Chapter Text
Peter stared at the TV with bleary eyes from where he lay across the couch in absolute agony. He glanced toward the clock on one of the other walls, trying to figure out what time it was, but the best he got was sometime around 2am-ish. His vision was too tapped out for the night to see the exact time. That meant it was late enough, though, that Peter could have more Tylenol.
The pain radiating through Peter’s body had started as just waking up with an ache in his lower back. He’d hoped that taking it easy for the day would help, but throughout the day the pain spread and only got worse. Peter still refused to go to the doctor, though. He’d been in more pain and came out just fine. Peter had gotten this far in life without visiting the place his mother died and he was not about to start now. So extra strength Tylenol it was.
Careful not to wake his grandpa up, Peter sat up with a groan he couldn’t fully contain, clicking the TV off as he did so. He leaned forward, rounding out his back. It helped alleviate some of the pain in his hips and lower back, but did nothing for his upper back, neck, shoulders, or collar bones.
With another stifled groan, Peter pushed himself to his feet and trudged all the way to the bathroom where the Tylenol was. He flicked on the lights and opened the mirror cabinet that stashed the bottle, dumping two oblong white pills in his hand. Peter knocked them back with one hand while closing the cabinet with the other and drank from the sink to get them down.
Peter righted himself again only to lean forward, bracing himself with his hands on either side of the sink and stared at his reflection with half lidded, bloodshot eyes. He really did look like shit. Hopefully the Tylenol would kick in fast enough and be able to curb the pain just enough that he could go to sleep. Because he was fucking tired.
If it wasn’t better by tomorrow, well… Peter didn’t want to think about what he’d have to do if he didn’t feel even a little bit better.
He shut the lights off in the bathroom after mustering up enough energy to stop spacing out at the mirror then made the slow trip down the hall and to his bedroom.
Once Peter made it to his bed, he eased himself onto it and under his blankets, not bothering to change out of the sweats he’d been in all day. The idea of changing into only slightly cleaner pajamas, because really he didn’t even go outside today, was highly unappetizing. So Peter curled up into a ball under his blankets and prayed for the pain to ebb just enough that sleep could consume him.
He wasn’t really sure when sleep finally managed to drag him under. It felt like a slow drift off into a restless sleep, but he must have truly fallen asleep because the next thing Peter knew, he was waking up in daylight. Maybe. It looked a little different, though he couldn’t tell what exactly was different. It just looked slightly off.
A quick glance at the digital clock on his nightstand told him that it was 4am. Definitely not daylight. Oh well. Peter didn’t care that much. He was tired and his body no longer hurt. And the sudden absence of pain was something he never realized could feel so good.
Peter stretched out in his bed that felt suspiciously more spacious than it usually did. He once again chose to just not care. Peter didn’t want to know. He wanted to sleep and that was what he was going to do.
Except for when he went to draw his pillow closer to his face and curl into it, he ended up punching himself in his nose that was inches farther away from his face than it should have been.
Peter scrunched his nose around, trying to wiggle the pain off, and rubbed his watery eyes only to realize it wasn’t his hands rubbing his eyes. They were much smaller, much furrier, and they had claws. Rocket’s hands…? No. Peter could feel with these hands and they could feel everything.
Drugs. That was the conclusion he came to. Peter didn’t take Tylenol, he took his grandpa’s prescription pain meds and he was hallucinating and that’s why he wasn’t in pain and that’s why his hands felt like they were having a trip of their own every time he touched something. Yep. Peter was high and hallucinating and he was going back to bed. Goodnight.
By the time morning in actual daylight hours came and it was an appropriate time to first open one’s eyes on a Saturday, Peter felt completely normal. He couldn’t feel any remnants of the previous day’s agony or his late night first experience with Terran drugs. And with his years of experience with both the Ravagers and the Guardians, Peter learned never to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he definitely wasn’t going to question it.
Peter laid in his bed for a while longer, scrolling through his recently bought Earth phone before deciding to get up. He could hear his grandpa starting to move around in the kitchen anyway.
Peter reluctantly pushed his warm blankets off of himself and climbed out of his warm, comfy bed, then made his way to the kitchen.
His grandpa was already seated at their small kitchen table, just opening the newspaper.
“Mornin’ Grandpa,” he greeted as he pulled the milk out of the fridge and the Froot Loops out of the cabinet to pour himself a bowl of cereal.
“Mornin’ Pete,” Jason replied, not looking up from the newspaper.
It wasn’t a rude gesture. Peter knew he was just very intrigued by the morning news, especially when it involved anything with the superheroes on or off Earth. He was always happy to tell his grandpa about it, too, if he could fill in blanks or just overall tell him more about those people. But Peter pointedly ignored the story on the very front about Kevin Bacon’s alien abduction. He still couldn’t believe his friends had kidnapped one of his childhood heroes and he really hoped his grandpa didn’t bring it up. Or maybe, hopefully, he wouldn’t see the article at all.
“Don’t forget about Mrs. Johnson’s lawn,” he reminded Peter, who had just sat down and was starting to spoon cereal into his mouth.
Peter groaned in response.
“You told her you would do it,” Jason said very nonchalantly.
Peter sighed. “I mean, if she needs help mowing the lawn, I'll do it, but I kinda feel like her son should help. Is he gonna sit on the porch and watch me do it? Like, he's a 45 year old man, able bodied, and I'm mowing his lawn. It just feels weird.”
“Don't get me started…” Jason grumbled, shaking his head.
“Oh, really? Now I kinda wanna know,” Peter perked up.
Sufficiently filled in on the neighborhood drama, Peter found himself mowing Mrs. Johnson’s lawn after breakfast and a morning shower. He didn’t mind it, though. It was a normal, mundane task for a regular Terran, enough to keep him occupied. Because having days off without his friends to screw around with in space or on random planets was still odd to him. Mowing a lawn was normal and human enough that he was still getting the Earth experience while staying busy.
And don’t get Peter wrong, he was happy staying on Earth with his grandpa. He knew he made the right decision. But he would still miss his space family and the life he’d known for most of his life until the time came when he had no one left on Earth and would return to Knowhere.
Ask and you shall receive, though, Peter supposed as he was finishing up, putting the lawnmower back, and saw a large shadow cross the neighborhood. Even if he didn’t realize he was asking.
Peter looked up and saw the underside of a ship he’d know anywhere flying way too low by Terran laws right over his grandpa’s house and lowering into the backyard. It was one of the Bowie’s pods. Peter wasn’t sure if he should be excited that someone was visiting him or very worried.
After cleaning up and poking his head inside Mrs. Johnson’s front door to say a quick goodbye and refuse to let her pay for his services because the least he could do was help her with yard work while she had a piece of work son, Peter hurried back to his grandpa’s house to see what was happening.
“Grandpa?” Peter called out as he closed the front door behind him.
“Out here Peter,” Jason called back from what sounded like the backyard. At least he didn’t sound distressed.
Peter went straight through the house and out the open sliding glass backdoor to find Rocket talking with his grandpa at the table out there. The pod sat behind them in the big open space of the backyard lawn.
“Rocket?” Peter questioned a little dumbly. “What’re you doing here? Is something wrong? I thought you were too busy on missions to come visit for a while.”
“Heya, Pete,” Rocket grinned. Half of it was genuine, half of it was too aggressively cocky, even for Rocket. “Does something gotta be wrong for me to visit? I’m the captain. If I wanna take a vacation, I take one. Groot’s in charge ‘til I get back.”
Peter blinked at Rocket, trying to process what was happening. Rocket was there for a ‘vacation.’ But something was bothering him. Peter could see it clear as day, even if the raccoon was doing his best to hide it. Others may not have been able to see through Rocket’s tough exterior, but Peter had x-ray vision through it. He decided this surprise visit should definitely make him more worried than excited.
“Peter?” Jason asked, bringing Peter a little more present. “Aren’t you gonna introduce us?”
“Uh, yes,” Peter said, shaking his head a little bit to get his thoughts back on track. He was sure they already introduced themselves given how they were already talking, but Peter was grateful for something else to think about. “Grandpa, this is my best friend, Rocket Raccoon. Rocket, this is my grandpa, Jason Quill.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jason said, reaching a hand out to Rocket. “Good to finally meet one of Peter’s friends he talks so much about.”
“Likewise,” Rocket agreed, reaching out to shake Jason’s hand. He turned back to Peter, who was still standing where he had been, trying to figure Rocket out. “Jeez, I thought you’d be happier to see me,” Rocket snarked, no doubt still masking his own anxiety. He hopped down from the chair and looked at Peter, crossing his arms over his chest.
“No, I am!” Peter said a little too loud and a little too quickly. He took the three marching steps closer to Rocket and knelt down to pull his best friend into a hug. Peter sighed into it. He didn’t realize how much he missed Rocket.
Rocket seemed to relax into his arms, too, and wrapped his own around Peter’s neck, squeezing a little harder than necessary. He nuzzled into Peter’s cheek very discreetly and where his grandpa wouldn’t be able to see. Something was really bothering him, but Peter would question him later when it was just the two of them. For now, he’d revel in the company of his best friend.