A/N: Warnings- Brief Torture
Chain Keeps Us Together
Chapter 3: O-o-h Child
...
"Gamora!"
Quill's body trembled. Dark blonde strands stuck to his forehead, wet and unmoving against his sweaty skin. Dizzy... spinning... His mind was being ripped into pieces by torturous nightmares. They were relentless, flashing before his eyes like the worst drive-in movie ever.
This place felt like an oven. The sheets under his body were soft and cool against the palms of his hands and Quill clung to them, tearing and squeezing them in his fists, trying in vain to steal some of that relief for himself.
"No-"
The guardian could hear his own voice begging into the darkness. The feverish pleas meant nothing to the world outside his mind. One might think he was crazy . Sputters and whispers, friends and foes. He wished it would stop. He wanted it to stop. He didn't have time to spare! Gamora needed him. She was calling him-
Get up, Peter
Yes. Get up. Find Gamora. Find Thanos. Wake UP!
After one particularly harsh toss of his head, Quill felt a pair of strong hands press down on his his own broad shoulders. Whoever this villain was, they didn't want him to wake up. They didn't want him to find Gamora!
"N-No!" Quill's breath was coming in short erratic pants. Frustration at his own inability to come to had the legendary outlaw letting out a humiliating sob of despair.
"Stop."
Quill's body tensed in alarm.
The thunderous command had come from a whole new voice entirely. It was deep, pointedly masculine, low enough to be called a rumble. Funny, it almost sounded like Thor. No, but it couldn't be Thor and it definitely wasn't Gamora... Well, maybe if Gamora turned into some kind of ogre-like creature? Or like a really really BIG version of Gamora. Quill would bet that's how she would sound...
Wait? What?
A cold cloth ran across his sweaty forehead, chasing the nightmares off with its cool taste of reality. The half-human hissed.
"Th-Thanos- "
"Seems to be a popular name nowadays." The voice answered. The cloth disappeared and the guardian felt a soft prick. Slowly, Peter found himself relaxing into the pillows.
Just a few more minutes... a few more...
...
...
There were no dreams of Gamora this time. No screams. No endless fog he needed to search through to find her. Nothing.
His sleep went without interruption, almost unnaturally. The only lingering itch was a soft buzz of wrongness that hung in his thoughts throughout every second of it.
Somewhere deep within Quill's subconscious, he knew he was wasting time...
It terrified him.
When he did finally wake, he noticed that breathing was much easier. The clear painless intake of air, that he had so often taken for granted, was back. In and out, he savored the feeling and let himself doze for a bit.
Wherever he was, it smelled funny. A mix of dust, alcohol, and old people.
Old people?
Oh God. He was at a casino, wasn't he? He'd fallen asleep on some old space-buzzard's bed while listening to her talk about every sexual partner she's ever had, alive and dead.
No, wait- That can't be right. He hasn't pulled a stunt like that since his late twenties. This was no casino. This was no cougar's palace... for god's sake he was still in his clothes!
"FHUh!"
Star-Lord woke up with a dramatic gasp, eyes flying open and mouth dropping to let out a short groan at his unfamiliar surroundings.
It didn't take long for his memory to adjust to the shock. He was staring at a vaulted ceiling. It was dark wood, old, and seriously dusty- like really dusty. The ceiling might as well have been Yondu's trinket closet, full of muck and mold and every speck of dirt his boots had left there since first stepping foot into it.
Ugh. He shuddered at the memory of having to retrieve anything from that nasty closet. Young Peter Quill had always kept his bunk on the ship pristine-clean. What was the point in owning anything if you were just gonna let it rot away?
"Ow-Jeez" And speaking of rotting away, the mattress that he was currently lying on felt like it had been stuffed with rocks. Chunks of it were pressing into the worst places along his back. The pillow wasn't as bad, thankfully, But it did smell like an weird old lady perfume...
'Maybe I'm not wrong about the cougar casino after all?'
Quill sighed and turned his head to look at the rest of the room. The entire space wasn't all that big. There was a small window to his left and a side table to his right. Every other inch of the room was floor to ceiling shelves of clutter. There wasn't a single open space that he could see along those wooden shelves either. Every spot was taken up by weird looking relics, plants, and the occasional dead thing.
"What the f-" What was going on here? This place was creepy as all hell! And worse: he had NO idea how the hell he'd even gotten from the destroyed staircase to here. The last thing Quill remembered was tossing his cookies and wanting to punch a few oddly dressed weirdos in the face.
'weirdos... Crap! Where are the weirdos?'
Quill focused his gaze on the open doorway.
Those two men had to have been the ones who put him here. Well, he certainly wouldn't be sticking around to shake hands. The dumbest thing those villains could have done was leave Star-Lord in a room alone. He was a master escape artist. He would sneak right out of the door and bash everyone he saw over the head with that scary mummified-dog-thing that was staring at him from the top shelf.
"Boom." Perfect. A flawless escape plan. Now, all he had to do was put it into motion, starting with getting the hell out of this bed!
Quill smirked at his own cleverness and thrust his chest upwards, aiming to move himself into a sitting position. Not half a centimeter off the bed, his body was met by an unforgiving (frankly painful) physical force.
"Hucchg!" The hero wheezed and blinked, confused scowl erasing any trace of his cocksure attitude.
He couldn't get up.
He. couldn't. get. UP.
Something was holding him down. Something was pressing against his body, pinning his arms and chest to this smelly old lady bed!
No. No! NO!
The guardian tried and tried to lift his arms, but they wouldn't rise. Out of breath, Peter laid back and turned his head down to search for the problem.
"Shit!" There were thick straps crossing over his body, two on his chest and two holding down each arm! The seat-belt webbing bit into his red jacket, indenting the leather with every toss of his limbs.
"Come on!" Quill thrashed from side to side, pulling and yanking. He was tied down like an animal! Tethered like a load of lumber! Breathing and counting to ten wouldn't ease his nerves this time. These villains had him in their clutches and they were probably going to kill him or eat him or eat him and then kill him! Why weren't these stupid straps breaking! Stupid! Stupid!
While he panicked, a deep voice broke through his momentary fight or flight with a presence like a distant crack of thunder.
"Relax." it said. "You're not going anywhere."
The prisoner froze. Quill's luck must be some of the worst the galaxies ever seen. Of course his executioner would show up just as he realized the full extent of his sucky situation.
"Did you just tell me to relax?" Quill barked. It came out as more of a growl, parched vocal cords straining to speak over the dryness in his throat. Still, he wasn't going to let this asshole get away with saying something that stupid. "I'm strapped to a bed like Randle McMurphy and you're telling me to relax!"
Fuming, he turned his angry gaze towards the open door. Across the small room, a tall slender man was leaning cockily against the molded frame. He was human, as far as Quill could tell, with dark hair and a long but handsome (sort of) face.
'Definitely seen this guy before.' The prisoner thought to himself. Weirdo #1 was still dressed in those odd looking robes Quill had first seen him in. The dramatic red cape that had previously been draped around the man's shoulders, however, was gone.
"It's pointless." Weirdo continued, ignoring Peter's childish attack. "Those restraints are enforced by magic. They won't release until I will them to."
Pffsh! Magic? Okay.
"Listen, man, I don't know what's going on here, but I really have to pee. So for the sake of your lumpy rock bed, I would-"
"Mmm-Yeeah no." was the guy's cutoff. Quill sputtered and closed his mouth.
As if his luck wasn't shit enough already. Turns out Mr. Cape-man is a total dick.
Truly. There was a smugness about this goatee-sporting creep that was infuriating Quill to no end. He looked composed, so perfectly at home treating this total stranger like a rabid animal.
"I'm not letting you off that bed until you've answered some questions."
Of course. Villainy 101. They always wanna know something. Well, fine. If Quill wanted to get out of this quickly, he was going to have to play along. He could absolutely pretend to do that... for a while.
"Fine. I give you answers, you let me go. Make it quick."
The man looked irritated, but asked his question anyway "Who are you?"
"Star-Lord. Next question."
Unfortunately, his new villainous friend didn't look satisfied with that answer at all. Maybe it was the look of disbelief that told Quill that... then again it also could have been the way he repeated the name like it was a sour candy. "Is that your real name?" He asked with a stupid quirked brow.
"Yeah. It is. Can we hurry this up, Houdini? Next Question."
"It's Doctor Strange."
"What?"
Quill scrunched up his nose, peering over at the figure in the doorway like he had just insulted his grandma.
"My name." His captor hissed. "It's Doctor Strange, Not Houdini."
Quill rolled his eyes. This Doctor Strange had an ego that could rival Drax. Was a name that stupid supposed to impress him?
"Doctor Strange? What- Was SeƱor Nutcase already taken?" The quip landed nicely. His captor's eyebrows had furrowed, carving a comical deep crease between his eyes. Peter would be lying if he said the look on the man's face hadn't won him at least a little bit of pleasure.
"So are we done here, Strange? Or..."
"You're not human."
The sudden change of subject made his head spin. Strange was choosing to move on instead of responding to Quill's insult. Surprising... Annoying... Impressive, maybe? That didn't usually happen. He could tell he had upset the man though. Strange was still leaning against the door, but instead of looking like he was bored out of his mind, he was wearing a deep frown.
"You've gotta be kidding me. I am human! Let me go!" That wasn't the whole truth, but he wasn't about to explain his daddy-issues to this jerk.
"No." Strange pushed off the doorway and walked forward into the center of the room. There was a threatening air to his stance now, A heroic vibe that had Quill uneasy. It almost seemed as though Quill was the one that had done something wrong in this... like Strange was a knight of some douchy round table that Star-Lord was trespassing on.
"You're not human." He repeated. "You can't be. A fit of dark magic large enough to conjure the Hulk to Earth would have mangled your body and melted your eyes."
"It nearly did!" The rebuke was weak and Strange knew it. Why it made a difference though, the prisoner couldn't fathom. Was this some kind of humans-only club? Quill didn't understand. "You're welcome for that steaming pile of puke, by the way. Consider it a party gi- "
The man's words belatedly hit him.
Hulk... Jerk-face had mentioned the Hulk! The Hulk was here! Yes! Finally some good luck!
"Where's the Hulk?" he blurted, sitting up a bit to press against his bonds. He couldn't help his excitement. If the Hulk was still here, there was a chance that he'd survive this den of weirdos after all!
It didn't exactly have the reaction he anticipated. Quill expected the villain to spout off his plan, to gloat and spill the beans. Strange did nothing of the sort. He just stood there giving him an odd look. Was his question the wrong thing to ask?
"Why?"
"Curious. Not like it'd be easy to hide a guy that big." Hint hint (tell me your goddamn plan!)
The man actually looked surprised by that. A shocked expression soon melted into suspicion though. Maybe that had been the wrong thing to ask.
Quill felt the restraints around his body tighten.
"I have a better question for you, Star-Lord." Strange stepped further into the room and the trapped hero watched him, testing the strength of his bonds for the 80th time. "What master do you serve?"
What?
"What master do I serve?" Quill spat "What am I supposed to say? Jesus?"
His adversary didn't pause until his knees hit the frame of the bed. Hazel eyes locked on the guardian's own rich green and traveled downwards, studying Quill from his scruffy face to his otherworldly red jacket. An uncertain expression ran across the villain's face.
"Answer the question or I will make you. I won't ask again."
"Ask?" Hilarious. "Well, that's real cute. It sounded more like a demand to me. Is this how you treat your guests?"
"Only the uninvited ones."
"Oh, my bad. Next time I plan on tumbling through a magic death portal, I'll be sure to send a letter ahead of time!"
That last joke was all it took to break the man's tight composure, it seemed. Strange furiously stepped back, seething, eyes darkening into something demonic. A single shaking hand rose in front of his captor's body and the straps crossing over Quill became unbearably painful. The sound of strained leather reached him before the agony did. The bindings were pinching him, squeezing him like a cobra would its prey.
After a few seconds, Peter couldn't help it. He screwed up his face and screamed.
