Chapter Text
Left foot.
Right foot.
Right foot again.
Left foot.
Repeat.
Left foot ahead, bring the right foot to the left. A pause. Right foot away, then bring the left foot to the right foot.
Gamora was known as the most feared and deadly assassin of the galaxy. She knew exactly how her body worked, how to inflict maximum damage with minimum movement. She knew how to allure her targets and make them drop their guard with a sway of her hips.
She did not know how to dance.
She felt as mechanical as she really was. There was no purpose to her movements, not much logic either. "Dancing" appeared to be nothing but a way to pass the time, or a waste of time really. Although - as the idiot who liked to be called Star-Lord demonstrated - it can prove useful in a fight against a deadly opponent. Useful distraction, that is.
But she liked the music, and dancing seemed to be enjoyable. And she wanted to enjoy it. Thanos - the murderer who liked to pass himself as her father - would hate to see her dancing. He would hate even more to see her enjoy dancing. And a dark part of her being rejoiced in that. That part of her wanted to embrace every emotion she had experienced since meeting her new companions. For so long, she had known nothing but obedience and detachment, a hidden hate for Thanos and his ways, and an unreachable desire to be better, to be good. And loneliness.
The orb and its devastating power Thanos wanted to use against the galaxy had been the release she was waiting for, her way to escape Thanos' clutches. She had been sure she would die, but at least she would die doing the right thing, protecting the galaxy from the monster he was. She would finally be free.
Except she hadn't been alone. Instead, she had been thrown amidst a band of thieves and thugs - one of whom had been intent on killing her. She had found they were all as lonely as she felt and together, in the most crazy way imaginable, they had defeated Ronan and thwarted Thanos' plans. They had basically saved the galaxy, with only twelve percent of a plan and a whole lot of dumb luck, as they liked to call it. More importantly, they had found friends, and it was a concept Gamora found as difficult to wrap her head around as "dancing". But that deep dark, forgotten part of her somehow liked the uncertain feelings she felt around them because strangely enough, she trusted them.
So she tried dancing whenever the others were not looking, copying Quill's movements, relishing the fact Thanos would resent her for it. She definitely needed practice however, she thought as she quickly drew her sword and pretended to polish it as Rocket walked past her with what looked suspiciously like an unfinished bomb in his paws.
Life aboard the Milano had turned out to be surprisingly easy. Their bickering was still omnipresent and had started as soon as they took off (trying to decide what defined "good" and what was considered "bad" and how could they do both), but unlike before, it all felt good-natured. Quill had been uncharacteristically quiet during the whole exchange as he flew them into outer-space, a smile constantly tugging on his lips and his eyes wet while "Awesome mix vol.2" played in the background.
Gamora mused that the Infinity Stone had connected them somehow. It was logical : they had shared an immense power, and together managed to overcome the destruction of it. It had created a profound bond between them (or rather strengthened what they had themselves created while saving the Galaxy) to the point they couldn't imagine walking away. The Stone had also left another trace on them as they would sometimes get lost in their own thoughts while a dizzying haze of deep purple and blue threatened to drown them. But it always only took the voice of a friend to snap them out of it. Another reason why they didn't even consider going their separate ways.
Not only that, but Rocket supposed the Stone had jump-started Groot's regeneration, as he had still been tightly holding onto one of those broken twigs when he reached for Drax's hand. Only an hour later, the same twig was lazily shuddering in his clenched paw.
So they had stayed together, watching Groot steadily grow and learning how to live as a family.
-
Less than an hour out of Xandar's atmosphere, they were all eager to get back to some action (having deservingly recuperated in the citadel after saving the Galaxy). But Quill had insisted they not leave the ship until his new tape of music was over. He had actually gone back downstairs to listen to the end of it alone. Gamora understood : this last song would most probably be the last thing his mother ever gave him. When the Milano had gone silent for several moments he came back up, and Gamora noticed a very subtle change in his demeanor, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
"So, Campers!" he had said, eyes dry and goofy smile in place, "Where to next?"
After much arguing, they had decided that doing a bit of both good and bad would mean bringing down Big Bads and being allowed to kill them. Gamora didn't see any wrong in that, as long as it was only evildoers. Just like they did with Ronan and his army.
Doing both also meant taking stuff from people who were 100% dicks, giving some of that stuff to the poor and not-dicks, and keeping a small amount to themselves - being real Robin-Hoods, as Quill had put it. That stuff was money, essentially, although it wasn't above some of them to steal food or shiny objects. Rocket and Quill had especially "grabby hands" and had immediately started a childish battle "to see who stole better". Infants, they were. Gamora doubted Xandar and Nova Prime would appreciate it. But as long as they targeted only complete dicks, she thought as they split between them a couple thousand units and a thank-you cake (Groot waved his tiny arms so as not to be forgotten), it offered a nice compromise and it would at least satisfy some of her teammates' psychopathic tendencies. They did have to live with each other's said tendencies constantly.
The Milano itself was still somewhat cramped, but Rhomann Dey had apparently thought to add four "rooms" in the reconstructed rear of the vessel. They were basically big boxes with a single rectangular window, a bed, table, chair and a sink, accessible with a ladder opening on the sub-level corridor. But it meant having a space that was only their own, which was nice. Since Groot didn't need a room all to himself, Quill had begrudgingly but excitedly (a strange mix, Gamora had thought) agreed to move from his own cramped quarters to the fourth box, therefore liberating more space for the common area to everyone's relief.
After only two hundred hours of thieving however, they realized what the title "Guardians of the Galaxy" really implied, as Nova Prime contacted them. While Ronan's followers stayed wisely hidden for the moment, a new Organization had taken advantage of his absence and decided to start a new reign of terror on the population of some small backwater planet and its two moons. They actually weren't very well organized, and the Guardians took care of them easily enough. But it opened their eyes on their new responsibility. Xandar had lost much of its man-power during the battle against Ronan, and didn't hold back on using its new Guardians as they sent them on three separate missions in only one reset. That was a lot, and resulted in many bumps and bruises for their team, and a whole bunch of dead guy on the other side. They were tired, but strangely elated. They were doing good, saving people, and it was a pleasant feeling although still new to them.
-
Three resets in, and Ronan's sympathizers had started getting brave. With the Guardians own little soundtrack playing in the background, Groot had reached the height of Drax's knee and had started taking small walks out of his pot, and Rocket and Quill were now in the throes of their little war since they started stealing from each other.
"God-damm-IT, RACCOON!" came Star-Lord's yell from somewhere in the Milano's belly. "I told you, hands OFF my Walkman, it's the limit!" His indignant head appeared as he climbed the ladder to the cockpit, where Rocket was nonchalantly tinkering away.
Prepare yourself, you know it's a must, the music hummed in the background.
"First of all, I still ain't no raccoon." Rocket said. "And well that's not very fair is it," the device in his hand exploded weakly, and he threw it away, "that you get to have a special something that's hands-off, but I don't."
Peter eyed the discarded piece of machinery, muttering a "you better clean that up later" before he put his hands on his hips, puffing his chest out and trying to appear as tall as possible. "Okay, you get one hands-off thing, 'cause that's only fair and I'm a good Captain" he said, Rocket scoffed, and Quill narrowed his eyes. "So what's the thing?"
"You already took it, you thieving scumbag!" Rocket stood up, pointing an accusing finger on Peter.
Gotta have a friend in Jesus
"Well maybe you should have said something before I took it!"
"How's I supposed to know you'd try and get your dirty hands on that?"
"Oh yeah, right, because" Peter shook his head, "we totally haven't been snatching stuff from day one."
"You have," Drax butted in from his place on the nearest seat.
Ignoring him, Peter hesitated as Rocket (who was also ignoring Drax) crossed his arms. "What's the thing again?" he asked, looking around as if he would spot said thing.
"My last project. It's important and I want it back," Rocked said, lifting his snout in the air.
"Alright then, you give me back my Walkman, and I'll get it for you, deal?" Then a mischievous glint appeared in Quill's eyes. "Or! First one to find what's his..." a dramatic pause, "is the winner! My Walkman's still on the Milano right?" he asked, looking suddenly alarmed.
Gonna recommend you to the spirit in the sky
The same glint made its way to Rocket's glare. "HA! Prepare to lose, humie! I got keen eyes, me! An' of course it's still on your piece of crap ship, I ain't 100% a dick either, pal," he looked offended. "What do I get if I find mine first?"
"And no destroying it either, it stays intact no matter what and you don't get to keep that! However, you do get to find your thing before I find mine, which is cool, you get to brag about it, which is even better, and most importantly you get the sweetest thing there is : one victory over the great and mighty Star-Lord." He spread his arms, looking positively full of himself.
Never been a sinner, I never sinned
"Whatever you say shit-lord," Rocket muttered. "I'm goin' for that sweet victory" He flashed a canine, ignored Gamora's exasperated sigh ("Infants") and slid a gun over his shoulder.
"Wow hey! What are you gonna need that gun for?!"
Before Rocket could reply, Gamora spoke up again. "Not sorry to interrupt, but Quill we're being tailed."
"What?" All indignation and amusement were gone from Peter's face in a split second.
"Looks like you're gonna have to postpone your little game," Gamora said, voice cold. Peter checked the screen on his control console, which told him they were in fact being followed.
Rocket walked over to the console as well and peeked through the windshield to see nothing. "What do they want now? Who's it?"
Peter frowned. "They're cloaked. But they're not Ravagers I can tell you that, or from Xandar Fleet. My ship would have picked up on that." The line between his eyebrows deepened. "Think it could be Ronan's followers? Thanos'?"
"Surely they would not dare attack us directly, knowing the fate that befell Ronan at our hands?" Drax said.
"An' Ronan proved how stupid they could be," Rocket pointed out. "No offense," he added to Gamora.
She proceeded to look exactly that. "I was never a follower of Ronan."
"Look," Peter interrupted. "We're almost at the Satellite. Maybe they're just going there too. While invisible... And using the same route..." He trailed off, looking uncertain.
"Do you believe in such coincidence?" Gamora asked him.
"Yeah, no. Not really," the Terran sighed, rubbing a spot behind his ear. "We'll just have to keep an eye out."
Groot - who was currently strolling around the Milano - hummed his approval as he shuffled by.
That's where I'm gonna go when I die
They kept going in the silence of space, Quill's Spirit in the Sky playing faintly. Soon enough, the Satellite L'cape appeared at the turn of its deserted planet. It wasn't much more than an enormous scrap of metal lazily floating around a medium-size inhospitable planet, but it had a market and the cheapest fuel on this side of the Galaxy.
When I die and they lay me to rest
They almost patiently waited - for way too long in all of their opinions - to secure a parking slot, the mysterious and still physically hidden vessel hovering to their left, its presence still registering on the Milano's computer.
I'm gonna go to the place that's the best
-
Once on the ground, Drax, Rocket and Gamora ventured into the market to get new supplies, with a warning to stay alert. Tiny Groot stayed on the ship, waving them away. He was not yet strong enough to go on long walk, but mostly they didn't want to lose him in the crowd. Quill made sure he got what the Milano needed to keep going, while staying close and keeping an eye on his ship. He also managed to talk the shady-looking clerk into lowering his price, charming as ever.
Gamora returned quickly with a bag of generic edibles (Quill hoped there was something at least slightly good in there). A few moments later, Rocket stumbled back hands full, saying "We've got company" before disappearing in the Milano, eager to get back to Groot. Quill and Gamora looked around worryingly as Drax also came back a mere second later. As Peter closely watched his surroundings, he noticed that Drax indeed wasn't alone. Yet he immediately relaxed.
Their very own Destroyer was surrounded by little figures, half hiding, half jogging to keep up with his giant's pace. Nervous, but excited. The closest one was absolutely tiny, and was sporting red goggles and a painted red jacket. Peter nudged Gamora - who was surveying the over side of the port - in the side with his elbow, pointing a finger in the approaching Drax's direction. And the children. Two of the kids where roughly painted a bright green, one of them holding a plastic stick as a fake sword. Another was also sprayed with green, in a pattern of leaves and vines. Another had red stripes all over. Gamora looked at them, stunned, and something overwhelmed her. Wonder? Fondness?
Peter was grinning. So was Drax. As he reached their level, he murmured. "I believe I intimidate them, but they insisted on following my footsteps." His eyes where wet. "They remind me of my daughter," he confessed, tenderness in his voice. Peter put a hand on Drax's shoulder, and his grin widened and nearly split his face as he noticed the tiny Star-Lord was also wearing fluffy pointy ears on top of his head.
"Hey," the Terran said, getting down on one knee. The kid watched him behind red-goggled eyes, but still kept his distance. Peter pointed to the device behind his ear. "I've got one of 'em too, wanna see?" He waited for the shy nod, before activating his mask. He tilted his head as it closed on his face.
The children all jumped back, delighted gasps escaping them. They broke into giggles, and started a game of tag, chasing each other and happily screaming. Peter stood up, faced his two companions as he rasped "Luke, I am your father. Pshh!" They both looked at him, perplexed.
"Sorry," he said, retracting the mask. "Got lost into thinking I was a kid too." He turned back around and watched the last children running away. "That was nice."
"It was, indeed," Drax said, as Gamora stayed speechless. "Quite unexpected, but pleasing and humbling."
"You put it into words, buddy," Peter said, literally feeling a warm glow in his chest. "You okay, Gam?"
Gamora seemed to come out of her trance. "What did you call me?"
"Nickname! Gotta start using those!" Peter clapped his hands, as they headed back to the ship.
Rocket was sitting beside the hatch to the Milano, a potted Groot nestled in his arms. They had obviously been watching the scene, as Groot was gleefully waving his arms and Rocked looked extra fake-grumpy. "Rocky," Peter greeted them.
"Nickname," Drax stated at Rocket's disgusted expression.
"And I was gonna say Grooty, but that does sound kinda weird," Peter finished and cocked his head. "Not as weird as Draxy. Damn, you're not making the nickname thing easy, are you?"
Gamora knelt down beside Groot, who was happily covered in small quivering flowers. "You look very handsome," she smiled as Groot gave her one of the blossoms. Quill promptly took it from her and she tensed as he delicately grabbed several strands of her hair, while arguing with Rocket.
"Now ya call me that ever again," Rocket was saying, "and I'm tearin' your pretty face a new one."
"Aw, hear that Drax? He thinks I'm pretty!"
"He also angrily said he would tear your face."
"Details." Peter's fingers were sliding through Gamora's hair as he rearranged strands into a distinct pattern. She was torn between reaching for her sword and wanting to relax under his touch. It was... enjoyable. She believed the word was 'soothing'.
"I ain't kidding, and I ain't above being a sneaky bastard either. Ya better start sleeping with one eye open, Quill," the enhanced raccoon was threatening, "or ya might find you'd wanna hide behind your little mask all around the clock." He snorted. "You'd scare away kids either way."
Drax was now looking very confused. Quill, offended.
"I did not scare them! I entertained them."
"Yeah, that's why they hightailed it screaming their heads off."
"They were laughing!"
Peter planted the flower in Gamora's now bound hair.
And the world jolted.
The ground shook, they stumbled, their ears rang, and they watched in shock as the floor 500 meters to their right crumbled and fell. Then, nothing else moved.
Only for an instant before people were running, screaming. Scared and bloody.
The Guardians stared, momentarily frozen. They were stunned, taken by surprise. And at that exact moment, they realized they still didn't possess heroes' instincts.
Because they all had to make the conscious decision to move forward, painfully aware it wasn't instinctive.
Rocket's hair stood. He grabbed Groot's pot as tightly as his paws would allow. The clay cracked.
"Shit," breathed Peter. "We gotta help!"
Gamora was already heading towards the chaos, uncertain and determined.
Drax followed at once without a word, jaw set, eyes wide.
None of them were watching their backs. None of them remembered the silent vessel.
Drax went down first.
Gamora only had time to turn around at the sound of his body tensing when she was struck too.
After that, Quill and Rocket moved quickly as Groot whimpered in worry.
They both had their guns out in a split second and brought their two attackers down in the next.
Drax and Gamora were groaning and feebly trying to move. Paralyzed. Quill and Rocket could only make sure there was no-one else coming behind the two they had just killed before Groot hissed a warning just as they were both hit in the back, suddenly immobilized as well.
Oh, they were screwed. And humiliated. Was it so easy to take them out?
Easy enough, it seemed, as the humanoids seized Groot and threw him inside the Milano. They probably figured he was useless, as they closed the door behind him. One of them still cursed and shook his hand. Ha, splinters.
Their skin was a light blue, some paler than others, some more of a washed-out violet shade. Their clothes were made of light metal. They had very fine features, with ridges instead of cheekbones which joined in what consisted as a nose. No hair on their heads, but very thin scales. What a nice bunch.
Rocket was furiously mumbling at them as he tried to move. He did not appreciate their treatment of the still growing Groot. Or their own treatment for that matter, as they were grabbed unceremoniously and dragged into their kidnappers' ship, their obvious weapons taken away.
Thankfully, the paralysis wouldn't last long. Their bodies tingled and ached, fighting it. Once it wore off, they might be able to take on Ridges-and-Scales if they moved rapidly. There were only seven of them now and the goons wouldn't have the element of surprise anymore. And hell, they did take on a whole army before. And a whole prison. And a whole Infinity Stone. Damn, they're good.
Ego boosted, Quill allowed himself a moment of confidence before the door of hopeful optimism was shut in his face.
They were all thrown on their front, muscles twitching in an effort to move, hands tied behind their back with a material Quill had never seen before. Thick wire, was the closest comparison. It made his skin feel tingly. As he looked up, he saw his companions thrown farther away on the ground. He frowned as a glimmer suddenly seemed to surround each of them, before he felt the blood leave his face. Force field. He had faith Rocket could get them out of any situation, but he was not sure that extended to force fields. Not without outside help anyway. And especially not when they were all separated. And still paralyzed.
Back to Oh, they were so screwed!
He still couldn't budge from his position on his belly, couldn't see what was happening around him. Vulnerable, that was how he felt. He didn't like it. Straight in his line of sight, Gamora was already moving and trying to get rid of her bindings. From what he could glimpse of the other two, they were not faring much better than he was, only straining weakly against their own bodies.
Footsteps, a door sliding shut, and suddenly, the lights went out. Peter felt his breath hitch. Now he really was feeling vulnerable. Impotent, pathetic, helpless, and he had to force himself out of those nasty thoughts. Not helping, Quill. He squinted his eyes, opened them wide, trying to see anything in the pitch-darkness. He thought he could discern Gamora's vibrant green, but wondered if it was only his mind playing tricks. He was really missing his mask. He attempted to activate it - if only to feel more in control - by rubbing his head against his shoulder, but he could barely move either a single inch.
Out of options, Peter closed his useless eyes and concentrated for a moment on regulating his breathing. He visualized what he'd caught of the room before they were plunged in darkness, which was not much. A room, neither large nor small, bare, with a door on one end and them locked in separate invisible cages in a semi-circle on the over end. Any control-panels seemed to be outside the room.
He then focused on listening. He could hear Gamora, still trying to free herself, undeterred as ever. Further away, he was able to discern Rocket's angry grunts. He couldn't detect Drax, but he hoped the big guy would soon be able to move around. Still, trapped behind force fields, none of them would go far. No humming of the engines, so at least they weren't on the move.
He tried to open his mouth and talk, but only a weak gurgle came out - which he really hoped the others didn't hear. Deprived of his best weapon, frustration started to gnaw at him.
They waited in silence and in darkness - well, half of his companions had night vision, so that was unfair. His body was shaking with the struggle to move, to do something. At some point, he heard the distinct slither of Gamora slipping out of her cuffs. But she stayed still, waiting for her limbs to cooperate fully. Or too wise to charge into invisible walls. She didn't speak up either.
Under the thin leather, his belt was made of one of the strongest metal in the Universe - according to Yondu. He tried to rub his own bindings against it, hoping it would at least be stronger than those, but his movements were erratic to say the least.
A moment later, there was a zap, followed by a string of colorful curses. Peter flinched, the noise loud after the forced quiet. So Rocket was up too, probably free. Nos as wise as Gamora though, as there was another zap and another curse as their small teammate felt along his prison.
"I don't believe it sensible to stay in prolonged contact with such a powerful barrier." Drax. As Shakespearean as ever.
One last zap. "Ain't gettin' nowhere by myself anyway, gorram d'asted thing." He sounded extremely spiteful.
More silence, filled only with Rocket's mutterings. And Peter could feel Drax and Gamora just waiting patiently. Poised and ready to bounce at the first occasion. Although he didn't know if Drax made it out of his own bindings yet.
He however was not making much headway, having barely and precariously made it to his knees and still unable to activate his mask. The unrelenting blackness was really getting on his nerves, so was his lack of mobility. He almost let out a dispirited half-sob. Almost. He still had a reputation to maintain, even though he'd come to the conclusion he was definitely the slowest and weakest of the present company. He opened his mouth, and tried again for some semblance of control.
"One, two. Three, four." Joy instantly filled him. "Okay, I can speak. Phew, that's a relief!" Nothing worse than losing his voice. And sight. And ability to move. At least he had one third of it going for him now, working on the second. And the third.
"Oh, hail! The humie can run his mouth again, peace is averted."
"Damn right, and no need to get mean. Not my fault you actually can't get out of everywhere."
Sulky silence.
Peter tried for the more serious matter at hand. "Anyone else has any idea how to get out? I'm kinda coming up empty."
"I'm... empty as well," Drax stated.
"None," Gamora concurred. "Did any of you recognize them? Are they personal enemies?"
Before any of them could answer her, the door slid open once more and the lights came back on, neon white. Quill squinted his eyes with a hiss, the sudden light stabbing. Voices could be heard, but he realized with dread he couldn't understand them. Was his translator broken? That would be the most awful of timings. As the owners barged in, Quill glanced at his friends. Drax and Rocket were standing (both with their hands apparently still bound), Gamora in a defensive crouch. But the same confusion was reflected on their faces. So, translator not broken. Was it a dead language? A new one? Code? He couldn't even decipher single words. And what were those guys? He didn't remember ever seeing that race before.
One of them detached itself from the group and stood in front of their cages.
"Guardians." The voice was strange. High-pitched, but gravelly at the same time. It sounded surreal, and Quill couldn't decide if it was feminine or masculine. The delicate but sharp features and bulky stance weren't helping. Did they even have genders? "Of the Galaxy." At least they were back to something his translator could pick up on.
"That's us!" He said, grin plastered on his face. He didn't try to stand as he still felt wobbly. As much as he hated having to look up to the guy (gal?), it would be even worse to face-plant right there and then. He turned to his friends. "See guys? We're already famous!"
The one who spoke looked at him with a mixture of contempt, cold anger, loathing and... jealousy? They really did have expressive ridges.
"We heard stories about you."
Rocket growled. "Yeah, who's askin'?"
"We are."
"What he means to say," Quill said, "is... we don't have a clue who you might be. Mind fillin' us in?
Rocket grunted his agreement. Gamora and Drax stayed silent, sizing their opponents up, both waiting for the opportunity to strike. Quill could smell the tension in the air.
"Also, I hope they're nice stories," he added as their new enemy looked down on him, disdain evident on its face. Quill stayed kneeling, but never lowered his gaze.
"You do not know us." It was a disappointed statement. "But you are, as you said, famous. When the only thing you did was stop a Kree, and save the Xandarians."
"Well there is the word 'save' in there," Peter mumbled under his breath.
Ridges-and-Scales spoke calmly, though it was obvious it was seething. "We do the same. We do more. We save, and we help. But no-one ever remembers us. And the quadrant chooses to make criminals their heroes. Why?"
"You sound like a petulant child," Drax said.
"So what, you're saying you're the heroes and we're... the bad guys?" Quill was incredulous. "Is that why you put us in... prison? What, you're gonna bring us to justice?"
"No. We want to know, why? Why would you have their gratitude?"
"I dunno, I guess the galaxy loves an underdog. We were outcasts who did the good deed, you do the math."
It clearly wasn't in the mood to do so. "The galaxy needs strong fighters. Unwavering and humble."
Quill snorted. "You call yourself humble?"
It turned its pale face to the others. "Which is why I ask, why would you make that your leader?"
Rocket almost choked on his tongue. So did Peter. "What? Are you talking 'bout me? Dude, gonna need to improve your people skills."
Gamora spoke up, looking at their captor dead in the eye. "I don't believe that to be any of your business."
"Anyway, you did just say you were good people," Peter said. "So I guess that does put us on the same side. How 'bout we talk about all this in a more civilized way? We could become allies."
"We promise we won't blow your vacant brains out," muttered Rocket.
"Rocket," Peter warned, placating. He turned back to Ridges-and-Scales. "Look, we could even give you our title. We really don't want any trouble here, and if what you're saying is true, you do deserve recognition. We just happened to be at the right place at the right time, but we'd gladly learn from you." He flashed a grin, trying for his most genuine face.
"You are a human." Once again, it addressed the others. "Why do you let him talk in your place? His words are deceitful. Is that why you make him your mascot?"
"Seriously? That's your problem with us? I'm not even really their leader, or mascot or whatever, they never listen to me. It's more of a partnership, really."
"That's right," Gamora agreed, "but again, it is not your place to judge our dynamic."
"Quill has proven to be a fit leader and was able to rally our courage when we faltered. That is why I will gladly follow him."
"An' like you're one to talk, what makes you their leader, huh?" Rocket said, pointing at the three other Ridges-and-Scales standing in front of the door. "Haven't heard no word from 'em."
Peter would never say it out loud, but the team's support warmed his heart. He'd actually had trouble coming to terms with being the Guardians' unofficial leader, especially since he'd always been a no-strings-attached kind of guy. He mostly attributed that status to the lot of them living on his ship, not because he felt superior or what-have-you. But he was super scared of it ever going to his head.
Ridges-and-Scales stared at them, looking like he really didn't get it. "But humans are known for their weakness. Why would you put your trust there? Why would the Galaxy?"
Quill could see they would be going nowhere with this guy. "Well at least humans are known for something, better than being Nobodies like you guys. Supposedly good guys, I might add. Isn't it good guys' jobs to protect the weak?"
The situation was escalating quickly, and the Terran still didn't have complete control over his own limbs. He hated it.
Ridges-and-Scales was angry, his mouth stuck on an outraged snarl. A petulant child, Drax had called him. How on point.
"We help the weak and defenseless. The ones that are noble but don't have the means to succeed. Not the ones that lie and fraud, self-centered and calling themselves saviors."
"I never s-" The force-field around Peter was suddenly gone. Shit, he thought, too soon. He didn't know if he would be able to stand, much less fight. "What the f-" Not giving him any more time to think, Ridges-and-Scales strode right into his personal space.
Quill promptly rolled on the side, the move not nearly as smooth as it should have been. When he tried to stand up, he fell back to one knee. One of the goons used that to its advantage and grabbed his hair.
"LET HIM GO!" Gamora roared.
Quill used his bound hands to punch its crotch - hoping it would at least slightly hurt - before bringing his head back full force into its larger and longer neck. That had the reaction expected as it gasped and dropped to its knees, clearly suffocating.
He finally stood up, pins and needles threatening to drop him back down, adrenaline warring with it, when a sharp and continuous pain hit him in the side and stole his breath. A rod, goddammit. It stayed there, spewing shock after shock after shock until he was back on the floor, on his side, looking up through black dots at his torturer, Hooked on a Feeling echoing in the distance.
It eventually stopped, leaving him a panting mess drenched in cold sweat. A boot on his shoulder flipped him onto his back, his hands trapped under him.
"Fuck," he gasped, " 'm really gettin' tired of 'lectricity." He blinked back tears, after-shakes raking his body. Hooked receded to nothing, while his friends angry shouts replaced it.
As he calmed down, he realized he could also hear wheezes that were not his own. The one he struck was still also on the ground, hands on its throat. He watched until one of the others half-dragged it outside and out of sight.
He looked straight into the first one's eyes, leveling his voice. "Looks like the weakling brought one of yours down," he smirked.
It ignored him. Peter looked around. Only two threats were left in the room. Rubbing his bonds against his belt was difficult in this position, and he'd made zero progress on that aspect. Even if he got free, his whole body had yet to stop trembling. But he might be able to take them out. Show them how feeble he was. He figured he had at least twelve percent of a chance.
The-self-proclaimed-good-guy-actually-bad-guy-in-his-dictionnary was ranting away at his friends, and he tuned back in.
"-a shame, how can you protect the people? How can they love one that will break so easily? Let them down, betray them."
It then knelt next to him, and Peter refused to avert his eyes, until it extended a hand above him. He noticed a weird, circular device in its palm. He ground his teeth, trying to look collected. He tried to kick, but was blocked. His friends yelled, trying to divert its attention.
"Breakable, that's how they are. Weak. One simple touch will defeat them. Just see."
It pressed its hand against his chest. He felt a stabbing pain, his body tensed, his breath hitched. His head turned limply as he tried to see his team when cold overwhelmed him, leaving his body numb.
Then, everything came to a jarring stop. His plan to escape. His stress and worry. The pain and the cold. The calls of his friends.
His heart.