Dust and Lilies

by LoveisYonduBlue

Summary:

Midway through the 1800s, hundreds of "Offworlders" were stranded on Earth. Yondu Udonta was one of those Offworlders; he and his Ravager family have made a home in the Old West of the United States. Through various circumstances, he finds himself falling in love with a Human woman named Meredith Quill, and at odds with her sadistic sometimes-lover, a man known simply as Ego. When Yondu finds a small boy, the only survivor of a massacre, pieces start falling into place and Yondu's life gets more complicated - and dangerous.

Chapter 1: Prologue

 

Earth, more commonly known throughout the galaxy as Terra, was attacked by a faction of the Kree Empire in the Terran year 1856 A.D. The Kree intended to take the population of the planet as their slaves as they expanded their empires. An alliance of thieves and pirates – the Ravagers, the Hordes of Freedom – followed. They were the only thing that stood in the way of the Kree’s dominance over Human kind.

The battle lasted months. Terrans, not technically developed enough to build flying machines in their own atmosphere let alone capable of space travel, watched helplessly as the skies were filled with thousands of starships by day and lit up with gunfire by night.

The war came to an end when one of the Kree motherships was detonated. In desperation to flee the huge fireball, several ships landed on the planet – but the damage was done. The explosion had caused a chain reaction within the mothership’s core and knocked out all technology across all ships and across the planet. Ships fell from the sky all over Terra, and 1856 was known worldwide as the year of the Rain of Fire. Thousands died on both sides, and both sides were blamed by the Terrans for the death and destruction the ships had caused to their planet.

Kree and Ravagers, regardless of race, came to be known as Offworlders by the native Terrans. Nearly all technology had been wiped out, so there was no way for either side to send a distress call or send for reinforcements – and who would think to look on a backwater little planet like Terra? With nowhere to go, Offworlders have been stuck there for nearly a quarter of a century, living life alongside Terrans in cautious peace.

The year is now 1876.

Chapter 2: Home

Notes:

Not sure how often I'll be updating, what with Vital Part 2 going on (and having maaaaany more chapters to go), but I'm gonna try! We'll see how far this gets.

The sun rises over the waking town of Perfection, Utah, turning the surrounding red rock an even more striking shade of crimson. The town is just beginning to stir with morning activity; boots, hoop skirts and hooves kick up the dry soil and expel clouds of dust in their wake.

Far out beyond the town, among the still-lingering shadows of the towering rock formations, Yondu Udonta has been wide awake for hours. His back is leaned against a large boulder; a tin plate, licked clean, lies discarded on the ground next to him. He sits with one jean-clad leg splayed out, the other knee drawn up with his black Stetson perched on top of it. In one hand, he twirls the muddy dregs and remains of his morning coffee. In the other, he holds a piece of paper.

It’s a letter, crumpled and wrinkled, folded, faded and torn at the creases. It looks so weathered and stained that one might think that he’s had it for years, but it’s only been a week since it was delivered to him, maybe less.

He reads it again, although he’s read it so many times by now that he could recite it backwards. Not that there’s much to read in the first place. It says,

Yondu,

Please come home. We need to talk. Don’t do anything stupid.

Stakar

Yondu leans his head back against the rock, staring up into the stars that have been almost completely snuffed out by the sunrise. It’s been more than a year since he’s seen home.

He and Stakar have always butted heads to some extent, but they’d really brewed up a storm this time. He can’t even remember what had started it, now. But Stakar had been so furious with him that he’d banished him from camp until further notice, and then Yondu had said the worst thing possible. There’s not a day goes by that he doesn’t hear his own voice ringing in his ears, and not a second he doesn’t regret it. To hell with ya! Y’aint my pa anyhow!

He closes his eyes as the painful memory stabs his heart. As soon as the words were out, he wished he could have taken them back, but the damage was done, and he was too proud and too angry to admit his wrongdoing. Truthfully, there was fault on both sides, but here Stakar was, being the bigger man about it.

Not that Yondu wouldn’t have gone back eventually. He has to. The only family he has in this whole galaxy is there in that camp.

Stakar and Aleta had saved him and dozens of others from a downed Kree ship, some hundreds of miles north, where there were mountains and snow. Somewhere in Canada, probably, he now realizes. He’d just been a lil’ un then, young enough to need a parent, but old enough to have caused so much trouble for his Kree masters that they’d sliced off his head crest. He subconsciously runs a hand over the red cerebral implant embedded in his skull. Sometimes he gets ghost pains where his tahlei used to be.

Stakar had found him first, shot light from his fingertips to break the chains binding Yondu to the burning ship. It was Aleta that had taken him in her arms and carried him out, putting him down only once to gun down a Kree soldier that threatened to kill her and take Yondu away.

His lips quirk at the thought of her. Short, dark-haired spitfire of a woman. His Ma. That’s what he’d called her, when he turned 12. It was an accident, just a slip of the tongue and he’d been mortified. Aleta had pretended not to notice and gave him an extra helping of breakfast. He’d used the title on purpose a few times after that, and she hadn’t bothered to correct him. After all, older Martinex had been calling her Ma for years.

Calling Stakar Pa had been a trickier business, at least for Yondu. The man had such an intimidating aura about him that Yondu had always felt nervous around him and inadequate in comparison. It was Stakar himself that had asked him if he wanted to be his son. Yondu of course jumped at the opportunity. His real parents had sold him to the Kree when he was a baby, and he’d never imagined he’d have ones that would care for him the way Stakar and Aleta did. The Ogords officially adopted Yondu and Marty as sons that same day.

Tullk was next, their little brother. He was a little Scottish immigrant whose family had been killed in some massacre. They’d found him wandering alone on the plains, sunburnt and near to starving. Yondu stares at the letter blankly, not seeing the words, and wonders how old Tullk must be by now. 12? 14? He shakes his head slightly and reads the letter again. His eyes keep lingering on one sentence in particular.

Please come home.

Stakar doesn’t say please. And he doesn’t apologize, but it’s there, plain as day, written between the lines.

“What d’ya think, girl?” he asks Eclector, who is munching on some scraggly grass nearby. “Wanna head home?”

The black mare raises her head, blinks, and tosses her head before walking over to him and nuzzling his shoulder. He pats her nose and gets to his feet, pulling his hat down over his forehead. He brings a handful of oats out of the saddlebag and lets her nibble them out of his hand, stroking her mane. After she’s finished, he wipes his hands on his jeans and snags the letter from the ground before the wind can carry it away.

He takes one last look before nodding his head and neatly folding it back into a square. He tucks it safely in his breast pocket, pulls on his duster, and saddles up Eclector. “Let’s git down to the town fer some supplies, and then – let’s go home.”

---

 

Yondu keeps his gloves on, his bandanna tight, and his hat set low. No need in drawing more attention that is absolutely necessary. Terrans have grown pretty accustomed to having Offworlders passing through, but there are always some that aren't friendly, and he'd rather not get shot at today.

He rides into town without any trouble or second glances. He raises a couple fingers to the brim of his hat in greeting to at the sheriff sitting outside his office; the man just waves back sleepily. He finds a particularly quiet spot between two buildings to tie Eclector up while he does some errands and slips off her back. He ties off her bridle and gives her a quick rubdown, promising a carrot or an apple if he can find one. He counts the money in his wallet and tucks it safely at his side, straightens his hat. He’s just turned, keeping his head low but eyes watchful for unsavory characters when he sees her. He almost trips over his own feet.

A stone’s throw away, she crosses the road ahead of him, her hair like strands of gold in the rising sunlight. She's dressed in calico and lace, a small purse clutched in her small gloved hands. She strides briskly on her way, and Yondu watches her walk away, admiring the curve of her hips and back where it meets the bustle of her gown. He lets out a small whistle of appreciation, and the arrow at his side quivers in its holster. He's seen many beautiful women on Terra, but that woman has to be one of the loveliest.

Chapter 3: A Lady

Meredith Quill hurries about her business. She looks straight ahead, careful not to meet anyone’s gaze, but she can feel eyes on her as she crosses the street. Curious, wandering eyes – and judgmental ones too. Those are the hardest to ignore.

Her first stop, as always, is the telegraph office. As soon as she steps a toe inside, Morris raises his spectacled eyes to hers and shakes his head. “Sorry, Miss Quill. Still no word from out East.”

She sighs, and tries to hide her disappointment. It’s been the same for the last six months. She doesn’t know why she expected something different. Nonetheless, she gives the elderly gentleman a hopeful smile and nods her head in thanks, blonde ringlets bouncing around her chin. “Much obliged, Mory. Maybe tomorrow’ll be my day.”

She shades her eyes as she crosses the street, telling herself the tears in them are a result of the bright morning sun. She blinks angrily, clutching her skirts as she lifts them to stride across the dusty ground to the General Store. She picks out a new pair of bloomers and a new lace choker (a customer had torn her last one), holding the fabric in shaking hands. Good fer nothin’ big city lawyer. Nearly every spare cent has gone to pay him, but he’s done nothing to help her. Well maybe Ah’ll just stop payin’ him, she thinks as she slaps the items down on the counter. See if he can’t come up with anythin’ then! She counts out the appropriate amount of money, exchanging it for the parcels wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. She holds them to her chest as she marches back out, towards the saloon.

She’s not gone five paces when a man blocks her path. She holds back a noise of disgust. It’s one of the McKittrick brothers. She was hoping they’d left town for good.

“Hello Mery, ya miss me?” He grins at her with brown teeth.

She leans back. His breath is foul enough without the stench of drink permeating off of him. It’s ony nine in the morning – but not too early for liquor for some. “That is Miss Quill to ya, Tom McKittrick. Now if ya’ll excuse me.”

“Ooh, we missed that pretty southern drawl a’ yers, didn’t we, Clyde?”

“Sure did,” another voice comes from behind her, and she turns to see the other McKittrick brother sauntering up on her other side, spitting a stream of brown liquid into the street. She should have known there is never one without the other.

“Let me pass,” she says sternly, clutching her packages.

“Whatcha got there, Mery? Anythin’ private? Somethin’ I might get to see later?” Clyde tries to rip a package out of her arms, but she yanks it back.

“Leave me alone!” she snaps.

“Aw, ya done hurt our feelings,” Tom says with a mocking pout. “How ‘bout a kiss to make it better?”

Meredith feels Clyde finger her hair and yelps, jumping away from him. This lands her closer to Tom, who purses his lips, making kissy noises at her.

“Get away from me!”

Tom grabs her arm, holding her fast. “We don’t wanna, Mery – yer just too damn pretty to let walk by.” He takes the packages out of her arms and throws them to the ground. Clyde leans in to grasp her other arm, and she has no where to go now. She’s trapped.

Tom cries out suddenly in pain, as does Clyde next to him. Gloved hands are twisting their ears, yanking them backwards.

“What d’ya know, them ears ain’t made a’ cloth,” comes a raspy, husky drawl. “Could’a sworn they was, because the lady asked to be left alone.”

With a violent twist, the two men are released, and Meredith retreats to the relative safety of the street as her rsecuer walks into view. He’s dressed in grey and black, wearing a leather duster that’s dyed a particular shade of maroon. His spurs jangle menacingly as he slowly walks forward, thumbs stuck in his lapels. But his clothing is not what captures her attention. With a soft gasp, she sees that he’s an Offworlder. He has skin as blue as forget-me-nots, and eyes that gleam the red of fresh blood.

“Ya better git outta here, Earth-Burner,” Tom spits.

The Offworlder grins meanly at the insult and Meredith sees his teeth are jagged and sharp, mismatched with gold caps. “I don’t gotta do nothin’, boy. But ya better move along and let the lady walk free, else I’m gonna have to teach y’all a lesson.” His tongue, a shade darker than his skin, flicks out to wet his lips.

“I’d like to see you try!” Clyde yells, and flings back his coat, drawing his revolver in one quick motion.

There’s a shrill, sharp whistle and a flash of red light. There’s a yell of dismay from Clyde and a loud gasp from Tom. There’s a clatter of metal on wood, and Meredith can see between Clyde’s feet that half of the barrel of his gun is lying on the wooden porch beams, severed and slightly glowing as if it’d been cut with a red-hot blade.

She looks back up and claps a mouth over her hand in surprise.

An arrow, golden in color and lit from within by what looks like flaming hot coals, is hovering in the air just shy of Clyde’s nose.

“How’s that fer tryin’?” the Offworlder hisses. With a trilling quick note, the arrow whips to the left, slashing across Clyde’s cheek – then another fast whistle, and the arrow dives for Tom, who was reaching for his gun. “Git the hell outta here, ‘fore I decide to spill them yellow bellies a’ yers.”

Not wasting a second, the brothers dash away, down the street and around the corner. The Offworlder watches after them until they’re out of sight.

Meredith doesn’t dare move, and steps back when the Offworlder turns to her. A soft note from his lips sends the arrow whisking back into the folds of his coat. He bends and picks her packages up off the porch, brushing the dust off. “Looks unharmed, more’r less,” he says softly. “Here ya are.”

He holds out the parcels, and steeling herself, Meredith takes the few steps towards him and gathers them against her chest. “Th-” her voice fails her as she looks into the Offworlder’s eyes. They’re not so much like blood as rubies, glinting with all sorts of different shades of red. “Thank ya,” she finishes. “Fer defendin’ me.”

He holds up a hand. “Couldn’t let a lady be treated like that, ‘specially one pretty as yerself.”

She feels a slight blush warm her cheeks. Men say things like that all the time to her, but for some reason, this Offworlder’s comment feels more genuine than most.

“Now – uh, I ain’t from ‘round these parts,” he continues, and grins, and she wonders if he’s making a joke, “Can ya point me to the General Store?”

Meredith turns and points down back the way she’d come. “Just over there.”

“Thanks,” he says, touching the brim of his hat. “Ya take care now, ma’am.” With a swirl of his duster, he’s gone.

---

Yondu picks up some items at the General Store without much fuss, and the blacksmith goes well too, so he decides to get a drink before he sets off. He sets Eclector up in a nearby stable, feeds her a couple carrots he managed to get, and eats some dried meat while he’s rubbing her down. By the time his errands are done, and he’s taken care of Eclector, it’s about noontime, and he’s thirsty.

He pushes through the sun-faded door into the saloon. There’s a considerable number of patrons inside despite the hour, and several stare at him as he makes his way to the bar.

“Howdy,” Yondu greets the barkeep, whose back is turned to him.

The man turns. He’s perhaps a little younger than Yondu himself, with bright blue eyes and reddish-brown hair. His mustache is neatly trimmed and waxed. A flicker of surprise crosses his face at Yondu’s appearance, but then he leans forward on the counter. “Good afternoon, sir. What can I get for you?”

“Ya serve Offworlders, then,” Yondu comments.

“Customers is customers, don’t care if your skin is white, brown, black, red, yellow or uh, blue in your case.” His mustache crinkles with a smile.

“That ain’t a popular opinion.”

“No it is not,” he replies, straightening up. His eyes glint, as if in challenge.

Yondu holds up a hand. “Won’t get no argument from me, jus’ happy to be recognized. I’ll have a tequila, if ya got any.”

The bartender taps the counter with a finger. “Just so happens I do.” He disappears below the counter for a moment and comes back up again holding a thick glass bottle. He unstops it and pours a glass. “Here you are.”

Yondu throws it back in one gulp, gritting his teeth. “Ooh, tha’s the good stuff.”

“Most men can’t hold that down. Knocks their boots right off.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t most men. How much fer the bottle?”

“Twenty-five cents.”

Yondu digs out his wallet and counts out the money, sliding the coins over to the bartender. He pours another glass and lifts it in toast. “Much obliged. Ya got a name?”

“James Kenny. Most just call me James.”

“Well, thank ya kindly, Mister James. The name’s Yondu Udonta; I’ll remember yer kindness.” He touches his finger to his hat and settles down at a corner table to finish another few glasses.

He hasn’t sat there long when he feels a light touch on his shoulder and is surrounded by the smell of perfume.

“Interested in some company, stranger?” a low, sultry female voice asks.

He turns in his seat, and the woman jumps back at the sight of him. His eyes widen to match hers. It’s the woman he saved in the street.

Chapter 4: Miss Quill

Notes:

Just trying to get some stuff posted that's been on my computer forever! Updates will be sporadic at best, this fic is particularly loosey goosey and I have no conrete plans for it but it's fun to write so here you go! ;)

The woman’s face flushes a deep pink, and she stammers something as she tries to rush away, but Yondu gently catches her hand. "Whoa, there. Whatcha runnin' away fer? Issit ‘cause I’m an Offworlder? I scare ya?”

“No,” she says, and Yondu glimpses truth in her eyes before she lowers them to the floor. “Ya called me a lady earlier today,” she says in her sweet Southern drawl, eyes downcast. “I didn't want ya to think ya were wrong 'bout that." She takes in a deep breath and exhales, gesturing to herself. "But now ya see that I ain't one."

Yondu lets go of her, and frowning, stands. “Who says y’aint a lady?” he demands. “Ya point ‘em out to me, and I’ll set ‘em straight. ‘Cause ya are a lady. Don't let nobody tell ya otherwise. Don't matter yer profession; yer still a lady, and I will treat ya as such." He removes his hat, and her eyes instantly go to the implant on his head. He tilts his chin upward slightly, and kicks out a chair at the table. He gestures to it with his hat. "And I'd like to buy a drink for the lady, if she'd fancy one."

Her foot lifts, as if to step away from him, then she seems to change her mind and hesitantly assumes the offered seat. "Thank ya," she says quietly.

Yondu replaces his hat and touches a finger to its brim. "What's yer poison a' choice?”

"Gin and soda," she replies.

He taps the table with a finger. "Back in a minute."

Yondu wholly expects the woman to be gone when he returns with her drink, and is pleasantly surprised when he sees she's still there, hands folded delicately in her lap. He holds out the gin and soda to her. "Yer drink, Miss...?"

"Quill. Meredith Quill."

"Meredith Quill," he repeats slowly. He looks her over, admiring her blue-green eyes, and her golden curls pinned up and draped over one shoulder. Her breasts are pushed up by her corset, the creamy pallor of her skin only broken by a black lace choker at her throat. He makes sure he doesn't let his eyes linger too long; his ma didn’t raise no low-down varmint.

She takes the drink in fingerless lace gloves. "Thank you, Mister...?" she prompts with a smile, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckles as he resumes his seat. "Yondu Udonta."

"Udonta. So...you're an Offworlder," she comments, taking a sip of her drink.

"Naw, I jus' like to paint m’skin blue to keep things lively."

She splutters a little into her drink, before laughing out loud. "Ya're a funny man."

He grins and throws back a gulp of tequila. "I do what I can. What 'bout ya? Y'aint from 'round here."

"I was born in Missouri."

"No kiddin’. Whatcha doin' all the way out here, darlin'?"

Her smile dies away, and she becomes interested in a stray string on her glove. "My daddy bought some land out here, wanted the freedom."

"Did he find it?"

“For a while.” The words come out in a soft whisper that tells him plainly she’d rather not talk about it, even though he’s dying to know how any father could let his daughter end up in her current situation. She clears her throat and her smile is back as she raises her eyes again. “And you? Where are you from? I don’t think I’ve seen an Offworlder like you before.”

“Don’t rightly know. Somewhere up there.”

“Ya don’t know where ya come from?”

He sucks his teeth. “I was a slave fer the Kree - the ones what wanted to enslave y’all.” He gestures about the room. “I was on their ship when it crashed. Got rescued, and here I am.” He shrugs. “Not much to tell.”

“Oh. What’s that patch mean?”

He follows her gaze to the flame-shaped embroidered patch on his duster. “Symbol of the Ravagers.”

She leans in, eyes wide and voice dropped to a whisper. She leans in towards him. “Yer with the Ravager gang?”

He snorts. “Wouldn’t call it a gang but yeah. Ya heard of ‘em, huh? Whatcha think?”

“I don’t rightly know,” she admits, leaning back in her chair. “One place I hear they’re robbin’ a train and then somewhere else I hear they’re savin’ folks from a burnin’ building. Are they criminals or heroes?”

Yondu grins. “We’re a little bit a’ both.”

“Ya’re very mysterious, Mister Udonta.”

“Ladies like a lil’ mystery. Don’t they?”

Meredith blushes a little, and Yondu’s heart patters in his chest. “We don’t need to talk ‘bout me,” he says. “Tell me, Miss Quill. How-”

“You beddin’ Earth-Burners now, Mery?”

Meredith turns in her seat, and Yondu tilts his head back to see above the brim of his hat. There’s man standing just behind her – a tall, broad-shouldered man, with a bushy beard and dark eyes.

“I-” Meredith begins.

“We was only talkin’,” Yondu interjects coolly. He’s seen how cruel Terrans can be to their own kind, particiularly women, and especially women who get entangled with Offworlders. He doesn’t want anything to happen to Miss Quill.

The man’s eyes flick to him. “Ya should’nt be.”

His lip curls, fire licking up his insides. “I will talk to whoever I want to, boy.”

“Well I think yer done.” The man seizes Meredith’s wrist hard, yanking her to her feet so forcefully that her chair is knocked over.

All it takes is a short, clipped whistle for Yondu’s arrow to fly from its holster. It stops just shy of the man’s jugular; he freezes, and the entire saloon goes deathly silent.

Following the pattern of a quiet trill, the arrow presses in, causing the man to breathe in sharply. It traces his skin up his throat and onto his chin, traveling so upward until it comes to rest between his eyes.

“Yer hurtin’ her,” Yondu hisses, rising to his feet. “Let go, or so help me I’ll split yer skull right down the middle.”

The man’s eyes flash down to Meredith’s wrist, and he immediately releases her.

Leisurely, Yondu takes another sip of his tequila and straightens his hat. “What’s yer name, boy?”

When he doesn’t answer right away, Yondu whistles the arrow a little closer.

“B-Burton! Burton Klebb.”

“I think ya owe Miss Quill here an apology, Burton Klebb.”

“M’ – m’ sorry, Mery. Uh. Miss Quill. I didn’t mean to hurt ya none.”

“It’s all right, Burt.”

Yondu’s gut clenches. Burt. Not only does she know him, but he must be a regular, to have earned a nickname. He glances Meredith’s way. “You done talkin’ with me, Miss Quill?”

She nods. “Yes. Thank ya for the drink, Mister Udonta, but I’d better get back to work.”

“Yer welcome. I enjoyed the conversation.” Yondu makes his way around the table until he’s a couple paces from Klebb. “Guess Miss Quill’s finished. If she fancies, she might give ya some attention now. And if she does, ya’d better be nice to her, ya hear? I see one bruise on her and I will end yer life. Ya undersand that, Burton Klebb?”

He nods, eyes crossed to keep the arrow in his sights. “Y-yes. Yes, I won’t hurt her, I promise.”

“Good.” He whistles the arrow back into his waiting hand, and both Klebb and Miss Quill breathe a sigh of relief. Slowly and cautiously, the saloon resumes its prior volume.

“Good day, Miss Quill,” Yondu says, tipping his hat to her. “Ya take care a’ yerself now.”

She just nods as she takes Klebb’s hand in hers and leads him towards the stairs at the back of the room.

Yondu takes a seat at the farthest opposite end of the building, next to the piano player, so his sharper ears can’t hear even a whisper of what might be happening on the upper floor bewteen Meredith and Klebb.

A little less than a half hour later, Klebb comes walking down the stairs, and after seeing Yondu in the corner, beelines for the door and disappears.

To Yondu’s relief, Meredith follows down the stairs about ten minutes later, hair fixed and makeup fresh. Yondu doesn’t see any marks on her from here, but he doesn’t want to attract any unwanted attention by going for a closer look. The saloon has gotten busier in the last hour, and the last thing he wants is to get her in trouble with regulars. He seeks out her eyes, and she gives him a warm, if brief, smile.

Stopping up the tequila bottle, Yondu makes his way out of the saloon and back to the stable where he hitched Eclector. He takes his time giving her some oats and water, and busies himself rearanging his saddlebags for his upcoming  journey. He’s just finished getting her blanket and saddle situated when there’s a noise in the shadows behind him.

Fully expecting Klebb or other bar goers, he whistles his arrow over his shoulder and whirls.

“Oh! Don’t – don’t shoot!”

“Miss Quill!” He hurriedly plucks his arrow from the air and thrusts it back into its holster.

She fades out of the darkness, face pale and blue eyes bright.

“What’re ya doin’ here?” he hisses, looking around. “Ya shouldn’t be seen with me.”

 “I know. I just wanted to thank ya, for ya’ kind words, and bein’ a gentleman.” She tightens her shawl around her shoulders. “They’re scarce ‘round these parts.”

“My pleasure,” he replies, and with another quick look around to make doubly sure they’re not being watched, takes her hand, raising her knuckles to his lips. “Here’s hopin’ I’ll see ya again.”

Even in the dim light of the stable, he can see her blush. “W-well, the harvest dance is happenin’ in October. Whole town’ll be there. I’ll be there,” she adds in a soft voice.

“Well it just so happens I might be passin’ this way ‘bout that time,” he replies, and she smiles. He leads Eclector outside and mounts; she follows, lingering in the shadow of the stable door.

“Goodbye Mister Udonta. Take care of yourself.”

“You do the same. Don’t you let anybody make ya think less of yerself.” With a tip of his hat, he clicks his tongue and sets off at a slow trot southeast.

Chapter 5: The Survivor

Yondu wipes his brow. New Mexico Territory is hotter than he remembers.

As he guides Eclector down a ridge, he stares out across the plains – and frowns. There’s a large wagon train down below, and at least from here, it looks to be the same one he passed nearly a week back. He’d given it wide berth back then, just to be safe and not stiry up any trouble, but he’s positive it’s the same. They should have moved on by now.

He pulls his hat further down to shade his eyes, and his fears are confirmed when he spots the dark forms of buzzards circling and hopping around the wagons. He draws in his reins, bringing Eclector to a stop, then with a click of his tongue leads her towards the wagons. Best see if there’s any survivors.

He leaves the horse tied at the edge of the rocks and wades through the tall grass. He can hear the cawing of a vulture from here, and whistles his arrow over his shoulder in case he has to deal with it. He parts the grass in front of him, and nearly vomits on the spot.

It's a little Xandarian girl, her blue blood staining the grass around her head like a halo. Yondu whistles savagely, and seconds later the vulture is dead.

He turns away, taking in a sharp, shallow breath. He pulls his handkerchief up over his nose to ward off the stench of death and ventures further into the camp. The dead number in the dozens. They’re Terrans, mostly, but Terran look-alikes; Arcturans, Xandarians are there too. He finds what might have been the girl’s parents, both mutilated. He dares a closer look.

He thought it might be Apache work, but it’s not quite right. Comanches maybe? He shakes his head. This almost looks like it was done in careful mimicry; it wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to pin a crime on the native population. Upon further inspection, some of the marks look…burnt. A laser knife? Yondu straightens up, looking carefully around. Surely whoever was responsible was long gone, but he still gets shivers down his spine. Offworlders who aren’t part of the Ravagers are to be considered dangerous, and anyone with offworld technology doubly so.

He continues through the encampment. He catches his breath, whirling to duck behind a wagon as he comes across a group of children. After a few deep breaths, Yondu turns to the wagon interior. If he can find some blankets to cover the dead, or even a shovel to start burying them, then that might be a good use of the daylight.

Folding back the wagon cover, he finds a few tarps and a blanket, and lays those over the children first. He moves to the next wagon and spies a promising-looking handle protruding from the bed, so he throws the cover back.

He instantly jumps backward and nearly whistles his arrow at a small, skinny child that flees to the back of the wagon.

The child squeezes itself into the further back corner, between a barrel and a stack of linens.

Yondu catches his breath, willing his heart to stop beating so fast. “It’s okay,” he says quickly, whistling the arrow back into its holster, “I didn’t mean to scare ya, kid. It’s okay, I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” He sticks a foot up on the wagon bed and hoists himself inside.

Yondu crouches a short distance away from the child, who whimpers, pressing himself even closer against the wall of the wagon. He sees now that it’s a boy, with untidy brown hair and wide, blue-grey eyes. There are two deep gashes over his left eye and the blood covering most of his face is blue. A Xandarian.

Yondu pulls down on his handkerchief slowly, and with equal care removes his hat. “It’s okay, boy,” he repeats as gently as he’s able. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

When the boy doesn’t speak or move, Yondu takes a biscuit from his duster pocket, wrapped in a clean handkerchief. “Ya hungry?” he asks, breaking off a piece and holding it out. Who knows how long this boy’s been out here all alone? He can’t be more than four or five years old.

When the boy doesn’t move, Yondu reaches out and places the piece of biscuit on the stack of linens.

With nervous, unsure movements, the boy rises from his hiding place and takes the piece of biscuit, quickly ducking back down to his hiding place to eat it.

“There ya go,” Yondu encourages him, nodding. When he’s finished that piece, Yondu breaks off another, and another until the biscuit is gone. He leaves the pieces closer to him each time, and the child becomes more trusting, retrieving the last bit from Yondu’s hand. He doesn’t run away this time.

“Good boy,” Yondu says softly. “Why don’tcha come with me, and we’ll get ya some water and clean ya up?”

The boy looks back at his hiding place, then at Yondu, then towards the wagon flap where daylight is streaming in, and nods.

Yondu stands as best he can in the confined space, and replaces his hat. “Gonna take yer hand, okay?” he asks.

The boy nods again and Yondu holds the small hand in his, leading him to the exit. He lets go to hop down to the ground, then holds out his arms to the child.

The boy clutches little fingers in his duster, and Yondu holds him tight against his chest, cradling the back of his head. He keeps his face turned away from the carnage and makes his way back to Eclector. He doesn’t want to make the boy remain among the horror; Yondu will have to come back and bury the bodies another time if someone else doesn’t get to them first. He looks back over the plains, wishing he had time to at least bury the children, but this living child takes priority. He lifts the boy into the saddle and swings up behind him. Making sure he has a good grip, with a gentle squeeze of his knees Yondu leads the horse on.

They stop briefly at a stream to clean the boy’s face and dress the cuts on his face. Thankfully they don’t look to be infected and are already healing.

They stop for the night in the shelter of a grove of trees. The boy has said nothing all day and continues his silence, despite Yondu’s attempts to get him to speak. He does eat, though, and sleeps soundly, curled up close to the fire.

Yondu sits against a tree, holster free of his duster in case he needs it during the night, and gazes out over the boy as his eyelids drift closed. Poor kid, he thinks sleepily. God knows what he saw back there. If it were Offworlders, I wanna know who would do somethin’ like that. Ain’t heard a’ any gangs like that ‘round those parts, but maybe Stakar knows. At the thought of his adoptive father he pulls the wrinkled letter out again, reading it half a dozen times before his eyes get too heavy for him to hold open. He falls asleep with the paper still in his hand.

---

He wakes, feeling eyes on him. When he opens his own, he realizes the boy is seated at his feet, watching him. He flinches at the child’s large blue eyes in the early morning light, and accidentally lets go of Stakar’s letter. A breeze snatches it up. “No!”

The boy is faster than he is and he grabs it out of the air before Yondu can get to his feet. He holds it carefully in both hands and runs back over to Yondu, holding it out before him.

“Phew, thanks kid. If you hadn’t a’ got hold of it, it’d be long gone down in the valley by now.” He takes the letter and tousles the boy’s hair gently. He holds the paper up. “It’s from my Pa. That’s where I’m headed, back home to see him.”

The boy cocks his head, and in his curious eyes is the unspoken question Why aren’t you home now?

“We had a fight, see. I’m…I’m goin’ back home to apologize.”

The boy nods thoughtfully, and Yondu wonders momentarily if he’s really as young as he looks. He folds the letter back up and carefully tucks it away, then crouches down. “Ya hungry? Ya want some breakfast?”

An eager nod.

“A’ight. Ya can come help.”

---

With nowhere to put the child and no one to turn him over to, Yondu continues on his way with the boy in tow. It’s over two weeks before he reaches his destination, stopping once in Albuquerque and once again at at a small mission right on the border of Texas and New Mexico Territory that is under the extended protection of the Ravagers. Padre Ramirez greets him warmly, and Yondu and the boy sleep soundly under a friendly roof that night.

Can’t believe I’m goin’ home, Yondu thinks to himself, staring out at the moon through a gap in the shutters. Don’t know what the hell I’m gonna say, besides…besides ‘I’m sorry.’ He sighs, and drops his gaze. His eyes linger on the sleeping boy, whose frame has filled out considerably since their first encounter, though Yondu can tell he’ll always be the lanky type. He cocks his head, smiling at the child. He hasn’t had much experience being around or with children, but this boy – who still hasn’t said a word – is smart. He might not always look like he’s listening and he might not appear to be the brightest according to looks, but Yondu can tell. It’s his eyes; filled with observance and meticulous detail; eyes which have already seen too much.

This boy was like him.

Yondu squeezes his eyes tight shut against his early memories of his life of slavery and service as a child soldier under the Kree; the atrocities and barbarous acts he’d seen them commit against fellow slaves and enemies alike. He can’t imagine what his life might have been like had he spent his entire life under their rule. Life was good. He was a free man, and there could be no lower point in his life than that before the Ogords. It was all roses and diamonds in comparison. He wanted that for this boy. He wants this boy to succeed, to be free, to lead a life full of fulfillment and satisfaction.

Just got t’ get him to talk first, Yondu thinks with a snort of laughter, and settles down into his cot for a good night’s rest.

In the morning, Yondu finds his canteens filled with fresh water and some rations packed in the saddle bag. He hoists the boy up into the saddle, and shakes the Padre’s hand. “Thanks again.”

“It is our pleasure,” he answers with a smile. “Pass my greetings on to your family. Vaya con Dios.”

Yondu lifts a finger to the brim of his hat as the Padre makes a sign of blessing, clicks his tongue, and guides Eclector on.

It’s full dark when Yondu finally reaches the canyon two days later. Even with the light of the full moon to guide him, he smells it before he sees it; the familiar scent of the local flora, the sweet smell of mesquite wood burning somewhere far off; even the dirt smells different here. The sounds descend on him as he slows Eclector to a quieter walk; the trickle of a stream, the yip of a coyote; the hoot of an owl nested in a cactus somewhere. One might argue that he could smell those scents elsewhere, that he could hear those sounds in a thousand different places. Maybe it’s true, but he doesn’t believe it. There’s truly no place like home, and to finally realize it nearly brings tears to his eyes.

As he guides Eclector down a path invisible to all except those who know it, his heart starts to beat faster, and butterflies seem to be taking wing in his stomach. What the hell am I gonna say to him? What am I gonna say to Ma? He grimaces. He’d been trying not to think about it too much, but he can’t deny the anxiety that has been creeping up in his brain.

The softest clatter of a rock breaks him from his thoughts. He whistles and the arrow is out, pointed in the direction of the sound. “Who’s out there?” he calls, and feels the child stir against his chest. He looks down, and sees the boy is wide awake now, his eyes large in the moonlight.

“Yondu? Is that you?”

Yondu can’t stop a grin as he recognizes the voice. “Marty! Whatchu doin’ out here? Ain’t ya supposed to be losin’ at cards somewheres?”

There’s another series of soft clicks and clatters as more rocks bounce down the ravine, then a man in black and navy blue appears, his crystal skin like a wind-driven river in the moonlight. “Yondu!”

Yondu quickly dismounts, leaving the boy in the saddle, to greet the man who says nothing more, throwing his arms tight around him. It’s at least a full minute before he lets go, gasping out, “Oh my God, I thought you were gone forever. I thought I was never going to see you again.”

“Ah, Marty.” Yondu shakes his head, grinning as he pats the side of his brother’s face. “As if I’d ever leave you and the Ravagers out in the wind.”

Martinex T’naga, nicknamed Marty, smiles briefly before his face falls. He hangs his head. “Pa didn’t let me go out and look for you. I should have gone anyway. I – I wanted to. I’m sorry, Yondu.”

“Oh shut up,” Yondu laughs, swinging an arm around his brother’s neck. “Pa didn’t want to lose you, is all. And we all know you would’a got plumb lost.”

The crystals in Martinex’s face take on a pinkish purple hue. “Hey, I’m a better navigator than you are!”

“Up in them skies, maybe! Not on the land. That’s my territory,” Yondu says proudly, sticking a thumb to his chest.

“Pff. Whatever. Come on, let’s go home. Hey, who’s the kid?” Martinex asks, noticing the child for the first time.

“I dunno. Had ‘em fer a couple weeks and he ain’t talked yet.” He stares up at the boy in the saddle. “You wanna git down?”

He nods, and, handing the reins carefully to Martinex, holds his arms out to Yondu.

Yondu notices that the child clings a little tighter to him than usual, and as he sets him on the ground, the boy immediately latches on to his duster. Yondu reaches down and pats the boy’s head; he looks up, and Yondu smiles. A tentative but genuine smile lights up the boy’s face in return.

“Where’d you find him?” Marty asks, handing over the reins.

“I’ll tell y’all later,” Yondu replies in a low voice, and clicks his tongue to lead Eclector on.

The two of them converse quietly as they make their way through the canyon, about where Yondu’s been, and what he’s seen, while Martinex informs him of goings-on at home.

They’re more than halfway through when Yondu slows to a stop.

“What’s wrong?” Martinex asks.

Yondu lets out a nervous chuckle before starting up again. “Just realized that Ma’s probably gonna kill me, is all.”

Martinex laughs, and nods down at the boy. “Just lead with the kid. It’ll soften the blow.”

Yondu cackles. “Yeah, right. A ploy like that would just piss her off. Ain’t like he’s mine.” He nudges Martinex with his shoulder. “Lissen, come in with me to see her, huh? You can hide behind the kid.”

“I like that plan.”

They resume their walk, and Yondu finds a lump in his throat as they turn a bend. Hundreds of feet above them and spanning the entire canyon is a natural stone bridge, and underneath its shade and protection lies the Ravager encampment. Built amidst the natural stone and outbreaks of forest, several wood cabins and tents span the area, bordered on both sides by wide fenced-in areas for cattle and horses. Set up on a slight hill, a broad, low longhouse dominates the area; the main gathering place for the Ravagers. Campfires dot the expanse, and the air is filled with the low chatter of evening and the smell of cooking food.

Yondu hides as much as he can behind Eclector’s neck, hoping he’s not recognized before he has a chance to see Aleta or Stakar. His mouth has gone entirely dry by the time they step up to their family cabin. The door is wide open, as it always has been when its inhabitants are awake, but he wraps upon it anyway. Aleta Ogord is inside, bent over a dismantled revolver, her long dark hair, just tinged with streaks of grey, falling over her shoulder so she can’t see out her periphery. “Come in,” she calls gruffly, not looking up.

Yondu, followed by Martinex and the boy, swallows and removes his hat as he enters. Turning it nervously in clenching fingers, he says, “H-hello, Ma.”

Aleta jerks up, knocking a gun piece to the floor with a loud clatter. She descends on him before he’s ready, eyes flashing and blanked out white. And then her arms are as far around him as they can go, and she’s squeezing so tight he can practically hear his ribs cracking.

He lets out a shaking breath and circles his arms around her, nestling his forehead onto her shoulder.

When she finally lets go, her eyes are their normal dark brown hues again, and there’s a suspicious shine of unshed tears in her eyes. She sniffs lightly. Her eyes flick to the doorway, at Martinex, and then down at the boy. Her eyes narrow slightly but she says nothing of him. “And just where the hell have you been?” she demands.

He twirls his hat, sweeping it this way and that. “Oh, all over, I guess.”

She eyes him up and down, lips pursing. “You lost weight.”

Yondu lets out a short laugh. “Well, I didn’t have yer cookin’—"

“Exactly,” she interrupts. “I assume that boy is with you?”

“He ain't mine.”

“Of course he’s not! You were gone fourteen months and three weeks, not six years.”

“Ya kept track?”

Aleta doesn’t answer him. Walking over to the child, she bends down and asks in a gentle voice, “You hungry, honey?”

“She’s my ma,” Yondu explains as the boy glances his way. “He ain’t talked yet, ma,” he puts in quietly. “Don’t know if he can.”

“Hm. Can you talk, darlin’?” she asks him.

He nods.

“Ya just ain’t ready to yet, is that it?”

He nods again.

“Right. You hungry?”

The boy nods a third time, and Aleta looks over her shoulder at Yondu. “What about you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says enthusiastically.

“Good. I’ll make you somethin’,” she says, striding about the cabin to gather plates and cups. “Go see Stakar. He’s in the longhouse.”

“How do ya know I ain’t been there already?”

She stops and shoots him smirking glare. “You wouldn’t dare see him before you saw me.”

Yondu lets out a bark of laughter and nods. “Yer right.”

“Of course I am. I’m your mother. Now go,” she said, pointing. “Go see your father. And wash up for supper.”

Yondu leaves the boy with Martinex, assuring him he’ll return shortly. He doesn’t get a dozen steps towards the Longhouse before Stakar appears in its doorway, cleaning his hands in the rain barrel.

He looks older than Yondu remembers, with an invisible weight upon his shoulders that he doesn’t recall seeing before, except on one occasion when Tullk had been terribly sick with Mountain Fever. He looks weary and downcast, not formidably strong as he did at their last meeting.

Stakar’s solemn, tired gaze sweeps across the entire camp only to fall on the cabin – and Yondu. His eyes widen, and his lips part, forming Yondu’s name, but if he speaks it, it’s much too quiet for his son to hear. Then he’s barreling down the slope, hardly slowing down as he closes in and yanks Yondu into his arms.

Tears squeeze out of Yondu’s eyes then, as he holds Stakar tight. “Pa,” he begins in a choking voice, “I’m—"

“You don’t have to say a thing,” Stakar says, his voice thick. They hold one another, Stakar rocking slightly from foot to foot, for several minutes. Then he pats the back of Yondu’s head, releasing him with a loud sniff. He looks him up and down. “You lost weight.”

Yondu throws his head back and laughs. “Ma said the same thing. She’s fixin’ me some dinner now.”

“Let’s go, then.” Stakar loops an arm around Yondu’s shoulders and guides him back the way he’d come.

“I got yer letter,” Yondu says, pulling it out.

“Which one?” Stakar takes it. “I sent one in every direction. The fastest and best Lakota trackers I could find. I prayed every night you’d come back.”

“You did?”

“Of course I did.”

“Yondu? Yondu!” A Scottish accent bellows his name, and Yondu looks over Stakar’s shoulder to see a teenaged boy running down the slope towards them.

“Tullk! Damn boy, you got tall!”

Tullk collides with him so that Yondu has to swing half around to keep his balance. “Yer back,” Tullk pants, his face flushed.

“Did I hear someone say Yondu?” A warm thundering voice says, coming out of a tent nearby.

“Uncle Charlie!” Yondu cries. “The hell you doin’ here?”

The giant sepia-skinned man pats Yondu’s shoulder with a hand so large it nearly knocks him off his feet. Rolling chuckles escape his lips. “Passin’ through, thought I’d stay awhile. Gotta say, it’s good to have you back home.” Charlie stoops and says in a soft whisper, “Without ya, yer old man was sad as a sky without stars.”

Yondu’s eyes fall to his feet. “M’ sorry, Charlie. Ya got no idea how much.”

“He knows, Yondu. Everybody knows. We’re just glad yer back.” Charlie slaps his shoulder than sends him sprawling into Stakar’s arms, and they all laugh uproariously.

There’s the clanging of a bell up at the cabin, and Stakar ushers them all to the well to wash up. “C’mon, boys.”

---

Yondu leans back in his chair, relishing in the warm of the fireplace at his back and the warmth of whiskey in his belly. He’s sleepy, so pleasantly full of his mother’s cooking, surrounded by the warmth and smells of home. Ma had whisked away the boy right after supper for a bath, leaving him, his pa, brothers and uncle to talk and catch up.

Things have been fairly quiet since Yondu had left. Uncle Krugarr, who travels the world using his magic, had come across more Off-Worlders in Europe and brought those willing into the Ravager ranks. They were up to forty-four sub-factions under Stakar now, some here in camp and the rest traveling in bands across the country. Cousin Vance was up in Montana now with ten other factions, keeping the Ravagers’ cattle and protecting homesteaders – Offworlders and Terrans alike – from rogue Kree.

“There’s been more of them sighted lately.” Stakar says heavily. “I fear the Kree are gathering together. I don’t know what they’re planning, but there’s been rumors of them plotting something, sowing seeds of discord between Terrans and Offworlders. Even framing native Terrans for their crimes.”

Yondu leans forward. “I wonder if that’s who killed that wagon train.”

“What wagon train?”

“It’s where I found the kid. It was a massacre, Pa. Men, women, children. Terrans and Off-Worlders both.”

Stakar eyes flash briefly. “You think it was Kree?”

“Don’t know. Thought it was Comanches at first but I think it was a laser-knife what scalped ‘em.”

Martinex poked bad-humoredly at the fire. “What are they trying to do? Start a war?”

“Don’t worry, son. We’ll find out what they’re up to.”

“Those people – those children – they gotta be buried, Pa.” Yondu says.

“I’ll take a group out tomorrow,” Charlie promises.

“I think the kid’s parents and sister were killed,” Yondu adds quietly. “They was wearin’ clothes made of the same calico.”

Charlie suddenly clears his voice loudly, and Yondu abruptly sits back as Aleta comes around the corner with the freshly bathed and dressed child, his face flushed slightly blue from the warm water.

“Hey buckaroo,” Yondu greets him. The boy grins and eagerly joins him; Yondu lifts him onto his knee, where the boy leans back into his chest, comfortable as can be.

Aleta settles herself into the chair next to Stakar, throwing up one foot to rest on his knee. “Why don’t you tell him your name, honey?” she prompts the boy.

Yondu gapes. “You got him to talk? How?”

Aleta shrugs. “A mother’s touch, I don’t know.”

“I thought ya knew everything.” Yondu says cheekily.

Aleta’s eyes glitter dangerously even as she smiles at him. “Don’t you sass me.”

Yondu cackles, then gazes down at the boy in his lap. “Well? What’s yer name, son?”

The boy nervously looks around at the expectant group and shyly presses his head into Yondu’s arm. Yondu chuckles and pats his head. “Hey, it’s all right. Yer safe, this is my family. Here, ya can whisper it to me if ya want.” He leans down, cupping a hand to his ear, and the smallest, whispery voice says:

“Kraglin.”