Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kraglin has been onboard the Milano enough times to know that she only has two bunks, one double and one single. And the double was often kept clear to allow access to the stereo. Unless Peter had a female guest, in which case there was a sudden case of bedding logistics.

Of course that was before the whole Guardian of the Galaxy thing, and the shit that followed a month afterwards. He suspects that Peter hasn’t had many, if any, female guests since then and he doesn’t blame him.

Kraglin knew that the Guardians called the Milano their home, but quite how the Terran was going about sleeping five people on board the ship was a mystery to the Xandarian, never mind accepting a sixth sleeper for the journey from Betoz space to Xandar! Where the hell was he going to fit a sixth person?

Where the hell was Peter sleeping five?

The raccoon could probably sleep on a chair somewhere. And then the tree, well maybe trees didn’t sleep. But Drax was huge and so surely got a bunk by default because no one was mad enough to fight him for it, and Gamora struck him as the sort of person who slept with a knife under the pillow and so therefore warranted her own bunk.

So if they had the two, that left Peter. And Kraglin knew from experience that Peter was a VERY difficult person to be around if he had not had at least six hours of comfortable, uninterrupted sleep within every twenty four, and that warranted a bunk if the Xandarian had anything to say about it.

Maybe they ended each evening by playing musical bunks with Peter’s stereo.

He snorts, not realising that he is laughing at his own joke until Peter turns to face him in the cockpit. He squirms slightly under the scrutiny, turning back to look out of the window. “Nothing.”

“Another day and we’ll be on Xandar.” Peter says, changing the subject. “Middle of the winter where we’re docking, so they’ll be cold nights.”

“Figures.” Kraglin mutters, pulling at the long sleeves of his shirt so that they tuck over his hands.

“You staying on Milano when we land? I’m sure Nova Corps could find lodgings for you, but I think Yondu might prefer that we stay together.”

“Whatever’s easiest for you.” The Xandarian says, shrugging.

Watching from the hatchway, Gamora contemplates the scene before her. She isn’t sure about the sudden house guest that they have taken onboard. Up until now her few meetings with Kraglin have mostly involved the pointing of guns at each other. Most prominent in her mind was their heart to heart just before the Dark Aster mission, when he had basically shoved a gun in her face (as per their other encounters) and ordered her to look out for his ‘kid brother’ while on Ronan’s ship. This had lead to Gamora telling him about Nebula for reasons that till this day she blames on adrenaline and the immediate aftermath of being inside a vacuum for several minutes.

She forces a smile on her face, because Peter seems happy to have his frenemy (Rocket’s term) on board, whatever the history. And she is also willing to admit that, away from the support and perhaps pressure of his peers, Kraglin is a very different person. Quieter, more thoughtful, maybe even a little skittish. His watches each member of the crew intensely, as if reading them, or trying to judge what they are thinking based on their body language. And she gets the feeling that he doesn’t always like what he sees in that. He seems vulnerable. She can almost feel sorry for him.

Almost.

She climbs into the cockpit, looking out at the stars around them. “We are nearly out of water.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “GROOT!”

“I am Groot.” The voice floated up from the lower levels.

Gamora laughs, running a hand through Peter’s hair and leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Have you confirmed our invitation yet?”

Peter grabs the coms, then sits back. “I completely forgot.” He then looks at Kraglin. “We kinda got invited to dinner. You know Rhomann Dey?”

“We’ve met.” Kraglin says, dismissively. He’s got nothing against the guy, but he can be a bit of a jobsworth sometimes.

“Well, it’s with him and his family. I’ll let them know we have a plus one?” His tone makes it clear that the last phrase is a question, but also that there is only one answer.

“Dinner at a Nova Corps officer’s house. Me?”

“His kid is adorable.” Peter says, talking with his hands as well as outloud. “Seriously. Remember Doc at six years old? Think that, but ten times cuter. With pigtails.”

“I’m sure you would be welcome.” Gamora says, keeping her expression as neutral as she can. She can almost FEEL his eyes scanning her for clues as to her thoughts.

“Sure.” He shrugs, and looks back out the window again, trying not to think about the way the assassin is looking at him.

Peter smiles, types something into the com unit, and hits send. “Invitation confirmed.”

Gamora nods, and exits the cockpit. Kraglin watches her leave, then sits back in the co-pilot seat and closes his eyes, shutting out the rest of the world.

He is going to kill Yondu for this.

He had been offered the single bunk, and his argument that he was fine sleeping in one of the cockpit seats had been met with five protests (although he only had Rocket’s word that Groot had been protesting). So he had relented, and then pretty much passed out on the bunk as soon as he laid down.

His sleep was dreamless, but he woke up in the middle of the night. To his surprise it was to find that the double sleeper opposite his was empty.

Confused, Kraglin sat up slightly in his bunk, and looked over the edge to the floor. Holy…

A selection of blankets and bedrolls has been bundled into what can only be described as a nest next to the galley table. Drax (Who, for the record, snores) is laid out flat on his back under one blanket, an arm lazily wrapped around Peter who, using sleep derived logic, has decided that in the absence of a pillow Drax’s shoulder is a suitable substitute. Peter has another arm draped over his waist, this belonging to Gamora, who is sleeping on her side behind him. Her other arm curls up between them, providing a bed for a ball of fluff that Kraglin guesses is Rocket. It is hard to tell.

If Kraglin had had any schooling in the arts, he would probably have tried to paint the picture, if only so he could torture Peter with it later.

Peter mutters something in his sleep, and starts to fidget. Both Drax and Gamora instinctively tighten their grip, and the assassin shifts slightly so that she is for the most part spooning the Terran, her head pressed against his mid back. Rocket climbs up so that he is now sleeping on Drax and against Peter’s chest, and Kraglin is impressed that the Raccoon manages to do this without actually waking up.

The chain reaction dissipates and everyone settles into their new positions, Peter having calmed from whatever nightmare disturbed him (And he has a few to choose from).

A small, mischievous side of Kraglin wants to poke someone just to see what arrangement of sleeping figures it results in, but the other 98% of him that remembers that he is an adult just makes him lay there and watch.

“I am Groot.”

The voice is low, but it still startles the Xandarian as the huge...he's not actually all that sure what the bloody thing is...stands beside his bunk.

Groot smiles fondly as he looks upon the scene before them. "I am Groot."

"Yeah, I think one of my teeth just fell out." Kraglin mutters in reply, not that it was really a reply as Groot's language was as much a mystery to him as his species.

"I am Groot."

"Surprised you're not joining in. Don't trees all live with their roots wrapped around each other or some shit like that." He means it as banter, but then he looks up it is to see that a sad look of longing has settled across Groot's face.

Now Kraglin is no angel, but he ain't quite ready to call himself a bad person either, so he is feeling a little guilty now about making the tree man homesick and he thinks that maybe he should wake the raccoon. If he can do that without setting off another chain reaction of hug rearrangement.

Groot sighs heavily and shifts onto his hands and knees, crawling over to the space immediately behind Gamora in the blanket nest and curling up there. Gamora shifts slightly, and a smile settles on her face.

Groot peers over the assassin’s shoulder at Kraglin. "I am Groot?"

"Yeah...goodnight."

Another look if longing, then the tree settles down and is soon as asleep as everyone else.

Rocket tiptoes across the bridge of bodies and arms, and curls up on Groot's shoulder. And Kraglin thinks that he manages to do that without waking up as well.

Kraglin settles back down into his bunk, turning so that his back is to the room. He sniffs, flinching as the sound echoes in the room, and he hears Peter mutter again. After a moment things are still, and the Xandarian closes his eyes and tries to sleep.

Except it isn’t happening.

He hears movement, and looks down over his shoulder to see that Peter is now all but laying on top of Drax with his head on his chest. The warrior now has both arms wrapped around the Terran. With Peter gone from her grip, Gamora has turned onto her other side and is now facing Groot, who sleepily pulls her into his chest.

Kraglin feels a pang of...he guesses it’s jealousy. That same childish part that wanted to poke someone now wants to climb into the middle of the pile, but he knows that they won't want that. And it doesn’t matter how many times Yondu tells him to stop giving a fuck what other’s think, Kraglin’s mind just doesn’t work that way. And he’s already had a pretty crap few days, he could do without the Guardian’s giving him verbal reminders of what they think of him because he tried something stupid.

So instead he sits up in the bunk and considers the...he tries to think of a suitable collective noun for hugs and all he gets is cluster...the cluster of hugs...a clustersleep. He quietly chuckles at his own linguistic genius, but the humour quickly fades. He turns back to face the wall, laid on his stomach with his arms wrapped under his head. It's not a comfortable position, but he's given up on getting any sleep and just wants to watch the wall.

He sniffs again. Obviously he is allergic to whatever was used to wash the blanket.

He needs to sleep. He needs to go home. He needs to...

He doesn’t remember the walk to the shower cubicle, or collapsing into a heaped mess against the wall, a knife held in his hand, arm prone. He closes his eyes tight, focusing on images. Faces. Yondu. Peter. The other Ravagers. How disappointed they’ll be. How hurt. Angry.

It’s too late. Yondu’s so fed up with him that he’s sent him away. Oh yes he came up with some story about wanting Kraglin to take a break, to experience some Xandarian kindness and culture in hope that it would comfort him enough to alleviate his self hatred, his urges, but Kraglin’s mind knows the truth.

Yondu has given up on him.

It won’t be long before Peter does too.

He grips the knife tightly, and another face swims into his mind’s eye. Gamora, and that fucking fake smile in the cockpit. Her look of contempt. The look Rocket gave him when he came on board. The way Drax was guarded around him.

Only Groot has shown the Xandarian any kindness. And Kraglin has just screwed that up quite royally by upsetting the tree with thoughts of his lost home.

“Messy way to go about it.”

Kraglin’s eyes fly up to the sink facing the shower. Rocket is stood on the rim, arms crossed.

“Sure, blood’s easier to clean in a shower. But much cleaner to not make any in the first place.”

He jumps down, pulling a small stick from his pocket and passing it over.

Kraglin hesitates before taking it. “What’s that?”

“A little something of my own design.” Rocket says, pushing the button and pointing at the red light at the end of the stick. “Tricks the nerve endings into thinking they’ve been cut. Or burned if you hold it still long enough. But don’t leave any permanent mark and don’t cause any actual damage.”

Kraglin looks from the stick to the Raccoon. “What the fuck did you build that for?”

“Reasons.” Rocket shrinks in on himself, before snatching the knife out of the Xandarian’s suddenly lax fingers. “Sure you’ll appreciate me putting this in a safe place for you.”

The raccoon starts to walk away. “And that was an invitation earlier, you numbnuts."

“What?"

“Groot. Just now. He was inviting you to join us. He thought you looked lonely.”

The Racoon could even TRANSLATE in his sleep.

“So, you going to?”

Chapter Text

“You were right.”

Peter had been daydreaming when the raccoon speaks. He jolts awake, sitting up in the pilot seat. “About?”

“Frenemy. Caught him in the shower last night.”

“Rocket?”

“With a knife.”

Peter turns in the chair to face the raccoon as he climbs onto the co-pilot seat.

“Relax.” Rocket waves him off. “My brilliant inventiveness saves the day, as per usual.”

Peter checks the navigation. Still a few hours from Xandar. “Thanks.”

"Gotta admit its weird." Rocket says, arms crossed. "Never took Frenemy for someone that was messed up. Always seemed the opposite. Cocky."

"You've never seen him away from Yondu and the others." Peter's hands are rested on the Milano's controls even though she is in auto pilot. "Soon as he's alone, it's a different story."

"Then why's he here, Quill?" Rocket says, not unkindly. "If being with that misfit crew is where he's happy, why not take him back."

“Part of me’s been wondering that myself.” Peter let's go of the controls and sits back, eyes fixed on the stars ahead. "Yondu said...look this is personal okay.”

Rocket shrugs.

“He...um...when he was a kid. He lived on a Kree ship.”

“Xandarian on a Kree ship?”

“As a slave.”

Rocket’s ears fall, and he sinks into the chair.  

Peter crosses his arms. “Yondu found him when he was twelve. He’d...he’d been a slave for so long that he couldn’t even remember what his name was. Formative years being a thing, an object. Treated like shit. Starved. Never held or loved. No music. Can’t imagine that.”

“I don’t need to.” Rocket mutters, and Peter closes his eyes tight as he mentally scolds himself. Rocket jumps down to the floor, placing a small paw on the Terran’s knee. “It’s okay, Quill.”

“Um...well...turns out that all that shit in his childhood, didn’t just go away when he joined the Ravagers. He just learned to hide it over the last thirty years. Now Yondu thinks...Yondu thinks his personality is completely dependent on outside validation. I mean completely. He just isn’t happy with something he says or does unless someone else is. And if someone isn’t happy with him, then it’s a disaster, which also tends to be his default position if he doesn’t get anything at all.” Quill takes a breath. “The problem there is…”

“...that he’s a slave and as far as he’s concerned, everyone see’s him as a thing.” Rocket stands up in the chair. “Look, Quill...I ain’t exactly the fricken poster children of psychological health, but...I...do you want me on your wing for this?"

Peter gives him a small smile. “I’d appreciate it, thanks.”

“Alright.” Rocket nods, and jumps down from the chair, heading for the hatch. “Alright.”

Gamora and Drax are playing a game that Kraglin doesn’t recognise. He doesn’t ask what it is, or even speak at all. He’s quiet and they ignore him, which is fine by him. They can’t be judging him if they aren’t watching him.

He can’t relax, too busy obsessing over the conversation he just overheard. He can’t relax, even though after spending the whole night sat in the shower cubicle holding a stick and fighting urges, he’s exhausted.

Quietly, holding his breath, he stands and slips out of the room, his chosen route taking him to the cargo hold. He expects it to be empty, and so is surprised to find Groot stood here.

“Thought you were up top with Quill and the rat.”

Groot glares at him, and the Xandarian raises his hands in surrender.

“Sorry. Rocket. I meant to say Rocket.”

Groot nods slowly, and turns back to the box that he is holding. It’s small, ornate. And inside, Kraglin sees a collection of dust, twigs, bark. Some of it is burned to a delicate state, held together by magic because it couldn’t possibly be anything else.

“Shit is that...you know...you?”

“I am Groot.”

“Quill said you were blown to bits but...I’m sorry.”

“I am Groot.”

“Do you remember it?”

Groot nods, closing his eyes.

"You know, might take me a bit, but something I've learned about myself recently is I can pick up a new language pretty damn well. So, if you ever want to...I don't know...talk. Only, I've been there too. Sort of. Not that long ago actually. Cliff fall. Couldn't see anything but the rocks below."

Groot opens his eyes and slowly closes the box.

"Always thought death would scare me.” Kraglin leans against the wall, his arms crossed. “But that moment, seeing Yondu, Peter and Janga and knowing what I needed to do. Don't think I've ever been more...I don't know. Peaceful."

Groot flinches slightly, before turning to look straight at him.

"You know. 'Cause the future, what's left of it, it's so clear."

"I am Groot." He says slowly, shaking his head, and Kraglin thinks that the three words contained about a paragraph. A small flower appears in Groot’s hand. He watches it grow, a tear slipping down his bark covered cheek. "I..."

And then the huge figure collapses to the floor, sobbing.

The Xandarian kicks himself mentally. Well done Kraglin Obfonteri, you made the man sad twice in one day. Because yes Kraglin has looked death in the face, but Groot has BEEN DEAD. And been dragged back from that. And maybe, just maybe his soul had time to see whatever the fuck was on the other side waiting for them all.

Maybe, just maybe, he had been torn away from a paradise.

He couldn't possibly put himself in Groot’s position, but he can identify with pain, with hurt. With experiencing a perfect moment and then spending the rest of your life longing for it to repeat. The day that Yondu had picked him up, given him a name, and for the first time in his life he had experienced being treated like the child, like someone who was cared for. He had been carried through the ship in a protective hold, the Captain letting the boy slowly fall asleep against his shoulder. Kraglin would happily have lived that hour of his life over and over again for the rest eternity if he could.

He knows longing, the aching pain in the chest that never quite goes away, and chokes you at night. And he knows what he would want right now, if he were Groot. So he kneels down behind the tree and slowly, giving the other man time to move away if he wants to, rests a hand against his back.

"You're okay." He whispers. "Got nothing but admiration for you. Gave your life for your friends, and you didn't know you could come back I bet. Takes a lot of love. More love than I could ever give. And you get it back, seen it in the way everyone looks at you. Ain't just lucky to be alive, you're lucky to be alive with them. Living with them, Rocket, Drax, Gamora, Quill...that's better than any heaven I can think of."

"I...am Groot." Groot nods, and then starts to sob harder.

“What are you doing?”

Rocket looks worried, and Gamora furious, as they march into the cargo hold, immediately kneeling down beside Groot.

“What did you say to him?” The assassin says bitingly, before turning to face her friend. “What did he say to you?”

“Hey, I was just....” Kraglin argues. “This ain’t on me.”

“Get out.” Gamora says, refusing to make eye contact.

“It’s alright. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Rocket is calmer, but also not meeting his gaze.

“Then why…”

“Just leave it to us.” The raccoon says, waving him off.

Kraglin gets ready to argue again, but then Gamora fixes him with a glare that takes every inch of his resolve. He nods quickly, and backs his way out of the room, not stopping until he hits the table in the galley. He works his way around it and sits down, ears straining to hear the distant sobs of Groot while his mind works its way back over the conversation.

Stupid, stupid idiotic useless piece of…

He bangs his fist on the table, scrunching his eyes shut as the jarring pain flies up his arm. Pain. Disappointment. That was all he ever caused. All he ever…he can’t hear the voices around him as everyone disappears into the cargo bay.

"Then why's he here, Quill?" Rocket had said, not unkindly. "If being with that misfit crew is where he's happy, why not take him back."

“Part of me’s been wondering that myself.” And at Peter’s calm reply, Kraglin had stopped his ascent of the steps, turned, and crept back down.

One day on the ship, ONE DAY, and Peter wanted rid of him. Just like Yondu.

Elbows rested on the table, he wraps his hand around each other and rests his forehead against them, mind frantically playing back over and over and over the conversation too fast for him to take it all in. What bit had made Groot cry? Was it that bit? No. That bit? NO. Maybe he should apologise? No. Gamora would probably kill him before he got the chance.

“Cliff fall. Couldn't see anything but the rocks below."

He slowly opens his eyes, looking down at the table.

"Always thought death would scare me, but that moment...Don't think I've ever been more...I don't know. Peaceful."

No. No nobody wanted that from him. He didn’t want that. It was...he…

He trembles, hands painful as they dig into his forehead, elbows jarring against the table. He can’t breath for his panic.

It feels like a physical sensation, that sickening moment that everything clicks calmly into place and he becomes afraid of his own mind. Because it all makes terrifying sense to Kraglin. And he wants to be left alone so that no one can interrupt. And he wants so desperately for someone to find him sat here falling apart.

He stands up from the table, stumbling as he turns to the com unit on the wall, typing in the familiar frequency units and waiting...waiting...waiting…

No answer.

He tries again, typing in the frequency....”Come on, please.”

No answer.

He hits the recorder, but then his mind snaps. He screams, hands flying into the com unit. He hears the sparks, feels their heat against his hands. He kicks at it, claws at it, at himself. He screams again, and he can hear shouting and someone pulling him back. He screams and stumbles, and his elbow goes into their gut. He hears the gag as he runs past, tripping over his own feet as he rushes up the cockpit stairs and throws the trapdoor hatch down, locking it with shaking hands. The door vibrates as hands pound against it from the other side, but it doesn’t move. Doesn’t open.

Safe for the moment, he crawls over to the pilot seat and pulls himself up onto it, hitting the coms in this room. Same frequency as before.

No answer.

“Captain, please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did on Betzod, I’m sorry I let you down. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. You were right, didn’t matter how those people treated me. I should have just let it happen.”

He takes a deep breath.

"Yondu?"

The trapdoor starts to shake again. Harder this time. Probably Drax banging against it. He can vaguely hear the raccoon shouting.

The com unit above him starts to beep. Kraglin’s mind registers the sound but not what it is. He sits in the middle of the cockpit, and for the first time in his adult life he bursts into tears, and they won't stop.

The com unit continues to beep. And beep. And beep.

He closes his eyes, covering his face with his hands.

And beep. And beep.

The day that Yondu had picked him up, given him a name, and for the first time in his life he had experienced being treated like the child, like someone who was cared for.

And beep.

He had been carried through the ship in a protective hold, the Captain letting the boy slowly fall asleep against his shoulder.

And beep.

Kraglin would happily have lived that hour of his life over and over again for the rest eternity if he could.

And beep.

But he can’t.

The trapdoor blasts open.

Chapter Text

“Horuz, Klo. Get us ready to move out.”

The Captain’s voice is quieter than usual, confusing the First Mate until he turns and sees the sleeping child currently being held against the Centaurian’s shoulder.

“Is that a Xandarian?”

“No Horuz it’s a cat.” Yondu throws the bag of plundered goods he is carrying at his second in command. “His name’s Kraglin, and he’s coming with us.”

Horuz knows better than to argue as he lifts the bag, and makes his way back to their M-Ship.

Klo frowns as he studies the boy. “Want me to take him off your hands, Captain?”

“He’s settled. Let him be.” Yondu says quietly. “Let him sleep. He’s going to have a lot to take in when he wakes up.”

His new master is kind. And he wants to repay that kindness, and say thank you for giving him a name yesterday, and for giving him lots of food to eat, and for letting him sleep last night in a proper bunk with proper blankets and a pillow (Even though he moved onto the floor in the end because laying on the bunk was TOO comfortable. He kept the pillow and blanket though. It was nice to be warm).

His new master is kind, and he wants to repay that kindness by being the best slave in the galaxy. So he wakes early and dresses quickly, and he searches the empty corridors of the ship until he finds the storage room. The bucket is old and doesn’t look like it’s been used much, but he wipes it quickly and fills it with water from the nearby bathroom and then takes a cloth.

He grimaces. The bathroom seems a good a place as any to start. It’s clearly been a while since his new master last had a slave. Or maybe he is replacing someone who was useless.

He isn’t going to be useless. He doesn’t try to be for any master, although he knows that he is. But for this one he is going to try even harder to be good. His new master deserves that.

So he scrubs, and thinks how pleased his master will be to have a slave who can use his initiative. Who doesn’t need to be ordered around, just gets on and does the job quietly and quickly. Never seen and never heard and no trouble. Maybe he will earn more food.

He carries on working as he hears the ship waking up around him and hears the bathroom door open. He’s excited to be discovered, excited to see how pleased his master is going to be when he sees how hard working his new slave is.

“What are you doing?”

When he looks up, it is to see that the man is angry. In his haste to stand he knocks the bucket over.

His master is accompanied by the hairy man. Horuz, he thinks his name is. And Horuz has his arms crossed.

“That why you think we brought you on board?” His master says. “To clean up our shit.”

He doesn’t know what the correct answer is. He doesn’t know why the master is angry. Wasn’t he doing good?

“Horuz. Make a note that Kraglin is exempt from any and all rostas until he’s twenty. Any second he isn’t spending eating or sleeping until then is spent learning and playing.”

“Got it.”

Yondu gently takes the boys arm, and starts to lead him out of the room. “And get someone in here to clean up this mess.”

“Yes, Captain.”

And that is the point that Kraglin’s brain decides that its had enough excitement for one day, leaving him with just enough consciousness to feel his body strike against the floor as he collapses.

“Neurotransmitter depletion. His nervous system has been exhausted by cortisol overload.”

“What can be done?”

“If he continues to deteriorate I’ll have to alter the cortisol levels artificially, but he is stable right now. It would be best to let him recover on his own if he can. Sleep. Food. And rest, proper rest, mental as well as physical.”

His eyes open slowly. He’s laid on his side, and he doesn’t recognise the room. It smells clean, fresh. The light on his face feels warm, as if it is natural sunlight. There is a hand rested on his head, and it’s delicate. A woman’s hand then.

He follows it up to the source, but all he can see is bright light. He remembers Yondu telling him about angels.

A hand takes his shoulder and he is gently rolled onto his back. There are colours above him, and he sees that it is a medicinal hologram.

That’s me he thinks as his vision blurs and darkens again.

“Bet you’ve never seen what you look like inside before.” His master says, pointing at the hologram before shrinking it slightly with a hand gesture and turning it so that the boy can see it from the side. “That bit there’s your heart. That’s what you can feel thumping if you put your hand against your chest. Like this. Feel that?”

Kraglin nods, feeling the strange beating.

“That’s your stomach. Working a bit harder than usual at the moment.” His master laughs. “You ate more than Klo. And that’s an achievement.”

“Can’t see anything physically wrong.” Horuz says as he runs his eyes down the medical readout. “Other than the fact that his immune system’s a fucking joke and he’s deficient in just about every vitamin that exists, but looking at the adrenaline levels I think he just passed out because he was panicking.”

“And what did you have to panic about?” His master says, gently.

“He’s coming round.” The man who speaks is a Rainer, and tall even for a member of his species. The small scanning device that he is holding hums as he works, clucking away.

“Hey, can you hear me?” Kraglin turns his head slightly to see Quill sitting beside him the bed.

Rocket is sat on the Terran’s shoulder, but jumps down onto the mattress beside them.

“You know, if you didn’t want to go to dinner, you should have just said. Going to take me hours to repair that console you broke?”

“Is now really the time for that, Rocket?”

“Bloody idiot is lucky he didn’t zap himself across the room. But then I don’t expect much else from a Xandarian.” He gives Kraglin a wink. “You’re just a race of idiots.”

Someone clears her throat behind Kraglin, and he feels a hand on his forehead. Confused, he turns his head to find himself looking at the angel from before, only now she’s a little bit clearer and he recognises her enough to name her.

Oh shit!

“Good evening.” She says, smiling as she removes her hand.

He doesn’t say anything back, because even if his voice was working, what do you say in response to having the Galactic Leader of the Xandarian people checking your temperature as if she’s your mother?

“You’re on Xandar.” Nova Prime explains. “And in good hands I can assure you. Mau’ra here is my personal physician.

The Rainer nods by way of a greeting, before returning to his analysing and clucking.

“You have evidence of multiple impact injuries sustained recently.” He says.

“He threw himself off of a cliff.” Peter says, matter of factly.

The Rainer looks from Nova Prime, to Kraglin, to the two Guardians.

Rocket shrugs. “He really did.”

“Well I am sure the story can wait until you are feeling stronger.” Nova Prime says, addressing the man laid in the bed. “I must attend to matters of state, but I will return soon. The three of you are guests in my house, feel free to ask my staff for anything that you require.”

“Thank you.” Peter says, shaking her hand.

She returns his smile, and then leaves them. The physician follows her, and the trio are now alone in the large guest room.

“Here that? We’re the guests of Nova Prime.” He lays out on the bed beside his friend, legs crossed at the ankles. “A couple of Ravagers and a bounty hunter. Guests of Nova Prime.”

“Soon as we radioed in that you were sick, Dey sort of maybe mentioned to Nova that you were in the Dark Aster battle.” Rocket climbs over Quill to sit between them. “Think the only thing that stopped her throwing the red carpet treatment was that we had to bring you out on a stretcher.”

“Rocket figured he’d tag along.”

“It was this or dinner with the Dey’s and death by cuteness.”

“Awe, Layla’s okay.”

“Last time we were there she put a doll’s bonnet on my head.”

The bubble of laughter that escapes Kraglin surprises all three of them.

“Yeah, laugh it up.” Rocket says, as if Kraglin laughing is normal. “The Little Gargoyle is lucky I didn’t bite her.”

“You showed admirable restraint.” Quill turns to Kraglin, his voice dropping to a mock whisper. “He also looked adorable.”

“You little…”

“Hey hey.” Peter raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Rule number one of being the Guest of Royalty. Don’t get blood on the guest bed.”

Kraglin settles back into the pillow, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Royalty don’t serve slaves.

He looks down at his arms, thankful to the long sleeves of the too big night shirt that he has been given to wear. He hopes that it was Peter that dressed him. He hopes that Nova Prime doesn’t know about the tattoo. But he also feels guilty for not telling her. As his anxieties shout inside his head, he welcomes the distraction of the mock fight developing beside him. He’s not going to admit it to Peter, but his money is on the raccoon.

“I should blast you right here. They won’t be able to prove it was me.”

“You think the house of Nova Prime won’t have cameras everywhere.”

“In the bedrooms?” Rocket looks around. “That’s creepy, Quill.”

Kraglin turns onto his side, and both Rocket and Peter realise that he is asleep.

“Right in the middle of our conversation.” Peter whispers. “That’s just rude, Obfonteri.” Without another word he settles down on his side on top of the blankets and closes his own eyes.

Rocket shakes his head, arms crossed. “Guess that’s me calling Yondu back then.”

Peter’s eyes fly open. “Fuck!”

Chapter Text

“Yondu?”

The Centaurian sighs as Peter steps onto the bridge. He knows that tone of voice. It is the ‘I have a question’ tone which the thirteen year old adopts before he asks a hundred questions in quick succession.

“Make it quick, Boy.”

“It’s Kraglin.”

“He been giving you a hard time again?”

“No...just.” Peter shrugs. “What does thrall meat mean?”

Okay, THAT got Yondu’s attention. As it did every member of the crew on the bridge.

“WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT?” He spins round in time to see Peter, with a small cry, flinch violently, tensing ready for a punch.

Yondu releases his breath and kneels down to the child’s height, a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Where did you hear that phrase, Boy?”

“Von.”

“The new guy?” Horuz says through his teeth. He hasn’t liked the man from the start.

“He...I...I was practicing my stealth by following him. I wanted to see how long it took for him to see me.”

“Get to the point...” Horuz says, but Yondu raises a hand to silence him, eyes still fixed on the Terran.

“I saw him grab Kraglin in the corridor and hold him against the wall. And Von was whispering stuff, but I couldn’t get close enough to hear it. But I could see...the way he was holding him was creepy. Kraglin looked really scared. I know I should have stepped out but...”

“You did fine, Boy.” Yondu gently tightens his hold on the terran’s shoulder. “Go on.”

“Kraglin pushed him away and said ‘No’ really loud, and Von grabbed him again and that was when he said it. He said that you...meaning YOU…” he points at Yondu “could pretend all you wanted, but Kraglin was just a piece of thrall meat and he needed to remember his place.”

“What happened after that?”

“He let go and Kraglin ran off.”

“Von go after him?”

Peter shakes his head. “He laughed and then he went into the engine room. I came straight here.”

“Good boy.” Yondu stands, eyes fixed on each member of the crew in turn. “Harris?”

“Captain Yondu, Sir.”

“There is about to be an accident in the engine room.”

Harris smiles. “Is this going to be a violent accident, Captain?”

“Painful and ultimately fatal, I should think.”

“I better inform everyone to leave the area.” Harris turns to his console. “Oh dear, I do not seem to have the frequency for Von’s com unit. How remis of me.”

“A shame.” Yondu says. “Don’t worry. I’m heading that way now. I can tell him myself.”

He meets Kraglin as he enters the corridor. The young man looks like he has just seen the ghosts of all his ancestors.

“You’re late.” Yondu says.

“Sorry.” Kraglin’s eyes dart about nervously as he looks onto the bridge. Why was everyone looking at him like that? “It won’t happen again, Yondu.”

“No.” The captain’s voice is quiet. “It won’t.”

“What did you do to him, Quill?” Angry doesn’t seem to be a good enough phrase to describe Yondu at the moment. “He might not have been a picture of happiness when he boarded Milano, but what you just described is a nervous breakdown.”

“The Rainer Doctor said it’s been building up for a while.” Peter shrugs, looking away from the screen. “Gamora probably sped it along a bit, but this was always going to happen.”

“Gamora.” Yondu says it through his teeth. “That’s two of my boys that green bitch has screwed over now.”

Peter raises his hand, hoping to placate the Captain. “The crew didn’t know that Kraglin was sick...”

“They need a reason to be friendly with someone, do they?”

“No.” Peter sits back, deflated. Dammit, Yondu has a point.

“Where are they now?”

“She, Drax and Groot are elsewhere. It’s just me a Rocket here with Kraglin.”

“The rat?” Yondu shakes his head. “Where’s ‘here’, a hospital?”

“Nova Prime’s house.”

Yondu laughs, that scary ‘I am not really amused, but my brain hasn’t had time to come up with a better response in the split second I’ve given it’ laugh he has sometimes.

“Nova Prime. Well there’s one for the media.”

“Give her a break, Yondu. She’s helping him.”

“I bet she is.” Yondu sits back, his expression neutral. “I’m turning the Eclector around. We’ll be a couple of days.”

“We could fly out, meet you halfway...”

“No. Me and Nova Prime might never be bosom pals, Boy, but that don’t mean I don’t have time for her. If it were me hurting, she’s one of the few people I’d trust to fix it.” Yondu leans forward. “He stays there till he’s ready to leave. Eclector gotta orbit Xandar for a while, then that’s fine.”

“Okay.”

“Tell Kraglin something for me.” Yondu smiles, reminiscent. “Tell him I told him to remember what I said about the kindness of strangers.”

Peter nods.

“Ma’am.”

“Yes, Millenian.”

“Sorry to interrupt so late, but we have a call coming through. He said it was important, a Yondu Udonta.”

“Put him through.” Nova Prime tightens the wrap of her robe as she sits down at the console.

“Irani Rael.” Yondu smirks. “I’m a huge fan.”

“Is this about the young man currently occupying my guest quarters?”

Yondu nods. Straight to business. He can do that. “Been speaking to Quill. He tells me that young man is sick.”

“He is in the care of my personal physician.” Nova Prime says. “He was sleeping when I saw him last, but he seemed settled. While I can understand your feelings on this, I feel it best that he remain here for the time being.”

“Oh I agree.” Yondu’s tone could almost be described as dismissive, but Nova Prime can see his eyes. “Weren’t calling to claim him, I was calling...believe this or believe this not...to thank you for taking him in.”

Nova Prime just manages to hide her surprise. “Well there is no need. I have not forgotten what you and your crew did for this planet last year, Captain Udonta. My actions today only make a dent in that debt.”

“Big dent though.” Yondu looks at something on the console his end. “Sending a file along this link. Should be downloading now.”

She looks at her own console. “It is.”

“Got a kid on my crew. His real name’s a mystery but we call him Doc. And when he was a youngling, Doc started writing diaries about us all. We encouraged it, child’s gotta practice their writing somehow, although we sure as hell watched what we said and did around the brat.”

Nova Prime allows herself a smile.

“Anyway, he got older and those diaries became detailed observation and medical notes. Pretty good ones too. And he’s made notes on Kraglin over the years.” Yondu’s expression becomes stern. “He’s written a lot the last few months, since we found out about this cutting business. Doc was in charge of the medical side of that before Kraglin left Eclector. What you got there is psych evaluations, deductions and examination write ups, and I want your word now that your doctor sees these notes and no one else.”

“That will be the case, I promise.”

“Good.” Yondu looks away at a console his end. “Download complete?”

“Yes.”

“Not often I trust outsiders, Irani. Don’t you go be reminding me why, now.”

And the call ends.

“Well.” Nova Prime says to herself. “That was unexpected.”

She is just about stood up when the console beeps again.

“Crap.” She sits down again, taking a deep breath before answering the call. “Yes, Millenian.”

“Sorry Ma’am, but there’s a problem in the Guest Quarters. Peter Quill has asked you to meet him there.”

“What kind of a problem?” Nova Prime is already standing.

“It's the Ravager, ma'am. He’s missing.”

Chapter Text

He is forty one years old. He has been a Ravager for most of his life.

But he is still a slave.

He knows that Yondu tried everything when Kraglin had been small. He had even taken some of the non-Xandarian crew into Kree space, looking for someone familiar with the technology used to make the marks. But this only served to prove what he had come to suspect. The mark was burned into every part of the wrist, impossible to remove without causing severe nerve damage. He would lose the hand.

At the time, Kraglin had not been concerned about the mark. He was too busy learning how to be a Ravager, while the crew in turn were busy teaching him how to play and have fun. Teaching him how to laugh when happy, to not be afraid to cry when upset, and to use his imagination to make anything a game.

With hindsight, he thinks that Yondu would have preferred that these lessons had not involved frequent food fights in the canteen.

Over time his feelings about the mark had changed. He got older, and came to understand it as the reason that he was never allowed to go planetside without either Yondu or Horuz (or both) accompanying him.

It was the reason some of the seedier offworlders that they met spat at his feet, or turned away and refused to acknowledge him.

This was actually preferable to the time when he had been thirteen and someone had knocked him over in the street, cutting his knee. The man had immediately apologised...to Yondu.

The mark was the reason that Von…

That had been when Kraglin had lost it, had begged Yondu to remove the mark. He could live one handed. He did most things with the other hand anyway. But Yondu had refused.

“I ain’t letting you cripple yourself over other people’s problems.”

“But it isn’t other people’s problems. It’s MY problem.”

“Only ‘cause you're letting it be.”

Kraglin had hit the bulkhead with the offending hand, to stop himself from hitting Yondu. “It’s MY body.”

“And you’re on MY crew. If you’re not going to look after yourself, then I’ll do it for you. You bring this up again, you’ll be in the brig so fast you’ll think I teleported you there.”

Kraglin had marched past Peter on his way out. He didn’t hear the conversation that followed in his wake.

That was the first time, the night that Kraglin had taken a knife and gone to cut the mark out himself. But he hadn’t been able to. Eventually, it might have been minutes and it might have been hours, the knife had moved down his arm, and cut there instead. Cut into his worthless, slave meat skin. Punished himself for being what he was. A creature worthless of love, that people pretended to like out of pity, and talked of their disgust of him when alone. Just like Von had said.

He could still see it, faded but clear on his arm, that first scar as clear as the evidence suddenly so obvious around him.

He is brought out of his memories as he collapses into the wall beside him, overtaken by another fit of shivering. His fingers and legs ache and parts of his skin feel like they are burning with cold. He tries to breath onto his fingers to warm them up, but it is no use. Even his own breath seems cold now.

He tries to keep walking, but the shivering brings him to his hands and knees in the alley. He tries to stand, only to slip and land on the hard ground beneath him. His old injuries from Janga’s planet are not helped by the cold weather, and the impact rushes through him in painful, paralysing waves. He is barely conscious of his own screaming.

He pushes his back up against the wall, using it as support as he comes painfully up to standing. He stumbles, one hand splayed against his back uselessly.

He is starting to wish that he had stayed at Nova Corps, but what would have happened? He looks down at the mark, spits at it. If Nova Prime had seen it, and what trouble would Peter and Rocket have gotten into, bringing a slave into her house. She was as good as royalty, and Kraglin was as good as an insult on her hospitality.

He couldn’t do that, not to her (she had been kind to him, even if it was in her ignorance) and he couldn’t do it to Peter, not so soon after the trouble on the Milano...the Milano! He had to...he had to make it right. Maybe if he fixed the console, they might let him stay...no, they wouldn’t do that. Gamora’s expression had clearly been one of disdain, while Drax had paid him no attention whatsoever. He had not been worthy of his time.

He could at least apologise to Groot though, if he found where the Milano was...

When he falls a second time the pain is ten times worse, and he doesn’t try to stand again.

He has nowhere to go.

-

“I went to take a leak. He was ASLEEP.” Rocket is angry, but Peter isn’t sure if it is at the world in general or at himself for taking his eye off the ball...or rather, the Xandarian.

Rocket grabs his bag, securing it on his shoulders and tightening the belt decorating his one piece outfit. He picks up the bedsheet and sniffs it, before sniffing the air. He nods quickly when he catches the scent, jumping to the floor.  “I’ll find him, Quill. I’m a bounty hunter, remember.”

“I’ll come…”

“No. I work faster alone. I can get to the rooftops, sneak into places. Besides, you need to wait here incase his brain wakes up and he comes back.”

“Is that likely to happen?” Nova Prime says, addressing her physician.

“Without knowing why he has run away in the first place, I can not say.” The Rainer looks down at the data tablet in his hands. “Hopefully these notes will provide some clues as to his state of mind at present.”

“My men are patrolling Nova Corps and the surrounding city.” Nova Prime’s eyes are intense as they look at Quill. “I promise you, he will be found by sunrise.”

“Better hope it’s before then, Nova.” Rocket mutters as he leaves. “These aren’t temperatures for being lost outside in.”

-

The alley takes him into a promenade of sorts, surrounded by noisy bars and restaurants. Colours. Sound. People. He is still as much collapsed against the wall as he is standing, and the first few steps out into the promenade are agony. He is shuddering so hard now that every muscle hurts. He has to...What does he have to do?

He thinks he hears screaming. Every muscle aches, and his breathing comes in shallow gasps as he stumbles across the promenade. Someone reaches out for him and he darts painfully to the side, the screaming is him. Why is he scared? What’s happening. Where is he?

“Kraglin?”

He turns at the sound of the voice, and a half strangled sob escapes his throat.

The man looks different. In the three years since they saw each other last his hair has grown longer, it falls to his shoulders. Stress and battle fatigue has lined his face with age in places, and his ravager garb is gone, replaced with battle leather. A cloak.

He looks at him, and every cell in Kraglin’s brain utters the same word in unison.

Safe

Kraglin stumbles forward. It is an instinct, a knee jerk reaction that sends him collapsing into waiting arms, feeling a warm cloak wrapped around him tightly. He hides his face against the leather clad chest and tries to remember how to breath.

“Bet you never thought you’d see me again.” Klo pulls the hood of the cloak up over the Xandarian’s head, and tries to rub some warmth into his back. “What you’ve gone and done to yourself?”

He looks up from his whispering as a third figure approaches.

“Where did you go?” Harris says, arms crossed. “I was just getting to the good bit of my story.” He stops talking to lift up the hood of the figure his friend is embracing.

“Kraglin?” Harris laughs. “Well what are the chances. I mean, consider the infinity of the universe, the size of the planet we are on, and the infinity of time. The possibility of bumping into someone we know is so ridiculously impossible a thing to contemplate that..”

Klo ignores Harris. He knows this isn’t chance. Deep down, Klo is a religious man, and every now and again the Universe reminds him why.

Chapter Text

She can feel the cold, but she has never been one to be bothered by it even as she stands there on the balcony, a thin dress material the only thing between her and the outside world. In the garden before her, her companion in the fight to defend the Galaxy is engaged in his most important mission yet.

Helping a six year old girl to finish her snowman.

“We require more snow for the shoulders.” Drax announced, as if this was a media update. “Ever growing tree friend, perhaps you can retrieve some from on top of this wall.”

Groot, who has been stood in the shadows like a lone spectre observing the events, nods and approaches the wall, growing taller with each step, while Drax quickly picks up Layla Dey so she can reach to put a helmet on the snowman’s newly completed head.

“Look Mummy.” The girl shouts as her mother steps into the garden. “He’s a Guardian of the Galaxy just like Drax.”

“Typical isn’t it.” Gamora steps to the side to allow Rhomann Dey to stand beside her. “I work hard to put food on her table, warm clothes on her back. I give her a nice house to grow up in, read her her bedtime story...with the voices...help her with her homework. But no, Drax the Destroyer is her number one dad.”

Gamora laughs, familiar enough now with Rhomann’s unique brand of humour to know that his hurt is in jest. Her laughter fades and she crosses her arms in front of her, looking up at the sky. It’s a clear night, and every single star can be seen. The sky is almost white with them.

“Unit for your thoughts?” Rhomann mimics her gesture, leaning back against the balcony barrier.

“Do you think I am a bad person?”

“A bad person? No.” He shrugs. “I think you are a very well rounded person, mentally I mean not physically. Physically I think you are not very well rounded, except in the places that are supposed to be well rounded...not that I have been studying of course...not to say that I wouldn’t want to because you are…you are very nice to look at but...I don’t...” He laughs at himself. “I think you are...fine.”

Gamora smiles, giving her appreciation for the comment, parts of it anyway, with a small nod.

“Why do you ask?”

She looks back out at the garden, watching as Groot returns with a basket full of snow. “I have hurt and killed so many people in the past. Most because I was ordered to, and did not have the strength to disobey. Some because I had to, kill or be killed. And one, one because I wanted to. I wanted him to hurt. I liked hurting him, I took every opportunity that I could to dig the knife a little deeper.”

“Did this guy hurt you in some way?” Rhomann asks with a low voice.

“No. Yes. Not...we did not meet under the best of terms. But I know that he and Quill are like brothers.”

“Oh him.” Rhomann nods, and then turns so that he is facing out into the garden along with Gamora.

“Peter and I have grown...close...over the last few months.”

“Close as in friends or close as if in Layla in a bridesmaid's dress.”

Gamora chuckles quietly. “Close. We all have, the five of us. We are more of a family than a team. I’ve never...I had forgotten what being part of a family felt like.”

“Yes, I can get that.”

“I think I saw his friend as a threat to that. A reminder of the family he had left behind, the family he could return to at any time. Because he could, tomorrow he could just decide to go back to his old life.”

“He could have done that months ago, but he didn’t.”

“He nearly did.” Gamora looks down. “I overheard him confiding in Rocket. They were both about as drunk as you can get without being a medicinal concern, and he told Rocket that he came very close to staying with the Ravagers after what my Father did to him.”

“So you saw his friend as a threat. He might have convinced Quill to leave you after all.”

“To leave me.” Gamora unfolds her arms, gripping the balcony barrier so tightly that her knuckles pale. “And now I have probably given Peter all the encouragement that he needs to do just that. My actions have been childish and deplorable, and they have hurt someone needlessly. I know I am not ultimately responsible for the illness that hospitalized him, but...but I can not help but think that I am perhaps responsible for the pain its onset caused him.”

“Well. Maybe you should just tell Quill’s friend that you’re sorry, then.”

“A single word can not fix this.”

“No...but it might be a start. I mean it’s like building a snowman. You don’t just put a man together, you build the legs, then the torso, then the head. Little bits that ultimately go together to make a whole.”

“Daddy. Come see my snowman.”

“And right on cue.” Rhomann steps back from the barrier. “I need to go say ‘Wow’ at the snowman.” He salutes her half heartedly, and descends the stairs into the garden.

“Thank you.” Gamora nods. “I would...appreciate you not sharing what I have said with anyone.”

“Sharing what? You didn’t say anything?” Rhomann says over his shoulder.

Gamora waits a moment, then descends the stairs behind him, coming to stand beside Groot and Rhomann’s wife, Mimi, in the garden. Groot is still quiet, and while she originally assumed that this was because Rocket was not around to translate for him, making talking pointless, she now wonders if he is as lost in thought as she has been.

“You never did tell us what upset you today?”

Groot takes a deep breath, shrinking slightly in size until he is only a little bit taller than Gamora. “I am Groot.”

She takes her arm in his own, and leans her head against his shoulder. “We should head back to the Milano soon. Peter or Rocket may try to contact us there.”

Groot nods, and she feels the bark shift against her head as if the entire skin is moved by the gesture.

“That is if we can drag Drax away from Layla.”

“I am Groot.”

“I hope that was not a suggestion that we leave a man behind.”

Groot looks at her, and really smiles for perhaps the first time that evening.

“You are frigging kidding me.” Rocket looks up at the establishment before him. “You escaped Nova Corps to check into a hotel?”

He checked his scanner, backing up what his tracking skills had already told him. His ‘bounty’ had met with two other individuals in the promenade, and followed them back to the hotel. And there was the lifesign now inside, in a room on the second floor with two aliens.

Quickly sending his coordinates to Nova Corps, Rocket climbed up the drainpipe to the second floor window. His view of the inside was obscured by a curtain, but that also meant that he was obscured as he shimmied onto the sill and carefully cut the window lock, pushing the shutter up and sliding under before letting it quietly click shut behind him.

“I am too good at what I do.” He whispers to himself as he lays on the sill behind the curtain, listening out into the room. He can hear voices, but they are muffled by distance and walls.

He risks parting the curtain slightly, a single eye peering through the gap. The only light source in the room comes from a fire, a proper lit under a mantlepiece fire, with a blanket wrapped figure sat cross legged in front of it. There he is.

Rocket can not see anyone else in the room, the voices coming from behind the ajar door to their left, so he climbs down from the sill and slinks across the floor. “Hey, Frenemy?”

Kraglin slowly looks down. If he is surprised to see the Raccoon then it doesn’t show on his face.

“Ready to be broken out?”

Kraglin doesn’t answer. but he does look up over Rocket’s head just as the raccoon becomes aware of footsteps behind him.

“Uho…”

“Well what do we have here.” The speaker is a Luphomoid. A Luphomoid with a strong grip that strangles Rocket as he is held against the wall. He kicks and scratches, but the alien only seems to enjoy the pain being inflicted on his hand.

Bloody luphomoids!

“Let me go.”

“Holy shit. It speaks. Hey Klo, Kraglin’s found a talking rat...a talking rat who is wearing clothes.”

“Why, so he has.” Klo turns as a frantic hand grips his arm. Kraglin is stood behind him, shaking his head and pointing at himself.

“He a friend of yours?”

“They're friends of YOURS?”

Kraglin nods at Rocket, before turning to Klo and waving a hand between them. ‘Sort of’.

“Are those your vocal chords he is using?”

Kraglin’s expression makes it clear that he thinks Harris is insane for even thinking this.

“Halfword cybernetics, if you are really interested.” Rocket pushes at the hand and the Luphomoid relaxes his grip, sending the raccoon crashing to the floor.

“Freaking great welcoming committee you throw here.” The raccoon mutters, brushing himself down. “Kraglin, who the hell are these guys?”

“I’m Harris. He’s Klo.”

“And you are?” The Vanir asks, his arms crossed as he and his companion both stand to form a barrier between Rocket and Kraglin.

“You don’t recognise me?”

“Should we?” Klo asks.

“I’m one of the Guardian’s of the Galaxy?”

“The what?” Harris asks.

Rocket slaps his face with his palm. “Jeez, which planet have you guys been on?”

“My homeworld was invaded. We went to fight in the liberation war.” Klo shrugs, his expression darkening slightly. “Three years?”

“Two years, ten months and five days.” Harris answers, seemingly proud with how aptly he has kept count. “We won. By the way.”

“The Asgardians won it for us.”

“We helped.”

“In over a year of fighting, Harris, you took down one Marauder.”

“But I took him down helpfully.”

“I remember. He landed on ME!” Klo turns to Kraglin. “Ever had a Kronan land on you? They are made of stone. STONE.”

Kraglin struggles to keep in his laughter, while Rocket throws his hands in the air, before clasping at his own head.

“You guys are probably going to want to sit down.”

“Why? What happened while we were gone?”

This time it is Kraglin who slaps his face with his palm, peering at Rocket through the gaps in his fingers.

“Oh boy.” The raccoon mutters.

Chapter Text

He looks at the razor in his hand, and then back at the mirror. He doesn’t recognise the person looking back, clean shaven and hair reduced to dark stubble, a few cuts here and there that he has washed away the blood from.

A different person. For a new start. He wonders if he should choose a new name. His old name wasn’t his real name, it was given to him, because his real one, the one he couldn’t even fucking remember, had been taken away.

Taken away because he didn’t deserve them. He had managed to even make his own parents hate him enough to leave him to slavers. And there had been the neglect before that.

Runt.

He looks back at the razor and carefully, slowly, puts it back on the edge of the basin.

He’s stood there in clothes borrowed from Harris, baggy trousers and a sleeveless top that is far too long, it comes down to his knees. His arms are on complete display, every scar, every bruise, every mark.

He doesn’t feel anything, but he can no longer tell if this is because he’s numb or because he has too many emotions at once to choose from.

He hears shouting from outside, and opens the door slightly to hear.

“You called Nova Corps?”

“Dammit, I told them I’d radio back in an hour.”

“And to come rescue you if you did not call them back.” Harris throws his hands up into the air. “That is wonderful.”

Klo crosses his arms. “What are we guilty of on this planet again?”

“Five counts of armed robbery and I think we might have murdered someone once.” He looks at Rocket. “He deserved it I am sure.”

“We did…I remember it. He REALLY did deserve it.”

The front door bursts open, and two Nova Corps officers step into the room, followed by a fidgety gentleman who Kraglin guesses is the landlord.

“I didn’t know they were criminals. Said they were travellers. Didn’t know they were lying.”

“We are ACTUALLY travelling at the moment.” Harris says, his hands already raised, as are Klo’s, even though the officers have already lowered their weapons upon seeing Rocket.

“Good evening, idiots. I include myself in that category, forgot to radio in.”

“Where is the Xandarian?”

“Any chance of narrowing this down?” Klo says. “We ARE on the Xandarian homeworld.”

The officers both step aside as Nova Prime herself steps into the room, followed by Peter Quill.

“No way…” He doesn’t finish his sentence before launching himself at the two Ravagers and a display of hugs and laughter and general disbelief at seeing each other alive and whole again.

Nova Prime looks on in confusion and then, after a moment, waves her hand to silently order her guards to leave the room. They do so, taking the Landlord with them. She then clears her throat.

The joval reunion quietens, and Peter steps forward. “Sorry, Nova Prime, these gentleman are ravagers. Or were. Honestly guys, we kinda thought you were on a suicide mission.”

“We were.” Harris says, shrugging.

“Please don’t ask Harris for the whole story again.” Rocket says, a palm across his eyes. “It’s very long.”

“Rocket had stories too.” Klo says, his voice low. “The battle. Horus. Seren…”

“Yeah.” Peter shrugs.

“And you…” Klo looks down. “What happened to you. I’m sorry.”

“You told them about THAT.” Peter says to Rocket, his teeth gritted.

“Since when was it a big secret?”

“Thanks Rocket.” Peter looks back at Klo. “It was...well actually it wasn’t that long ago...but I’m getting better. Nearly one hundred percent.”

“I trust that you haven’t forgotten why we are here?” Nova Prime says, her arms crossed. “Only I note he is not in the room.”

The door slowly opens, and Kraglin steps out, ignoring the gasps that his appearance earns from the Ravagers. But he doesn’t look at them. He looks at Nova Prime as she, in turn, looks at him. At his arms. His wrist. Then his eyes.

“You’re a slave.”

He closes his eyes, then remembers that this is the new him. He’s brave now. He’s not scared of her scorn. He opens them again, but his vision is shaking. His eyes burn.

“He’s not.” Peter says. “Not anymore. Yondu rescued him.”

“Why was I not informed?” There it is, the anger.

“He doesn’t like people knowing.” Peter argues. “I didn’t think it was relevant…”

“Your physician knew.” Rocket says. “We told him not to tell you.”

Sorry, Quill. No, Kraglin doesn’t care. No one cares about him so why should he care about them. Only that isn’t true, because Quill cares. Klo and Harris care. He thinks that Rocket cares.

He suddenly hates the new him as much as he hated the old him. So much for reinvention.

Nova Prime nods, and turns to look at Kraglin. Here it comes. She walks towards him, ignoring everyone else in the room. He feels his breathing hitch, and he thinks some traitorous tears have just removed any dignity he had left.

“Everyone leave the room.”

Harris steps forward. “Now just wait…”

“NOW!”

Four pairs of eyes turn to look at Kraglin, who nods. And then four sets of feet shuffle out of the room. Peter is last.

“Let me stay, please.”

“I will call for you when we are done.” Nova Prime says over her shoulder.

Peter looks at Kraglin, his expression full of...pain? Pain that Kraglin has put there. The Xandarian looks away, and nods. 'Go, Quill'.

Then the door closes, and he is alone with the leader of an Empire.

He towers over Nova Prime, but right now he feels like he is half her height as she looks at him, anger barely concealed in her eyes.

“Why did you run away?”

He knows he needs to answer that, but he can’t think of the words. There’s too much going on inside his head, or not enough. He still hasn’t figured out which way around everything is.

Nova Prime’s expression softens slightly, and she steps back to give him space. “Is he abusive? Your Captain?”

Kraglin’s eyes widen slightly, and another tear escapes as he shakes his head.

“He’s never used that…” She nods at the mark. “...to make you do things. For him.”

Another shake.

“Has anyone on the crew?”

He thinks of Von.

“Please. I need an answer.”

He shakes his head, no longer looking at her. He looks at the fireplace on the other side of the room.

“I see.” Nova Prime steps forward. “Nova Corps can help you. If someone is hurting you, because of what you were or for whatever the reason, we can help. You don’t need to run away. You can trust us.”

“No one is hurting me.” His voice is hoarse, and for all that he couldn’t speak he now feels like he can’t stop. “There was someone once, but the crew stopped him. They protected me.”

“You’re First Mate aren’t you?”

“Yondu tells me things he doesn’t tell the rest of the crew. Especially now. He taught me his language. It only took me a few months to learn it, practicing everyday. He said I’m gifted in that department.”

“I’m glad that you were able to find a good life.” She looks at the mark. “That you were able to put your past behind you.”

“I have a good life.” Kraglin looks down at the floor. “I have a good life. So why am I like this.” He looks at his arms. “I should be happy. But I’m not. And I don’t know why. It’s like I can’t make myself believe that everything is okay. It’s like I WANT to be miserable.”

The door behind Nova Prime opens, and Rocket sneaks back in.

“It’s because you’re sick.” He says. “It’s the same thing that keeps you trapped in a room, because you don’t want people to talk about you when you leave it. Same thing that makes successes unimportant and every little mistake the end of the world. Makes you strain your ears when a group leaves you behind, because are they talking about you now? You can never relax, because you have to work that little bit harder everyday to not screw up. Not say anything wrong. Not do anything wrong. And every little thing builds up inside of you bucket by bucket load until you’re so full of it that all it takes is the smallest drop of something to send you into a meltdown.”

If Nova Prime is angered by the interruption, or by the fact that Rocket apparently planted a listening device in the room before he left it, then she doesn’t say.

“I get it, you know.” The raccoon continues. “Because you and me, we’re the same person in a lot of ways. And I’ve got those same voices telling me that everyone is judging me. That all they see is a freak. A monster. A thing. Doesn’t matter how good life gets, or how comfortable, voices are still there, and they’re in charge. And that drags you down.”

“How did you stop them?”

“I didn’t. I just learned to listen to the other voices instead. Don’t always manage, but things are better now. Certainly compared to where I was a year ago.”

“There are no other voices.” Kraglin shakes his head. “Not for me.”

“You sure? Because I’ve got a voice.” He points at his own throat. “Quill’s got a voice. Nova Prime here, Ma’am.” He salutes her. “She’s got a voice. Yondu made you First Mate, think he did that because he thinks you're a freak?”

“He sent me away.”

“He has been in direct contact with me ever since you arrived here.” Nova Prime says.

“So, not looking very unwanted there.” Rocket smiles. “And those Ravagers out there. Just been in that group walking out of the room. And yes they were talking about you, about how worried they are.” Rocket reaches round behind the chair he is beside, and retrieves the listening device he planted earlier. “Don’t believe me? How about I go back outside with this in my pocket and you listen in.” He throws his ear piece at Kraglin, and it lands at his feet.

“I’m not entirely sure that’s ethical?” Nova Prime says, although she also makes no move to stop the raccoon.

Rocket shrugs nonchalantly, and walks out of the room.

Nova Prime sighs, waiting with her arms crossed while Kraglin, with a shaky hand, puts the listening device in his ear, his eyes still fixed on hers.

“Well, is he okay?” Peter is saying. “Rocket, please.”

“She’s talking to him.”

“Is she hurting him?” Klo.

“He’s a six foot tall Xandarian Ravager?” Rocket says. “What’s she going to do, stamp on his foot?”

Kraglin smiles at that, although he doesn’t think Nova Prime would be as impressed.

“I’m going in there.”

“Peter, wait. Look, we need to trust Kraglin to handle himself.” Klo’s voice is firm. “I know you’re worried about him, we all are. But he needs to do this himself.”

“He was there for me. When I was sick, he and Yondu were there for me. It’s my turn now. He didn’t let me down. I’m not going to let him down.”

“Quill come here. It’s okay. You’re not letting him down.”

Kraglin lowers the listening device, letting it fall from his fingers to the floor along with his gaze. He makes to stamp on the tech before remembering that it isn’t his.

He flinches as he feels a hand on his arm, bare skin on bare skin. Nova Prime’s hand is warm, and her touch firm as she slides the hand up to his shoulder.

“Before I came here, I was on this backwater planet. The people there couldn’t bring themselves to touch me, in case I contaminated them. I thought...I thought you would be the same, if you found out. That’s why I ran away. I couldn’t...”

Nova Prime nods, and then slowly reaches out with her other hand, resting it on his face. “Please let us take care of you.”

“Okay.”

And he thinks that maybe the new him isn’t so bad after all.

Chapter Text

Peter had seemed surprisingly unworried when Kraglin had collapsed. He was concerned, of course, but also calm. He had radioed in to the Nova Corps to tell them what was happening, then assisted Drax in carrying the by this time unconscious Xandarian down to the bunks. He had then left him to Rocket and Groot’s care, and climbed back up into the cockpit where he had calmly piloted the ship in to land. When Gamora had sat in the co-pilot seat he had nodded a greeting, and then commented on the current temperature in their landing zone.

It is only now, sitting on Peter’s bunk and holding the walkman in her hand, the walkman that went everywhere with Peter, the walkman that hardly ever left his side, the walkman that she had seen him go BACK into a prison that they had just broken out of to retrieve not once, but twice (And the second time was a longer story than the first).

It is only now, sitting on Peter’s bunk and holding the walkman he had left behind, that Gamora can see how worried he had been.

She sighs, inserts the mixtape the way she has seen him do a hundred times before, and carefully puts the walkman in a bag on top of the spare clothes.

The first bag packed, she moves over to the neighbouring bunk and carefully takes another bag out from under it. There isn’t much in the way of contents. Some spare clothes, a cannister of what she guesses is musk, spare batteries for a pulse pistol, and a data pad.

The pad is on standby, and switches on as soon as she touches it. A figure smiles back at her from the screen. The red headed ten year old is dressed in an assortment of Ravager clothes, most of which are too big for him, and holding up a very valuable looking gemstone in one hand. The other clutches what looks like Peter’s tripod. His pride is written in the huge grin on his face, and Gamora can’t help the fond smile that she returns.

The second photograph is Peter again, slightly older than before, and his hair is longer now. It’s almost down to his chin. He’s sat in the pilot seat of an M-Ship, hand’s gripping the controls even though it is clear from the docking bay visible through the window behind him that the ship isn’t in flight. It’s not the Milano, and she guesses by the assortment of toys lining the shelf behind Peter that it must therefore be Yondu’s.

The next entry is a video. She opens it, and finds herself looking at shaky camera footage of a herbivorous creature. Gamora recognises as native to Centauri. It is large, the size of a horse, and just as wide. It is drinking from a river in the swampland.

“Can we keep it?”

The camera pans down to a tiny Krylorian boy. Five years old perhaps. Certainly not older than Layla Dey.

“Can we keep it, Star Lord?” Doc says to the camera. “Can we? Can we? Please!”

“He’s a bit big for the Eclector, Doc.”

“He could go in the cargo hold.” Doc says, looking at the creature, and then back at the camera. “He’ll fit. And I’ll take him out for lots of walks. Every planet we land on.”

“And how are you going to feed him?” Peter says from behind the camera. “What do you think he eats?”

Doc thinks about this, looking around. “Grass.”

“And where are we going to find grass in space?”

“We could grow it in the other cargo hold.” The small boy holds his arms out wide. “With lots of sun lamps because Cap’n Yondu says that plants needs lots of light to grow.”

“But if we’ve got your pet in one cargo hold, and grass growing in the other cargo hold, where are we going to put the cargo?”

“In the corridors, stupid.”

Peter groans and the camera refocuses. “Kraglin! Help.”

The camera focuses on the young man studying the herbivore, mid twenties, dressed in a shirt with sleeves long enough that he has been able to cut finger holes in the end and double them up as gloves. He looks like he’s been swimming recently, maybe in the river that the creature is currently drinking out of.

“What?” He says, approaching the camera.

“Please tell Doc he can’t have a pet whatever that thing is.”

Kraglin shrugs as he looks back over his shoulder at the creature, then back at the camera. “Might be able to fit one in the cargo hold.”

“SEE.” Doc says defiantly, before walking back over to the creature.

“Thanks for that.” Peter points the camera at Kraglin, who winks. Then the footage cuts out.

Peter is absent in the next photo. Instead she is looking at a group of Ravagers stood in front of what looks like a planet based Nova Corps prison. She recognises one to be a Vanir, and she recognises the Xandarian who had been called Horus. And of course she recognises Yondu stood in the middle.

Who she doesn’t recognise, to begin with, is the small boy sat on the Vanir’s shoulders. He doesn’t look older than twelve, and some of the clothes he is wearing are identical to those that Peter was wearing in his photographs. His hair is cut into a messy attempt at a mohawk, and his sombre expression is a sharp contrast to the joviality of the rest of the crew.

He’s holding something. Gamora gently zooms the screen in to see it. It’s a toy...a messily carved toy of a Xandarian ground vehicle that the boy is clutching to his chest like it’s the most precious thing he owns. The way she has seen Peter clutching his walkman sometimes when he is laid on his bunk.

Gamora searches the bag, but the toy isn’t there. She puts the bag back down as another video starts to play.

“Reporting to Nova Corps station seven nine two fifteen. We have successfully broken out of your prison, as instructed, and have the following review of your security measures.” Yondu is barely stifling a laugh as he reads into the camera. The same prison building from the photo is behind him, as are the crew. “Your security measures are...to quote my First Mate...a fucking joke.”

The ravagers laugh.

“Young Kraglin here was first to escape. Took him half an hour. He is twelve years old, and has been on the crew less than three months.”

The camera points at the boy, who immediately slides off of the Vanir’s shoulders to stand hiding behind his back, still clutching the car to his chest as he peers back out at the camera like it’s about to eat him.

“...and Horus was last to escape, because he stopped to have a sit down meal.”

More laughter from the Ravagers, and a few hearty pats on the back for the aforementioned Horus, who is looking very pleased with himself.

A young Luphomoid steps into the shot.

“You will find our advice on how to improve your security...suggestion one is that you actually install some security...in the attached report. Thank you for hiring us for this important task, Nova Corps, and we look forward to receiving your units.”

More cheers from the crew.

“Kraglin stop hiding.” Yondu beckons the boy out of hiding, and pats him on the shoulder while pointing at the prison. “You did good back there.”

More cheers from the crew, and the boy smiles.

“Gamora?”

A feeling of guilt slices through Gamora as she looks up from the data pad. “It...I was just putting together some of Peter and Kraglin’s belongings.” She switches the pad off, and puts it back in the bag.

Drax sits on the bunk opposite Gamora, hands rested on his knees as he indicates the data pad with a nod. “What were you observing?”

“Memories.” She says, closing the bag and putting the strap on her shoulder. “They’re just memories.”

Both Guardians turn as the entrance ramp descends.

“Good morning on the ship.” Peter says, a goofy smile on his face that almost mimics the grin in the photograph Gamora has just seen. “Permission to come on board.”

“Why would you need permission to board your own ship?”

“I love hanging with you, Drax.” Peter slaps the larger man on the arm as he reaches the top of the ramp. The smile fades only slightly as he looks at Gamora. “Good morning, Gamora.”

“Hello, Peter.” She says, although her eyes are not fixed on him but on the second man to climb the ramp. “You?”

Kraglin hesitates at the top of the ramp, teeth digging so tightly into his bottom lip that it is a wonder it doesn’t bleed. He’s shaved, and that along with his posture makes him look younger than Peter.

“We told him to stay behind but he insisted.” Rocket says from where he is standing on Kraglin’s shoulder. He climbs down as they enter the ship. “Where’s Groot.”

“The cockpit.” Drax watches Rocket disappear into the aforementioned room, and then turns to face Kraglin. “How are you feeling?”

Kraglin looks up, but doesn’t make eye contact. “I wont stay. I just came to apologise for…” He points at the still broken console in the corner.

“You were not yourself. And we are as much to blame.” Drax steps forward. “There has been much tension between our two crews, especially in light of recent events.” He looks at Peter for a moment, before turning back to the Xandarian. “For that reason I chose to treat you as worthless of my attention and unwanted on our ship. In a mind already wounded, I left further cuts. I apologise.”

“Drax!” Peter’s eyes are wide. “Did you just use a metaphor?”

“I do not believe so. The mind is a physical part of us. You can see it if you open someone’s skull...”

“That’s...um...interesting.” Kraglin shuffles backwards slightly, arms wrapped around himself.

“You have nothing to apologise for. We bear you no ill will over events, and would like to take the time to get to know you as we know Peter Quill.”

“Sure.” The relief hits Kraglin so hard that his eyes water. He then stumbles as Drax hits his arm the way Kraglin had hit his the day they met.

“Easy Drax. He’s a sick man.” Peter steps between them, holding the bag that had been on his bunk. “Thanks for packing for us. Who would have thought that one could domesticate Gamora the assassin.” He makes a kissing face at her.

Kraglin looks at the bag that Gamora had forgotten she was holding. She holds it forward and he takes it quickly, but Gamora doesn’t loosen her grip.

The bag hovers between them. Kraglin hesitates, then looks up. The eye contact is almost painful, but they hold it, and Gamora lets go of the bag.

The Xandarian looks away, and puts the bag on his shoulder. “Why?”

“What are you referring to?” Drax asks.

“What is it about me that you hate?”

“Um.” Peter rests a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Maybe another time, Kraglin.”

Kraglin shakes him off, and looks up again. This time it is Gamora that looks away. “Please Gamora, tell me. Maybe I can fix it. If we’re enemies, that’s hard on Peter.”

“I can handle it…”

Gamora shakes her head. “It’s me...it’s me that needs to fix it.” She gives him a quick smile. “You did nothing wrong...except point a gun at me the day we met.”

Kraglin lets out a small, whispered laugh. “We did get off on the wrong foot.”

Gamora nods, and holds out her hand. He gives it the sort of look that he might give a loaded weapon, but then slowly takes it in his own, shaking the hand. “Quill taught you that too, huh?”

“Among other things.” Gamora looks at the Terran.

“ROCKET, WE’RE LEAVING!” Peter calls as he moves to stand behind Kraglin, dropping his voice to address Drax and Gamora. “Need to get him back before Nova’s doctor realises he’s snuck out again.”

Kraglin lets go of Gamora’s hand, and looks at Peter. “Can I speak to Groot before we go?”

“Hey Quill.” Rocket appears at the hatch. “You’ve got a call up here.”

“What?”

“Says his name’s Doc?”

“NARI!”

“Yes, Captain.” The Rainer doesn’t look up from her console.

“Find me an M-Ship, I don’t care which one.” Yondu marches into the room. “And put a bounty out on Doc, three thousand units. I want him alive so I can kill him myself.”

“Yes Captain.”

“And bring me the head of whoever let the little brat take MY ship out of the hanger.” He marches out of the room.

Nari finishes typing, and looks up from the console. “Is there ANYTHING else?”

A pause, and Yondu appears back at the door. “Happy birthday, Nari.”

She smiles. “Thank you Captain.”

She looks back at the console, smile still in place as Yondu’s various profanities and observations about Doc’s biological parentage echo down the corridor.

Chapter Text

Rocket and Groot wait at the top of the stairs, watching the show as Peter all but deposits the stumbling Kraglin into the co-pilot seat, and re-activates the com.

“Doc.” Peter says, jumping into the pilots seat. “Where’s Yondu?”

“He isn’t here.” The Krylorian’s voice buzzes through the console.

Peter looks from said console to the scanner readout, and then back at the console. “You’re on Yondu’s M-Ship?”

“I know, but Cap’n isn’t. He kinda doesn't...well I suppose he does know by now…”

“WHAT?” Peter and Kraglin shout in unison.

“You STOLE Yondu’s M-Ship?”

“How many times, Star-Lord? You don’t steal ships, you commandeer them.”

Kraglin buries his face in his hands.

“Hold please.” Peter says before hitting the mute.

“Yondu’s going to kill him.” Kraglin mumbles.

“Yondu isn't going to kill him.”

He Xandarian looks round. “Oh?”

Peter shakes his head. “Doc can only die once, and I’m closer.” Before hitting the console again. “Doc. I don’t suppose in the handful of days since we saw each other last that you’ve learned how to FLY an M-Ship?”

“No. I’ve got her on auto-pilot but that won’t land her. But you guys can talk me through it, can’t you?”

“Talk. You. Through it?” Peter isn’t entirely sure whether to laugh or cry. “Doc, remember when Kraglin and me were messing about in Milano and we CRASHED her into the hangar bay?”

“I know Nari does.” Kraglin says under his breath.

“That’s how hard it is to land an M-Ship. We can’t talk you through this.”

“Well then...how am I going to land?”

“You’re not, Doc.” Kraglin says. “You’re going to turn her around, go back to the Eclector, and pray to every God on Asgard that Yondu hasn’t noticed you’re gone.”

“She doesn’t have enough fuel for the return trip.” Doc says, sounding surprisingly and annoyingly jovial for the situation.

Kraglin hits the mute on the console. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“He’s your brother?”

“When he does stupid shit like this, Kraglin, he’s YOUR brother.”

“We can’t just leave him up there?”

“Why not?”

“Quill.”

“Fine.” Peter hits the console again. “Hang tight Doc, I’m going to space walk over and land the ship for you.”

“Okay.” And the com unit switches off.

“That’s a stupid plan.”

“You have a better one.” Peter says, standing. “Rocket, going to need you to pilot Milano while I suit up. Groot, take Kraglin back to Nova Corps.”

“Quill?” Kraglin says, annoyed by the fatigue in how own voice. It’s not helping his argument.

“You’re supposed to be resting”

“I’m sat down.” Kraglin leans back in the co-pilot seat. “I’m resting. I’m fine.”

“Then try saying a sentence WITHOUT slurring your speech.”

Kraglin’s protest is silenced by the curse he utters as Groot literally picks him up and carries him out of the cockpit. He isn’t allowed to walk under his own steam again until they are already on the ramp, pausing to allow Drax to give Kraglin the bag that he had left on the bunk. As soon as they are clear of the ramp it raises, and the Milano takes off a moment later.

“You...you don’t have to walk me.” Kraglin says, raising the hood of Klo’s cloak enough that it conveals his face. “I know the way.”

“I am Groot.”

“Fine.” Kraglin kicks his feet along the ground. If Groot’s going to insist on frog marching him back to Nova Corps, then he’s going to insist on being petulant.

His resolve lasts right up until a hand appears in front of him, holding a flower. He follows the arm up to the innocent, solemn face of his companion. “That’s...um...that’s pretty.”

Groot shakes his hand. Taking the hint, Kraglin takes the flower, holding it gently between his two fingers. "Thanks."

Groot smiles, and walks on ahead.

“I’m sorry.”

Groot slowly turns back to face him.

“You must think I’m pathetic.” He pulls the hood back slightly. “I mean, Peter’s been tortured. He should be the madman, but he’s not. He’s...well he’s your leader. He’s a better man than I’ll ever be. And you...you’ve BEEN Dead. And your friend Rocket, well he was experimented on. The God’s know what he’s been through. What Gamora’s been through.” He struggles in a breath as his emotions choke him. “Quill said that Drax lost his family.”

Groot nods.

“And you all function, while I...I don’t even know why…”

Kraglin starts to march past him, but is stopped by an outstretched arm. He leans against it, looking away from the Guardian. Groot slowly shakes his head, resting a hand against Kraglin’s arm and pulling him along beside him at a slow walking pace.

“Do you remember being dead?” The words are out of Kraglin’s mouth before he has even fully processed the thought behind them, and he has never more in his life wanted to turn back time, but it’s too late now.

The giant tree man stops in his tracks, standing stock still for a long moment in which Kraglin is able to feel five good heart beats pound his chest. Then Groot turns, eyes narrower as they face him.

“I...am Groot.” He slowly nods, looking at the flower that Kraglin was holding.

“You remember it all?”

He nods again, reaching out to touch the flower.

“Did it...hurt?”

Groot looks from the flower to the Xandarian. The eye contact is painful.

Kraglin doesn’t need to understand Groot’s language to know the answer.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, holding out the flower to give it back to Groot, but the taller man refuses the offering, instead turning away and walking on.

“Do you ever think about dying again?”

Kraglin flinches as the taller man spins round, a look of anger flashing across his face.

“I am Groot.” He growls before marching off, leaving Kraglin behind on the path.

“I had to ask.” Kraglin says, panic gripping him painfully as he struggles to a walking pace that can keep up with the marching tree. “‘Cause you’re important to this team. Quill said Rocket was a mess without you, and if you WERE thinking like that then they could help you. Help you turn it around.They’d want to do that. That’s what friends do isn’t it? They help each other, and you have friends.”

Groot stops, slowly turning to face the Xandarian.

“You have friends.” Kraglin whispers, his eye line level with Groot’s chest until gentle fingers curl under his chin, tilting his head up.

“I am Groot.” The taller man says, smiling as his hand slides down to point at Kraglin’s chest, jabbing him gently. “I am Groot.”

“I...um...you consider ME a friend?”

Groot nods.

“Thanks.” Kraglin says, giving Groot a half smile as he looks back down, considering the flower again. He hadn’t been lying the day he told Groot that he admired him, and being considered a friend by the man was almost overwhelming to contemplate. “Thanks.” His voice is almost a whisper.

They walk on, side by side.

“You should talk to Rocket. Believe it or not, he’s kinda good at the whole ‘knowing what to say’ thing.”

Groot smiles knowingly. “I am Groot.”

“Tell me, Mr. Obfonteri” Mau’ra does not look up from his ever present data pad. “Do you have any qualms about being handcuffed to immobile objects?”

“Um...maybe…”

“Because that is exactly the state you will find yourself in if you leave this building without my authorization AGAIN.” The Rainer looks up, smiles, and turns his gaze to the medical hologram currently hovering over the Xandarian on the bed. “Your cortisol levels are still much too high.”

“I wonder why.” Kraglin doesn’t even try to hide the annoyance in his voice as he looks over at Doc, currently helping the other Guardians organise an assortment of mattresses, bedrolls and blankets.

“So...can I ask you...this is a weird question?” Doc looks at Groot. “I’m just wondering. Your people. Do you have both...well, what we would call male a female parts like other plants, or do you have specific genders in your culture?”

“Doc!” Peter makes a choking sound. “What the fuck?”

“What? I’m curious. I’ve never met an adult Floral Colossus before.” Doc turns back to Groot. “I met a baby one a little while back, but he didn’t talk much.”

“I don’t think ‘arrangement of sexual organs’ is an appropriate first topic?” The Terran says.

“I am Groot.”

“WHAT!” Rocket spins round.

“What did he say?”

Rocket doesn’t answer, he simply falls back into a sitting position, and picks up one of the blankets.

Peter stifles a giggle, while Gamora silently shakes her head. “You are all idiot children.”

“Idiot enough to steal Yondu’s M-Ship.” Peter says.

"COMMANDEER."

"Your young friend is correct, Quill." Drax says. "One does indeed commandeer a fleet ship."

"Yeah yeah." Quill thows a blanket into the air, and watches it float down. As a demonstration of disinterest, Kraglin has to admit that it is original.

“I was worried. Cap’n put me in charge of the medical care of the crew, remember? And I don’t have an ship of my own any more.”

“Yes, because you kept crashing them.” Peter says. “What would you have done if you had crashed Yondu’s ship?”

“I didn’t though.”

“Only because I saved your sorry ass” Peter shakes his head. “Gamora’s right. You’re an idiot child.”

“Don’t call me a child, Peter, I’m twenty one.”

“I know.” The Terran shakes his head sadly. “When did that happen, hey?”

Turning away from Doc, Peter picks up a pillow. “Feel free to come over and help us set up camp here, Kraglin.”

He throws the pillow at the Xandarian. Unfortunately, Groot chooses that moment to stand up. The pillow hits the Floral Colossus directly in the face.

Rocket laughs, right up until the same pillow slams against him.

Kraglin and Mau’ra can only watch in silent confusion as the scene before them descends into one mass pillow, blanket, bed roll and mattress war. The Rainer decides that now is probably the best time for him to leave the room, and Kraglin pulls his legs up, so that he was sat with them drawn into his chest as he watches the fight, soon descending into fits of giggles that he can’t stop.

The Xandarian slowly climbs down off of the bed, picks up the first pillow he comes to, and brings it down over Peter’s head with a cry.

The cease fire is instant. Gamora stops halfway through mummifying Doc with a blanket. Drax drops the pillow that he has, until then, been using to try and knock Rocket off of Groot’s shoulder, and everyone looks at Kraglin like he’s just grown a second head.

Kraglin lets the pillow drop to the ground, looking down. “Sorry...I...I’m sorry.” He looks at Peter. “I’m sorry, I thought...”

Gamora steps forward. “Kraglin?”

“What?”

Gamora smiles, and Kraglin finds himself with a face full of pillow as the war restarts around them.

The courtyard garden is lit by small flame lamps, their warmth welcome as he stands by the window, peering through the glass.

Peter is asleep on his stomach, Gamora partly covering his back and using his shoulder as a pillow. His arm is draped lazily over Doc, who is laid beside him, curled up around Rocket. Behind Gamora, Drax lays on his back, and their hands grip.

On Drax’s other side, Groot can be seen, his skin covered in moss and soft foliage to protect from the cold in the room. Between him and Drax is a pile of blankets and pillows that Groot is hugging, and it is only when the pile shifts that Yondu realises, by the art of elimination, that there is a sleeping Xandarian underneath it.

“An unusual sleeping arrangement.” Nova Prime says quietly as she stands beside the Centaurian.

“Gotta admit, when Quill told me they slept like this, I thought he was lying.”

“They have been asleep for a while. I am sure waking them will cause no harm.”

“No.” Yondu shakes his head. “Let them sleep. Don’t tell them I’m here. We’ll take Eclector to the edge of the system.” He smiles. “Let Doc stew for a bit.”

Nova Prime returns the conspirator smile. “Very well.”

“I’ll be heading back to the ship, now. Just wanted to check they were okay.”

“Of course.”

Nova Prime finally works up the courage to speak again when Yondu is halfway across the courtyard. “Captain Udonta?”

“Just Yondu, Irani.”

She acknowledges the statement with a nod. “I have...a request. A request I have no right to make, but I believe the matter is desperate enough. You are a unique opportunity that I can not afford to ignore.”

Nova Prime smiles, and gestures for Yondu to follow her across the courtyard. “I have been talking to your crew member, Kraglin. He thinks very highly of you, as a Captain...and as family.”

“Just try to do right by my crew.”

“A crew of outsiders. Slaves. Orphans. Criminals.”

“Said to someone once, you don’t choose this life because you grew up smelling flowers.”

“And the children?”

“A few.” Yondu stops walking. “First one was Nari. Rainer, bloody firecracker of a teenager she was. Street rat. Technical genius. If she can’t hack it, it can’t be hacked. Second was a Luphomoid war orphan. Still in his cradle. Harris could wail for an hour without needing to breath. Klo timed it.” Yondu leans against the walls. “Kraglin we found on a Kree mining vessel. Couldn’t even remember his own name, so we gave him a new one.”

He looks away. “When Horus died, I cleared out his quarters. Found a file. Little Xandarian boy called Tolin Nera. Pictured next to the price the Kree captain paid for him. Horus had known Kraglin’s real name all along, but never said. I'm glad he did that. Nera family sold little Tolin to slavers, why should Kraglin honour them by bearing their name.”

Nova Prime nods, but remains silent.

“Now Quill.” They resume walking. “Peter Quill was cargo. We were suppose to drop him off with some alien star lord out in the back of beyond. Only found out some things about that star lord along the way that made me change my mind. Kept the kid, raised him as my own.

“Doc we found when he was only a little bit older than Harris had been. Sat screaming in his dead mother’s arms on what was left of their colony. First time I've ever prayed. Prayed that he would get old enough to never be able to remember back that far. Or only ever remember his mother when she was alive.”

He stops again, crossing his arms. “Did I answer your question enough times there, Irani?”

“There was a reason I asked” Nova Prime smiles as they resume walking again. “When the Dark Aster crashed into Xandar, it took us several weeks to clear the wreckage. It was...difficult work. The crew found evidence of horrible things on Ronan’s ship. Torture.”

“He learned that from Thanos.” Yondu says, his voice almost a growl.

“The leader of the clearance operation was a Kree named Solan. He was a defector, during the war. The information he provided was crucial to Xandar’s victory over the Kree Empire. He is very much responsible for the peace we enjoy today.”

“Never had much time for turncoats myself…”

“Well unfortunately, neither do the Kree. Somehow, they were able to smuggle a Sakaaran native onto Xandar. Solan died instantly. His daughter barely survived the attack.”

“His daughter?”

“Zeena.” As if on cue, Yondu rounds the corner to find himself facing a large one way window. On the other side of the glass is a tiny kree child, maybe seven years old, playing quietly with building blocks. She is watched by two Nova Corps guards, standing either side of the door into the room.

She ignores the guards. She plays alone.

“We contacted Hala of course, but it quickly became clear that she would not be safe among her own people. Not as the child of a traitor. Unfortunately, I am ashamed to say that we have equally struggled to find suitable adoptive families on Xandar. The war is still too soon. And the situation with the Dark Aster has only increased tension. We care for Zeena as best we can…”

“One way window and guards at the door. You’ve got her in a prison, Irani.”

Nova Prime nods, her face solemn. “Can you save her from it?”

Yondu looks down at her, his face stern. Unreadable.

Then he looks back through the window, and he smiles.

Chapter Text

Peter flinches as the ice cold water splashes his face, pulling him back through the last few dregs of fatigue and into the waking world. He holds his eyes shut with his fingertips, taking a few deep breaths before allowing them to open, red and bleary.

“Bad dreams?”

He lets out his final breath in a long, drawn out sigh before turning to face Gamora, who is stood behind him in the bathroom.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. Just trying to wake myself up. This close to dawn, there’s no point trying to get back to sleep.”

“Are you sure? Because you look like you need it.” She steps forward so that she can take his hands in both of her own. “My Father?”

“Actually, believe it or not, lately they’ve been about MY Father.” Peter shrugs, holding their joined hands up against his chest. “Don’t know why, just all of the sudden last few nights, I’ve been dreaming about him. Like the last twenty seven years never happened.”

“You’ve never spoken of him before.” Gamora says, smiling until she had finished reading the look in Peter’s eyes. It falters, and falls into a solemn look of understanding. “Was he...harmful.”

“Well compared to yours he was Mary Poppins, but…” Peter laughs breathlessly, relieved when she joins in with a smile of her own. One day he humour was going to get him killed, but not today. “My Dad, well the Terran I called my Dad, he ran off after Mom started getting sick.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why. Guy used to beat me senseless.”

“And your Mother allowed…”

“She didn’t know.” Peter lets go of her hands, his face insistent, frantic. “She didn’t know. None of it was her fault.”

Gamora nods, a small but comforting smile on her face. “Why do you think you’ve started dreaming about him?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t since I was a kid.” Peter crosses his arms. “But I’ve at least stopped dreaming about Thanos, so it’s progress.”

They share a laugh.

“Come on.” Gamora says, taking his hand. “The others will be waking up soon.”

“Okay. Go.”

“I am Groot.”

He opens his eyes. “Hello?”

Groot nods. “I am Groot.”

“Thank you.”

“I am Groot.”

“Um...you said hello again.”

Groot smiles. “I am Groot.”

“Goodbye.”

“I am Groot.”

“Um...no…”

“He said ‘well done’.” Rocket says before turning to whatever it is he is currently building from the collection of spare parts. Kraglin has learned from Peter that it is best not to ask.

“I am Groot.”

“Please?”

Groot nods.

“Excellent.” Rocket mutters. “You can now spend the rest of the day having an extremely polite conversation with each other.”

“I am Groot.”

“Threatened? Why would I feel threatened of giving up my until now pretty exclusive ability to actually communicate with my best friend.”

“We can stop if it is making you uncomfortable.” Kraglin says, shrugging.

“Nah. Truth is, I’m kinda looking forward to having a three way conversation that doesn’t need me to also be the go between.” Rocket holds up one of the trinkets, studying it closely in the better light before tweaking at the edge with his wrench. “You sort of start to feel like a ham radio after a while…” He stops talking upon realising that Kraglin isn’t listening anymore, instead standing up from where he had been sat cross legged on the floor, and shaking his head.

“Five minutes.” He says, pain in his voice. “I left you alone for five minutes.”

“Now, Kraglin. You know the Eclector ain’t the same without a youngling running about her.” Yondu smiles as puts Zeena on the ground. She immediately runs up to Rocket, who crosses his arms and begrudgingly allows himself to be petted on the head, but only because Yondu has also made a point of displaying his yaka arrow.

The captain mimes a whistle, and Rocket grits his teeth while planning his revenge.

“Told Nova Prime that I had a vacancy for a new space pirate. Little Zeena here came highly recommended.”

The Kree girl smiles, then picks Rocket up to hug him. The raccoon makes a whine noise, but keeps his teeth and claws to himself, much to Groot’s amusement.

“Well.” Yondu turns back to his First Mate. “Ain’t you pleased to see me.”

“Not right this second, no.” Kraglin says as he watches the little girl. Then he smiles, clasping Yondu’s hand with his own. “Missed you.”

“Yeah, well...heard you were living in the lap of luxury here on Xandar and didn’t want to interrupt.” He lowers his voice, switching languages so that only one person in the room can understand him. “They treating you well?”

“I’m fine.”

“You look better.” He smiles, and switches back to common tongue. “Was going to take Zeena here to buy some supplies. Why don’t you join us?”

It’s a warmer day, and Kraglin soon finds himself taking off the cloak (He should probably give it back to Klo at some point) and carrying it over his arm as he follows his dysfunctional family and their newest addition, who makes up for her apparent muteness by having the energy of a cold fusion power plant, through the busy shopping district.

“Are you sure you’ve bought enough clothes?” Peter mocks as he adjusts the weight of bags in each hand.

“We should probably get a book for Doc too. Little Brat will need something to read while he’s in the brig.” Yondu shakes his head, then looks around. “Where’s Kraglin?”

Zeena points back the way they came, where the Xandarian is stood staring into the distance...no, at someone.

A young woman, about Doc’s age, maybe a bit younger. Her hair is mousy, and her skin pale, face emotionless as she finishes loading food items into her bag.

Her shirt has short sleeves. The tattoo on her wrist is unmistakable.

She walks on, and Kraglin follows her as if in a trance.

“Should we follow him?” Peter asks, even as he starts to follow Kraglin as he in turn follows the woman. Yondu picks up Zeena and follows then both.

The woman inadvertently leads them to a large, ornate building that seems to be made of glass. The courtyard in front of it is beautiful, a fountain surrounded by trees and flowers, with steps leading up to an open door.

The atmosphere inside is quiet. Soft music plays out of a machine in the corner, while uniformed medical staff wander from table to table, checking on the occupants as they eat, read or socialise with each other. One table is occupied by children doing lessons. Other patients stand by the large window that makes up the far wall, looking out on a view of the sea and the harbour.

“What is this place?” Peter whispers to one of the medical staff as they pass him.

“A hospital.” She says, as if it is obvious. Then she notes the Ravager garb, and quickly forgives them their ignorance. “One of the clauses of the peace treaty that now exists between Xandar and the Kree Empire, was that the Kree were obligated to surrender the...property...that they had gained during the war.”

“You mean their slaves.” Kraglin’s voice cracks slightly as he looks across the room. So many. Adults, children. Elders. Some stand like statues by the window, waiting for orders, unable to think for themselves. They have been ‘things’ for so long. Others are slowly learning. Making decisions, but constantly looking over their shoulder, senses alert for repercussions.

He can remember doing that.

This was him once.

“Please feel free to interact with the patients.” The Nurse says. “We have found that it is beneficial to them to meet and talk with others. To be treated as friends. You would be doing us and them a great service.”

As the Nurse leaves, Kraglin pauses to roll up his sleeves slightly, exposing the tattoo on his wrist, and then steps into the room, sitting at the first table he comes across. He is greeted with shy smiles, and one of the occupants offers him a glass of tea. The conversation is too quiet for Yondu to hear, but he knows Kraglin’s body language well enough to see the moment that he starts to relax into it, opening up to the people at the table, and answering their questions. Asking his own.

“Hey.” Peter shouts as a ball hits his hip, although he is quick to put a smile on his face as he picks it up and gently tosses it back towards the boy that initially threw it. The boy throws it back, and before long Peter is trapped in the game with the boy and Zeena, while Yondu watches in amusement.

“A little help?”

“They’ll tire eventually.” The Captain laughs as he makes his own way into the hospital room. With nothing else to do, he finds his own table among some of the older slaves. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he shrugs and starts to tell stories of his old adventures, which soon gains an audience.

Yondu reaches the end of his final table, and excuses himself, suddenly feeling...strange. He makes his way back out into the courtyard, now dim as the sun starts to set, casting the city in night. He carefully parts his coat around the yakka arrow and looks from left to right, unable to escape the feeling that he is being watched.

A couple of Nova Corps security guards see him do this, and slowly approach. He’s not in the mood for a fight, not here, not with Zeena so close, so he closes the coat. But he doesn’t stop looking at…

...was that?

“Yondu?” Peter has his arms wrapped around himself against the increasing cold as he steps out into the courtyard behind the Captain. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” Yondu studies the now empty courtyard, and turns back to face the Terran. “You?”

“I’m good.” Peter smiles, and looks back behind him into the hospital. “I think it’s getting to Kraglin a bit though.”

“Not surprised.” Yondu nods. “Eclector been in a different part of space thirty years ago, he could have been one of those patients today. A wasted life.”

“But he wasn't.” Peter reminds him, slapping Yondu on the arm. “You saved him just like you saved me.”

“Why’d he get sick, Quill?” Yondu says, teeth gritted slightly. "What did we do wrong?"

“Well, when your appendix tried to kill you a few years back that was nothing we did wrong. So why should this be?” Peter crosses his arms. “Drax’s people have got this theory that the mind is a physical part of the brain. So it can get sick and hurt just like the rest of the body.”

“Sound theory.”

“Worrying that Drax thinks he located it in one of his victims once.” Peter whistles. “It can get better too. He’s already making progress. He’ll get better. Hey, I did.”

“Took years before you stopped flinching at every shadow.”

“Then it takes years to fix him. You going to begrudge him that?” Peter stops talking as an insistent Kree girl starts pulling on his arm, pointing back into the hospital room where the First Mate is now sat at the table with his head in his arms, trembling. The other people at the table exchange worried glances, one going to get one of the medical staff.

“I’ll go.” Yondu says, following Zeena towards the scene. Peter starts to follow them...then stops.

He turns and looks out into the courtyard, and for a moment he sees…

...but Murray isn’t there. The courtyard is empty. Must have been his imagination.