I do not own the Guardians of the Galaxy and I never wish to own the Guardians of the Galaxy. I apologize for any information that is wrong in this story - I only know what I have seen in Guardians of the Galaxy 3 (as well as previous films) so I'm sorry if any relationship dynamics or little details of scenes are wrong. Anyway, I hope to write many more chapters of this story. Enjoy!

Time rolls by, the clock don't stop

I wish I had a few more drops

Of the good stuff, the good times

Oh, but they just keep on flyin'

Right on by, like it ain't nothin'

I wish I had me a, a pause button

Moments like those, Lord knows I'd hit it

And give myself five more minutes..

Whoever it was that created this world: Peter Quill didn't know. However, what he did know could potentially kill a man. Peter knew of much loss, and sometimes that painful truth had the ability to bring a man to his knees. The death of his mother, the death of Gamora, and now… well, Peter could barely finish the thought as he sat with a saddened, dead-like stare. He was placated to his seat within a sterile facility.

Peter Quill was not a fan of hospitals. They were usually too clean or cold. Too much happened in hospitals. Lives were born and last breaths were taken; a hollow beeping sounded amongst his consciousness. The legendary ex-Starlord was at a hospital - if you did not already figure that out - a place which the man knew unfortunately all too well. He was on Earth, stuck there, placid in his own small, complacent human, yet demi god-like body. And little could disway the fusion of emotionally heartbreaking thoughts that swirled within his mind. Especially not the tiny television screen that hung adjacently to him, up high, unwittingly taunting him.

The remote was broken. Or maybe it was just out of batteries. But Peter had far worse problems that he was dealing with. The man who was exceptionally brave and definitely so very handsome, a once mighty guardian of the galaxy - that is, until he went into an early retirement - had many breaking points within his life. Yet what more could he take? What else was the poor guy to lose before it became too much for him? More important than his trivial possessions… who else?

Peter was not stupid, no matter what his friends sometimes said. Buthe still did not want to face the truth, regardless of the fact that it was practically staring him in the face. His grandpa was dying. And the sugarless, fucking poor excuse for a bowl of pudding delivered earlier as a makeshift desert was shit-ass awful.

Peter managed to have about two good years with his grandpa before this. To that day, he cherished their moments together, the more menial the better. He loved mowing the lawn for him, as he liked to keep moving - it gave him an excuse to simply escape the world without fighting a hundred weird aliens for a few hours, a reason to pick up his air pods, stick them in his ears, and shake his hips to "She's a Maniac" as he continues to make his grandparent's world a better place.

He would never forget the mornings they spent together.

Peter would saunter into the kitchen with his shirt pulled slightly up over his stomach, one hand in his mussed hair as he scratched his head. His pajama bottoms - decorated in a repeated pattern of stereotypical green aliens - was funny to them because each alien was shooting a peace sign at their fellow astronaut weenie dogs. His grandpa did not care for them much, as he found them to be a tad too childish for the almost forty-five year old Peter. But it made him happy so Pop-pop dealt with it, making sure their shelves were always stocked with strawberry flavored Cheerios.

The progression of a few slow guitar chords filled the otherwise blaring silence. It sounded like a glimmer of light, the harking of angels, when compared to the heartless beeping of a heart monitor. It was heartless, he thought with a stern lip, because it could stop and flatline at any moment. His jaw tightened.

His eyes came back to stare at the TV. A lone man was driving down a long dirt road, while a cute blonde dog sat in the companion seat with its tongue hanging out. Its tail stood high, before it sat, staring out the window. They rode together in silence as the swell of music played over them. It reminded him of his mom and the lengthy road trips they once took, back when gas was a hell of a lot cheaper. It was always nice, driving with no specific place in mind. Sometimes he missed flying.

The scene on the TV changed as the end of the music video came. When the man first arrived back on earth he was surprised that the CMT channel still existed. An ad for the annual Country Music Awards flashed across the screen, and Peter pursed his lips. He hoped that his grandpa could make it that long, but even now the battle seemed almost futile. His grandpa's memory was fleeting, like ashes in the wind, and the older man was bedridden. His hand movements were jerky but slower. They shook when he outstretched his arm, waiting for Peter to take his hand. Quill found himself sometimes hesitating. But when liver spots touched younger, warmer flesh his grandpa would smile, and so would Peter, and the world would seem to brighten for a moment.

Then a cough would happen or the grip of his grandpa's fingers would loosen. And Peter would hold on a little tighter. In those moments he prayed. He prayed to whatever all-knowing being there was that someone else would not be taken from him just yet; someone who was all-powerful but kinder than his father, more forgiving. He needed someone who cared about him.

When he first found his grandfather lying on the floor of their shared home, he alerted his step-grandmother, a kind and loving woman. She had been the first one to welcome Peter into their home, and she could see the bewildered joy on both of their faces as the family reunited and came back together. She knew who Peter was in an instant. As soon as she opened the door, a knowing look entered her eyes as they crinkled.

"Jason is outback," she said to him, as she held the front door open for him to shuffle through, his old duffle bag in hand. Closing the door behind him, she rolled her eyes, smiled, and said, "He likes spending the afternoon reading the comics section out by the garden. Personally it's not what I would be doing, but it's what he likes to do ever since we hit retirement."

The slightest hint of a laugh broke past her lips, as another wave of abrupt apprehensiveness washed over him. Still, the ex-Starlord gave her a small upturn of a grin. The man barely knew this woman yet he already knew that he liked her. As he took in the various photos hanging on the wall like a miniature museum - his eyes glossed pointedly over the image of a younger Peter and his mother - he felt grateful for the familial remembrance, even if a part of him believed that he did not deserve it. All Peter ever did was run. But perhaps… he could maybe stay for a while. Whether it was in the form of a physical or emotional presence, the man did not care.

All of his family deserved to see him, not just his ragtag friends up in outer space. What good was he if Quill did not cherish his remaining loved ones? Running was the last thing that Peter Quill had on his list of things to do. Seriously. He had a whole list of things to do laying squarely in the side pocket of his duffel.

Peter remembered his thoughts on that day and chuckled, albeit sadly. Gramps has good taste, he recalled thinking. And for a second he wondered what the gray-haired beauty looked like when she was younger. But those imaginings quickly left his mind when he saw his grandpa look up from his newspaper. His eyes, once squinted in concentration, were now as wide as saucers. As the old man stood up, he was breathless, taken aback by the sudden apparition that was his grandson. But he was all too happy to fumble in his slippers before drawing the younger male into a gripping bear hug. Tears stung in the outermost corners of their eyes, and the two simply held each other. It was a long moment before Peter was the first one to break away.

"I missed you so much, gramps. I'm so sorry."

"I know. I missed you, boy." He said, before breaking down again. "Oh, my sunny boy."

Peter pulled him in for another hug and this time he placed his head on the old man's shoulder. At that moment, Peter was at a loss. The man felt like a small child, as if he should have behaved and just come home. Why did he run away? Jason - for as human and otherwise unassuming as he was - deserved better.

Peter felt guilty. "I should have come back sooner. I should have."

His grandfather outright laughed and placed a single strong hand on his shoulder. In comradery, he nodded his head. With an authoritative voice, he let his eyebrows furrow.

"Damn right you should have. But at least you're here now."

After that, the pair of them spoke about so many things. They talked about martians and far away planets. Peter told him about so much of what he had kept privy from his only remaining family, well, besides Mantis. No matter what he told his grandfather, perhaps his blood-related relationship with the sweet woman was better off remaining a secret than common knowledge.

Jason already knew about Thanos. The snap had definitely taken a toll on his relationship with his new wife, Gloria. As it was, life had been harder ever since Peter's biological grandmother passed away. It was tough on the entire family. Nevertheless, meeting Gloria was a godsend for the old fellow. Everything was warm grits and peachy oatmeal until Thanos' snap took half of the world's population away. So many lives were affected and many people simply could not cope with that amount of loss. What do you do when half (if not all) of your friends, your family, or your pets suddenly disappear, vanishing without a rhyme nor sane reason? It was horrible.

The ache of losing someone is tough. When everyone came back, there were a million adjustments to be made. The world had to attempt to fit those old, broken puzzle pieces into a new but overly deformed piece. Yet humans adapt and people make do. Everyone made do. Some lives were ruined, and some turned around for the better. But everyone moved in a thousand different directions. For some people, that direction stayed the same.

Jason stayed north for Gloria for so long. The old man held out the hope of being reunited with her. His first love was gone - perhaps she was the love of his life - but that did not mean that he did not miss or adore his beloved Gloria. She brought glory into his life just like the Lord. When Thanos died and a second snap was made, it was as if the heavens opened up again. Bodies, souls came back. The ghost of millions of memories arrived and the angels were singing.

Earth was full of life. This life was precious, and Peter believed in the power of good people. It was why he led the Guardians of the Galaxy for so long. No matter how many fuck ups the man had there was one trait that he decidedly held on to: Peter Quill would never give up. He would give his life to save another. Humans have such fragile bodies - Peter was not afraid to lose his own. Though he was afraid to die alone. Some forms of love, even if merely familial, are not enough when it comes to the end game of life.

True love, the purest of loves, is hard to find. Peter once had that kind of love. Then a monster destroyed it, and the whole universe had to pay for it.

Now, the universe was once again paying him in kind. No matter where Peter Quill went, he would always experience loss. First his mother, then any hope of having a blood-related father, then his adoptive father, then Gamora, and now…

The only wish that was on replay within his mind was "Give me five more minutes." He constantly begged this of the universe. Please, just five more minutes.

Peter would have begged this of the galaxies for forever if he could.