Archive of Our Own

It really had been a long day.

Of course, in the weeks since leaving Ego’s planet behind, all the days had been unreasonably long. Peter had felt adrift for most of it, and while he didn’t feel like he’d achieved closure or anything, he was ready to get back to normal.

That was why, naturally, he was trying to scrounge up a job fit for the Guardians of the Galaxy.

Now, this was not necessarily an easy process. The Guardians were well regarded and, to be candid, there was a shit load of bad stuff out there. The problem then became, naturally, what kind of job would actually keep them focused and get them paid without causing any further mayhem.

This was even more necessary because if they didn’t get a job soon, Peter was probably going to kill them all. You see, they were a mix-matched group, and this ship wasn’t that big. Moreover, housing seven people trained and ready for battle in an average-sized ship had led them all to the fringes of their sanity.

Of course, this lack of sanity was also Peter’s biggest hesitation. How would he make sure that seven crazy people didn’t actually make a job worse?

In short, normal was pretty hard to figure out because, at this point, Peter didn’t know what normal even looked like.

Besides, it had never been their thing. They were all aberrations, all of them. They’d been forged in combat, and it wasn’t like you could save the galaxy if you were an ordinary schmuck.

Peter had taken it upon himself to manage that, and for two months, he thought he’d done respectably. Baby Groot had made things difficult, but Peter had kept them from anything too stupid.

Until Rocket stole batteries and Peter went off with his long lost and psychotic father.

In retrospect, his ability to keep a hold on them for a mere two months was far less impressive than he’d intended. And that had been with only five of them. Now that there were two more? Including an empathetic half insect and a wayward Ravager with literally no crew left?

Yeah, normal was never going to be something Peter attained.

A job would help, though. Peter had decided that much.

After all, saving the galaxy wasn’t normal either.

Maybe, just maybe, Peter could make this work.

-o-

He decided to find out over dinner.

Talking about prospective jobs over a meal was an intentional choice. First, the dining room was one of the few areas large enough to comfortably house all of them. Second, eating gave the others something to do, which meant less of their attention would be directed at the nuances Peter would be glossing over quite conveniently. Third, food made everyone happier. Happier wasn’t normal, but it was useful when trying to convince seven distinct people to agree on anything.

To that end, Peter had prepared quite the feast.

Or, at any rate, he’d managed to warm up enough ingredients to make the table look full. While the others helped themselves, Peter popped a trusk berry in his mouth to give the appearance that he was completely and totally at ease.

Normal.

“So, I really think it comes down to these two ideas,” Peter said, chewing around the berries. “We can either salvage the lost colonies on Quincy, or we can try to stave off the pirate attacks in Rolani. Rolani is going to pay better, but I think the Quincy job needs us more. You can hire any mercenary to hold of pirates, but no one’s touched the Quincy thing with a ten foot pole.”

“Well,” Drax said, scooping a hearty portion of the slodum meat onto his fork. “Perhaps they all need to get closer. We couldn’t touch it with a ten foot pole either.”

“Right,” Peter said, choosing not to comment on the asinine nature of Drax’s reply. “I mean, we can even do both. If we knock off the Rolani job, we can probably still get to Quincy in less than a month.”

“That’s a fast turnaround,” Gamora observed.

“And, no offense, but the Quincy job sounds boring,” Rocket said. “Do we get to blow anything up? Pirates you can shoot at least.”

“I do not understand,” Mantis interjected as she speared some of the washalen vegetables with her fork. She didn’t eat meat, necessarily, and Peter hadn’t figured out how to stock insects just yet. Fortunately, she seemed to like the fruits and vegetables. “Why is the colony lost?”

“No one knows, and there’s a huge asteroid field in the way,” Kraglin told her, mixing a few of his berries inexplicably into his mashed yaro root. “That’s why no one likes that job.”

“That’s the only reason it’s interesting,” Rocket said, and he was helping himself to more of the meat while stuffing a handful of trusk berries into his mouth. “I hate it when people act like something can’t be done. Just makes me want to do it.”

“I agree,” Drax said. “I do take great satisfaction in proving people wrong.”

“Unless they’re right,” Gamora said. She had finished her food already, save for a few wayward berries on her plate. “I think we need to evaluate the field before we make any commitment to Quincy.”

“I am Groot!” Groot chimed in readily. His entire plate was covered with trusk berries, which were positioned on a layer of leaves Peter was pretty sure Groot had grown on his own ass.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s fun,” Gamora told him firmly. “We need to be safe.”

“Safe, smafe,” Rocket said. “You’re just making me want to do it more.”

“Is that not normal for you?” Mantis asked.

Peter waved his hand through the air to interject himself once again. “I think normal is a relative distinction,” he said, pausing to pop a few more berries into his mouth. His stomach was grumbling; for all that he had planned and cooked, he’d neglected to eat. He’d spent all his time talking over dinner; he hadn’t even touched the meat or the vegetables. “And I’ve done a few scans myself, and I have to say, it’s pretty daunting, but I think I found a way to do it.”

“A way that does not involve a ten foot pole?” Drax asked.

Peter washed a few more berries down with water. Trusk berries were, in his estimation, a magic food. They were grown in abundance and most of the planets across the galaxy, and they were packed full of nutrients. More than that, they actually tasted pretty good, and Peter would know. They had been a primary staple of his diet growing up. Not because trusk berries were healthy or tasty; but because they were cheap, and space pirates made a lot of money but they didn’t like spending said money on frivolous things like food for their dependents.

But that was neither here nor there, Peter reminded himself as he tried to clear away a tickle in his throat. “No, but it could involve blowing up a few asteroids,” Peter said with a nod to Rocket.

Putting his fork down, Rocket eyed his suspiciously. “I’m listening.”

Peter finished off the last few trusk berries from his plate and sat forward. “The asteroid belt is only a problem because it’s so wide and the asteroids themselves are so large.”

“But blowing them up causes more debris,” Gamora said. “It doesn’t help.”

“That’s why we don’t blow up the asteroids,” Peter said, blinking his eyes. They had started to burn, watering suddenly. “We blow up the nearby moon.”

“A moon?” Kraglin asked, in disbelief. “I know we’ve got some experience with that sort of thing lately, but that’s pretty extreme -- even for a Ravager.”

“No, that system is abandoned entirely,” Gamora said. “Thanos wiped out that planet and the moon years ago. There’s no sign of life yet.”

“And that area of space is empty,” Rocket said. “I mean, we’d have to run a few projections to make sure there are no wide scale complications, but...yeah. I think that would work.”

Peter grinned, blinking again as he lifted his heavy hands to rub them. “See, I knew you guys would like this one,” he said, clearing his throat again. He reached for his water to take a swig, but he could barely feel it on his tongue. “Do we still want to try the pirates?”

“I would love to help as many people as possible,” Mantis said.

Peter coughed, but it was dry and unproductive. The tickle in his throat got worse, and he felt his chest start to burn while his fingers tingled. “Well, like I said, we can do both,” he continued before he realized he couldn’t feel his lips anymore. With another grating cough, he fumbled for his drink. His numb fingers just spilled it, though. “I just have to -- I have too--”

Faltering now, Peter tried to rally his thoughts. His vision was blurring -- he couldn’t hardly see the plate right in front of him -- and the tingling sensation was moving up from his fingers through his arms and down his legs.

“Peter?” Gamora asked. “Are you okay?”

Peter wanted to reassure her that everything was fine, that everything was normal, but when Peter tried to speak, he merely wheezed instead.

And that, Peter realized with a dumbfounding clarity, wasn’t remotely normal.

“Quill, you appear to be in distress,” Drax noted with marked concern.

Peter was going to tell him something sarcastic, but he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t see.

Pushing his chair back, he stumbled, falling hard on his ass.

Shit, he couldn’t even breathe.

On his back, he became vaguely aware of the others. They were gathering above him, and Peter looked wide eyed from one to the next as he struggled for air.

Gamora tugged at his shirt, ripping it open.

“Is he injured?” Mantis asked, dark eyes bright with concern.

“We haven’t been in battle for weeks,” Rocket said. “Unless he managed to hurt himself by eating--”

“Perhaps then he is choking,” Drax offered.

Gamora had spread her fingers on Peter’s chest, her eyes locking with his. He didn’t know what the hell was going on.

But she did.

“It’s an anatomical response,” she explained. “His body is shutting down in response to something. I have seen it before.”

“Well, how do you fix it?” Rocket demanded.

Peter’s mind raced, but he couldn’t hold onto any of the thoughts as the numbness spread up his chest now, paralyzing his frantic lungs.

“I was trying to kill the person,” Gamora snapped back. “Not save them.”

“Surely there is a way to force him to breathe,” Drax said, brows knitted.

Peter gasped, mouth open for air that never came. He was ice cold now, and his vision was going white.

“His airway is swelling shut,” Gamora explained. “Look at his mouth.”

For his part, Peter couldn’t look. But he could feel the swelling in his tongue and lips and he didn’t want to die like this.

“He is turning blue,” Drax said. “Is this because he’s related to Yondu?”

Suddenly, Kraglin appeared. “No, it’s because he’s having an allergic reaction. It’s not uncommon in humans,” he said, rummaging through the medical kit. “I know we’ve got to have it in here somewhere--”

“And when did you become a doctor?” Rocket snapped.

“Since Yondu made me study human physiology,” Kraglin muttered, rifling through the contents. “He said that Quill was so little that someone had to know a thing or two about keeping him alive, and I was the only one who could read well enough.”

Peter found this revelation weird for some reason. It probably would have hurt to be reminded of Yondu’s unusual method of showing affection, but he was too busy not breathing to dwell on it much.

“And this -- is anaphylaxis,” Kraglin explained. “Never had to deal with it before, but it’s all over their literature. They’re allergic to all sorts of stuff and all of it can be treated with…”

He paused, pulling out a vial. He looked pretty damn proud.

Peter, on the floor, found his body going horribly stiff as he felt the cells throughout his body starting to shut down.

“Epinephrine,” he said. “Most people use it as a stimulant--”

Gamora took it from him with more force than necessary. “How is it administered?”

“Anywhere on the skin,” Kraglin said. “Meant to be idiot proof.” He shrugged. “Humans.”

Idiot proof, Peter had to hope. Because he had to be the galaxy’s biggest idiot.

And this time he didn’t even know why.

“Okay, so maybe we--” Rocket started.

Gamora wasn’t listening, though. Her eyes were focused and determined, and Peter would have been terrified as she plunged the needle straight into him except he was dying to be scared of much else.

Numb as he was, he still felt it. It was a burst of heat that rippled through him. He waited for the heat to take, but it dissipated, and as the numbness rose up Peter’s throat, he realized that it wasn’t going to be enough.

Peter’s lungs were still, and his body was shutting down. The stiffness slipped away, as the final neurons fired in his oxygen-starved brain.

Blinking rapidly, he looked at Rocket and Drax. He looked at Mantis and Kraglin and Groot. Finally, his eyes locked on Gamora, and he thought how unfair it was. To die here, to die now, and to never get to tell her everything. Unspoken words were normal between them.

But screw normal.

Peter had never liked normal.

It didn’t matter, though.

His world whittled to nothing, and Gamora’s mouth was moving as he felt himself slip away.

He was too weak, to incapable, too human.

This had been a long day.

At least this way, it was well and truly over.

-o-

Over, like normal, was somewhat relative.

Or entirely relative.

When was Peter ever going to learn?

-o-

He came to with a gasp.

A gasp.

Blinking rapidly, he exhaled sharply and inhaled again.

Mostly because he could.

He could breathe.

He wasn’t dead.

“Careful, Peter,” Gamora coached him, and it was only then that Peter realized he was rolled over on his side, head cradled in her lap. From his position, he could see the legs and feet of his friends as Gamora soothingly rubbed his back. “Focus on your breathing for a second.”

Peter wasn’t one for following orders under normal circumstances…

But to hell with normal.

Breathing felt really damn good.

The inhalations still felt a little strained, and the exhalation burned in his lungs. His fingers still felt tingly, and his head was still light, but breathing.

He exhaled again, closing his eyes in satisfaction.

He really liked breathing.

“You’re okay now, Peter,” Gamora continued.

Peter opened his eyes, straining to look up at her.

“Yeah, Kraglin here saved your life,” Rocket added.

Peter’s eyes flicked across to Rocket, still too overwhelmed by oxygen to properly respond.

“You came disturbingly close to death,” Drax reported, as if that were helpful.

Mantis leaned on, poised on her tiptoes as she balanced against Drax’s shoulder. “If you would like further comfort, I would be happy to--”

Peter grunted this time, and he realized belatedly that he had enough energy to speak. He shook his head, trying to prop himself up further. “No, I’m -- fine,” he said, letting the words fall heavily from his still swollen lips. His tongue felt funny, but it was rapidly returning to normal as Gamora braced him in a sitting position. “I think.”

“We think it’s an allergic reaction,” Gamora told him.

Peter lifted his hand, pressing it to his eyes to assuage the pounding there. “But I’m not allergic to anything.”

“Yeah, pretty sure you are,” Rocket said. “Unless you randomly let your throat close up for other reasons.”

Shaking his head, Peter squinted up at them. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said. “I mean, that’s not normal.”

He looked at them, as if they might have some kind of answer.

They looked at him, as if he should have figured it out by now.

Peter didn’t learn, though. That was still one of his problems.

“Come on,” Gamora said, starting to hoist him upward. “Let’s get you to the medical bay.”

“Ugh,” Peter moaned, finding his feet as Gamora steadied him. “Fine.”

-o-

Peter allowed them to put him in a bed and strap him into the equipment. He permitted them to scan him with every possible device they had on board, and he submitted to their doting with as much dignity as he could muster.

Which was, exactly, none.

Even before this incident, Peter had never had much for dignity, and after? After having his throat swell up and passing out? Peter didn’t have much in him for dignity.

Just for pouting.

And being very, very pissed off.

“Seriously,” he said, flopping his head back on the pillow melodramatically. “This is pointless.”

Gamora, who was positioned at his side, gave him a look. “You had an allergic reaction,” she explained to him patiently, as she might explain basic hygiene to Groot.

Peter shot her a look back. “I’m in my 30s. I think I’d know if I had an allergy.”

“It was a very dramatic reaction,” Drax said. He was standing on the far side of the room, just watching. Because apparently this was an entertaining spectacle for everyone.

“You were quite panicked when it happened,” Mantis told him, as if he needed to be informed. Her nod was earnest. “We all were.”

Peter sighed, perturbed. “It had to have been a fluke or something,” he said. “Maybe someone is poisoning the food supply?”

“Nah, that ain’t happened but the one time,” Kraglin said.

“And I didn’t even get sick that time,” Peter snapped back.

“All the more reason to figure this out,” Gamora said.

“Maybe we should spend our time trying to figure out who’s trying to kill me instead,” Peter said, making a helpless gesture. “Because, I’m telling you, I don’t have allergies. I’ve been traveling through space since I was a kid. I’ve been exposed to a lot of shit, and nothing like this has ever happened.”

“I’m all for extreme conspiracy theories, I really am,” Rocket said from his position at the computer. They didn’t have a doctor or anything resembling a medic, and though Rocket’s homicidal inclinations made him a bit of a curious choice, he was the only one who knew how to make the computer do all the things it was capable of doing. Peter supposed he was lucky that it wasn’t Drax or Mantis. Or Kraglin. Or, God help them all, Groot. The smaller creature gave him a diffident shrug. “But your symptoms are a perfect match for an allergic reaction. Got to go with the obvious, man.”

“But it’s not obvious!” Peter insisted. “I mean, aren’t there other reasons why people suddenly stop being able to breathe that are totally normal?”

“I, personally, have only seen people go blue like you when I am suffocating them in combat,” Drax said.

“And there was that time that we picked up that Lolin commuter and he choked at dinner,” Kraglin offered. “He went blue.”

This was not helping.

Gamora stroked his arm. “You nearly died, Peter,” she said. “Just take the test.”

Her request was implicit in the command.

Huffing, Peter crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m just tired of all the crap we’ve had lately. I mean, I find my father; my father’s a lunatic; we kill my father. I’m kind of ready to get back to normal.”

“What normal?” Rocket said, swinging himself around to look at Peter. “The one where you’re allergic to berries?”

Peter was ready to protest, to mope, to anything, but he stopped short when he realized what Rocket had actually said. “Wait,” he said, tilting his head uncertainly to the side. “What?”

Rocket strode over, handing over a data pad. “I ran your blood sample against all the known allergens in our database. You got a hit on a bunch of them, all from the berry family.”

Peter took the pad, staring at it blankly. “No way,” he said, scanning the lengthy list of items he supposedly could not eat. “I’ve been eating berries for years.”

Gamora looked over his shoulder in concern. “Maybe this batch was contaminated in some way?”

“But would it not follow that we would also be sick?” Drax asked.

Peter shook his head, holding the pad back out to Rocket. “It can’t be the berries; there’s no way,” he said. “I’ve been eating those things for years. Yondu stocked them all the time; there was no avoiding them.”

“It’s true,” Kraglin said. “We all had a steady diet. Great for nutrients, but they can make your digestion a little purple.”

“See,” Peter said, nodding to Kraglin. “I ate those things all the time.”

“And you should have died, every single time,” Rocket said, taking the pad back. “Your allergy is severe, man. We shouldn’t even have them on board.”

This was too much. “That doesn’t even make sense!”

He was apoplectic by this point, but when he looked at the others, their reactions were far less exaggerated. In fact, they seemed reluctant to look at him at all.

When he looked at Gamora, she forced a smile. “There is one way it might make sense,” she started softly.

“What way?” Peter asked. “How does someone suddenly develop an allergy after 30 years?”

“When that someone loses a vital connection to their DNA,” she said.

Peter stared at her a moment longer, trying to understanding.

No, trying not to understand.

The meaning was clear.

Peter’s heart skipped a beat; his stomach clenched.

Gamora nodded, even more apologetic than before. “Ego.”

Peter groaned, a fresh wave of frustration washing over him. Because just when he thought he could put his old man behind him, here he was, haunting him still. “Ego.”

-o-

For a second, Peter was back on Ego’s planet. He was playing catch and seeing eternity. He was tearing the damn thing apart while his old man disintegrated into his hands. He could still hear his dad’s last words, clearer than clear, echoing in his head: “You’ll be just like everyone else.”

Peter wasn’t sure his answer would be quite as confident anymore.

Apparently, there was something wrong with that.

“Whoa,” Rocket said. “I know he was crazy and tried to destroy the universe, but are we really going to blame him for Quill’s weird allergies?”

“I’m only half human,” Peter reminded them all with a tone of resignation. “Half my DNA came from that crackpot.”

“And what was it you told us?” Gamora prodded. “About the connection to the light?”

Mantis stepped forward. “The light was the key to his immortality,” she said. “That was why he never stayed away too long. As long as he maintained that connection, he was never sick or weak. Nothing affected him.”

“Exactly,” Peter said with renewed resignation. “And without it, I’d be just like everyone else.”

He could see the understanding dawn on the others’ face.

“With allergies, just like everyone else,” Gamora added sympathetically.

Miserably, Peter slumped lower in the bed. “I didn’t even know how lucky I was.”

“It is impressive, though, how powerful Ego’s genetic code was,” Rocket said, looking at the pad again. “I mean, it literally counteracted some of your body’s most extreme autonomic responses.”

“It was your super power!” Drax said.

“No wonder you survived all those years with us,” Kraglin said.

Groot nodded. “I am Groot.”

“The Infinity Stone, too. That’s how Quill was able to hold that thing without blasting himself,” Rocket agreed. “You have a point there.”

“Note the past tense on those,” Peter said. “No more berries. No more Infinity Stones.”

Gamora cocked her head. “I’m not sure those two points are exactly comparable.”

“Except they’re both things I can’t do anymore!” Peter shot back.

Smart as she was, Gamora was also surprisingly attuned to his emotions. With a rallying smile, she got to her feet, gesturing toward the door. “Well, at least we know now.”

“Yeah, we know that I was a superhero, and that now I’m likely to get killed eating berries,” Peter sulked.

Gamora patted him on the shoulder. “Just rest, okay?” she said. “We’ll handle this, just like we handle everything else.”

“Fear not, Quill,” Drax said. “I will defeat all berries in your path.”

“We can start by clearing out the fridge,” Kraglin said.

“And I’ll make a list of the allergens and make sure we all have it,” Rocket said.

“Great,” Peter said.

Mantis hesitated on her way out. “And if you need help with rest--”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Peter said. “I’m fine, remember?”

Gamora was the last one out, lingering long enough to press a kiss to his cheek.

Peter watched her go before flopping back and staring at the ceiling.

“Fine,” he muttered to himself. “Everything is perfectly normal.”

-o-

With no other option, Peter rested. In retrospect, he probably should have just let Mantis put him under; because this so-called rest of his was only that much in name. Nothing felt restful about it at all.

Whether his eyes were opened or closed, all he could do was think about how much this sucked and how much he hated the whole damn galaxy. He went out of his way to save it, and what did it do for him? It gave him his father, and then it made him kill his father. Then, just to make things super cool, it made him watch his other father died in slow and graphic detail.

Peter hated the galaxy.

And he hated Yondu for dying.

And he really hated Ego for being a sociopath.

He also severely hated that he had to kill his dad.

Now, to top it off, he hated that he hated it.

Because crap, how much easier would life be if his old man were alive? How much simpler would things be? How much stronger could he be? And not just for his own sake -- but for his teams? For the whole damn galaxy?

For good measure, Peter hated berries, too.

Funny, how Peter had spent most of his formative years just wishing he could be a normal kid.

Now, when normal was all that he had, he hated it more than anything.

-o-

He slept in the medical bay that night. It seemed to ease everyone else’s concern that he was going to stop breathing and die at any moment, and honestly, he was feeling too petulant to be bothered with moving. If he was pathetic and allergy ridden, then he figured being pathetic and sleeping in the medical bay might just be his destiny.

Plus, he actually really was tired. Almost dying wore you out.

In the morning, he expected to be inundated by his well-intentioned friends. Instead, he was greeted with a simple breakfast, served to him in bed by Gamora.

Normally, breakfast in bed with his girlfriend would be awesome.

But Peter had his issues with normal right now.

Or, you know, Peter just had issues.

“You sure this stuff is safe?” Peter asked, more contrarily than necessary.

It was a little mean, but Gamora took it in stride as she settled down next to him with a plate of identical food. That was intentional, he sure; intended to make him feel better.

He didn’t feel better.

“You can’t be upset about managing your food better,” she said. “It’s just going to be a part of life, and it’s not that big of deal.”

Sulking, Peter poked at his meal. It was actually one of his favorites, but that wasn’t the point. There were no berries, and Peter was pissed off on principle alone. “I don’t know what the point even is.”

Gamora was chewing a bite. “You need food,” she said, pausing to swallow.

“Why?” he asked miserably.

“To get your strength back up,” she told him. “You had a long day yesterday.”

“I’ve had a long life,” Peter countered. “Maybe I should just quit while I’m behind. Really far behind.”

She was kind and sensitive, but she had her limits. She rolled her eyes. “You’re being childish.”

“I just found out I have allergies!” he retorted.

With a patient breath, she forced herself to smile. “And we’re going to deal with that,” she said. “Starting by eating breakfast, and followed up by some training.”

At this, his face contorted. “Training?”

Gamora shrugged. “We still want to take the Quincy job, don’t we?”

He gaped at her for a second. “The Quincy job?”

“Or the pirates,” she said. “I honestly don’t care. You can pick.”

“You really think I can do either?” he asked, unable to hide his incredulity. “I mean, I can’t even be in the dining room -- what makes you think I can be in the field?”

Her look was incredibly, inexplicably patient. She had practice, of course, but Peter knew it was more than that. No matter how hard Thanos had trained her to be a killer, Gamora was, at her core, a really good person.

Which was why she shouldn’t be here.

With him.

She was impressive, atypical, amazing.

Peter, on the other hand, was exasperatingly normal.

“Because that’s what we do,” she replied, ever resolute.

She believed it, for what that was worth. Before, it would have been worth everything. Now, however….

Now Peter’s own patience was running thin, and his shoddy attempts to keep himself together were falling apart at the seams. Even if he had the will, his body wasn’t exactly being cooperative.

He shook his head. “There’s no point, though,” he said. “Out there, in the field, on a job -- I’m just going to be a liability.”

“That is ridiculous,” she said.

“Is it?” Peter asked. “I can’t even eat berries, which, like, everyone eats. How am I going to go out and fight bad guys?”

At this, she almost smiled. “The same way you always have.”

“Pathetically?”

She didn’t roll her eyes, but it was clear she wanted to. “Heroically with little regard to your own safety.”

He wasn’t sure if that was an insult or a compliment, an invocation or a warning.

Sighing, she gathered herself and inched closer to him. “Peter, I know you think a lot has changed, but for the rest of us, it really hasn’t.”

“You guys always thought I was a pathetically liability?” he asked.

“We always thought you were human,” she said, refusing to give way. Her own breakfast was forgotten now as she reached out to take his hand in hers. “Whatever inherent limitations your body had, we accepted them just as much as we accepted you.”

“We thought I was human,” Peter clarified, looking down. He tightened his jaw, forcing himself to swallow. “It’s going to be different now.”

She bent her head, trying to get him to look at her. “So?”

He let out a heavy breath, blinking rapidly against his burning eyes. “You just make it sound so easy.”

“And you make it sound so hard,” she said.

“I lost something, though,” he said, lifting his eyes to hers now. “I didn’t even know how much Ego had given me until he was gone, and now it’s all gone. I don’t even know who I am anymore, Gamora. I don’t even know how to get up in the morning -- much less go into the field.”

There was sympathy in her expression, but her position was unyielding. “I know it’s difficult for you right now, and I do not deny you your grief, Peter. Not for Yondu, not for Ego, not for yourself,” she said. “But you need to hear me when I tell you this: for all that Ego gave, for all that you inherited from him, he didn’t give you what mattered.”

Peter made a quizzical face. “A diet of berries?”

“Family, Peter,” she said, a hint of exasperation in her voice now. “He didn’t give you family.”

It was a good answer; hell, it was the perfect answer, and it was the one he wanted to hear. But he still remembered his throat closing up; he remember Ego turning to dust. It was a scary thing, to relearn who you were. Especially when you barely had it figured out the first time around.

She let got of his hand, lifting her hand to brush his cheek. “You may be weaker than before; you may have more things to look out for, you may be more prone to injury or illness or even death--”

“Um, yeah, not sure that’s what I need to hear--”

She pushed on, undeterred. “But you have something more powerful than Ego could ever hope to harness,” she continued. “You have us, our loyalty, our commitment and our love.”

His throat hurt; his chest ached. Only this wasn’t an allergic reaction.

He kind of wished it was.

That might be easier than the fact that he was choking up from emotion.

Gamora didn’t hesitate, though. “What you have here with us,” she said. “That is a light to which you will never lose a connection.”

All that time and effort he’d spent looking for normal, like he was some kid again telling kids that David Hasselhoff was his dad. All that he’d done to avoid the obvious, to circumvent the plain truth that he was scared and lonely.

Only this time the answer wasn’t a blue space pirate who threatened to eat him.

This time it was a team of misfit and barely reformed criminals who cared enough about him to save him when he had an allergic reaction to common foods.

Ego had offered him a purpose.

But the Guardians of the Galaxy had offered him a family.

That wasn’t normal, not in the least.

It was a whole lot better.

This time, he managed to smile, and he didn’t hide the sting of tears. “So, I guess he was right, then,” he said, voice hoarse with emotion. “I’m not like everyone else.”

Her smile in return was broad. “No,” she agreed. “You’re really not.”

It was funny how she could do that to him, how she could make him see things clearly about himself and about the galaxy. It was one of the many, many reasons he loved her.

More than that, it was one of the reason she was his best friend.

On his own, Peter would never eat berries again.

With his team, however….

Well, he’d still never eat berries.

But at least he knew it wouldn’t be an issue.

Contentedly, he looked down at his breakfast.

His berry-free breakfast. “Man,” he said, letting his shoulders slump. “Pancakes are better with berries.”

This time, she did roll her eyes.

“I mean, they add just the right flavor and they’re so juicy,” Peter continued forlornly.

She shook her head, getting to her feet. “Finish up your food,” she said. “We’re going to be training in 10 minutes.”

“I mean, have you ever had strawberry shortcake? Like, the food, not the doll, and oh man, my grandma used to make this berry tart--”

She didn’t look back as she stalked out the door.

“And dude,” Peter called after her, feeling his spirits return once more, the state of his breakfast notwithstanding. “What about smoothies?”

-o-

So, Peter ate his breakfast.

And, honestly, it was okay.

It was also okay when he got out of bed and when he trained with Gamora. It was okay when he checked in with the others, and it was okay when he agreed to the Quincy job. It was okay when they ordered a large shipment of Epi Pens, just in case. It was okay that night when the team got together to make dinner, and it was okay when Peter sat down with them all and looked at the spread of food on the table. They had obviously been trying to make a point about all the options for food that were still available to him and how he was going to be just fine without berries.

It kind of worked, except they were weird criminals with questionable cooking skills. Peter still missed the berries.

But he turned his eyes from the food to his team, sitting expectantly around the table with him.

He couldn’t help it; he grinned.

“Looks amazing,” he said, and it was the most honest thing he’d ever said. “Let’s eat.”

There was a general clamor of approval as the others dug in with vigor. He watched as Drax took an entire tray of meat, and Rocket rapidly helped himself to several biscuits. Mantis plucked a few leaves of a spinach derivative, and Kraglin seemed most eager to try the soup. Groot munched on one of his own twigs, and Gamora smiled as she handed Peter a platter of potatoes.

Peter accepted it, putting a portion on his plate before handing the platter on.

This was the new normal, he supposed.

He reached for the carafe of water while the others started to talk about how excited they were for the Quincy job.

Normal, Peter decided, really wasn’t so bad.