A/N - This chapter ran away with me a little, hence it taking slightly longer to finish and edit. I hope it's enjoyable though. As always, thank you so much for your responses so far. Any feedback is appreciated, and I'll try to have the next chapter up soon :)
They reach the tavern just as the rain stops.
Stray droplets continue to fall from the furnishings of the two-storey building, but the flickering light beyond the windows promises an inviting warmth. The place is quieter than most - the allure of alcohol sorely missed - yet as the soaked pair wander into the main lounge, they find a few occupants relaxing by the fireplace. Most pay the new arrivals no heed, besides one elderly woman who greets Yondu with a polite nod and smiles warmly when she sees Peter by his side. The only sound is the crackling of firewood, the smoke overshadowed by the scent of roasting meat drifting from the kitchen. The smell is enough to make Yondu's mouth water, but the promise of food isn't enough to distract him from the need to hide away and get in contact with Kraglin.
Instead of following his nose to the kitchen, Yondu draws closer to the desk sitting opposite the door, trying to hide his smirk at the sight of a young receptionist who's so zoned out it takes her a moment to realise she has clients.
"You two wantin' a room?" she asks when she takes in the sight of Yondu and his young companion. They must make a sorry sight, with their coats soaked through and Peter's damp hair sticking to his forehead, but the girl makes no mention of that and settles instead for flicking through some papers. "We got a shared dorm with six beds, or two small rooms with one bed each."
"A small room'll be fine," Yondu tells her, resisting the urge to laugh as Peter's head whirls towards him in horror. "I ain't plannin' on sleepin'. The kid can have the bed."
The girl hums under her breath, seemingly disinterested in his clarification. Yondu watches as she selects a piece of paper and slides it across the desk, then reaches into the drawers for a set of keys as Yondu pulls out the requested seventy units. The exchange of units for key occurs silently, the girl continuing to pay him little heed, but her blue eyes soften a little as she looks down at Peter.
"He yours?"
"Yeah," Yondu responds, not bothering to expand on the lie seeing as the girl won't care and he doesn't have the energy to conjure up an explanation. Even the truth would sound outlandish if he told it, and admitting out loud that the boy is Ego's would likely endanger everyone on the premises. He deliberately avoids looking at Peter though, even as the girl drops her moody teenager act and offers a rare smile at his answer.
"Your room's upstairs, second on the right," she says, before settling back on her chair and returning to a discarded book by her side. "Be out by midday and don't make a mess."
"We'll do our best," Yondu promises, before grabbing the keys and sauntering past the desk to reach the stairs. Peter follows without needing to be told, his light footsteps the only sound as they ascend narrow, creaky stairs, and it takes no time at all to reach their quarters for the night.
The room is plain, but inviting after a long day spent on their feet. A bed barely large enough for one person lies in the centre while a cushioned chair rests in the corner, waiting for Yondu to collapse onto it. There's an en-suite restroom just as they enter, and Yondu reaches inside to claim some towels before throwing one to Peter.
"Dry yerself off then get some sleep," he instructs, more gruffly than he intends, before peeling off his coat and hanging it on a peg to dry. He pats himself down with his own towel as thoroughly as he can, but the rain clings to his skin regardless and it doesn't take long for him to give up and collapse bonelessly onto the inviting chair. One look over to Peter shows him trying to dry his hair with little success, the golden strands standing on all ends by the time he's done, and when he finally settles on the bed he doesn't seem to have any intention of sleeping. Instead, he stares pointedly at Yondu with something that's either curiosity or disdain, though there's not enough patience in the galaxy for him to bother figuring out which.
"Thought I told ya to get some sleep?" Yondu says, knowing that slinking off to contact Kraglin and assess the Murlainn situation will be a lot easier if the kid isn't nosing in on the conversation.
"I ain't tired," Peter says in a voice that might have been defiant if it weren't so childlike.
"Tough," Yondu tells him plainly. He doesn't have time for the kid to indulge in being a brat, and if he lets Peter succeed in trying his luck then the fearful obedience he's encouraged up until now will start to crumble. "Either ya get some sleep, or I'll make sure yer work hours get a hell of a lot longer soon as we're back on the ship."
The threat seems to do the trick. Reluctantly, the kid shrugs off his coat and dumps it onto the floor before curling onto his side and resting his head against the pillow. He doesn't bother wrapping the sheets around himself despite how his damp clothing must be starting to chill. Green eyes stubbornly continue to stare in Yondu's direction, even as several minutes pass by in silence.
"I'm hungry," Peter admits eventually, and Yondu would be impressed by his nerve if it weren't so irritating.
"Ya can have somethin' in the morning," he promises, unable to ignore the fact that he too is craving the food that's surely cooking downstairs. "Go to sleep."
To reinforce his point, he rises to his feet and wanders to the light-switch, catapulting the room into darkness with a single flick. The clouds have parted enough to allow a thin stream of moonlight through the window but otherwise the sky is pitch black, and what stars are visible seem far beyond reach. As Yondu quietly walks back to the chair and settles onto it, he finds himself taken by the novelty of not having the floor thrumming as he tries to sleep; at the absence of an engine's rumble and the knowledge that beyond thin walls lies the crushing vastness of space. When he looks over to the bed, he finds Peter lit by moonlight and still fighting sleep, though those bright orange headphones are wrapped around his ears and playing music that seems to calm him. It's an improvement over his earlier indignance that Yondu can hardly argue with.
He can feel sleep creeping up on him sooner than he'd like. His vision starts to fade until the moonlit glow becomes a blur, but he's forced back to alertness when a small voice pipes up again. Any temptation to berate the kid vanishes quickly at the content of what's been said, and Yondu slowly realises that the faint music from Peter's device has been silenced.
"You've hurt people."
It's not a question, though the statement doesn't sound as accusatory as the words would suggest. Yondu turns his attention to the boy only to see tired eyes fixed in his direction, dissecting him with an intensity he hasn't seen many eight-year-olds possess. While he's made some effort not to unleash his violent streak in front of Peter, he's hardly done a good job of hiding it either; between all the threats of letting his crew eat the boy and the ease with which he activates his arrow, Yondu can only imagine the picture of himself that Peter has constructed in his mind.
The worst part is that whatever monster the boy has concocted likely isn't too far from the truth.
"Yeah," Yondu says honestly. Pretending his soul is clean won't fool Peter. "I reckon I've hurt more people than you've met."
His answer doesn't draw an immediate reaction from Peter, though the flicker of fear that crosses his face isn't lost on Yondu. He's seen it many times before. The boy has spent the last few months being silently afraid of him, and there doesn't seem to be much hope in that changing over time.
The hint of fear vanishes surprisingly quickly though. Peter takes a small breath before speaking up again, as if the air in his lungs will grant him the courage he needs. "Were they bad people?"
In a different setting, Yondu might have laughed at that. He can imagine that question being met with cackles from his crew and a bitter sneer from himself had it been uttered on the Eclector, but the temptation to do so doesn't grip him here.
"Not always," Yondu admits, and Peter nods upon hearing the words. The answer is one he likely expected. "See, you can try to limit the hurt to those who deserve it, but it don' always work out that way. Sometimes ya mess up and good people get caught in the crossfire. That's somethin' ya just have to live with."
Yondu would like to believe such an occurrence was rare, but he knows he cannot lie to himself. Most of his youth was spent fighting children as terrified as himself while their masters roared in their bloodlust. Back then, not striking first meant death even if your opponent was a friend. At least now that he's among the Ravagers, most of the people he fights are just as despicable as he is, and he can reassure himself that the bastards deserved every hit he threw at them in the brutal aftermath. It's not always that simple though. Not every robbery of unsuspecting civilians goes smoothly, and his crew are hardly known for their restraint when their lust for gold takes over.
Hell, Yondu can hardly pretend he's any better than the likes of Horuz or Taserface; they weren't the ones making the decisions that led to the deaths of twelve kids. That's on him – always will be – and for that reason alone, the doubt that must be flowing through Peter's head this very moment is justified.
Peter hasn't looked away, but he doesn't seem to have so much as breathed either. He resembles an outmatched prey, relying on their ability to stay absolutely still to save them from the nearby predator, and Yondu finds himself taken aback by how deeply the sight stings.
"Do I scare ya, boy?" he asks, not really expecting a response. Sure enough, he doesn't get one; Peter's mouth opens as if to say something but he ultimately decides against it, as though not trusting himself to speak.
"I ain't gonna hurt ya," Yondu promises, though he imagines the words must sound empty to Peter's ears. He could swallow his pride and explain exactly why he wants him to be safe – tell him the truth about his jackass of a father and what became of his siblings – but he knows that will only make things worse. Besides, he doesn't need the boy to trust him. All Yondu needs to know is whether he can trust himself to keep Peter safe. "Now, I can't promise that someone else won't try. The galaxy's full of assholes who wouldn' think twice about hurtin' ya if they thought they'd get somethin' out of it. But I ain't gonna let that happen without a fight, ya hear?"
The words linger in the air for a painfully long time before Peter forces himself to nod, and the impossible happens when a small smile breaks across his face.
"Thought you were gonna let the crew eat me?"
Yondu laughs before he can stop himself, and though the boy doesn't join in, his smile doesn't waver. That's a good sign at least.
"Kid, if my crew wanna eat ya so bad then not even I'll be able to stop 'em," he says as soon as his laughter dies down. It's a lie so blatant even Peter seems to see through it, his smile turning into a disbelieving smirk that's more impressive than it should be.
The tense atmosphere has mercifully broken, and Yondu feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest when Peter's attention returns to the device in his hands. He clicks a button that has muffled music disturbing the quiet again, but Yondu doesn't mind it so much. He can just make out a voice which might be male and the strumming of some instrument, but any words being sung are too soft to hear and Yondu doesn't know enough about music to bother figuring out the vague melody that escapes the headphones.
The quiet stretches for long moments without either of them getting any sleep. The exhaustion that clings to Yondu's bones makes the thought of drifting off extremely tempting, but the growing discomfort of the chair and his brain's refusal to quieten has rest evading him. It becomes clear whenever he opens his eyes that he's not alone in this. Though Peter seems to be trying to remain quiet, he doesn't bother to hide the fact that he's awake as his eyes fix on the moonlit view beyond the window and his fingers tap against the device with every beat of the music. As always, the melodies seem to calm Peter as if their existence can block out the world around him, and Yondu can't help but be a little curious.
With a heaving sigh, he wipes his tired eyes before straightening in his chair and gesturing to the device with an exaggerated nod. Part of him imagines that Peter will be so lost in the music that he won't even notice the movement, but to his surprise the boy pulls one of the headphones back as if granting Yondu permission to speak. The idea of him needing some runt's approval is enough to have a sly grin curling his lips, but he lets it die quickly enough. He doesn't want to scare Peter more than he already has.
"What is that thing anyhow?" he asks, pointing vaguely in the direction of Peter's hands. He knows in principle that the thing plays music, but he's never quite grasped why that makes it so important. It doesn't seem capable of doing much else and it only grants Peter an hour of peace before emitting a clicking sound that pulls him from his reverie, yet the boy fought tooth and nail to steal it back when it was taken on his first day. Horuz still has an echo of the scratch Peter left on his cheek in his bid to rescue it, and had his men not been so fearful of inciting their captain's wrath, Yondu has no doubt that many of them would have torn the kid apart after that sorry mess.
In the end though, Peter had gotten what he wanted. His ability to crawl into small spaces others couldn't allowed him to reclaim his backpack and music-player, having risked death in the process. Yondu wonders if all that effort was worth it.
His question seems to have struck a nerve. Though Peter doesn't move an inch, one can't miss the way his hands tighten around the metal brick in his hands as if expecting Yondu to pry it from them. Even his answer is defensive; a clipped "It's mine" that would seem precocious if he weren't so obviously shaken by the idea of losing it.
"Aye, I know that much," Yondu says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. In this light, it's unlikely Peter would see the gesture anyway. "I was askin' what it was."
This time he doesn't get an answer. Peter opens his mouth as if to speak, but any words are swallowed in a small gulp and his once even breathing seems harsh all of a sudden. His grip on the device is now so tight it must hurt, the whites of his knuckles highlighted by the moonlit streams. The sight is enough to tell Yondu that the thing isn't just some clumsily designed music-player; the boy's assigned an importance to it that most men would only place on a mountain of gold.
If he were a kinder man he'd leave the matter alone, but now his curiosity only burns brighter and he finds himself extending a hand.
"Show me," he says, aiming for a tone that dissuades resistance. It's enough to have Peter freezing, eyes wide with unmasked terror, and Yondu can't help but sigh and mould his expression into something gentler. "I ain't planning on stealin' it, if that's what's got ya all worried. One quick listen's all I want, then ya can have it back."
His request is met with further silence from the boy, to the point where Yondu's prepared to call it quits and leave him in peace. It's a surprise when Peter finally shifts, forcing himself into a seated position and cradling the device like a mother would a baby, before peeling the headphones off and extending them to Yondu. It's a compromise of sorts – Yondu can listen but Peter will keep hold of the main body of the device – and that suits fine. Even offering the headphones has the boy's hands trembling, and Yondu humours him by being as delicate as possible as he takes them into his own.
There's still music playing, the instruments and vocals blending into muffled chaos, but as Yondu brings the headset to his ears, the cacophony becomes clearer. What was once a mess of noise forms a coherent whole, and he listens as some Terran singer croons away about falling in love while a pleasant melody backs him up. Yondu seems to have caught the tail end of the song as there's a blank space of nothingness for several seconds before a softer, more sombre melody starts up.
He only bothers listening for a few moments before pulling the headphones away and offering them back to Peter. He's not one to get lost in music. He hardly had the chance to get invested in it as a child and what little he's exposed to now is usually performed by street-artists in busy markets, so the boy's love of it is somewhat foreign to him. That said, Yondu can hardly judge. He imagines that if he had any love for his home, he too would cling to all reminders of it after being cruelly snatched away.
"That all it does?" he asks, as Peter clicks a button and the sounds finally cease. He's calmer now that it's back in his hands and in one piece, and his terror seems to have calmed considerably as his eyes meet Yondu's and he gives a small nod. "Well in that case, I imagine ya get more out o' it than I do. Ya don' need to worry 'bout me stealin' it."
That promise has a weak smile gracing Peter's lips. Whether he's truly reassured or not, Yondu can only guess. The boy has spent the last four months being surrounded by professional thieves so any distrust that lingers is certainly justified, however it seems that some of it has melted enough for him to speak up again.
"It weren't mine at first," Peter says, his voice small as though afraid someone else will hear him, and his eyes have become glued to the music-player in his lap. Perhaps the words aren't even meant for Yondu and he just happens to be there to witness them. "My mom… she always made these tapes and we'd go out to the park to listen to 'em together. Or she'd have the radio on in the house and sing whenever somethin' she liked came on. But that was before… before she got sick."
Yondu can feel the puzzle pieces slotting into place. The music player doesn't matter to Peter because of what it is, but because of who gave it to him. The mother who loved the songs he now listens to in an attempt to lull himself to sleep; the same mother he spent a week screaming for when he was brought onto the ship, his face red with tears and his tiny frame trembling with broken sobs. Even now his voice is cracking – the promise of tears dampening his eyes – and if Yondu knew anything about comfort, perhaps he'd offer it.
He doesn't though. The form of comfort that's needed now is one he's never known – even Stakar's had been too gruff to be appropriate here. Any temptation to show it is overshadowed by guilt as he remembers Ego telling him about Peter's dying mother and how little attention he'd given that news at the time. If anything, his only takeaway from Ego's mention of her had been that the man seemed more affected by her sickness than one might have expected, but even that brief hint of emotion had faded before long.
"Did you know her?" Peter asks suddenly, breaking Yondu from his memories and catching him off guard. The boy's evidently been rubbing at his eyes and there's a feverishness to them now that makes him seem wilder than usual. "Is that why you picked me up?"
The topic's shifted to one Yondu is very much against discussing, and he breaks eye contact with Peter in a silent dismissal. He could be honest and simply say no, but he knows then that the boy will simply persist in asking why Yondu abducted him and that's something he definitely doesn't need to know. Not now; not at eight. Perhaps as an adult, Peter will be ready to hear fragments of the truth, but Yondu doubts they'll even know each other by that point and he'd rather not be the one to break the news that his father's a psychopathic child-killer.
"Thought ya were supposed to be sleepin'?" he asks instead, adopting a no-nonsense tone that seems to work. Peter tries to hold his gaze for just a moment longer, before shrugging in defeat, returning his headphones to their rightful place and lying back on the sheets. He makes no effort to pull them over himself for warmth even though the night air has become cool, but his eyes eventually drift shut. Within half-an-hour, his breaths have evened into a pattern that suggests sleep has claimed him.
Yondu waits a little longer, fighting off sleep himself in the meantime. It doesn't take long for him to be satisfied that Peter won't wake, so he rises to his feet and quietly sneaks over to where his coat hangs on the door. He reaches into a pocket and brings forth his communicator, before pulling the door open and stepping into the deserted hallway. The rest of the tavern's occupants seem to be asleep, much to his convenience, and he ensures the device's signal is centred on the Eclector's systems before making the call and lowly muttering Kraglin's name.
It takes a few tries for the other man to pick up, and when he does offer an exhausted "'Ello?" it seems clear that his night has hardly been fun either. That he's alive provides some comfort – at least Murlainn hasn't decided to tear the ship apart in a futile search for Peter – but Kraglin doesn't seem entirely happy either.
"How'd it go?" Yondu asks, leaning against the wall and cringing as a creak echoes throughout the hall. There's a forced exhale of breath on the end of the line that on any other occasion might have had Yondu laughing, but he's too tired to offer much of a reaction and instead settles for simply hearing his first-mate's description of the night's events.
"Well, Murlainn's a sleazy bastard bu' we knew that much. 'e followed all our requests though – only brought six guys with 'im and seemed happy enough to leave when we asked 'im to. Some of 'is men took extended 'toilet breaks' but obviously they didn't find anything."
"Obviously," Yondu agrees, automatically looking into the room where his young charge is resting.
"Murlainn was disappointed ya weren't there," Kraglin continues, something that might be a sigh causing the line to hiss for a few seconds. "I did tell 'im ya wouldn' be, but I think 'e still wanted to see ya for 'imself. He might try an' arrange a meetin' with ya at some point, bu' hopefully we've satisfied 'im enough that he won't bother us so much anymore. Doc seemed to convince him that Pete's dead anyway so there's that."
"We still need to be careful," Yondu admits, because Murlainn is a slippery bastard if ever there was one. If the slightest doubt over Peter's survival exists in his mind, he will chase that paper-trail until the end of time. This one pleasant dinner won't be the end of it, though it was hopefully enough to earn a little of the other captain's trust. "He didn' hurt anyone, did he?"
"Nah," Kraglin says without hesitation, and Yondu lets relief settle into his heart at the news. "'e threatened to beat up Horuz after a few drinks but I reckon 'e was jus' tryin' to be funny. Apart from that, nothin' happened. We're all fine here."
"Good," Yondu says, rubbing his eyes as the late hour finally catches up with him. He's starting to anticipate a few hours of rest, even if the old chair threatens to damage his back. "I got us a job thanks to old Eili. We should be back by tomorrow night, then we're off to Morag to find some stones. Try not to blow up the ship in the meantime, ya hear?"
"I'll do my best, Cap'n," Kraglin responds brightly, and even through the terrible quality of the communicator, Yondu can hear the smile in his voice. A small one of his own pulls at his lips, before he bids a final farewell and clicks off the device. The silence that follows seems to ring in his ears, and he rests his head against the wall just long enough to let the relief over Murlainn being slightly less of a problem sink in, before wandering back into the small bedroom.
Peter's still fast asleep, curled in a ball and shivering with the cold. The sheets he neglected earlier are now crumpled at the bottom of the bed, likely having been kicked away during the throes of some nightmare. Without thinking, Yondu reaches for the covers and wraps them around Peter's small frame as tightly as he dares, before settling on the chair in the hopes of claiming a few hours of rest himself. There's a slight pause in the boy's breathing that makes him wonder if his actions have woken him, but Peter merely shifts a little and absently burrows further beneath the sheets as though lured by the promise of warmth.
Yondu tries not to let the sight of Peter sleeping so peacefully affect him. He's been doing well on the not-caring front for far too long to give up now, and he knows that only pain will lie ahead if the boy worms his way into his heart like the others had done. Even if he miraculously survives what little time he has left among the Ravagers, Yondu will eventually have to let him go if he has any intention of keeping him safe. It would be best not to let sentiment infect him before that time comes.
That's what his head tells him. Yet, no matter how desperately he tries to listen, he can't deny the twinge that pains the rotten heart in his chest, and it's as clear a sign as any that he's already doomed.