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It had been a perfectly normal day for Jason Quill.
He’d woken up sharply at 6am, did the stretches (yoga, Alice reminded him—it was yoga ) that his doctor required, and paired his litany of pills and vitamins with a nice breakfast of cottage cheese, berries, and decaf coffee. After Alice woke up at 7, showered, and fed herself, she forced him through the new massage technique she’d read about. Apparently, massaging your hands was good for arthritis. Jason thought it was a bunch of hooey, but it made Alice happy.
Anything that made Alice happy was worth it.
She’d been his blessing, after Lorraine died. It had been agony losing Meridith. It was torture when Peter disappeared. Lorraine had been his rock—until God claimed her, too. He and Alice had met in a grief group, actually. Alice’s daughter had been killed in a rogue shooting; she was all she had after her husband walked out.
Jason had sworn he’d never marry again, but one flash of Alice’s blinding smile, and he was gone.
She was always there, whenever he needed her. She understood the ebb and flow of grief and pain, and understood the ache of never truly knowing what had happened. Peter ran out of the hospital room—those damned words, why did he have to be so cruel?—and disappeared into nothingness. Laverne, her husband, had driven off in a 1968 Buick; neither he, nor the car, were ever seen again.
“Where’s your mind at?” she scolded gently.
“Anywhere but here,” he joked. She just pressed into that gnarl by his thumb even harder.
At 8am, the Kurtwaller boy mowed their lawn. Twenty dollars, flat, for an hour’s work. Back in Jason’s day, it was a nickel. But, back in Jason’s day, his body actually cooperated with him instead of groaning and creaking like a tree in the wind.
By ten am, all the chores had been done and the newspaper had finally been delivered. Jason settled at the patio table, fresh cup of coffee in one hand, newspaper in the other. No news on the Avengers or the magic one or world disasters. The front page was actually just mundane—a discovery of some artifact in Africa. As long as no one spotted a spaceship or a spinning wheel of death in the sky, Jason was content. The Thanos incident still haunted him. Alice was just a seat away, sipping her tea and reading her own book.
“I’m going to get a top-off. What about you?” she asked, a while later.
“No, no. I’m fine.”
Alice kissed his cheek as she stood up. Not even a full minute into her standing up, there was a knock on the door. Soft conversation, and then—
A ghost.
Stepping through the back door was a man with eyes Jason had never forgotten. They had been Lorraine’s, had been Meredith's, had been—
“Pete?” slipped out of his mouth, tangled with shock and astonishment. He couldn’t stand fast enough—couldn’t get his glasses off fast enough to be certain. He grabbed the man, stared into his eyes to be sure. But it was. It was. “Pete,” he managed out one last time before years of grief mingled with the gut-churning sense of relief. He bundled him into a hug—and he was so tall, so big, so grown.
“Hi, Grandpa,” Pete said.
He was real. He was real, and he was back. He was in his arms, alive and real. The smell of ash and soot and debris clung to his jacket. Something earthy and foreign tangled with it—cologne or aftershave, perhaps. Jason breathed it in, tried to focus on the miracle that Pete was back after thirty years.
Pete was the one to break the hug—he patted Jason’s back and tried to step away. Jason let him go, even though every part of him wanted to keep him close. “Nice digs,” Pete said; his hand gestured awkwardly as his face fell into a smirk. The smirk looked practiced, instinctual. The shy, timid, beaten-down boy of the past was truly gone.
“Where did you go?” Jason breathed out.
Peter laughed—slightly forced, slightly uncertain. “Space.” He gestured to the sky. “I was literally abducted by aliens.” His laugh was slightly more genuine, but Jason was pretty certain the horror on his face was what snuffed it out.
“Like Thanos?” God, please tell him Thanos hadn’t taken his boy. Tell him he didn’t send Peter running straight into Thanos’s arms.
“What?” Pete exclaimed. “No. No. Not—it was these other bastards. Ravagers. They’re like—they’re like…pirates, I guess? They raised me.”
Unwillingly, Jason’s knees gave out. Peter caught him in an instant, easily lifted him up. “Woah. Woah. Yeah. This—this might be a sitting-down conversation.” Pete set him back in his chair. “The Ravagers were chill, though. It’s kind of like having a hundred siblings you don’t really like and a dad you mostly hate, but then he does something to make you question everything. And then you have uncles and cousins and—” Peter broke off. “I was fine, Gramps.”
“Aliens. Adopted you?” Jason repeated, just to make sure his hearing aids weren’t failing him.
“Yeah. And then I adopted my own. Kind of. But, like, platonically? Like, we’re all adults, except for Groot who was a kid for a while. I also did have a girlfriend, but time travel messed that one up.” Peter stood up and took a breath. “Okay. Wow. Yeah. Let’s—let’s start at the beginning.” He adjusted his jacket, breathed in again, and looked Jason in the eye. “When I was eight years old, I was stolen by aliens.”
The story that unfolded was beyond anything Jason could have conceived of. Peter was taken in by actual space-pirates-slash-bounty-hunters and adopted by a man named Yondu. He was taught to fight and steal and survive the crazy world that lay nestled in the stars. He met other people, just as misplaced as him, and created his own small group of friends: a living tree-person whose language reduced him to three words, a sentient raccoon who was gruff and sardonic, a giant who had no concept of social customs, a strange alien girl who could alter emotions with a touch, two of Thanos’s daughters. He named himself Starlord. He traveled the galaxy, saved people, hurt people. He learned his dad was an alien, too—a literal god. Meredith’s deadbeat boyfriend was a narcissistic god. Jason couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around that.
Peter killed his father to save others. He learned he had a sister—that strange alien girl.
He fell in love with Gamora, Thanos’s daughter. They made each other better—stronger—according to Peter.
The more Peter spoke, the more Jason’s heart ached. Peter had lived a thousand lives in these thirty years, all in the name of survival. He could dress it up as a swashbuckling adventure, could make it sound glorious and glamorous, but there was pain behind every word. Peter watched worlds die. He watched people get slaughtered. The people he cared about weren’t guaranteed a tomorrow.
He watched the man he considered his father—loved as a father—die.
Peter clearly skipped over parts of his life, but Jason understood. It was just like all the soldiers and veterans he knew: there were some things that were laid dead as soon as they stopped happening. Peter was a soldier, even if he didn’t put the words to it.
“...so, now Mantis is discovering herself, Drax and Nebula are rebuilding a civilization, Gamora is determined to never acknowledge me again, and Rocket and Groot are leading the next generation of Guardians,” Peter said. “And I’m…I’m staying on Earth. For a little bit, at least.”
“I didn’t want to let you see your mother die,” Jason confessed. It was the only words his mouth wanted to form. “I’m sorry, Peter. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was so confused and hurt and stupid, I forgot I was talking to a little boy who was watching his mother die. Your world was ending and I—I—” He couldn’t hold back the new round of sobs.
“We hurt people we try to protect,” Peter said slowly, as if it was a realization he’d just come to himself. Or maybe, it was more like he’d heard it once, and was finally saying it with full understanding of what it meant. “You were trying to protect me.”
“I’m sorry, Peter.”
“No—no. It’s okay. It’s okay.” A smile unfurled on his face. “You were trying to protect me. You loved me, so you tried to protect me.” Peter wrapped Jason in a hug. “I forgive you.” He sounded practically giddy. He pulled back, his smile somehow even wider. “So, tell me about the new Mrs. Quill.”
So, Jason did. He was still reeling from Peter’s tale, but he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again—he wasn’t going to put his emotions on Peter. If Peter wanted to pivot to Jason’s life, he’d let him. So, he explained how they met—about the years Jason spent grieving, until Alice walked in with her bright smile and can-do attitude; her soft voice and kind words; her gumption and determination. He talked about Ginny’s death, and Laverne’s disappearance.
Peter let him know he’d ask around—apparently, some aliens had a thing for Earth stuff like cars.
He and Alice fostered kids for a few years before just helping raise their grandnieces and grandnephews. They tried to always find jobs for the neighborhood kids, and tried to stay involved in the community. They still went on dates, they went to doctor’s appointments, and they did their best to live out their twilight years with grace. He talked about the way the town had changed, about the stores that had come and gone.
“Is the diner still there?” was Peter’s immediate question. Shelly’s Diner had, unfortunately, gone under years ago—but there was the Sunny Sides Diner just a block down. Peter grinned when Jason told him this. “Dude, I haven’t had a cheeseburger in—well, I mean an Earth cheeseburger—since I was abducted.”
It’s 11:37am, according to his watch. Sunny Sides won’t turn over to lunch until noon—but that won’t stop Jason Quill. He had Alice call them up while they all piled in the car. “Jude, this is Jason—Jason Quill,” Jason said as soon as the phone was handed to him. “Look, this is crazy, but I need a favor. You know how my grandson went missing—yeah, yes. Yes. He’s back. He’s craving one’a Shelly’s burgers. I know lunch—okay. Okay. Thank you. Yeah. Big tip. Huge tip, got it. Thank you.”
Jude met them with a hug, and ushered them to a booth. Within moments, a burger and strawberry shake were placed in front of Peter. Alice ordered eggs benedict. Jason ordered avocado toast on rye.
Peter stared at the burger for a moment. He pinched it in his hand, lifted it up, and took a bite. Almost immediately, his face contorted as he chewed. He took a second bite before setting it down and sipping on a milkshake; again, he made a face.
“Huh,” he said, leaning back. “What’s that?” He pointed to the milkshake.
“It’s a strawberry shake,” Jason said.
“Weird,” Peter murmured. He drank again, but his face crumpled. “Is it supposed to taste so…sweet?”
“It’s ice cream and strawberries.”
“Huh.” He went for the burger again—visibly gagging as he forced it down. “Has anything changed in the last thirty years? I remember this…differently.”
Jason could imagine what he meant—the nostalgia-tinged memories of a burger and a shake, every flavor sharper and more pure as it tangled with the warm fondness of youth. There was nothing quite like being six or seven or eight years old; everything was new and wondrous.
Alice leaned over to rest her hand on Peter’s. “You have, dear,” she said softly.
Peter looked down at his food. “Oh. Right.” He forced a smile on his face. “I’m so used to eating space rats, I guess I forgot what real food tasted like!”
Jason’s heart broke. Peter couldn’t even come back to normalcy—to what he knew. “What do space rats taste like?” Jason asked, knowing in his heart he’d find a way for Peter to reclaim his humanity. No matter how long it took—what they had to try. He wanted Peter to feel like he’d really come home. So, he listened to Peter tell him about the food in space, about the months of famine he sometimes faced. He talked about the markets and bazaars, and the vendors in them. Peter lit up like a galaxy.
Pete wasn’t a human boy.
Not anymore.
But Jason would teach him.