"What, you think 'cause I'm the smallest and youngest, I'm gonna talk?" Peter spat blood onto the metal floor, his toes barely touching the shiny surface. "You're wasting your time."

"You'll talk," said the android working as an interrogator for local law enforcement. "I have a lot of… experience, you might say, getting stubborn hotheads to tell me what I want to know."

Peter rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the pain of nearly having his shoulders dislocated. "Yeah, you mentioned that." His eyes didn't leave his opponent's face, but he could still see the two cops standing in the background. "It's not scaring me any more than the first time you tried it." Because he definitely wasn't scared. "I'm not telling you where the ship is."

Smirking, the android lifted a gray hand, a blade sliding out of his index finger. "I think you will."

Peter swallowed.

I have to think.

Peter took a deep breath and tried to push himself up as much as he could, keeping his weight on his good leg. He felt some slack in the chains above his head, and he wiggled his right wrist, trying to get that hand out of the metal loop first. He pulled and twisted, but his strength gave out before he could get very far.

Okay, just keep cool. He started singing under his breath—both to calm himself and to make himself seem like he wasn't as panicked as he was—his words almost inaudible. "Come and get your love… come and get your l…" He gasped, trying to get air into his lungs despite the pain that traveled through his ribcage, and he quickly decided that he would have to sing in his mind. Come and get your love…

Peter pushed himself up again, struggling with the chains, and he didn't know how long he did that. It felt like hours, but he knew it couldn't have been that long because by that time Mr. Android would have come back in to cut him up some more. At least they don't know where the Eclector is. He kept pulling and twisting, and he started to make some progress, but his hand repeatedly got stuck at the widest part. It hurt in the parts that weren't numb from the lack of circulation, but he continued wrenching his arm and contorting himself over and over and over until—

Heck yeah! He all but collapsed, legs exhausted and just as beaten as the rest of him, and he gave a few yanks to get his left wrist out of the significantly loosened chains. Okay, there we go. He sat on the floor for a moment, just trying to breathe, and he knew adrenaline was the only way he was going to get out of this situation. I've got this. He struggled to his feet and went over to the door, hoping against hope they left it unlocked because they didn't think he could get free. He placed his hand on the scanner and—Yes!—it registered the heat and opened the door, not bothering to actually read his handprint. He stuck his head out and looked both ways, sucking in a painful breath. Darting into the hall, he ran—as much as his torn muscles would allow—through the building, taking the turns and steps he had memorized when they first brought him in. Thankfully, his tape player was back at the Eclector, so he didn't need to get that, and the dark red jacket they took from him might have been his favorite, but there would be other red jackets.

Now, do I set off the alarm to fill this place with chaos? He squinted, able to see some kind of central office up ahead, and he remembered it being large and crowded. With his black pants and plain, blue shirt, he would stand out like a sore thumb amongst all the uniforms. Maybe I should—

Peter cut himself off, a piercing alarm ringing through the whole building. Swearing under his breath, he ran faster, leaving the dark gray hall behind and bursting into the open office area. He barely took a fraction of a second to notice guns being pointed at him, and then he was jumping up on a desk, figuring they wouldn't shoot at him if he was right next to their civilian personnel. So, he jumped from desk to desk and counter to counter while sticking up two middle fingers they probably didn't even find offensive in their culture.

"Whoo!" Peter leapt off the last desk and tumbled to the ground, his bad knee giving out, but he somehow managed to turn it into a roll that smoothly put him back on his feet. He bolted for the open entrance, lasers firing as he left the Deltranian police station behind. "Need a ride, need a ride, need a ride…" He pumped his arms as the pain continued to pulse through his body, though the cold wind brought a little relief.

He looked around as he ran, and even though it was nighttime, there were enough lights that he could see a large warehouse-looking building on either side of the broad, stonework path stretched out before him. He could see all kinds of police vehicles, but in his experience, most alien races kept their government ships guarded by codes or fingerprints or DNA. They wouldn't be any help to him, and there was no way he could run all the way back to—

Hello, there. He ran a little more to the right, lifting a hand over his head and feeling a painful pull in his shoulder. "Hey, friend!" He grabbed the arm and shirt of the blue-skinned woman, tearing her off her floating motorbike. "Hate to carjack and run, but desperate times call for desperate measures." He threw her on the ground and mounted the bright purple bike. He winked at the stunned girl on the ground and revved the engine, speeding off toward the gate.

How am I gonna lose them? Peter looked over his shoulder, watching as the doors to the warehouse buildings started to lift. Who knows what kind of weapons they have in there? Not to mention, he could see dozens of officers—or whatever this race called them—pouring out of the station. He winced, distracted by his pain, and while he was thankful for the adrenaline keeping it at bay, he knew it was going to wear off while he was driving. I just gotta stay ahead of them. If I can get back to the Eclector with enough of a lead that we can get off this d'ast planet, then maybe we can just—

Peter heard the engines of the police fleet roaring to life, and he muttered a few choice words under his breath. Still, he had a bit of a lead, and as he burst through the gate, he started to look for a way to lose them. There were wooded areas in the distance, and that would make it hard for them to follow him, but weaving through the trees would slow him down way too much. There were mountains on either side, but the ones to the right that were closer were in the opposite direction of the Eclector, and the ones to the left were much farther away, and they were the only thing keeping the ship out of sight. Other than that, it was open fields of a bright yellow plant Peter wasn't familiar with.

Growling out another string of curses, Peter increased his speed, reading the power level and finding it was fully charged. He sucked in a breath, broken ribs creaking. I'll just have to be faster than them. He tore through the night, keeping his movements as unpredictable as possible, but even with the threat of the police finding the Ravagers, his adrenaline started to go down. His shoulders started to ache and throb, joints and muscles damaged by the hours of hanging from his wrists. The cuts on his arms and torso started to sting, an almost burning sensation searing into the stab wound in his gut. His left knee was torn, or twisted, or dislocated, or something, and he was grateful the bike he was on was controlled by his hands.

Somehow, he managed to get back to the ship.

"Quill!" Yondu was shouting as Peter tumbled off the bike and started up the ramp. "You better have a good re—"

"Is everyone on board?" Peter gasped, limping inside, nearly doubled over.

Yondu squinted, and Peter had known him long enough to know there was a little concern hidden in those shades of red. "Yeah. Why?"

"Because—" Peter swallowed, turning back to the opening just as the police vehicles rounded the cliffside that was concealing the ship. "We gotta get out of here!" He pressed his hand to the wound in his side, turning to the members that had gathered just inside the entrance, probably to watch Yondu and Peter throw down. "Come on! Cut the breaks, and put the thrusters on maximum! Shift the balancers to handle the rapid takeoff!"

There was a fraction of a second of silence, and then Yondu threw his arm out. "You heard him!" Slamming his hand against the button that would close the doors, Yondu hollered at his crew. "Get this d'ast thing in the air, and put the shields up before they shoot us down!"

Immediately, the Ravagers dispersed, scrambling to follow the commands, and when the first blast struck the Eclector, Peter's legs gave out. Cursing, he felt his back hit the wall, eyes closing as the pain became overwhelming.

"Kraglin, take care of him!" Yondu's footsteps thundered in the direction the crew had gone. "I gotta make sure the d'ast cops don't get through the defenses."

"Yessir!"

Peter smirked to himself, knowing he had taught the Ravagers to use the word 'cops.' Because, somehow, they knew the word 'fuzz' but not 'cops.' Not that he was going to argue with a bunch of aliens about what words they should or shouldn't know.

"Hey, Pete."

Peter forced his eyes open and found Kraglin kneeling next to him. "Need the medbay."

"Yeah, I can see that." Kragling smirked and stood up, holding out a hand. "C'mon. Let's get you down to Bablik. He'll know what to do."

Grunting, Peter let the first mate help him to his feet. "Sorry, Kraglin."

"For what?" Kraglin considered Peter for a moment, and then he pulled the teen's arm around his neck, helping him walk.

"I led'em right here." Peter grit his teeth, trying not to shout when his left foot touched the ground.

Kraglin laughed. "Peter, you've been gone for thirteen hours. If you spent all that time keepin' your mouth shut under whatever torture put you in this state, you got nothin' to be sorry for."

"Yeah, but—" Peter tried to look around and figure out where in the ship they were, but everything was blurring together. "I couldn't figure out a better exit strategy."

Snorting, Kragling took on more of Peter's weight, practically dragging him down the hall. "You did good, kid. You kept the crew safe."

Peter disagreed, but he found he couldn't say so. His vision swam, and as his fingers curled through Kraglin's jacket, Peter pitched forward, and the world went black.

Consciousness came slowly, as it often did, a shrill beeping assaulting his ears. He moved his fingers, brushing against the fabric of the bed, and as he started to process how distorted and dull the pain was, he realized they must have given him something strong. Still, the pain was there, and it hurt a bit when he sucked in a breath and opened his eyes.

"Hey! Look who's back in the land of the living!"

Peter's mouth pulled up in the corner. "Hey, Bablik." His gaze wandered over the ceiling. "Did we get away from the fuzz?"

"'Course we did," was the three-eyed man's reply.

Peter took a deep breath, once again feeling that dull ache in his chest, and nodded wearily. "Good." He slouched in the bed, eyes drifting shut, and he let the sensation of sleep wash over him.

"Captain."

Inhaling suddenly, Peter jerked himself awake, barely taking time to wonder how long it had been before he was finding Yondu's face. "Bablik said… we got away."

Yondu stood with his hands on his hips. "We did. It was close, but we lost'em in Caprixian airspace, and now we're in Manalita's troposphere."

Peter nodded and tried to keep his eyes open, struggling to maintain consciousness. Yondu walked up to the edge of the bed, and as Peter's eyes closed, he felt a hand come down on his good—well, less bad—shoulder.

"You did good, Peter."

Smiling to himself, Peter breathed out his reply. "Thanks, Yondu…"

"Now, get some sleep. Rest is the best thing for ya'."

Peter nodded again, feeling Yondu's hand disappear, but the sensation of touch lingered until sleep dragged him under again.

"You did good, Peter."

Author's Note: I think that first section is the tiniest thing I have ever written.

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