibly thoughtful and well-meaning gift, the ungrateful asshole had called Peter 'kind of stupid' for comparing him to some rock he'd dug up. "But it's blue, with some red, and it doesn't look all that great 'til you squint at it a certain way. And it's sorta shaped like the Ravager symbol!" a disheartened Peter had insisted, letting go after holding the captain's head in the same manner he'd held his rock up to the sun. Yondu had countered that it was shaped more like a foot with a bunion, and was Peter really blind and stupid? Kid was worthless for thieving if he couldn't see worth a damn; Yondu should have just let the crew eat him if that were the case; also, Peter would have stubs for hands if he ever tried grabbing the captain's face again; blah, blah, blah…
Needless to say, the fact that Yondu has made a point to hang onto the thing has Peter a tad confused.
His surprise at the sight of his comparatively crude, simplistic gift among the valued items of Yondu is fleeting in the face of more pressing matters at the moment, but still. It sparks the small hope that maybe Yondu does have some semblance of a heart, however malformed- at least enough to do more for Peter than just laugh in his face and write him off as insane.
"Quill! Boy-o! Hell-oooo! You plannin' on answerin' sometime today?"
Oh, right, Yondu's asked him a question. With fingers snapping in his face. Peter blinks and straightens in his seat. "Hey there. Yeah, okay. So, ah... where to begin? The bar. You remember how we all went and partied at that bar on Moonteg about a week ago?"
"Yeah, Quill. Hard to forget you hurlin' your Terran dribble at me. What about it?"
Peter's currently too ridden with nerves to even react to the goad. "Something weird happened before all that."
"Mm. Weird how?"
Peter tries to begin explaining it all then but, God, does his head ache. A steady thunk, thunk, thunk, as if someone is knocking for entrance into his head, which is pretty fitting, considering that it's soon followed by the voice:
"Hush, Peter… you must keep quiet about all this."
Peter clamps his mouth back shut.
"Oh, must I?" he replies mockingly within his own head. "Says who? Some faceless jerkwad who keeps dicking with me?" His heart speeds up at the chance to finally hold a conversation and get an answer or two. "How about this, asshole- you start explaining who you are, and what the hell you've been doing inside my head, or I start talking."
"Weird how?" Yondu repeats, never one for patience, but Peter needs to ignore him for just one more second in favor of hearing out this other voice.
"And I will. In fact, I have every answer I know you seek; answers that require more time to explain in full, and answers I can't give if Udonta is made aware. Just give me time, Peter, and in return, I promise to give you… everything."
Peter's ears loudly pop. The pressure in his head eases away, likely signaling the end of this 'conversation'. He's left blinking bewilderingly at Yondu, who has taken matters into his own hands by rising out of his seat to shake Peter roughly.
"Whoa, dude, I'm answering, I'm answering!" Peter protests. Yondu just barely backs off and crosses his arms over his chest.
"Are you, now? Then spit it on out! First you're flippin' your lid over some tune that ain't even playin', and next you're gapin' at me like you're all the sudden mute, blind 'n deaf." Yondu is staring at him like he's grown a second head. "More talkin', Quill. Less spacin'. The hell are you tryin'a tell me? What happened on Moonteg?"
Alright. Peter is going to have to make up his mind quickly and wisely before Yondu's short fuse officially reaches it's end. Employ for whatever aide Yondu may be able to offer (likely none) against a nameless voice inside Peter's head? Or give said voice the chance to hold up to its word and explain its presence?
Yondu is already being kind of a dick about the whole thing. And Peter supposes that, if it means he may get some answers, waiting this whole thing out just a tad longer probably won't kill him. In a split-second he decides he'll run with his latter plan by playing the whole thing off.
"As I was saying, ye of little patience, I ended up downing some funky foreign drink that someone gave me at the bar. I don't think it mixed too well with Terran biology because it really messed me up," Peter lies. "I've been tripping out here and there ever since. Like I did just now. Plus, you know, I've usually got a gut of steel. So the funky drink probably explains why I blew chunks, too."
He's normally a master story fabricator. However, this is alsoveryon the spot. He makes his move to leave, deciding it's best to hit the road before Yondu can pry too much. "I'll go grab something from Doc to take and be good to go."
"You... wait, hold up, now," Yondu interrupts his departure. "Who gave you the drink?"
"I- dunno."
"Huh. So some random ass stranger shimmies on up to you, hands you somethin' 'funky and foreign', and your dumbass goes 'n gulps it down? No questions asked? What the hell, Quill! Do I really gotta go and give you the talk about ingestin' sketchy shit from people you ain't never met in your life?"
Peter would never have guessed this would lead to him getting the full blown third degree. "I didn't say I just took a swig from a total rando," he defends heatedly. Even knowing full well the scenario they're arguing over is fake, being reprimanded makes him feel all but thirteen again. "Even when I'm drunk I'm not that stupid. I know I got it from crew."
Yondu's mouth thins into a line and suddenly he's very quiet. "What?" Peter asks warily.
"Which crew, then?"
"I don't know, Yondu," Peter replies in exasperation. "I don't remember. I was shitfaced."
The captain hums in thought. His demeanor shifts deceivingly into one that's relaxed; he lounges back and presses his fingers together. "I don't know what kind of weird ass spell you jus' had," he says passively, "but that weren't no reaction to alcohol from over a week ago. If your teeny Terran brain is still a shit show after all this time, then someone must've slipped you somethin' nasty, boy."
Yondu's playing it off like he doesn't care (well, actually, that's something he doesn't even have to pretend) but the captain is definitely convinced that someone in this crew has it out for Peter. Granted, Peter can be enough of a pain in the ass that he would be pleasantly surprised if one of them doesn't, but still.
His little 'episode' must have been more alarming than Yondu is letting on. Normally this type of 'I drank something weird and am now tripping balls' scenario would likely just warrant the captain laughing cruelly at Peter, calling him a moron, and brushing it off to be dealt with by Doc. But Yondu doesn't seem to be willing to just drop it.
Peter supposes Yondu's never well put up with crew pulling that sort of crap on eachother. He's likely to go and make some 'inquiries' over the entire thing. Peter may strongly dislike a large portion of this ugly, vulgar crew, but it still makes him feel the tiniest bit guilty about lying.
The entity in his head had better come through with its promises.
"Yeah. Seems like it. Well, I'm goin' to Doc, then," Peter sighs, turning away in the hopes of finally getting to leave. "We'll see if he can fix whatever's going on."
"Hmph. You ain't comin' with tomorrow unless he tells you you're cleared to. You're no good to us pullin' that freaky, spacey crap." Yondu pauses. "Quill. There anythin' else I ought to know?"
"Nope," Peter says without looking back. "Nothin'."
He can't tell the truth until he knows it himself, anyway.
So. Peter had mentioned that enduring his hallucinatory experiences for a little longer probably wouldn't get him killed?
Rarely as he has to admit this, he may have been wrong.
"Hi, baby," breathes Meredith Quill, tears in her green eyes and smile wide as it is beautiful.
It's the morning after the music incident and Peter, along with a handful of Ravagers, has been trudging along a narrow path that wraps up and around a spectacular mountain. They're here to collect a rare type of crystal that doubles as a valuable power source. It's rumored to rest along the sides and atop the mountain, and crew has split off into small groups in order to carry away as much as possible. Also because they expect the natives, if encountered, to be a highly aggressive and territorial race.
Peter can handle all that. Piece of freaking cake. What he's not so sure he can handle is his mother's ghost, standing at the cliff's edge, reaching for him just as she'd done moments before death.
"Mom," Peter chokes, trying to say more while simultaneously not stumble over his own feet- it's all very difficult because his surroundings are blurring, are dripping away like rain, along with any coherency to his thoughts. Within seconds he's forgotten the mountain; the crew's confused inquiries are muted; all he sees, all he knows, is his mother. And he needs to take her hand.
This becomes fairly problematic when it turns out that Meredith Quill is not actually there, and all Peter has managed to do is dazedly sidestep right off of the cliff.
He is tumbling, falling, tumbling, falling... gone, before he even hits the water below.