Chapter Text
Yondu Udonta likes to think that he is someone who is, on the whole, good with children.
His own parents raised him well, giving him the love and encouragement that any child needs growing up. Needs in order to become an adult who is confident and secure. Yondu is confident and secure enough to run his own ship, and trust his crew.
So he likes to think that he has learned everything that he needs to know about raising a child that same way. He learned it from his parents as they learned it from theirs.
Centaurians come of age at 20, so even though Kraglin is approaching sixteen and nearly an adult by Xandarian standards, that doesn’t mean shit to Yondu, and the God’s only know when a Terran comes of age but he is guessing it isn’t at 8 years old. So right now Yondu is faced with two children and a piece of machinery that has had water poured into it and has, naturally, broken as a result.
“Anyone care to tell me who was responsible for this little fiasco?” He says, kneeling down so that his gaze is between the eye level of the two boys. “Talk quick.”
“Me.” Kraglin says straight away. “I tripped him and he dropped the cup.”
“Why’d you trip him?”
“Thought it'd be funny.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
“Right.” He raises his hand to pat Kraglin on the shoulder, because he’s admitted his fault and that deserves praise. But then he notices Peter flinch, his eyes fixed on his playmate with...surely that isn’t fear. Is he afraid of Kraglin? No, they're thick as thieves and have been since the Terran was brought on board just over a week ago…
The boy’s eyes flick back to Yondu, look into his eyes, and plead.
And Yondu realises. Peter is afraid FOR Kraglin.
“Go to your bunk, Kraglin. We’ll talk later.”
“But?”
“Now.” Yondu’s tone and expression make it clear that argument is not wise, and the Xandarian teen quickly disappears, leaving Yondu, Peter, and the broken machinery alone in the corridor.
Yondu raises his hand again, and Peter flinches almost immediately, eyes scrunched shut and breathing hitched.
Yondu’s had plenty of people be afraid of him, and he rather enjoys the power. But he has never had a child be afraid of him before, and he finds that the feeling makes him sick to his stomach.
“What you scared of, boy?” He says quietly.
“He tripped me ‘cause I was teasing him, because his hair’s all silly like. I mean...it’s not silly...I just. I shouldn’t have gone teasing him. It’s my fault the machine got all broke.” He closes his eyes even tighter, trembling. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. Don’t punish my friend. It’s me that deserves it. But I am sorry. I really am.”
Yondu picks up the machine. He isn't all that sure what it is. Something to do with the oxygen regulation system.
“Did you want to drop the cup on this thing, boy?”
Peter shakes his head, and his eyes peel open.
“Then why should I punish you for doing something you didn’t want to do, hmm? Seems a bit like a waste of time to me. You already know it shouldn’t have happened.”
The confusion on Peter’s face is so stark and vulnerable that Yondu wants to hug him the way he used to hug the young hunters in his tribe, when they had fallen, or missed a shot, or confessed problems that they felt no one else could hear. Centaurians firmly believed in the power of physical contact and comfort during times of upset. The power it had to hold the body, keeping it still and together so the mind could concentrate on regrouping. On healing.
But not with Peter. Not yet. Because he isn't Centaurian, and Yondu has learned the hard way not to apply his cultural ideals to individuals of other races before trust has been established. Most of the Ravager crew are already there, and accept that a hand on the shoulder, a hug or foreheads pressed together is part of the territory.
But Peter. Peter flinches as soon as Yondu twitches his hand, and the Captain knows now that this isn’t a cultural thing. His research has shown him enough images and documents from Terra to know that physical contact is not an alien concept, especially among children and those considered, as Yondu hopes to become, a parental figure. So why does Peter fear even the chance of contact?
“Do you think I’m going to hit you, boy?”
And when the Terran boy nods, it takes all of Yondu’s self control to not punch the hull plating beside them.