Chapter Text
Following orders was not Peter's specialty. Especially when those orders were for him to stay inside the M-Ship and not wander off.
"This place is dangerous. Not for squealing little brats," Yondu had said.
The 10-year-old isn't too fond of being left alone each time the Ravagers go on missions. They always make him stay behind, they don't even let him join in when they loot small ships. They always say it's too dangerous, but he knows that's not always the case; No one wants a tiny tag-along.
Kraglin doesn't stay behind with him anymore, either.
He's grown up already, 18 years old with his own M-Ship. He's got a job to do and doesn't have time to spend making sure Peter doesn't break the rules. Peter tries his best to understand. His best friend is a grown up now, he doesn't need an annoying little kid following him around — that's the only way Peter can put it.
(Of course, no one else on the ship saw Kraglin as an adult. He was still the scrawny teenager that quietly strode around the Elector waiting for something interesting to happen.
"You're still just a kid," Yondu had said once, rolling his eyes. "Always have been, always will be. You're just...taller. And you have a ship now."
He even laughed when Kraglin cut his mass of hair into a mohawk and let the scruff on his face grow in an attempt to 'man up'.)
Peter sighs and crosses his legs to make himself more comfortable on the floor.
Sadly, he is not all that fond of Kraglin now, either. He blames the teenager's ship for that, though.
Yondu gave the ship to Kraglin on his 17th birthday. It was one of the best days of Kraglin's life, but to Peter, it was marked down as "the day I totally lost my best friend...to a fucking m-ship."
And though Peter would never admit it, he's a bit jealous...of the ship.
Kraglin's no longer willing to crawl across rafters and squeeze through vents with Peter in search of adventure. He no longer needs to help invent games made for just the two of them, or cover up for Peter when the pair of them got in to trouble. He's got a ship now, anytime he seeks adventure all he has to do is climb aboard. He's probably even a little bit in love with his ship and spends every moment he can upgrading it and adding his own twists to it.
50% of his vocabulary now consists of the words "Go away, Peter. Im busy," and he honestly doesn't see a problem with that.
Peter does, though.
It doesn't take him long to realize that eventually, big brothers become jerks and would rather spend every waking moment mooning over girls and an m-ship.
It stings a bit every time he approaches the hangar and, before he can even get a word out, Kraglin tells him to go away and go bother someone else because he's busy.
"They're all assholes," Peter whispers to himself. "All of them."
And in that very moment, he decides he's not staying locked up on this stupid ship, waiting for everyone else to come back. He could go out and do whatever he wanted.
Sneaking about the dark city and pretending to be a spy was the most fun Peter's had in months.
Ducking and hopping behind anything that was big enough was way better than sitting on the floor of your dad's spaceship and waiting for him to return like a loyal puppy. (Of course, Peter wouldn't have minded waiting, if only he wasn't so bored.)
"Burt Macklin's got his eyes on the target," the 10-year-old whispers to himself, forming his hand in to the shape of a gun and leaning out from behind the wall he was pressed up against.
"Ready. Aim. Fire!" He juts his tiny hand out and pretends to shoot, letting out a yelp in surprise when a loud gunshot rings out in unison with his fake-shooting.
He ducks back into the alleyway, green eyes opened as wide as possible as he stares down at his pale hands in shock.
"What the--I--? How?!"
His question is answered when another shot rings out and he realized that it was just perfect timing, and he didn't actually shoot anything with his bare hands. He also realizes that he could be in the path of potential danger, and he needs to escape quickly. A part of him is screaming ‘why didn't you stay put!?’ while all the rest of him is practically vibrating from excitement The last time anything exciting happened in his life was when a group of idiots tried to attack the Elector. That wasn't even good excitement, either. He had been interrupted from a well needed sleep by the vibrating walls of the ship when they were fired at. He peeks out from his hiding spot and sees nothing dangerous, but he knows that no excuse to stick around. Danger wasn't always visible. He needs to run, and he needs to do it now.
His legs carry him in what the thinks is the direction of Yondu's ship, though he's not too sure. He has to keep checking over his shoulder constantly to make sure there's nothing dangerous behind him, also, which confuses his tiny brain ever more. Up ahead, he can see the shapes of other people running, moving away from the loud and dangerous sounds, and the floor beneath him quakes as if something large was stomping in his direction. He swallows down his spit and focuses on looking forward, forcing himself to full on sprint as the noises from behind get louder and louder. He's not too sure what the hell is happening, and he doesn't wanna find out.
"Just around the corner," he wheezes to himself. "Just around the--"
He flails widely as he tumbles down the grassy hill, trying his hardest not to screech. It's dark and the planet's moon isn't giving off much light, but he can see glimpses of a giant ball of blue fluff rolling downhill beside him. Whatever it was, it must've hit him on it's way down. And it must've been heading for the bottom of the hill anyways, because the pair of them slide into the back of an opened ship, and the blue ball of fuzz unrolls itself and stands up on two legs, long ears sticking straight up. It's some kind of alien mammal, and he seems to have no regards for Peter and is instead focused on sticking his tongue out and taunting whoever had been chasing him. It looks like a mutated dog.
Another gunshot echoes through the air and Peter flinches, closing his eyes, but not before seeing the blue creature catch a ball of burning hot plasma in his bare hands and hauling it back toward his attacker, then leaping over Peter and to the pilot's seat, closing the ship and starting it.
"Wait! Wait! No!" Peter scrambles after him. "Open the ship, let me go! I have to get out of here!"
The tiny alien-dog thing ignores him and turns the ship around, activating it's cannons and firing at their opponent; A large, whale-like creature, larger than almost anything Peter's ever seen before.
A maniacal laugh escapes the dog, and he continues to rain heavy fire on the gray whale-thing's sorry ass until it flees to its own ship and disappears.
The dog is still having its victory dance when Peter demands, "Take me back!"
There is no way in all of the universe that he's getting kidnapped again. Hell no.
"You heard me! Take me back! I don't know who you are or what you are or if this was an accident, but you can't just take off with people in your ship! That's bad!"
"Bad?" The dog's long ears fold down. "Bad..."
"Yes!" Peter nods. Maybe this alien isn't as intelligent as he thought. He straightens up at that. This thing isn't posing a threat.
"Um...Stitch sorry," he says, staring up at Peter with his big, black eyes. "Stitch didn't notice you there..."
"It's…it's fine," Peter says, sitting in the only other chair on the ship. The ship was, made for holding one, possibly two, people comfortably. "I'm used to not being notice by others..."
Stitch, as the creature as called himself, is unsure of what to say. "Uh..."
"Is that a ukulele?" Peter asks, pointing to where the instrument is mounted to the wall with small hooks above the windshield. Along the walls, Peter notices, are pictures of various kinds.
Stitch nods and scales the wall, taking the wooden ukulele off of it's hooks and bringing it back down.
He props his small blue body on the chair and begins to strum the ukulele, using one of his claws as a pick, and begins to move his mouth, singing in a gargled little voice. To anyone, it would've sounded like gibberish and nonsense, but Peter had a translator installed in the back of his neck, which worked pretty well for his benefit.
"You look like an angel, walk like an angel, talk like an angel, but I got wise; You're the devil in disguise."
"That's Elvis!" Peter exclaims, sitting up in his seat. "You know Elvis!? Are--You've been to Terra!?"
Stitch isn't too sure what a Terra is, but he does know what Elvis is. He points a claw behind Peter and the boy swivels around in his chair to gaze at an Elvis poster sloppily taped to the wall. "Elvis from Earth."
"I know," Peter nods. "I am, too! I was born there! We call it Terra."
Stitch's ears twitch and he hands the ukulele to Peter, "You play?"
"Me?" He takes the instrument in his hands. "I know how to play, Grandpa taught me when I was 7." He holds it close to his chest and stretches his fingers over the fret board, strumming random chords lightly. "He did it to keep my mind off my mom..."
They sit in silence for a few moments.
"So...teach me how to play Elvis? You must know more than one song? Right, Stitch?"
"Dad, can I keep it!?"
Yondu nearly jumps three feet in the air when he sees the blue beast that Peter's got in his arms. It looks like an overgrown rabbit, with giant eyes and a long tongue.
"The fuck is that!?"
"He's a puppy!" Peter says, grinning as he sways the 'dog' back and forth and it snorts.
"That ain't no dog, Peter, I dunno what the hell that is." He places a hand on his blaster, just incase he has to shoot.
"His name is Stitch!" He drops the 'dog' on the the floor. "Say hi, Stitch!"
"Hhhhi," it sounds more like it's choking on a glob of it's own spit. That's definitely not a dog.
Dogs were universal creatures, they existed on many planets, including Morag and Xandar. There were even dogs on Yondu's home planet, used as hunters and guards. Hell, even baby sitters. No one hesitated to leave their children under the watch of a guard dog; The dogs made it their duty to protect the children until their parents returned.
He knows what things are, and that thing is not a dog.
"That's not a dog."
"Yes it is," Peter said, shoving the ukulele in to Stitch's arms. "He even knows tricks! Look what he can do!"
Stitch takes the guitar and begins to play, and Peter fights the urge to dance along. Yondu raises a brow.
"Can he stay here? Please!?" Peter snatches Stitch up again, holding him close. "I will feed him and take care of him and make sure he doesn't eat anything important!"
"You know the rules, Pete. Anyone who stays on this ship is crew."
"But he can become crew!" He casts his large green eyes up and pouts at Yondu, and the captain awkwardly looks away. That face is a trap, a horrible gift bestowed upon the child, that sucks Yondu's heart out of it's icy pit and actually brings feelings into the tough captain. He fucking hates the puppy-face Peter does when he wants something. "Please!? He told me himself that he needs a place to stay for a little while!"
"The dog talked to you?"
"Yes, but that's not what I asked you. Can I keep him, please!?" Peter ups the puppy-face, quirking his eyebrows in just the right way to give off the appearance of a child on the verge of tears. Yondu sighs.
"Fine, whatever. He can stay--as long as he works as part of our crew. I don't know what he is, but he ain't no average dog."
Peter gives a whoo-hoo of excitement and let's Stitch go to wrap his arms around Yondu.
"Dumb brat," Yondu huffs, ruffling the unruly hair on the boy's head. "You could shift entire planets with that look."