07-Nuclear-powered crowbar

After a few minutes of slipping, swearing, nearly falling to their death and awkward climbing, the pair finally reached what looked like a much damaged M-5 craft. The thing was badly tangled into big tortuous branches. They jumped as lightly as possible on the wing closest to them and Peter was carefully testing the ground to feel if it seemed stable enough when Rocket hailed him.

"You found something?"

Rocket pointed at something at the other end of the shipwreck. "Dunno, looks like a top winglet in good enough condition to you?"

Peter smiled at him. "Yeah, it does! Come on, let's go get it." He crouched to slip under the biggest bough and started to worm his way between the branches, mindful of the sharp ends against his suit. The wreck was covered with a thick layer of glowing dust that rose and filled the air with every step or move they made and he really didn't want to get exposed to it. Above him, Rocket was using his natural agility to run and jump on the branches like if he was doing parkour and Peter couldn't help but smile fondly at the sight.

He contorted himself one last time and caught up with Rocket who was waiting for him with a smug smile. "Feeling too big, Star-Lewd?"

The terran snorted at the new nickname. "Good one, but please don't use it again."

The raccoon pretended to consider it for a moment then started to laugh wholeheartedly. "Naw. I like it. I can't believe I didn't think about it sooner!"

Peter chuckled and shook his head, raising his hands in mock surrender. "So, top winglet. You think you can make it fit in place of our missing one?"

Rocket looked at the piece of metal they were standing next to and crouched, chasing the strange dust covering it with his glove-covered hand. "Seems doable. Hand me the anti-baryonic screwdriver."

Quill rummaged into his purse knapsack and gave him the tool, then squat next to his friend to start helping him unscrew the precious component.

Rocket paused dramatically when he realized what Peter was using. "What is that thing?"

The terran showed him his hand. "This? It's the Swiss-army knife my grandpa gave me. I had it in my backpack when, you know." He quickly showed his friend how the thing worked.

Rocket manipulated the knife with a dumbfounded look. "And you still use it? But it's so primitive! No offense."

Peter smiled, taking his item back. "None taken. It's primitive but it does the job, you just have to use a little more elbow grease than with your pumped up screwdriver. Don't get me wrong, I love the awesome technology we have access to and I can't resist a new toy, but sometimes old and primitive don't mean useless."

The raccoon chuckled. "Yeah, I guess so. You and your terran technology."

"It's been almost thirty years, I guess the technology has evolved during my absence." Peter said, successfully unlocking a screw.

"You never tried to go back?"

"No."

"Why? I mean, if I knew where I came from, I think I'd be curious to see what changed." The way Quill didn't seem to want to go to Terra even if he couldn't stop making references about it always bugged him, even more as the guy was the only one on the team who might have some family alive and a home-world to come back to.

Peter sighed. "One time, when I was still a kid, Yondu brought us to this big asteroid with some sort of an amusement park built on it. The crew was there to meet with a broker but Yondu let me wander off inside the park and even gave me some money to do whatever I wanted to. It was the first time since I was with the Ravagers that I got to act like the kid I was and have some fun and, man, it was such a great day. As I grew up I always wanted to go back there, 'cause I had such wonderful memories of this magical place. And we did go back once. I was, I don't know, maybe eighteen or twenty, and it felt like a cold shower. I saw all the sordid details I hadn't the first time, the hookers on every corner, the way some of the stallholders were lurking at the innocent kids..."

He paused, keeping his focus on working on the winglet. "And that's it dude. Yondu abducted me when I was eight years old. The memories I have of my planet are the ones of a dreamy kid and I know it's stupid, but I want to preserve them, even if my last day on Terra was the worst day of my life. I… I know the world has kept on living and evolving without me. I know that if I go back there, everything would have changed, plus my grandpa's probably dead by now. I'd be as alien as you or any other member of the team on my own planet."

Rocket nodded wordlessly. It made sense, kind of. They kept working in companionable silence until Quill absent-mindedly started humming one of his songs and soon the winglet was free for the taking. Since the thing was too big to fit into a knapsack, Peter decided to bring it back to the Milano while Rocket was assigned the task to find a way to get inside the wreck in case it had a power converter they could use.

Finding a door that wasn't entirely crushed or clogged by branches and debris took longer than expected, and when Rocket finally spotted one, Peter was already back from his little trip.

The terran found his friend flat on his belly on what probably had once been the bottom of the ship but now was on top, swearing like a trooper and apparently struggling to find a way to open the hatch.

"What's up, Ranger Rick? Need a nuclear-powered crowbar to open the thing up?"

The raccoon answered with a long list of profanities in his most colorful language. Quill laughed and offered to help, but paused when he couldn't find his Swiss-army knife.

Rocket looked up sheepishly, holding the terran item "Mine wasn't doing squat, so I got curious and tried yours… smtwrk." His last words were totally mumbled.

"Sorry, what?" Peter asked, barely holding a grin.

"I said it seems to work. Happy?" Rocket grumbled.

Quill smiled broadly and caught up with his friend, helping him unbolt the last screws holding the hatch. The trap door opened creaking, the grating sound reverberating in the heavy silence surrounding them. Peter went in first, his flashlight illuminating the insides of the ship for the first time in what seemed to be ages, and Rocket jumped down after him. Due to the awkward position of the wreckage, everything was upside down and navigating inside turned out to be a challenge as the first steps on what was supposed to be a ceiling were not done without toe bumping and harsh swearing. The phosphorescent dust covering everything inside was slowly harnessing the energy produced by the flashlights and soon the surrounding darkness disappeared in favor of a greenish glow.

Startled by Rocket's sudden cry of surprise, Peter followed him into a little room at his left to find him staring at something above his head. He stepped forward and discovered what had startled his fellow teammate. The seats were still occupied by the crew, or what was left of it, the mummified bodies hanging upside down by their belts. They were all weirdly glowing as if their remains had absorbed the luminescent components floating in the air.

The two friends carefully stepped back, unconsciously not wanting to disturb the dead, and headed to the machinery room next door.

After a slight struggle to get the metallic door open, they stepped in to find the room ripped open by a solid and invasive branch.

"Well, that's our luck." Peter deadpanned.

"The central core and power converter are completely gutted." Rocket added. "There's nothing I can do with that."

"Let's go then. I don't want to stay in here more than needed." The former Ravager said, already on his way back.

The raccoon was about to follow his friend when he felt the ship move. "Whoa! What did you do!?"

"Nothing, why would I..."Peter was about to step over the casing of the door when he felt it too. The ship was tilting noticeably now. "Run!"

They both raced as everything started to sway around them, the ship disengaging itself faster and faster from its prison of fossilized wood, and the sound of branches breaking against metal was almost deafening. The ship started tilting so much they were reduced to climb the walls to get to the exit, avoiding the best they could the objects and other bodies falling on them. When he felt the wreckage losing its last support and starting to fall, Peter grabbed Rocket by the collar of his suit and activated his jet-boots. They whooshed out in an elliptical trajectory, dived into the branches of the nearest tree, the first ones breaking under the force of the impact, until one eventually resisted and Peter found himself suspended by one hand, Rocket dangling by the neck in the other.

"I hate it when you do this." The raccoon grumbled from his awkward position.

"What, save your life?" Quill asked, his voice a tad strained with effort. In a circular motion, he lifted his friend and threw him on the branch above them, then climbed on said branch before allowing himself to catch his breath.

"… Yes." Rocket answered, his voice still moody but his face grinning.

"Duly noted. Remind me not to do it next time," Peter countered then saw his friend's sudden anxious face. "You alright?"

"Flarking day couldn't get flarkin' better." The raccoon showed him a tear on the side of his suit, where the suspicious glowing dust had penetrated and stained his fur.

"Ah, damn," Quill sighed anxiously. "We better hurry. Back at the Milano, you'll take a full decontamination shower." Not wasting any time, he started climbing his way back to the ship.

"Aaw, noooo…" Rocket whined behind him. "Look, it's just a small tear! It's probably nothing."

"Sorry buddy, but I won't take the risk. I know decontamination is a pain in the ass, but do you really want to look like those phosphorescent pruny cadavers we saw back there?"

"Well, at least you'd see me in the dark. No more walking on my tail at night."

Peter huffed. "Oh come on! It happened only once! And since you nearly clawed my eye out by accident a few days later I'd say we're even."

Rocket chuckled but didn't answer back, his mind not wanting to stop focusing on what was awaiting him. Peter was right, he had to put up with it, but decontamination showers were the worst. They took hours to go through, longer if you were covered in fur, were excruciating and left you sore and tired to the bone for days.

The rest of the journey back to the Milano was mostly silent and uneventful and they soon jumped back on the left wing. What they weren't prepared for was to find a seething Gamora standing in the cockpit, eyes sending daggers at them. She said something but the sound didn't reach their ears.

Peter's hand jumped at the side of his spherical helmet to fiddle with his communications carrier. "Oh, shit. I think something interfered with our comms."

Rocket nodded. "Yeah, I can hear you but nothing else. Weird." They looked at each other like kids caught stealing from the cookie jar. "Okay, I've got a decontamination shower to take, I'll let you deal with Gamora. Good luck!"

The raccoon almost ran to the other side of the ship, leaving Peter alone in front of Gamora, the two only separated by the great windshield of the cockpit. Quill waved sheepishly at her then made a quick sign to tell her he had to follow Rocket.