Work Text:
Horuz says I should grow up. Says there's plenty of people in the galaxy worse off than me. That I should be grateful that I'm not on the front lines of the war. Or in an outlying colony with no supplies. Or the Kyln. Or...
He's right. I'm pathetic. Look at me. I have food and a roof over my head. A family of sorts. No responsibilities. I am living the good life. I should be happy. I SHOULD be happy.
I'm pathetic. I should be ashamed. I don't have a right to feel sad. What makes me think I'm important? That I deserve some sort of special treatment.There's nothing wrong with my life. I have no RIGHT to demand more. To want...change.
Keep smiling. Keep smiling. Keep happy. Joke around. That's what Yondu says. Gotta keep positive. Fool people. Don't let them see you hurting. They'll use it against you.
Kraglin says if I keep it up for long enough, maybe I'll fool myself as well. Maybe it will stop being acting, and I will be genuinely happy.
Maybe I can lie to myself. Just smile and tell myself I'm okay.
I'm okay.
I'm okay.
I'm okay.
I'm not okay.
I'm not okay.
I'm okay.
Rocket recognises the loud, wet POP sound as the overload of a pulse blaster's ammo chamber. They rush to the cockpit of the Milano, and it is Drax who reaches the room first, to find Peter sat in the pilot seat, staring at the smoking, burned out pistol on the floor in front of him.
One deep breath. Two. Three.
"Quill." Drax's voice is low.
Gamora climbs up behind Drax, resting a hand on the brute's shoulder. "Peter?"
Rocket stands at their feet, Groot's tiny pot held in his arms.
It seems like an eternity before Peter speaks.
"Look at that." Peter's voice is tight, like he is bordering on hysterics. "I'm such a screw up I can't kill myself properly."
And then he laughs. And laughs. And laughs. And he cries.
I did the maths. 26 years ago today. 26 years since Mom died. Alone in a hospital bed, because I was too scared to take hold of her hand.
She died. Her hand was empty. I can still remember it. The way her fingers just curled up, clutching the air. Maybe she was pretending that my hand was there. And Grandpa puts me out the room. He's angry, I can tell. I let Mom die alone. He can't even bare to have me in the room now.
I had to run. Had to run. Had to hide. Had to...and Yondu in his ship. In some ways, I guess it was the best thing that could have happened to me.
I'm sorry Mom.
I'm okay.
I'm okay.
I'm okay.
26 years. Why does it feel like yesterday?
I'm not okay.
A part of Peter thinks he should be embarrassed. Ashamed. Mortified and horrified. And he feels those emotions, with the tiny part of him that still has the energy to feel anything except numb. The part that hasn't been rendered dead by his own worthlessness and exhaustion and...God he can't even think properly. All he can do is...pretend to be happy. Except he can’t even do that anymore.
And Drax steps forwards, sits on the floor, and cradles the Terran in his lap as if he is a child. And it's so simple, and so...Peter can't remember the last time someone was this gentle with him, this protective. Maybe not since Mom. And he cries harder, because he doesn't understand why they are doing this. Why are they...it's exhausting to try and figure out.
So he cries, because he can't do anything else. He doesn't have the energy. He can't hold his head up so he rest it against Drax's shoulder. Drax's arms tighten around him, and Gamora is there as well, holding his hand. He can't even look at her.
She was right. He is useless.
All he can do is cry.
And all they are doing is holding him. Helping him.
And he doesn't understand.
I'm okay.
I'm okay.
Yondu says pretend.
Kraglin says lie to myself.
Horuz says grow up.
I'm okay.
I'm okay.
Gamora says...
"You idiot."
"Gamora. I'm sorry. I saw a chance and I took it."
"And nearly killed me and Drax in the process."
"The plan backfired. I fixed it."
"Just. Next time you put a life on the line, Peter, make sure it's your own. Rid us of your uselessness in the field."
I'm okay.
I'm okay.
"What's that old humey story. Guy that touches stuff and turns it to gold."
"Midas."
"That's you, Quill. Fucking Midas. You touch it, it falls apart."
"Come on Rocket, it's not like I broke it on purpose."
"You know, Quill, I idiot proof thing as much as I can. How do you prove to always be the better idiot? Don't touch my stuff again."
"Well, stop using parts of my ship to make it then."
"Least I'm doing something useful with them."
"Milano is useful."
"Then I guess it weren't you that built her."
I'm not okay.
He stopped crying a while ago, but still they are sat there, and Drax is rocking him gently and Gamora is holding his hand.
It's quiet. Too quiet. And maybe he said that out loud (He isn’t concentrating) because Rocket puts Groot down and leaves the cockpit and a few moments later "Hooked on a Feeling" by Blue Swede is floating up from the stereo in the galley.
He knows the song so well that he can hear it without listening. He doesn't need to think. And that's good. It hurts to think.
"Then do not allow yourself thoughts." Drax says. "Rest. We will protect you. We are your friends."
He doesn't deserve them. Why are they...how could they want to be anywhere near him? Why are they here? He's not worthy of this attention!
Gamora tightens her grip on his hands, and Groot sings from his pot, and Rocket stands beside Groot, holding what's left of the pulse blaster.
"Come on Quill." He says. "That ain’t true. Course you deserve us, or what this rag tag bunch is worth." Rocket looks at the pistol in his paws. “Why, Quill?”
He doesn't know. He didn't. How to explain. He didn't want to die. He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to end feeling...or thinking...or...
...He just wants to change things but he can't.
How could I forget that Bereet was here. All I can think about is the orb! I can't concentrate on anything else.
I need to show them. Show Horuz. Show Kraglin. Show Yondu. I need to show them that I am not worthless. I am going to pull this job off alone. All by myself. And I am going to be awesome. I am going to show them...
...Need to concentrate.
Don't forget.
I'm okay,
Rocket takes one of Peter's hands from Gamora's, turning it upright in his tiny paws and pointing at the scar in the centre. "Ain't no one else alive that has those scars. Ain't no one alive that can take hold of an infinity stony and live to tell about it. Makes you special, Quill."
"I’m not special. I'm useless." He looks at Gamora. "Screwed up the plan. Nearly killed you."
"I..." Gamora shakes her head. "Peter I said those things in anger. We were in battle. You made a decision. And yes things went wrong, but you fixed it. We lived." She smiles. "You fixed it."
"Quill, do you want your walkman up here?"
"I broke it. Dropped it."
"Should have said. I can fix it. Where are the bits?"
Peter watches as the racoon once again disappears into the galley.
"I am Groot." Groot waves from his plant pot, smiling.
Peter tries to smile back, but it doesn't reach his eyes. She scrunches up his face, and Drax tightens his grip, rocking a bit faster.
"I'm sorry."
"Do not apologise, Quill. It was a moment of...just a moment."
"I'm weak."
"You are the strongest of us." Drax whispers. "But you have no strength left. You are exhausted. You have been strong for yourself. Let us be strong for you now, and allow yourself to heal."
Gamora picks up his hand again. "Let us be strong for you."
"I am Groot."
I am not okay.
He can hear them talking, as he lays on his bunk, pretending to sleep.
They remember every conversation over the past two months. Every time they have berated him. Told him he was useless. Disregarded his own concerns. "Wish I was strong like Drax." "With I was good with tech like Rocket." "Wish I was as agile as Gamora." Never a good word about himself.
He must have said that outloud, because they talk in whispers after that, and he can't make out the words. He's too tired to try. He drifts. He remembers his Mom.
He knows that Groot is watching him. And after a while Gamora takes over, sitting beside his bed with a hand rested on his shoulder. Then Rocket. Then Drax. Then Groot again.
Sometimes they tell stories.
Sometimes they tell him of all the good he has done. And sometimes Peter's mind twists it. Contradicts. And they contradict him in return. And it keeps going until Peter can't question anymore of what they are saying, and all he can do with the evidence at hand is either accept it or lie while knowing that he is lying. And he tries to lie. Tries to find justification for his feelings. Because it is easier than accepting that his perception of reality is the thing in the wrong. That he is...and he doesn't understand why they make the effort anyway, when clearly he wants to feel worthless. Why waste the energy on him. Why...
"You are our friend, Quill." Drax says, and Peter realises that he was speaking out loud again.
He curls up on his side. "Why?"
"Because although you may not be able to see your own worth, we can see it. And we will help you to see it too." Drax smiles. "As long as it takes."
"I don't even know what's wrong with me."
"You have hidden your pain for too long. Sleep now."
"You're not worthless, Peter." Gamora says, softly. "Not to us."
"Yeah." Rocket smiles. "Ain't going to lie, you're an idiot But you're our idiot. And we want you around."
“I am Groot.”
I'm not okay.
But I will be.