Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If Yondu went and got himself killed, then that was his own damn problem.

That was what Stakar kept telling himself anyway, as reports flooded in - rumors more than structured reports - that Yondu’s crew had finally grown tired of their code breaking captain and decided to overthrow him.

Serves him right.

The latest intel was that the Elector was currently on it’s way to Kree space, no doubt to turn Yondu over in exchange for the considerable bounty on his head. It had been Martinex who had pointed out that they would have to go straight past Stakar’s warship in order to do that, no doubt meant as a hint that they could save him if they so chose.

It was ironic really, the man whose actions had saved Yondu from the Kree was condemning him to return to them through his own inaction.

He took another swig of his drink, unable to clearly remember how much he had already had. He considered calling Aleta, although whether it was for sex or advice he wasn’t entirely sure. But Aleta was still upset - and so were Krugarr, Mainframe, and Charlie - and he wasn’t completely convinced they would answer his calls. They had all lost a good friend when Yondu betrayed them, and his absence had driven the final nail into the coffin of their friendship. Perhaps if Stakar hadn’t reacted so poorly - if he had allowed it to remain purely professional, rather than raging at Yondu and shouting things that struck too close to home for both men - things wouldn’t have fallen apart as badly as they had.

Aleta had stuck around the longest, the others fleeing in pain and confusion as soon as the trial was over. She had been there to witness Stakar and Yondu’s final shouting match, had heard Stakar tell him (among other things) that the universe would have been better off if the Kree had killed him.

He supposed that her self-imposed exile from him - the man who was currently her husband only because filing for divorce required actually speaking to him - was more due to her guilt over not having protected Yondu from his own greed and stupidity. His own anger was over that as well, over the thought that he had granted Yondu captaincy too soon, that he hadn’t kept a close enough eye on him.

Stakar groaned and swallowed the rest of his drink in one swig, trying to clear his mind of memories of the past. Can’t change the past. It’s far too late for that. Instilling a ‘Ravagers don’t deal in kids’ rule wouldn’t bring his own children back from the dead. Throwing Yondu out for breaking said rule hadn’t brought back any of the children he had led to their deaths. Leaving him to be murdered by the Kree wouldn’t bring them back either, but it would put another death on Stakar’s conscience.

He remembered Yondu, still young, still fresh and afraid that the wrong move would end up with him being returned to the Kree, hiding under Stakar’s bed while explaining in graphic detail what the Kree did to deserters. The Ravager captain had been willing to do almost anything in order to calm him down and coax him out and hadn’t thought twice about giving him a promise to never, ever let the Kree capture him.

He hadn’t had any way of knowing what Yondu would have become when he made that promise, but the fact of the matter remained that he had given his word and he hated to go back on his word. Stakar swirled his drink, trying not to picture Yondu’s broken and battered body after the Kree had finished with him. Then he downed the last of his glass and pushed his comm. 

Yondu was dazed, his head throbbing where his implant had nearly been shattered. He hadn’t seen it coming, he’d always expected to go out in a firefight, not to have someone sneak up behind him and bash him hard enough to crack the metal and short circuit the inner workings. “Pete,” he rasped, pushing himself to his hands and knees to check on the terrified Terran that had just been thrown into the cell.

They had pulled Peter out of the vents at some point after knocking out Yondu. He’d been bright enough to flee into the ceiling and it sounded as though he’d evaded capture for a day or two (Yondu had been unconscious for some time and had very little idea of what had happened), but eventually they had used the ship’s scanners to locate him and then quite literally smoked him out. The boy was still coughing, although that probably had just as much to do with the broken ribs from Taserface pummeling him in anger.

“Y'all right?”

Peter stared up at Yondu, his face full of fear and eyes brimming with tears. “T-they’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, scrambling forward to cling to Yondu’s coat. The captain patted his back awkwardly, ignoring the pain that the sudden shake from Peter’s movement had caused. His head throbbed and he lurched sideways. If it weren’t for Peter in his lap, he probably would have doubled over.

Outside their cell, someone laughed. “Aww, would you look at dat? It’s so cute!” Yondu glared at Gef, who was moronic enough to continue, “Taserface says we get to eat the brat before we reach the Kree.” Peter sniffled loudly against Yondu’s chest, whimpering a protest about how he’d been behaving and didn’t deserve to be eaten. But Gef was gone, giggling to himself and leaving Yondu with his terrified charge.

“Iz all right,” Yondu grumbled, leaning his head back against the wall and letting the cold metal cool the skin around his implant. Gotta keep a clear head. Gotta get Pete outta this.

“Not it’s not!” Peter screamed, pummeling Yondu with tiny fists. The Centuarian winced and caught his hands. “I’m gonna die!”

“We’s both gonna die so shut it!”

Outside their cage, the men guarding them sniggered. Yondu resisted the urge to snap or glare. There was too much of a risk they’d take the anger out on Peter. Judging by the shape he was already in he couldn’t take any more of that. Lowering his voice so that only Peter could hear him, Yondu whispered, “Listen, brat, I gotta plan, alright?”

It wasn’t the best plan he had ever had, and it certainly didn’t involve surviving, but it would spare Peter a lot of pain if Taserface really planned on cooking (and Yondu certainly wouldn’t put it past him). It was the best he could do even if it would damn him to Hel (not that he’d ever entertained notions of going anywhere else). But his Terran would be better off. Peter nodded, falling silent and curling into Yondu’s lap and pulling his coat around them both. “Okay,” he whispered softly.

Yondu stroked his hair, squeezing his eyes shut and cursing the day he’d ever met the planet-sized asshole known as Ego. It was his fault they were in this mess, after all, his crew had mutinied largely thanks to anger over the fact that even though they had been banished because of Peter they hadn’t been paid for him.

Most of them didn’t give a shit about saving lives, as was proven by the fact that Peter was apparently to be the main course at Yondu’s going away party, cooked alive to prolong his suffering. Taserface had gone so far as to suggest that they intended to feed him to Yondu, whether he wanted it or not.

Yondu did his best not to listen to the clattering noises that were coming from upstairs, more likely than not it was preparations for their demented party, and continued rubbing Peter’s head.”Y-Yondu,” Peter whispered, pushing himself up slightly. He was clearly having trouble breathing, wincing every time his ribs were jarred. “Taserface said they were gonna boil me alive. Is that gonna hurt?”

“Nah,” Yondu drawled. “Dey ain’t gonna boil ya alive.” The knife hidden in his boot was going to ensure that. They had only missed the one weapon when they had searched him before throwing him into the cell, and Yondu had kept it a secret, hoping he would find a way to use it to escape. So far, no potential escape routes had presented themselves to him. Of course, slitting Peter’s throat would draw the attention of their guard, so he doubted there would be enough time to end himself as well. So he would be stuck going to the Kree, probably after they took out frustrations on Yondu for taking away their plaything. Looking down at the shivering boy in his arms, Yondu decided he could live with that.

The clamor overhead had begun to die out, which to Yondu seemed to signal the end of preparations. Not long now, he thought, tightening his grip on Peter and using the boy’s body as a shield so that their guards couldn’t see him reach into his boot to remove the knife. He didn’t let Peter realize what he was doing either, keeping it hidden up his sleeve.

“Pete.” The boy looked up at him expectantly. Yondu lowered his voice to a murmur so that Peter was the only one who could hear him. “I’m real sorry kid, I ain’t done nuttin right by ya. But dat changes now, okay?”

Peter smiled, so pure and so much more than Yondu deserved and nodded.

“For what it’s worth, I ain’t never been real keen on eatin’ ya. I thought it were funny, see? Jus’ a stupid joke, didn’ mean nuttin by it.” Peter just nodded, lapping up the attention with no idea whatsoever of the knife hidden in Yondu’s sleeve. Yondu sighed, he still wasn’t any good at showing emotions, even if it didn’t matter anymore. We’s gonna die anyway. He patted Peter’s head. “I fucked up and I’s real sorry. But you, you wasn’t a mistake.”

Something clattered outside of their cell, Yondu didn’t have time to think, sharply turning Peter to face away from him - even if it was for his own good he couldn’t look him in the eyes as he slit his throat - and pushing his knife over the child’s jugular. “Sorry son.”

Chapter Text

Taserface had clearly been expecting a thank you from Stakar. Perhaps he had even expected the 99^th to be reinstated as a real Ravager faction now that Yondu was no longer at the helm. What he hadn’t expected - although, to be fair, Stakar hadn’t expected it either, not until Taserface started boasting about what the Kree were going to do to Yondu - was to get a blaster bolt between his eyes. As if I’d grant official captaincy to a man named Taserface, he thought with bitter amusement.

“Where is Undonta?” he asked aloud. Those who had just seen Taserface's death were quick to answer. 

He didn’t like killing, even exiled Ravagers, but he couldn’t afford to take risks while in such an uneasy situation and shot those who looked as though they were going to cause trouble. In the brig, he wasted no time at all shooting Yondu’s guard, the man falling away to reveal Yondu seated on the ground at the far end of the cell.

In his lap was a child. Yondu had a knife to his throat. Stakar raised his blaster, pointing it at Yondu angrily. “Drop the kid,” he snarled. Yondu dropped the knife instead, keeping a firm grasp on the child who was beginning to shake in his arms, clearly frightened. He made a great show of kicking it away, letting it clatter well out of his reach.

“Y-yondu?” the boy whispered, looking between the exiled captain and the knife.

“Is alright,” Yondu said gruffly, rocking the boy slightly as though to reassure him. “Peter, calm down.” Surprisingly, Peter seemed to calm a bit, relaxing and leaning into his captor.

Stakar wasn’t calming down. He shook his blaster and stomped his foot. “Drop the damn kid, Undonta!”

Yondu stood leisurely, helping the child - Peter, Yondu had called him - to his feet so he could hesitantly trail behind the other. “Stakar,” he thumped his chest twice in a Ravager salute, the boy at his heels did the same.

He could see the gears turning in Yondu’s head as he thought - clearly, this hadn’t been a part of whatever plan he had cooked up to get himself free - and already he was figuring out how best to use it to his advantage. When Stakar didn’t say anything, blaster still trained on Yondu (although he wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t shot yet, with the boy no longer in his lap he had a clear shot), the Centaurian drawled, “Ya got a med kit? Need a bandage, cut Pete’s throat a bit.”

Now that Stakar looked, there was clearly a wound on the boy’s neck, although it seemed to be more of a scratch than anything. “Give me the kid and I’ll give him a bandage.”

“Ya hafta open the door.”

Stakar looked at the closed cell, scowling. “Back up and don’t try anything.” He warned, keeping his weapon trained on Yondu. The other did as he was told, leaning by Peter and murmuring something into his ear, giving him a gentle push. But even as Stakar opened the cell the kid didn’t budge.

“Come on,” Stakar urged.

Peter shook his head, looking back over his shoulder at Yondu with a whimper. “Go on,” Yondu pushed. “He ain’t gonna eat chu.”

Stakar unlocked the cell door, stepping inside and kneeling by the door. “Here kid,” he said, reaching with one hand into his pocket. His gun wasn’t meant to be fired with hand one, and it was heavy and awkward, but he managed to balance it well enough. He produced a medkit from inside his coat and passed it to Peter with a gentle smile. “There should be a bandage in there,” he said, trying to keep his voice as soothing as possible. Peter took the kit and scurried back to Yondu, hiding again behind the Centuarian.

Stakar couldn’t understand what he was seeing, there was no reason for the kid to have run to Yondu for help, but as he watched Yondu knelt down and took the kit from his hands, murmuring quietly in reassurance as he took out a plaster and pressed it gently to Peter’s throat.

He took a deep breath. Clearly, this couldn’t possibly be what he had originally thought (but then again, what else could it possibly be?). Stakar stepped closer, inching into the room and lowering his weapon. Common sense told him that Yondu must be unarmed, otherwise, his own men wouldn’t have been able to take him. A closer inspection of his former friend revealed that Yondu’s implant was cracked and sparking periodically. 

That couldn’t be good.

Stakar stepped closer, moving to stand between Yondu and Peter, and reached out his hand to touch Yondu’s damaged implant. The Centuarian flinched away, as though anticipating a smack. Ignoring the fear, Stakar ran his hand down the malfunctioning metal implant, feeling the abnormal heat radiating from it.

He won’t live long enough to reach the Kree, Stakar decided. He’s a dead man. It was clear that the implant was going to fry Yondu’s brain, and he wondered how much the other man was aware of what was going on inside his own head. Probably not very, if he had to hazard a guess.

So there was no risk of having Yondu’s death by the Kree on his conscience, but he wasn’t sure that death by implant malfunction was any better of an end or that he would be any less responsible. Then there was the issue of the kid. No matter what was happening, he couldn’t just leave Peter and pray he wasn’t going to be killed.

“So,” Yondu drawled, looking up at Stakar’s hand which was still resting on his implant. “We good or what?”

Stakar pulled his hand back sharply. “No.” That had never been a part of the issue. They were certainly not ‘good’, they probably wouldn’t be ‘good’ ever again. Not when Stakar couldn’t look at him without getting a sick feeling in his stomach.

“Dat’s too bad,” Yondu sighed.

“Are you here to save us?” Peter asked curiously, looking up at Stakar with hopeful eyes. “Taserface said he’s gonna boil me alive and make Yondu eat me.” His face fell and he pouted. Clearly he was either in shock or he had no idea of how serious the situation was.

Yondu squeezed Peter’s shoulder in what seemed to be a reassuring manner. “I said dat weren’t gonna happen.”

Stakar cut them off, “Taserface is dead.”

Yondu smirked, his mouth full of even more metal than the last time Stakar had seen him. “See? What I tell ya?” With those words barely out of his mouth, Yondu pitched sideways, hand flying to his head with a pained gasp.

“Yondu!” Peter cried out as his body hit the ground. He laid there, twitching, eyes rolling back in his head as his shattered implant sparked and flashed. The boy turned to Stakar and grabbed his arm, pulling on his sleeve furiously. “Help him!” he demanded.

Stakar knelt beside Yondu, telling himself that he was doing it for the kid’s benefit, not that it was out of any suppressed emotions, and rested his hand against his too hot forehead. “He’s pretty far gone, kid,” he said after a pause. “His implant’s short-circuited.”

Yondu’s hand suddenly clamped around Stakar’s wrist, feverish red eyes meeting Stakar’s eyes with an intensity that shouldn’t have been possible in his condition. “Save Pete,” he ordered, his chest rising and falling rapidly as though the effort was killing him. It quite possibly was.

“Yondu!” the child wailed, throwing himself into the other’s chest. He buried his face in Yondu’s leathers and sobbed, resisting Stakar’s feeble attempts to pry him off.

“Peter,” Stakar rested his hands on the child’s shoulders, getting a firm grip on him and struggling to make him pay attention to what he was saying. “I need you to get off him so I can stabilize him.” Peter finally released Yondu and allowed Stakar to pull him back, still sniffling as he watched the other’s feeble attempts to heal the man. The best Stakar could do was pull a small tool kit from his pocket and remove as much of the implant as he could without having to perform brain surgery. He sat the discarded metal chunks beside them so that the implant could be fixed again later. Hopefully, he could get enough of it out that it would just shut down and quit pushing so much heat into his head. Peter started scrambling to gather up the broken bits of red metal, shoving them into the pockets of his coat.

He threw Peter his comm. “Call Martinex and tell him to send a medic to the Elector’s brig,” he ordered, eyes still trained on Yondu even though the other had gone limp and lost all his fight. There was no sign of life in his eyes anymore. “Tell him to hurry.”

Ignoring Peter’s conversation in the background, Stakar focused on Yondu, fumbling for the medical supplies he had taken out to use on the kid earlier. He grabbed an instant ice pack and broke it to activate it, feeling the chill starting in his hands as he pressed it to Yondu’s head. I should have started this as soon as I realized what was happening, he thought guiltily. I’m gonna lose him.

“How far is Martinex?” he asked Peter.

“I don’t know,” the child whimpered.

Stakar spared him a glance, frowning at the sight of his terrified face. “Take his hand,” he said after a moment. “Alright? Come on, you won’t hurt him, perhaps it will make him feel better.”

Peter shuffled over, taking ahold of Yondu’s hand and gripping it as tight as he could. Stakar figured if Peter broke his fingers Yondu would probably deserve it. “Just hold him tight and keep that cold pack on his implant.” Stakar patted the boy’s hair, feeling him trembling under his touch.

“Why was he gonna kill me?” Peter whimpered after a short pause. He looked up at Stakar, eyes full of hurt and fear. “He promised he was gonna save me.”

“I don’t know, kid.” Stakar felt him begin to shake harder and rubbed his shoulder. “I think he was trying to save you,” he said after a moment’s thought. “He wanted to stop them from cooking you alive. Give you a quick death.”

Peter whimpered, shaking harder, clearly traumatized. Stakar sighed and wrapped his arm around the kid. “I’ll protect you.”

“I don’t know you.”

He wasn’t wrong. “I- I knew Yondu.”

“Does he trust you?”

Another question he wasn’t sure how to answer. Stakar looked down at Yondu’s face, remembering the intensity his eyes had when he had ordered Stakar to take care of the kid, clearly thinking it was going to be his last words. “I think so.”   

Peter nodded, then pressed himself into Stakar’s side, shaking slightly. “I don’t know what’s happening,” he whispered fearfully.

Stakar stroked his hair. “I don’t either, kid,” he confessed.

Chapter Text

“You gonna come out of there kid?”

“No.”

“Alright.”

Peter and Stakar stared at each other, the former wedged safely out of reach of the later in the Starhawk’s vents.

Almost as soon as Peter had placed the call to Martinex, the Pluvarian had gotten to the Elector’s brig with a medical crew, and Yondu had been stabilized. Peter had lost track of everything that had happened since, all he knew was that Stakar had kept ahold of his shoulder as they left the Elector and drug him aboard an M-Ship to Stakar’s warship, the Starhawk. Yondu had been taken away from them immediately upon arrival, and Peter had taken the few seconds of confusion when Stakar had been explaining why his implant was in pieces to run.

Although the Starhawk seemed much newer than the Elector (it was certainly cleaner and a lot more sparkly) it had a pretty similar layout and he had no trouble at all finding a vent to cram himself in. Unfortunately, he had picked one that abruptly got smaller about 20 feet in, and so his escape was cut off. Stakar had found him pretty much immediately after, now the two were having an intense standoff.

“You hungry?”

Peter’s stomach turned, the last time he had even thought of food he had almost become the main course. “No.” He had hardly spoken to anyone since the whole ordeal had started, only answering Stakar’s numerous question with monosyllabic grunts or simple yes and no answers. He wasn’t sure what he thought of all the new people they were subjecting him to, but he was certain he preferred Yondu and his Ravagers. At least with them, he had known which ones were friends and which ones were enemies. With these new Ravagers, he had no idea.

Stakar sighed, clearly unused to dealing with kids. At least he didn’t have a magical arrow to force Peter out of the vents. “Please come out?”

“No.”

They lapsed into silence again. After a short while, Stakar’s comm buzzed and he clicked to answer it, clearly pleased by the interruption. “We’ve found Obfonteri.”

Kraglin! Peter sat up, more attentive than before. Stakar didn’t fail to notice, still watching Peter as he asked, “He alive?”

“If he’s not, Yondu’s gonna gut someone!” Stakar ignored Peter.

“More or less.”

“Bring him on board,” Stakar said, “and send someone down to watch the kid.”

“I can watch myself!” Peter shouted, wishing they would just go away and let him find his way into a more useful vent. Preferably one he could use to sneak to the medical facilities to check on Yondu.

Stakar ignored him, still speaking with whoever was on the other end of the line. Peter curled miserably in on himself, wanting to disappear further into the vents, or just disappear completely. Try as he might, he couldn’t rid himself of the things Taserface had said to him, once they had drug him from the ventilation shafts.

He squeezed his eyes shut and slid his hand into his pocket, grabbing ahold of one of the metal chunks Stakar had removed from Yondu’s implant. He ran his fingers across the metal, whimpering slightly. He barely noticed when Stakar switched off his guard with another man, this one staring down the shaft at him intensely. Instead, he pulled several of the larger pieces of Yondu’s implant out to stare at them, running his grubby fingers over the rough edges curiously. When he’d first been captured by the Ravagers he had wanted nothing more than to touch Yondu’s implant, thinking it was the coolest thing he’d ever seen. Yondu hadn’t allowed it of course, and somehow it wasn’t as fun while he wasn’t sure if Yondu was alive or not.

He needed to get to Yondu. They needed to get off this ship.

Shoving the shards of implant back in his pocket, Peter finally moved his head to survey his new guard. After a moment’s hesitation, he crawled forward, scrunching up his face as though he was about to cry. “I gotta pee,” he told the man.

“If you come out, I’ll show you where the toilet is.”

If Stakar was so determined to think Yondu was hurting him, then his crew probably thought that way too. Peter figured he might as well give them what they wanted. “Do you promise not to grab me?” he whimpered, managing to force a few tears into his eyes. “I- I don’t like being grabbed. It hurts.”

Predictably the man’s face softened. “Sure thing kid.” It seemed Stakar’s crew - or at least the man he’d handpicked to guard Peter - was just as soft as he was. Yondu always said that showing emotions was just baiting people to take advantage of them.

Peter edged out of the vent, his guard giving him a wide berth as he pointed him down the hall toward the toilets. “Just over there,” he said soothingly. “Then we’ll get ya cleaned up and something to eat.”

Whimpering a soft thank you, Peter edged into the bathroom, watching his guard the whole way as though afraid of turning his back on him. As soon as the door shut behind him he snapped into action, standing on top of the toilet and using it to access another vent, one that should be larger than his old one if it were anything like the Elector.

He pulled his thin frame inside and grinned when he saw the long expanse of the tunnel ahead of him. Bingo. As Peter crawled over the head of his still oblivious guard he felt a twinge of guilt for tricking the man. 

“I ain’t tellin’ ya.”

Stakar resisted the urge to groan, biting back the noise in frustration. He’d never particularly been fond of Kraglin Obfonteri, the man had been Yondu’s pick to be First Mate, not Stakar’s, and he was fairly certain Yondu had picked him just to annoy his mentor. When he had followed Yondu into exile, seemingly never having questioned trafficking kids, Stakar had decided he liked him even less. Martinex, whom Stakar had left in charge on the Elector, had sent the man aboard the Starhawk in cuffs and Stakar had removed them, hoping it would gain him Obfonteri’s trust. It seemed it hadn’t.

Leaning back against the wall, he folded his arms over his chest. He was all too aware of how imposing his posture was, looming over Obfonteri who was sprawled comfortably at the table. The jackass didn’t even bother to seem intimidated, more annoyed. “All I’m asking is what Yondu is doing with that kid.”

“Ain’t my place to ta say.”

Alright. If he wasn’t going to get those answers then there were others he would be just as happy to ask for. “What caused the mutiny?”

“Capt’n’s business.”

Fucker. Stakar was through dealing with him, it was clear the man was loyal to a fault. “Alright,” he said after a pause. “You can sit in the brig and think this over.”

Obfonteri had the nerve to look offended, so Stakar continued, “I don’t give a damn if you were involved in this mutiny or not. The way I see it, the First Mate’s job is to question the captain. Tell me: you ever try and stop Yondu from trafficking kids or try and let any of us know before it was too late? Before any of them died?” Ignoring the other man’s glare, he turned to the man who was tasked with watching Obfonteri. “Arket, you think Martinex would let me get away with breaking the code?”

“No, sir!” Arket shook his head quickly. Stakar smirked at Obfonteri.

“Get him out of my sight,” he said to Arket.

“One thing,” Obfonteri said as they started to put the cuffs back on him. “Whats you savin’ the cap’n for if ya’s so mad at us?”

Stakar bristled. Then he shoved by Kraglin with a snarl of, “No funny business. You aren’t Ravagers anymore, cause any trouble and my men are authorized to shoot on sight.”

Apparently, the man didn’t know when to stop. “Ain’t outta the goodness o’ yer heart, Cap’n reckons you ain’t got one.”

Stakar turned sharply on his heel, fully prepared to punch Kraglin in the face, but before he could the man’s head jerked back and blood spurted from his nose. Arket at least managed to look slightly apologetic as he pulled his fist back from the now unconscious man. “With all due respect, he had it coming.”

The admiral shrugged. “The way I see it, it’s easier to get him to the brig this way.”

He waited until Arket was out of sight with Kraglin’s limp body - he’d be fine, Stakar had seen him take a hell of a lot worse - to pinch the bridge of his nose and groan. This day just can’t get any worse, he thought bitterly, wondering at what point he could dump all his duties on Martinex and get himself something to drink. Not soon enough.

His comm buzzed. He clicked to answer it. “Kid’s missing,” said the voice on the other side. Oh hell.

Chapter Text

Peter was good at moving quickly through air vents, the biggest obstacle that he had faced so far in his trek through the Starhawk was that it was nowhere near as noisy as the Elector. The ship he was used to calling home creaked and groaned constantly, meaning that every small noise was either blamed on the ship itself or the Orloni infestation. It didn’t help that he had started coughing, no doubt a side effect of the broken ribs Taserface had given him.

Unfortunately, the Starhawk seemed to be kept in near perfect condition. A-holes, Peter thought bitterly as he was forced to pause and wait, totally still, for a group of Ravagers to pass underneath him.

Either they hadn’t noticed his absence yet (unlikely), or they hadn’t sent out a ship wide message to inform everyone that there was a missing kid on board. If Stakar’s men were anything like Yondu’s, Peter supposed the later was a better guess since anything else would likely get him killed by a hungry crew.

It would be a helluva lot easier if aliens just probed you and stuck you back where they found you like in the movies, he decided. Of course, there were times that he wasn’t sure he would have been any better off on Earth - even if you were stuck with a bunch of a-holes, space was fun - but he kept that to himself.

As another Ravager passed under him, Peter blinked in alarm realizing that he was carrying a body. Kraglin! He pushed his face up against the narrow slits that allowed air to exit the vents and gaped as the man carried the Elector’s first mate below him. Kraglin was completely motionless, and Peter couldn’t tell if his chest was rising and falling or not, seeing as how the man was being carried over the stranger’s shoulder. Panic welled up in his throat, wondering who had attacked first, Kraglin or whoever had put him in that shape. Peter started coughing, hiding the noises in his coat. At first, he didn’t notice the stain of blood on the red of his jacket, but when he wiped his mouth with his hand, he couldn’t fail to miss it. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. He needed to get to help and soon.

Please be alive, he thought desperately, squinting down the hall after Kraglin and his captor (who had thankfully been too busy dealing with Kraglin’s gangly form to notice Peter’s coughing). He wasn’t overly fond of Kraglin, but if the first mate truly was dead, then even he had to admit Yondu was several times more likely to do something stupid. Once the two passed under him, Peter hurried the rest of the way over the hall and into the wall. Traveling through the vents in the walls was easiest, as they tended to be better insulated and therefore you could risk a bit more noise. For a moment, he considered going after Kraglin but thought better of it. Even if the man was alive, it wasn’t like Peter could do anything to help him. Instead, he set off on again on his search for Yondu, deciding that Kraglin could be his problem.

Unfortunately, the Starhawk was not set up exactly like the Elector, and Peter was surprised to find himself in the crew quarters instead of the medical bay. Grumbling angrily he dropped into the next empty room he found, immediately hunting through the desk, praying for a map.

If the Stakar’s hierarchy was anything like that of Yondu’s men, only the top ranking crew had their own room, leaving Peter to assume he’d stumbled into someone important’s space. All the more reason for something useful to be here. He would just have to hurry, although, hopefully, they wouldn’t have expected him to go to the crew quarters (he wouldn’t have planned on it, anyway).

After finding nothing useful on the top of the desk, he dropped to his knees, disappointed to see that the desk had a lock, but delighted a moment later to realize that it was broken. Grinning, he pried it open. The first thing he did - a trick Yondu had taught him - was to check for any secret compartments. Bingo.

The bottom of one of the drawers popped out, and a small tablet fell into his hands. He flicked it on, praying for a ship diagram, instead, he was rewarded with what appeared to be a child’s toy, complete with language learning software. Peter recognized it as the same one Yondu had made him use to improve his reading skills. Weird, he thought, turning the tablet over to see if it had any identifying marks. Something clattered in the hall and Peter shoved the drawer back into the desk, forgetting to put the tablet back first. He grabbed it as he ran, fleeing into the closet.

Oh hell, he thought, recognizing the strange outfits that were hung above his head, the same ones he’d seen Stakar wearing. 

“He’s not in the medical bay.” Stakar bit back a sigh of frustration at the crewmember’s words, resisting the urge to kick at the nearest wall.

“No,” he said after a moment. “I’m guessing he wouldn’t be. Keep an eye out for him though, and comm me if anything changes.”

“Yes Sir,” the medic replied. She was quiet for a moment, waiting until just before she cut the call to add, “Yondu is stable.”

Stakar nodded to himself, tapping his foot as he stared at the map of the ship he’d pulled up on his wrist monitor. He brought his comm back to his lips and typed in a familiar code. “Martinex, are you back onboard the Starhawk?”

“Not yet.”

“Remind me again, the Elector, it’s a mirror image of the Starhawk, isn’t it?”

Martinex had spent more time on the other ship when he’d been rounding up the last troublesome members of Yondu’s mutinous crew, so his memory of the ship would be better. “Not exactly, but close.”

“So if someone thought they were going to the medical bay of the Elector, where would he end up aboard the Starhawk?”

“Can this hypothetical person read signs?”

Stakar snorted dryly. “Very funny. Let’s say this hypothetical person is in the vents.”

“Hmm. Let me see.” Stakar could easily picture Martinex pulling a map identical to the one he was currently surveying of the Starhawk, but if he knew his first mate, the man would have gotten the schematics of the Elector as soon as he’d stepped on board. He thought of things like that, it was part of why Stakar was loathe to give him his own command and loose his valuable insight.

“Crew Quarters,” Martinex supplied after a moment. “Coming in from the hanger, which is where I’m assuming your hypothetical potential stowaway - who fits in the vents and is decidedly not the Terran that Obfonteri was asking about that I saw you leave with - is coming from, they’d come up on our rooms first. It would depend on which vents they were hypothetically using.”

Sometimes, Martinex was too smart for his own good.

Stakar set off down the hall, making his way as quickly as possible to his rooms, hoping his hunch was correct. “So if you were this hypothetical not-Terran stowaway, what would you do upon realizing you didn’t end up where you planned?”

“Find a map.”

“Quarters would be a good place to look,” Stakar agreed, shoving past the Ravagers in the halls with barely an apologetic nod.

“Hypothetically, I would look for the higher ranking crew’s rooms.” Martinex paused, then added, “hypothetically we’ve overlooked a large flaw in our security systems. I’ll make a note to have the vents into crew quarters sealed.”

“Hypothetically of course,” Stakar teased, turning sharply around the corner and using his wrist comm to buzz himself into the private area of the ship occupied by the officers. Having the hallway coded made little sense if there were huge vents perfect for sneaking around, he thought dejectedly.

“Hypothetically, you’re a pain,” Martinex said and cut the communication before Stakar could retort. He took a moment to send a short text of ‘oughta have you briged’ then refocused on finding Peter.

Martinex’ reply pinged through almost instantly, ‘you’d space Ruul in two days without me.’ He probably wasn’t wrong. Stakar didn’t dislike his second mate, but the Kree was nowhere near as useful as Martinex. Then again, few people were.

He decided on checking his own rooms first, if the kid was in their rooms - and if he wasn’t, Stakar was truly at a loss for where to look for him - he could potentially do the most damage in the captain’s quarters.

Stepping inside, he flicked on the light. Nothing was obviously out of place, but that didn’t mean that Peter wasn’t in there. Should have told Ruul to scan the ship, he thought bitterly. Even though having his Second Mate scan for Peter’s life sign was less reliable than Stakar would have liked, it would have been a good back up if this plan failed. He typed the Kree a quick message, instructing him to locate any abnormal signatures and report them, then resumed the search of his quarters.

“Look, kid, if you’re in here, why don’t you come out and talk.” He was met with silence. If he’s not in here, I look stupid. Stakar tried a different approach, “I had my first mate scan the ship, I know you’re here. Why don’t you just give up?”

Something clattered in his closet, as though the kid was startled. Gotcha. Stakar pulled out his desk chair and sat down, propping up his feet. “Arket said you’re scared.” His voice dropped, more gentle than before, “I’m not gonna grab you.”

He was met with silence and hoped fervently that he hadn’t imagined the noises. Hopefully, Ruul would finish up his scan of the ship soon, that way, even if Stakar was just talking to an empty room, he’d know sooner rather than later. But Stakar's gut feeling told him this was right where the kid was.

“You looked pretty beat up the last time I saw you. I’m sure you could benefit from a doctor.” Stakar just hoped it had been Taserface and his mutineers who had left Peter in such bad shape, if it had been Yondu he wouldn’t have a choice but to deal with him. Abusing kids was something Stakar firmly didn’t tolerate.

His wristwatch pinged and he looked down to see a message displayed from Ruul. ‘Something’s in your room. Ain’t normal.’

‘Terran?’ Stakar typed back.

‘No.’

Flark. Martinex had said that Obfonteri had claimed Peter was Terran, but if there was something else in his room, he probably should be worried. Stakar stood, praying that it was just the kid and the scanners were acting up again. Maybe we hit a solar storm and messed up the scanners, he thought. “Come on, kid, let me help you.”

Something coughed in his closet. Not wanting to scare the kid, he didn’t take the chance to rip the door open and grab him. But as the coughing continued and seemed to grow worse, Stakar moved closer, kneeling just outside the door. “I’m gonna open the door now,” he said softly.

When he opened the door, he was rewarded with the sight of Peter curled in the back corner, face buried in the crook of his elbow as he coughed. He stared at Stakar with wide eyes, clearly frightened.

“Do you need water?” Stakar still didn’t move closer, crouching further to make himself appear smaller and less threatening, a trick he’d picked up dealing with Yondu. “I want to help.”

“Can’t breathe.” The boy finally lowered his arm, revealing that his lips were stained with red liquid. Blood. 

Stakar winced sympathetically, holding out his hand. “You need to lie flat, come on, let me help.” Peter hesitantly took his hand, and he gently pulled him from the closet, looping an arm under his legs so he could lift him. When the boy stiffened and started to protest he explained, “I’m gonna put you on the bed.”

Peter nodded and allowed himself to be laid out, Stakar rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder as he keyed in another message to Ruul. ‘Medical team to captain’s quarters. Kid hurt.’

“Can you breathe better?”

Peter nodded, gasping and spitting up more blood. Stakar grabbed an old shirt out of his closet and pressed it to his mouth, wiping off the blood. “Help’s on the way.”

“Taserface hit me,” he whispered, still struggling to breathe.

Stakar shifted his hand to Peter’s chest, pushing up his shirt to look for any wounds. “No one’s allowed to hit you anymore, you got that?” He suspected that he felt at least one broken rib, which would explain why Peter was spitting blood. “Slow your breathing and try not to panic. You’re going to be fine.”

He took ahold of one of Peter’s hands with his spare hand, squeezing gently. Peter squeezed back. “Who are you?” he rasped.

“I knew Yondu, back before he broke the code. Name's Stakar.”

Peter nodded, his breathing speeding up again. “Calm down, shhh. Deep breaths.”

“Can’t. Help.” He looked terrified, his huge eyes staring pleadingly at Stakar, his small body shaking with each breath.

“Let’s try sitting you up.” Stakar crawled onto the bed to sit beside him and pulled Peter so that he was half in his lap. “Help’s almost here.”

‘Tell them to hurry,’ he messaged Ruul. Then he pinged a new message to Martinex, ’Find the Elector’s doctor and get me the boy’s medical history.’

Martinex called instead of texting, and before Stakar could say anything - or warn him that there was a frightened ten-year-old present - he reported, “I already found your man. Well, I found his head. I’m not sure where the rest of him is. Possibly the kitchen.”

Peter whimpered, “Whose head?” He craned his head to look at Stakar, fear flashing in his eyes.

Recalling that the mutineers had been planning on eating Peter, Stakar patted his hand reassuringly. "No one's gonna eat you."

Martinex must have heard him, remarking, “Oh? You found the hypothetical not-Terran stowaway?”

“Not now Marty,” Stakar said, slightly harsher than he’d intended. “I need you to find the kid’s medical records.” The more they knew about what had been used to treat him in the past, the easier it would be on them to treat him now.

“Of course.” Martinex paused for a moment, then added, in a completely serious voice, “Peter, don’t die, Obfonteri threatened to do some rather creative things to the Captain’s anatomy if I didn’t return you to him.”

“Y-yes sir,” Peter gasped.

“He’s not dying, it’s just a punctured lung,” Stakar interrupted, trying to keep Peter from realizing how serious his injuries were.

Sounding genuinely confused, the first mate asked, “I thought that was serious in fleshy species.” Leave it to Martinex to decide this was a good time for Stakar to give him an anatomy lesson.

“He’s going to be fine,” Stakar replied sharply. “Just get me his medical records.” Then he hung up, shifting to look down at Peter. “Don’t listen to Marty, he doesn’t understand anyone who isn’t made of rock.”

Peter nodded, as though speaking was too much. “Deep breaths,” Stakar soothed. “Help’s almost here.”

Chapter Text

His chest throbbed and he could barely draw in a breath. Even with Stakar’s help, he couldn’t manage to draw a full breath. He’s known before he crawled into the vents that there was something wrong with his chest - it had been hurting since Taserface had beaten him before throwing him into the cage with Yondu. But he hadn’t realized how bad it was until it had been far, far too late.

At least Stakar seemed nice. And he didn’t seem mad at Peter for his escape stunt, but that could potentially come later. Maybe he’s one of those ‘I’ll hit you but only when you’re in one piece’ types, Peter thought gloomily, leaning back into the Ravager. He didn’t have a choice but to accept his help if he wanted to keep living. Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, he shoved the stolen tablet further down, hoping Stakar wouldn’t notice it before he could dispose of it somewhere.

What about when he notices it’s not in his room? He knows you were in here. Peter irritably told the voice in his head to shut up.

Stakar must have picked up on his trembling, patting his hand and promising, “You’re going to be okay.”

Peter nodded, too afraid to ask about Yondu. He wasn’t stupid. He had heard their conversation earlier in the cell. Even if Stakar had saved them - and he was grateful for that, mostly - it didn’t change the fact that the two Ravagers hadn’t seemed to like each other. It also didn’t change the fact that someone had attacked - and maybe killed - Kraglin.

When the door finally opened - although, surely it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, even if it felt like forever - Peter tried to sit up, only to be caught by Stakar. “Careful, kid,” he soothed. “He’s got broken ribs,” he explained to the medics as they helped lift Peter from the bed. “Probable punctured lung.”

As the unfamiliar faces attempted to pull him away, Peter panicked and reached back for the one person he actually knew on the entire ship. Stakar batted his hand away, but murmured, “I’m right behind ya.”

Peter intended to hold him to that, struggling to look over his shoulder even as they laid him out on the stretcher. “Eyes front, kid,” Stakar ordered and Peter obeyed, still not certain what would happen if he didn’t.

He lost track of what was happening, at first his mind numbed over by the pain, and then after that, they gave him a shot of something and suddenly he didn’t feel anything anymore. His mind drifted and he was only vaguely aware of the medics talking around him as they worked to heal his damaged lung. Stakar was a near constant presence, every time Peter would build up just enough strength and coherency to sit up the man would be beside him, pushing him back down, talking in words he couldn’t bring his mind to understand.

He had no idea how long the procedure took, but by the end of it, he was no longer breathing through a tube (although he couldn’t remember when it had been put it, but the feeling of it coming out would probably haunt his nightmares). He was left in the hospital bed, told that he was safe and needed to rest, and the lights were dimmed.

Peter waited until the noise of the medical halls died down to crawl out of his bed, slipping across the floor. He was good at moving quietly, good at getting away from people and hiding out for long periods of time.

The only problem he could potentially foresee was his ribs, but the medications the doctors had given him seemed to be working well enough. He picked up his coat from the chair next to the bed, checked to make sure that everything - including the stolen tablet - was still there, and then set off.

“You going somewhere, kid?”

Peter yelped and stumbled backward for his bed, falling on the floor before he could reach it. Stakar pushed himself out of the chair he’d claimed by the door, Peter hadn’t even noticed him in the dim light of the night cycle. “Sorry,” he choked out as Stakar crouched down beside him. The admiral’s eyes gave off a faint glow, making it easy to see his tired face.

For a moment, Stakar said nothing, brushing hair off his forehead and squinting at him. “Checking on Yondu, huh?” When Peter nodded he sighed and stood, then helped Peter to his feet. “Figured you’d try something. Let’s go see him, and then it’s straight to bed. You need rest." Stakar clearly needed rest as well, but Peter kept his mouth shut, knowing that if the man was anything like Yondu he wouldn't appreciate the reminder.

“Yes sir,” Peter whispered, grabbing onto Stakar’s hand as the world suddenly started spinning.

Stakar didn’t even hesitate, effortlessly swinging Peter into his arms and carrying him the short distance to the room where Yondu was. Martinex stood guard at the door, and Peter was immediately jealous of whatever species he was that he didn’t even seem tired at all.

He opened his mouth to greet them, but Stakar cut him off, snarling, “If you say hypothetically one more time, you’re going to the brig.”

Martinex’ mouth hinged shut, and he instead offered Peter a smile. “Hello, Peter Quill, walking accident,” he greeted. Oh. Right. Peter’s face flushed red at the realization that Martinex must have read his entire medical history, including everytime he’d tripped over his own two feet, and the very embarrassing time he’d had a wet dream and woken up sobbing and thinking that his penis was broken. He’d gone to Yondu, not knowing what else to do, and the Centaurian had to drag him to the doctor who had simply started laughing once he realized what was going on. If that was in his file he hoped he never had to see Martinex or his shiny face ever again.

“Ignore him,” Stakar grumbled, although there was a note of fondness in his voice as he pushed past Peter and into the small room. Peter wriggled out of Stakar's arms and hurried across the room, stopping by Yondu’s and staring at him.

“He’s not as bad as he looks,” Stakar called to him. Peter didn’t believe him. Yondu’s skin had taken on a strange purplish hue, and he had a tube down his throat to breathe for him, as well as assorted wires and IVs that Peter couldn’t even begin to guess at the function for. But worst of all was his implant, which had been completely removed and placed on the table beside him. Yondu’s head was covered with a layer of bandages. Peter dug into his pocket, thankfully they hadn’t removed anything from his coat, and took out the parts of Yondu’s implant he had snatched up in their cell when Stakar had first dismantled it. He placed them on the table beside the rest, then darted back to where Stakar and Martinex were standing by the door.

“Done?” Stakar asked softly, reaching down to scoop him up again. “Let’s get you back to bed before you fall asleep on your feet.” 

Martinex had indeed seen every embarrassing thing that Peter’s medical file had to offer but didn’t feel the need to wave his past mistakes over his head (yet). He was having far more fun going through Yondu’s medical file, which he’d also taken, and sniggering at his misadventures. To be fair, a large amount of them seemed to involve Peter. So far, Martinex’s favorite was simply labeled “Knife wound. Suggested treatment: Antibiotics and a course in how not to piss off the first mate.”

Stakar had just rolled his eyes when Martinex had gleefully reported his findings, then said he was going to sit with Peter. “Kid’s asleep,” Martinex said, his eyes slightly narrowing. You should be too.

“I’ll be fine.”

Martinex had never met Stakar’s children, they’d died long before they’d met, but watching him scoop Peter up and carry him back to bed he felt a pang in his chest. It was clear Stakar enjoyed being around kids, Martinex couldn’t imagine how he must feel having caused the deaths of his own.

Suddenly, laughing at Yondu and Peter’s misadventures didn’t seem funny anymore.

Sitting aside the data tablet, he glared at the man on the bed. “I hope you know how much of a pain you’ve been.” Yondu didn’t - couldn’t - reply. Martinex supposed that even if he could he would just laugh. “Asshole.”

“Does that make you feel better?”

Martinex turned sharply, glowering at the smirking Kree in the doorway. “Ruul.” He liked Ruul about as much as Stakar had liked Kraglin, that was to say, he was irritated that his suggestion hadn’t been taken and convinced the other man had been given his opinion just to piss someone off. Of course, if anyone ever asked Martinex why Ruul had been promoted to Second Mate he had a long list of reasons, none of which would include the very blunt ‘Stakar picked a Kree to piss off Yondu after the exile.’

Ruul laughed. He was friendly enough, which made Martinex’ dislike of him even harder to explain. “I heard everyone’s expected to live.”

“So far.”

Ruul paused, then looked back to Martinex. “The kid’s a Terran?” Martinex passed him the tablet with the medical file and watched as he read it. Ruul frowned, handing it back once he was satisfied. “I scanned the ship. There aren’t any full-blooded Terrans on board.”

“Terran hasn’t made contact yet, he couldn’t be a half-breed.”

“I’m telling you he is,” Ruul objected, thrusting his own tablet to Martinex for the first mate to read.

His eyebrows furrowed as he read, unable to fully comprehend what he was seeing. Ruul had done his job well, running multiple scans on various to ensure that it wasn’t just a fluke, but the results didn’t lie: Peter Quill was about as human as Stakar, that being, in appearance only.

Martinex felt uneasy and threw a sidelong glance to Yondu, determined that the Centaurian had to know about his mysterious mascot/crewmate/pet/snack. “You’re right,” he conceded. Ruul had to be aware of how much those words physically pained the first mate and he wisely kept his mouth shut. “Not a Terran. We’ll need to tell Stakar in the morning.” He snapped off the datapad and handed it back to Ruul. “Don’t tell anyone, I doubt it’s well known.” Then as an afterthought, he added, “Dismissed.”

Ruul thumped his chest twice before swaggering out of the room.

The first mate paced, wishing - not for the first time - that he needed the eight to twelve hours of sleep that many of his companions did. It would certainly make his life less boring if he wasn’t constantly waiting for them to wake up. But wishing didn’t make it a reality, so he sat by the door and reopened his data tablet, flicking open a random report, and forcing himself to concentrate.

Everything would simply have to wait until morning. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

Chapter Text

Stakar wasn’t there when Peter woke up.

He wasn’t surprised really, of course, he had better things to do than sit around with an injured kid he barely knew, but he couldn’t help the slight pang in his chest. Someone was there though, and when Peter first saw him his heart leapt into his chest. “Yondu!”

A closer look revealed that it wasn’t, in fact, Yondu, but another blue alien, even before the man said, “Nah, the name’s Ruul.” Peter blinked, trying to figure out what exactly he was looking at. “I’m Stakar’s second mate.”

“I’m Peter,” he said, for lack of anything better to say.

“I know.” At least he wasn’t the only one at a loss for words. “The captain asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“You don’t have to,” Peter said softly, pulling his knees up to his chest. “I was going to sit with Yondu.” As much as Peter hated sitting in hospitals - not that he’d been in one since his mom’s death - he didn’t want to leave Yondu. Besides, he still had Stakar’s stolen data tablet burning a hole in his pocket, and he couldn’t exactly dispose of it with the second mate following him around.

Ruul seemed unconvinced, but at the same time, something told Peter he didn’t want to be in the medical ward all day anyway. “You’re sure?” Peter nodded, putting on his best ‘oh woe is me’ face. “Alright,” he muttered after a moment, pulling a comm from his pocket and tossing it to Peter. It was as if he’d been hoping to get out of there. “That’ll get you straight through to me if you need anything. Don’t wander off, the medics will stop you.”

Peter hid his glee as he caught the comm, tucking it into the inner pocket of his jacket. “Thank you.”

“Stay out of trouble,” Ruul said sternly already making his way out the door. “Yondu’s the next door to the left.”

Waiting until he was alone, Peter managed to push himself to his feet and creep into Yondu’s room. His ribs still hurt a fair amount, but they were nowhere near as bad as they’d been the day before, so he pushed onwards stubbornly. Once in Yondu’s room, he paused, staring at the unconscious man on the bed, suddenly uncertain that he wanted to spend the rest of the day staring at him. Shit.

Since he’d already run off Ruul, he didn’t want to call the other back, too stubborn to admit he’d changed his mind, so instead, Peter crouched near the door to Yondu’s room and fiddled with a vent, popping it open. You’d think they’d learn, he thought, pulling himself in.

Maybe he could sneak the tablet back into Stakar’s room before it was missed. Or maybe he would just hide out in the vents all day. 

My plans are shit. Peter sprawled on his back, glaring up at the ceiling of the vent, trying to ignore his rumbling stomach. Of course, he’d failed to find Stakar’s room - admittedly, he hadn’t tried all that had - and then he couldn’t even find his way back to the medical ward.

Ignoring his rumbling stomach, Peter pulled the datapad from his pocket and powered it on, flicking through the various installed programs. Besides the language learning program he’d discovered the day before, there was also an application about M-Ship maintenance, one on dealing with anxiety, another that played calming sounds to help you sleep, a camera, and a few games. With nothing better to do, Peter opened one of the games.

He grew bored of it - a racing simulator that he recalled having played with Yondu - quickly, and started snooping through the other apps. With nothing else holding his attention for long, he finally opened the camera, clicking to see what photos it had stored.

The first showed what appeared to be a younger Stakar, sitting beside Martinex and a woman Peter didn’t recognize. The three of them appeared in many more of the photos, alongside a large, snake-like creature, a huge man, and a robotic head that someone always seemed to be carrying. They all looked absurdly happy. Peter clicked to a video, pressing play.

“Get in here!” Stakar was grinning, one arm wrapped tightly around the neck of the woman from the photographs, the other gesturing toward the person holding the camera.

“Coward!” the woman accused, grabbing the robot head. “Look, brat, do as he says or I’ll eat you.”

“Aleta!” Martinex appeared in the frame as the photographer laughed, something strangely familiar about his rumbling voice. The Pluvarian wasn’t done, “You’re frightening him! Stakar, make your wife behave.”

“He couldn’t if he tried,” the woman - Aleta - sniggered, swatting Stakar upside the head.

“Nonsense,” the giant rumbled, crouching down so he was in view. “Yondu knows Aleta is joking.”

The frame lurched and ended abruptly.

Peter just stared, open-mouthed. Yondu? He scrolled to the next photo, and, sure enough, there was a photographic of all of them, with a much smaller Yondu sandwiched in the middle. Even without his implant, it was impossible to mistake the Centaurian’s metal filled grin.

“No way,” he whispered out loud, flicking through more of the camera roll, staring at the pictures. Most of them were of the others, but every now and again he stumbled on photographs containing Yondu, who usually looked as though he didn’t want to be in them. He was usually right at Stakar’s side, close enough that they almost seemed to be a strange two-headed creature. Stakar never seemed to mind, always having one arm around him, almost protectively. Peter was suddenly reminded of the scene in the cell, where Stakar had run his hand over Yondu’s head, feeling his implant. There had been something more to that touch than he’d initially realized, something almost paternalistic.

Sometime during his perusal of the camera, the comm in his pocket buzzed, and a familiar voice cut through. “I hear you aren’t in the medical bay anymore.”

“Oh. Hey Stakar.” The photos he’d found had made him feel much less wary of the other, something told him that even if something had come between Stakar and Yondu, the man in the photos wasn’t capable of hurting a kid. “I’m hungry.”

“I’m hardly surprised.” He almost sounded amused, and Peter bit back a grin. “If you exit the vents through the grate on your right and then head down the second hall to your left I’ll meet you.” Stakar paused, then added, “If your lungs are holding up.”

“They’re fine.” They stung a bit, but he could handle it. He’d gotten far worse from Yondu and his crew over the years, not to mention the fights he picked at school while he was still on Earth. “I’ll be there.”

He shoved the comm back into his pocket and crawled toward the grate Stakar had indicated, wondering how long Stakar had been tracking his movements on a map. Probably the whole morning. Peter dropped to the ground with minimal pain and hurried to meet Stakar in the other hall. As soon as Stakar came into view, he slowed his footsteps, not wanting to appear as though he needed attention.

Stakar knelt as he got closer. “May I see your ribs?” he asked. After receiving a tentative nod from Peter, he reached out and shifted Peter’s shirt out of the way, running his hands gently across his chest. “Everything seems alright.” He stood, and ruffled Peter’s hair.

“Uh, sir?”

“Yes?”

Peter swallowed his nerves before they got the best of him, and pulled the stolen data tablet from his pocket. “This is yours,” he muttered, looking down at his feet.

Stakar took the tablet, tucking it into his own pocket. “I wondered when you’d be done with that.” Before Peter could do anything but give a startled yelp, Stakar simply told him, “Of course I knew you had it. Kid, it barely fits in your pocket.”

“Oh.”

The admiral just laughed, patting his head. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat and I’ll show you around."

"How's Yondu?" 

Stakar sighed, clearly it wasn't a question he had wanted to answer. "He's gonna live," he said after a moment's hesitation. "He might be out of it for a while though. But, in the end, he'll wake up."

"Is he gonna be himself?" Peter could remember the hushed conversations he hadn't been meant to overhear, people saying that the cancer was eating at his mom's brain, that it was eroding away the person Meredith was. Even if she lives, one doctor had told his grandfather, we don't know if she'll be the same. As much as Yondu could be an asshole, Peter didn't want him to change.

"We don't know," Stakar confessed. "His brain got pretty fried." 

"Oh." 

Stakar knelt back in front of him, gently clasping Peter's shoulder. "Look at me," he murmured, waiting until Peter met his eyes. "I want you to know that no matter what happens, you're always gonna be welcome here. Alright? I'm not going to let anything happen to you." 

"Thanks." Then, before he could stop himself, he burst into tears. 

Chapter Text

He hadn’t been expecting Peter to start sobbing.

He probably should have.

Stakar remained kneeling beside Peter, uncertain of what he ought to do. Thankfully, Peter did the thinking for him, lunging forward and burying his face in Stakar’s chest. “Shhhh,” he murmured. “It’s going to be alright.”

“No, it’s not!” Peter wailed, Stakar winced at the high pitch of his voice. “E-everyone’s dead!”

“No one’s dead,” Stakar objected, stroking his hair and doing his best to remain calm himself. “Well, Taserface is dead, but do you miss him?”

“You killed Kraglin!”

As soon as the words spilled out of Peter’s mouth, Stakar could feel the change in him as he stiffened involuntarily. He tried to pull back, no doubt to flee, but Stakar tightened his grip, flopping onto the floor so he could properly pull Peter into his lap. “Kraglin’s not dead. He’s fine, actually.” Remembering that Ruul had knocked out the first mate just the day before he asked, “Did you see him yesterday while you were in the vents?” 

Peter nodded, still looking terrified as though afraid he had revealed some great secret he wasn’t supposed to mention.

“He attacked me and Ruul knocked him out, but he’s fine now.”

“Why’d he attack you?” It was clear Peter still didn’t believe him, at least not entirely.

Stakar wasn’t about to tell Peter that Kraglin’s attack had been purely verbal, that wouldn’t win him any points with the frightened child. “I was interrogating him about the mutiny and I think he thought I accused him of starting it.” 

Still suspicious, Peter continued to sniffle.

“Do you want to go see him?”

Peter thought it over, wide eyes watching Stakar curiously. “I want to trust you,” he whispered, then buried his face in Stakar’s chest. “I don’t wanna see him,” he mumbled, voice muffled by Stakar’s shirt.

He stroked Peter’s head, wrapping one arm under the boy’s legs and hooking the other around his chest, easily lifting him off the ground. Peter continued sniffling as he made his way down the hall.

“It’s gonna be alright, kid,” he murmured.

“Is it?”

“Probably.” He sighed, shifting the kid’s not inconsiderable weight. “Maybe not. We’re trying.” If there was one thing Stakar would freely admit, it was that he really wasn’t that great with kids. They made him nervous and he tended to start rambling, and then he typically ended up treating them like mini adults. It was a recipe for disaster.

Peter’s tears were finally starting to slow down as Stakar palmed the bio-lock on the door to his quarters. “I thought we were getting food,” the boy muttered as he was deposited on the bed, looking around Stakar’s room with wide eyes.

“Benefits of being in charge: I can make someone bring food here.” He grinned, grabbing his desk chair and pulling it toward the bed, sitting down and facing Peter. He sent a ping through for Ruul to arrange something to be brought to them, warding off his protests with a reminder that it was technically his fault Peter had escaped. 

“But why are we here?”

“Hiding from our problems and pretending they don’t exist?” Stakar suggested, shrugging. That counted as a coping method, right? ‘Absolutely not,’ said a voice in his head that sounded far too much like Martinex. 

Peter didn’t seem convinced either, but he said nothing. Finally, after a moment of awkward silence, he muttered, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, kid,” Stakar promised. “None of this is your fault.”

“I bled on your clothes.”

He’d forgotten about that, it felt like eons ago, even though it had just been the evening before. “They needed cleaning,” he said, shrugging and adding another mental note to have that dealt with.

“I ran away.”

“Are you trying to piss me off?” It seemed as though Peter was giving him a list of all the reasons that he ought to be upset with him, which made him wonder what, exactly the kid was used to.

Peter shrugged. It seemed all the fight had gone out of him, as though his two escapes from Stakar in as many days had worn him through. “It’s easier to deal with people when they’re yelling. Then I can just yell back.”

Before Stakar could say anything else on the subject, his door opened and Ruul strode in, either completely oblivious to what he’d just interrupted or willfully ignorant in order to get revenge on Stakar for having forced him to bring food.

“Dinner’s here!”

“It’s lunch,” Peter said plainly, looking nervous as the Kree practically threw a sandwich at him. “I think.”

“It’s whatever the hell I say it is,” Ruul snapped, giving a noticeably smaller sandwich to Stakar who treated him to a rude gesture when Peter wasn’t looking. The Kree just smiled broadly.

Stakar didn’t fail to miss Peter’s sudden flinch or the way his eyes flicked to Ruul as though debating if he was going to retaliate against the boy’s joke. Stakar stepped on Ruul’s foot and his eyes flicked to the door. Taking the hint, his second mate hurried for the door, shouting, “Have fun!”

Peter watched him leave. “He didn’t poison these, did he?”

Stakar snorted. “He isn't that bright.” Ruul was good at following orders. Mostly. A little. Okay, he was good at letting Stakar take petty revenge on Yondu by having a Kree around which was good enough. 

“Like Kraglin?”

“Obfonteri’s a hell of a lot smarter than he wants anyone to know.” Unfortunately. Stakar took a bite of his sandwich and hid a grimace at the taste. I hate these, he thought, making a mental note to stick Ruul on cleaning duty as revenge.

Thankfully, Peter seemed to like it more than Stakar. “I’m really sorry,” the kid mumbled, looking anywhere but at the other as he shoved his sandwich in his mouth.

Enough apologies, please. Stakar shrugged. It wasn’t about the food of course, but it was easier to pretend it was. “I’ve gotten worse than crumbs on that bed. I’ve done worse on that bed,” he muttered wryly, mostly to himself, forgetting that the only other person in the room was a ten year old. “Like blood. I meant blood.” Definitely blood.

“I know what fucking is.”

“Oh.” Well, that posed a lot of questions. Potential problems too. Stakar swallowed a mouthful of food and wished he had a glass of beer. “So, uh, they’ve never touched you, have they?” The conversation was getting more painful by the minute. 

He couldn’t imagine Yondu having allowed such a thing - not given what Stakar knew of his own history. But the rest of his crew? Sure there were a few good ones - Stakar made a mental note to see if Tullk had made it out okay, he’d always liked the old bastard - but on the whole, they were, well, Ravagers.

“What? No. Eww!” Peter wrinkled his nose and Stakar relaxed. “I walked in on Horuz and a whore once. I thought he was trying to kill her so I knocked him out. Yondu thought it was hilarious.” 

“At least it wasn’t Taserface,” Stakar pointed out and then mentally kicked himself. Time to change the subject before he scarred the kid anymore.

“Eww!” Peter was laughing, his nose scrunched up as he clearly thought about it. “That’s disgusting.”

Stakar took another bite of his meal. “Speaking of dead people, would you like me to get you a list of who survived the mutiny?” he asked, watching his face carefully for a reaction. “You must have had some friends.”

“Not really,” Peter grumbled. “I just hated some of them less than others.”

“What about me?”

“I dunno.”

“I’m willing to be your friend if you want it.”

Peter glanced up at him, eyes gleaming curiously. “Did they find my walkman?” he asked after a moment.

“Your what?”

“It’s an earth - uh, Terran - music player.”

“Uhhh. I’ll see about getting it.” Stakar sent Martinex a new message, ask Yondu’s crew for the kid’s music player. They ought to know what it is. Hopefully. He had sent Martinex back to the Elector, to keep an eye on the rambunctious crew and to get him a list of survivors, there was no reason the other couldn’t look for the kid’s toy at the same time. “Anything else?”

“Nah,” Peter grumbled, pulling his knees up to his chest. "I just want this to be over." 

Me too, kid. Me too.