Guardians of the Galaxy 1. How Peter became a Ravager

**Okay, a little bit of background info on this story: I had originally intended for this to be a one shot (or a 5+1 shot if you would prefer) but each section ended up becoming it's own micro story and it just became easier to break them up into chapters rather than continue writing in a word document that was 30+ pages. So that's how this happened.**

**Second point of contention, writing Yondu is hard as hell! His method of speaking is a weird mix of sea captain and space hillbilly s**o hopefully it's not too hard to read! Also, **I kept flipping back and forth between thinking I was writing him as a too much of a dick and then thinking he's OOC. I don't think he's such a bad guy to be honest but commanding a crew of thieves and thugs means you can't exactly be nice either. **

**Also, I have this head canon that Peter immediately came up swinging when he was abducted (he is pretty scrappy in both the comics and the movie) and I figured that might have been impressive enough for the Ravagers to decide to keep him around. Anyway, hope you guys like it! :D**

**A/N: I own nothing =/**

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Peter is six years old when his mother dies. He can hear sobbing and prayers and the long, screeching whine of the heart monitor but all of that means nothing because his mother is dead. He's screaming and thrashing, reaching for the bed and trying to touch her. She's so close but she's already gone, inches away and lost forever. Strong arms catch him around the waist, hauling him bodily out of the room and suddenly his grandfather is there, telling him to stay put and not to move. He turns and goes back into the room and Peter runs. He runs down the hall and away from the room and out of the hospital. He runs away from his family and the doctors and the nurses. His mother is dead and Peter runs.

It's cold outside, unseasonably cool and damp for this time of year, and the moon is high and glowing overhead. Tears blind him and a sob hitches in his throat and Peter collapses onto the cold, damp grass on the lawn. Small fingers dig into the dirt, palms pressed flat and shoulders heaving. His jeans are getting wet from the grass, cold water seeping into the denim, but he doesn't care. He sobs and coughs and chokes and none of it matters because his mother is dead and he's alone.

There's a dull whoosh somewhere overhead, a hum like an engine but it seems too close and too quiet. The world is suddenly washed out by a spotlight, the beam brighter than anything Peter has ever seen. He shields his eyes and tries to look up but it's blinding and he can't see anything at all. The light is focused directly on him and he feels like an ant caught beneath a magnifying glass.

Gravity suddenly shifts and abandons him, blocked out and pushed away like the very principle means nothing anymore. He's lifted off the ground, dragged toward the impossibly bright light, and he thinks he screams but he can't be sure. Air whips around him, buffeting his hair and clothes, and he has the distinct feeling that he's falling only he's going up. He feels sick and confused and he wants his mom.

He lands heavily on his knees on something solid and metal like a grate. The light is still bright and blinding but he can hear voices and movement around him. He can't see very much, his vision still white and splotchy from the spotlight, but he can make out the boots and legs and he knows he's not alone.

Rough hands grab him by the shoulders and drag him to his feet. He wobbles slightly and staggers, still dizzy and sick from the weird upward falling he just experienced. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision, but it's a slow process and everything is hazy.

"This the brat we were lookin' for?" a male voice asks and Peter is wheeled around to face a different direction. Through blurry, dark-spotted vision, he can just barely make out a bluish figure standing a few feet away.

The figure steps forward and grabs him by the chin, lifting his head and inspecting his face like he's trying to determine something. "Yep, looks like it. Only Terran I've seen that matches the description." The hand disappears and the blue figure nods to whoever is holding Peter still. "Take 'im below deck and get 'im strapped in for the trip. We won't get paid for busted up cargo."

The hands on his shoulders tighten and start to pull him away and Peter is finally pulled out of his stupor long enough to react. He panics and lashes out wildly, pointy elbow connecting with something solid behind him. There's a startled "oomph" and the grip on his shoulders loosens slightly. Peter uses that to his advantage and pulls away, running off in a dead sprint in an unknown direction. More hands reach out for him, grabbing at his clothes and his backpack, but Peter is small and quick and he knows how to use his size to his advantage. He ducks and dodges and weaves and manages to put enough space between himself and his captors to run.

There are loud, bellowing voices behind him, shouted orders and pounding footsteps, but Peter doesn't stop. He runs as fast as he can and he has no idea where he's going. He's in some kind of hallway, metal walls and grated floors, and there's a low vibration below his feet like he's standing on top of a giant engine.

A voice yells from behind and Peter runs faster, turning a corner and squeezing into a small space in between the walls of the hallway. Someone or something runs past him, grumbling in a deep, guttural language that Peter has never heard. The creature is human-ish but his skin is maroon and he has three eyes and Peter knows for a fact that he's not human.

The maroon-skinned man passes his hiding place without seeing him but comes to a stop a few feet away. He pauses and sniffs the air, head held high like a bloodhound on a trail. He turns suddenly, all three eyes locking onto the small crevice Peter has managed to wedge himself into, and he's coming back. Peter jolts slightly in fear, shrugging out of his backpack and swinging as hard as he can.

The bag catches the maroon-skinned man in the face and he staggers in surprise, tumbling backward and sprawling onto the grated floor. Peter doesn't wait for him to get up as he pulls out of his hiding place and runs the opposite direction. There are voices echoing everywhere, bouncing off the walls and reverberating in his ears, and Peter runs for his life.

The hallway opens out to a wide deck, a large, panoramic window spanning across the open space. Peter stops dead in his tracks. The world outside has gone dark and inky, a velvety black that he's never seen before. Off in the distance, like a tiny, glowing lightbulb, he sees a small bluish dot. It doesn't look like anything but he recognizes it almost instantly. His stomach drops and he feels sick all over again; he's staring at the earth and it's getting further and further away by the second. He's all alone, he's not even on his planet anymore, and he doesn't know what to do.

A hand latches onto the back of his shirt and jerks him backward roughly. Peter still has no idea what's going on, he has no idea who these people are or even where he is, but he's definitely not going down without a fight. He swings wildly but the blow is easily blocked, his tiny fist swatted away like an annoying insect. The grip on his shirt is tight and almost painful and a strong arm bars itself across his chest, pinning him tightly against whoever/whatever it is that has him. He struggles frantically for a second but the grip doesn't loosen.

"Alright, alright," a deep voice mumbles from behind him and he can feel the muscles tense in the arm that's holding him still. "Enough of that. You keep thrashin' around like that an' tryin' to fight everyone on this ship an' we might be forced to tie you up an' toss ya in the engine room. An' you don't want that, do ya?"

Peter stops struggling then, trembling all over and breathing hard. His hands are gripping the leather clad arm across his chest tightly, hanging on like it's the only thing keeping him upright. In reality, it probably is; grief and fear have caused him to feel heavy and shaky all over like he has weights tied to him. He sags a bit and the arm holds him up, strong and vice-like across his chest.

"There ya go," the voice says and he's shaken just a little in approval. "Easy does it, killer."

He's still not sure who/what is holding him but he sees a blue hand emerging from the leather sleeve pinning him down. He thinks it might belong to the same blue blur he saw earlier but there's no way to be sure. He's dimly aware of other people approaching, heavy boots on top of the grated floor as they come closer. They stop a few feet away and Peter finally chances a glance up.

The people before him look normal enough with a few odds and ends that make them not quite human. Some have brightly hued skin, some have scales, some have claws and talons, but they're all bipedal and at least marginally humanoid. The one closest to him, a man with closely shorn hair and patches of facial hair, takes a careful step forward, his eyes never leaving Peter's face. "Quite the little fighter we picked up, eh Yondu?"

The person behind him chuckles quietly and the arm across his chest keeps him still. "Yeah, kid's gonna be a handful, that's for sure."

"So what're we supposed to do with 'im now?" someone asks from the back and Peter is suddenly aware that he's the absolute center of attention.

"Dunno," another intones flatly, dark, beady eyes scanning the boy critically. "Maybe we should eat 'im?"

"Yeah," yet another voice chimes in from off to the side. "Let's eat 'im! Never had Terran before."

There's a surge of movement forward and Peter is dimly aware that holy shit, they're seriously about to eat him, when the arm across his chest tugs him backward a little and a sharp whistle stops the advance.

"'Ey!" the voice behind him bellows and Peter can literally feel the vibration of the words as they're spoken. "Ain't no one eatin' anyone on this ship. The Terran ain't for eatin, understand?"

There's a soft grumble of assent among the other crew members and they back off slightly. "Well, then what're we supposed to do with 'im?" someone asks again and Peter has kind of been wondering the same thing.

The maroon-skinned man from the hallway sneers and casts a dark, dangerous glare at Peter. "Just throw the little monster in the cargo hold until we get back into known space. The sooner we get it off the ship, the better." A few of the other crew members nod in a agreement and some look like they're still wondering what he might taste like.

The person behind him, Yondu, seems to consider the proposal for a moment before coming to a decision. "Change 'a plans," he announces loudly so everyone standing in front of them can hear. "The boy's stayin' with us. Kid's already proved he's more than strong enough to take down you sorry lot. Who knows, with a little groomin' we could make a proper Ravager outta him in no time."

The maroon-skinned man scowls at the proposition. "Him? A Ravager?" he snarls, jerking his head toward Peter. "You can't be serious, Yondu."

There's a soft cluck of disapproval from behind him and Peter glances just enough over his shoulder to see his captor glare at the other man. "Last I checked, Mr. Krc, I was the Captain 'a this here ship, not you. I say the kid stays and that's final. From now on, the Terran boy is part 'a our crew. Anyone got a problem with that, they can come to me." He levels his gaze with Krc, eyes narrowing even further. "Do I make myself clear?"

There's a very faint rumble of assent around the other members of the crew, all grudgingly agreeing to the newest addition to their ship. None of them seem very happy with the arrangement but they all seem to fear/respect their Captain enough not to protest. The only one who seems ready to fight the decision is Krc but he wisely chooses to keep his thoughts to himself.

"Good, then it's settled," the Captain says with an air of finality. "The kid stays. Now, back to yer stations, the lot 'a you. This ship ain't gonna run itself."

"You all heard the Captain," the other man, the one closest to them, says, ushering the other crew members away. He's not quite as feared as the Captain but he holds enough of a title (first mate, maybe?) to command the crew with equal authority. "Back to work."

They listen to him, still somewhat grudgingly, and trudge away from the deck of the ship. There's a lot of grumbling and muttering but they do leave until the only ones who remain on the deck are Peter, the first mate, and the Captain.

"You sure about this, Yondu?" the other man asks after a moment, turning back to face the Captain once the others have left. "You know if we don't deliver the kid to-"

"Eh, screw that," the Captain cuts him off, dismissing the rest of the sentence with a flippant wave of one hand. "That guy's a jackass. Kid like this ain't gonna be no good on a planet like Spartax an' you know it. He's tough, a fighter, he's Ravager material through and through." The arm across Peter's chest shakes him a little again and the Captain laughs. "'Sides, I always wanted a pet."

For some reason, that's what does it. Peter can't hold it in any longer and he doesn't even try. Hearing these strange, strange people talk about him like he's nothing more than a piece of cargo, calling him a monster and pet, he just falls apart. The sob that works its way through him is deep and silent, starting from his core and shaking him from the inside out. He grips the leather clad arm and lets out a choked, hiccuping little sob, tears streaming down his face and dripping to the floor.

For a brief moment, neither the Captain nor his first mate move. They seem taken aback by the boy's crying and aren't really sure what to do now that it's started. They look at each other, down at the child, and then back at each other. This was not part of the plan...now what?

"Ah, hell," the Captain mumbles with a groan and suddenly the arm pinned across Peter's chest is released. Peter is shaking all over, trying his hardest to suppress his sobs, and he doesn't even realize that the blue skinned man is now crouching down in front of him.

"Listen, kid," the Captain starts, eyeing the crying child like he's not too sure what to do in this kind of situation. Maybe kids cry when they're about to explode; hell, he doesn't know. "First rule 'a bein' a Ravager is that Ravagers don't cry."

Peter sniffs and hiccups and cries some more. "I don't want to be a Ravager," he says with another broken little sob. "I wanna go home."

The blue man sighs and shifts so he's sitting down on the grated floor instead of crouching. It puts him closer to eye level with the crying child so maybe that will help. "Hate to tell ya this, boy, but ya can't go home. Ya see, we ain't the only ones with orders to find you. There's a whole lotta people out there lookin' for you, kid, and most of 'em ain't so nice; mean, dangerous people who'd probably skin you just as soon as look at ya. Now us Ravagers, we ain't exactly known throughout the galaxy for our hospitality but I can promise that yer safer here with us than ya would be with some a' the others out there."

Peter sniffs a little and swipes a hand across his eyes. "Why're people looking for me?"

The blue skinned man shrugs one shoulder and turns crimson eyes to gazes out the large window. "Couldn't tell ya, kid. All I know is that we found ya first and that means we get to decide what to do with ya."

Peter watches him carefully for a moment, scrubbing the tears from his eyes with the back of one hand. The man before him is probably one of the strangest looking people he's ever seen in his short life. Blue skin, red eyes, mouth full of crooked teeth; Peter should probably be terrified of him and yet he doesn't seem all that bad. At least not now. Maybe he's just numb from everything that had happened that day but for some reason Peter isn't afraid.

He remembers one of the last things his mother told him, her soft, breathless words as she struggled to speak. She had talked about his father, how he was coming to get him once she was gone. She called him an angel, she said he was made of light. Well, there had been plenty of lights when he was plucked off the ground and pulled into the ship, that was for sure. The blue man in front of him certainly doesn't look like an angel but, then again, he's never seen an angel before so he supposes they could look like just about anything.

"Are you an angel?" he asks quietly, his eyes still focused on the man in front of him.

The Captain looks equal parts surprised and amused by the question and laughs loudly in first mate starts laughing too and Peter really doesn't understand what's so funny about his question.

The blue man finally sobers up enough to shake his head, still chuckling quietly. "Now where would you get a fool idea like that?"

Peter chews his lip and fidgets a little. "My mom told used to tell me my dad was like an angel and I just thought-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," the Captain says, holding up a hand to prevent the sentence from going any further. "Boy, I may look pretty as an angel but I sure as hell ain't one. And I certainly ain't yer daddy, neither." He levels his crimson eyes on Peter. "I'm yer Captain and that's the closest yer gonna get."

Peter's breath hitches just a little at the denial. This man wasn't his father (not that he was hoping for that or anything) and he was still just as alone as he had been before. He wants to cry again but he doesn't know if he even has the energy for it.

The Captain seems to notice his distress and lets out a quiet breath. "But, if ya promise not to start anymore fights an' keep yerself outta trouble, I'll be sure to keep an eye on ya an' teach ya how to be a proper Ravager. Sound good?"

Peter hesitates for a moment before nodding. He doesn't really have a choice and, if what this man was saying was true, this might be his best option. He sniffs once more and nods shakily. "Okay."

"Atta boy," the blue man praises, clapping him on the back heavily. The blow doesn't hurt but it's strong enough to nearly knock Peter over. A blue hand catches him easily and keeps him upright. "Alright, kid, chin up," the Captain tells him, tapping him beneath the chin lightly to lift his head. "Yer a Ravager now. Ya got a reputation to uphold."

Peter does as he's told and a blue hand tousles his hair roughly. The Captain climbs to his feet and nods to his first mate. "Kraglin, why don't ya take the kid with you and go find 'im some clothes. Lord knows he's gonna grow outta those in no time," he says, looking Peter up and down once as if appraising the dirty clothes he's still wearing.

"You got it," the first mate, Kraglin, says with a nod and reaches out to usher Peter along with him. "Come on, kid, follow me. Can't be a Ravager dressed like that."

Peter follows along wordlessly, glancing back over one shoulder to the wide expanse of black space outside the window. He can't see the earth anymore, that tiny, glowing blue dot in a sea of black. The only blue thing he sees is the Captain, standing tall and imposing with his crimson eyes and his leather coat. His world is gone, his mother is gone, he's all alone on this strange ship with these strange people.

His mother used to call him brave, she called him strong. He can't let her down now. He swallows hard and follows Kraglin deeper into the ship.

Peter is six years old when he becomes a Ravager.

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**Thanks for reading guys!**


	2. How Peter almost got eaten (again)

**Hello all! Thanks so much for the support for this story, I'm so happy you guys like it so far! I've gotten hooked on the idea of Peter being a tiny little badass on the ship so that's kind of where this idea came from! Hope you guys like it! :D**

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Peter is nine years old and this is third time he's nearly been eaten by something in the past six months. To be fair, this time it really wasn't his fault. The other two times, yeah, it was totally his fault but this time he's committed to stand by his claim of innocence. The two other times he's nearly been eaten, it was because he'd wandered off somewhere he shouldn't have or made some kind of snide remark to something that had more teeth than brains and he'd nearly ended up as lunch in both instances. This time, though, he could honestly say he had done nothing to deserve the kind of frenzied chase he was involved in.

He wasn't exactly sure where the others were but this planet was dirty and dark and lawless enough to assure him that the Ravagers had been here more than once on a job. This planet was dangerous and deadly and more than happy to chew you up and spit you out if you dropped your guard for even a second. The fact that the town they had docked in basically advertised the estimated number of assaults, thefts, and murders that occurred on a daily basis was enough to drive that point home.

They'd stopped here for trade or a bounty or something along those lines and Yondu had made it clear the moment they arrived that the meeting was no place for a kid. It would be hard enough trying to keep him out of trouble while they were planetside but they were all reasonably certain that Peter wouldn't even be allowed in the room in the first place so no one even bothered to question the issue. It had been rather unanimously decided that the best place for Peter to be was nowhere near the meeting or the planet or any combination of the two.

So Peter had stayed aboard the ship, occupying himself with recalibrating the repulsor gun Kraglin had given him a few days earlier. It was small and light, far too breakable for any of the other members of the crew but the perfect size for a pint sized Ravager. Peter had been working diligently for the past few days at making it his own and he was determined to have all the kinks worked out by the end of the day.

One of the things he'd discovered since coming to live on the ship was that he was remarkably good with his hands. Being much smaller than any other member of the crew gave him an advantage when it came to working with more delicate things like wiring and circuitry. He knew how to untangle and reconnect wires, insert new power cells, and reconfigure circuit boards in a fraction of the time it would take the others to do it. He had always been good at building and designing things when he was younger; now it just gave him an opportunity to try them out.

He'd been in the middle of tightening the connection wires carefully, silently buffing out the singe marks near the barrel of the gun. It had backfired in the hands of the previous owner and had been given up as little more than a piece of junk. Really the only reason Kraglin had saved it and gave it to him was because he thought it might give the kid something to so until they docked at their next location. It had taken a fair amount of work and more than a little bit of remodeling but the gun was nearly back in working order. A little more rewiring and new micro-circuitry board and the gun would be good as new.

Peter had been fully engaged in the gun, silently wondering if it was normal that he knew more about concussive energy and plasma rays than he did about state capitals and the president of the United States, when he heard a soft scratching noise coming from down the hall. He stopped then, fingers going still on the edges of the gun, and lifted his head, listening carefully.

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence in the emptiness of the ship. He listened hard, trying to determine if one of the other Ravagers had come back onboard the ship. He'd been on the ship long enough now to recognize the sound of each crew member's footsteps, heavy boots as opposed to clawed feet, clunking footsteps and thundering stomps that rumbled the floor with each step. He could recognize them within a few seconds, knowing almost instantly whether that crew member was marginally safe or recklessly homicidal. True, none of them were exactly "safe" in the normal definition of the word but some were less likely to take a swipe at him than others. Judging by footsteps alone, he knew which crew members to avoid entirely and which ones were safe-ish to approach.

He listened for several seconds, quieting his breathing so he could hear more clearly. There was nothing; no footsteps, no grumbles and growls, nothing but the sound of his own tinkering. After a few more moments of silence passed, he shrugged slightly and went back to work, chalking the noise up to his imagination. He was just about to reach for the new circuit board when he heard the scratching noise again.

Instantly alert, Peter jumped to his feet and crossed the room quickly, pressing his back against the wall. Living with the Ravagers, he knew how to move quick and get out of the way even quicker and he was using that to his advantage now. He pressed his back firmly against the smooth metal wall and inched toward the door, leaning out just far enough to peer down the hallway.

There was a shimmer of movement at the far end of the hall, dim light reflecting off of smooth, shiny scales. Whatever it was looked like it was covered in snake skin, long sinewy muscle and smooth, overlapping plates of skin that joined together like armor. Peter cursed quietly and pressed against the wall a bit more. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't a member of the crew and it certainly wasn't friendly.

He wasn't sure how it got on the ship but with the doors open and the Ravagers coming and going at all hours, he wasn't all that surprised that something managed to sneak aboard in search of a quick meal. The creature down the hall skittered closer, alternating between walking upright on two legs and then dropping down onto all fours, snaking across the grated floors like a giant crocodile. It moved like a cobra, fast and graceful and lethal as all hell, and Peter knew in an instant that he was in metric shit-ton of trouble.

He pressed himself even further against the wall, heart thumping painfully in his chest as the creature worked its way down the hall toward his room. It was getting closer, heavy, scaled feet thumping down loudly with each step. It was huge and its movements were smooth enough that Peter had no doubt the thing could outrun him with absolutely no effort. It was only a few feet away from the room by now and unfortunately the hallway was the only way out.

He held his breath, repulsor gun clutched in his hands tightly. It wasn't ready, not by a long shot, but it was only weapon he had and he hoped it would be good for something. He wiggled the new circuit board into place quickly, pinning it in with a few pieces of wire that hadn't be soldered down yet. The gun hummed quietly in his palm, vibrating just the tiniest bit like a battery giving one final push before it died. The scratching in the hall got closer, long, hooked nails scraping across grated metal floors as the creature hovered just outside his room. He could hear it sniffing the air, heavy snorts and snuffles as it caught his scent. A long, gleaming snout appeared around the edge of the door and Peter sucked in a deep breath to steel his nerves. _He was a Ravager. He was a Ravager. He was a Ravager…_

A large, yellow eye appeared around the corner, slitted pupil locking onto him and dilating slightly. A hunter prepared for the kill. Peter wasn't about to give it the chance; he aimed his gun and fired at the center. There was an explosion of sound and light, a shockwave that shot up his arm, and the creature bellowed in pain and outrage. It staggered away from the door and Peter used it to his advantage, lunging away from the wall and leaping over the creature's head. It snapped at him uselessly with wide, gaping jaws but caught nothing but air as Peter took off running down the hall.

A lot could be said for the creature's recovery time; it takes less than a minute for it to snap out of its painful daze and start chasing him and Peter is managing to stay just a few steps ahead of the the snapping jaws behind him. He can hear it behind him, thundering footsteps pounding across the grated floor and the snip-snap of powerful jaws closing just inches away. Peter sprints down the hall toward the loading deck of the ship, desperate to put as much distance between himself and the creature as possible.

The hallway seems to stretch on endlessly and Peter is honestly not sure if the narrow space is a help or a hindrance to him. True, it provides less of an opportunity for the creature to pounce on him from behind but the beast can also twist and swerve like its bones are made out of rubber so the close proximity of the hallway doesn't really seem to affect it in terms of speed and agility. The best Peter can hope for is that he can somehow stay ahead of it long enough to get off the ship and somewhere safer.

The footsteps behind him change from four to two and Peter has just enough time to realize the creature is now running upright before he's tackled to the floor painfully. Thick, scaly arms wrap around him from behind and the momentum drives them both to the ground, tumbling and sprawling across the metal floor. There's a flash of jaws and teeth and Peter manages to curl to the side just enough to avoid getting his head taken off.

The repulsor gun is still in his hand but he doesn't have a good angle to shoot. His body is being pressed into the floor with enough pressure that he's a little surprised he hasn't been crushed completely yet. He squirms and struggles but the beast on top of him is just too heavy and it's clear he's not going anywhere.

The creature growls deeply in the back of its throat, its one good eye focused on the struggling boy below. "Never ate a Terran before," it growls out, the words sounding like they've been tossed into a cement mixer filled with gravel and broken glass. Its teeth are jagged and sharp and coated in something that looks a lot like pond scum. There are a few mysterious chunks of something wedged tightly between the razor-sharp points and Peter doesn't want to think about what they could be. "Wonder what you taste like."

"You'll have to keep guessing," Peter gasps breathlessly, twisting his arm enough to press the repulsor gun into the creature's front leg. He fires blindly, the blast ripping through scales and muscle and bone and the creature reels back, howling in pain. It snarls and snaps at him but Peter drives his fist into the gaping wound sharply, causing the creature to recoil in pain. The boy rolls to one side and squirms out of the beast's grasp, gets back up on his feet and running again a split second later.

His pants are covered in a thick, greenish slime that he thinks might be blood but he honestly doesn't care at this point. All he cares about is getting the hell off this ship and away from-

His thoughts are cut off suddenly as a heavy swipe knocks him off his feet and sends him crashing into the metal walls behind him. His back slams into the wall, head connecting just as hard, and for a split second, everything goes white. A clawed hand grabs him by the throat and lifts him into the air, shaking him like a ragdoll. He's slammed into the wall again and the creature's snout is suddenly right in his face, a thunderous roar echoing off the metal walls. Peter can't breathe, there are claws cutting into his skin, and all he can see are teeth.

There's a sharp, shrill whistle from somewhere up the hallway and a flash of gold shoots through the clawed hand wrapped around Peter's throat. The creature growls in surprise and drops him, Peter crashing into a messy heap onto the floor below. The boy winces and looks up to see the gold arrow hovering just inches away from the creature's one good eye, holding him in place. Down the hall, Yondu is striding toward them, crimson eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Well, well, well," the Captain says loudly, his boots vibrating on the grated floors as he walks. "What do we have goin' on down here?"

The creature snarls at him angrily but doesn't move thanks to the arrow still hovering in front of its eye. "Nothing. A simple conversation."

"Uh huh," Yondu responds flatly, his attention turning to the crumpled boy on the floor. "Peter, get up," he says, gesturing for the boy to come to him.

Peter does as he's told, standing shakily and clearing the distance between them in just a few steps. When he gets close enough, Yondu reaches out and grabs him by one shoulder, pulling up toward him and lifting his chin. He eyes him up and down quickly before letting go. "He hurt you, boy?"

Peter shakes his head although he feels like his entire body is bruised. Yondu seems a least somewhat satisfied with the answer and pushes Peter behind him a little. He turns his attention back to the creature in the hall and watches him carefully. "Ya mind tellin' me why you were tryin' to eat a member a' my crew?"

The creature growls but doesn't answer. Yondu's eyes narrow a bit further and he whistles a low, short tune, the arrow inching marginally closer to the beast's eye. Seeing it's at a disadvantage, the creature snarls and grumbles out an answer. "It was a mistake. Nothing personal."

"Oh, a mistake, huh? Well, you'll have to forgive me then," the captain says, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "But I tend to take it a little personal when a low level cur like you sneaks onto _my_ ship an' tries to eat a member 'a my crew."

He jerks one thumb over his shoulder toward Peter. "This boy here belongs to me. He's a Ravager, like me, and he's one 'a the few members 'a my crew that I can actually stand. And you just tried to eat 'im. Can ya see why I might be a little upset about that?"

The creature growls again and bares its teeth but it looks almost apologetic. "Sorry," it grumbles out, the word grinding out tightly through clenched jaws. "It won't happen again."

"You're right," Yondu says with a very slight nod. "It won't." There's a short, sharp whistle and the arrow plunges into the beast's eye, exiting out the back of its skull. The creature stands motionless for a moment, twitching and shuddering for a second or two, before collapsing to the ground in a heap, a pool of dark, green slime forming beneath its head and dripping in between the grates in the floor.

Yondu reaches up and catches the arrow effortlessly, tucking it back in his pocket carefully. "Nothin' personal," he mutters to the dead beast on the floor, brushing a smear of green slime off his hand and onto his jacket.

He steps forward slowly, nudging the creature with one foot. He takes in the beast's blasted out eye and the scored wound in its leg before turning back to Peter. "You do that?" he asks, pointing at the damage and quirking an eyebrow at the boy.

Peter nods slightly, holding up the repulsor gun as indication. He doesn't trust himself to speak, not quite yet, so he hopes the gesture is enough to get the message across.

Yondu smirks and steps away from the creature, walking over to clap a blue hand on Peter's shoulder. "Well, how 'bout that? Looks like you got some balls on ya after all, son. Knew you had it in ya somewhere." He reaches up and ruffles Peter's hair roughly. "Ya did good, kid."

He glances back over his shoulder at the dead thing in the hallway and sneers. "Now let's get this thing off the ship; its startin' to stink up the place."

As Yondu walks off to find some of the other Ravagers to help remove the body, Peter takes a second to smooth his hair back into place and glance back down at his weapon. The outer casing of the gun is a little bent and damaged from the scuffle and the wires have come loose again on one side but it had worked and that was all that mattered. Maybe he was a Ravager after all. Peter almost smiles.

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**Thanks for reading guys! :D**


	3. How Peter got a criminal record

**Hello all! I hope you're having a lovely day! This is the story of how Peter got his first bounty! Yay! Our little Starlord is growing up so fast! Hope you guys like it! :D **

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Peter is seventeen years old and he's pretty sure he's about to die. It's bad enough that he's trapped in a room with only one exit which just so happens to be surrounded by at least half a dozen armed guards who want nothing more than his head on a plate but he's also in nothing but his underwear. His clothes are scattered all over the room, shirt tossed over the back of a chair, pants stuffed somewhere beneath the bed, one boot resting on a desk, and the only thing he'd managed to reclaim in the frenzied rush around the room was his underwear. He counts that as a small victory; at least he won't be completely naked when he's inevitably shot to death.

There are shouts and threats coming from just outside the door, barked orders and promises of unspeakable violence once the guards get into the room. The girl in the bed curses quietly and wraps herself in a sheet, sliding off the bed and rushing around the room to help Peter find his clothes. She grabs his shirt and shoves it into his hands as the shouting outside grows louder. "Hurry! You must leave! They will kill you if they catch you in here!"

"Yeah, I gathered that, sweetheart!" Peter hisses back, grabbing one boot and frantically searching for the other. He finds it in the closet but he's honestly not sure how it got there in the first place. "You know, you could have saved us both a lot of trouble if you had told me you were engaged before we did all that!" he grumbles irritably, gesturing toward the unmade bed with one hand.

She retrieves his pants from beneath the bed and tosses them at him. "Nevermind that now! You must go!"

"Go where? The guards have the door blocked!" Peter shoots back, a loud crash on the other side of the door adding to his argument.

The girl (_Elora_, his brain provides uselessly) frowns and runs across the room, pushing open a set of glass-paned doors to reveal a balcony extending outside. She gestures him over with one hand and leans over the edge of the balcony to peer down at the bushes below.

"You must jump," she tells him, pointing down to the clump of bushes below the window. "It is your only hope for escape."

Peter eyes the drop warily, his clothes still tucked under one arm. It's a good thirty foot drop and there's no guarantee that he won't be caught just as easily down there as he would be up here. Not only that, the bushes are located directly outside the front doors of the palace, easily visible and not providing a lot of coverage. "Are you kidding? They'll be on me the second I get down there!"

"Peter, please!" Elora cries, grabbing his hand in both of hers. Her large, fluorescent green eyes are wide and pleading and she looks like she might be about to cry. "You must go! I do not want them to hurt you!"

Peter sighs heavily and squeezes her hands in reassurance. "Okay, okay, I'll go." He looks over the edge of the balcony once more and sighs again, realizing he really doesn't have any other choice. It's either jump into the bushes below and hope for a clean escape or stay up here and get caught for sure. He tosses his clothes over the edge and into the bushes below, preparing to follow suit behind them, when the girl reaches out and catches his arm.

"Peter, wait," she says, pulling toward him and leaning forward to press her lips against his one last time. In spite of it all, the guards, the threats, the undoubtedly painful death that awaits him just outside the door of the bedroom, Peter melts into her. He melts into the softness of her kiss, the warm vanilla scent of her amber skin, the spun silk texture of her long silver hair. She's breath-taking, every inch of her, and yeah, even though it will more than likely be the death of him, he would have done it all over again in a heartbeat.

She pulls away slowly, blinking up at him with her odd green eyes. "Go now," she says, her voice soft and quiet. "You must run."

Peter nods once and follows her advice, slipping over the railing of the balcony and dropping down into the bushes below. It's not a graceful landing and he can feel twigs and branches digging into him in some _very_ uncomfortable places but it's providing at least a small amount of coverage for the time being so he supposes he can't be too upset about it.

He shifts and struggles for a moment to get his pants back on, absently glancing up to the balcony above him. Elora is gone, closing the doors behind her and returning to the room in an attempt to distract the guards long enough to let him get away. Peter isn't about to squander the opportunity she's provided him with and he gets at least semi-dressed before popping out of the bushes and looking for the cleanest method of escape.

The ship is clear on the other side of the city, docked and waiting for its crew to return. He has no idea where the other Ravagers are, somewhere in the city he knows, but their exact location is a mystery. He'd lost track of them earlier that afternoon, right around the time he met Elora. At the time, he hadn't cared; the Ravagers could take care of themselves and Elora was the first beautiful girl he'd seen in about six weeks and teenage hormones had made it pretty clear that the world could have fallen apart around him if it meant he could spend time with her.

He had met her just outside of the palace, ducking in and out of the crowd with a dark veil over her face like she was trying her hardest not to be seen. At first, he thought she was just another person working in the palace, a servant or a helper who had gotten mixed up in the crowd. It had been purely by accident that Peter had run into her but once he had, there was no going back. She was beautiful and mesmerizing, an exotic creature renowned for its beauty, and Peter was dazzled by her the second he laid eyes on her. It hadn't taken much to convince her to follow him into a nearby garden and strike up a conversation.

She had seemed genuinely interested in him as well, laughing brightly at his jokes and listening to his tales of adventure with rapt attention (Peter may or may not have told her he was a legendary space pirate; he was still working on an equally legendary name because all legendary space pirates have epic and cool names).

When she had asked him what brought him to this planet, he made up some excuse about searching the far reaches of the galaxy on heroic quest to rescue the long lost princess of Alderaan (yes, it was from _Star Wars_ but Peter was also relatively certain she had never seen nor heard of it so he felt like he was in the clear). The real reason the Ravagers had arrived on this planet was much less heroic and quite a bit more immoral. Apparently, there was some kind of wedding taking place between a duchess and some prince from a nearby kingdom and the increase in population meant the Ravagers were free to trade, barter, and swindle their way through every open wallet in the city.

From what little Peter could gather from their afternoon together, Elora was in town for the festivities as well and was closely involved in the wedding. At least that's what he had pieced together over the passing hours; Elora was very tight-lipped about herself and what she was doing in the city. All Peter knew was that she knew about the wedding and was familiar with the inter workings of the palace; it was possible she was related to someone there. She had mentioned something about a former suitor but her regard for him had been so flippant and dismissive that Peter didn't bother to push further for answers. Apparently, it was a loveless affair, an arrangement through family lineage, and she wasn't interested in him in the least. Peter couldn't have cared less; she was beautiful and she was spending time with him and at the time, that was all that mattered.

A large crowd uniformed guards had passed by them on the lawn, apparently searching for someone in particular. When Elora saw them, she jumped to her feet and took him by the hand, running with him into one of the back entrances of the palace, slipping through the halls and ducking into a lavish and ornate room that was fancier than anything Peter had ever seen in his life. They ended up in a bedroom, _her_ bedroom from the looks of it, and Peter temporarily forgot how to think.

For a brief moment, Peter was certain nothing could ruin their time together. That changed the minute the guards appeared outside the door. There was loud banging, even louder yelling, and Peter heard someone say something about a fiance. That's when all hell broke loose. In retrospect, it really shouldn't have been that big of a surprise to find out she was actually the duchess in question but, once again, teenage hormones were hard at work and Peter hadn't been exactly thinking with his brain when he ended up in Elora's room.

He thinking with it now though because he's half-dressed and crouching in the bushes right outside the palace doors and if the guards catch him now, it's all over. He's managed to get his boots on and he's not all that concerned with the shirt at the moment; he's more concerned about getting the hell out of there.

He waits until the noise from above has died down before emerging from the bushes. The courtyard he's found himself in is still somewhat filled with people this time of the evening and he hopes that maybe, if he's lucky, he can blend into a crowd and slip away. He stands carefully and steps out of the bushes, moving slowly and silently across the lawn. He almost makes it to the palace gates before there's a shout from the guards behind him.

Peter doesn't wait to see what happens next, he takes off running down a crowded street, shoving through the clumps and clusters of people who have all gathered outside the palace. A few shout curses at him, some even try to grab him as he runs by, but Peter doesn't stop. He pushes his way through the crowd and runs in the direction of the ship.

He bursts through a tangle of people blocking the middle of the street and ducks into an alley, pressing his back up against the wall. The guards pass the mouth of the alley without seeing him and Peter lets out a long sigh as they go. Something chirps at his hip and he jumps in surprise before realizing it's his communicator. He flips it open and is greeted by the frowning face of his blue skinned Captain.

"Quill!" Yondu snaps and Peter flinches a bit, expecting the guards to hear the greeting and double back at any moment. "Where you at, boy?"

"Uh," Peter stars, pressing his back against the wall a little more and checking down the mouth of the alley once more. "Currently hiding out in an alley and running for my life."

Yondu just quirks an eyebrow on the screen. "You do somethin' to piss off the locals?"

Peter almost laughs because God, that is the understatement of the century. "Yeah, something like that."

The Captain just smirks and shakes his head. "Well, normally I'd say yer on yer own but it just so happens that me 'n the crew are sick 'a this planet and ready to hightail it outta here. You got ten minutes to get to the ship, kid, or else we're leavin' you here, got it?"

Ten minutes to make it clear across town to the ship while being pursued by at least a dozen guards who are ready to shoot him at the first opportunity? It sounds impossible but Peter doesn't exactly have a choice. He just nods and straightens his shoulders. "Alright, I'll be there."

"You better," Yondu tells him and the screen goes dark in his hand. Peter snaps the communicator closed and drops it back into his pocket. The crowd of people at the mouth of the alley are still milling around, providing both an obstacle and a distraction. He knows the main street will take him directly to the ship but that also means mingling in with the throngs of people and hoping that he isn't noticed by any of the guards who are still out scouring the city for him.

He steps out into the crowd carefully, moving along with the general flow of traffic down the main street of the city. He remains vigilant for any sign of the guards or any other uniformed officials but sees none. He doesn't know who he should thank for his stroke of good luck so he just keeps moving, vowing to dwell on it more later.

The shipyard looms in the distance and he can just make out the Ravagers' ship docked among all the others. It's only a few blocks away and for a brief, fleeting moment, Peter wonders if he's home free. The shout from behind him and the subsequent shot that follows quickly diminishes that thought. He's running before he realizes it and the shouting of the guards behind him tells him they're right on his heels.

He cuts in and out of the crowd, dodging and weaving as much as he can without getting caught in the startles crowds still filling the streets. The shots bounce off the walls around him and Peter can't be sure if the guards are just really shitty shots or if they're trying to avoid hitting anyone else in the street in the process. One shot ricochets off a wall and clips his heel, catching him temporarily off guard, but he doesn't stop. He keeps running in spite of the pain, the ship getting closer with each step.

In the end, he's not sure how he makes it to the ship without getting caught. The guards are still only a few feet behind him when he clears the lift, slamming the doors closed behind him and leaving them pissed off and shooting at the metal doors. There's a rumble and a jolt and the ship pulls away from the dock, raising into the sky higher and higher, leaving the guards and the city far behind.

Exhausted and breathless, Peter collapses onto his back in the middle of the lift, staring up at the ceiling for a long time. His temporary respite if interrupted by Kraglin appearing above him.

"The hell did you do, Peter?" he asks, seeing the disheveled state of the younger man and the scorch marks on his clothes from the guards' guns.

"I, uh, I pissed off the locals," Peter replies, repeating Yondu's earlier assessment.

"Uh huh," the first mate responds, reaching down and offering Peter his hand. "Care to explain?"

Peter takes it gratefully and rises to his feet slowly. "Not really."

"Fair enough," Kraglin says and the conversation more or less dies there. One thing Peter had learned early on was that everyone's business was their own on this ship. Pushing or prodding for answers usually just ended up with some kind of grievous wound or a black eye at the very least. If Peter didn't want to talk about what happened, no one was going to force him to. It was his business after all, no one but his.

Or so he thought. _His_ business suddenly becomes _everyone's_ business the next afternoon when Yondu walks in and swats him on the back of the head.

"Boy, are you suicidal or just incredibly stupid?" he demands and suddenly all eyes are on Peter.

The Terran winces a bit and rubs the back of his head. "I ask myself that question a lot, actually."

"You slept with the Gramosian Duchess!" Yondu continues incredulously. "In her bedroom. On her wedding day. Ya know her daddy's a warlord, right? And that he could order all 'a our heads on a spike at a minute's notice?"

"Yeah, I gathered as much," Peter mumbles back, ducking his head to hide the blush creeping up the side of his neck. Everyone is staring at him and it was bad enough that he was nearly killed following his first sexual encounter but now _everyone_ on the ship knew about it and if Peter could somehow crawl into a hole and just disappear for a while, that would be great.

"Well, luckily for us," Yondu continues, gesturing around the room the rest of the crew. "He's only interested in the death and mutilation 'a the one that defiled his daughter, which means the rest 'a us are off the hook."

"You on the other hand," he says as he flips on the display screen in the panel behind him and pulls up a file. "Now have a bounty on yer head that's worth a small fortune."

Peter scans the file quickly, taking in his purported crime and the price for his capture. _Illegal manipulation of the Gramosian Duchess_ the screen displays back, the words in bold, thick letters. Peter frowns slightly at that; granted, what he and Elora had done wasn't exactly right considering she was engaged to be married but saying it was illegal seemed a bit harsh. But, then again, maybe that's how this scenario was destined to play out regardless. Even though it was consensual, it was much easier to blame the affair on a scruffy vagabond rather than bring that kind of shame on such an elite family. Peter's first time had made him a criminal and now there was a pretty sizable bounty on his head all because he couldn't keep it in his pants.

Yondu waves his hand at the remaining crew and directs them to the nearest doors. "Everyone out," he says shortly, crimson eyes focused on Peter. "Me 'an Mr. Quill have some things to discuss."

The crew filters out slowly, not wanting to miss the verbal lashing that's about to take place but knowing better than to question their Captain. Yondu waits until all of them, including Kraglin, are gone before he turns his attention back to Peter.

He's silent for a moment, eyeing the boy up and down carefully like he's trying to figure something out. Peter scrunches in his seat just a little, the intense crimson glare from the older man making him uncomfortable.

Finally, Yondu crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the wall. "Was it worth it?" he asks simply and honestly, that was probably the last thing Peter thought he would say.

"Huh?" he replies dumbly, feeling like he's missing something in this conversation.

"Was it worth it?" Yondu repeats patiently like he's talking to a confused child (in a way, he kind of is). "The girl," he continues, gesturing toward the file still pulled up on the screen. "The whole 'illegal manipulation' or whatever it is y'all did. Do ya think it was worth it? Would ya do it all again if ya knew the risks?"

Peter thinks for a second, still not sure if this is some kind of trick question or not. He thinks about Elora's soft kisses, her bright, vibrant eyes, the way she smiled when she said his name. He thinks about the garden they hid away in, the smell of grass and trees, the sadness in her eyes as she spoke about the husband and the life chosen for her. She wanted freedom and Peter had known nothing but for most of his life. Even though it had nearly killed him, he thinks he would have done just about anything to see her happy.

"Yeah," he says finally with a small nod. "I would."

Yondu just nods like he'd been expecting as much and reaches into a drawer behind him for something. Peter is half expecting an ugly, dangerous knife or, at the very least, a gun because obviously Yondu has had enough of his shit and he's about to just kill him and be done with it. He's not expecting two glasses and a bottle filled with amber-gold liquid to be set on the table.

"Then I won't fault ya for it," Yondu tells him as he closes the drawer. "Yer dumb as a sack 'a rocks, kid, but at least yer honest. Takes a lotta guts to do both."

Peter is still gawking apparently because when Yondu sees him, he just rolls his eyes in exasperation.

"Boy, you really think this is the first time we been run off a planet because someone was too busy thinkin' with their pecker and not their head? Hell, every man on this ship has at least three pissed off husbands spread out all across the galaxy who want their balls in a jar because their wives decided to tumble into bed with someone else. This ain't new, kid; this is actually pretty damn common among our kind."

Peter frowns a bit, still confused. "So why send them all away? If they're all so used to this, why send everyone out?"

Yondu doesn't answer for a moment, busying himself with popping the cork out of the bottle and pouring a small amount of the liquid into each glass. "This was yer first time, wasn't it?"

Peter feels the flush heat up his face again and he ducks his head. The last thing he wants to do is talk about all the awkwardness involved in his first sexual experience. Near death experience aside, he knows he wasn't any good at it (he's pretty sure he accidentally elbowed Elora in the face at one point) and having a rather belated "talk" with his Captain is not how he wanted this all to play out.

His silence is enough of an answer and Yondu just nods, dropping a glass in front of him and taking a seat across the table. "Figured as much," he says, taking a swig from his glass. "Did some readin' on Terran biology after we picked ya up," he continues, eyeing Peter from across the table. "Seems like the whole 'first time' thing is a pretty big deal for yer kind."

Peter just rolls his eyes and shifts the glass the other man had offered him back and forth between his hands. "It wasn't that big a deal," he mutters, adamantly ignoring the way the tips of his ears feel like they're on fire from the lingering blush.

"Big enough," Yondu replies, holding up his glass in a halfway salute. "Guess that makes you a man now, kid." He goes silent for a second, looking back up at the screen carefully. "Ya didn't force 'er, did ya?"

"What?! No!" Peter exclaims in mixture of surprise and outrage. Bad enough that he was now technically a criminal for sleeping with Elora but he definitely didn't want to give anyone the wrong idea that he had forced himself on her either.

"Alright, alright," the blue skinned man says, holding up his hands in surrender. "Just makin' sure." There's another brief silence before he speaks again. "First time is always bad, kid. Don't take it too personal. An' if I brought you up any kind a right, this won't be yer last either."

Peter isn't really sure how to feel about that. Being raised by a ship full of thugs and criminals couldn't spell success for future relationships. And now he has a criminal title attached to his name, one that accuses him of sexual indecency...how is he ever supposed to clear that from his record?

A very small part of his brain thinks that maybe he could dissociate himself from said title if he went by another name instead. Something daring and mysterious, a name that make him out to be a hero and not an outlaw. Something legendary.

He grabs the glass and takes a sip of the liquid inside. It's harsh and strong and it burns all the way down but he drinks it anyway. He's a legendary outlaw now and legendary outlaws have to learn to handle their liquor.

Yondu watches him silently for a moment, smirking a bit at the kid's bravado. When Peter swallows a large gulp of the liquor in his glass, he chuckles and shakes his head. "Easy, boy, you drink it like that an' it'll go straight to that thick head 'a yers."

Peter coughs a little into the back of his hand, the burning in his chest settling into a low smolder. "Guess this makes me a man now, huh?" he says, parroting the Captain's words back casually.

The blue skinned man smirks again and nods. "Guess it does," he agrees, reaching across the table to clink the edge of his glass to Peter's. He glances back up at the screen on more time and leans back in the chair. "My boy's all grown up and got his first bounty on his head. I'm so proud I could choke."

Peter just smirks a bit and takes another drink.

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**So when Peter is first captured by Nova Corp in the movie, his bio screen indicates he'd been accused of illegal manipulation of the Gramosian Duchess and that's kind of where this idea came from!**

**Thanks for reading guys! :D**


	4. How Peter's day was ruined by a lizard

**Hello all and Happy (early) Halloween! You all know how much I love beating on Peter (it's becoming a problem, really...) so here's the obligatory whump chapter! Hope you all like it! :D**

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Peter is nineteen years old and he _knows_ he's about to die. It's not because they're trapped in a cave because one whole side of a mountain decided to fall down on top of them. It's not because his companions are currently unconscious and bleeding from various wounds and there's absolutely no way to contact the ship because their equipment was damaged in the rock slide. It's not even because water is slowly beginning to seep in between the rocks and dampen the floor of the cave. No, Peter knows he's about to die because of a lizard.

It was a tiny thing, barely bigger than a mouse and just as quick. It's skin was the color of a tangerine and it's eyes were bright yellow and almost glowing, tiny lanterns in the dimness of the cave. It hissed and snarled and growled like a little motor and it was almost cute. Except for the fact that it was incredibly poisonous and deadly and had latched onto Peter's leg like a tiny shark when he'd startled it by stumbling into its cave.

The pain had been sharp and quick, a flash of lightning against his skin and then it was gone. At first, Peter hadn't even realized what it was, attributing the pain to a sharp rock or something similar when they'd skidded across the ground in their hurry to get away from the tumbling rocks. It wasn't until he saw a flash of orange out of the corner of his eye and heard the little motor-growl from the retreating lizard that he realized what it was. And just how screwed he was.

When he'd first accepted this job, the leader of their landing party had told everyone that the only thing they needed to watch out for were little orange lizards with the yellow eyes that were native to the planet. According to him, these lizards were absolutely lethal and could kill a grown man in less than an hour. He said they should be fine so long as they stayed away from dark, cool hiding places like cracks in the ground or caves. Yeah, that last part hadn't really worked out all that well…

He went on to tell them that not only was the lizard's venom highly potent and toxic but that it had also been used/sold as a weapon in back alley black markets for years. There was no known antidote for the lizard's venom (at least not one that he'd mentioned) and getting bitten by one of them was comparable to signing your own death certificate.

Well, the three perfect little puncture wounds just to the left of his shin bone and the dark, ugly, greenish tendrils that were slowly climbing their way up his leg served as his death sentence, signed and dated. Peter is going to die because of a lizard and that seems like some sort of cosmic joke.

The pain is not a joke though and the wounds in his leg have been throbbing mercilessly for what feels like hours. It's hot and cold all at once, forged fire and freezer burn and stabbing, twisting agony and it _hurts_. Everything below the puncture wounds feels like it's frozen solid and everything above feels like acid and flames and scorched metal pressed into his skin. Peter has never felt a pain like this before, has nothing to compare it to, and he doesn't know if he should be grateful for that or not.

He's sweating and shivering and clenching his teeth so tightly he feels his jaws grinding together in protest but it doesn't help. The pain is so intense it's making him nauseous and he wonders for a very small second if he's about to pass out because of it. He can't though, he won't allow himself to give in because he feels like if that happens, it will probably be the last thing he ever does. He forces himself to endure it, trying desperately to convince himself it's not as bad as it seems (it is), that he's experienced worse (he hasn't), and that help will come eventually (it won't).

The leader of this little adventure, a man named Rahmani, is still unconscious and slumped against the wall of the cave, the gash at his hairline still bleeding sluggishly. He's still breathing but the wound is ugly and more than likely serious and there isn't much Peter can do to help him at the moment other than make sure he doesn't drown in the slowly rising water on the floor of the cave. The other member of their party, a Ravager by the name of Jerec, is also unconscious and both legs are broken and twisted in unnatural angles. He had been the only one Peter had managed to pull out of the landslide before the next earthquake. He's pretty sure the other Ravager is suffering from a multitude of internal injuries as well but, once again, there's nothing Peter can do about that. Had he known that this would have turned into something comparable to a suicide mission, Peter would have saved a lot of time and energy and just told Rahmani to piss off.

Peter had only met him a few days before when their ship had docked on a neighboring planet to stock up on supplies. The man had been waiting for them when they disembarked, actively searching out Yondu among the milling crew as they left the ship. Their greeting had been familiar and warm, or as warm as a greeting could get from a Ravager, and Peter got the distinct impression that the man and the Captain of the Ravagers went way back. Whether he was a very old friend or possibly even a former Ravager, Peter couldn't be sure. All he knew was that Yondu disappeared off with him for several hours, discussing jobs and missions that could be profitable for both parties.

Peter had remained close to the ship, helping Kraglin and the others load supplies into the cargo hold. It wasn't uncommon for their Captain to slip away for a few hours at a time when they docked on a planet, drinking or gambling or looking for a way to make quick money. Part of being a Ravager meant finding the quickest, easiest way to earn a profit and how to keep as much of the earnings as possible. Peter had been watching them for a while now and he picked up a few tricks of his own from living with a company of professional thieves and conmen.

When the two men returned a few hours later, it was obvious that they had been discussing a particular job in great detail. The Captain had called a meeting in the main deck of the ship and the outline for the job at hand had been laid out.

Apparently, the neighboring planet was home to an ultra rare metal that could bring in several million units with just a few ounces. The metal was used for nearly everything in this part of the galaxy: weapons, tools, mechanical parts, fuel cells, everything. It was lightweight yet super durable, able to be crafted and shaped but harder than the strongest steel ever made.

Rahmani had explained that the only reason the planet hadn't been bled dry by other scouting parties was because none of them knew about what lay beneath the planet's surface. He offered to be a guide and lead them directly to the source of the precious metal; he even offered to split a little more than half of the profits once the job was complete.

He had a crew of his own but he needed a few additional hands to help bring the metal back to the ships. The job would only take a few days and, if the metal was really as valuable as Rahmani claimed it was, it would set them up for months, possibly years, before they had to look for work again.

At the mention of potential profit, a few of the crew members volunteered to go planetside to help with the recovery of the precious metal. Peter wasn't exactly sure why but something pushed him to volunteer as well, the chance to prove himself to the other members of the crew guiding his decision. He knew that some of them still didn't think he had what it took to be a Ravager, his youth and his Terran biology adding to the assumption that he would always be in over his head. He wanted to prove them wrong; he'd been on this ship for over ten years now and if that didn't make him a Ravager he didn't know what else would.

Rahmani had initially seemed a little hesitant to take him on, eyeing him up and down critically like he was trying to glean some kind of information Peter hadn't provided. The man had looked to Yondu for approval and the Captain just shrugged, saying Peter was part of the crew and had just as much right to volunteer as any of the others. Rahmani needed extra hands and Peter had two that worked just fine so that should be all the qualification he needed. The man let the argument go after that, accepting Peter into the party and assuring all of them that in a few short hours, they'd all be rich beyond their wildest dreams. There was no way the job could fail.

Well, that had been before the massive earthquake that split the ground and swallowed over half of their landing party and the resulting landslide took out the other half. Apparently, something Rahmani hadn't felt the need to explain, was that the surface of the planet was highly unstable and prone to massive earthquakes and landslides at a moment's notice. It was sheer luck that Peter hadn't been taken out with the first group, a few feet of rock separating him from the rest of the group when the ground split open. He'd been on high alert then and had nearly been expecting the resulting landslide that followed.

Rahmani had grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him forward, dragging him toward a nearby cave that may offer some shelter. The landslide the followed the earthquake had been brutal and powerful, wiping out nearly everyone and everything else behind them. Peter had turned back and just managed to dig Jerec out of the rubble pile before the next earthquake began.

With Rahmani's help, they dragged the wounded Ravager toward the cave, the ground shaking and trembling beneath their feet. There had been a loud crack, a concussive jolt of the ground, and they were tumbling into the cave as a shower of boulders crashed down behind them. Rahmani hadn't been quite fast enough to avoid being knocked over the head with a falling stone, collapsing to the floor of the cave only a few feet from the pile of rocks. Peter dragged Jerec far enough into the cave to be out of immediate danger and turned back to grab a handful of Rahmani's jacket, pulling him further into the cave as the rocks continued to fall.

Through the tumbling boulders and stones falling over the mouth of the cave, Peter could see the stormy sky above open up in a cloud burst of rain. The sound of falling water coupled with the still rumbling ground below had created a deafening echo in the cave. It seemed as though both land and sky were working together to destroy the landing party and everyone involved.

One last aftershock was all it took for Peter to lose his footing and stumble backward, landing on the ground hard. There had been a very brief flash of orange, the searing pinprick of teeth, and, as if it wasn't bad enough already, Peter's whole day was ruined by a lizard. Just perfect...

The ground rumbles again briefly before finally going still and quiet. For a long moment, everything is silent save for the dull roar of rain outside the cave and the movement of water seeping between the rocks. Luckily for them, the rockslide had created a thick enough barrier to prevent the water from coming in too quickly. Unfortunately, the rocks were also blocking their only exit and if the water kept rising the way it was, they would soon find themselves with a whole new set of problems to deal with.

Peter clenches his teeth and tries to think past the piercing pain in his leg. His foot and lower leg have already gone numb and the sensation is slowly creeping it's way up. Another fun tidbit Rahmani had given them about the lizard's venom: it contained a hyper-toxic agent that would eventually cause complete and total paralysis as it traveled further into the bloodstream. It wouldn't be long before it reached his heart and caused an exciting combination of cardiac and respiratory arrest. Not the best way to go but Peter doesn't really see that he has a choice.

His shoulder bumps against the containment unit Rahmani had supplied them with to collect the planet's metal. Their party had managed to collect a good amount of it before the earthquake had fractured the ground beneath them. Unfortunately, nearly all of it had been lost along with the rest of their team. Peter still had his share of the collection and Rahmani still had his but Jerec's had been lost somewhere in the landslide. Peter silently hopes its as valuable as Rahmani claimed it was because it was probably going to kill all of them before the end of the day.

He shrugs the containment unit off and lets it drop into the water, hoping that decreasing the weight on his back might help the situation a bit more. He tries to stand to pull himself further into the cave and instantly regrets the decision. The parts of his leg that he can still feel flare like it's on fire and the pain is enough to make him dizzy. He staggers and falls, landing clumsily on his hands and knees. The water is up to his wrists now and the swirling current is cold and harsh against his burning skin. The pain causes his stomach to do a wobbly flip and Peter isn't ashamed to admit that he throws up in the rising water.

His vision blurs for a moment and he loses his balance again, palms sliding along the rocky ground beneath the water. He almost falls face first into it but he manages to pull back at the last second, righting himself somewhat and pushing himself to his knees. He knows he's dead, there's nothing he can do to change that, but maybe he can help the others and keep them alive just a little longer.

He crawls through the rising water, grabbing Rahmani's arm and dragging him further into the cave. The rocky floor slopes upward toward the back of the cavern and there are a few outcroppings that will keep them up and out of the water and possibly keep them from drowning.

It's a slow, painful process, each movement sending jolts and shockwaves of pain through Peter's entire body. His chest burns and his lungs feel like they're on fire, each breath pulled through a layer of smoldering embers and acidic ash. His legs have gone almost completely numb by now, the sensation stopping just below his hips. His arms tremble with the effort of keeping him upright and dragging the dead weight of the unconscious man behind him but Peter doesn't stop. When he finally reaches the nearest outcrop, it takes an extraordinary amount of effort to shove the other man onto the highest part and out of the way of the flood waters.

Sweat is covering Peter's face but he's shivering violently, shaking so hard he almost can't move. His skin feels like it's on fire, scorched and burning, but the blood in his veins feels like frozen water. It would be nice if his body could pick a sensation, hot or cold, that it wanted to stick with but Peter isn't sure which is better at this point. He's burning alive and freezing to death all at the same time and he's never been so confused in his life.

He pushes himself off the outcropping and tumbles back into the water awkwardly. For a moment he can't move and he just sits in the water shivering. Sitting down, the water is up to his waist and dull roar of the rain outside the cave doesn't seem to be stopping. Poisonous lizards aside, there's a very real possibility that Peter might drown before the venom does him in. His teeth are chattering and it's starting to get a little harder to breathe but he forces himself upward and pulls himself slowly through the water to get back to Jerec. His legs have gone completely numb and he's relying on nothing more than arm strength now and his energy is fading by the second.

It's a short distance across the cave but it feels like it takes hours. Peter has to stop twice to catch his breath because the simple act of crawling is starting to wear him down. He finally reaches Jerec after what feels like an eternity and he feels his stomach drop heavily. The other Ravager is cold and unresponsive, his eyes just barely open and staring blankly at nothing. The water around him is a slight pinkish color and there's a trickle of blood coming from one corner of his mouth and both nostrils. Peter doesn't have to touch him to know that he's already dead.

Even when he pulled him from the rubble, there was tiny, logical voice in the back of Peter's mind that already knew the other Ravager's injuries were too severe. With the broken bones and almost certain internal bleeding, there was no way he would have survived longer than a few minutes without some kind of help. Peter knows all of this, he thinks he has for a while, but that doesn't stop the frustrated sound of anguish that chokes in the back of his throat. He clenches one fist tightly, absently noting that he can't really feel his fingers anymore (although he's not sure if that's from the venom or the cold water).

The water is still rising but Peter honestly doesn't know if he can move anymore. His legs are useless and the heaviness in his arms makes him wonder if he'll even be able to make the short journey back across the cave to the higher ground. He's shivering and breathless, sweat dripping into his eyes, and for a moment he wonders if he should just give up and slip beneath the water. Drowning or suffocation due to venom; it doesn't really matter now, he's dead either way.

Survival instinct, useless though it may be, prevents him from giving up though. He barely has any strength left but he uses it to drag himself back across the cave to higher ground. Every inch feels like a mile and Peter has to stop more than once and just breathe. His lungs feel tighter, heavier, like they're filling with mud each time he draws a breath. The deeper the breath, the tighter they feel, and he knows it won't be long before he can't breathe at all.

He's not sure how but he makes it back to the outcropping just in time for the very last remnants of his strength to give out. He can't climb and he can't move anymore so he settles with just holding on to the shelf of rock rising out of the water.

The containment unit rolls against the walls of the cave with a soft, metallic grinding and, if he had any energy left at all, Peter would have glared at it. Rahmani is still unconscious on the outcropping above him; hell, he might be dead too for all Peter knows. Peter can't really bring himself to care anymore; he's shivering and exhausted and his vision keeps blurring in and out. He can't feel anything below the waist now and soon he won't be able to feel anything at all.

His stomach flips again but there's nothing left for him to throw up so he just gags instead. The reflex leaves him gasping and breathless and all at once he feels like he can't breathe anymore. His lungs feel frozen, absolutely refusing to expand anymore, and he can only pull in tiny gasps of air now. Everything is getting blurry and hazy, like the cave had suddenly been filled with a thick fog, and Peter has a vague notion that he's probably about to black out from oxygen deprivation.

His head tips forward and his cheek scrapes against something cold and hard. The rocky ledge is digging into his skin and it's definitely not comfortable he can't move so it doesn't really matter. It's hard to see now, even harder to breathe, and Peter feels the loose grip he has on the rock shelf begin to slip.

The dull roar of rain is beginning to die down outside but the ground is starting to shake again. Great, another earthquake. The ground trembles and shakes, the walls of the cave cracking from the tremors, but Peter can't move. He's about to die anyway, what does it matter if the whole cave comes down on top of them now?

There's a tremendous crash from the mouth of the cave and a riptide as the rising water is suddenly sucked out into the open. The current is too strong and Peter can't hold on any longer so he just lets go. His vision blurs again, black, white, red, and he doesn't remember if he's taken a breath in the past few seconds. Maybe he can't anymore; wouldn't that suck?

He drifts along with the water and it's freezing and numbing and awful but he's dying so he doesn't care. He expects it to carry him away on a wave, dragging him down through rivers and lakes and oceans. He expects it to cover him completely and swallow him down into the depths of the abyss. He expects it to at least be quiet. What he doesn't expect is for something to grab him by one limp arm and drag him out of the water and immediately start yelling at him.

He can't hear it, not really, but he's heard enough yelling in his life to recognize the sound. The world flips oddly and there's suddenly a steel bar braced across his chest and something like a sledgehammer pounding into his back between his shoulder blades. Peter coughs and chokes up a mouthful of water he hadn't realized he'd swallowed. Huh, when did that happen?

The yelling gets louder (or maybe just clearer?) and he realizes its shouting his name. He's dropped painfully onto something solid and he blinks up at the blurry sky. His brain rather belatedly realizes not only has it stopped raining but also that he's out of the cave and laying flat on solid ground. Nice change of scenery, he was sick of the cave anyway.

The sky is suddenly blue and hazy and Peter blinks again but he can't really focus. He hears a voice, hears his name, and something is slapping his cheek painfully.

"Yer not dyin' on me today, boy! Ya hear me?" The blue sky almost looks like a face but then Peter's vision blurs again and the resemblance is gone. "Yer not dyin' here!"

Whatever was slapping his cheek earlier moves down to beat against the center of his chest hard. It's the same sensation as the sledgehammer against his back and Peter coughs involuntarily. "Atta boy," the voice praises and the beating lessens marginally. "Cough it up, kid. Come on."

Peter tries to cough again but he can't take the breath necessary to do so. There's an odd kind of choking sound and he realizes dimly that it's coming from him. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear the swelling black and grey in his vision, and suddenly there's nothing but blue above him.

"Don't you dare give up on me," the voice warns and he's shaken roughly. "I did not raise you to be a quitter, boy! You ain't dyin' till I say you can die! You hear me, Quill?!"

Peter wants to argue that yes, he can hear him, but it takes air to speak and Peter is currently incapable of breathing so it seems like a moot point. His eyes are fluttering and he's rapidly losing consciousness but the voice is undeterred.

"Quit bein' so damn stubborn," the voice growls and suddenly there's a sharp, hard, unrelenting pressure as something grinds against his sternum. Peter can't feel much anymore but he can feel that and it hurts like _hell_. The pressure digs in harder, like knuckles grinding into bone, and Peter winces in pain. "Breathe, Peter!"

The gasp is pathetically shallow and weak but it does manage to get a fraction more air into Peter's lungs and his vision clears just slightly. There's a blue face above him, crimson eyes peering down, and there's a mixture of anger and desperation in the expression. Peter recognizes the face, can almost put a name to it, but his brain is seriously oxygen deprived right now and it decides that unconsciousness is much more tolerable than a name game.

He's sliding away, slow and fast and all at once. He's pretty sure the voice and the face he almost recognized are still there, yelling and ordering and shouting his name, but Peter can't stay. He can't feel anything, he can't breathe, and he certainly can't stay awake any longer. His vision fades and goes dark and the world falls away around him.

**OOOOO**

Peter is dead, he's absolutely certain of it. He's dead and cold and stiff and any minute now that proverbial white light should appear and lead him away into the great beyond. He can't see any white light though, he can't see anything at all. His eyes are closed and try as he might, he just can't seem to open them. Hmm, well that's unfortunate. Oh well, he's dead anyway, there can't be all that much to see. Funny...death smells a lot like leather and engine oil...

There are people talking above him, high in the clouds and floating in space. God, maybe? Peter can't be sure, he still can't see but he knows that someone is talking. Well, to be more specific, someone is yelling and another someone is talking but even so, it's too loud. Everything seems amplified, loud and jarring and bouncing off metal walls, and Peter wants to tell them to please be quiet, he's trying to be dead in peace here, but he can't open his mouth.

"I didn't think it would be that dangerous," one of the voices says, apologetic and placating.

"Not that dangerous?!" the other voice shouts back and wow, God sounds _pissed_. "Yer little expedition got four 'a my men killed and put one of 'em in a coma! You led my crew on a suicide mission!"

"I didn't know!" the first voice protests and Peter has decided that since he can't see him, he's just going to refer to him as Whiny Douchebag #1. "I promise you I didn't! I swear on my life that if I had known-"

"Yer life?!" the other voice rages. "How 'bout you swear on his life! My boy nearly drowned savin' your worthless hide and yer gonna swear on _yer_ life?!"

"I know," Whiny Douchebag acknowledges quietly. "I owe the boy my life and if there is anything I can do-"

"You can leave," the other voice says flatly. "You can walk out that door and be on yer way and if I ever catch you around my ship or my crew again, I'll break every bone in yer miserable body."

Damn, sounds like God is about to go straight Old Testament on Whiny Douchebag. Peter doesn't stick around for the finale and lets himself drift away again.

**OOOOO**

When he comes back around the second time, he's actually able to open his eyes although nothing about it makes sense. He's dead so why does death look exactly like the cargo hold of the ship? He recognizes the metal ceiling and the exposed pipes and support rods holding the ship together and he can hear the dull thrum of the engine below him. If this was someone's idea of heaven, he's going to be seriously pissed off.

He tries to turn his head but his whole body is stiff and unresponsive. He barely gets more than a twitch out of his muscles and it's a little bit terrifying for a second. He has vague, hazy memories of feeling paralyzed before, having his body freeze up and go completely numb thanks to...something. He can't remember. He can sort of feel things now, mostly in his upper body, but it doesn't change the fact that he still can't move and it feels like his whole body is being weighed down with lead.

"Don't move," a voice mutters from somewhere off to the side and it sounds remarkably like the God-voice from before. Peter tries to turn his head but he doesn't get far. "Although I suppose ya can't right now," the voice continues and there's a shift of movement from its direction. "Wouldn't worry too much about that; you should be able to move again in a couple hours."

There's the scrape of a chair across the metal floor and from the corner of his eye, Peter can just make out the blue skin of his Captain. He gives Peter a crooked smile. "Welcome back, kid."

Peter frowns and manages to turn his head just a tiny bit more. He doesn't remember much, not nearly as much as he should, but he's at least relatively sure that he should be dead right now. What the hell?

"Why 'm I not dead?" he mumbles and even the words sound blurry and hazy.

"Ya almost were," Yondu tells him, crossing his arms over his chest. "By the time we found you, you were damn near determined to up an' die before we got ya back to the ship. But you're also a stubborn sonuvabitch and refused to kick the bucket long enough for us to get an antivenin in you. Should be back on yer feet in a couple days."

"Antivenin?" Peter parrots back in confusion. He remembers the lizard, just barely, and he also remembers that there was no such thing as an antivenin for it's poison.

"Yep," Yondu confirms with a slight nod. "It ain't very common an' it's a bitch to find but Rahmani said he knew a guy who had a couple bottles 'a the stuff in his shop." A dark look passes over the Captain's face and his eyes narrow a little. "Lucky for him that metal he was after was as valuable as he said it was. His buddy pretty well cleaned us out but he gave us the antivenin an' told us how to use it. We pumped you full of it an' brought ya down here." He spreads his arms a little and gestures to the room around them. "Granted, it ain't exactly a medical wing but it'll keep ya outta the way til yer back on yer feet again."

Peter glances around the room briefly, turning his head as much as he's able. True, the cargo hold is in the lowest portion of the ship so it would keep him out of the way while he was still mostly immobile but the room was also quieter and warmer than any other part of the ship. It was the closest thing the Ravagers had to a medical wing and so long as there was a functional cot, that's what they'd been using for years.

His thoughts drift back to Jerec and the other Ravagers who hadn't been so lucky. He wonders if they ever found them or if the planet had simply swallowed them deep into the earth. He knows from experience that Ravagers aren't the most sentimental bunch but he wonders if they at least drank to their memory.

"Jerec," he says after a second and the word comes out as a harsh, broken croak rather than a name.

Yondu just shakes his head. "He's gone kid, lost with the rest of 'em. You were the only one we got back an' we didn't know if you'd make it either. You stopped breathin' a few times, boy; we thought you were a goner too."

He thinks back to the cave and the water and the certainty that he was going to die. He'd accepted it, been ready for it, and to be pulled back almost from the brink, to survive when it was all but certain that he should have died...well, Peter doesn't really know how he feels about that.

"I tried to save him," he says and it feels like it means nothing now because it hadn't been enough.

"I know ya did, kid," Yondu acknowledges with a slight nod, leaning back in the chair and propping his feet on the edge of the cot. "Sometimes that's enough an' sometimes it ain't. Ya made sure he didn't die alone, that was probably all ya could've done for 'im then."

Peter's not sure if it's due to the near death experience or the loss of his fellow crew members or maybe just the gravity of it all. Maybe it's a combination of everything. Whatever the reason, he can't quite stop the burning swell of tears that well up and trickle down the side of his face into his hair.

"'Ey," the captain says and Peter can just barely feel his boot nudging him in the ribs. "Thought I told you that Ravagers don't cry."

Peter just squeezes his eyes closed and tries to breathe in slowly. His lung don't feel quite so constricted anymore and it's noticeably easier to breathe but his throat feels tight from the effort of trying to keep the tears at bay. "Sorry," he mumbles quietly, refusing to open his eyes until he regains his composure.

"Don't be," the older man says and Peter is confused enough by the answer that he actually opens his eyes and looks at him. "You ain't got nothin' to be sorry for and ya didn't do anythin' wrong. Nothin' at all." He nudges Peter in the ribs with his boot again but it's not hard enough to hurt. "Another rule about bein' a Ravager: we don't do self pity. Guilt never did anybody any good, understand?"

Peter nods slightly and swallows hard. It's a cold reality but it's also the truth and there's nothing he can do to change that.

"Good," Yondu says with a nod of his own, leaning back into the chair a little further to get more comfortable. He keeps his feet propped on the edge of the cot, boots resting lightly against Peter's ribs. Peter can barely feel it but the pressure is just enough for him to know it's there. "Go to sleep, son. You'll feel better when you wake up."

Peter doesn't protest, mostly because he can't but also because he's exhausted and sleep actually sounds like a really great idea right about now. The ship is rumbling and vibrating around them and it's almost soothing. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift and this time he's pretty sure he's not on a fast track toward death. Peter falls asleep to the smell of leather and engine oil and something sounds a lot like someone humming The Jackson 5.

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**Sorry if anyone came across as OOC in this chapter, still working on character personalities! Thanks for reading guys! :D**


	5. How Peter gambled his life for his crew

**Hello lovelies!Hope you're all doing well! Okay, confession time: I've been wanting to write a story with a prompt like this for a long time but never had the right setting to do so. However, Peter seems reckless and stubborn enough to try something this stupid so I worked it into this chapter. Hope you guys like it! :D**

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Peter is twenty-five years old and this probably one of the stupidest things he's ever done. Allowing himself to be captured and then gambling with his life in exchange for the Ravagers freedom definitely didn't fall into the category of 'sane and well thought out plan.' None of this would be happening if they had just listened to him in the first place but, noo, they opted to ignore him and now they were all in prison. If Peter dies in here today, he's going to be really pissed off.

He had a feeling that it would all go to hell in a handbasket a few days before when they'd first landed in the Trevny Quadrant. This part of the galaxy seemed almost like a safe haven for every manner of criminal and fugitive the universe could produce so it came as no surprise that the satellite planet they'd docked on was home to its fair share of thugs and murderers. The phrase 'thick as thieves' was an apt description and Peter was pretty sure there wasn't a person on the planet that didn't have at least one felony attached to their name.

But something had just seemed off from the moment they landed, a weird sense of foreboding that Peter just couldn't shake. He wasn't sure what it was and he wasn't sure why he felt so edgy every second they were there; he really had no explanation. There was just something...oppressive about this planet. Too many people in close proximity and too many eyes following every twitch and movement a person made. Everyone here was taut as a bowstring and ready to snap at a moment's notice and it made Peter jumpy as all hell.

Yondu had shrugged off Peter's initial edginess as just being cooped up in the ship for too long. He'd been on planets far worse than this before and didn't notice anything amiss about the questionable crowds that filled every bar and back alley in the city. The Ravagers had a criminal reputation all their own and they could more than handle themselves. He brushed off Peter's concerns and went on about his business like he normally did. One thing that could be said about the Captain of the Ravagers was that once his mind was made up, it was damn near impossible to sway his decision.

However, one thing that could be said about Peter Quill was that he was the very definition of stubborn and badgered Yondu tirelessly the whole first day they were there. Something wasn't right, he could feel it, and even though he wasn't sure what it was, he just _knew_. The sooner they got off this planet, the better, and in Peter's mind they needed to leave right the hell now.

Yondu ignored him until it just wasn't possible to ignore him anymore. Faced with an increasingly annoying Peter Quill, the Captain was left with only a handful of options to shut him up: option A) tie him up and lock him in the engine room until they finished their business planetside, option B) lose his patience and actually throttle the kid into unconsciousness, or option C) send Peter on a side mission that would get him off the planet and keep him occupied until they were done with business of their own. Well, they needed the extra space in engine room and throttling Peter would just take way more effort than he was willing to give right now so Yondu went with option C and assigned Peter a trade mission on the next planet over.

It was a flimsy plan and Peter saw through it immediately. Something was wrong here, _very_ wrong, and it could possibly even get them all killed before it was all said and done. Still, no matter how much Peter tried to convince Yondu that this planet radiated bad news for miles, the Captain would not be swayed. The little alarms bells in his head hadn't gone off when they'd first landed and they weren't going off now so he saw no reason to leave.

Finally, with a growl of frustration and defeat, Peter had accepted the trade mission and stalked away from the rest of the Ravagers to retrieve his ship. Screw them, if they were so damn determined to hang around with the sketchy crowds filling the city then so be it. Peter wasn't going to lose a single minute of sleep by leaving them there.

Except he did. The trade mission only took a day and a half but Peter still couldn't shake his apprehension the entire time he was away. He was still just as edgy and tense as he had been on the other planet and the feeling had only increased the longer he was away. He kept trying to convince himself that he was acting ridiculous, that nothing was wrong and that it was all in his head. The Ravagers were some of the toughest bastards he'd ever known and it would be borderline suicidal to go up against them in a fight. He tried to convince himself of all of this but it didn't work. He was still uneasy and anxious and he still wasn't sure why.

He finished the trade mission quickly and returned to the other planet, expecting to meet back up with the other Ravagers. At least that had been the plan. When he returned to the docking station, though, there were no signs of the Ravagers or their ship. They were all just gone, disappeared without a trace.

Despite what it looked like, Peter was relatively certain they wouldn't have left without him. Sure, Yondu had threatened to dump him off on an abandoned planet multiple times when he was growing up but he had never actually followed through with the threats and Peter was at least marginally certain he wouldn't have started now. Not only that, the Ravagers had something of a code that they adhered to even though none of them would ever admit it: they took care of their own and no one was ever left behind without a good reason. There may be very little honor amongst thieves but there was there was at least a sense of loyalty.

His communicator had proved equally useless and he wasn't able to get in contact with any member of the crew. His signal was met with nothing but silence and that just added to Peter's certainty that something had definitely gone wrong while he was away. He needed answers but unfortunately he had no idea where to start. The city was huge and with the constant influx of travelers coming and going, he wasn't sure where he should begin trying to gather information on the missing Ravagers. It was going to be a slow, time consuming process and he figured the sooner he started, the closer he might get to answers.

It was later that afternoon when he finally caught a break. He'd combed through every bar and tavern and den in the city and had gotten almost nothing for his efforts. Every avenue was met with a dead end and it wasn't until he looped back to the docking station that he actually got some information he could use.

A small cluster of dock workers had gathered together near one of the ports and Peter heard one of them mention the name Greer. That caught his attention and he stopped on the other side of the port, listening carefully. Through the bits and pieces of conversation he could hear, he gathered that there had been some kind of raid in one of the bars the day before and at least 30 people had been taken prisoner in the melee. The operation had been quick and decisive, a group of professionals who knew how to get the job done.

Peter listened to this and cursed quietly under his breath. If what they were saying was true and Greer was involved, then the situation had just gone from bad to worse. From what he knew about Greer, the man was a high stakes gambler who had a reputation of being nearly unbeatable when it came to betting and wagers, going as far as murder to assure his title as number one. He was also one of the most notorious bounty hunters in this part of the galaxy, using the collected bounties to further fund his gambling addiction. Worse still, he and Yondu had history together and from what little Peter could gather, it wasn't good history. All he knew was that Yondu hated the other man with every fiber of his being and apparently the feeling was mutual for Greer.

Peter knew for a fact that each of the Ravagers had a rather substantial bounty of their heads (himself included) and capturing all of them at once would mean a significant payload. If Greer was the one responsible, he had the men and means available to ensure their capture would go off without a hitch. Which also meant that getting them back just became ten times more difficult.

Peter cursed again and ran through his options which, admittedly, were pretty limited. He had no idea if any of it was actually true and, if it was, he had no idea where Greer and his crew might be. It could be halfway across the universe for all he knew. There was really no way to to pinpoint their location without-

Peter stopped, remembering something from a few days before they'd first entered the Trevny Quadrant. He remembered seeing a small outpost planet not too far from the Quadrant that had served as a confinement and reformatory facility for a while. The planet had been abandoned for years but if the cells and strongholds were still there then it would be a perfect place to hold those who had been captured in the raid.

Once again, Peter had no idea if that was where they were actually being held but it was as good a place to start as any. He stepped away from the cluster of dock workers and made his way back to his ship. Time to plan a rescue mission.

**OOOOO**

Okay, so maybe the phrase 'rescue mission' was a little optimistic. Whatever delusions Peter had about sneaking in, freeing his crew members, and sneaking back out were quickly crushed the minute he was captured.

To his credit, he managed to make it to the planet without being detected but landing was another story entirely. The surface of the planet was literally covered with sensors that would immediately lock on to anything and everything. It was almost like a giant magnet; one minute, the ship was in the air and the next it was firmly planted in the planet's rocky surface.

An unexpected upside to being captured was that at least his theory as to where the Ravagers were being held seemed to be confirmed. He caught a brief glimpse of their ship along with another one that more than likely belonged to Greer and his bounty hunters a few seconds before he crashed into the ground. His theory was confirmed even further when several armed men ambushed him the second his door slid open. Each man was massive, easily seven feet tall with rippling muscle and completely armed to the teeth. It all combined to form a deadly trifecta: size, strength, and weapons; Peter really didn't stand a chance.

In spite of that though, he wasn't concerned. Peter had been reasonably certain that if this planet was being used to hold the Ravagers and everyone else captured in the raid, then his chances of making it to the holding cells undetected were pretty much nonexistent. Knowing all of this, he'd developed something of a contingency plan on his way there; granted, it was a pretty crappy plan by even the nicest descriptions but it was a plan all the same. Even as the armed men grabbed him and hustled him off the ship, Peter remained calm; if he stuck to his (stupid, reckless, suicidal) plan, there was a reasonable chance they would all make it out by the end of the day.

The remains of the prison were remarkably well intact for having been abandoned for decades. The walls were still standing and the cells still operational and it actually served as a perfect temporary holding place for the transportation of prisoners. Long hallways lined with containment cells filled the facility on all sides, opening out to an enclosed atrium in the center. There was a man sitting at a solitary table in the center of the atrium, his back to the hallway and a pair of glass dice rolling around idly in one hand. That's how Peter got his first introduction with the infamous bounty hunter Greer.

"Not a smart idea to be snooping around places like this," the man mumbles when Peter is shoved into the middle the room. He nearly stumbles into the table but manages to correct himself before he actually hits it. Greer doesn't seem all that impressed. He watches him sharply with intense, dark eyes, long, jagged scars that ripple across his face twitching a little when he speaks. "It's a good way to get yourself in trouble."

"Yeah, well," Peter says with a shrug, keeping his tone light and casual like getting captured by bounty hunters was a common occurrence. "I was in the neighborhood and I thought, 'you know, I haven't tried to infiltrate an abandoned prison in a while. I should change that.'"

There's a shuffle of movement from the cell off to his right. "Quill? What the hell're you doin' here, boy?" he hears Yondu growl but he doesn't acknowledge it. He can't let his guard down, not now.

Greer smirks humorlessly and flicks his gaze up. "That's not a good enough reason; no one breaks into a prison unless they have something to gain." He narrows his eyes at Peter threateningly. "Why are you really here?"

Peter allows himself to glance to the side for the briefest of seconds. His gaze falls on the captured Ravagers currently confined in the cells lining the wall. They're dirty and bloody, proof that the raid hadn't gone down without some physical altercation, but they're alive and for the moment that's all that matters. Peter looks back to Greer and holds his gaze. "You have my crew. I'm here to get them back."

Greer stares at him for a moment before laughing. It's a deep, resonating sound that bounces off the walls and echoes throughout the room. When he regains his composure, he just sneers at Peter. "I'm looking to make 3 million units on this lot alone and you really think I'm just going to let them all go because you asked nicely? You're stupider than you look."

"Maybe," Peter allows with a slight shrug. "But I'm also not leaving here without them."

"That so?" Greer asks, standing up and slowly straightening to his full height. He's not nearly as tall as the armed men who hauled Peter off his ship but he's just as dangerous. His eyes flicker over the younger man like a predator inspecting potential prey. "Tell me, boy, just how do you intend to get them out of here? I'm certainly not going to let them go and my men here would be more than happy to shoot you the first chance they get. What exactly is your grand plan in all this?"

Peter straightens his shoulders slightly in a futile attempt to make himself taller. It doesn't work. "I'm going to play you for them," he says simply.

Greer raises an eyebrow in response. "You're going to play me for them?" he repeats carefully like he's still trying to make sense of the proposition. "You know I have a reputation of being unbeatable, right?"

Peter just nods in response. "I do. And I also know that I can beat you in the game I'm offering."

Greer smirks but he seems marginally more interested. "And why would I humor you by playing your game, hmm? Why not just capture you and toss you in the cell with the rest of your crew?"

"Because you like to gamble," Peter retorts casually. "And you like to win. You want a challenge with a large prize at the end; the higher the stakes, the better. You pride yourself on being the best, at being undefeated; it's not that hard to figure out. But the game I'm offering only has one victor and I can guarantee you won't beat me."

"And why is that?"

"Because _I'm_ undefeated," Peter tells him confidently, straightening his shoulders just a bit as he speaks. "No one has ever beaten me in the game I'm proposing and you won't be the first. I'll bet my life on it."

The bounty hunter smirks again but there's a glint of challenge in his eye. "I'll admit, boy, you have my attention. What is this game you're so confident you can win?"

Peter steps forward toward the table, his gaze never leaving Greer's. "It's a simple game of chance. Two players, only one winner. So far, I've been the universal champion and it's not a title I'm willing to let go easily. If you accept and you beat me, you'll have one more victory to your name."

"And what happens in the highly unlikely event that you win?" Greer asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Peter shrugs loosely. "We'll discuss those terms when we get to it."

For a long moment, Greer doesn't say anything, he just stares at Peter like he's trying to figure him out. Peter holds his gaze silently, refusing to let himself be shaken by the intensity of the other man's scrutiny. He only has one shot at this and if Greer decides it's simply too much trouble then Peter's whole plan is screwed. Luckily though, he seems like enough of a megalomaniac and narcissist to accept the challenge in the hopes of beating a so-called 'universal champion'. Peter can only hope his false title stays that way.

Finally, Greer chuckles softly and shrugs. "Sure, why not? If you honestly think you're good enough to beat me then by all means, impress me." He slumps back into his chair and kicks the other one out for Peter.

"Quill! Quit actin' like a damn idiot and get out of here!" Yondu snaps from off to the side of the room and Peter actively ignores him, taking a seat across from the bounty hunter. He can't let himself get distracted.

"So what are the rules?" Greer asks, sneering at Peter in a way that makes it clear he's confident he's already won.

"Just one," Peter says, leaning back in his own chair to exude an air of confidence as well. He feels like his isn't half as convincing as Greer's. "You just have to be the last one standing in the end." He nods to the gun strapped to the bounty hunter's hip. "Mind if I see your weapon?"

Greer glances down and quirks an eyebrow at Peter. Two of his armed henchmen step up on either side of the table, hands already resting on their own weapons. Greer shrugs and pulls his gun out of the holster, setting it on the table in front of Peter. "Just so you know, my men will be more than happy to shoot you if it even looks like you pulling some kind of trick."

"No tricks," Peter assures him casually, taking the gun and pulling it toward him. "Guns like this are reliable, right? Shots never jam, the gun never backfires, all the things you look for in a decent weapon. Do you know why is doesn't do any of those things?" He pops open a side panel of the gun and removes a small, thin piece of wire. "This pin is the only thing that ensures the weapon fires correctly every time. It keeps everything in alignment and prevents the weapon from jamming or backfiring. This pin is the only thing that maintains balance between life and death."

Peter sets the pin on the table and pops the gun panel closed again. "The internal structure of the gun is now out of balance and the shots fired will no longer respond to the trigger when it's pulled. Basically, without this pin, the weapon only has a one in six chance of firing correctly."

He sets the gun on the table and spreads his hands in presentation. "The correct shot is completely random at this point, it could go off the first time the trigger is pulled, or the third, or the sixth. The point is there is absolutely no way to tell when the correct shot will be fired until it happens."

He levels his gaze on Greer and offers a slight smirk. "This is our game. On my planet, it's called Russian Roulette but I'm sure there are other names for it out here. The rules are simple: each player takes a turn, points the gun at their head, and pulls the trigger. If you're lucky, the trigger and the shot won't sync up and you won't end up with a crater where your head used to be. If you're not, well…" Peter shrugs slightly and lets the consequence fade off into the silence.

Greer eyes him critically for a moment, glancing back down at the gun once. "So you're telling me the goal of this game is to not shoot yourself in the head and have your opponent do it first?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

The bounty hunter laughs quietly and shakes his head. "Boy, you're crazier than Sartorian moon rat. But I'll accept your challenge," he says, flashing a dark, dangerous grin. "If only to see the look on your Captain's face when you blow your own head off."

"I wouldn't get too cocky just yet," Peter tells him lightly. "There's still a one in six chance that you'll be the one to pull the trigger wrong."

Greer just smirks. "Well then let's find out." He shoves the gun toward Peter and gives him a deadly smile. "You go first."

Peter reaches for the gun and lifts it in his hand carefully. The weight is solid and heavy in his palm, the exterior smooth and reflecting the light above dully. He holds it like a live grenade or an angry viper, one that could strike at any moment. In a way, this is just as deadly. He looks back up and locks his eyes with Greer, raising the gun to his head smoothly.

"Peter!" Kraglin's voice snaps like a whip crack from across the room. "Knock it off! You're gonna get yourself killed!"

Peter's gaze never leaves Greer's. "Trying to avoid that, Kraglin," he calls back, finger tightening on the trigger. It compresses inward and there's a dull click that follows. Nothing happens. Peter lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and sets the gun back on the table, sliding it to Greer. "Your turn."

The bounty hunter smirks again but there's a very slight tightening of his expression like he was almost counting on Peter to blow his head off in the first round. Seeing as how the younger man was still sitting there, alive and whole, it meant he was going to have to follow suit in order to continue the game.

"You can forfeit, you know," Peter tells him calmly from across the table. "You can let me and my crew go and you won't have to worry about adding an extra hole to your head."

Greer grits his teeth and grabs the gun. "You calling me a coward, boy?"

"No," Peter replies with a slight shrug. "I'm just giving you the sensible option."

"The sensible option would be to shoot you while I have the upper hand," Greer says, turning the gun and aiming it at Peter.

There's an uproar of angry shouts from the Ravagers across the room and more than a few colorful insults tossed in. Peter doesn't even flinch. "Then you would be a coward."

The bounty hunter bares his teeth and then pulls the gun back to his own head. He presses it firmly against his temple and levels a dark glare at Peter. His finger tightens on the trigger and there's another dull click. He smirks victoriously and passes it back to Peter. "Looks like it's your turn again, kid."

Peter's stomach does a queasy flip as he reaches for the gun again. Two rounds down, a one and four chance of shooting himself in the face remaining. He swallows thickly as his fingers close around the handle of the gun. Maybe this was a mistake after all...one wrong move and it's all over…

"What's the matter, boy?" Greer asks, his previous cockiness seeping into his voice. "Thinking of backing out?"

Peter steels himself and grabs the gun. He takes a slow, albeit shaky, breath and pulls up back up to his head. "Nope."

"Peter!" Yondu growls when the gun rises again. "I ain't tellin' you again, boy! Get outta here now! That's an order!"

Peter doesn't respond and simply pulls the trigger. The gun clicks again but no shot is discharged. His fingers feel a bit numb from the rush of adrenaline that surges through him following the failed shot. He swallows again and lowers the gun back to the table, pushing toward Greer. "Your turn."

Greer snarls at him and snatches the gun off the table. "You think you're hot shit, don't you kid? You think you're big and bad enough to play the high stakes games but when it comes down to it, you're just as scared to die as anyone else. The only way to win is when you have nothing left to lose. You're so sure you can beat me in this game but just how sure are you that the next shot has my name on it?"

"Sure enough to know that you're scared," Peter tells him easily and a muscle twitches beside Greer's eye. "And that you're stalling."

The bounty hunter lunges at him then, grabbing a fistful of Peter's shirt and shoving the gun beneath his chin.

"Peter! No!" Yondu (or maybe it was Kraglin?) shouts from across the room but Greer ignores them.

"Your odds are dwindling, kid," Greer growls, pressing the gun more painfully into Peter's skin. "A one-in-three chance of splattering your brains all across this tabletop. Are you still willing to take that chance? Are you still confident you can win?" He sneers and the gun digs in a bit further. "Are you willing to bet your life this next shot will fail?"

Peter grits his teeth and glares at him. "Are you?"

Greer smirks and pulls back slowly. "As a matter of fact, I am," he says, pulling the gun away from Peter's head and grinning like a viper. "I've been playing games of chance for longer than you've been alive, boy, and I know when to call my opponent's bluff. You think I don't know how these guns work? You pull that pin out and there's no way the gun will fire correctly; the shots will never line up no matter how many times you pull the trigger."

He points the gun directly at Peter's chest and pulls the trigger. There's another dull click and Peter can't quite hide the flinch that accompanies the shot. Greer laughs loudly, tossing his head back and obviously enjoying the show. He aims the gun again, this time at Peter's head, and pulls the trigger. Again, Peter flinches and again nothing happens. Again, Greer laughs.

"You picked the wrong man to challenge, boy," Greer says with another triumphant smirk. "You're not better than me and you're certainly not smarter. There are no tricks to this game other than to know when your opponent will forfeit. Winning is easy when you know how to call your opponent's bluff." He grins and pulls the gun up to his own head. "The only thing left is to pull the trigger."

His finger compresses the trigger and there's a brief, deafening, explosion of sound as the gun fires. A spray of blood splatters across Peter's face and clothing and what's left of Greer's body topples to the side, the gun tumbling onto the table. For a split second in time, no one else in the room moves, still in shock from what had just occurred. Peter is on his feet in that split second, grabbing the gun and the pin and popping them back together seamlessly. He slams the panel closed and has the gun leveled between the eyes of the nearest armed guard by the time the other man regains his senses.

"Open the cells," Peter tells him shortly, the gun clenched tightly in his hand. When the man doesn't move, Peter's finger tightens on the trigger. "Do it now. I won't ask again."

One of the guards starts to move forward to grab him and Peter turns quickly, shooting him once in the leg and once in the hand, effectively disarming and crippling him in one smooth motion. His attention turns back to the previous guard before the other even falls to the ground, the gun leveled back at his head. "The cells," he says again and there's a harder edge to his voice now.

The guard bares his teeth angrily but given that his choices are either open the cells or get shot in the head, he wisely chooses the latter. He clears the space over to the cells, Peter's gun still trained on him the whole time, and opens the doors. Within moments, the guards have been disarmed and locked in the cells and the former prisoners are free in the center atrium.

"Alright boys," Yondu says, snatching one of the confiscated weapons from the pile on the ground. He weighs it in his hands, testing the grip and the body, before nodding in approval. "Gather what ya can and take it to the ship. We outta here in five minutes."

Peter is still holding the gun in one hand and reaches for another one on the ground but he's stopped when Yondu grabs him by the wrist and wrenches his arm behind his back. The movement is so swift and sudden that Peter isn't really sure what's happening until he's slammed up against a wall and pinned there.

"What the hell did ya think you were doin' back there, boy?" Yondu growls from behind him, his fingers squeezing Peter's wrist painfully. "You tryin' to get yerself killed?!"

Peter wriggles uselessly and grits his teeth. "I was trying to save you guys," he growls back, a mixture of pain and having his face ground into the wall making the words come out gruff and hoarse.

"By aimin' a gun at yer head?!" Yondu snaps, the pressure increasing on Peter's wrist as his anger swells. "What good did ya think you were gonna do us if ya went and got yerself shot?!"

Peter pushes back sharply and manages to free himself temporarily. "Fuck, man, I knew the risks," he grinds out, eye level with his still seething captain. "And I also knew he wasn't going to shoot me. The odds were in my favor from the beginning; there was pretty much a 90% chance that he would pull the trigger on himself in the end."

"You said it was random," Yondu growls but his anger has ebbed just slightly. "A one-in-six chance of it firin' without that pin. How do ya know you still had the upper hand?"

"I_ lied_, dude," Peter says, adding as much emphasis as he can into the word. "I've been rebuilding guns like that since I was twelve; you think I don't know how they work down to the last detail? The chances of it firing were one-in-six but that doesn't mean they were random. With that pin removed, the gun will only ever fire correctly on the sixth shot, never before. So long as he ended up with the gun on the last shot, I was in the clear."

"An' what if he fired at you one more time while he had the gun in his hand?" Yondu asks, crimson eyes narrowed in challenge. "What if you were the one to end up with the gun on the last shot? What then, huh?"

Peter just shrugs slightly. "Then I guess you and I wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Dammit, Peter!" the blue skinned man growls in frustration. "This ain't a joke! Pullin' stupid shit like that don't make you a hero, it makes you an idiot!"

"I had it under control, Yondu," Peter replies, his words clipped and short. "The odds-"

"Did not outweigh the risk to yer life!" the captain growls and for the first time, Peter realizes that Yondu isn't so much angry at him as he's caught in that weird mix of relief and I'll-beat-you-to-death-if-you-ever-do-anything-that-stupid-ever-again. He was _worried_, legitimately concerned for Peter's well being, and now the younger man feels like an ass.

Peter sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" he says after a second of silence. "It's just...I couldn't see another way to get you guys out and-"

"There is almost _always_ another way out, kid," Yondu says, fixing him with a sharp glare. "An' most of em' don't involve you nearly blowin' yer head off in the process. I raised you to be tough, boy, not stupid. You wanna risk yer life again, fine, but don't do it in front 'a me." He looks away for a brief moment then, crossing his arms over his chest. "I brought ya up since you were just a pup so you best believe I have something of a vested interest in keepin' you alive."

Peter nods slightly, his earlier frustration dampened upon this new revelation. "You're right," he says finally, not quite looking at the other man when he spoke. "Won't happen again."

"It better not," Yondu says with a clipped nod before reaching out and pulling Peter into a one-armed hug. Okay, well, it's not a "hug" per se, more like a non-violent headlock, but it's the closest thing Ravagers get to physical affection so Petter accepts it without complaint.

"You ever do anythin' that stupid again an' I'll break both 'a yer legs and make ya walk back to the ship," Yondu grumbles in his ear before he releases him. He claps him on the shoulder, hard, and gives Peter a stern look. "Got it?"

Peter just nods in agreement. "Yeah, yeah. I got it."

"Good," the captain mutters, straightening his jacket absently and nodding toward the exit. "Grab yer crap an' let's go. I'm sick 'a this planet."

Peter nods again and tucks Greer's gun into one pocket of his jacket, following him out.

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**Thanks for reading guys! :D**


	6. How Peter met his father

**Hello all! I hope you had a lovely holiday! Okay, I'll be honest here, I'm not a huge fan of Peter's father. From what I've read about him in the comics, he comes across as kind of a douche so I've written him in a really jerky fashion here. Sorry, the dude just bothers me =/ Anyway, thank you all so much for reading my story and following it through until the end, it means the world to me! You guys are the best! :D**

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Peter is thirty-two years old when he meets his father for the first time. To be honest, the initial meeting isn't exactly what he had been expecting. His mother used to speak so fondly about his father when he was little that he spent a good majority of his childhood imagining the great and amazing person his father must have been. He imagined him coming back for them and taking them far away from the bullies at school and the cancer that plagued his mother and all the other terrible things in the world. As a child, he thought everything would be better once he found his father.

He supposes the reunion was meant to be a happy occasion, and it probably would have been if his friends hadn't been thrown in prison, his ship impounded, and he wasn't in handcuffs. Nothing says "welcome home, son" like having your hands confined behind your back and two armored guards escorting you down a marble-walled hallway.

It happened exactly one month and eleven days after they'd defeated Ronan. They'd gone from a ragtag group of thugs and thieves to heroes overnight and nearly every sentient being in the universe had heard about them by the end of the week. It shouldn't have been a huge surprise that some long lost faces would suddenly resurface now that they were lauded as heroes but Peter couldn't quite hold back the jolt of surprise when they were hailed by a man claiming the be his father. When the others had looked to him for confirmation, he really had none to give. He didn't know anything about his father, he didn't even have a name, so he had no idea if this man was telling the truth or not. But still, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't the tiniest bit curious about the man's claims.

That's how they found themselves heading in the direction of a planet known as Spartax in the Shi'ar Galaxy to meet a man who may or may not be Peter's father. To be fair, there were a lot of unknown variables in their plan going in but, then again, who among them had ever really thought out a plan before they acted? '_I have part of a plan_' had pretty much been their motto from the beginning and it hadn't really changed now. Although Peter is starting to think they should probably think about altering their motto as it tends to get them into more trouble than necessary.

Case in point, his friends are now in prison and Peter is in handcuffs; they probably should have thought this through a bit more. Okay, so technically his friends are simply in a holding cell while Peter is being addressed by his (maybe) father but in his language, 'holding cell' and 'prison' are pretty much synonymous and he doesn't like either of them. He also doesn't like the fact that he's handcuffed but since they arrived in a Ravager ship and each of them were armed to the teeth, it made sense in a way. Still, Peter thinks the handcuffs are unnecessary and had made this point multiple times since their arrival but his complaints always fell on deaf ears.

The marbled hallway opens up to a large, open room with high ceilings and gleaming floors. There's marble everywhere, the floors, the walls, the ceiling, and the entire room just feels cold. A long table lined with chairs sits in the middle of the room and behind it sits a raised platform with another row of chairs pressed up against the walls. There are a few other people in the room, many of them dressed in the same armor as the guards on either side of Peter, and they all look up when the party enters the room. No one seems all that impressed by the sudden appearance of a long lost son and many of them maintain the same aloof, emotionless expression.

The man at the back of the room standing at the head of the long table seems marginally more interested though and he comes around the other side of the table to meet the guards escorting Peter. He smiles as they approach but it appears stiff and rigid like it takes a lot of effort to force the expression on his face.

"Peter Jason Quill," the man greets him as he comes to the end of the table. "It's been many, many years since I saw you last; you were barely more than an infant when I left Terra. It's been far too long, son."

"Yeah, like thirty years," Peter remarks quietly as the man approaches. "A full lifetime, even."

The man goes for another smiles but it seems forced. No one else speaks but they are watching; silent witnesses to the scene playing out before them. An awkward silence fills the marble room around them, deafening in its intensity. "How have you been?"

Peter smirks at the question but it's a bitter expression. "Oh, you know, traveling the galaxy, saving the universe, making a name for myself. So, the usual. Oh, mom's dead so that's a thing."

There's a brief flash of sadness that passes through the other man's eyes but it's gone almost immediately. "I am sorry to hear that."

"Don't be," Peter mutters, his jaw clenching slightly as he speaks. "It happened a long time ago."

The man nods once in allowance although he doesn't seem that affected by the slight. "I realize this must be uncomfortable for you, my contacting you so suddenly like this."

"Oh no," Peter responds with a careless shrug. "It's not uncomfortable at all. After all, you're a complete stranger to me, why would I be uncomfortable?"

That seems to sting a little and the man straightens slightly, rolling his shoulders back. "I understand your anger toward me, Peter, but I assure you my intentions are genuine. I was not there to see you grow up but I am hoping to make amends for that now."

For some reason, Peter is not convinced. He's always kind of wondered how this moment would play out, what it would be like when he finally met his father. A small part of him had always kind of hoped for a joyful reunion with a father he'd never known but then a larger, angrier part of him was also stewing with feelings of abandonment and resentment from said absentee father. The fact that Peter had gone through his entire life without ever knowing this man and now, after thirty years he suddenly decided to seek him out, well, it didn't exactly sit right.

Upon his silence, his father continues. "You've adopted quite the hero status, I see," the man remarks with another stiff smile but there's not so much pride in his voice as there is a hint of disapproval. "Not exactly the kind of life I would have urged you toward."

Peter is a little surprised by this. "Yeah, well, you weren't exactly there to urge me toward anything so I had to make a few decision on my own."

He shrugs slightly before continuing. "As far as the whole "hero" business goes, I figured someone had to step up and take control of the situation. Turning around and walking away just didn't really seem like the best option." His eyes narrow a little on the man claiming to be his father. "But, then again, you wouldn't know anything about that, would you? Sticking around didn't really seem to be a strong suit for you."

The guard to his right twists his wrist sharply and Peter can't quite bite back the hiss of pain that follows. To his credit, the man raises a hand to prevent the guard from acting further. "Enough," he says shortly and the guard instantly releases his grip. His father nods slightly towards the handcuffs and second later, they're removed entirely. "There's no reason to treat our guest so harshly. He is, after all, my son."

There's no warmth in the word 'son'; it comes out as a title and a possession but not one of affection. The man in front of him looks like he wouldn't know the meaning of the word affection unless he looked it up in a dictionary. There's no denying that there is a noticeable resemblance between them, from the strong facial features to the physical similarities like hair and eye color. But that's where the likeness stops. Peter may look like the man claiming to be his father but he was nothing like him.

While the man in front of his stood tall and regal, Peter slouched just slightly and shifted his weight back and forth between his feet like he couldn't stand to be still for longer than a few seconds. The other man's eyes were sharp and cold, calculating and cunning like he was used to looking for several different angles all at one time. Peter's gaze flickers around the room aimlessly, tracking the high walls and marble floors with the kind of bored enthusiasm one finds while watching paint dry. The man in front of him looks like a king, an emperor, someone who could rule an entire planet if he wanted to. Peter still had headphones hanging around his neck for God's sake. This man might be his father but Peter was _definitely _not his son.

"I can understand your resentment for me, Peter," the man tells him casually as if discussing childhood abandonment issues was comparable to discussing the weather. "I know your childhood could not have been easy. I apologize for any confusion and emotional pain I may have caused you and your mother."

"Don't talk about her," Peter growls and the words are out of his mouth before he realizes he's spoken.

The other man looks surprised. "Pardon?"

"My mother," Peter says, putting special emphasis on the word _'my'_. "Don't talk about her. You lost the privilege of speaking about her the day you left us."

A very small muscle twitches in the other man's jaw and he tries to continue. "Peter-"

"No, you know what? Don't say my name either." And just like that, thirty-two years of anger and abandonment and desertion came boiling to a head. "If you think you can just waltz into my life after being gone for damn near all of it then you have another thing coming. You don't know anything about me, you don't know anything about my life, and now you want to appear out of the blue and try to make amends?"

Peter shakes his head, fist clenching slightly at his side. "Sorry man, but I'm not buying it. Biological father or not, I have nothing to say to you."

The other man frowns darkly, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I have my reasons for leaving, Peter, just as I have my reasons for not returning for you and your mother. Our empire was at war, we were on the brink of destruction; the safest thing for you and your mother was to remain on Terra until I returned."

"And how long was that going to take, huh?" Peter counters angrily and now that he's started, he can't bring himself to stop. "Were you going to wait until all the people in town started thinking mom was crazy because she kept talking about the "angel made of light" who came to her in the middle of the night? Were you going to wait until I got suspended from school for the fourth time because I kept getting into fights and arguments with the other kids about who my real father was and why he wasn't around? Were you going to wait until mom wasted away from cancer and died in a cold, sterile hospital room and I was suddenly an orphan because even though mom always said you would come back, you _never_ did? How long were you planning to wait, dad?"

"I was trying to keep you safe!" his father snaps, the first flare of actual emotion rippling across his features. "War was erupting around every corner and if I had taken you and your mother back with me you both would have perished in the bloodshed. Your anger is understandable but I assure you I was only doing what I thought was right. Leaving you and your mother on Terra was the best thing for you."

"Sorry," Peter mutters darkly. "But I have a hard time believing that."

His father sighs and straightens his shoulders again, expression falling back into cold stoicism. "Regardless of your current resentment toward me, I would like for you to consider making Spartax your home. As my son, you are my heir and have a rightful claim to the throne. I cannot hold power forever and it would be good for you to settle here and familiarize yourself with Spartax so you will be prepared when it comes time for you to take power."

Peter says nothing for several seconds, staring at the man in front of him like he's lost his mind. "So you contact me after being MIA for thirty plus years because you want me to rule your planet? A planet I've never even been to before and didn't know existed until now?"

"A planet that is your home," his father corrects shortly, clearly beginning to lose patience with the situation.

"No," Peter replies with a quick shake of his head. "This isn't my home. My home is on a ship, which you currently have impounded, with my friends, whom you currently currently have imprisoned. Sorry, but I'm not interested in ruling a planet or claiming a throne or anything of the sort. Thanks for the offer but no."

"It was not an offer," his father counters smoothly, his already stony expression going even colder. "Eventually you _will_ be in charge of this planet and the sooner you acclimate yourself to this idea, the easier it will be."

Peter laughs humorlessly and crosses his arms over his chest. "And what are you going to do if I refuse? Ground me? Send me to my room? Sorry but you don't exactly have that authority over me and you never have."

His father's jaw clenches a little, his eyes narrowing. "You are denying your birthright and your people. You are half Spartax, Peter, you cannot ignore this."

"Uh, I can and I will," Peter says, turning over one shoulder and walking toward the exit. "Good luck with the whole heir thing, though. Sounds like you're in a bit of bind."

There's a heavy sigh from behind him. "I suppose I can't stop you," his father says as he continues to walk away. "But I _can_ exercise my authority in this situation. Both your ship and your friends will remain incarcerated until further notice."

Peter freezes and turns back to face him, his eyes narrowing. "You can't do that."

"I can and I will," his father retorts, echoing his words from before. "It's my duty to protect my people and ensure their safety. Until I'm certain your ship and your friends pose no threat to my planet, I can keep them in confinement indefinitely."

Peter is rounding back and stalking toward him before he can stop himself. He's had enough of this planet and these people and especially his father. He doesn't care if it causes a planetary revolution, he's getting himself and his friends off this planet if it's the last thing he does.

He furious advance is halted by the sound of the doors at the end of the hall being kicked open from the outside. There's a loud crash, a tremendous thud, and the doors swing open into the room. The guards are up and on their feet a split second later but the intruder is already in the room and striding toward the center where Peter and his father are standing.

"Well, well, well," the newest guest announces in a loud, booming voice. "Ain't this a pretty picture for a family reunion?"

Peter looks back over his shoulder in surprise as Yondu come sauntering into the room. The guards move to block him but stop at a slight gesture from their king. The Ravager Captain approaches without interception and comes to a stop at Peter's side.

"What are you doing here?" Peter half whispers, staring that the other man in surprise. He hadn't seen or spoken to Yondu since Ronan was defeated; he had a suspicion the other Ravager would still be a little pissed about the whole switching the Infinity Stone with a Troll Doll thing. If he is still angry about it though, he doesn't show it; he just stands next to Peter like nothing has changed since their last meeting.

Yondu shrugs one shoulder at the question and crosses his arms over his chest. "Heard through the intergalactic grapevine that yer daddy was reachin' out to ya. Thought it might be interestin' to see the happy homecomin'."

"Yondu Udota," Peter's father cuts in, eyeing the blue-skinned man with the same disdain and barely suppressed disgust one might experience when swallowing something foul and slimy. "You presence is a pleasure, as always."

"J'Son of Spartax," Yondu says and his greeting manages to sound both thinly respectful yet largely condescending at the same time. "Haven't seen you in years."

Peter glances between his father and his former Captain in confusion. "You know this guy?"

Yondu smirks crookedly. "Know him? Yeah, we go way back, don't we?" he says, crimson eyes leveled with the planet's king. "We had a deal worked out a long time ago, maybe twenty-five, twenty-six years to be exact?"

J'Son's eyes grow a bit colder and his jaw sets as the Ravager continues to speak. "Ya see, Peter, yer daddy was the one who hired me 'n my boys to come find you. Couldn't be bothered to come get you himself so he hired a bunch of thieves and thugs to swing by Earth and snatch you up." Yondu shrugs again before continuing. "Sounds like something any reasonable parent would do, don't ya think?"

Peter frowns and turns his attention back to his father. "You hired them to kidnap me?" he asks, his voice taking on a darker edge.

J'Son meets his gaze evenly, shoulders set stiffly. "I hired them to retrieve you," he corrects easily, his gaze sliding toward Yondu. "Which they did but then they never returned you here after they had recovered you. _That_ constitutes as kidnapping."

Yondu smirks against but the expression is stiff and strained like he wants nothing more than to spit rather than speak. "Yer talkin' awful high and mighty fer someone who never came lookin' for the kid he was so desperate to get back. You knew where he was the whole time, you knew I had 'im on my ship. But ya never once came lookin' for 'im and ya never tried to get 'im back after you knew I had 'im. An' now yer interested in reclaimin' 'im only after he's become a galactic hero. That seems a little shady if ya ask me."

Peter's eyes narrow and he looks back at his father. "Is that true? You knew where I was the whole time and you never once tried to contact me?"

The older man's jaw tightens slightly, his gaze cold and calculating. "As I've told you before, Peter, our planet was at war. Contacting you and bringing you back into the middle of all of it would have been too dangerous. I was simply waiting for the right time to bring you home."

"Interesting that the "right time" happens to be right after my crew and I save the universe," Peter mutters quietly, his eyes leveling on his father.

J'Son straightens slightly under his gaze. "I admit that the timing seems odd but at least now you have proven yourself worthy to carry on the legacy of our people."

Peter blinks in surprise, running the words back over in his head a few times to make sure he heard them right. "So let me get this straight," he begins slowly, one fist clenching slightly as his side. "You only reached out to me once you deemed me worthy enough? It wasn't because I'm your son and you weren't around to raise me yourself? I wasn't worth your time until I saved the universe?"

"Pretty tough standards to live by," Yondu chimes in beside him, rocking back on his heels a little as he speaks.

J'Son casts him a glare. "Your comments are both unnecessary and unappreciated, Yondu Udota. This is a private matter that I will discuss with my son and no one else. As you are not his father, you have no say in this conversation."

"Oh, I'm not, huh?" Yondu asks, quirking an eyebrow slightly. "Tell me, yer highness, who was the one who taught yer boy to fly his first ship? Who was the one who taught 'im how to shoot a gun? Who's the one who had to convince him he wasn't dyin' when his teeth started falling out and had to bail him outta jail the first time he got into a bar fight and made sure he didn't get eaten by somethin' when he was a kid? Where were you durin' all 'a that?"

Yondu opens his arms to indicate the marble room around them. "You were here, too busy worried about the war ya keep goin' on about which, by the way, ended fifteen years ago," he adds with a glance toward Peter. "And in all that time, ya never once came lookin'."

J'Son's jaw clenches a bit more tightly and he glares darkly at the Ravager captain. "I would watch my words if I were-"

"I ain't done," Yondu says, speaking over him and effectively cutting him off. "I may not be the kid's biological father but I was much more of a father figure to 'im than you were. I spent the better part 'a ten years raisin' 'im and another fifteen after that makin' sure he didn't get himself killed. We may not share the same blood, but Peter is most definitely my son more than he'll ever be yers."

"And just look at where that got him," J'son counters smoothly, his tone defiant. "He was nothing more than a wandering vagabond with a criminal record a few weeks ago."

"I was a Ravager," Peter corrects sharply, eyes narrowing at his father. "I grew up in the company of thieves and criminals so I became a thief and a criminal myself. And you know what? I was much happier doing that than I ever would have been overseeing a planet."

Peter shakes his head slightly, his ire growing with every word. "You didn't look for me at all; I wasn't worth a second of your time until you felt that I had proven myself. And now that I have, suddenly you're begging me to come home. Sorry pops, but that's not how this works. You give me the option to live here in your palace or slum out the rest of my life with the Ravagers and I would choose them every time. Know why? Because _they're_ my family, not you. They raised me and brought me up, which more than you ever did, so my loyalties lie with them."

He crosses his arms over his chest and levels another glare at his father. "My answer still stands; I'm not interested in helping you or this planet or anyone else as your heir. I would rather be known as a thief and a criminal in every corner of the universe than admit that I'm your son."

Several things happen all at once after that, a blur of motion that's hard to last ounce of control J'Son was maintaining breaks loose and he lashes out in anger. He grabs a fistful of Peter's jacket and jerks him forward angrily. Just as that happens, there's a sharp whistle, a blur of movement from the guards on either side of the room, and suddenly an arrow is hovering directly between the Spartax king's eyes.

"Let 'im go. Now," Yondu growls, crimson eyes narrowed dangerously.

J'Son opens his mouth, more than likely to order the guards to shoot him, but Yondu whistles again, the arrow inching closer so the tip is resting between the other man's eyes. "I ain't gonna ask again."

With an indignant huff, J'Son releases his hold on Peter's jacket and shoves him backward. The younger man stumbles just a little but stands straighter, brushing his jacket off like it was covered in something filthy.

"That's yer one an' only warnin'," Yondu tells him, the arrow still pressing into the king's skin. "You lay hands on my boy again and it'll be the last time you have hands. Understand?"

"I could have you killed for this," J'Son growls back between his teeth.

"Ya could," Yondu allows with a slight shrug. "But you won't. Because if you so much as look like yer gonna sic yer guards on us, then this arrow will make a pretty little hole inside yer skull. What you _are_ gonna do, though, is tell 'em to back off and let us walk outta here without any trouble. We leave, you live, everyone wins." The arrow twists just a little, biting into the skin. "The choice is yers."

J'Son's jaw sets tightly but he waves the advancing guards off with one hand. They reluctantly follow his orders, stepping back slowly but keeping their weapons in hand.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Yondu says, stepping away and nodding for Peter to follow him. "Come on, Peter. Time fer us to go before we overstay our welcome."

J'Son's eyes land on Peter one last time as he steps away. "It appears I was wrong about you, Peter. You are not worthy to rule Spartax; you never were."

"That's the first logical thing you've said all day," Peter replies acidically, turning over one shoulder and following Yondu toward the exit. The guards watch their retreat carefully, ready to move at a moment's notice. Peter keeps waiting for the order, for the shots to start firing and the room to erupt in gunfire. It never comes; partially because Yondu's arrow is still firmly fixed in place, hovering right between the king's eyes. He doesn't reel it in for a return until they clear the hall and the marble doors slam behind them.

"How's that fer an awkward family reunion?" Yondu mutters as they continue walking, not bothering to turn around and look back over his shoulder to see if they're being followed. Peter does just because he's not too certain they aren't about to be arrested and thrown in prison for the disturbance.

"Mind filling me in on what just happened back there?" Peter asks once he's sure they're not about to be rushed from behind. "You've known who my father was all this time and you never told me?"

Yondu sighs heavily and stops, turning to face Peter. "Alright, kid, listen up cause I'm only gonna tell ya this once. Before you start gettin' all pissy with me, you should know that yeah, I've known who yer daddy was for a while now and no, I never thought it necessary to tell ya about 'im for that reason right there," he says, gesturing back toward the door with one thumb.

"Yer daddy's a jerk, Peter, plain and simple; a conclusion I'm sure you came to already. And he's a fool for givin' ya up in the first place. I contacted 'im more than once after we picked ya up thinkin' that maybe, like any kind 'a reasonable parent, he'd want you back. He did hire us to go get you after all, only makes sense he'd be wantin' you back after all the trouble. But he never responded; he never tried to get in contact' the with us and he never tried to find you even though he knew exactly where you were."

"This went on for _years_, kid. Especially durin' the times when you were bein' an unholy little terror, I was willin' to pay 'im to take you back. He never answered." Yondu shrugs slightly and sighs. "Eventually I stopped tryin' because it became pretty obvious he wasn't interested as he made 'imself out to be. After that, it only made sense to bring ya up as a Ravager because that's what you were gonna end up bein' if you stayed with us."

There's a brief silence and Yondu lets out a breath in a huff. "Listen kid, I ain't sayin' what we did was right, kidnappin' you an' all, but I know we tried to at least give you some kind 'a decent upbringin'. Yer destined for great things, Peter, ya always have been, an' yer daddy's a fool if hasn't realized that 'til now."

The Ravager Captain looks away then, not willing to meet Peter's eyes for a moment. "An' look, I ain't yer real father kid; hell, we ain't even the same species, but I raised you since you were just a pup an' as far as I'm concerned, yer the closest thing to a son I'll ever have and I'll fight anyone who says differently."

For a moment, Peter doesn't know what to say. In the back of his mind, he knows he's made the comparison at least a few times before. The Ravagers weren't exactly the most laudable individuals in the galaxy; in fact, most of the time they were dysfunctional as all hell. But Peter had been with them for over twenty years, he learned from them, acted like them, spoke like them. Hell, he _was_ one of them. And Yondu had been there for all of it. Yeah, they had their bouts and sometimes they acted like they outright hated each other but Peter had to admit he learned more from him than he ever would have from his own father. If that didn't qualify them as a family, he wasn't sure what would.

"Thanks, Yondu," Peter says after another moment has passed. "I feel the same way. I think."

The captain just nods. "Don't mention it," he tells him gruffly, glancing at the younger man from the corner of his eye. "Seriously, don't. You ever bring it up and I'll throttle you."

Peter just smirks and nods. "Point taken."

"Good," the other man says with a slight nod. "Glad we got that figured out. Now come on, Kraglin 'an the others oughta have yer friends outta prison by now. It's time for all of us to get outta here before yer daddy decides to send his army after us after all."

"You're right," Peter says with a nod. "I've had my fill of this planet anyway."

Yondu just nods and leads the way back through the hallway. "By the way," he says after another moment of silence. "I still ain't forgiven you for switchin' out the Infinity Stone with a Troll Doll. You owe me for that, boy, don't you forget it."

Peter just smirks. "Wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

**Thanks again for reading guys! :D**


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