The song used at the end of this chapter is Highway to Hell by AC/DC.
I do not own anything Guardians of the Galaxy related, nor the song found within this chapter. All I own are my snippets of ideas. Enjoy!
It was a few hours after Peter contacted Nebula that he finally attempted to call Rocket. To say that Peter was surprised to hear a series of explosions once his friend answered was a lie. But it was odd and mildly concerning that it had happened more than once.
"Quill!" instantly came Rocket's excited voice. The male was absolutely ecstatic that his second closest friend actually called him for the first time in about five months. Peter was infinitely more interesting than any of the villains he was currently fighting.
Peter was about to tell him about his grandfather. His cheeks were raw from crying and hard from a few days of forgoing shaving, but that took the backburner in the wake of Rocket's pure recklessness. The Guardians all risked their lives once to save Rocket's, had they not?!
Peter's voice came out sore but authoritative. It felt like he was getting onto a child, as he chided his friend from a thousand miles away.
"Rocket," he warned, "What have we told you about taking calls while being in mortal peril?"
"What? I like to live dangerously!" The loud Rocket smirked.
The racoon did a barrel roll, shooting an approaching enemy that was fully out of view. A cry of victory barked from his muzzle. It ended with a few chattering laughs. Behind him, the new Guardians could be seen coming in and out of the picture. Each of them were working together in their own unique way. The sight of it, albeit short, gave Peter a sense of pride. Rocket had taught them well. He was doing a fine…ish job when it came to running his team.
All Peter saw was Rocket's image shaking back and forth, while he ran and dodged their attacks. You know, if this were him, Peter would have been panting from the exertion of it all - but not Rocket. Rocket, for all of his past health problems, was now once again fit as a fiddle. It was another thing to bring the human a bit of comfort.
"Well… maybe I should call at a different time."
Rocket was indignant. "What? Nah, I like it when you call me! It relieves the boredom."
Peter faltered. His voice stalled before he sarcastically said, "No, I really think I should."
"I am Groot!" came the deep voice of Groot from off camera. He sounded happy, way too happy to be fighting currently.
Peter watched him pick up Rocket with his vines in order to place him on his shoulder. A series of smaller vines immediately roped themselves around Rocket's legs, firmly holding him in place. Groot twisted his face to quickly come into frame.
"I am Groot!" He called.
"Aw come on," Peter moaned, "Not you too, Groot! Oh my god. What did we even teach you?"
"I am Groot." Groot's reply was simple. It was matter of fact and extremely offhanded.
"God," Peter yelled, "We were awful parents!"
Peter felt like banging his head on the table in front of him.
Rocket outright laughed, "Oh, don't be dramatic. Besides, I'm his father."
"Fine, take the blame. You're an awful parent."
"You're damn right I am! Wait."
Rocket hesitated. A stray lazer broke past his senses, and Groot threw his arms up in an attempt to block the blast. The image shook from the sensation, Rocket let out a noise of surprise, and smoke filled the air. Groot made a noise of annoyance.
"Right," the racoon suddenly conceded, "We'll call you back."
It was nice to have the distraction for a while. The call ended, and Peter hoped his friends would be alright. It was not often that he prayed, but he found his thoughts drifting to Him more and more lately.
With God, all things are possible. Maybe... One could only hope.
It is tough being forgotten; Peter Parker knew what it was like. Sometimes he almost wished for death. Perhaps that would make everything easier. Then he would not have to deal with the thoughts of missing MJ, his best friend Ned, his old mentor Tony, or his aunt May… It had been so hard losing his parents and then his aunt. She was his makeshift parent. She never had to take the young teen in when she had, yet she did. The woman was so sweet. She had tried so hard to care for Peter. For years, she struggled as a single parent. Unknowing of how to proceed with him, Peter appreciated how May never gave up on him.
It had to be hard taking care of a superhero. Yet May supported him far quicker than he ever could have imagined once she discovered his secret. The brunette was mad, immensely so, at Peter, but the idea of losing him forever outweighed her fear of the unknown.
May was a spitfire. She always had been, and her spirit glimmered so bright even in death. A multiple number of men had loved her. Yet every time she left them in her wake, deciding that she was worth more. She always chose herself… except when it came to Peter. He was the only link she had left to the countless family members she had lost.
In the end, May gave her life for Peter. The tragedy happened a few years ago; the pain never ebbed. One would have thought that after so many years the pain would ease. But the ache stayed more harrowing than losing MJ. It still hurt. The pain never disappears. It just becomes subdued, only to rise again out of the blue on some random day at some random moment. His aunt deserved better than him. Most everyone did.
Nothing could be done now, no matter how much Peter wished he could take his teenage years back. He was just a kid when he became Spiderman, a stupid teen. He had nowhere to go nor run, no skills to fully save the ones he held closest to him. The last gift he gave the world was letting them forget, because he never could. Unfortunately, never knowing the existence of Spiderman was the best present he could offer the world.
Peter had little money to his name. When his aunt May died, there was no insurance policy to protect her assets. Why? Because no one knew him. Therefore when she passed, all of her remaining belongings as well as cash went to the government.
The man had been distraught, but nothing hurt as much as having to make do without his last remaining family member. In the wake of his pain, Peter lived in a small apartment in which he shared an adequate number of bedrooms with two other people. They were nice enough, sure. When he was hanging out with them, Peter became one of the boys. However, the people he met within the otherwise indifferent city of Independence, Missouri did not know half of his backstory. The adult male found that it was better that way.
When no one really knew who you were, no one could be hurt when you were gone. They could not be used against you by some random run-of-the-mill backstreet weak villain standing there with a gun in their hands. They were wearing a costume their mother sewed them ten years ago, or something like that. Plus, having placebo friends gave little avenues for them to be able to be the ones inflicting said hurt. It was a win win. Peter remained in a fair amount of obscurity, and Spiderman could silently fade into the shadows until he managed to get back on his feet.
Peter did not plan on coming back. From what he could see, the current Avengers were faring pretty well against the everyday regular evil forces trying to destroy humanity. Ya know, everyday hero stuff. Most people would not understand. Peter wished that he did not.
Being a hero was not glamorous. It was full of sacrifice and strife. The local petty crimes, as simple as they were inside a regular sized town, caused him to pause on some days. The moments when he watched the local news… and when he remembered his old mentor gave him a cause to drag out his old supersuit. While the technology used within the suit was so advanced, it was sure to last him an entire lifetime, it was still old. The machinery could become faulty at any time, really. And Peter did not feel like taking it for a ride, whether it was for pleasure or to inflict pain.
The young twenty-three year old was tired on most days,even if he was a man who created his own individual successes. Peter was a self-made contractor. By day he took photos for his local newspaper. On the weekends he managed to score the odd small photography session that was scheduled through outlets like Facebook or Craigslist. By night time he was a pizza delivery man. It was nice having the freedom to pick and choose his own hours.
Overall, Peter Parker was not overtly happy with his life. Speaking of happy, he missed his old friend of the same namesake. Whenever some mass panic occurred, Peter found himself scouring the live feeds and news recordings for some semblance of the past. He would see Happy's face and become sad, dully smiling over the lot they had been given in life. If Happy still knew May, he was confident that he would have been missing her too.
Ignorance was truly bliss. The weight of it could be a blessing for the ones who care to not know any better, weightless in its lack of background. The matter of remembering all that Peter had lost was so heavy. Perhaps forgetting was for the best.
But Peter would never forget the lives he lost - the loves now lost. Those whom he once fought so hard for did not deserve an uncaring end. He would have died for them, willfully taking their place among the other side if he could.
Peter Parker would carry a metaphorical torch for his closest friends. He would carry them with him for the rest of his life, and he was not stopping now. Though sometimes even the brightest flame wilted. It flickered and danced. Still it rolled with the punches. The mental beatdowns he faced could be considered lethal to most others. Peter had lost so much. There was so much pain.
Each and every time Peter looked at his suit, the viewing would end with the garment being shoved hard, seemingly desperately, into a dark black suitcase. He closed the metal locks with a vengeance. He jammed the end of his finger onto a small fingerprint scanner on which a thin green light emerged. The sensation tickled slightly, coating his skin with a greenish hue. Then a tight clicking noise was heard. Good.
Life was better this way. It had to be. It had to be.
For once in his life, Rocket finally shut up. It was hard for Peter to tell them the truth. He cried like an utter baby during the first half of it only to woefully squeeze through the last part, sniffling all the way. Both Groot and Rocket were dumbstruck if not made moderately heartbroken by the news. Groot was the more emotional of the two.
The pair did not know Peter's grandfather. Though they had never met the man nor spoken to him, both Rocket and Groot knew that Peter loved this guy with all of his being. They also knew what it was like to love a human. After a lengthy minute of silence, Rocket eventually spoke. His words stayed remorseful.
"Oh gosh Quill," he said, "Why didn't you tell us sooner?"
"Uh, maybe because you were in the middle of possibly dying."
Peter scoffed.
"I am… Groot."
Peter sighed at the sadness in the tree spirit's tone. He really did love both of these guys more than the duo could know. Surely they knew that.
"Look Rocket, you're like a brother to me. And Groot you're like the son I never had. Or the vegetative grandson my shitty raccoon son had that he simply couldn't take care of, because he was off rummaging through the trash or shooting up in a dark alley or whatnot."
"Hey, it was one time!" Rocket cried. "Seriously, you use one needle just one time only for just a little bit of peace and suddenly everyone's gotta talk about it."
Peter ignored him.
"Either way, I need you here with me. Do you think you could fly down to earth and visit soon?"
Rocket smirked. "Whaddya mean, Quill? We're already on our way."
"Oh?" Peter was caught off guard by this, "Okay. Let me send you the coordinates."
"Don't worry. I already hacked your phone's coordinates while you were talking about some arrangements or whatever. We'll be there soon, Quill."
"I am Groot."
Rocket nodded with a cheeky smile/ His beady, dark brown eyes softened. They showed with a feeling of raw earnestness, as he said, "He's right you know. We're family."
As the video call ended, Rocket let out a mighty whoop. Placing one foot over the awaiting pedal at his feet (incidentally, after being shown the interior of an old earthling car by Peter via video, the raccoon quite liked the old rustic style of a manpowered lever) Rocket turned on the cockpit's stereo. A blazing guitar riff filled the air.
Living easy. Loving free.
"Let's hit it!" Rocket cried, and the modest spaceship shot off like a rocket.
That was what he always wanted to do: be free, kick ass, and fly. Having more friends was just a bonus… And damn, did he love rockets.
Sure, the opening chords to Highway to Hell was probably not the best song to choose for the beginning of their flying montage. Considering the current circumstances, it was almost comical. But damn did it feel cool.
"We're comin' for you buddy."