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His mom had given great hugs. Sometimes in the beginning,in the first few years after leaving (being taken from) earth, the thing that terrified Peter more than anything else, more than space, more than Badoons, more than Yondu’s unpredictable rages and the crew threatening to eat him, was that he would forget his mother.
Sometimes, as he ate whatever weird alien life form that Yondu gave him that was supposed to be food, or hid in the weapons locker as the crew had a drunken brawling victory party after a successful and violent ravaging, he would close his eyes and will himself to remember, to not forget her. To not forget her face and her voice and her smile but most of all, the sense of warmth and safety that he used to get, just curling up in his mother's lap on the porch in the evenings before bed.
When mom got sick, he would gather his growing and frequently bruised limbs into a tight ball and curl up next to her in her hospital bed. Before she starting losing her hair, but was to weak to do it herself, Peter would brush her long brown hair as he told her all about his day at school. Peter was raised in a warm and affectionate family with lots of hugs and and kisses and high-fives.
But when his mother needed him most, when all she wanted as she died was a that sense of love and connection with him, he had run away. He had failed his mother. And now he would never feel her warmth again, and he wondered which would be worse: forgetting what being loved like that felt like, or never forgetting and never forgiving himself for denying her, and knowing he would never feel it again.
***
Yondu was in good mood, and it seemed to include Peter. It was actually happening more and more often. instead of being yelled at and being cuffed about the back of the head for being underfoot or being a weakling, he would be gruffly praised for little things, like putting the weapons back in the weapons locker when he found them strewn on the corridor floor by a drunken or injured or lazy crew member. (He just wanted the weapons somewhere safe and far away from him; there had been a bloody incident involving alien moonshine and an argument over a card game a while back that had resulted a crew member being maimed.) Or for holding the alien foodstuff still so it couldn't squirm away while Horuz chopped it for dinner, even though it smelled really bad and oozed green stuff when you peeled it that gave you hives if you touched it. (He had quickly learned that crew that didn't do their share, didn't eat.)
Peter had recently began to realize these were some of the ways to get in Yondu’s favor, to earn extra privileges. For example, being given an extra blanket in his bunk, formerly his cell. Or being excused from ship deck scrubbing duty because he had the Krelling Mumps and felt like his head might explode at any moment.
Yondu being in a good mood seemed strange, seeing as just yesterday he had had an attempted mutiny on his hands. Vexen had been on the crew for just three weeks before attempting to take control of the ship by sneaking into Peter’s bunk and taking him hostage, because he was regarded as the ship mascot. Thankfully, a year and a half of living with the ravagers had instilled a sense of violence and self-preservation in him. When Vexen had his back turned to yell his demands through the bunk room door, Peter had used the pick pocketing skill Kraglin had taught him to pick the knife out of Vexen's back pocket; then he stabbed him in the left thigh. By the time Horuz had knocked the door down, drawn by the screaming, Vexen was bleeding out on the floor.
The next evening after dinner Yondu came to his bunk. “Hey boy, that was some quick thinking with the knife,” he drawled.
Peter was still wary of Yondu, but he was no longer terrified of him. So he only stuttered a little at the praise and he replied. “Thanks, Cap… Sir.”
Yondu laughed obnoxiously loud and took something out of his pocket. It was Vexen's knife, still a little stained with blood. He must have retrieved it from Vexen’s half-dead body before they threw him out the airlock. “Here kid; if you’re gonna run with the Ravagers, you need a weapon.”
Peter took it, looking in awe at the gift. He probably stared at it too long; after some awkward silence he stuttered a thank you and Yondu just smirked. As he turned to the door, he clamped his hand down hard on Peter’s left shoulder and slapped it a little. “Now get your skinny Terran ass to bed, you hear?” he growled as he stepped through the door and disappeared.
***
Peter was walking down the gangway of the Milano to the galley one night, humming a Jackson Five tune under his breath, when he heard a loud bang. Huh, that sounded like it was coming from the departure deck. As he quietly tiptoed down the stairs to see what was up he heard another bang, and then a yell--a very familiar yell. Drax.
Peter started running to assist him in what must be some sort of fight to the death, even though he didn't have his gun on him, and without it he would not last a minute in a fight against a someone or something that was causing Drax distress. As he rounded the corner he saw Drax kneeling on the floor of the departure deck; there was a bunch of storage containers strewn around him, but there didn't seem to be any intruder in sight. Peter rushed to his friend’s side.
“Hey man, what the hell is going on; were you attacked?”
Drax looked up at Peter and Peter immediately realized something was still wrong; there were tears in his eyes; crap. “I am fine, friend Peter,” he choked out.
Peter didn't buy it. “What's wrong man; are you hurt? Do you need Rocket to patch you up again with his little raccoon sized med kit?”
“No, friend Peter, the wound is not of the body… I… have been having nightmares. About my family. I see their faces every time I close my eyes; for months the dreams had subsided after we defeated that scum Ronan. But their deaths still haunt me. Even though I avenged them now, I still feel I have failed them.”
Peter sighed. He had dealt with grief all his life, but it still made him uncomfortable. Probably caused by being raised by Ravagers. He sat next to Drax on the floor of the ship and thought a moment before speaking.
“I’m sorry, man; I know it’s hard. When I lost my mom, I thought that was the worst thing that thing that could possibly happen had already happened to me, but missing her, being alone, was even harder.”
Drax nodded his bald head in agreement with this sentiment.
“Hey man, why don't you tell me ’bout them?” Peter suggested hopefully.
And miraculously, he did just that. He told Peter about how he met his wife, their marriage ceremony, the birth of their daughter, watching her grow… and their deaths. And when he got choked up again as he spoke of the people he had lost, Peter leaned closer to him so their shoulders touched, cautiously put his hand on Drax’s big warm tattooed back, and started to tell him stories about his mom, about her smile and her singing and her cooking and her hugs. They stayed that way, sitting on the floor of the ship speaking quietly as the Milano drifted through open space, all night.
***
They weren't technically done with the job they were assigned--breaking up a slavery ring on a Kaltarin moon; they would only be done when they turned over the slaver to Nova Corp, dead or alive, and got their bounty payment. But they had just kicked a lot of ass by getting the jump on a bunch of guards in front of the slave quarters, and the backup was at least 30 klicks away, and they had disabled the security system, so they had plenty of time. They had a borrowed Nova ship parked and cloaked invisible nearby, big enough to carry them, their prisoner, and the formerly hostage slaves. In other words, they were home free, so Peter was in good mood.
He turned to Rocket, who was closest to him but facing the other way and arguing with Drax over who had just killed more bad guys.
”Hey Rocket man. We just kicked ass! Give it here dude!” And he put his hand out and down toward him with a big dopey grin on his face.
Rocket looked at him, puzzled, and replied, “What in the Das’t are you doing, Quill? Are you trying to make me give you my paw like I’m a mutt?” he snarled as he cocked his gun and pointed it at Peter’s face.
Peter’s face fell, like it always did when the others misunderstood him. He thought he would get used to being the only human around, but sometime it still stung. He quickly recovered and put his hands up in surrender. “No no no man; I was just asking for a high five. You just hold out your hand and slap it against mine; it’s a thing people do to show joy and… friendship.”
Rocket looked at him like he was an idiot. ”That’s the stupidest thing I've ever heard, and I’m not touching you!”
Peter felt a little hurt. “I bet you would do it with Groot if he asked,” Peter muttered and started to turn away.
He knew it was a low blow; Groot was still resting and growing back on the ship. He was much bigger now, up to Peter’s waist. But he was still too shaky to walk around, never mind go on missions and fight.
Rocket sighed and replied, “Fine, ya dumb Terran bastard; I’ll play along,” and raised his little delicate paw that was capable of such mayhem.
Peter grinned ear to ear and high-fived him. He was about to say something sappy in thanks when Drax suddenly gave a roar of excitement behind them and Gamora shouted, “The backup guards are here ahead of schedule! WE HAVE TO MOVE NOW!” And then everybody scrambled.
***
Peter had always played his music on the ship as background noise, but now he had the problem of the other occupants of the Milano having very different tastes, and in some cases no taste at all. After several fights about the best of the 60’s and 70’s jams being referred to as “that infernal racket,” he created a system where all crew members were allowed a veto a day to any song. Threats of bodily harm were kept to a minimum after that.
But there was still the problem of dancing, in that no one else on the ship had any groove. Well, Groot could wiggle a bit, but he was still in his pot, so his collection of sick dance moves was limited. Peter thought he did OK for a tree though. But the others were hopeless. Rocket thought it was nonsense; Gamora suddenly turned shy. Drax demanded to know what “boogieing down” was, and seem to think it was blasphemous when it was explained. They were growing more accepting of his music, though, and Peter loved to share that taste of home with them. One night, when everyone had gone to bed, Peter stayed up and sat in the galley, unable to sleep; memories kept him awake. As he sat nursing a glass of Trostian Spiced Whisky, he let the music wash over him and closed his eyes
I'm spinning around and around ooh
I'm walking on cloud nine
I'm just about to blow my cool
If I don't unwind
“I like this one.”
Peter’s eyes snapped open, and in his startlement he almost knocked over his drink. Gamora was standing in the doorway in a light blue pair of sleep pants and a matching shirt. She was looking at him fondly. Which was weird; maybe he had fallen asleep and he was dreaming?
“What?” he stuttered.
“I like this song,” she repeated. “It seems to be a ballad of great heart.”
“Yeah, it is,” Peter replied, smiling, then added with a hint of casual concern in his voice, “Why are you up?”
Gamora walked over to where Peter was sitting at the galley table and sat across from him and began to study his face intently. After a moment, she whispered, “I suspect for the same reason you are.”
Peter’s face fell. ”Do you wanna talk about it?” Peter asked, genuinely worried now.
“No thank you, Peter; do you?”
Peter blushed a little. “Nah, I'm fine.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, until Peter noticed that Gamora was gently moving her head to the music while staring past his right shoulder at the tape deck where the music was playing. He had a sudden burst of genius.
He got up from the table and stood in place before wiggling his hips and humming a bit. Gamora looked at him oddly for a moment, then gave a soft soft burst of stifled laughter as he began to lip sync to the words of the song as his hips moved faster. He took a few steps away from the table into the one clear space in the cramped galley, and spun on his heels with his hands in the air, stopping to face Gamora and make a beckoning motion with both hands. Gamora smiled in spite of herself, and in a few moments her restraint left her. Her feet carried her to Peter, and he took her hand and spun her around. They continued to dance there, without words, simply moving to the music, no longer alone in the deep night of space.
I'm spinning around
Spinning around
Spinning around
Spinning around
I must be falling in love
Baby
I must be falling in love
'Round and around and around
***
The first thing Peter was conscious of when he actually gained consciousness was that everything, absolutely everything, hurt. Also his ears were still ringing from the plasma grenade that had gone off fifteen feet behind him. It had unfortunately, bounced really well off the walls of the creepy cave dungeon they had been storming (formerly sneaking into) to rescue the Arcturian princess who had been kidnapped and was being held hostage until a peace treaty was signed. Well, that had been the plan anyway. Then the plan went sideways, and in order to buy the others time, Peter had taken her place as as a hostage while the princess and Gamora disguised themselves as handmaidens and escaped. The last thing Peter remembered before the explosion (and the start of the pain and blacking out) was thinking how much shit Rocket and the others where gonna give him when they got him out of here.
“That was less than 12% of a flarking plan this time, Quill; less than 12%!” He could hear Rocket yelling already. Then he had heard a whistle of a projectile in the dungeon hallway and the BAM! Lights out.
Peter was now conscious; why did he have his eyes closed? Oh, because if he opened his eyes he would know for sure. Because if he was dead, he really didn't want to know; if there was an afterlife, what if his mom was there? But what if she wasn't? But why would he even see her anyway--she was an angel somewhere with his dad and he was definitely not an angel... What if Earth Heaven and Space Heaven were different anyway? What if...
“I am Groot.”
Peter opened his eyes. Groot’s woody face was inches from his. He yelped and bolted upright. Ok, those questions would have to be put on the back burner for now in order to answer the burning Jeopardy question of where the hell was he and what the fuck had just happened.
Groot seemed pleased that Peter was awake now, if his soft concerned look and warm greeting of “I am Groot” was any indication. The rest of them were getting better at understanding Groot, but still no one was as good at understanding him as Rocket.
“Hey man, how did I get here with you?” Peter tried questioning.
“I am Groot,” Groot replied... and it was easy to understand him this time because he gestured to himself.
”Aww man, you carried me all the way here? Thanks, man; wasn't I heavy? Your body is just getting its strength back; you gotta be careful or you'll strain yourself and Rocket will throw a fit.”
Peter looked around the cave and began surveying their surroundings to piece together what had happened. They were clearly out of the dungeon, but now they were in a different cave on the planet. Obviously, they were hiding from the guards. Probably just until the others found them. They must have gotten separated during the rescue mission to save him. Satisfied that he understood the situation, he realized that something else, something other than the pain of his injuries, was now bothering him.
The problem was that the sun had set, and while it wasn't dark in the cave (thanks again to Groot’s magic spore lightshow thingy making an appearance over his head, he noticed), it was beginning to get really freaking cold. Making a fire was out of the question because obviously… Groot was extra-flammable. And his cool leather jacket just wasn't cutting it to keep him warm as the temperature dropped every passing minute. After half an hour of waiting awkwardly in the cave, not talking because of the obvious communication barrier, Peter’s pain was beginning to lessen... just as the hypothermia was beginning to kick in. Just his luck.Suddenly, he was lifted off the cave floor and pressed against Groot's solid chest. He smelled like fresh cut grass and ozone.
"What the hell, Groot?" Peter squawked.
"I am Groot" Groot said solemnly . Peter quickly realized he felt warmer suddenly and smiled at Groot. "Thanks buddy" he whispered as his teeth finally began to stop chattering. As they sat like this for the next two hours, Peter felt nothing but warm and safe, and as he drifted off to sleep , he thought he heard his mother singing him an old lullaby.
***
The Guardians had just come back from a big job and they were, individually, mildly concussed (Peter), bloody (Drax), irate (Rocket), in need of repairs to her cybernetics (Gamora), and missing a limb (a now mobile and almost full size again Groot). As soon as they boarded the Milano, Peter slumped to the floor before Drax, even with his superior reflexes, could catch him.
He nearly fell on Rocket, and the racoon swore up a storm and moved out of the way to start stripping his tac-vest and weapons off in the corner of the deck. Groot stood there mournfully looking at his missing left arm. He had only just managed to grow it back to full size. Gamora immediately shouted ”Do not go to sleep, Peter; stay awake, dammit, or you may die!”
Peter moaned up at them, “I just need to sit, or maybe lay down for a minute.”
Gamora rolled her eyes. “Drax, pick him up and bring him to his bunk”
“I am also exhausted, friend Gamora; perhaps after my strength has returned.”
“Also, you’re covered in blood, dude; and most of it isn't yours. Don't you dare touch me,” Peter whined from the floor.
Drax heaved a great sigh and sat down very gracefully despite his large size with his legs crossed beside Peter’s prone body.
Gamora snorted and said. “At least elevate his head.” Drax simply nodded and tugged Peter’s body closer to his lap so his head rested on Drax’s knee, carefully avoiding the dried blood stain on his pants.
Groot lowered himself to the ground next with a tired, “I am Groot,” and Peter comforted him.
”Yeah, sorry, buddy, but now that you’re big again, maybe it will grow back faster this time?”
Gamora had been about to go to her bunk to tend her wounds and start her self-repairs in private. But seeing the other three on the floor like children gave her pause. Peter seemed to still be coherent enough to notice this, and said, ”Hey Gamora, come down here and take a load off.”
“She is not carrying anything, and she is not a pack animal,” Drax interjected, puzzled.
“Shush Drax; not now,” Peter said quickly.
Gamora smiled fainting and lowered herself gingerly to the floor, not as graceful as usual due to the damage to her cybernetic bodyparts. A loud metallic creaking came from her left hip as she neared the ground, sitting at Peter’s other end with his sprawled legs touching hers. But no one said anything. Gamora winced but looked grateful.
After taking a moment to get herself comfortable, she began to hum softly, a sweet tune she remembered and had somehow managed to hold on to despite all the torment Thanos had put her through. Rocket was just finishing taking off his badly damaged armor and putting his guns away. He now came back to the group.
”What the hell are you idiots all doing on the floor,” he snarled. Obviously he was still in a very nasty mood from the exhausting mission.
“Come and sit with us man,” Peter replied lazily. “The floor and Drax’s leg are surprisingly comfy.”
“I am Groot?” Groot said, echoing the request.
Rocket rolled his eyes. “You giant loser babies can have a big cuddle session if you want, but count me out,” he snarled and turned away, presumably to go find something to eat, or something dangerous to tinker with, both things he usually did after a mission to unwind.
“I am Groot!” Groot called after him in a forceful tone.
Rocket swung around and swore at him. “Shut the hell up; that’s not why.”
“I am Groot,” Groot countered, seeming to make a good point.
Rocket growled and began stomping over to the pile of people and one tree sprawled out on the deck floor. He was grumbling the whole way and sat next to Groot in a huff. Groot smiled gently and picked him up with his remaining arm. Ignoring the loud and violent protests from his friend, he placed him on his lap and began stroking his head, until finally Rocket realized it was useless to fight and calmed down. Then he said grumpily "There,now we're all sitting, five jackasses sitting in a circle". They all ignored him.
Over the sound of Gamora’s continued humming, Groot gently sighed, “We are Groot.”
They stayed there like that for some time, just enjoying each other’s company, until Peter actually passed out. Then everybody panicked.