Don't Fear the Reaper

by LyricalAmbrosia

Summary:

Rocket glanced to the others, who seemed no less in shock. He glanced back to Adam, lifting a hand to flip his goggles up. “I’ll be damned. Your friends were actually able to help?”

Adam glanced away at that, head tilting somewhat. “…not quite. He fell out of the sky near my location on my way back to the ship.”

Rocket didn’t consider that for long. “Yeah, that sounds like somethin’ that would happen to Quill.”

(A sequel to Death of Peace of Mind. Direct continuation.)

Notes:

I have about maybe half of this one written....its a very long one I'm afraid, so I only hope I can actually finish it, but I was going crazy because I wanted to share what I had anyways hahaha

Chapter 1

Days ago, he had felt Peter Quill die. Like the snap of a rubber band against his wrist, only he felt it in his own soul. It had stopped him dead in his tracks, and for far too long of a moment, he thought that was the end.

The one time Peter fell into an alternate reality without him, and it was the first and final time he died.

Then he had felt the bond reignite moments after, and the relief had forced him to his knees on the tiled floor of Baxter Building’s lab. Running his hands through his hair, parsing what it meant as the kind hands of Susan slid over his shoulders, her worried voice in his ear.

There had been another Adam there to save him. It was the only explanation he could think of.

It had been—awkward, trying to explain himself to them. To Susan and Reed, neither of whom offered judgment, or smart remarks as the Guardians might have.

Just a small, shared understanding. Hearing the confession for what it was, even if Adam himself hadn't acknowledged it as such in that moment.

That came later. When he was alone in Peter's room, sitting on his bed and holding that red leather jacket on his lap. Staring down at it blankly and feeling the void in his heart where Quill's aimless chatter was supposed to be.

Gamora had walked in on him, but he hadn't reacted. Even when she sat beside him, a soft sigh leaving her lips. She had let the quiet hang for a while before breaking it, her voice quiet. "We miss him, too, Adam."

A twinge of pain in his chest that he didn't know what to do with. "I know."

She had placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned into him, and the silence returned anew. Both of them missing the same man in different ways.

A silence that was echoed outside the room, and that was perhaps the most telling of all.

When Rocket had landed the Milano here, Adam had swiftly decided he wasn’t going to sit idle. He knew Reed Richards of the Fantastic Four; if anyone could help locate Quill, it would have been him.

At least he was doing something. Something other than sitting around waiting, or whining, or arguing. Something other than running off to be alone on a desolate island in the middle of the ocean.

Progress was slow, of course, but it was still progress. It had been about a week since Quill’s disappearance, and they had been so close to finding a way to use the bond as an anchor when—

It disappeared entirely.

The catalyst for his lonely vigil.

The sudden absence of it drove Adam to agitated confusion, and the theorizing and platitudes of the Fantastic Four only served to push him further. Taking the detour out here had been necessary for his own sanity, but then he had heard him. Quill. Yelling from somewhere nearby.

He thought he had been hallucinating. He had almost talked himself out of looking, but—well.

He glanced to Quill, a mild frown on his lips at the drool soaking into his shirt and skin. It was fortunate that Adam decided to investigate anyway, or he would have broken every bone in his body upon impact with the water. If that hadn’t somehow killed him, he would certainly have drowned afterward.

Without the soul bond, bringing him back would have been…difficult. Not impossible, but difficult.

Stupid of that other Adam to remove it.

The sun had begun to set by the time he returned to the large island the Milano had parked itself on, lowering gently to the ground before the ramp leading up into the ship.

Gamora was outside, against a palm tree that had snapped under the Milano. Her gaze seemed distant and despondent before she noticed him, only the slightest interest in her eyes.

Then she saw Peter, bloodied and unconscious, and the widening of her eyes preceded her bolting to her feet. “Is that—”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Gods, is he dead?” She asked, rushing over to check.

“No.”

A frown settled on her face as she inspected him, relief in her amber eyes as much as annoyance. Adam understood the feeling well. “He looks like shit.”

The point couldn’t really be argued, but Adam still gave her a mildly disapproving look. “He is exhausted.”

“I can tell,” she remarked, moving to walk beside Adam as he continued toward the ramp. “Was he hurt?”

He glanced toward her, and after a beat she gave a wry smile before looking away. “Yeah, dumb question. Sorry.”

“He isn’t currently wounded,” Adam said, focusing forward again.

She snorted quietly, sounding amused. “Because you’re here. Idiot doesn’t know how lucky he is that you stuck around.”

Adam felt that they were both lucky in some fashion, but said nothing on the matter.

Once they were in the main living area, Adam found himself the center of everyone else’s attention. Rocket was the first to break the stunned silence, dropping the tool he was holding onto his workbench. “Flarkin’ scut, is that Quill? Our Quill?”

Adam gave a nod.

Rocket glanced to the others, who seemed no less in shock. He glanced back to Adam, lifting a hand to flip his goggles up. “I’ll be damned. Your friends were actually able to help?”

Adam glanced away at that, head tilting somewhat. “…not quite. He fell out of the sky near my location on my way back to the ship.”

Rocket didn’t consider that for long. “Yeah, that sounds like somethin’ that would happen to Quill.”

From his position seated on a crate near the wall, Drax sat up straight with a frown. He gestured with the blade he had been sharpening as he spoke. “I thought you said he was in another reality. How did he fall out of our sky?”

That was something Adam didn’t have the answer to. “A question you can ask once he wakes, but he needs rest. And quiet,” Adam added, eyes narrowing at the lot of them.

“I am Groot,” said the flora colossus seated on the couch, standing to make space. Gesturing with a hand.

It was a kind offer that Adam took. He carried Quill over to the vacated space, gently lowering him down into the cushions. He hadn’t even noticed Gamora had followed him until she took one of the circular pillows tucked into the corner and handed it to Adam. He accepted it, carefully setting it under Quill’s head.

From seemingly nowhere, Drax appeared with a blanket. He wedged himself between Adam and Gamora, both of whom shifted to give him space as he draped the fabric over Quill. Even tucking him in, a fact that had Gamora and Adam sharing a somewhat bemused look.

When he pulled back, he hooked his thumbs into his belt and met Adam’s eyes. “I shall ensure that none will disturb his rest.”

A friendly smile bent a wooden face when Groot gestured to himself, adding, “I am Groot.”

Adam allowed a small smile. “I appreciate it, both of you. That’s very kind.”

“Well,” Rocket began, hopping off of the small stool he had to stand on to see above the desk, “guess this means we can radio Mantis. Tell ‘er we’re going back to Knowhere.”

He scampered over, squeezing himself between everyone to sniff at Quill. He made a face. “Eugh, he smells like a snave. I guess it’s better than dead, though.”

“Maybe we should pin an air freshener to the couch,” Gamora mused, earning a flat look from Adam that had her mischievous smile growing.

Rocket snorted and turned away. “Yeah, maybe use one of his stupid jacket pins for it. What does he have, a billion of those things?”

“We are not invading his room while he’s unconscious,” Adam cut in with a deep sigh.

“Why not? It’s not like he locks the door,” Gamora snorted as she moved toward the kitchenette.

Rocket scampered away toward the cockpit, disappearing into it. “I say use that pin that says, ‘I heart Contraxia,’” he called back.

Gamora snorted at that as she returned with a bottle of water, settling it on the table in front of the couch. Close to Peter. “Relax, Adam. We aren’t serious.”

“I think Rocket might be,” Adam returned, glancing toward the cockpit with a frown.

Gamora waved a dismissive hand. “You know he’s all talk. Most of the time.”

Drax and Groot stood near to Quill, Groot inspecting him from where he leaned slightly over the couch. Drax was situated in front of it, arms crossed over his chest. Taking his pledge very seriously.

How loved Peter was. It had Adam’s brows twitching as he turned toward Gamora. She met his eyes knowingly, but he didn’t spare a thought for it. “I need to alert the Fantastic Four that he’s been found.”

She nodded, cutting a glance to the cockpit. “Okay. I’ll make sure Rocket doesn’t try to leave without you.”

It was a touching gesture, but still Adam said, “It’s of no consequence to me. I would find all of you again in any case.”

Two soul bonds that belonged to him on the same vessel would be, frankly, embarrassingly easy to find. Even adrift in space.

Yellow eyes flicked toward him again. “Peter wouldn’t leave without you. Neither will I.”

Adam hummed, his gaze drifting away. “…How sweet. Thank you.”

He didn’t linger afterward, choosing instead to just leave. He felt Gamora’s eyes on him as he walked away and had to ignore the ridiculous urge to look back and check on Quill a final time. He was in good hands; there was nothing to worry about.

If only knowing that stopped the nagging feeling.

Chapter 2

Summary:

“Uh, where—where’s ‘here?’” He asked, turning back toward the mouth of the alley.

All he saw was pitch black in every direction. His heart raced in his chest, a bloody hand lifting to touch his visor—

Cold, bare fingers wrapped around his wrist, and he wasn’t above admitting he shrieked. “Wha—”

“Here.”

Notes:

wow i did not realize how long this chapter was until i went to post. my bad.

There was asphalt beneath his cheek, the cloying scent of metal pervading his senses. He thought for a second he was dead, but realized he could breathe; he could move. His fingers twitched against sticky red, a deep inhale bringing the taste of blood on his tongue, and he tried to push down the instinctual retch as he pushed himself up to his knees.

The entire ground was covered in liquid crimson, a red, haunting moon glimmering across the surface. He swiftly got to his feet, the sudden motion making the blood slosh around his ankles.

The entire front of his body was drenched in it, even sticking to his hair. He shot his gaze around the space, vague shapes of buildings reaching toward the sky.

Near him was another prone body. Donned in light blue jeans that reached her waist, a blue flannel tucked into them. She had the same dirty-blonde hair that he did, and his heart stopped in his chest.

“Mom?” He called, his voice frail. He rushed toward her, kneeling in the red pool to push her onto her back. She went limply, body lolling the way only the dead did.

Her face was featureless, yet not. Vague shapes of eyes, a nose, a mouth—but nothing specific.

Had he forgotten her face? Had it been that long…?

Something bumped his leg, and he looked away from her to find a golden mask. Carved in the likeness of Adam Warlock.

Tentatively, he reached for it. Grasping it with uncertain fingers before he lifted his gaze again, searching. “Adam?”

“Quill?” Came the response, somewhere behind him. He turned to look, finding nothing.

He called the man’s name again, this time gauging a location from the response. He got to his feet, ignoring the splashing as he rushed toward that familiar sound. “Adam, where are you?”

“Over here, Quill.”

He followed the source into a pitch-dark alley, each step bringing him deeper into the river of red, until it touched his thighs. He tried to squint into the dark, but no shapes caught his eye.

“Uh, where—where’s ‘here?’” He asked, turning back toward the mouth of the alley.

All he saw was pitch black in every direction. His heart raced in his chest, a bloody hand lifting to touch his visor—

Cold, bare fingers wrapped around his wrist, and he wasn’t above admitting he shrieked. “Wha—”

“Here.”

The flush of fear washed away almost instantly, replaced by embarrassment and annoyance. “What the hell, Adam?”

The grip on his wrist vanished, and then he felt hands close around his hips, guiding him into turning around. Thick liquid clawed at him with the motion, trying to drag him under.

Twin fires of burning white stared into his soul, the only source of light in the pitch dark. He let himself be pushed back against a cold stone wall, still trying to convince his heart that he was safe.

A cold hand took him by the jaw, soft and reverent. “I have you, Peter Quill,” he murmured, those white eyes drifting closer.

An icy chill invaded his space, and he watched the white bleed a disconcerting red as a sharp, white smirk split the dark. The hand around his jaw tightened, sharp pointed tips digging into his skin, and he realized—

“You will never be safe again.”

He jolted awake with a violent gasp, a cold sweat dripping down his skin. He shot upright and immediately banged his skull against something very hard. He winced with a short yelp, doubling over as he rubbed at the spot.

“Are you alright, Peter Quill? You seemed to be having a nightmare.”

It took too long to register the words, his entire body still keyed into fight or flight. After a moment he recognized Drax and blew out a sigh, lifting his head to squint at the man. “How many times have we talked about you watching me sleep, dude?”

“You are on the couch. Everyone is watching you sleep,” Drax said matter-of-factly.

He glanced past Drax to find Gamora leaning against the kitchenette counter, wiggling her fingers in a wave when she caught his eye. Closer and to his left behind the couch was Groot, who seemed to be inspecting Quill with obvious worry.

Well. As obvious as worry could look on a tree man, he supposed.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pulling the blanket off of himself and sitting correctly. “Cool, love that,” he muttered, before he belatedly realized something. He glanced up at the room again with a frown. “Where’s Adam and Mantis?”

Gamora gestured toward the hangar bay. “Meditating in the hangar bay. We’re on our way to Knowhere.”

Peter blinked, trying to process that. Gamora ticked a brow up and pointed to the table in front of him, and when he looked he found an unopened water bottle near him. A little bewildered, he took it, unscrewed the cap, and downed a good portion of water before setting it down again. “Okay. Cool. How long was I out?”

“Approximately eighteen hours,” Drax answered.

“Eighteen—” he started, snapping a wide-eyed look up at Drax.

“Hey, look who’s finally awake!” came Rocket’s voice to his right, and he shifted his attention to look at him. He seemed to be coming from the cockpit, though he was giving Quill a scrutinizing look. “Took the liberty of fixin’ your stupid rocket boots while you were out. They’re on the workbench.”

He shifted his focus to it and, yeah, those were his boots on the bench. He glanced down at his feet, seeing only his socks. Pizza patterned. “…Huh. Okay. Thanks, Rocket.”

Rocket waved a hand. “You are stupidly lucky Golden Boy stuck around to talk to the Fabulous Five, you know that, right?”

That had Peter looking up at Rocket again, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Fabulous…you mean the Fantastic Four?”

Rocket paused with faux consideration, finger curled under his chin, before he shook his head. “Nah, I’m pretty sure he said Fabulous Five. What’s it to you, anyway? You some kinda Earth historian all of a sudden?”

Quill rubbed a hand into his eyelids, feeling a headache coming on. Probably from smashing his skull into Drax’s, but still. “Why was he even there to begin with?”

Drax shifted slightly on his feet, thumbs hooked into his belt. “He had been working with them for the past week in an effort to find you. It had not been going well.”

The fact that Adam had been looking for him made his heart do impossibly stupid things, but he latched onto the other bit of information Drax gave him instead. Trying not to think too much about it. “A week? I was only gone for a day. Which, yeah, felt like a week, but—”

“It was a week,” Gamora affirmed, tilting her head slightly. “For us, at least.”

“How did you fall out of the sky?” Drax cut in, rather abrupt.

Quill met his eyes, brows twisting with a light frown on his lips. “Fall out of…?” He began, before he realized what Drax was asking. “Oh. I got…pushed into a portal. It was connected to Adam in this timeline, or something, so it just put me wherever he was.”

Gamora snorted with amusement, one corner of her lip curling upward. “Which was in the sky, as usual.”

Quill ran his hands through his hair, sighing. “Yeah. Probably should’ve thought it through more, but we didn’t really have the time for that, so.”

A beat of silence passed before Groot shifted forward somewhat to look at Peter’s face, seeming in disbelief. “I am Groot.”

Rocket snickered, smacking Peter in the leg. “He said you have a habit of getting yourself into, ah, interesting situations.”

“Wish I didn’t,” Quill muttered, rubbing at his face. He got to his feet with a huff, taking the water bottle with him. “I’m gonna shower, I think.”

“Please,” Rocket agreed readily, gesturing toward the bathroom. “You smell worse than that ooze tunnel in that mining facility on—”

“I got it, Rocket, thanks,” Peter interrupted flatly, turning his back on them to walk toward his room.

Rocket called after him anyway. “Maybe change out of that ridiculous outfit, too! What kinda idiot wears spandex to a fight?”

“That’s what I said,” he muttered to himself, disappearing behind the door.

He took a second to just breathe, lifting his hands to lock them behind his neck as he closed his eyes. He counted to ten like Mantis had suggested to him once, and while he was breathing a little easier, the feeling of unease he had felt upon waking didn’t quite evaporate.

What a strange dream. It was almost nonsensical to him—out of everyone here, Adam was probably the one person he felt safest around. Which wasn’t really a high bar to clear, he supposed, but still.

Weird person for his brain to pick in that scenario.

After a beat he shook it off, dropping his hands. Deciding to write it off as dreams just being weird, as always. Trying to make sense of all the strange, warring feelings in his heart and getting a few wires crossed.

With a sigh he moved to set the water bottle on his dresser, and then collected a change of clothes in his hands. Plus one of the towels he kept tucked into a drawer of the dresser. Once in the bathroom and setting his stuff up, he realized he had forgotten the body wash and shampoo—you know, the stuff a guy kind of needed to shower in the first place.

Somehow it felt emblematic of how his life was going lately, but he just sighed and trudged back to his room to get the things and then disappeared back into the bathroom.

He was half afraid to look at himself, to be honest. He avoided the mirror as he peeled off the grimy, bloody clothes, trying not to grimace too much at the way the suit peeled off of him in certain places. Where blood had collected in abundance, mostly. When he was bare, he stared at his arms—barely able to see the freckles or the hair beneath the smeared red.

There were no visible wounds, but there was plenty of evidence that there had been.

He frowned and got into the shower, actively trying to avoid thinking about how much red washed off of him. Turning a diluted orange when it hit the tiles below.

He at least felt a little more normal by the time he was done. Smelling more like himself, looking like he hadn’t been thrown through a shredder and somehow come out the other side more or less alive. He dressed in simple clothes; a light blue thermal long-sleeved shirt over a plain black one, dark gray pants with a belt he could attach his cassette player to, and dark blue socks.

He lingered in place for a long moment when he was done, until his gaze eventually drifted up to the foggy mirror. He saw his vague silhouette as he raised a hand toward his bared throat, feeling along the skin. Thinking he could feel something odd in places, but not truly certain.

His fingers lingered near the center, feeling himself swallowing the discomfort. Then he reached out to grab the towel hanging off the edge of the counter, leaning forward to wipe away the fog. Revealing his image.

There was the faintest reddish-pink line that cut across his throat.

For some reason, he hadn’t expected the wound to linger. That there would be a trace of it carved into his skin. He had no scars from the other wounds Adam had healed. No lines where claws had torn skin, so why this one? Because it killed him?

It was harder to forget when he could see it. Harder to convince himself it had all been some fucked up dream that he could wave away in a few days.

It had been real. As real as anything gets.

Abruptly he turned away from it, gathering his stuff swiftly to take it back to his room. He put everything away, heading back out of his room to rejoin the others. To fill the dreadful quiet in his head with noise.

The door swished open to reveal Mantis on the other side, the sight of her almost startling Quill. He blinked. “Uh. Hey. Weren’t you, uh, meditating?”

A friendly smile bent her lips, which seemed to be her natural expression. “Yes. It was good.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Um. That’s good. Right?”

She nodded, her wide eyes flicking elsewhere for only a moment. The antennae atop her head wiggled slightly, and then she looked back up at Peter. “Drax told me you had a nightmare.”

Quill huffed wearily, stepping out of his room to let the door close behind him. “It wasn’t a nightmare, alright? It was a perfectly normal dream about—stuff. Passionate stuff.”

She squinted at him, unconvinced. “Hm. And this passionate dream involved Adam Warlock?”

In an instant his face flushed hot, his words tripping over themselves. “Wha—okay, listen, that’s not what I—I didn’t say that. ‘Passionate’ can mean a lot of things! It’s not just about—”

She snickered, mischief in her eyes at his inability to just talk all of a sudden. “So Drax was telling the truth? It was about Adam Warlock?”

“No, it wasn’t about anybody, alright?” Peter snipped, turning away from her to flee down the hallway. She followed, of course. “It was a perfectly reasonable and normal dream.”

“I see. Well,” she began, giving him a sideways look, “if it had been an unreasonable and strange dream…that’s what I’m here for. To help.”

Quill waved her off. “I appreciate it, Mantis, but I’m fine.”

“But if you aren’t…” she insisted, her tone kind. Patient.

He sighed, turning his head to look at her. Seeing the earnestness in her big black eyes before he glanced away again, a mild frown on his lips. “I know.”

Just as they rounded the corner to rejoin the living space, a flash of heat greeted his left side. He jerked out of the way on instinct, just barely avoiding crashing into Adam—although that meant he backed into Mantis, stepping on her toes. A transgression that earned him a sharp elbow to the ribs and a small shove to the back of the shoulder.

“Ow! Mantis!” he hissed, turning toward her as he raised a hand to rub at the spot.

She made a face at him, squeezing past him in the tight hall and leaving him there. He watched her go somewhat dumbfounded before turning his attention to Adam. His default expression of annoyance had caved a little to apparent amusement, the corners of his painted lips ever so slightly raised.

Peter gestured toward where Mantis had been. “Would you believe we were having a nice moment a few seconds ago?”

Adam ticked a pale brow up. “So I heard.”

Belatedly, he realized he was also still blocking the hallway, and stepped out of the way to let Adam in. “So how’d your chat with Reed and the others go?”

A glint of curiosity lit those white eyes, head tipping to the left. White-blonde hair kissed a golden shoulder, feathered and soft. “It went well. They were glad to hear you were alive.” He paused, and then asked, “You met them in the reality you were lost in, I assume?”

Quill gave a nod, fidgeting with the end of one sleeve. It was beginning to fray, he noted. Because of course it was. “Yeah. Reed was the one who sent me back. Uh, you know. Him, you, Wanda, and Strange. Hell of a time.”

Adam hummed, thoughtful as he glanced over Quill’s shoulder. Toward the living space. Though his tone sounded a little less than friendly. “Right. The other me removed the bond to use it as an anchor, you said.”

Quill cracked a smile at that, shifting more toward the living space. “I knew you weren’t gonna let that go.”

An annoyed huff was the only response as Adam followed him.

Quill made a beeline for the fridge, grabbing a water from it—he wasn’t about to walk back to his room just to get the one he already had, thanks—and then turned toward Adam. “Want anything?”

“No.”

It was the usual answer, so Quill just shut the door and opened the bottle before downing about half of it. Spending a day with barely anything to drink was bound to make a guy thirsty, who knew?

“So,” Rocket started, seated at the end of the couch next to Groot. Drax was on the other side, Gamora leaning against the armrest. Mantis sat on the floor cross-legged, and Adam stood beside him with crossed arms and his hip pressed into the counter.

Peter got the distinct feeling he was about to be interrogated, but he supposed it only made sense. He mentally braced himself for the questions as Rocket continued with, “What the flark happened in that other timeline, Quill? You looked like death threw up on you when Adam dragged you home.”

“Smelled like it, too,” Gamora said, but not in a way that felt mocking. More like she was being literal, her eyes cutting to the side.

Still, he gave an indignant pout before he answered. “Worst timeline I’ve ever fallen into, hands down. You know what vampires are?”

“No,” Rocket and Drax said in near unison, while Adam remarked, “Vampires aren’t real.”

Quill turned his head to look at him, giving him a narrow look. “Well, they were in the reality I got stuck in. Not sexy vampires, by the way, they were like—ugly bat things. And the bats were even vampires. It was all vampires all the time. It sucked.”

Adam pressed his lips into a line, brows creasing somewhat, but he didn’t interrupt. Just tipped his head slightly to the side and kept listening.

Mantis chimed in, head tilting to the side. “What is a ‘vampire?’”

Quill scrunched his nose, eyes darting up to the right as he thought of a way to explain it. “They’re, like, dead people? But they’re not literally dead. And they have sharp fangs that they bite you with to drink all your blood, but getting bit can also turn you into a vampire. Which kills you. But not literally.”

Gamora made a face at the description. “Wait, some people think that’s sexy?”

He decided it was best to not admit he was one of those people before he got trapped with literal vampires, so he just offered a shrug.

“You would be surprised how many human authors romanticize the concept of a vampire,” Adam remarked, shifting to lean back against the counter more fully. His hands gripped the edge of the counter loosely.

Peter glanced his way, amused despite himself. “Wait, you’ve read sexy vampire books?”

Adam glanced away. “I believe you were telling us about the timeline you fell in.”

Oh, he so read sexy vampire books. Peter snickered to himself, but ultimately collected himself enough to continue talking. “Anyway, I found Adam as soon as I fell in there. Insane luck, because he didn’t try to kill me for once. He took me to the Fantastic Four and we had to do some stupid, I don’t know, magic stuff,” Peter explained, gesturing with a hand like he saw Wanda do it, “that involved even more vampires before they could send me back.”

“Adam took the soul bond and started tracking—uh, well, you,” he pointed to Adam before looking out at the others, “and then bam, here I am.”

He paused for a second before looking at Adam again, tacking on, “Thanks, by the way, for catching me. Would not have been pretty if I hit the water.”

Adam offered a one-shouldered shrug. “I seem to be in the habit of saving you, but you are welcome regardless.”

Peter scoffed, lifting the bottle to his lips. Thinking of that other Adam and his own, his brows furrowing a bit before he took another sip. “Yeah. Seem to be.”

It didn’t come out as amused as he meant it to be.

“So, wait, you met another blondie?” Rocket asked, expression scrunching.

The nickname had Quill making a face, meeting Rocket’s eyes. “You know Adam and I are both blonde, right?”

Drax cut in, saying, “You are not blonde, Peter Quill. You are brunette.”

Rocket threw a hand out toward Drax in agreement. “Thank you! That’s what I'm sayin’.”

“No I’m not,” Quill retorted, mild offense spiking in his chest. He raised a hand to pull at his wet hair. “This is blonde.”

Drax glanced up to scrutinize the color very seriously. “That is a light tan color. Blonde is yellow. Like Adam Warlock.”

Quill rolled his eyes, raising the bottle to his lips again and choosing to ignore them both. He knew what color his hair was.

Although.

He turned toward Adam, brows furrowed. “You think it’s blonde, right?”

Adam sighed, the sound somehow both weary and amused. “Peter.”

There was an exasperated fondness in the way he said his name that Quill tried to ignore, but it was a fruitless effort. He still felt the flutter of his heart in response. “What? It’s a serious question!”

“It is a ridiculous question,” Adam retorted, though his gaze traveled up to inspect anyway. He considered for a beat before he said, “It could be considered both.”

“Cheap answer,” Peter retorted, reaching out to shove Adam in the shoulder. It did very little to the man, those white eyes fixing to his face once more. Burning white, but not annoyed.

There was something else there that Peter didn’t want to think about, but couldn’t seem to look away from.

Gamora spoke up, a slight crease between her brows when she looked between Adam and Peter. “What was he like? The other Adam.”

“Yeah, did he have just as much of a stick up his—”

That drew his gaze away from Adam finally, cutting his attention to the raccoon. “Rocket,” he interjected in a warning tone.

The raccoon raised his hands and spread his fingers in a show of deference, but didn’t look the least bit apologetic. “Just curious. Ours is such a ray of sunshine.”

“Only for you, Rocket,” Adam retorted, to which Rocket snickered.

Peter glanced away, thinking about that other Adam. The longing in his touch, the desperation in his kiss, the devotion in his sacrifice. His heart lurched, and he found himself staring down at the ground. “I wish I met him before he…” he started, but stopped short; the others didn’t really need to know everything that happened in that reality, he supposed. “He just seemed very sad.”

He felt the mood shift in the room, and feeling a twinge of guilt, he glanced over at Adam and pasted on a smile. “Had your sense of humor, though. And your stubbornness.”

Just as Peter had expected, Adam’s expression crinkled with displeasure. “My stubbornness?”

He gave an innocent shrug and took another drink, glancing away. What he said next might put him in some hot water, but he was aiming for a distraction, so anything worked. “You are one hundred percent more stubborn than I am.”

Before Adam could respond, Drax declared, “You are both equally stubborn.”

The corners of his lips twitched as Adam shifted his glare to Drax, but then Gamora chimed in with a thoughtful tone. “I don’t know,” she started, her gaze bouncing between the two as she lifted a finger to her chin in thought, “I think Peter might be onto something.”

Already the blip of dourness that had settled was evaporating with the opportunity to rib each other. Peter gestured wildly to Gamora, but stared at Adam. “See!? Even Gamora agrees with me!”

White eyes met his, and he saw the cracks in that annoyed expression in the tiniest upward tilt of his lips. It almost seemed begrudging, like Adam couldn’t believe he was finding the humor in this somehow.

Rocket cut in with, “Yeah, ‘cause Gamora’s had a beer or two already and isn’t thinking straight. At least Goldie can be reasoned with, unlike some human I know.”

Well, okay. Peter could think of more than a few occasions that proved otherwise. “That is literally not true,” he protested.

“I am Groot,” offered the flora colossus.

Rocket cackled at whatever he said, smacking Groot on the knee. “Even Groot agrees with me!”

Mantis, breaking her silence where she sat on the floor, said, “We are all capable of being stubborn. However,” her big black eyes found Peter over the table, and there was something almost comical in the way she stared at him, “Between Peter Quill and Adam Warlock, I vote for Peter Quill as the most stubborn.”

Rocket shot up to his feet on the couch, pointing accusingly at Peter. “HA! Outnumbered!”

“Mantis!” Peter said in exaggerated disbelief, lifting a hand to his chest.

She giggled, the antennae on her head bouncing slightly with the jostle of her shoulders.

An alarm sounded from the cockpit, interrupting them. Rocket slipped off the couch, waving a hand as he scampered over toward it. “Probably tellin’ us there’s an asteroid or somethin’ in the flight path.”

Quill was inclined to agree, if only because that was the proximity alarm and not the ‘we’ve been locked onto and/or fired at’ alarm. He let Rocket go, returning his attention to the others.

Drax was next to stand from the couch, staring at Quill a beat before giving him a nod. “It is good you did not get bit by these…vampires. And that you have returned to us unharmed.”

He cracked a smile and leaned back against the counter. “Well, I wouldn’t say unharmed, but I came back alive at least.”

Even if there was probably a reality out there where that wasn’t true. He tried not to think about it.

“That is the important part,” Drax agreed with a nod, walking over to clap a hand on Quill’s shoulder. Peter flashed him a bright grin, and then Drax was releasing him and walking away. “I will be in the hangar bay, now that Mantis and Adam are no longer meditating.”

The remark made him remember something, and he found himself looking over at Adam again. “Oh, right, we gotta get you and Mantis your own rooms. I keep forgetting.”

“’I keep forgetting,’ he says, like it wouldn’t ground the Milano for at least a week,” Gamora remarked with an amused twist to her lips. “And also cost a lot of units.”

“I do not need one, in any case,” Adam said, his gaze sliding elsewhere.

He absolutely did, but Peter kept it to himself for now because Gamora was right that it would take a lot of units. Still, it was something he wanted to implement before long anyway. Mantis might not care about not having a space to call her own, but Adam certainly did, even if he didn’t know it.

He was the kind of person that needed to be alone sometimes. Hell, half of his perpetual irritation probably came from the fact that he didn’t have a means of escape when being around everyone else got too grating. It was part of his theory on why Adam always seemed much calmer at the start of any given day—because everyone had spent hours sleeping, and he was left to his own devices in the meantime. Given space to recharge, in a sense.

The others organically went their separate ways; Gamora to her room, Groot down to the hangar bay to tend to his plants, and Mantis followed him to help. Rocket was still in the cockpit, a fact that had Quill sparing a glance toward it with a mild frown before he looked back to Adam. Still there beside him, seeming content to keep it that way for now.

“I’m gonna go check on Rocket,” he said, putting the mostly-empty water bottle down on the kitchenette counter.

“Then I will accompany you,” Adam said, pushing off of the counter to follow.

Peter didn’t question it; Adam usually followed him, anyway. Even when he was piloting, Adam was almost always standing to his left and leaned against the wall.

He chalked it up to Adam not having many hobbies to keep him occupied, but he didn’t mind the company.

In the cockpit, Rocket was seated in his chair. Beyond the viewport was an asteroid field as far as Quill could see it, and his brows raised. “Well. Looks like autopilot got us into trouble. Again.”

Rocket scoffed, glancing back at Quill. “Yeah, yeah. You gonna help or just stand there, princess?”

Quill snorted as he took a seat. “Yeah, right. I think my life would’ve gone a lot differently if I’d been remotely close to a princess.”

He felt Adam’s eyes on him, but when he glanced his way Adam was staring at the viewscreen instead.

“Well, you sure wouldn’t have met us,” Rocket responded, carefully guiding the ship between giant space boulders that seemed a little too close for comfort. “Also, can you hurry up and find us a way out of this, Quill!?”

Peter clicked his tongue as he tapped the holoscreen in front of him. “Working on it, can you be patient?”

“No! If the Milano gets hit with one of these, we’re all getting spaced!”

Peter tuned him out to focus on the map at his fingertips, displaying their location. His brows twitched when he saw the layout of the quadrant, lifting his gaze back to the viewscreen. “Wait. This quadrant doesn’t have an asteroid field.”

“What the flark are you talkin’ about? That is literally an asteroid field—” Rocket argued, gesturing with one hand and navigating with the other.

“Yeah, I see it—I mean it shouldn’t be there!”

He felt heat to his left as Adam came closer, peering down at his screen with a tilt to his head. He raised a brow. “Peter Quill is correct. There is no indication of an asteroid field on the galactic map.”

“Stupid flarkin’ time stream krutacking—” Rocket started muttering, deftly avoiding yet more rocks. “Scut! So how the hell do we know where the field ends? The Milano’s proximity scanners don’t go that far.”

Quill tapped at the holoscreen, navigating to the proximity sensor projected map. “Well, Rocket, it’s all we got.”

Once Quill had the projected map open, it took them about an hour and a half to luck into finding the end of the field. It was long enough for Quill to realize the radio was off, because for most of that hour and a half there was barely any chatter to fill the silence.

With nothing to distract him, it allowed his mind to pluck memories to the surface. Staring out at that viewscreen and remembering another asteroid field just like it, orbiting the planet he had been trapped on as a child.

He only ever saw it after he had been abducted by the Ravagers. Staring out through the viewscreen in Yondu’s cockpit with wide eyes. He remembered seeing all of the stars and wondering how many were there; he had tried counting, but lost track as the ship exited the field and hit light speed.

Yondu had looked over at him, a sparkle in his eyes that almost seemed fond. “You feel that, boy? That thing in your chest?” he’d asked, tapping two fingers to the center of his own chest. He looked back at the viewscreen as the bright lights faded, replaced by another expanse of endless stars.

“That’s what freedom feels like.”

Even now, Quill wasn’t sure that was what he would call it. He hadn’t felt free. It had been more of the realization that he was probably never going to see his home again, and then the secondary realization that there was nothing left for him there, anyway.

A frighteningly lonely thought for a child to have.

The only thing that changed with the Ravagers was the lack of chains, but it was still a prison in its own way. If only because Quill never had a choice.

He had nowhere else to go. No one that would miss him, because everyone he had loved was dead anyway.

A light, warm hand on his shoulder almost made him jump. He looked up at Adam, who watched him with the vaguest hint of worry in his eyes. “Are you alright?”

Quill blinked, and then stared down at the holoscreen beneath his fingertips. He closed the map absently. “Yeah. Sorry. Just, uh…wow. Lost in thought for a second. Do you mind if I turn on the radio? It’s really quiet in here,” he rambled as he got to his feet. Adam’s hand slipped from his shoulder with the motion, fingertips skimming down the sleeve of his arm.

White eyes bore through him, something understanding in that glow. “…if you must. Quietly, please. I do not like feeling it in my ribs.”

That got Peter to crack a small smile. He raised a hand to pat Adam on the cheek without really thinking about it, slipping past him. “I know, pretty boy. I’ll keep it low.”

He felt the weight of Adam’s stare follow him as he all but fled for the radio, hooked to the internal speakers of the Milano.

Trying not to think about soft skin beneath his fingertips.

Notes:

see u in a week!!

Chapter 3

Summary:

Freckles kissed pale skin, expression more relaxed than Adam was used to seeing. There were the mildest lines around slightly parted lips, proof of Peter's joy etched into his skin—one of the features Adam admired most, in truth.

He laughed and smiled enough that his body remembered the way the skin pulled. A beautiful marvel.

Notes:

hi. i have no impulse control. sorry.

The trip to Knowhere took another few days, but for once the slowness suited Adam just fine. It gave Quill time to recover and readjust from his ordeal, at least physically.

He was less convinced about the mental recovery. He tried not to put too much weight into it—Quill had only just returned—but it felt like an impossibility to ignore it when Adam could see it. The way Peter’s eyes went distant with memory in the quiet. The way his skin sometimes trembled, the nervous laughter, and the way he would deflect when questioned.

The subtle, pinkish red line scarred across his throat that filled Adam with inexplicable anger. Proof of his own failing, evidence of how close he had come to losing Quill despite how tirelessly he tried to avoid it.

Because he hadn’t been there. The one time he hadn’t been there.

It would not happen again.

Before long, the severed head of the celestial body known as Knowhere came into view. Seated up front, closest to the viewscreen on either side, were Rocket and Gamora. Drax and Groot were behind them, and Mantis sat in Quill’s seat—Quill himself had fallen asleep a couple of hours ago.

Adam stood beside Mantis’ seat, his arms crossed and his shoulder pressed into the wall, legs crossed at the ankles. Watching as the viewscreen lit up with an incoming call mere seconds after they arrived in the system proper.

Rocket answered, sounding bewildered. “Cosmo? How the hell did you know we were back already?”

“Please to be hearing you, Rocket. Mantis let Cosmo know, of course,” came the voice of Knowhere’s chief of security, as friendly as ever. “It’s good that you return. We have a lot of business to attend.”

Rocket turned in his seat to give Mantis a narrow look, but she merely stared back with her wide eyes and default grin. “Two seconds in the system, and already you’re passin’ out work?” he complained, returning his attention to the screen.

“You will recall you are more than week behind, da? Speaking of this, has Peter Quill returned?”

“We got him back a few days ago. Adam found him,” Gamora responded, tossing a look over her shoulder at him. He stared back, raising a brow.

To say he found Quill was perhaps generous—it was more like Quill had fallen into his arms out of nowhere. Which was almost literally what happened.

“Aha! Good news, then. Proceed to dock, Cosmo will meet Guardians there.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re pullin’ ‘er in now. See you soon,” Rocket said, ending the call as he deftly navigated the Milano toward the harbor.

The ship was guided smoothly into the dock, the sound of it settling creaking throughout the framework before Rocket started the power-down sequence. “Someone wake sleepin’ beauty,” he said, flipping switches, “tell ‘im we’re home.”

Mantis glanced at Adam, who remained leaning against the wall. Her eyes were bright with something hidden, her smile friendly. “You should do it. The rest of us are busy securing the ship.”

It was a fair enough point, but Adam hesitated as he shifted slightly against the wall. “Perhaps he needs the rest.”

The same consideration was not shown by Gamora, who snorted with amusement as she flipped her own switches. “Like leaving him unattended on the ship won’t cause three different accidents and his own kidnapping, somehow.”

Experience made her words ring a little more true than Adam would like. He sighed heavily and turned away without a word, descending the steps into the living space.

Rocket snickered, voice barely audible to Adam when he remarked, “Boy, he sure changed his mind quick.”

Annoyance flickered through Adam at the comment, but he ignored it as he strode over to Quill’s room. The lock was disengaged, as always.

The mess inside the room was the same as always. Scattered knickknacks from various worlds, mix tapes on his dresser which doubled as a desk and mirror, clothes on the floor or hanging off the end of the bed. The red jacket was laid halfway onto the desk.

Posters lined the walls, almost none of them put up straight. A stack of colorful jacket pins had been knocked to the ground near the bed, the rest remaining scattered on the small table next to the bed. A mostly-empty water bottle sat atop it, lopsided from the pin trapped under it.

Peter Quill was face down on the bed. One arm was draped over the edge of the mattress, fingertips curled against the floor. The other was curved around his head, flat against the mattress with his elbow to the wall.

He looked comfortable tucked beneath his blanket and buried so deeply into his sheets. It made Adam reluctant to wake him.

Slowly, he approached the edge of the bed. He lowered himself to his knees beside it, tucking his legs under him as he sat back.

Quill’s face was turned toward him. Locks of hair fell over his closed eyes, and when it was dry, it looked more blonde. Catching the light in soft golden tones.

Freckles kissed pale skin, expression more relaxed than Adam was used to seeing. There were the mildest lines around his slightly parted lips, proof of his joy etched into his skin—one of the features Adam admired most, in truth.

He laughed and smiled enough that his body remembered the way the skin pulled. A beautiful marvel.

After a beat longer of staring, he hesitantly reached a hand out to take Peter by the wrist. Gently lifting that limp arm back onto the mattress. “Peter.”

Perhaps it was to be expected when he got no response. Still, he let his hand linger over Peter’s, thumb rubbing absently into his knuckles before he moved to brush dirty blonde hair from that pale face. Revealing the gentle inward slope of his nose, the lashes kissing freckles. “Peter,” he tried again, just a touch firmer than before.

Dirty blonde brows twitched with awareness, pale face scrunching before turning to hide against the pillow with a groan.

Adam sat back, folding his hands in his lap. “We’ve arrived in Knowhere.”

A beat passed before Peter turned to look at him again, full, short lashes fluttering as he blinked his eyes open. Bleary and unfocused. “No way.”

“Yes. Cosmo is waiting for us. Apparently, we have work to do.”

Peter closed his eyes again and rolled onto his back, heaving a sigh. He lifted his hand to run it through his hair. “Feels like I was only out for ten minutes,” he muttered, his hand gliding down to rub over his face.

“My apologies,” Adam said as he got to his feet, and he did mean it.

Quill huffed and waved a hand, dismissive. “S’fine.” A beat passed before Quill added, “You wanna help me up? ‘Cause I’m not moving otherwise.”

He held his hand out toward Adam, still rubbing at his eye with the heel of his other palm.

Something about Quill like this was awfully endearing in a way that Adam couldn’t quite ignore. It would be more sensible to deny his laziness, but instead he found himself leaning down to slip his arms under Quill anyway. Indulging him as he lifted him from around his back and under his knees.

His reasons were, perhaps, selfish.

Pale hands flailed to grab at his shoulders as he brought Peter against his chest, those blue eyes flying open. “Wha—ha, uh, well, that’s not what I meant, but, uh, wow. Consider me awake.”

Suppressing his own amusement, Adam feigned innocence. Watching the pale skin of Peter’s face turn a deep pink color. “What did you mean, then?”

“Uh—I dunno. Just take my hand and drag me?” he answered, glancing down at the ground. “Um. But you do you. Mind putting me down?”

“Why would I drag you?” Adam asked in a way that was deliberately obtuse. “Would that not dislocate your shoulder?”

Blue eyes shot up to his face at the tone, expression breaking with an amused, if embarrassed, smile. “You’re fucking with me. Again.”

A mischievous smile curved his lips, the tips of his canines biting into his bottom lip ever so slightly. “Perhaps.”

Peter shook his head with a laugh. “God. Am I gullible, or is it just you?” he wondered aloud, looking up at Adam with open mirth.

Until he realized his hands lingered still against Adam’s shoulders, his body curved into Adam’s. The joyful expression slipped from his face in an instant as he withdrew, as if he had been shocked into motion.

Those brows knotted together again, a light frown on his lips as blue eyes flicked elsewhere.

Adam didn’t know much about how other people felt, but he had come to understand Quill’s expressions. This one was layered with distress, and it had him foregoing the lighthearted conversation. “Are you alright?”

A beat of hesitation before Quill glanced his way again, flashing a quick grin. “Anyone ever tell you that you worry too much?”

A familiar feeling of displeasure settled on Adam’s face. “That isn’t an answer.”

Quill waved a hand, moving toward the foot of his bed to grab a plain pair of boots. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

He sat on the edge of his bed as he started to pull on his boots. Only when he was done did he sit back, fidgeting with his hands in his lap, before he sighed and glanced up at Adam. A strange light glimmered in his eyes, one Adam couldn’t place.

Peter held a hand up, pinky extended. “Can I ask you to promise me something?”

Adam stared blankly at the gesture. He recognized it, but he wasn’t one to make blind promises. “Which is?”

“Don’t die for me.”

To say the request had caught him off-guard would be an understatement. Of all the things he expected Quill to say, that hadn’t been one of them.

Especially not so sincerely. There was no trace of mischief in his melancholic expression nor in his voice, and it gave Adam pause.

Then he glanced toward the door as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you ready to leave?”

He felt Peter's eyes on him, somehow weighty. “Adam.”

Annoyance pierced Adam’s chest, cutting a quick glare at Peter. “Drop it. I have no interest in making false promises.”

An odd look crossed Peter’s face then, caught between disbelief and dismay as he dropped his hand back to his lap. “Why would it be—what is wrong with you? Is every Adam across all realities a reckless idiot eager to die?”

“Is every Peter Quill across all realities so eager to be a martyr?” Adam snapped back, matching Quill’s glare.

It was a long moment before Quill looked away, grimacing as he shook his head. “That’s not what this is about,” he said quietly, getting to his feet. He rubbed a hand at the nape of his neck, where his hair was shaved short. “…In that reality I got stuck in, that other Adam died to save me. Now I have to live with that.”

Ocean eyes were a touch glassier when they looked up at Adam next, though they didn’t meet his eyes directly. “…I don’t know if I can do it twice, Adam.”

The open pain in his voice had something soft blossoming in Adam’s chest, despite himself. It was always off-putting when he felt it—he never knew what to do with it, but he always wanted to do something. Touch, mostly. An impulse he was ashamed to admit he didn’t ignore as much as he should.

Even now, he wanted to touch Quill. To cup his face in his palm, to feel soft skin beneath his own. To feel the pulse of life in his veins, the heat that would burn the pale away to pink.

“…I cannot make that promise to you, Peter,” he said as gently as he could, watching dirty blonde brows furrow together as those blue eyes screwed shut.

“Why not?”

The desperate edge of needing to understand, but Adam doubted he would. Adam was never one to prioritize himself over others, but…

It was more than that with Peter. A need to keep him safe, to keep him close. A desire to hear him talk, even when he said otherwise. A longing to touch or to simply stare, happy with either he could get away with.

And Quill let him get away with an awful lot.

He lifted a hand, just shy of touching the soft line of that pale jaw. Imagining his fingers touching skin to trace the line of bone, before he let his hand fall slowly back to his side. Blue eyes opened a second later, a thread of confusion in their depths—but not only that.

A flicker of fear in the widening of his pupils, just as pronounced as the hope that lingered in the mindless parting of his lips.

“I cannot,” he repeated softly, because it was the simple truth.

The displeased expression lingered on Peter’s face. He raised a hand to run it through his hair, tousling already bed-tossed strands. “Here I thought I was stupid for even asking, because I thought, you know. Obviously he wouldn’t do that, idiot, but…”

There was something distraught in his tone. Adam responded to it, reaching out to touch the back of Quill’s hand. Feeling the protrusion of bone against his fingertips.

A long moment passed before he felt Quill nudge his palm with hesitant fingers, but then his expression tightened as he withdrew. Crossing his arms over his chest. “We should, ah…go. You know? Cosmo’s waiting.”

It was a curious reaction. One he was unused to getting, but he didn’t remark on it. It was true that they didn’t have the time for a prolonged discussion. “Yes. He may start to wonder what’s keeping you if we don’t depart soon.”

A half-smirk twisted Quill’s lips when he glanced at Adam next, though his body was angled toward the door. “Think he’d believe me if I told him it was you?”

The thought of keeping Peter Quill was one best left alone, so he merely gave an indifferent shrug.

A small smile bent Peter’s lips before he shook his head and turned fully away, striding for the door. “C’mon. The others will start joking I died in my sleep soon.”

He watched Peter leave, his gaze trailing to the red jacket still hanging half off the desk.

As he moved to follow, he made sure to pick it up on his way out.

Notes:

is "Sorry I'm Here for Someone Else" by benson boone a good quillock song post gotg 2008 divorce or am i delusional. probably the latter. anyways

Chapter 4

Summary:

The artificial sunlight gleamed off of his golden skin like metal, dampened only around his eyes and lips, both of which were covered in dark makeup. The bridge of his nose curved outward slightly, a bump that only seemed to add to his ethereal beauty. And his lips…naturally pouty, a downward curve to them that gave him his signature look of disinterest.

He was the most beautiful person Peter had ever seen.

Notes:

sighs hi its me again. this ones a bit short so i might post the next chapter later today, but ive got to run now unfortunately. i hope u like it tho!!

His heart still fluttered restlessly in his chest, a mild heat to his skin as he rushed down into the hangar bay. Feeling the burn of Adam’s touch against his knuckles. He berated himself for the second of indulgence, even as he found himself wishing he had let the moment last.

How was he supposed to navigate this? It was never supposed to be this complicated. If he hadn’t fallen into that world, if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes—

Would he have batted an eye at Adam touching him so softly? It wasn’t even the first time Adam had done it, but the last time, Quill had been oblivious to any undertones. If there had even been any. Too distracted by his own thoughts, his own selfishness.

Now it felt like—like a silent admission, and all he could think about was that other Adam dying to save him.

Was it wrong of him to fear that he was going to get Adam killed, in the end?

He’d already done it once.

God. This was all so much simpler when he had been unaware.

Just as he was stepping off the ramp and onto the dock, he felt more than heard Adam catch up with him. The tell-tale sensation of heat to his right.

He radiated it like a sun.

He glanced toward Adam, though his gaze was immediately caught by the red jacket that was held out to him.

Oh. He rushed out so quickly, he hadn’t even noticed he forgot it. He certainly would have later, when the natural chill of Knowhere began to freeze him closer to night.

He took the jacket, staring down at it for a moment. At the yellow pin with a smiley face staring back, joined by a deep blue pin that had a white silhouette of headphones with a red heart in the center.

He glanced up at Adam again, something painfully soft threatening to strangle him. “…thanks.”

Adam hummed, glancing away as Peter pulled it on. The pins clinked together where they were bunched around the collar on his left side.

Ozone and open flame greeted his senses as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, some part of it still carrying the heat and scent of Adam. Stronger than he would have expected.

He didn’t spare much of a thought for it, though he did burrow into the collar slightly as they walked down the dock. Stray half-thoughts of Adam soothed his frayed nerves, his gaze traveling to his right to find Adam staring out at the city.

The artificial sunlight gleamed off of his golden skin like metal, dampened only around his eyes and lips, both of which were covered in dark makeup. The bridge of his nose curved outward slightly, a bump that only seemed to add to his ethereal beauty. And his lips…naturally pouty, a downward curve to them that gave him his signature look of disinterest.

He was the most beautiful person Peter had ever seen.

Perhaps sensing his stare, Adam turned to look at him with inquisitive eyes. Feathered white-blonde hair spilled over his shoulders with the motion, curving lovingly around his perfect face. “Yes?”

Right. He was staring. He swiftly looked away, feeling his skin heat. “No, just, uh—you know. You don’t have to stick with me, if you’d rather be somewhere else.”

A scoff left Adam’s lips, the corners twisting slightly upward. “And do what? Join the others at Mantlo’s bar? No thank you. Talking with Cosmo about our next adventure sounds much more enticing.”

Amusement bubbled in his chest at that, reflected in the smile he couldn’t quite repress. It was very much like Adam to take more enjoyment out of the boring things. Though he supposed it was one of the things he found endearing about him.

“What?” Adam asked, narrow gaze fixed on Quill’s smile.

It grew a little wider, showing teeth as he shook his head with a quiet laugh. “Nothing. Just sounds very you.”

“Peter Quill! Adam Warlock! Is very good to see you both,” interrupted Cosmo, waiting at the end of the walkway. He shifted slightly on his four paws, tail wagging gently. “Knowhere missed you.”

Peter cracked another smile at that, leaning down when he was close enough to Cosmo to scrub him between his floppy red ears. “Oh, yeah? Was it Knowhere, or was it my favorite chief of security?”

“Same thing, da?” Cosmo responded, wriggling out from under Quill’s hand to keep pace beside him as they walked. “Much work has built up in Guardians’ absence. Cosmo hopes you are up for a challenge.”

“I’ve never known the Guardians to back away from one,” Adam said, looking from Cosmo to Quill with a raised brow.

“Yeah, cause we don’t. Show us what you’ve got, Cosmo,” Quill said, gesturing for Cosmo to take the lead.

The chief of security ran ahead, trotting through the crowd to lead them out into the city proper. He rambled about changes Knowhere experienced in their week absence, which Quill only half listened to; he knew Adam would be the one actually paying attention.

But then Cosmo said something that Quill had no choice but to hear.

“…have visitors from Spartax. Bit strange to host them, but Cosmo does his best.”

In an instant, his thoughts shattered as his blood ran cold, hairs raising at the nape of his neck. He snapped his attention to Cosmo, stopping in his tracks. “What did you say?”

“We have visitors from Spartax,” Cosmo affirmed, pausing to look back at Quill with a slight tilt of his head. “They have been here few days now. They don’t ask Cosmo for much, but still…”

Fucking Spartax. An odd ringing filled his ears as a memory ripped him away from reality, vision tunneling until he was a little kid again.

Staring out at the world through metal bars, tucked into a dark corner. Still wearing his mother's blood, dried into his skin and shirt. Joined by grime that had collected on his face and hands from tears he had been unable to stop, humming a broken, quiet tune to himself through it.

His mother's music in his mind, and he couldn't tell if it hurt more or less than the drowning silence.

A warm hand laid against his lower back, and the sensation was so jarring for the cold, lonely memory in his mind that it pulled him from it in an instant. He blinked, turning his attention to his right to find Adam staring back.

There was a mild crease between white-blonde brows, black lips bent into a frown. “Peter?”

He blinked again, and it took a few seconds too long to remember where he was.

Glowing eyes scrutinized him carefully before those brows tightened, and Adam’s hand slid around to his waist to keep him close. He didn’t even think to pull away, nothing on his mind but the warmth of the sun and worried white eyes. “Where were you?”

Pain lanced his heart, but somehow, he kept it together as he stared down at the ground, pulling his jacket a little tighter around himself. He truly did loathe how easily Adam saw through him, sometimes. “Doesn’t matter.”

Big, brown dog eyes stared up at him, concern in their depths. “Cosmo will understand if you need time before discussing work, Peter Quill. You were gone for quite a while, after all.”

“I don’t,” Quill said, offering a strained smile, “but thanks.”

Though Cosmo didn’t seem wholly convinced, he nonetheless led them away again. Adam kept his arm around Quill as they walked, his thumb rubbing idle patterns into the red jacket.

It was the only thing keeping him centered as his thoughts ran rampant, so he didn’t say anything about it or pull away from him.

Spartax. The home planet of his father. A man that never wanted him, even when he was held as a prisoner of war at the tender age of thirteen. He hadn’t even known who J’son was at the time, and he wished he still had the luxury of that ignorance.

Almost everything that ever went wrong in Peter’s life started with him.

They reached Cosmo Tower sometime later, and only then did Peter's mind start rebuilding itself for the task ahead.

Cosmo led them through the busy, packed halls of Cosmo Tower until they reached an elevator, which responded to a telepathic signal Cosmo sent its way.

The light beside it went from red to green, and then the floor counter above started ticking down. He took the moment to look Adam’s way, still feeling the heat of his arm around him. He was expecting the usual half-annoyed, half-bored expression Adam often wore. Instead, he found a thoughtful glint in his eyes, and the normal pinch between his brows was as nonexistent as the downward tilt of his lips.

He looked oddly peaceful.

Those glowing eyes angled his way, pale brow ticking upward. Quill didn’t have anything smart to say for once, so he didn’t—but he didn’t look away, either.

The fingers resting against the dip of his waist dug a little deeper into him, indenting skin beneath the layers of fabric. The corners of gold lips painted black twisted upward slightly before Adam glanced away again, seeming pleased with himself somehow.

He thought of that other reality, the tragedy that befell that Adam and Peter. He thought of every reality he had never even been to, where a limitless number of themselves probably fell in love in all sorts of ways at all sorts of times. He doubted they all ended the same way, because that wasn’t how the multiverse worked. Right? Somewhere out there they were happy together, for as long as they could be.

What if it was this one?

What if it wasn’t?

The elevator door beeped before it pried open, and Cosmo trotted inside. Adam moved to follow, essentially taking Peter with him. Not that he minded.

“Security Corps been very busy in your absence,” Cosmo said as the elevator began its ascent. “Disappearance of Guardians left an unfortunate power vacuum in Knowhere. Lots of people wanted to fill it, if you understand my meaning.”

Peter looked down at Cosmo then, brows lifting slightly. “You’re telling me that the criminal underbelly of Knowhere was actually passive before we took a week off?”

Could have fooled him, for god’s sake.

Cosmo hummed. “Little bit. Certain groups have been more bold in recent days. Perhaps presence of Guardians will pacify them again, though Cosmo doubts this.”

Peter inclined his head at that, clicking his tongue. “Ah. You mean we’ll be fun targets for a while until things calm down again.”

To his credit, Cosmo did sound apologetic. “As I said, Security Corps does its best, but…da. Cosmo suspect there will be a target on your backs.”

“They can certainly try,” Adam remarked, sounding somewhat amused by the prospect.

Quill didn’t quite share his confidence. “I mean, I’d rather they didn’t, personally.”

The hand at his waist tightened briefly. “You have nothing to fear, Peter Quill.”

A part of him wanted to believe that, but he didn’t say anything in response. Just sighed, already feeling the exhaustion of things that hadn’t even happened yet.

 

Notes:

if i had a peter quill plush u can bet that little bastard would be mangled from how hard i would be squeezing him and shaking him around. fucking love him hes like a squeaky toy to me and i am an overzealous dog <-normal thing to say about a man

Chapter 5

Summary:

“The larger threat being?” He asked.

Gold fingers reached out toward the map, black fingernails catching the light as he tapped a glowing point to bring up the details again. “Here. What could possibly make an entire colony vanish, and no one notices?”

Cosmo perked up from his place behind his desk, seated on a plush armchair that had a short staircase attached to it. “Ah, this signal came to Cosmo this morning. Nova Corps passed it along.”

Cosmo hadn’t been joking when he said a backlog of work had formed since they’ve been gone. It was almost staggering looking at it all, lit up on a galactic map.

“Perhaps enlisting the help of the Luminals would be wise,” Adam suggested, his tone only a little hesitant.

The thought made Quill’s nose crinkle and brows furrow when he met those eyes. “Eugh, does it have to be them? Pretty sure Cynosure actually hates me.”

Adam sighed softly, gesturing to the map displayed before them. “I'm not suggesting we work alongside them. Just that it would be in the galaxy’s best interest to partition the work between us.”

He paused, taking in the map before looking at Quill again. “They have a large enough force that could, in theory, take on many of these issues at once while we focus on the larger threat.”

“The larger threat being?” He asked, a little put out that he was even considering it.

Gold fingers reached out toward the map, black fingernails catching the light as he tapped a glowing point to bring up the details again. “Here. What could possibly make an entire colony vanish, and no one notices?”

Cosmo perked up from his place behind his desk, seated on a plush armchair that had a short staircase attached to it. “Ah, this signal came to Cosmo this morning. Nova Corps passed it along.”

That had all sorts of red flags popping up in Quill’s mind. He glanced to Cosmo, brows raising. “Nova Corps passed on it? Why?”

Cosmo made an odd sound, like displeasure. “They did small investigation, but did not find trace of what caused the disappearance besides guess. Cost of true investigation combined with fear of similar results led job to Cosmo.”

Peter scoffed at that, brows furrowing. “I don't know if I like that.”

Adam was focused on the board, the gears of his mind turning visible within the glow of his eyes. “We should take it. I trust us to find the answer more than the Luminals.”

The Luminals. Christ, the things Adam could get him to agree to. He wasn’t wrong, either; it was in the galaxy’s best interest, and that had to be his priority. Even if he’d rather eat glass than talk to Cynosure again.

He rubbed his brow with a sigh. “Yeah, okay,” he muttered, turning his attention to the dog sitting behind the metal desk. “Cosmo, can you get word out to Cynosure? Don’t tell her I asked or anything, but…”

“Da, consider it done. They have problem on Xarth currently, but should have members to spare for this too.”

“Cool. Now we just need to tell the others what the plan is,” Quill said, stretching his arms over his head with a sigh before turning toward the elevator. “Mind letting us out, Cosmo?”

The red light flashed green, and the doors slid open. “Be safe, Peter Quill.”

An odd look crossed his face as he turned to look at Cosmo, Adam slipping into the elevator beside him. “Why are you singling me out? Adam is right here.”

Cosmo chuckled as the doors began to close. “Cosmo trust Warlock to be safe more than Quill.”

He couldn’t even argue the point because the doors closed fully, the elevator beginning its descent. Still, he muttered an affronted, “Rude,” into the silence that followed.

A faint, amused smirk bent black lips as Adam tipped his head to the left. “Is it offensive to you, that people care for your safety?”

At that Quill scoffed and leaned back against the elevator wall. “Dunno if I’d call it that. Feels more like they’re saying, 'ooh, rare Terran in deep space, so little and fragile, he probably doesn’t even know what a spaceship is.’ Blah, blah, blah.”

The smirk faded from Adam’s face as his brows furrowed ever so slightly. “Is that what you believe?”

Quill stared ahead at the doors, a thousand memories flitting by of all the times he’d been second-guessed, underestimated, ridiculed, mocked, threatened. He had grown used to being dismissed, to gaining the upper hand only because no one else ever expected him to.

He knew better than most that the galaxy he lived in was not made for him. With people similar to Adam running around a dime a dozen, Quill’s had to learn how to keep up in his own way. Surviving by means other than brute force—a pretty smile, a charming personality, a silver tongue. It worked for him most of the time. Even landed him in someone else’s bed for a night, on occasion.

He was pretty sure a lot of those people still wanted to kill him the morning after, but he never stayed long enough to find out.

“I mean, that’s just what people say,” he said, somewhat delayed. He put on a playful smile, glancing Adam’s way as the elevator came to a stop. “I know I’m pretty great, though.”

The doors slid open, and Quill was the first to leave. Adam followed a second or two after, reaching out to grab Peter by the elbow. Not to stop him, but to keep him close; the Security Corps still packed the hallways on their way out.

Outside, the late afternoon had become early evening; he hadn’t felt time pass, but he supposed it must have. From the pale yellow of midday to the more orange color of evening.

The hand at his elbow slowly released him before Adam spoke again. “I meant, do you believe everyone to be so insincere?”

A somewhat amused smirk bent Peter’s lips, his hands finding his pockets again as he turned to look at Adam. “Depends on who’s talking. I don’t believe a word Rocket says, but, uh…you know. I trust you, at least. And Drax. Neither of you are good at lying, no offense.”

A somewhat amused huff left Adam’s lips. He went quiet, though, his gaze thoughtful as he stared at Peter. “I am honored to be worthy of your trust, Peter Quill.”

A light heat sprang up beneath his cheeks as Peter glanced away, starting to walk away from Cosmo Tower. Adam followed wordlessly. “Here I thought it was obvious when I agreed to the Luminals thing.”

“You would have agreed to it no matter who proposed the idea,” Adam said, sounding confident in his assessment. Quill glanced his way with an uncertain twist of his brows, but any smart remark he might’ve had died to the sheer fondness hidden in that white glow. “You are a good man.”

The praise had his skin heating, so he swiftly returned his gaze forward as he pulled his jacket tighter around himself. “Ah, well. I know at least, like, fifty people that would disagree with you.”

Adam hummed, unbothered. “They are free to be wrong.”

Unsure what to say to that, Quill quickly changed the subject with a clearing of his throat. Still feeling the heat cling to his cheeks and ears. “So, uh, I was gonna head to Mantlo’s bar to let the others know what’s up. I figure that’s probably where they are. I know you probably don’t want to come with me, but…”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adam make a severely displeased face. Still, he gave it consideration before eventually answering. “Do you not have your personal communications device on you?”

Well, that would have been a smart thing to grab. He gave one of those fake hums like he was considering something he already knew the answer to, glancing out over the city. “I…do not.”

A loud sigh from Adam. “It is fortunate one of us is orderly, at least,” he remarked, lifting a hand to his ear.

Quill felt a smile bend his lips as he stared at the ground while they walked, listening to Adam relay the plan to Gamora. A good choice: she was a little more responsible than the others, except Drax—who was probably getting smashed right about now, so he was still a bad choice anyway.

Afterward, Peter glanced his way with a playful smirk. “Ah, damn. There goes my excuse to get blackout drunk tonight.”

A small, somewhat amused huff from Adam. “I’m sure you have other means of occupying your time.”

Peter shrugged, staring ahead as they walked somewhat aimlessly. “I mean, not really. Just got back, remember? I’ve got zero plans right now. Guess I could go back to sleep, but like…I just woke up.”

There were a couple of seconds of silence as Adam considered that, lifting his hands to fidget with the dark gloves where they clung to his wrists. The were fingerless, rising to the middle of his bicep. “If you like, you can accompany me. There was something I wanted to do today regardless. I’ve been having Cosmo do it in my absence, but…he is busy enough. Especially now.”

That caught Quill’s interest, his gaze landing on Adam again. “Oh? What did you want to do?”

The corners of his lips tilted upwards, a playful glint in his eyes when he met Peter’s stare. “You will see, if you wish to come with me.”

His heart fluttered in his chest at that, and he found himself staring at the ground again even as he fought a small smile of his own. “Sure. I’d like to see what Adam Warlock gets up to in his time off.”

“Excellent,” Adam said quietly, almost like he was relieved.

As they walked, a tentative hand settled at his back. Warm and inviting. A flood of nerves and thoughts ran through Peter’s mind, uncertainty and desire at war with one another until he eventually gave in and strayed a little closer to Adam.

That hand became firmer in its touch, sliding around to settle against his waist once more. Like it belonged there.

Quill wanted to believe it did, even as he swallowed the guilt of his own selfishness.

Notes:

this chapter and the one before it gave me a lot of trouble originally, hence why one extended chapter was cut into two and reduced.....however we are nearing one of my favorite parts of the document now n im v excited to share it :] did i spend days of my life rewriting entire chapters (including this one) because i realized i actually could include a scene i really wanted? yes. do i regret it? my brain does but my heart does not.

see u next time!!!

Chapter 6

Summary:

It took a few minutes of fruitless searching before he remembered it was on his desk, next to his stack of mixtapes. He placed the earpiece in carefully and then lifted one of the mixtapes in his hand. Inspecting it front and back, his mind wandering.

What kind of music would Adam even like, he wondered? Probably not anything with too heavy a beat…Elton John, maybe? David Bowie?

Or would he like Ella Fitzgerald and Frank Sinatra? Older, slower songs?

Notes:

posting this one bright n early so all i gotta do today is write.....i hope u enjoy this was one of my favorite ones :]

They walked back to the Milano. Ship technicians flitted around, some exiting off the extended ramp. None of them paid Adam or Peter much mind beyond cursory glances as they ascended the ramp into the hangar.

In the living space, Adam gave Peter a slight push toward his room. “Be sure to get your communications device before we leave.”

Quill raised a brow as he looked over at Adam. “Yeah? Where are we going?”

Another light shove before Adam split away from him. “You’ll see.”

Peter gave an amused shake of his head as he made his way to his room, walking right in. He checked the end table first, using a hand to parse through the scattered pins. Searching for the earpiece that connected him to the rest of the team.

It took a few minutes of fruitless searching before he remembered it was on his desk, next to his stack of mixtapes. He placed the earpiece in carefully and then lifted one of the mixtapes in his hand. Inspecting it front and back, his mind wandering.

What kind of music would Adam even like, he wondered? Probably not anything with too heavy a beat…Elton John, maybe? David Bowie?

Or would he like Ella Fitzgerald and Frank Sinatra? Older, slower songs?

The more he thought about it the more he was almost certain Adam would like the second choice more, but he could probably still sneak some of his favorites onto a mixtape for him. He just needed a blank one and…well, another Walkman, he supposed. One of the old pawn shops around Knowhere should have one. A blank mixtape, at the very least.

The door to his room swished open, and he set the mixtape down to glance over at Adam. Narrow white eyes watched him, Adam’s arms crossed over his chest. “Perhaps you should clean your room if it takes you this long to find one object.”

An amused snort as Peter stuffed his hands in his pockets, walking to the door. Adam stepped aside to let him out. “You know, I don’t think it would help. I’m scatterbrained.”

“You’re what?” Adam responded, a slight wrinkle to his nose to accentuate the frown. They made their way back through the hangar bay.

Guessing that he was genuine, Peter gestured toward his temple with a vague hand. “Up here is just as disorganized as my room.”

“Ah. I see. Perhaps you should seek a therapist.”

Quill laughed from behind him as they descended the ramp. “I manage okay, jerk. Besides, isn’t that what Mantis is supposed to be?”

“Do you actually utilize the service Mantis provides?” Adam asked in a way that suggested he already knew the answer. He paused at the base of the ramp and stood off to the side, staring back at Quill. Waiting.

“Uh…” he dragged the sound out as he joined Adam on the spacedock. “Maybe?”

Adam simply sighed, slipping an arm around Quill’s back once more. No hesitation in the touch this time, and that had Peter’s skin heating a little as he glanced around the large harbor.

He let Adam lead him away, trying to guess where they could possibly be going or what they could be doing. It had to be something Adam took interest in, which could frankly be anything. Maybe Adam had a lot of secret hobbies he never told anyone about, like…fishing.

No, Adam wouldn’t like that. Not once he realized it was essentially reverse waterboarding for fish.

The walk wasn't too long, but it was out of the way. Out of sight, too, Quill realized as Adam led him into a secluded alley between the harbor and the city itself. Shielded from the evening light by high walls and banners of cloth above, strung between buildings. Shaded and quiet. If it were anyone else here with him this was probably where he would start thinking ‘Skrull,’ but Adam had brought him to weirder places before. The arm around his back slipped away as Adam lowered himself to his knees, lifting the hand that had been at his side the entire walk here to reveal a small container with a pull tab on the lid. It had purple wrapping around it, a fluffy, white cat picture visible between gold fingers.

Cat food. Adam had a can of wet cat food in his hand.

It was so unbelievably Adam Warlock that Quill couldn’t help but laugh, drawing the mild ire of glowing white eyes. Of course this was what Adam did in his time off. He almost felt stupid for not thinking of it sooner.

“Shush. You’ll scare her,” Adam chided as he popped the can open, pulling the lid fully off before setting it on the ground in front of him.

Quill shook his head with the grin still on his face as he joined Adam on the ground. From seemingly nowhere, an orange-and-white cat appeared out from behind a small stairwell leading into a back entrance to one of these buildings. She came trotting over, her tail curling high in the air in the shape of a question mark.

She had a healthy enough weight, but even so her belly seemed round. She ran right up to Adam, who held a hand out for her to shove her little skull into. She purred so loud Quill could hear it, her lips seeming to curve upward in a pleased smirk as black fingernails scrubbed through her scruffy fur. Peter lifted his gaze from the cat to Adam, watching his face shift from its default annoyance to something more relaxed. It had Quill's own expression sobering a bit.

There was a softness in Adam’s eyes. A serenity in the happy curve of his lips. He folded his hands in his lap as the cat turned away, lowering herself to dig into the food Adam brought her. Watching her with unabashed affection.

An innocent joy that somehow made him even more beautiful. The thought stirred an odd feeling in Peter’s chest, a little bit like sinking deeper into quicksand.

A little bit like falling in love, maybe.

Tired resignation twinged in his chest at the thought, an unexpected melancholy seizing him.

Adam deserved better than the death sentence that was Peter Quill’s affection.

White eyes flicked his way at his continued silence, the softness giving way to caution and inquiry. “You are quiet.”

A wry twist of Peter’s lips as he glanced down at the cat, purring while she devoured her food. “You’re complaining because I’m not talking? That’s a first.”

Adam let out a huff, fidgeting with the fabric of the gloves around his wrists. “I told you already, did I not? I have grown used to…to you.”

That wasn’t quite how Peter remembered the confession, but he wasn’t going to point it out. He just gave Adam another smile, a touch softer. “I’m okay, if that’s what you’re asking. Just thinking.”

White eyes turned his way again, inspecting him carefully. “What about?”

 Oh, nothing. Just that I think I’m in love with you, he didn’t say, glancing away again. “My mom,” he said after a beat, because it was half true. “She was more of a cat person too, but we got stuck with my grandpa’s dog when he passed away. Not a cat-friendly dog, to be clear.”

It felt pointless to say. That was a lifetime ago, but it was the first thing that came to his mind.

“Meredith was her name, correct?” Adam asked, glancing down at the cat. She had started to push the can across the ground, metal scraping stone.

Peter blinked at the words, glancing Adam’s way. He was fairly sure he had only ever said her name once, and that was forever ago. For Adam to remember it all this time…

It was a strange feeling. He shifted how he was sitting to bring his knees up to his chest. Resting his arms over them. “Yeah. Lot of people called her Mary, though.” He paused, unsure if he should keep talking, but something spurred him on anyway. Maybe it was just the need to fill the silence.

Or maybe it was the soft way Adam looked at him. Like he genuinely wanted to listen. “Fun fact, I, uh, ended up looking a lot like her. Although her hair was, you know. Lighter than mine, I guess. But the freckles, the eyes, the smile…”

He sighed, hooking his fingers together in front of him absently. “All her. And I’m glad, because I think I’d—” he barely caught the kill myself before he said it, closing his eyes with a short breath before continuing, “I’d be fucking miserable if I looked a goddamned thing like my dad.”

Glowing eyes were gentler than Peter had any right to. “You’ve never talked about him.”

Of course not. What was there to talk about? He was never a part of Quill's life, but he was the reason his mother was dead. The reason he had been kidnapped, and then sold away to one of Thanos' work camps. The reason Earth felt like it wasn't his homeworld so much as a fever dream, as foreign to him as any alien.

He had only been thirteen when his life had ended, but his father never cared. Didn't want him when he was just a stupid kid on earth, and didn't want him when he was a lonely, trapped kid in space. A wry smile bent Peter’s lips as he shook his head. “Just trust me when I tell you he isn’t a good man, okay?”

Adam’s soft hand took one of his and pulled it onto his lap. Holding it gently, rubbing his thumb into skin. A distraction Quill might've needed, and maybe Adam knew that. “What was your mother like, then?”

Though it did make him realize just how lax Adam had become with touch, as if he knew Peter wasn’t going to deny him. It wasn't like he was wrong, but…well, wasn't that writing on the wall?

Spelling out how doomed they were, because it was too late to feel any differently.

He frowned a bit to himself, staring down at the hand still draped over his knee. “…She was funny. Kind. Way better than my dad, because she was always ready to help people. Although she wasn’t a pushover, either, so.”

Adam rubbed his thumb gently into Peter’s scarred skin, listening as if Peter was saying anything worth knowing. As if he wanted to know, and…yeah, maybe it was a first. But then again, he never really gave anyone else a chance. Always assuming his pain was his own to keep.

A tight feeling settled in his throat as he considered his next words, seeing his mother dancing in his mind’s eye. Taking his little hands in hers and dragging him into her silliness, belting out the lyrics to her favorite song.

It didn’t feel like his own. As if every sunny memory happened to someone else, and the only ones he got to keep were stained red.  “…and she loved music. So much.”

Soft understanding lit those white eyes. For a beat he did nothing, but then Adam carefully lifted Quill’s hand to press a soft kiss to his knuckles. He never looked away from him. “She sounds lovely. I think I would have liked to meet her.”

An odd pain lanced through his chest when he looked Adam’s way. Like missed opportunities, or memories that could have been. “Yeah. She would have loved you, I think.”

Because I do, and that’s all that would matter to her, he thought, glancing away again.

A comfortable silence descended between them as they watched the cat together. She had pushed the can up against a wall, flattening her ears to fit more of her face inside it.

Adam still held his hand, stroking his knuckles with such gentle adoration. As if this was something they had done a thousand times before.

Though he didn’t take his eyes off of the cat, Adam did eventually say, “Thank you, Peter Quill.”

Mild confusion pinched Quill’s brows when he looked at Adam. “For what?”

A tiny smile bent black lips as Adam glanced his way, eyes shadowed with dark makeup. “For being here. There are other things you could be doing—”

“Adam,” Peter cut in with a gentle, reassuring squeeze of Adam’s hand, “genuinely, I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

That subtle smile curved into something brighter as Adam glanced back at the cat, tucking stray strands of hair behind his ear. The lightest bronze flush painted golden cheeks, lending him a beautifully bashful look.

His heart tightened at the sight, and he knew he was done for.

When the cat was certain she’d scoured the can clean, she sauntered over to Adam anew. Basking in pets before she climbed onto his lap, and that was when he finally let Quill go. He supported her weight with both hands, his expression melting into that same tender affection from earlier.

Tentatively, Peter held a hand out toward her. She sniffed his fingers before pushing her cheek into them, closing her amber eyes with a loud purr. Leaning into him when he scrubbed under her chin, whiskers pushing forward with her cheeks.

Tiny claws dug into Adam’s thighs, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“So…is this a cat, or a flerken?” He asked, looking at Adam as he pulled his hand back.

Adam pet the ginger cat tenderly, as if in awe of her. “A cat, I think. She is expecting kittens.”

Ah. That would explain why her belly was so round. “Stupid question, maybe, but does she belong to anyone?”

Adam shook his head, his expression falling somewhat. “Cosmo helped me take her to the vet when I found her the first time. She has no ID chip.”

The idea of Adam at a vet clinic was a little bit funny to him, but he didn’t remark on it. Still, he had to wonder how the technicians felt. Working their day job and suddenly the most beautiful person in the galaxy walked in with a scruffy-looking orange cat he picked up off the street. And the chief of security was there, for some reason.

He watched Adam pet her for a few moments, noting the way she sprawled over him in contentment. Probably basking in the heat of him, knowing cats.

“We have space on the Milano,” he said after a moment.

He could already hear Rocket bitching.

White eyes snapped up to him, surprised. “Peter?”

He said it like he meant to say ‘what’ and that had Peter laughing to himself. “Yeah, we’ve got room for a cat. Just need to get her cat stuff, right?”

Adam stared down at the cat sprawled over his lap, petting her softly as that bronze flush returned anew, if slightly darker. “…I’d like to.”

A soft, almost bashful smile splayed out over black lips once more, and somehow, Peter knew they were feeling the same thing.

The pull of inevitability.

Chapter 7

Summary:

A part of him was still frustrated with himself that it had taken Peter’s disappearance—the brief blip in time where he had died, and Adam had thought he would never see him again—for him to realize. For him to reflect on everything he’d ever done, everything he’d ever said.

The fondness he harbored in his very soul for Peter Quill that he had never known how to express, nor how to process himself. It must have seemed paradoxical to Quill, for Adam to both reach out to him and push him away at different points. Wanting Quill to be close, but annoyed that he wanted it to begin with.

Notes:

this was also a favorite chapter of mine...... :]

The walk to the Milano from here was a bit of a trek, but he scarcely noticed the time pass. His heart was unbearably soft in his chest as he carried the cat carefully in his arms, taking solace in the quiet.

Peter had gone to get the supplies for her, though Adam had been hesitant to let him go by himself. He still was, but he placated himself with the knowledge that Peter had his communications device on him. If anything happened, he could always call for him.

The time to think brought him back to the day he lost Quill. The subsequent week where Adam experienced his death, resurrection, and disappearance.

That was the closest the Guardians had come to breaking, at least for as long as Adam had known them. Drax and Gamora had both wanted to go their own ways to drown their sorrow in the deepest parts of the galaxy. To run from the lingering loss when it became apparent that Quill was going to be missing for some time. If he would even return at all.

Groot and Mantis wanted to stay together, trying to reason that Adam had the soul bond—proof that Quill was still alive, and that anything was possible. That the galaxy needed them anyway, though that did little to soothe the others.

It was another reason Adam had not gone back to them after the bond evaporated; he did not know how to tell them. What to say.

Rocket had not said anything during the arguments. He had just watched and listened, and if Adam did not know him, he would have thought Rocket was dissociating.

He had been scheming, instead. Adam put it together hours after they had gotten Quill back, if only because Rocket had been so eager to leave the instant he was home.

Some part of Adam was vaguely amused by the ‘galactic importance’ line in retrospect; Rocket had been, in his mind, honest about his intentions—but the natural tone of his voice had made it sound otherwise to everyone else.

 Parking the Milano on Earth had been purposeful. It was the planet Quill was from, but more to Rocket’s interest, it had not yet achieved spaceflight the way the rest of the galaxy had. It was, for all intents and purposes, as grounded as any planet got—especially when the majority of the crew had no means of escaping a desolate island the way Adam did.

Rocket had been trying to keep the Guardians together until Quill got back.

A suspicion the raccoon had confirmed when Adam confronted him, during that eighteen-hour period when Peter slept. “Ooh, look at Golden Boy using that perfect brain of his. Yeah, so what? It worked, didn’t it? Gonna lecture me for holding the team hostage or something?”

Adam had not.

He thought of Gamora sitting despondent and miserable in the sand, and the life that kissed her countenance when she had seen Quill in his arms. He thought of Drax, who had been motivated enough to finally move instead of sharpening a knife in a dimly lit corner and picking fights with the others.

He thought of himself, struck with a strange, sharp pain in his chest when he realized Quill had been ripped from him. The shroud that clung to him after, a cold blanket of loneliness that he had not felt since…since he met the Guardians.

It was a strange thing to realize that feeling had evaporated only when it abruptly returned. It had seemed to be a plague to him all his life, that yawning emptiness he had grown so accustomed to. A void in his soul he had tried to fill before with friendships mistaken for love, but nothing ever seemed to satisfy the voracious hunger for things he was not built for.

A part of him was still frustrated with himself that it had taken Peter’s disappearance—the brief blip in time where he had died, and Adam had thought he would never see him again—for him to realize. For him to reflect on everything he’d ever done, everything he’d ever said.

The fondness he harbored in his very soul for Peter Quill that he had never known how to express, nor how to process himself. It must have seemed paradoxical to Quill, for Adam to both reach out to him and push him away at different points. Wanting Quill to be close, but annoyed that he wanted it to begin with.

Even when Peter returned to him, Adam had not known how to act. What to say. He had needed the extra time provided by Quill’s prolonged rest to parse his own feelings, with Mantis’ assistance. To decipher the tangled web of emotion in his heart that held Peter Quill at the center.

Perhaps it should not have surprised him to learn that it truly was love harbored in his heart, as he had suspected since that moment with Gamora in Quill’s room. It only made sense, didn’t it?

Peter Quill loved so endlessly that it poured from him like an open wound, and Adam Warlock was a ravenous void that had never known its caress. It was foolish to think he would have been immune to him, somehow.

After a time, the Milano came into view. The ramp was still down, which struck him as odd; the technicians were nowhere to be seen, and they had never left it down before when they finished their system checks.

Perhaps something came up?

Adam brushed it aside as he ascended the ramp, readjusting his hold on the cat—who he had started to think of as Mary in his thoughts. He had never named her before, never had the thought to.

He wondered if Quill would mind.

The ship creaked and lurched in the way it only did when it was empty, and the sound of living couldn’t drown it out. His heels sounded louder in the silence as they hit the metal floor, quieting somewhat as he stepped up into the living space. He turned to walk toward the couch.

This place was beginning to feel like home to him, which was a strange concept. He had never had one. Never knew what it should feel like, but he imagined ‘home’ was a place where one belonged. A place where they were safe to exist, at least for a little while. Perhaps even a place they longed to return to.

But if that was what home was, then his was the people that inhabited the ship rather than the ship itself.

His family. He had never had one of those, either.

He stopped in front of the couch, setting the cat down gently. Her little tail curled up in the air as she stretched, and then she flopped down onto her paws, tucking them under her body. Blinking lazily.

A few beats of quiet settled as Adam bent low to pet Mary, unable to prevent the smile as she purred under the attention.

A sudden, soft crash in the otherwise silent ship followed by a muffled swear had Adam shifting focus. Snapping his eyes toward the sound as he straightened up, which originated from—

Peter’s room?

“Mantis,” Adam called, because he wasn’t entirely sure who else it could be. She was the only one he had not heard when he called Gamora earlier. “Are you in Quill’s personal quarters?”

Silence was his answer.

His frown deepened, and after a beat of pure nothing, he strode across the living space. He walked around the curved wall that created a hallway, just outside Peter’s room, and lifted a hand to open the door.

It beeped in denial, and he realized belatedly it was locked. He blinked at the red light, wondering if he had somehow locked it when he left and forgot—but he was almost certain he had not.

Confusion muddled his brow as he keyed in the override to open the door—

A flash of steel, cutting the air too fast for him to react to it. A cold blade sank into the flesh of his ribs, metal scraping bone in a way that had him choking out a sharp breath of pain. It was ripped out just as swift, and he was shouldered out of the way by a smaller, but fully armored body that made a run for the exit.

It was pure instinct to throw a hand out, sending a strong flare of solar force into the back of the unknown intruder. The sudden pull against his ribs had him staggering into the wall, bracing against it with a hand, a frustrated breath leaving his lips. He heard the impact of their body against the metal interior of the ship and then heard the hiss of pain as they collided harshly with the ground afterward.

Frustration burned in him as he forced himself forward. The heels of his boots clack-clack-clacked against the metal flooring.

The intruder was on their front on the ground, their movement sluggish as they tried to get their hands under themself. Clad in all black, unmarked armor; a helmet and visor covering their entire head; and plain, unadorned weapons that weren’t immediately identifiable, like the simple, bloody dagger in their hand.

Their disorientation was to his advantage; he stepped onto the hand wrapped around the blade, putting enough force behind the heeled boot that the person released the handle with a sharp cry. He ducked low to grab it before straightening again, his entire side lighting up in agony at the pull against his ribs, but he grit his teeth and ignored it as he shifted his boot to their spine. Forcing them flat onto the floor, clinging to the dagger tightly. “Not your wisest decision, I think.”

There was strain in their voice even through the modulator of their visor. “Yeah, well, no one told me there’d be a super-powered stripper on board.”

The remark barely affected Adam, his gaze burning into their soul. “Care to explain yourself?”

They tried to buck his weight, the motion creating a flare of pain in his chest that he promptly ignored as he stepped down harder. Feeling the bend of bone beneath his heel. Their words came out more than a little winded. “Oh, you know. Big fan of Star-Lord. Wanted to know if he wore boxers or briefs. Boxers, if you were curious—or, wait, you might know that already.”

Annoyance flashed in Adam’s chest at the inane chatter. “I see. Perhaps you will be more forthcoming under the scrutiny of a telepath.”

Without waiting for a response, he kicked them swiftly in the back of the skull and saw their body go limp on the floor. The motion had him stumbling into the nearby wall to brace himself, a sharp, stabbing agony in his ribs. He hissed with discomfort, raising his hand to hover over the wound. Dropping the dagger onto the floor.

The magic sparked but didn’t come to him; he was struggling to focus on it through the biting agony assailing his senses. He tried again, lurching further into the wall, but it was no use; he couldn’t seem to concentrate.

He lifted his hand to his ear instead, tapping the earpiece on that connected him to the other Guardians. To—

“Peter,” he began, grimacing tightly to himself, “Alert Cosmo that someone broke into your room on the Milano. They are currently unconscious.”

A beat passed before Peter responded. “What?”

“Please, Peter,” he murmured, dropping his hand to press it over the wound.

A frustrated noise, and he could almost picture Quill raking a hand through his hair before dragging it down his face. “Okay, yeah. Yeah, I’ll tell Cosmo. Are you okay?”

Usually, it would be a ridiculous question, but…he stared down at his bloody torso, feeling the stab of pain with every breath. “…No. I cannot seem to fix it.”

There was a moment of silence before he heard Quill again, an odd edge of panic to his voice. “Okay. I’ll be there soon, alright? I'm right around the corner, just hang on!”

He hummed his acknowledgment, sliding down the wall and turning to sit against it.  He kept his hand over the wound and trained his attention on the intruder.

He tried not to think too hard about how much of his blood painted the floor.

Chapter 8

Summary:

He couldn’t tell if this was the validation of the fear he’d picked up from that other reality, or a completely new one that wasn’t actually that new at all.

The longer he thought on it, though, the more he realized the fears were the exact same.

He didn’t want to lose Adam. Not to anyone, not to anything. Not even himself.

Notes:

this chapter was originally um. one extremely long chapter that i had to cut in half. and the second half still ended up being super long. so sorry in advance lmao

He ran as fast as he could, making calls to Cosmo and the Guardians on his way.

He was also really hating himself for getting so much stuff for the cat, but he had been driven by the embarrassing need to make Adam happy. Which wouldn’t even matter if—if he—

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

In the end the Security Corps beat him by a few seconds, but he locked onto Mantis as she fled up the ramp. He joined her, the pair rushing up into the hangar—where Peter promptly dropped all his bags—and booked it with Mantis to reach the living space.

He heard Gamora and Rocket call out to him from behind, but he ignored them both as he squeezed and pushed past the Security Corps.

Past the throng of bodies was Adam, on his side on the floor. A river of red leaked from a gash in his ribs, a deep enough wound to expose a sliver of white under the harsh light. Beside him was a bloody blade.

His heart sank straight to the floor as he ran to Adam, dropping to his knees beside him. Feeling blood soak into his pants. “Mantis—” he called, not even sure what he was asking for.

“I know,” she said anyway as she joined him.

To their left, he heard Gamora and Rocket begin talking to the Security Corps. One of them came by as Mantis and Quill moved Adam onto his back, picking up the knife with a gloved hand and placing it in a sterile container before walking away.

Mantis squeezed into the newly open space, kneeling to take one of Adam’s hands in hers. She placed it over the wound, pressing down tight with her own hand. “Heal,” she commanded, a swirl of compulsion in her big black eyes.

Gold light suffused the crimson, and after a moment white eyes flew open with a sharp cry, back arching off the floor.

Peter glanced quickly to Mantis, who didn’t seem to think that was cause for concern, and then redirected his attention to Adam. He shifted closer to lean over him, his trembling hands finding their way to that golden face.

The natural heat of him had waned somewhat, more of a lukewarm feeling to the sweat-damp skin. It was unsettling. It was terrifying.

Disoriented, pained white eyes drifted toward him, and he offered as reassuring of a smile as he could manage. “Hey, Adam. It’s alright. We’ve got you,” he promised, his thumbs rubbing into high cheekbones.

Long lashes fluttered against gold skin, black lips parted around short breaths. A sluggish hand lifted to curl elegant fingers loosely around his wrist, glowing eyes sliding closed as Adam leaned into his touch.

His heart constricted in his chest, but he forced his attention to Mantis. Then to the wound, which seemed blessedly smaller than before—but it wasn’t closing.

Maybe reading his mind, Mantis explained, “His body is weak, so it’s difficult for the magic to respond even under compulsion. The worst of it has been dealt with, but I need our first aid kit to close it the rest of the way.”

Right. He gave a swift nod, sparing a glance for Adam before he reluctantly parted from him and got to his feet.

The first aid kit was under Rocket’s workbench, since that was where most of the accidents happened outside of a fight. He rushed over to it, stooping low to grab it before turning on his heel and all but running back to Mantis and Adam.

He knelt down beside Adam again, setting the kit down and popping it open.

He picked up a sterile cloth and wet it with the small bottle of water within the kit. Mantis moved her hand away from the wound, and Adam’s slipped down to the ground a beat later with no assistance.

Peter tried not to think about it as he cleared the blood from the cut. He tried to be gentle about it, but mostly he wanted it done correctly.

Mantis leaned over Adam to reach for the kit, taking up the classic needle and thread—nothing fancy for them, but most of them were used to roughing it anyway. She got to work as soon as Peter pulled away, piercing golden flesh with the needle to drag the thread through.

She was efficient and clean, the stitches neater than anything Quill had ever managed on himself. He wondered if they would scar, but he doubted it—this wasn’t the first time Adam had ever needed stitches, and he didn’t scar last time either.

He was lucky like that.

With his help, Mantis set to wrapping the wound next. Keeping it sealed with clean bandages. At the end of it, Peter had Adam’s head resting on his lap, his fingers idly carding through soft, fluffy white-blonde locks. Pausing to cup his cheek, running the pad of his thumb under the gentle dip beneath Adam’s plush lower lip.

His skin was so soft. It didn’t look like it should be, but it was. Soft, and colder than usual. For a second Peter wished it was feasible to give him his jacket.

Belatedly, he felt eyes on him. He reluctantly lifted his head, finding Gamora standing near Adam’s feet. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her yellow eyes lingering on him before drifting to Adam.

Most of the others had cleared out of the hall by now, including the Security Corps. It was just him, Adam, Mantis, and Gamora left.

“Is he okay?” she asked after a moment.

Peter glanced at Mantis, who was sealing the kit up. She didn’t look his way but still knew what he was thinking. “He needs rest for now, but he should be fine. I think. He’s more resilient than the average person.”

“You think,” Peter repeated flatly, the look he gave her matching.

She offered a pleasant smile to him. “Yes.”

Then she took the kit and got up, walking it back to its place. He watched her go, dumbfounded, and then looked back at Gamora.

Her lips were pressed into a line, her head tipped to the side slightly. “Do you need help moving him?”

Well, yeah. He wasn’t going to be able to move Adam alone, so he gave a nod.

Of course, by ‘help’ Gamora apparently meant ‘do it herself.’ She got down on her knees to lift Adam into her arms, hefting him up and getting to her feet.

Without asking or giving any word of warning, she carried him into Peter’s room. A flush of heat stained his cheeks, but he didn’t question it; he just got up and followed behind her.

He’d rather keep Adam close right now, anyway. Although…maybe she knew that.

Once he was in his room, the reality that someone had broken into it settled in. Every drawer was thrown open, the contents ripped out and thrown on the floor; his clothes had been scattered; various trinkets, tokens, and other reminders of his travels thrown around the room.

It had the appearance of someone that knew their time was short, so searched with reckless abandon. He frowned as he slowly maneuvered through the room, his gaze catching on a lot of things until he caught sight of his mixtapes.

On the floor.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gamora set Adam down on his bed. He bent to collect the mixtapes in his hands, the motion a little stiff as he set them back on the desk.

Yellow eyes traveled the disordered room, her brows pinched. “Wow. Someone had it out for you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. “Yeah. Apparently.”

 A wry half-smirk twisted her lips, her gaze sliding over him with faux scrutiny. He caught it in the mirror. “One of your jilted lovers?”

Though it was her attempt at humor, he couldn’t manage more than a flash of a smile in response. Every one-night stand he’d ever had knew what they were, and never wanted more from him.

It was the reason he slept with them in the first place. “I know I’m good, Gamora, but I don’t think I’m that good,” he said in an attempt to match her tone.

She snorted, picking her way carefully through the room. “Hopefully Cosmo can get to the bottom of things then. He mentioned wanting Mantis’ help with the interrogation, but she was busy, so I told him I’d ask her after Adam was patched up.”

Right. The Security Corps. He turned toward her, raising a brow. “What did they say, anyway?”

Gamora’s amber eyes flicked skyward in recollection, pausing in her stride to the door. “Well, there was nothing to identify who broke in. No emblems, no personal identification on them. Not even a cybernetic trail. The weapons they used were also pretty standard—a basic blaster and a simple knife.”

The information had Peter frowning. “Sounds like someone’s trying to hide.”

Gamora met his eyes, one corner of her lips twisting up. “Clearly. Question is, who? Also, why break in at all? Were they hoping to find you, or something you had, or…?”

Good questions. Quill took another look around his room, at all the open drawers. Unease crawled beneath his skin at the thought that he might’ve been here when it happened, if Adam hadn’t woken him up. “Dunno.”

A beat passed before Gamora shrugged, continuing toward the door. “Cosmo will figure it out, but it’ll be faster with Mantis. I’ll tell her.”

 She paused one last time in the doorway, her hand resting on the frame before she dropped it and turned slightly at the waist to look at him again. “Are you going to be okay?”

The tone of her voice was surprisingly soft. Worried. He glanced up at her, offering a short smile. “I always am, aren’t I?”

She hesitated, clearly not fully believing him. “…I know I’m not the best person to talk to about this kind of thing, but…I’ll listen, if you want. No judgment.”

The smile on his face turned a little more genuine, reaching his eyes as he stared down at his desk. “I’ll keep it in mind, Gamora. Thanks.”

She gave a nod, lingering a second longer before she turned away and left. The door sealed closed behind her, the light still green on the keypad.

He stared at it for a long moment before he made his way toward it, lifting a hand—

“Where the FLARK did this cat come from?”

“I am Groot?”

“Don’t TOUCH it! What if that thing has fleas!?”

Damn it. Peter let out a long sigh and rushed out of his room, heading into the living space. He spotted the cat sitting on the arm of the couch, sizing up Groot as if she was considering jumping. Maybe climbing.

Before she could, he rushed over to her and picked her up as carefully as he could manage to hold her against his chest, flashing Rocket an apologetic smile. “Did I forget to mention? We have a cat now. She’s staying.”

“Staying? Says who?” Rocket retorted with an unpleasant twist to his expression. “I never agreed to no flarkin’ fleabag!”

Hesitation stayed his tongue for a beat, because he didn’t ever like doing this, but then he said, “Oh, just, you know, the captain of the ship.”

“Really? You’re gonna pull the captain card for this thing?” Rocket retorted with narrow eyes, though he was quick to look toward Groot, who had reached a wooden hand out toward the cat with wide, enamored eyes. Rocket hit him in the knee. “No, Groot! FLEAS! It could have FLEAS!”

“I don’t think she does,” Peter responded, a mild frown as he adjusted his hold on her very carefully, avoiding putting pressure on her belly. He inspected the white parts of her fur, which seemed maybe a little dusty, but not flea infested. “Adam’s been taking care of her for a while, apparently.”

Rocket raised a hand to rub at his brow. “Of flarking course it’s Golden Boy’s stupid cat,” he muttered, as if everything suddenly made sense. Then he glared up at Quill, pointing an accusing finger at him. “If I get fleas from this thing, you better sleep with one eye open, you hear me?”

It was less resistance than Peter had been expecting, but he wasn’t about to question it. “You won’t get fleas,” he retorted, feeling her start to get antsy in his arms. He angled back toward his room. “I’m gonna put her in my room with Adam, I think. Did you want to pet her really quick, Groot?”

“No,” Rocket said at the same time Groot’s eyes became enormous and he went, “I am Groot!”

With a snort Peter turned around, revealing the cat’s face. He turned his head to watch as wooden fingers scrubbed so gently between her ears. The cat had a moment where she was trying to process the sensation before she bumped her head up into his touch, purring softly.

Then Groot pulled away, still fawning over her. Rocket sighed heavily beside him, muttering, “Stupid softies,” before trudging off.

Peter returned to his room, setting the cat at the foot of the bed. She stood there a second before she sat down, tail curled loosely at her side. She raised a paw to start licking at it, swiping it over her ears one at a time.

Leaving her to her cleaning, Peter briefly returned to the door to lock it shut. Actually lock it, for once.

It was stupid, but it gave him that little bit of security he needed.

It was a strange sort of violation, to know someone he hadn’t allowed had been in his room. Had gone through his things.

It made his skin crawl as he glanced back at the mess, wondering what they were even trying to find. Hoping, somehow, that they didn’t succeed.

He ran a hand over his face, approaching the desk again. He pulled his walkman from his belt, exchanging the tape inside with one of the ones he’d rescued from the floor. He slipped the headphones on, reattaching the Walkman to his belt and hitting play.

Slowly, he tidied the mess that had been left for him. Packing open drawers with the things they held before being ransacked, closing them as he went. The cat watched him from her place on the bed, her head and one of her paws resting on Adam’s thigh. Blinking slowly at Peter the couple of times he looked back at her.

After a point he had to remove the jacket and traded the double-long sleeved shirts and pants for a loose fitting ‘I <3 Hawkeye’ tank top and light blue shorts that barely touched mid-thigh, the walkman clipped to the waistband. The boots had been kicked off near the door to leave him in just his pineapple socks.

Cleaning was sweaty, sure, but mostly he had realized he was still wearing Adam’s blood. Of course he’d change.

Periodically he checked on Adam, who he had since covered with a spare blanket. The cat had moved to curl up in the space between Adam’s neck and shoulder, her cheek squished against his. Eyes closed with contentment.

At one point Peter lingered where he sat on the edge of the bed longer than he should, just staring at the two while the music played.

He couldn’t tell if this was the validation of the fear he’d picked up from that other reality, or a completely new one that wasn’t actually that new at all.

The longer he thought on it, though, the more he realized the fears were the exact same.

He didn’t want to lose Adam. Not to anyone, not to anything. Not even himself.

One part of him thought the best way to keep him was to run. To hide from his own feelings, to keep distance between them.

The other part of him wanted to dig his fingers into golden flesh and never let go. To stay close, to covet his heart.

He didn’t know which half to listen to. Didn’t know which path would hurt less, or if they were all bad.

He knew which half was winning, though.

His fingertips brushed feathered, soft hair from that lax golden face, trailing his knuckles across the line of his jaw slowly. Lovingly. He felt his heart swell in his chest with adoration and agony both, and didn’t know what to do with it.

So he just followed his instinct and leaned down, pressing his lips to Adam’s forehead with gentle devotion.

Then he withdrew, reluctant and self-loathing, to continue clearing up his room.

Notes:

i'll have to slow down updates at some point.....which is going 2 suck 4 me.........but anyways. :]

Chapter 9

Summary:

She always talked about taking Peter to see some musical about cats some day—mostly because she wanted to see it herself.

They never did see it, but he wondered idly if a recording of it existed somewhere. Maybe he could show it to Adam.

Maybe his mom would see it too, somehow.

Notes:

again. super long. my bad. i just didnt see anything in particular I wanted to cut to shorten it (because I had already cut a lot out before that....) so!! sorry. i hope u enjoy it anyways :]

He wasn’t sure how long it took, but he burned through nearly the entire mixtape by the time he was done. More or less. He was situating the open drawer of his end table, stashing most of his pins in there.

Nothing was missing, as far as he could tell. Not that he was the best judge. His room hadn’t exactly been immaculate before it was ransacked, and he had a habit of misplacing his things pretty often.

Except the Walkman. If he ever forgot that, he was a Skrull in disguise.

When he was done, he pulled the headphones off to survey his much neater room. Even neater than it was before, actually.

After a brief inspection, he decided he should probably check on everyone else. He settled the headphones around his neck and hit the pause button, then turned to leave his room.

He stopped as his fingers hovered over the keypad, glancing back at Adam with a mild frown. He was still out, and Quill wasn’t sure when he would wake next.

He trusted everyone on this ship, but…he keyed in the override, stepped out into the hall, and then locked the door behind him anyway.

Just in case.

The floors were unexpectedly clean when he looked. He let out a relieved sigh, running a hand through his hair as he lifted his head to look around the ship. It seemed to be empty again, so Quill called out, “Hell-ooo? Where did everyone go?”

From his immediate right, within the technical hub of the Milano, he heard a response. “Over here, Quill!”

He strode over to the small alcove dedicated to their hardware, the metal cold even through the socks. Rocket was standing just inside it with a small tablet held in his hands. His goggles were sitting on top of his head, his face scrunched in concentration.

Quill ticked a brow up. “Whatcha got there?”

Rocket was quiet for a few moments before he tapped the holographic screen, sighing. “Reviewing footage Cosmo sent over. I wanted to know how they got in, ‘cause I lock the ship, and yet somehow this flarknard still just walked in like it was nothing.”

Oh. That was true. He frowned as he stared down at the blue screen. “Well, did you find the answer?”

Rocket didn’t respond, instead tapping the screen before dragging his finger across it. He tapped the screen again, holding it up to Quill.

He took the tablet from Rocket, watching the security footage play out. A team of technicians were outside the Milano, doing what Quill assumed were the standard fitness checks for any spacefaring vessel.

Then the feed cut unnaturally, the technicians suddenly gone, ramp still extended.

Quill blinked. “Are you kidding?”

“I flarking wish, Quill. Who the hell did you piss off?”

Quill made an incredulous face, holding the tablet out to Rocket. “Wha—me? I just got back, dude, I haven’t had time to piss anyone off!”

Rocket snatched the tablet with one hand, jabbing an accusing finger at him with the other. “Yeah, but it was your room they broke into! What the flark is that about?”

Quill spread his hands out in front of him, as if in a show of surrender. “How the hell am I supposed to know? I’m just as confused as you!”

Rocket gave him a long, narrow look before he turned his attention to the tablet, grumbling unpleasantly to himself. “Let’s just hope that stupid mutt has answers when we get back,” he muttered, turning it off and hooking it to his belt.

Quill perked up at that. “Wait, they’re still letting us leave? I thought we’d be caught up in the investigation.”

Rocket waved a hand, glancing sideways. “Yeah, it was a whole thing. First, they wanted to ground all of us, but Cosmo said no, ‘cause we got a job to do.

“Then they wanted to ground Goldie, and, uh, well. You know. Had a few words for ‘em since they were already takin’ Mantis, and the others backed me up, so the pooch dropped it.” He shrugged, scratching the back of his head before meeting Quill’s eyes again. “Anyway, point is, we can go as soon as we want.”

He tried not to show how touched he was on Adam’s behalf, because he was almost certain Rocket would maul him for it. Still, he pushed his luck with, “Aw, you stuck your neck out for Adam? You really do have a heart!”

Rocket sneered and hit him in the knee as he shuffled around Quill. “Can it, you. I just don’t like a bunch of cops tryin’ to take my fa—uh, you all away. Don’t sit right.”

Peter smiled to himself as he followed loosely behind Rocket, who scampered over to his workbench.

“So where are the others?” he asked, moving to lean back against the kitchenette counter.

Rocket flipped his goggles down and started tinkering with his latest project, the function of which Quill couldn’t even begin to guess. “Gamora said something about a supply run when she left with Mantis, but Drax and Groot are in the hangar bay, and uh…you know. Emo Barbie is out cold, so.”

Indignation flared in Quill’s chest, and he said, “He’s out warm, actually, thank you. Also, how the hell do you know what a Barbie is?”

An amused smirk twisted Rocket’s expression, and he spared a glance toward Quill. “A vintage Earth Barbie doll still in the package goes for crazy amounts of units on the black market.”

It was such a ridiculous statement that all Quill could do was stare as Rocket returned his attention to work. “There is no way that’s true.”

“Why the hell would I make that up? You know how stupid that sounds even to me? Trust me, it’s real!” Rocket insisted, gesturing vaguely in a random direction before returning to his task. “Just ask Gamora. She’s the one with the doll collection, I’m sure she knows.”

Quill scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. I’m gonna go check on the others, unless there was something you wanted to get off your chest real quick?”

Rocket was quiet for a second before he paused what he was doing, turning to look at Quill. He flipped his goggles up. “Yeah, I got somethin’ to say. Someone broke into your room and tried to kill our friend. I don’t know how that makes you feel, but it pisses me the flark off. I think we should add more security to the Milano.”

Another expensive addition to the ship to add to the list. Quill gave it thoughtful consideration before he asked, “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, first—learn to lock your flarking door,” Rocket said, listing off on his fingers, “but second, I want cameras in here. I want ‘em in every angle. And I want those cameras to connect directly to my diagnostics sheet,” he said, plucking the tablet from his belt to wiggle it with emphasis. “I want 'em to ping me the second someone is on our ship that shouldn’t be there, and then I want mini turrets with mini missiles—”

Ah, there it was. Quill ran a hand over his face with a sigh, cutting Rocket off with, “Okay, look. I’m not putting turrets inside the Milano, but I will agree to the cameras if we put them in the communal areas of the ship and nowhere else.”

“Obviously. You think I want video evidence of what I do in my room? Gimme a break, Quill,” Rocket retorted, turning around to continue working. He was quiet for a short while before he spoke up again, just as Quill was about to leave for the hangar bar. “And, uh…thanks, by the way. For listening.”

Quill strayed close enough to pat Rocket on the shoulder. “Any time, man. I am serious about not putting turrets inside the Milano, though.”

Rocket waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. Go make your rounds, Quill.”

So he did, making his way toward the hangar. His gaze caught on the bags he dropped when he had gotten on the ship, which were thankfully still there. Untouched, it seemed.

Then he heard a heavy thunk, and flicked his attention toward Drax. A punching bag sturdy enough to withstand him was currently taking a beating, Drax laser focused on his task.

As Quill approached him, he couldn’t help but feel shorter than usual; the lack of boots had him looking just that little bit further up to see Drax’s face.

At a particularly violent swing, Quill ticked a brow up. “Damn, Drax, I’m surprised that thing is still standing.”

Unsurprised by his appearance, Drax continued swinging on the bag. Sweat beaded on his skin, his expression that of his usual calm before a battle. He spoke between hits. “To break one’s things serves no purpose.”

Quill leaned a shoulder against the wall, feeling the cool metal against his skin. He gave the punching bag a sideways glance, noting the dent in it from all the hard knocks Drax had given it. “Sure, but uh…you are hitting it pretty hard.”

“Yes,” Drax affirmed, throwing one more punch at it. The bag whipped past Quill fast enough to tousle the fringe of his hair, hit the wall, and bounce back. “Because I wish to enact violence on the one who invaded our home, but I cannot.”

A sentiment Rocket seemed to share, at least. Quill pursed his lips and turned his head away, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, seems to be going around.”

Drax threw another few punches, once more speaking between each swing. “Do you not feel the same? It was your privacy they violated.”

In truth, Quill was more forgiving of the breaking and entering. Less forgiving for stabbing a friend of his. His family.

But Adam wasn’t dead, and he was pretty sure the intruder hadn’t meant to kill anyone in the first place. He used to be a thief himself; he knew that mindset. Injure to disable and run if you were caught, but never injure to kill. Then again, they stabbed him in the ribs…which wasn’t a disabling wound.

Well. Technically it was, he supposed.

He sighed and gave a shrug. “I don’t know, man.”

Drax considered that as he hit the bag, catching it on one of its swings back to steady it. He met Quill’s eyes. “And if the intruder had killed Adam Warlock? Would you not want vengeance then?”

The thought had his brows twitching, fingers tightening against his arms a moment. He stared at a point on the wall on the other side of the hangar bay, remembering a point in his life where that had been a goal of his.

Vengeance for the life that was taken from him. Vengeance for his mother.

There was no joy in death, no pride in ending another’s life. When he found the man that killed his mom all those years ago, he had the gun to the man's head. He even had Yondu egging him on in his ear. He had his finger on the trigger, and for a second, he thought he would do it.

But the man was pleading for his life, and he could practically hear his mother in his head. Begging him to just let go.

That was the moment he realized he wanted to be better. He wanted to be someone his mother could be proud of, not…not whatever Yondu tried to mold him into. Not whatever the galaxy itself tried to make him.

He wasn’t a killer by nature, and certainly not a killer to satisfy some fucked up fantasy of justice. As if killing that man would have brought his mother back or undone the years he had spent in violent captivity. As if it would have done anything but tear another ugly wound in his soul, incapable of being healed.

Pulling the gun back had caused him pain, but he knew without any doubt that it would have hurt worse to actually do it.

So he let the man go, gun on the floor and hands in his hair. Fighting a grief that was still so painfully raw.

The man had fled, and all it earned him was a gunshot to the back of the skull from Yondu.

You don’t live on that little backwater planet of yours no more, boy. You stay soft like that out here, and the galaxy will pick your bones clean.

Quill flicked his gaze to the ground, feeling something akin to old guilt flicker in his chest like a persistent ember. “I don’t want to think about what I would have done if they did, Drax.”

Mostly because the truth was, he didn’t know.

The man beside him made a contemplative sound, resuming his attention on the bag. His swings were more thoughtful, less violent. Eventually he said, “You are soft, Peter Quill. I will ensure you do not have to become otherwise.”

The words made his brows knot together over a frown, remembering Yondu. Always calling him soft like it was a bad thing. A habit that needed to be broken.

It was strange to have someone say the opposite, for once. “You don’t have to do that.”

Drax stopped the bag again, and then straightened his posture when he faced Peter. Giving him his full attention, his tone laced with genuine seriousness. “I was nothing but a man with a death wish before you found me, Peter Quill. You gave me a purpose my life had lost. To end your enemies would be my honor, not my obligation.”

He didn’t know how to feel about that or what to say, but it flustered him regardless. He glanced away. “…Yeah, no problem. And…thanks. I think.”

Drax gave a nod and returned to the bag. Taking it as his cue to leave, he wandered over to the corner of the hangar that Groot had claimed.

Plants of all different kinds from various worlds lined the shelves, organized by lighting conditions. A rig that looked like Rocket’s handiwork if he ever saw it, different pieces of tech spliced together to create the effect.

He even saw a strip of black plastic that looked like it was meant to mist the plants on intervals, if needed. How the hell Rocket had managed that, he would never know.

As Peter drew closer, Groot looked up from the workbench he was standing at in the corner. He held a paintbrush that looked like it was made for his use, his brown eyes warm and friendly. “I am Groot.”

Quill flashed a smile when he looked his way, and then skimmed his gaze over the myriad plants again. “Hey, man. Did your little friends make it out okay?”

Groot nodded. Then he shuffled out of the way somewhat, revealing what he was working on with a flourish of his wooden arm. Like raising a curtain.

A small flowerpot that could maybe fit in the palm of Peter’s hand. It was painted a reflective gold color, a bronze ring carefully painted in the center of it. It currently sat empty.

A small, genuine smile bent his lips when he looked up at Groot next. “Is that a tiny plant version of Adam?”

A friendly grin bent that wooden face as Groot nodded. He held a hand out before turning toward the shelf to his left, most of its contents hidden by his body.

Seconds later, he carefully turned back around holding a long tray. He set it down gently on the workbench, and then gestured to the line of flowerpots.

The one furthest to the left was a cobalt blue, the gold Guardians crest shiny and reflective in the center. A miniature Earth shrub was planted within its delicate soil, the leaves long and delicate. Soft-looking.

Beside it was a jagged plant like a tree branch, but it flowered with small white blooms as the branch-like stem curved into itself in sharp angles. It was seated in a teal flowerpot with red, swirling accents.

Next in line was a flowerpot painted green with two long black stripes in the front. Small yellow spots decorated the rest of the green space. Harbored within it was a spiky, deep green flower that bloomed with delicate red petals.

Then there was the flowerpot painstakingly painted in the markings of a raccoon, home to a thorny plant that looked a little rough around the edges, but had its own unique charm to it.

Last on the tray was a small cluster of swirling, vine-like plants. Their base started a deep green, progressively turning more yellow the closer it got to their curled tips. They pulsed with a strange blue energy, housed in a flowerpot that was reddish brown with leafy green accents.

It took a few seconds to process in full, open shock on his features when he glanced up at Groot. “You made little plant versions of us?”

Another warm, friendly smile as Groot nodded. It was unbearably sweet of him, and Quill didn’t know what to say. “That’s amazing, Groot. Did you paint all of these yourself?”

Another nod. Groot moved his hand, gesturing to the empty Adam flowerpot. “I am Groot…”

From the forlorn tone combined with the state of the other plants, Quill deduced his meaning. “You don’t know what to use for Adam?”

Groot nodded.

He glanced back down at the golden flower pot and tipped his head. “Couldn’t you use another Earth plant? That’s where he was made.”

A quick glance up at Groot, who shook his head. He tapped his chest with a finger, the wooden clunk audible. “I am Groot.”

That one was a little easier to put together. “Oh. You want the plant to represent the person? Their…heart, or something?”

Another nod.

The idea gave him a long minute of contemplation. Considering Adam as Peter knew him. Eventually he said, “Well, it’s gotta be beautiful, whatever it is. And prickly, maybe, but…soft too.”

Groot hummed in thought, staring down at the golden pot for a moment. Then he gave a slight nod. “I am Groot.”

Unsure what exactly he had said, Quill nonetheless pat Groot on the shoulder. “No problem, man. Also, are these gifts, or just because?” he asked, gesturing to the tray of mini-Guardians plants.

A nod that could mean either. Quill’s lips quirked in amusement, but he pressed on. “Well, I think they should be on display, but that’s just me. You put a lot of love and thought into these, man.”

A prideful smile that time as Groot turned away, his tone almost bashful. “I am Groot.”

Quill pat him on the shoulder again as he turned away. “Any time, buddy.”

He strode away, lifting a hand to radio Gamora as he went to pick up the bags he dropped earlier.

She was quick to answer. “Peter? Who do I need to kill?”

He snorted at that. “Wow, okay. Hello to you too.”

“You called me. Are you in danger?”

He almost laughed as he walked the length of the hangar bay. Stepping up into the living space. “No, no. Just checking in. Rocket said you were doing a supply run?”

“Yeah. I thought I was going to have to add cat stuff to my list, but I saw that you took care of that,” she remarked, sounding distinctly amused. “How many units did you spend?”

He shook his head, setting the bags down on the table in front of the couch. “Mmmmnot telling.”

She laughed, the sound unmistakably fond.

“Would you even know what cats need?” Peter asked, starting to unpack the things he bought.

She made a vague sound. “No. I’ve never had a pet before, but how hard could it be? You just need to get them food they can eat and water, right?”

He ticked a brow up as he pulled a large box from one of the oversized bags, with a cat tree he’d have to assemble. “I mean, yes, but not only that. Pets need fun too. You know, toys and stuff.”

She made a thoughtful sound at that, going quiet for a few moments. “Like little girls,” she said after a beat, her tone unexpectedly distant.

He slowed a bit at that, brows pinching slightly. “Yeah, I guess.”

“How many toys did you get her?” Gamora asked after a moment, sounding more like herself again.

He looked at the toys on display. “Three, but in my defense, I had to buy a lot of cat food and one of those fancy self-cleaning pans. Also, cat trees are expensive. Freaking extortion, I swear.”

Gamora hummed. “Send me pictures of toys that cats like, and I’ll add them to my list.”

He cracked a small smile at that, something soft in his chest. “Aw, thanks. Just give me a sec to put this stuff away.”

“Take your time. I’m gonna be here a while, anyway. Place is packed.”

“Okay, just, uh, be careful,” he said as he reached back into the bag, searching until he found what he was looking for.

A blank cassette and a new Walkman. They only had it in red, but he didn’t think Adam would mind that much. He tucked the Walkman and the cassette into the pockets of his shorts.

She snorted with amusement. “I’ll be fine, Peter. Don’t forget the pictures.”

Then she closed the line, and he reached up to tap his off, too. He set the many boxes of cat food in the kitchenette cabinets, and then picked up the cat tree box and that self-cleaning pan.

He set the pan in an open space near the cockpit steps, close to the radio. Then he found a clean corner on the other side of the ship and sat down, taking a moment to pull his headphones on and hit play on his Walkman. Then he began the process of putting the cat tree together.

He used to have a cat when he was a kid. An oversized brown tabby named Peanut that his mother fawned over, always. He had been old already by the time Peter was born; around twelve. That he lived until Peter was eight was a bit of a feat for a cat, as far as he understood it.

But then again, his mom took good care of him. Spoiled him rotten, too.

She had been devastated when he passed. Apparently, she’d had him since she was a little girl—which at the time had felt impossible to Peter. But the cat was twenty years old when he passed, and his mom had just turned thirty that year.

Packing away all the cat things had been difficult for her, so Peter had done most of it himself while she was at work one night. Took all of Peanut’s toys, scratch posts, and beds, and packed them away in boxes that he tucked away in the shed. Even the cat bowls went.

She never adopted another one after that, but he always thought she would have. Eventually. She always loved them and had talked about taking Peter to see some musical about them some day—mostly because she wanted to see it herself.

They never did see it, but he wondered idly if a recording of it existed somewhere. Maybe he could show it to Adam.

Maybe his mom would see it too, somehow.

When the cat tree was fully assembled, he got back to his feet and pulled the headphones down around his neck. He hit pause on the Walkman and walked back to the table.

He took the large cat bed and packed it with the cat toys, water bowl, and a bottle of water before lifting it up and heading back to his room.

He set the bed down in a cozy little corner, taking the bowl and water from it to set it against the wall opposite the door, unscrewing the cap on the bottle before pouring water into it.

The cat made a sleepy noise before she came trotting over, fur ruffled with sleep. He smoothed her out with a gentle hand, scrubbing her ears for a few seconds before he stood up and left her to the water. He set the bottle on the desk, making a quick detour to lock his door before returning to rifle through his drawers.

The good thing about cleaning his room was that he knew where everything was now, so he found the small rectangular device he was looking for pretty quickly. He opened it up and snagged a few pictures of cat toys off the galactic web, sending them Gamora’s way before setting it back in the drawer and closing it again. Then he took out the red Walkman and tucked it away in a drawer with wires and spare headphones, taking out a bundle of wires and then moving on to a different drawer.

The tape deck he had was portable, because all it needed to function were batteries—though he wished he could have a larger tape deck. He was convinced it had better sound quality. Regardless, he pulled out the chunky, foldable computer next, also battery-powered, and took both to the floor beside the bed.

When he straightened up, he couldn’t help but look at Adam. Taking him in again, peaceful in sleep despite everything.

Slowly, he sat on the edge of the bed. Lifting his hand to press the back of it to Adam’s forehead.

Relief almost had him doubling over at the flush of heat that greeted him, so much closer to his normal temperature. “Bastard,” he murmured, dragging his knuckles down the side of Adam’s face slowly. Turning his hand to trace the strong line of that golden jaw, fascinated by the soft give of his reflective skin. “You had me worried.”

His touch lingered for a while before he shifted focus to the wound, lifting the blanket to inspect the bandage carefully. Wrapped just under his black shirt, which was both sleeveless and barely long enough to cover his pectorals fully.

The bandages were a little pink around the stitches, but that wasn’t bad for how long he’d been laying there. Quill would know; he’s been patched up more times than he could count and knew the stages of healing pretty well.

He also knew the stages of a wound getting worse, and thankfully that didn’t seem to be the case here. With gentle hands he replaced the blanket, flicking his attention up to that perfect face one more time.

Then he pulled away with a quiet sigh, sliding from the mattress to sit on the floor. He leaned back against the bed and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing one over the other. He pulled the computer onto his lap, opening it up, and then reached for the tape deck. He slid the cassette tape out of his pocket and tucked it into the deck, connecting it to the computer through the wires.

The cat sauntered over to sit beside him, cleaning herself while he got to work.

Notes:

after the next chapter is when i have to slow updates for a bit i think....the next three chapters are still in various editing stages. I think I'll post a new one once I've got at least the chapter after next finalized, and maybe the fourth started.....sounds like it will take me a while but ive been writing like a hamster on cocaine would spin in its wheel so we'll see, i suppose.

Chapter 10

Summary:

He pulled the blanket off and shifted, sliding one leg off the mattress—only to stop short when the heel of his boot met fleshy resistance. He drew his leg back and leaned carefully over the edge of the bed, brows furrowing.

Peter Quill. Of course. Lying flat on his back on the floor, bare, freckled arms splayed out on either side of his head.

Notes:

another long one....

Waking was always so strange for Adam. It wasn’t something he was built for, at least not often. It felt like clawing his way out of thick sludge, until eventually awareness returned. He cracked his eyes open, staring blearily up at the ceiling.

A well-worn poster of a pale woman with choppy black hair that fell to her shoulders stared back.

Somewhere in his memory, he recalled Peter naming her Joan Jett. One of those rockstars Quill was always listening to. It told him exactly where he was, even if the scent had never reached him as he began to sit up.

Leather commingling with something more earthy. A pleasant scent, almost familiar in a way he couldn’t articulate.

A slow look around the room revealed that it was somehow cleaner than before it was broken into. He blinked at the tidiness, almost certain it had been trashed in the wake of that intruder, but in truth he hadn’t seen more than a swift glimpse of the space.

Still. Quill must have been busy. A part of him regretted that he couldn’t be there in the aftermath—it had to have upset him, to have his privacy violated in such a fashion. He wondered if the others were there for him, instead. He hoped so.

Speaking of.

He pulled the blanket off and shifted, sliding one leg off the mattress—only to stop short when the heel of his boot met fleshy resistance. He drew his leg back and leaned carefully over the edge of the bed, brows furrowing.

Peter Quill. Of course. Lying flat on his back on the floor, bare, freckled arms splayed out on either side of his head. He was dressed differently than he had been when Adam lost consciousness.

The outfit itself was ridiculous, but still Adam felt his heart soften as he stared at him. Adoring because it was Peter.

He also admittedly liked seeing all the skin. The freckles on his thighs, lighter in pattern than anywhere else. The hair that covered his legs and arms, and even the sliver of fuzzy light brown he could see below his navel where the shirt had slid up.

The story hidden within old scars around his knees, calves, thighs. Wondering what the one behind the burn mark on his left thigh was, but he knew he would never ask.

Talking about his pain was not something Quill did easily, but it was obvious that he carried it, nonetheless.

Held within one hand was his Walkman, headphones around his ears. A lone cassette tape was beside him, as well as two other devices Adam couldn’t name. Blue eyes were closed, lips slightly parted. Mary was curled up on his chest with a content, gentle purr.

After a beat, Adam decided that the floor was no place for him to fall asleep. Especially not dressed so slightly as he was—for all that Adam liked it, he was more concerned that Peter might be cold. He shifted to lay a hand over Quill’s shoulder, shaking him a few times.

When that failed, he sighed, lifting his hand to Peter’s face instead. Pinching the fat of his cheek between forefinger and thumb, frowning to himself. “Wake up, you idiot,” he muttered to himself, knowing Quill couldn’t hear him over the music. More affectionate than anything else.

Eventually Quill’s expression twisted, a hand coming up to rub at his eye and inadvertently knocking Adam’s aside. He heaved a long sigh and blinked awake, narrow blue slits squinting against the overhead lights.

He stared at Adam for a few seconds before life suddenly returned to his eyes, and he snapped a hand up to slip the headphones off. The other went around the cat, as if he wanted to sit up but didn’t want to disturb her. “Adam! Are you feeling okay?”

A bemused expression settled on Adam’s face as he allowed himself to lay more fully on his front to comfortably look at Peter, the stitching of the wound only protesting mildly. “I am doing alright, considering the circumstances. Why are you on the floor?”

Dirty blonde brows pinched together at the question, as if the answer was obvious. “You were on the bed. Hate to break it to you, pretty boy, but this thing can not fit two people,” he said, elbowing the frame pointedly.

An amused hum lingered behind Adam’s lips. The phrasing had his mind taking a brief detour, imagining a scenario where it did anyway.

Oblivious to his less-than-innocent thoughts, Peter continued. “Besides, I used to sleep on the floor all the time before the Milano. It’s not a big deal,” he assured, gently urging Mary off of his chest before he sat up. He took a moment to gather the headphones, wrapping the wiring around the Walkman before setting it aside with the other devices that lingered near him. He picked up the cassette tape and placed it beside the Walkman before he glanced Adam’s way again. Eye level with him, now.

Worry lingered in the lines of his face, his blonde brows furrowed over a light frown. His eyes roved Adam’s face, searching. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

An impulse had Adam reaching out to touch his face, because it was too close to his own not to. He trailed his fingertips along the line of Peter’s jaw, softer in its angular structure than Adam’s own. Watching the subtle part of pink lips at the touch, hearing the almost inaudible inhale. “I am fine, Peter. Thank you.”

There was a moment where Adam could see it—the conflict in Peter’s eyes, the visible weighing of options, before something like resignation laced with finality settled—and then he leaned into Adam’s touch ever so slightly, eyes closing. The crease between his brows didn’t fade. “I thought you were going to die, Adam.”

A part of him wanted to point out that he would come back even if he did, but he got the feeling that such an observation wasn’t helpful. Instead, he shifted to sit with his legs over the edge of the bed, reaching with both hands to take Peter’s face between his palms. Guiding him close. Darling blue eyes flicked up at him, settling into his hands like he belonged there.

He did, of course.

“I will not leave you, Peter Quill,” he promised softly.

The troubled expression on that pale face only seemed to worsen, even as Quill leaned further into him. Lifting his hands to lay them hesitantly over Adam’s knees. “Don’t say that. Everyone leaves.”

The pain of experience lingered in the words. Adam stroked his thumbs lovingly into freckled skin, drawn closer to him without conscious thought. “I will not. That I can promise you.”

A long moment passed before Peter answered, his voice split between distress and softness. “What are you doing to me, Adam?”

It was not a question that wanted an answer, but Adam gave him one anyway as he leaned in to claim Peter’s lips as his own. Watching blue eyes widen a few seconds before they slipped shut, seeing the twist of his brows as his face flushed pink.

The fingers against his knees curled, a stuttering breath trapped between their lips before Peter returned the kiss in kind. Pushing into Adam’s space slowly, growing bolder the longer the kiss lingered until he was seated on Adam’s lap. Bare thighs spread around Adam’s, pale hands lifting to take his face as Adam’s own fell to take Peter by the hips. Pulling him flush against his chest, reveling in the desperate, soft sound that pressed against his lips.

Their kiss took on a more feverish edge, Quill seeking something like reassurance, like affirmation, and Adam…

There were no true words to describe the intensity of the feeling in Adam’s chest, but he imagined it was not unlike that of a starved animal finally sinking its teeth into prey.

He lifted a hand to tangle it in blonde locks, tugging on the strands sharply. Peter obeyed with a needy gasp, his hands dropping to Adam’s shoulders until his nails curled into both fabric and skin. Adam dragged his lips over Peter’s jaw until he took the tender, flushed skin of his exposed throat between his teeth. Leaving behind smudged black lipstick stains and little red marks.

“Adam,” Peter breathed, his hands sliding from Adam’s shoulders to his chest. “God. Sorry, can we—uh—”

Understanding the question that was only half-asked, Adam withdrew to meet troubled blue eyes. He released blonde hair to slide his hand down to rest against Peter’s hip, though his gaze remained fixed to the visible black stain on Peter’s skin. “Are you—”

Peter shook his head, quick hands taking Adam’s face. “I’m fine, I—it’s just…”

He looked no less troubled than before, almost reluctant to meet Adam’s eyes. “I need to get something off my chest, and I…I don’t want to, because I really don’t want to ruin this.”

Adam inched closer to Peter’s face, his gaze dropping to black-smudged lips. “I will not leave you, Peter Quill.”

Something like remorse flashed through those eyes as Peter slipped a hand between them, closing it over Adam’s mouth. “I kissed that alternate version of you.”

It was a confession full of guilt and self-directed shame. It had Adam’s brows twitching together over narrow eyes, his fingers tightening around clothed hips.

A frustration that was not directed at Quill, but at that alternate version of himself that should have known better than to touch what wasn’t his. There wasn’t even room for naivety—that other Adam had seen the mark placed on Peter’s soul. The one that didn’t belong to him, the one that he had used to resurrect Peter, the one he had removed.

The mark that Adam had put there in the pattern of his own handprint, unique onto himself.

He had no excuse.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Peter continued as his hand slipped from Adam’s mouth. Using it to run it through his hair, turning his head away. “But I didn’t even—it’s not him I see in my head when I remember it, and it’s not him I see dying. It’s you. And it scares me, Adam. I don’t—I don’t know what to do. I want you so fucking bad, but what if—what if this is what kills you? What if I am what kills you?”

“Peter,” he tried with a gentle tone, shoving his anger for that other version of himself aside as he lifted a hand to cup Peter’s cheek in his palm.

The touch had that pale face crumbling with too many different types of pain, blue eyes screwing shut. “I keep telling myself I’m an idiot for even worrying about it, but then you won’t promise me you won’t die for me, and then you get stabbed and almost bleed out because someone broke into my room—”

“Peter, stop,” Adam said firmly, taking that pale face in both of his hands. Pulling him in until their foreheads touched, rubbing his thumbs slowly, softly into pale skin. “You are being unkind to yourself.”

“I’m being realistic,” Peter retorted, every inch of self-loathing he harbored in the words. He tried to pull away, but Adam slid his hand up his neck and around to the back of his skull to keep him close.

Scrubbing his fingers through blonde locks until he could feel some of the tension bleed from Peter as he leaned into him with a quiet, desperate breath. “Please, Adam,” he whispered in the miniscule space between them.

Adam trailed a slow thumb over Peter’s bottom lip, stained with faint edges of black. Watching his lips part gently and his pupils dilate despite the crease that formed between his brows. “What do you need from me, love?”

A shudder rippled beneath that soft skin as the pink staining his face became more red, blue eyes slipping shut again. Peter inched closer on his lap, his fingers curling a little tighter against Adam’s shoulders. “Tell me I’m overthinking everything. Please. I just need...”

Ah. He needed someone else to absolve him of the guilt that came with making a choice.

Adam hummed, his fingers gentle where they pet through Peter’s hair. Thumb slipping beneath his lip to linger in the subtle dip there. “You are overthinking this. The universe will always try to take from you, Peter, but that is no reason to deny yourself the happiness you can find. You deserve every inch of it.”

Ocean eyes bore into his, an aching longing in their depths. “I don’t know if I do.”

“You do,” Adam answered firmly, curling his finger beneath Peter’s chin. He kept his thumb pressed into that subtle divot, the tip of his nail scraping the edge of that soft lip.

The fingers against his shoulders flexed before tightening again. “I don’t know if I do,” Peter repeated, his voice quieter, “but I trust you.”

Then he pressed his lips against Adam’s again with a softness that betrayed every hour of his unbearable longing. A slowness that was purposeful, and Adam matched the languid pace with thoughtful curiosity.

He had not been with nearly as many people as Peter Quill had, but none of his passing curiosities had ever been soft like this. Even now, some part of him clawed beneath his skin to throw Peter to the mattress and devour him. To show him what true desire was.

But he deserved kindness, too.

A soft sigh from Peter got trapped between their lips as Adam slipped his fingers beneath Quill’s shirt, scraping his fingernails gently against soft flesh. Feeling the way it shivered beneath his touch as pale hands came up to take Adam’s face in his palms, the kiss turning a touch deeper.

Before long, though, Quill was the first to withdraw. A little breathless, lips splitting into a smile as Adam followed his retreat. A joyous little laugh pressing against his lips before Adam reluctantly pulled back, admiring the pink flush against freckled skin.

“Sorry,” Quill murmured, the corners of his lips still twisted upward, “but um. Probably for the best to call it there, hm? You’re hurt.”

A reasonable point, but still, Adam found himself unwilling to let Quill go. A fact Peter took note of, because his smile widened a bit before he pressed another quick kiss to Adam’s lips. “We can always pick this up later, Adam.”

Adam scraped fingernails gently across soft flesh, enough to make Peter shiver anew. Watching as he very visibly reconsidered for a second, a fact that had Adam’s lips curving upward slightly. “I'd like that,” he said, before slowly withdrawing his hands to let Peter stand.

Adam remained seated, distracted momentarily as Mary came over to rub against his ankles. He leaned over to pet her, though he remained partially aware of Quill putting his things away. Opening and closing drawers, lingering in front of the desk.

Adam glanced up at that mirror, seeing the twist of thought to Peter’s expression as he stared down at something held in his hands.

“Something wrong?” He asked as he sat upright again, earning the attention of blue eyes once more. Mary climbed onto the bed, taking the space beside the pillow that Adam had vacated.

Quill shook his head. “No, just…” he started, but trailed off with another, shorter shake of his head. He took a breath and said instead, “I know you said you don’t like, you know, loud music and whatever, so I figured—maybe you like quieter stuff. Slower stuff, maybe?”

Adam tipped his head slightly to the side, lips parting to speak when Quill turned around. Holding a red Walkman in his hand, with a different set of headphones that Adam had only seen Peter use a few times before. His brows furrowed. “You bought another one?”

A wry twist to Peter’s lips as he returned to the bed, sitting down beside Adam. He held out one of the small earbuds to him. “For you, yeah.”

He took the small device in his hand somewhat hesitantly when Peter said that, drawing Adam’s eyes back up to his face. Finding a softness in blue eyes that seemed—nervous, almost, to do this. “For me?”

Peter nodded, gesturing to his own ear with a raised brow, and Adam belatedly followed the instruction. After another moment of hesitation, Peter handed him the Walkman next. Pointing out the different buttons on the side, what they did. Letting Adam be the one to press the play button.

A part of him was still in shock, if that was even the right word. In all his time alive, he had never received a gift before. Let alone one so laden with gentle sentiment, with meaning that could only be given by Peter Quill.

An expression of love he had no way to return, though he desperately wished he could. His heart was overburdened with tender thoughts, an ache in his chest as the music played in his ear. Full of slower, less cacophonous songs than Quill’s own mixtapes. So considerate and thoughtful about Adam’s own preferences, of which he hadn’t even known he’d had.

And he did like them, he found. He liked all of them.

Gentle fingers brushed his knuckles, and Adam took Peter’s hand in his own without hesitation. Holding it on his lap, rubbing a thumb over skin cracked with old scars. He turned to lean into Peter’s space, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder.

After a while they ended up lying together at the foot of the bed, Peter flat on his back and Adam on his uninjured side. Leaned against Peter’s chest, a pale arm trapped under his ribs that Peter wasn’t getting back any time soon. Not that he seemed to mind.

As he listened to one song in particular, he couldn’t help but trace slow, swirling patterns against Peter’s chest. Right over where he had placed the soul bond. He felt the affection in his heart somehow strengthen, as if to strangle him—because it made him think of Quill with every word.

“What’s this one called?” he asked in a soft whisper.

It took a second for Peter to answer, and Adam could picture the thoughtful little crease between his brows. “Uh, I’ve Got You Under My Skin by Frank Sinatra.”

Adam hummed, letting more of his weight rest against Peter. All but nuzzling into him. “I like it,” he murmured.

A pale hand reached up to take his, the touch soft. “You do?”

Adam hummed, shifting his hand until he could bring Peter's knuckles to his lips. “You chose well, love. Thank you.”

A beat of quiet before Peter spoke again, his tone gentle. “That's the second time you've called me that.”

Adam tilted his head to see blue eyes staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Does it bother you?”

The hand in his squeezed his fingers, a disbelieving laugh spilling from pink lips. “No, no, I just—I don’t know. Sounds…you know, like something people would say if they were dating. Is that what you want?”

There was a moment where Adam considered the words, but then he was pushing himself upright. A pale hand settled over his elbow, a “Sorry—” spilling from Peter’s lips that abruptly cut short when Adam slipped a leg around his waist. Settling himself on top of Peter, setting the Walkman aside to take that beautiful face between his palms.

He leaned down for a kiss that devoured Quill's every breath, watching the red blush paint freckled skin. Feeling tentative hands settle against his thighs, nails pinching into the thin fabric there.

They lingered like that for a short while until Adam withdrew just enough to speak, lips brushing Peter's ever so slightly. Sharing heated breath, staring into those ocean eyes. "Have you not always been mine? Even this other version of me does not live within you as I do."

The red seemed to bleed into a deeper shade at that. “I didn’t want to assume.”

Adam hummed, kissing him again—and then kissing along his jaw, his cheek, his brow. Taking joy in the bubble of laughter it earned him, the bright smile at being smothered in affection as Peter raised his hands to Adam’s hips. “I would not be happy to have you just the once, Peter,” he whispered against his skin, withdrawing to look him in the eyes. Seeing the love pouring from them, black kiss marks staining his red-tinged skin. “I want you for as long as you will have me.”

Soft adoration glimmered within blue depths. "What if I wanted you forev—”

Adam kissed him anew, cutting off the flow of words. Feeling the smile once more, as those hands slid around his back to hold him close.

“Quill! Gamora’s back, are we ready to go?”

A groan against his lips as Peter turned his head away, toward the door to answer Rocket. A burst of mischief had Adam taking the opportunity to bite at Peter's jaw, reveling in the way his voice pitched at the sensation. “Just, uh—start the engines, I’ll be right out,” he called, the blush spreading to his throat.

Then he faced Adam again, the attempted scowl on his features utterly ruined by the faint amusement and the redness of his skin. “You are going to cause me problems in a second if you don’t stop.”

A pleased smile split Adam’s lips. “What kind?”

“Every kind,” Peter retorted, pushing to sit upright.

There was a moment where Adam debated if he wanted to move before caving to his better sensibilities, for once. He grabbed the red walkman and got to his feet, the earbuds having fallen out at some point—not that either of them had noticed.

Peter got out of bed next, running a hand through his hair. The corners of Adam's lips tilted upward at the black stains in the shape of Adam's lips littered across his face. “Come on. Rocket isn’t gonna wait around forever.”

He stepped out with Adam on his heels, locking the door behind him—and Adam realized belatedly that it had been locked before they left, too.

Did he not feel safe in his own room anymore?

Noticing his attention, Peter glanced over Adam’s shoulder toward the cockpit before meeting his eyes. Offering a sheepish smile as he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Just one of those days, you know?”

Adam hummed, reaching over to touch Quill’s hand. Interlocking their pinkies for a few moments. “I will not let harm come to you, Peter Quill. You are safe.”

The words had Quill closing his eyes, a slight pinch between his brows as he breathed out a sigh. Squeezing Adam’s pinky in his.

Then he let him go, instead touching his elbow as he slipped past Adam in the hall. Adam turned to watch him stride for the cockpit before he glanced toward the bathroom door.

He should probably get ready, if they were heading to that missing colony.

As he made his way toward the door, he heard Drax say, “Peter Quill, what is on your face?”

“What is what on my face?”

Rocket cut in, his tone deeply teasing. “Oh, I see Golden Boy's awake.”

A beat passed before Gamora’s bright laughter filled the space, Rocket and Groot joining her.

“Oh, fuck you guys,” Peter retorted with a laugh of his own, “God damn it. Do we have tissu—thanks, Drax.”

Adam didn’t bother hiding a smile as he disappeared into the bathroom, the door shutting behind him.

Notes:

my boys........kith........

Chapter 11

Notes:

finished this one earlier today but i spent a few hours tweaking certain things.....next chapter may take a bit longer though because in tweaking this one i realized I had to change um. a good portion of the next chapter. so whatever i guess

The jump to the missing colony didn’t take long. Once they were in-sector, they ran a few preliminary scans on the outskirts of the planet. Rocket swept for radio signals while Gamora checked for intelligent life signs, and Peter took the time to skim through the Nova report that Cosmo passed along a little bit ago.

“Gettin’ weird radio signals,” Rocket said after a few minutes.

To Peter’s left, Adam frowned. “Elaborate.”

Rocket waved a hand, tapping his screen with the other. “Workin’ on it.”

A few seconds later, the screen lit up with an intercepted transmission. The picture was distorted almost as much as the audio, but slivers of gleaming gold metal could still be seen between the disruptions.

The audio wasn’t any clearer, but Peter was able to pick up a single phrase: “I believe.”

Rocket turned it off, shaking his head. “Doesn’t originate from the planet, though. The computer can’t pinpoint an origin.”

That was a departure from the Nova report, which made no mention of any kind of radio signals. Peter frowned, brows furrowing. “Signal masking?”

Rocket made a vague gesture with his hands, glancing back at Peter. “That’d be my guess.”

“Huh. Okay. Weird. Gamora?”

She glanced back at him before looking at her screen again. “No life signs near the colony site, other than the local wildlife.”

He closed the Nova report. “Okay. Anyone check planetary conditions? Is it safe to land?”

“I am Groot,” came the response from the flora colossus, gesturing to his console.

“He said the computer is projecting a storm over the colony site soon, but otherwise it’s normal,” Rocket explained. “It’s even got breathable atmo.”

Peter gave a nod. “Great. Well, let’s set the Milano down as close to the colony site as we can get then. See what happened to these people.”

Everyone turned back to their own stations as the Milano was guided down to the planet’s surface. The colony had its own miniature spacedock that seemed big enough to hold a single ship, but it was currently blocked by a transport vessel. Instead, they set the Milano down just on the outskirts of the colony before powering down.

They had all geared up on the FTL jump over here. Changing from casual wear to armor or, in Drax’s case, simply hooking his daggers into place and calling it a day.

Unlike Peter, Adam chose to leave his Walkman behind in Peter’s room. To avoid the risk of damaging it, he'd said.

Peter was touched that it meant so much to him.

As soon as the ship was parked, shut down, and secure, the others made their way to the hangar bay.

Well, except for Peter—but only because he noticed something strange.

There was an odd feeling against his skin once the environmental systems were off. Like a layer of…static, or something. Maybe the planet had a strong magnetic field?

No one else had remarked on it, though. Or was he somehow more susceptible to it because he was human? It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Are you alright?”

Adam. Of course he had stayed behind when everyone else went ahead. Quill glanced to him, seeing him still leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.

He had fixed his makeup when he changed, and he was wearing his usual all-black latex bodysuit with red details and gloves. The thigh-high boots and killer heels were a little distracting, but eventually Quill remembered that Adam had asked him a question.

He sighed and got to his feet, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. “Yeah, it’s just…do you feel static in the air?”

A mild crease formed between Adam’s brows at that. “It’s faint, but yes.”

Peter made a contemplative sound at that as he looked through the viewport of the Milano. The sky was riddled with white-gray clouds, darker in the distance. “Do you think it’s the storm, or…I don’t know, something like that?”

Adam was quiet for a moment before he shifted against the wall, glancing toward the hangar. “I am uncertain as of yet.”

A small sigh as Peter ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, it’s probably nothing, but…still. Let me know if you figure it out.”

Something just a little bit mischievous bent Adam's lips upward as he returned his attention to Quill. “As if you will not be beside me.”

Heat flushed Peter’s skin at that as he shoved his hand back into his pocket. “I pair off with the others. Sometimes.”

“I prefer that you stay near to me,” Adam said like he was just stating a simple fact.

There was a knee-jerk reaction somewhere in Peter’s heart that wanted to believe he was joking. As if it was easier to believe than the alternative, because no one had ever really wanted him to stick around before.

But he knew Adam meant it. He had only ever proved as much, time and time again. Lingering beside him when the others left, catching him when he slipped too far into memory, being the first to come to his rescue—a genuine feat when Drax was on the team.

Even so, the life he had lived before the Guardians was not one saturated with true affection. He never knew how to respond to such things, especially not when they were so bluntly delivered.

Well, maybe he knew of one way.

He stepped into Adam’s space, hands settling over that golden metal belt around Adam’s waist. A gloved hand lifted between them until Adam had him gently by the jaw, angling his head back the slightest bit before he leaned down for a kiss.

His heart swelled with painful affection at the fact that Adam had beat him to it. That he wanted Peter just as badly as Peter wanted him.

A first for him, as sad as that might be to admit.

“Oh, boy, I wish I knew where Peter and Adam were!” came Gamora’s raised voice from the hangar, the echo of the powered-off ship carrying her voice to them. Intentionally exaggerated. “Sure is weird that they’re both taking their sweet time.”

A begrudging smile bent Peter’s lips as he pulled away slightly, though not so much that he left Adam’s grasp. “You’ll have to get used to that, pretty boy.”

A soft sound escaped Adam, caught between a scoff and a laugh as he pressed a quick kiss to Peter’s lips one last time before withdrawing. “Let them talk.”

Quill tapped his visor into place as they left the cockpit, hiding the burst of heat that painted his skin. “Dangerous permission to give the Guardians, because they will talk.”

Black lips twisted in an amused smile as Adam followed. “I feel no shame that they know you’re mine, Peter Quill.”

Peter latched onto the word mine so desperately that it made him feel something like embarrassment, the heat beneath his skin worsening. It inspired something else, too, but Peter couldn’t quite name the feeling.

Like finding water after being dehydrated for too long, maybe.

Descending into the hangar bay together probably didn’t do them any favors in Gamora’s mind, so it was a good thing that she only seemed amused when he glanced her way. Even Rocket had that knowing look in his eyes, caught between exasperation and amusement himself. Next to Rocket was Groot, and further ahead than either of them was Drax, standing closest to the ramp.

“Try to stay together, alright? We’ve got no idea what happened to these people,” Peter said as he started for the ramp.

Taking that as their cue, the Guardians exited the Milano and stepped out onto that alien world.

The planet itself was beautiful, in its way. The long grass beneath their boots was sun-yellow, swaying like a wave with every breeze that blew past. Tall, white trees towered above them, canopies of orange-yellow leaves hanging low and drifting in the wind. Sharp, bronze-gold shrubs flowered with long, white petals, the center of them sparkling like gold dust.

“I am Groot!”

Quill glanced his way to see Groot fawning over one of the shrubs. Rocket, perched on his shoulder, pat him on the head. “Yeah, bud, I’d say so.”

Groot bent low, further investigating the shrub. Quill had an idea why, and felt himself smile as he glanced away.

Gloved fingers brushed his as they walked, pinky interlocking with his after a bit. Squeezing.

A strange, almost bashful feeling settled in his chest as he squeezed back. A ridiculous thing to feel, because he had done far more embarrassing, scandalizing things in his life than holding someone’s hand, and yet.

The colony came into view sometime later. A small, secluded area surrounded by dense forestry. White prefab buildings were situated in a wide circle, the spacedock at one end and a schoolhouse on the other. The spacedock was situated within a wide-open field to accommodate starships. Behind the schoolhouse was a garden walkway leading into the forest itself, like a nature walk path.

As they neared the colony site, Gamora called out from the front. “We’ve got writing on the walls.”

He already knew the answer from the Nova report when he asked, “Can you read it?”

“No,” she answered as Groot rejoined the group.

He inspected the wall for a long moment. “I am Groot.”

Rocket glanced at his face. “Huh?”

Groot repeated himself, pointing to the wall.

Quill was close enough now to see it; a script written in bright yellow paint, or something. Bold against the white wall.

None of the characters looked familiar to him.

Rocket looked at it, squinting, before saying, “Groot says it looks like its repeating. Like a…I don’t know. A phrase written over and over, or something.”

Gamora returned her attention to it, inspecting, before she went, “Huh. Yeah, I see it.”

She held her hands up, putting one at the start of the writing and the other a short distance away. “This part. It's repeating.”

“It’s too bad no one here knows how to decode languages,” Quill remarked, curiosity biting at him. What could something so short possibly say? And why would they write it a thousand times?

Rocket unhooked his tablet from his belt, tapping the screen a few times before he held it up to the wall. “We’ll just snap a picture and send it to Cosmo. See if he has someone that can crack it for us.”

“Good idea,” Peter said, beginning to move away from the wall. “While we wait on that, we should keep going. Storm’s coming, and I wanna be at least mostly done by the time it gets here.”

For once, no one argued.

Though the colony was small, it was still decided that it would be best to split off into twos to cover the different sections. Adam had wordlessly decided he and Peter were a team, which meant Gamora and Drax were a team, because Rocket and Groot didn’t voluntarily separate. Splitting up had Peter a little uneasy, but he trusted the others to stay in radio contact and to keep themselves safe.

Gamora and Drax took the residential block, while Rocket and Groot took the agricultural block. Adam and Peter took the schoolhouse and had plans to check out the spacedock after, thinking the schoolhouse probably wouldn’t take them long to get through.

The lights were still on when they got the door open, harsh fluorescence lighting up the faux wooden desks and floors. The walls were off-white, but covering every inch of them was more yellow text. Whatever they had used had been wet at the time, because it had dripped in places, drying into place along with the splatter of yellow along the floor.

The lights weren’t the only thing still on. A sink ran in the back, water rushing into an empty basin. Quill stepped over to it to turn it off, frowning behind his mask as he glanced around the room again. Seeing that the desks were still alight with holodisplays the children had open, and some of those pages were most certainly not relegated to their studies. He turned toward the front of the room, taking in the electronic board implanted against the wall.

It had been written over with that foreign text, the page beneath distorted and glitching. Between blips, Peter thought he caught sight of that gleaming gold again. From the radio transmission Rocket picked up.

After a moment, he approached the board and tapped a few buttons found near the bottom of the display. Reducing its touch sensitivity to see if he could get the board to stop fragmenting from the paint.

A comfortable heat signaled Adam’s arrival at his side. “What are you doing?”

Peter hesitated before he continued, glancing up at the board as the transmission became clearer. “Following a hunch.”

A man stood in gold metal armor, shining from the lights all around him. “I believe, and so must you. He needs every bit of our faith we can give—he cannot escape his confines without us.”

“Is this current?” Adam asked beside him, frowning at the screen.

Peter glanced toward the tiny little stamp in the corner that had the stardate, a clear sign that it wasn’t live. “No. It looks pre-recorded. I’m guessing the signal got caught in our scan because it was never technically received here.”

“Do you believe these people had something to do with the disappearance of the colonists?” Adam asked, glancing toward Peter.

He checked the room over again, noting, not for the first time, the lack of evidence of a struggle. The fanatical writing on the walls, the way it seemed like everyone just got up and left in the middle of their day. “…I think they are the colonists, Adam.”

There was a long moment of silence from Adam that had Peter turning to look at him, tipping his head slightly to catch intense white eyes. He was about to open his mouth, but then…something shifted in the air, the static growing denser against his skin as thunder cracked overhead.

Inexplicably, both Adam and Peter looked toward the back door of the schoolhouse. Something Adam took note of, his burning white eyes snapping to Peter the second he saw it. “You should not be able to feel that.”

Indignation flared in his chest when Peter looked up at him next. “Feel what? What is that?”

“Reality shifting around us,” Adam answered, a deeply troubled expression on his face. “When you asked earlier if I felt static, that was what I thought it was—but I dismissed it because you should not be able to feel it. You never have before.”

Peter held a hand up, face pinching in a grimace behind the visor. “Sorry—what? What does that mean, ‘reality shifting around us?’”

White eyes flicked toward the back door again, that expression still lingering. “Another reality is pressing against ours, here. The space between them must be thinning.”

Quill’s brows furrowed as he dropped his hand back to his side. “Uh, okay. That sounds…bad.”

A deep concern lingered in those white eyes as Adam stared at him. “It is.”

Peter sighed and turned his head away, briefly wondering why things could never just be simple for once. “Cool, love that. So is there, like, an origin somewhere, or a hole in reality we can just patch up, maybe?”

That white, inhuman gaze slid to the door again. “That way, I believe.”

“Then let’s do it.”

There was a long moment where Adam simply stared at him, and somehow Peter could see the war he was fighting against himself. Wanting to argue against Peter’s presence, yet uneasy at the thought of leaving him behind.

Peter saved him the trouble, tapping the back of his hand to Adam’s chest as he moved past him. Toward the door. “You’re stuck with me, Adam. Let’s go.”

A deep sigh before Adam followed, catching up in no time at all.

As they were stepping out onto the nature trail, the comms lit up with Rocket’s voice. “Keep finding these weird glowing generators. Like, really tall, wide generators. They’ve got ‘em stored over here.”

“Drax and I found a few of those, too, but we haven’t found anything else of note. It looks like everyone just got up and left,” Gamora said, sounding perturbed.

“The Nova report said the generators were colony-made, I think," Peter said, gazing out at the Milano in the distance, "so I'm not sure there's anything weird about them."

"Nothing weird about 'em except the fact that a colony this size shouldn't even need this many gigantic generators, you mean?" Rocket retorted.

Peter sighed, returning his attention ahead. "Well, you know, Rocket, we can just tally up the generators and the scribbles on the wall as weird cult stuff, okay? My concern right now is this 'reality fissure' Adam says is nearby."

“Sounds dangerous. Do you want us to come with you?” Gamora asked, her tone genuine.

“Pretty sure Adam has a handle on the reality stuff, but if anything goes wrong I'll let you know. In the meantime, you guys mind checking out that spacedock?”

"Will you even be able to let us know if something goes wrong with reality?" Rocket pointed out. "What if you get turned into a squid?"

Peter made a face at that. "That doesn't happen."

"It so happens."

"How about we agree to go after Peter and Adam if they're gone for longer than thirty minutes?" Gamora offered.

For the first time in this conversation, Drax chimed in. "Those sound like reasonable terms to me. I accept."

With the comms still open, Peter let a long, drawn-out sigh. "But you'll check out the spacedock first, right?" he intoned as if he was trying to coach a child into giving him an answer he wanted.

Gamora snorted with amusement on the other end. "You got it, Peter. Don't get killed in thirty minutes."

He closed the line with a shake of his head, half-rolling his eyes at their antics.

Ahead of him, Adam had one hand held out at his side, his head turned in that direction. His fingers traced the air as he slowed to a pause, his focus locked on whatever he was seeing.

As Quill came closer, he saw it too. Barely.

The tiniest scar in space-time, the cloudy skyline and yellow grass broken by a string of red.

For a second he thought he could almost hear it, a soft whisper in the quiet. A shudder rippled down his spine, but he ignored it. “Is this what we’re feeling?”

A knot formed between Adam’s brows. “No. This is evidence of it spreading.”

He turned his attention forward, going quiet for a moment. Then he glanced back at Quill, a strange trepidation in his eyes. “I cannot rid myself of the feeling that I am bringing you into danger, Quill. You should not be able to feel this as I do.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do about that, Adam. I can’t not feel it.”

A few moments of silence as Adam considered, lips parting to speak as he turned more toward Peter. “…I want to keep you safe, but I do not know how to do that in this situation.”

“How about we just stick together and figure the rest out as we go?” Peter offered in his usual light tone.

A displeased expression settled on that perfect face. “Those types of plans are the ones that end with you hurt the most.”

Though it was reflexive to want to argue the point, he kind of couldn’t. It was true enough that improvising got him in trouble more often than not, but it was also true that improvising worked. Sometimes. A quarter of the time, maybe. “Well I hate to break it to you, pretty boy, but I'm not letting you wander off alone.”

Though Adam still seemed reluctant, he nonetheless sighed and reached out with a hand. “Then stay near to me, at least. Please.”

Peter took the offer, letting Adam draw him close with a hidden, playful half-smirk. “Oh, no. What an impossible task. However will I manage.”

The slightest twitch at the corners of Adam’s lips. “I wonder, sometimes,” he murmured, bringing his free hand up to tap away Peter’s visor.

For a brief second, he found himself wondering when Adam had even picked up that habit, and why he never questioned it before—but then that hand cupped his cheek and soft black lips closed over his, and the thoughts scattered away.

It wasn’t a lingering kiss given their situation. Still, it had Peter staring after Adam when he withdrew and turned away, pulling Peter alongside him. Feeling affection tighten his chest before he glanced away again, a tiny smile on his lips.

Before long they found themselves outside an unassuming cave. Shrouding it were large, leafy shrubs, and long, pale yellow vines draping to the ground. Situated to either side of the cave were those large generators Rocket mentioned, glowing so harshly with golden light that they were difficult to look at directly.

More of note to him, though, was the sudden prickle behind his eyes and the tightness in his teeth. Even the strange buzzing under his skin, like a thousand insects crawling to escape his flesh. He grimaced, staring into the cave. “Please tell me the rift isn’t in there, Adam.”

White eyes looked back at him, the hand in his tightening briefly. “It is.”

Quill let out a deep sigh. “Cool,” he muttered, following when Adam pulled him along.

Chapter 12

Summary:

Seams of reality splintered around them as they walked, streaking through the air. Slivers of another world, cracks of red that were just as haunting as the tear outside the cave had been.

Something about it itched with familiarity.

Notes:

did i forget the chapter preview last time? yes. are we going to talk about that? no.

The inside of the cave was more spacious the further in they got. The ceiling and walls opened up and the ground sloped down, creating a cavernous echo of boots on stone. Howling wind followed them for a short while before they got too far for even it to travel, though the echo of it bounced off of craggy walls.

Every so often, they’d come across another generator on the way. Lighting the path they followed. Peter frowned as they passed yet another one, though he couldn’t look directly at it. “You know, maybe Rocket was right to think these were weird—why are they in a cave, of all places?”

Beside him, Adam spared only a brief glance toward one of the generators. “I am uncertain, but I suspect we’ll find the answer when we find the rift.”

Yeah, that would be their luck, wouldn’t it? More complications added to the mix. As if they needed that.

The generators emitted light bright enough that it was difficult to see much outside the bubble of brightness they created, but still Quill could barely make out the jagged rock formations dripping down from the high ceiling. Hidden between them were small, black shapes he couldn’t make out, and just chalked it up to weird shadows.

A roll of thunder rattled the cave walls somewhat as they got further, and Peter repressed a sigh at the thought that they were going to get soaked on the way back to the Milano.

Seams of reality splintered around them as they walked, streaking through the air. Slivers of another world, cracks of red that were just as haunting as the tear outside the cave had been.

Something about it itched with familiarity.

Another crack of thunder, powerful enough to rattle the cave walls with the force of its reverberation. A litany of agitated squeaks lit up the cave a second before a mass of black shadows took flight further inward, and Quill felt his heart rate spike dramatically in his chest as he realized what they were.

Bats.

He had half a mind to pull away from Adam, to run—a ridiculous urge—when he felt a small flurry of them fly past him, squeaking in his ear. He jerked away with a sharp cry as one landed on his shoulder, feeling the leather tug where it got stuck. His heart raced in his chest, his hands caught halfway up toward his face as he listened to it squeak right beside his ear. A shudder ripped through him, and he didn’t even need to say anything before he felt heat enter his space.

A gentle hand on his shoulder, the other carefully freeing the bat from his jacket. It whipped past Quill when it was free, tousling his hair, and the shudder that tore through him then went all the way down to his toes. He let out a sharp breath that sounded more like a sob, blindly reaching to hold onto Adam. “Fucking—fucking bats, I—”

Frustration built in him alongside the flood of get me out of here, and he struggled to breathe enough to speak. It shouldn’t affect him this much. They were bats. Normal bats.

Right?

A warm, gloved hand settled on the back of his neck before drawing him in. He collapsed against Adam, his fingers curling tightly against cloth and metal both around those hips. He buried his face in Adam’s shoulder, screwing his eyes shut as he tried to breathe. Hating himself a little bit for needing it, but relieved that Adam was here all the same.

He tried counting in his mind, but his thoughts were too jumbled for it to be effective. Picturing gnashing, sharp fangs scraping the metal of his visor, claws shredding skin, bat-like humanoid bodies that wanted to kill him.

Adam's other arm wrapped around his back before he withdrew the one at Peter's neck, but a few moments later, his bare hand returned. Slipping up into his hair, gentle nails scrubbing at his scalp. “You have nothing to fear, love,” he murmured softly, holding Peter just that little bit closer.

Slowly, aided by the gentle touch and the slow, steady rise and fall of Adam’s chest with every breath, Peter felt more like himself. His fingers flexed over Adam’s hips before slackening, breathing out a slow, if unsteady, breath.

“It’s just normal bats,” he muttered more to himself than Adam, finally pulling away. Running a hand through his hair, staring at the ground with a frown.

Gentle hands cupped his face, one gloved and one not, and his brows furrowed a little more even as he leaned into the touch. Desperate for reassurance. “Everyone is afraid of something, Peter. It does not make you lesser.”

Peter gave a somewhat disbelieving hum as he flicked his gaze up at Adam. “Even you?”

Inhuman white eyes speared into him. For a second, he could see it plainly in Adam’s eyes. Could feel it pulse within his own chest where the bond nestled against his heart.

The fear that came hand in hand with affection. “Yes.”

Unsure what to say to that, Peter tentatively took Adam’s hand in his and turned his face to lean into that bared palm. Closing his eyes briefly, taking in the scent of ozone and open flame.

A beat later, he felt soft lips press to his exposed cheek. “Are you feeling better?” Adam asked gently, pulling away.

Quill opened his eyes and gave a nod. “Sorry. I didn't mean to slow us—”

“Don’t,” Adam said, tapping him gently against the tip of his nose with his bare index finger. As if scolding a cat, or something.

It was enough of a shock to fully break him from the nerves that claimed him, a begrudging smile bending his lips as he suppressed a laugh. Watching Adam pull his glove from where he’d tucked it under the golden belt, slipping it back on. “Okay. Sure. Lead the way, then.”

Adam took his hand anew and pulled him close, turning away to guide him yet further into the cave. They encountered more bats along the way, but Peter tried to pretend they weren’t there. Focusing on the hand in his, staring at anything else but the ceiling.

‘Anything else’ happened to be those seams of reality, which grew wider the closer they got to the source. Revealing partial images of another world. Broken buildings lining a vacant city street, blood on the asphalt, all of it bathed in an eerie red glow.

The hairs at the back of Quill’s neck stood on end as he realized he recognized the scenery. Crimson echoes of a reality he had left behind.

He tore his gaze from it to look at Adam, his name on the tip of his tongue—

And there it was.

A haunting red moon, bathing the cavern ahead in soft crimson hues. Spliced through with strips of their own reality like a seam of fabric about to burst, those generators almost filling the space like a maze.

Standing before the rift was a tall figure in gleaming gold, flanked by two others. Yellow light emanated from their raised hands, infusing the rift—

And the seams widened, the red bursting forth that much more. That static against his skin sparked anew with deepening pressure, another roll of thunder ahead.

“Adam—” he hissed quietly, though Adam was already pulling him behind one of the generators. All but shoving him behind it, in fact.

“I see it. Stay here,” Adam returned in a hushed tone before he ran ahead.

Like hell. He drew one of his element guns in his hand, raising the other to put his visor back in place. He opened a line to the Guardians, keeping as quiet as he could when he said, “Trouble at our location. Pinging you coordinates.”

“We’re already on our way. Thirty minutes are up, remember?” came Gamora’s response, punctual as always.

He didn’t even question it. “You guys are the best. See you soon.”

Just as he was about to peek out from behind the generator, he heard a voice he didn’t recognize yell out, “Pagan! You interfere with our holy mandate!”

A flash of solar light struck across the cavern, throwing the three armored men into the far wall. Adam took his place in front of the rift, hands outstretched toward it, and Peter rushed to join him.

Firing off a few rounds to encase the armored men in granite when he was near enough, stopping them from getting up. “Adam, can you close it?”

A frustrated sound escaped Adam's throat. “I’m trying. They’ve done so much damage to it already—”

A purple bolt of sickening energy whipped out of the rift, and if Peter hadn’t ducked, it would have hit him. It lanced off the generator behind him, chaining between them until they seemed to grow even brighter.

With a violent pulse of energy, the rift ripped open completely. The shockwave sent Adam crashing into Peter, who jolted to catch him with both arms even as he, too, got thrown.

They crashed through a generator and into the hard ground behind it, the force of the hit combined with Adam’s weight above him crushing the air from his lungs.

The cave itself rattled with the burst of energy, dust and stone fragments falling from above. The bats clinging to the ceiling fled for the cave exit in a flurry of shadowed motion and angry squeaks, and Adam was quick to roll off of Peter and onto his knees beside him.

“Peter—Peter—” he hissed as he took Peter’s face between his gloved hands, frantic.

Quill raised a disoriented hand to pat one of Adam’s, feeling his lungs burn in his chest as air returned to him all at once. “'m okay,” he wheezed out.

“I told you to stay,” Adam pressed on, dropping his hands to take Quill by the arms with a grip that was just a little too tight. Hauling him off the ground. “Why do you insist—”

“I’m okay,” he repeated, shifting his gaze to that open rift.

Standing in the glow of that haunted moon was a tall figure. Draped in red and gold cloth, a shoulder mantle attached to the cloak, and—

A hood drawn over a familiar, golden mask.

Dread froze him in place, staring at the man he watched die. Adam turned to look after a moment, shifting his hold on Peter until he had an arm across his chest. As if to protect him from the ghost staring him down.

The mask tilted ever so slightly to the left, dried blood caked to its surface.

“Hello again, Peter Quill. Did you miss me?”

Notes:

I woke up at 6am this morning on the dot and was possessed to write. it is now 2:40pm. i have only taken an hour break before i went right back into it. help. me. (do not i love them.......)

Chapter 13

Summary:

A sound like an amused hum behind the mask, but it carried an edge. “Impatient.” He gestured behind Adam with a dramatic flourish, and somehow Quill felt the hostile burn of his eyes on him. “My quarry is Peter Quill, not you.”

“As if I would just let you have him,” Adam hissed, the words harsher than Peter had ever heard. He himself was still too stunned to find words, but he very much agreed—he wasn’t about to go anywhere with anyone.

A laugh then, dripping with sinister amusement. “Let me? Oh, you’re funny.”

Notes:

WOO I finished ANOTHER one before classes start again tomorrow!!!!!!! this is the most productive spring break i have ever had guys. insane what free time and brainrot will do to a man.

 

The hammering of his heart felt more rabbit-like than human. “No, that’s not possible. I saw you die. I saw it,” Peter said, incapable of looking away. Belatedly, he noticed his element gun near the figure’s feet; he hadn’t even realized he’d dropped it, but he supposed he must have to catch Adam.

“Oh, sweet thing,” the figure cooed, voice dripping with false honey. “Death holds no dominion over me. You should know that.”

The figure took a step forward, and his own Adam shifted more to cover Quill with his body in response. His entire posture was tense, hands positioned at his sides as if he was ready to strike out if need be. “I see the corruption in your soul, deceiver. What are you?"

A sound like an amused hum behind the mask, but it carried an edge. “Impatient.” He gestured behind Adam with a dramatic flourish, and somehow Quill felt the hostile burn of his eyes on him. “My quarry is Peter Quill, not you.”

“As if I would just let you have him,” Adam hissed, the words harsher than Peter had ever heard. He himself was still too stunned to find words, but he very much agreed—he wasn’t about to go anywhere with anyone.

A laugh then, dripping with sinister amusement. “Let me? Oh, you’re funny.”

It all happened faster than Quill could keep up with; in the blink of an eye, the figure seemed to evaporate from thin air. In the next blink, there was a cold, bare hand dragging him back against an equally cold, armored chest. He hadn’t even processed that before wild white eyes snapped around, wide with disbelief—

And then the masked Adam whipped his free arm out in an arc, creating a violent purple shockwave that threw Adam across the cave. Through another generator and into the far wall, just barely avoiding falling through the rift himself. “I didn’t plan on asking!”

Peter elbowed the man sharply in the ribs and twisted in his grip, trying to wrench himself free—but the grip only tightened as the figure whirled around and slammed him against a nearby generator so harshly that it forced what little air he had left from his lungs, a crack splintering its frame behind him.

He tried to pry the death grip off of him as he dropped a hand down toward the last gun in its holster, lungs burning, but then there was a tight, gloved grip on his wrist as that, too, was shoved against the generator. The figure leaned in, ice draping over Quill as they spoke against his ear. Black spots were starting to dot his vision.

“Did I mention the lack of patience, sweet thing?”

A blinding light burst against not-Adam’s unarmored shoulder, bright enough to almost blind Peter, hot enough to make him sweat in the instant it hit—and in that same moment, the red cloak erupted into white-hot flame.

A startled hiss preceded the man shoving Peter to the ground, flailing to rip the burning cloak off.

He barely managed to catch himself on his hands and knees, coughing and struggling to breathe through the burn in his lungs. The imprint of harsh, cold fingers around his throat lingered.

Warm, desperate hands grabbed at him, dragging him up to his feet and pulling him away before he was even fully standing. Toward the exit.

“The rift—” Peter choked out, because they needed to close it—leaving it open was a waking nightmare that Peter didn’t want on his conscience.

“I can’t, Peter,” Adam retorted, dragging Peter through the maze of generators. “Not with—”

In a shower of glass-like shards and yellow energy that spilled out like mist, the generator a few paces ahead of them exploded—and a second later Peter was being shoved backward, toward the ground by his own Adam.

When he oriented himself again, he couldn’t see either Adam, but he could hear them. Fighting somewhere deeper in the cavern. He got to his feet, whipping his head around as he drew his gun from its holster.

“Peter!”

The sound of Gamora’s voice was a relief, and he whipped his head toward her as she and the other Guardians rushed into the space.

“Where is Adam Warlock?” Drax demanded, blades drawn into his hands.

Peter gestured wildly with his free hand. “Your guess is as good as—”

A burst of purple light shot across the cavern from above, and he heard the impact of a body on the other side. His heart jumped to his throat, but he didn’t even have the chance to think of running after his own Adam before the other one was hovering in front of him.

Devoid of the red cloak and hood, revealing fluffy, disordered white hair falling around the mask to his shoulders.

His arrival had Peter backing up toward the Guardians, gaze trained up at that alternate Adam. Stepping in front of him were Drax and Gamora, taking up defensive stances.

From behind, Rocket muttered, “Uh, is that—is that another Adam?”

Not-Adam clicked his tongue behind the mask, the sound somehow loud. “Darling, you should have told me we were to have guests. I’d have provided entertainment sooner!”

He waved a hand, and the rift further behind him shuddered and pulsed—and then more bodies stepped through it.

Bat-like, humanoid. Elongated claws, beady eyes, leather wings under their arms.

The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end.

That golden mask tilted, his voice painted with amusement. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it, sweet thing?”

What happened next was pure chaos given shape. A solar flare knocked the other Adam away from them, and then the bat creatures lunged toward the Guardians with a hissing screech, yet more spilling out of the open rift.

As Gamora and Drax ran forth to cut a swathe through the creatures, Peter yelled, “The teeth! Watch the teeth, don’t get bit!”

He raised his element gun to fire off plasma rounds at the nearest bat creature, the red glow emanating from the rift making it difficult for him to discern between memory and reality. Flickering images of crumbled buildings lining red-hued streets, a broken Avengers sign, blood on the back of Herbie’s white car, the empty nothing of a destroyed reality—

“What’s the matter, pretty boy? Can’t tell what’s real and what’s not?” came a voice in his ear, though there was no signature coldness to signify the nearness of that other Adam.

A beat later and he realized the voice was in his head.

The world fell away at that moment, leaving him in a pitch-dark alley. An ocean of blood dragged at his thighs, his heart racing in his chest, his breaths coming far too quickly.

White eyes appeared in the dark before bleeding red, and a white, sinister smirk split the dark. “Didn’t I tell you? I have you, Peter Quill. You are mine.”

“Get out of my head,” he spat, feeling the shudder rip down his spine. Distantly, he could hear it—the fighting that was still going on around him in the real world, the yelling—but he couldn’t see it. Couldn’t react to it, couldn’t drag himself out of this waking nightmare the other Adam had shoved him into.

A laugh, echoing off the walls of the alley—of the cave? “Oh, don’t worry, sweet thing. You aren’t in any danger.”

“Get out,” he tried again, raising the hand that held the element gun—only to find that his hand was empty. Of course it was, why did he expect any different?

This wasn't real. None of it was.

The face drew closer, a touch against his cheek—cold, somehow, and Quill couldn’t tell if it was real or fake. Illusion or reality. A light spilled in from nowhere, illuminating that face for the first time—

Reflective purplish gray skin, the bronze halo that was embedded in Adam’s face shattered into jagged black lines that cut through brow down to cheek. Straight through crimson eyes, glowing in the dark.

Sharp, long canines glinted in the light, the pointed tips making Peter shudder as he tried to move away—but he could not. His legs wouldn’t obey him.

“Oh, darling. I can make this feel so much more real, if that's what you desire.”

And in the next instant—

Cold stone chilled his dirty, bare feet. A metal chain connected them, another connecting his ankles to his wrists, another to his neck. His clothes were ripped and tattered, covered in just as much grime as the rest of him.

A bruise pulsed beneath his skin, his cheek still swollen. Metal still danced on his tongue from the cut his own teeth had made upon impact, but it wasn’t the only taste that lingered.

An acidic, cloying liquid from digging his teeth into green scales hard. Shreds of green still lingered under his cracked, bloody fingernails.

They should have killed him. Part of him wanted them to, because at least then it would be over.

The pain of seeing his mother die every time he closed his eyes. Her blood splattering the ground, his face, his torso. Blood he still wore somewhere beneath the dirt and bruises.

The pain of knowing he was too small to save her. Too small to save himself, when he was taken away from her. From his home.

From Earth.

It was easy to lose track of time in the cell. Dim light trickled in from between metal bars, but it was all dark shadows beyond that. Dark shadows and a quiet so suffocating it crackled in his ears, like the static of a TV that had a bent antenna.

In his worst moments, he would hum to himself. Picking a song his mom had liked and filling the unbearable silence with noise, broken by stuttering sobs. Unable to see through blurry eyes, feeling hot tears track down his dirty face.

He’d never hear her sing again.

The first and last time he had been dragged from his cell, he had been injected with something that knocked him unconscious. When he woke, he was seated in a small vessel with a dozen other prisoners, all of them chained.

The spot below the corner of his jaw, close to his ear, pulsed with agony. He blinked and raised his hands to his throat, feeling sterile bandages wrapped around it.

He broke out in a cold sweat, looking at the other prisoners. None seemed to be in a similar condition.

But one of them met his wide gaze, a deeply pitiable look in their void-like eyes. “The little Terran is too small. He won’t survive.”

“You think any of us will? It’s Thanos,” said another.

It was a strange sort of horror to realize he could understand them. Like the fantasy he had built himself in his head had shattered into a thousand pieces.

This was real, and there was no one coming to save him.

You poor thing, came a voice, and it took him far too long to parse through his own thoughts until he realized it was a memory. Not real. Forced to the front of his mind, and it was a struggle to remember where he was. What was happening.

Who was talking to him.

“Stop it,” he mumbled, though it lacked any real bite—a thick, heavy pain had lanced his heart at being forced to relive one of the worst moments of his life. To share what had not been shared with anyone.

A kiss to his cheek, soft and adoring and wrong because it was not meant for him and it never would be. “Is that what you want? Someone to save you?”

Two hands cupped his face, one bare and the other gloved. Rubbing thumbs into his skin, through tracks of tears Peter hadn’t realized were falling. “Or do you want to be able to save yourself? Because I can give that to you. The power to never need another again. The power to never be scared again.”

Peter closed his eyes and refused to answer, because he didn’t like what it was. Didn’t like that—that yeah, he wanted that. Of course he did. Who wouldn’t want to be able to keep themselves safe in a galaxy that only ever put them in danger?

But this Adam was in his head and saw his answer anyway. “I can give it to you, Peter. I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

The hands on his face turned a touch warmer, both gloved, and he screwed his eyes shut tighter. Refused to look.

“Peter,” whispered the soft, loving voice of his own Adam in his ear. “You just have to ask.”

His heart lurched. “Stop it.”

In a sudden, jarring rip of motion, the sensations were torn away, the painful silence traded for cacophonous noise he couldn't process all at once.

He was falling.

Rain poured onto him from above, wind whipping at him. Lightning crashed into the drowned, sun-yellow grass close to where a dozen or so gold-armored fanatics were, locked in combat with the Guardians, and he was falling.

Panic ignited his core through the disorientation as he flailed to kick on the jet boots, half afraid this wasn’t real, more afraid that it was as the ground came up faster than he would have liked—

And then he was caught in strong arms, his breath leaving him with the impact. He was taken down to the ground swiftly, wet, gloved hands coming up to his face the second he was on his own two feet.

He flicked his eyes up to find his own Adam staring back, thin rivers of makeup running down both of his cheeks. Painting the gold a chalky black. White-blonde hair had been flattened by the rain, sticking to his skin, and he saw the relief he felt mirrored in Adam’s eyes a split second before he pressed a desperate kiss to Peter's lips. One that was meant for him, felt in the fear that had Adam holding him too tightly, pressing too close.

He returned the kiss in kind, clinging to Adam like he was the only real thing here, but Adam didn't let it linger. He was quick to pull away, one hand falling to grip Peter's shoulder while the other lifted toward his ear. "I have him," he declared into the Guardians line, his voice only wobbling slightly.

In his own ear, Peter heard Rocket bark out, “You heard Goldilocks! Let’s get our asses in gear and get to the Milano!”

To say he was lost and confused would be a massive understatement, but even he could gauge that now wasn't the time to ask for an explanation. There was an unspoken urgency in the way Adam barely waited for Rocket to finish talking before he was wrapping his arms around Peter's waist, drawing him flush against his chest.

Like they had done so many times before, Peter slipped his arms around Adam’s shoulders, and a second later they were airborne again.

Notes:

i am a little nervous cause i tried something a little bit different near the end there.......but i hope u don't mind!! i don't quite know how i want to answer the question of how peter got from point a to point b, but I do know how he got there....i'm thinking I might just do it from adam's pov perhaps to show it. we'll see!

this is where the document ends currently, so the next chapter will be out as soon as i can get it written between classwork :]

Chapter 14

Summary:

And within that small pocket of chaos, he saw that other Adam bent over Quill, lifting him into his arms.

Fear tightened his chest as much as it burned beneath his skin, turning his words into an incendiary growl. “No! You will not have him!”

Notes:

had a spanish midterm yesterday. p sure it did Not go well but oh well!! we move on :] and i did so by writing my boys....

Pain stabbed at Adam's ribs as he picked himself up from the rubble, but he couldn’t afford to care as he stared at the sheer corruption pouring out of the rift with those creatures. The souls that had been infected with inky blackness like poison.

“Adam! That thing needs to close now!” Gamora had called to him, and he couldn’t argue with her. She was right, as risky as it was to even try.

The Guardians had fallen in around him, carving a path to the rift. Quill was with them, though he seemed distant—lost in memory, but Adam couldn’t afford to stop and check on him this time.

It wasn’t like him to lose himself in situations like this, though. His slips into memory happened more when he thought he was alone, and not in immediate danger. When he had time and quiet enough to think.

Gamora stayed to his right, cutting down those creatures with efficiency. Drax was on his other side, doing much the same, while Rocket and Groot were behind him with Quill.

Groot walled off the rift from the other side to prevent other creatures from coming through, giving Adam a straight shot at the rift.

Power thrummed here, golden, wispy light clinging to their ankles like dense fog. Adam drew on it as he connected his magic to the rift once more, forcing the lingering power into it to seal that gaping wound shut as fast as he could.

From behind, he heard Groot shout in alarm and distress. Then he heard Rocket right after him, barely concealed panic in his voice. “We’ve got metal freaks to the left! My left!”

A quick glance told Adam the fanatics Quill had encased in stone had been freed—he could only guess by that other Adam, but he couldn’t devote more of his focus to it. The rift before him thinned down to a crack in the air, a sinister red.

“Peter Quill! Get up!” Drax called beside him, and that was like ice injected into Adam’s veins.

The scar snapped shut, rift sealed, and Adam whipped toward Drax. Currently fighting his way through what remained of the horde, and fending off fanatics—more had arrived.

Through the gaps of the fighting bodies, he saw Quill face down on the ground. Unconscious. He rushed for him, carving his own path through corruption and metal, backed by Drax—

And within that small pocket of chaos, he saw that other Adam bent over Quill, lifting him into his arms.

Fear tightened his chest as much as it burned beneath his skin, turning his words into an incendiary growl. “No! You will not have him!”

With a violent flare of solar energy, he incinerated the vampiric beast before him and threw the metal-clad men aside, bolting for that mirror image of himself.

His fingers barely grazed cloth before the image was gone, Quill with it—and Adam still could not tell if it was pure speed or illusion or both, but he hated all the same.

“We cannot allow the other Adam Warlock to take Peter Quill!” Drax called from beside him, turning briefly toward Adam. “Go, we shall cover you!”

As if he needed to be told. He reached for the bond tethering their souls, feeling its pull in his chest like a compass. He let it guide him as he took flight and fled the cavern, trusting the Guardians to follow.

The pull led him out of the cave itself and into the open air outside, pouring with rain and cracking with thunder. Somewhere above, but when he looked, he saw no one.

Frustration built in his chest, but he took to the skies in any case. Gauging where he thought Quill was and, after a second of hesitation, throwing an intentionally weaker bolt of light slightly above where he felt the bond.

This other Adam may want Quill, but that was no guarantee he wouldn’t risk him getting injured.

The bolt collided with his target at the same time he heard Gamora yell in his ear, “Rocket! Keep up!”

Whatever illusion kept the other Adam from his sight was broken with the impact, and that golden mask turned toward him as lightning struck around them. Mere centimeters from the other Adam.

Even through the mask’s blankness, Adam could feel the hostile fury in the eyes behind it.

“I am! I had to grab Quill’s stupid guns first, idiot just dropped them wherever!”

The other version of himself shifted his hold on Peter, a precarious one-armed grip that had Adam’s heart jumping in his chest—more worried for Peter’s safety than for the purple flash that struck toward him, of which he barely dodged in time.

He tried to get closer, but was rebuffed by purple flares of magic; he put a shield up for every hit, watching Peter slip in the other Adam’s grasp until he was being held by the wrist alone.

With how hard it was raining, the hold didn’t last. Quill fell, and Adam's heart leapt to his throat as he dove after him.

Of course, he wasn’t the only one. A fact that had that other Adam all but tackling him out of the air mere centimeters from Peter, the two of them slamming into the ground with such speed and force that it caved in beneath them. The sound of gunfire and metal clashing against metal reached his ears over the heavy, thunderous rain; the Guardians were near enough to be heard.

That pain in his ribs returned full force as that other Adam landed on top of him, hands around his throat, one clawed and breaking his skin, and Quill was falling.

A violence and fear Adam had scarcely felt in his life surged in his veins, but nothing he tried seemed capable of dislodging his other self. A mismatch he had felt keenly in the cavern as well, but then—

Blood splattered his torso and face, rain already pelting it away.

A sharp blade stared at Adam through his mirror self's chest. The shock that slackened the fingers around his neck was enough for the body to be hauled off of Adam, who scrambled to his feet in an instant—just barely catching sight of Drax throwing the body to the ground, dark red sluicing from the blade as rain fell.

He turned and bolted back toward Quill, who had woken up during the fall, but not in time to catch himself. Adam caught him just a scant second before he hit the ground.

The overwhelming relief of having him back in his arms all but forced Adam to land in a harried stumble, his hands flying up to take Quill by the face without conscious thought. Eyes flitting over him for injuries, for any stain upon his soul, but he was miraculously unhurt.

The bewilderment and uncertainty in Quill’s wide blue eyes faded somewhat with the desperate, almost manic kiss Adam seared into his lips. Pulling him close, his own relief that Quill was alive and unharmed overriding his better judgment momentarily.

Alive, unharmed, and his. No one else’s.

As much as he wanted to linger in the kiss, to devour Quill alive—he forced himself to withdraw, though he kept a tight hold on Peter. As if that other Adam would come for him any second, and he just might.

A stab wound never kept Adam down for long. “I have him,” he said into the team line.

Rocket’s response was immediate and commanding. “You heard Goldilocks! Let’s get our asses in gear and get to the Milano!”

He barely waited for the confirmation before he pulled Quill into him, and he knew his hold was tighter than usual. Even so, Peter didn’t question—he just wrapped his arms around Adam’s shoulders and let himself be carried away, like always.

The landing outside the Milano was less than graceful, Adam releasing Quill almost immediately as he stumbled. Barely catching himself against the ship with a hand, a tight grimace on his face as his other one pressed against the wound at his ribs.

“Adam? Is it the stitches?” Peter asked immediately, his hands on Adam’s elbow and shoulder.

“I’m alright,” he said, sounding breathless even to his own ears. “You must start the ship, we can’t waste time.”

“Wait—your neck, are you—”

“The ship, Peter,” Adam hissed, reaching up with a hand to key in the code that manually opened the hangar bay door. “I will be fine.”

“Were you bit?” Peter demanded, taking his outstretched hand tightly in his own. The ramp built itself out beside them.

The desperate fear in his voice gave Adam a second of pause as he turned to look at him. “No. Clawed.”

The others were fast approaching, so Adam urged Peter onto the ramp. “Start the ship. Please.”

Though it was clear Peter wanted to argue, he nonetheless bit his tongue with a tight frown before he ran up the ramp and into the hangar. Adam lingered behind, waiting for the others.

Rocket scampered up the ramp on all fours first, followed by Gamora and then Drax. Groot was the last, and only after ensuring they didn’t have a tail did Adam join them, the ramp disassembling rapidly behind him.

The fanatics must be panicking over the other Adam. It had to have been him they referenced in their message, and it had to have been him they were trying to reach in that other reality.

The coincidence was too great, otherwise.

The ship lifted off the planet’s surface, and the brief lurch before environmental kicked in had Adam stumbling anew into the wall of the hangar. With another grimace he lifted a hand toward his throat, sealing the claw marks that had ripped his skin open.

Then he managed to bring himself into the living space, toward Rocket’s workshop. Everyone rushed around him toward the cockpit, but he bent low to retrieve the first aid kit and set it on the workbench. He pulled his gloves free before he peeled the upper half of his suit off, hissing with the pull against his ribs, and dropped the clothing onto the floor.

Then he clawed the bandages off, revealing that bloodied wound once more. Streaking down his torso in diluted rivulets of red.

He pried the kit open and retrieved the scissors, snipping the thread holding his flesh together. Yanking it out and dropping it on the floor, lurching against the workbench as the wound peeled open with the lack of structure. Gushing yet more blood.

He placed a hand over it and bit the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the discomfort of such a deep wound mending itself. It was a strange sensation to be both the one expending and consuming the energy, like an uncomfortable electric buzz under his skin that lingered in his teeth.

It was not easy, but when he finally pulled his hand away, the skin was closed. Thankfully.

A hand alighted on his shoulder. It came as a bit of a surprise, and he glanced in that direction to find Peter. Watching him with a worried twist to his lips and brows.

“You should be piloting the ship,” Adam said on a sigh, turning to face Peter. Leaning a little too heavily against the workbench simply because his legs still felt weak.

Such was the nature of blood loss, even once a wound was healed.

“Rocket can handle that,” Peter said, gaze flicking down to the wet blood caking his body. His frown worsened. “Stay here.”

A command Adam was happy to follow, if only because he might actually just fall if he tried to move at present.

He heard Peter disappear into his room, returning a few moments later holding two towels in hand. He set one on the workbench beside Adam and spread the other out over his palms before pressing it to Adam’s torso, drying away the rain water and the blood. Catching the blood around his neck and on his hand, as well.

So dazed was Adam that he barely reacted to it, simply staring at Quill’s face. Reaching up with his free hand to touch that pale cheek. Admiring the freckles.

Taking solace in the fact that he was still here. Still within his grasp.

Blue eyes flicked up to him, inspecting him for a beat. “And you call me reckless,” he said softly, trading the bloodied towel for the clean one. He raised it toward Adam’s hair, taking portions of it within the towel to squeeze it dry.

It was sweet of him. Adam leaned into him to make the process easier, and simply because he wanted to. Basking in the nearness of his Peter Quill, even as drenched as he still was.

“You are reckless,” he murmured after a beat, lips twitching at the disbelieving scoff it earned him.

“Yeah, okay. Talk to me when I start ripping my stitches out like a crazy person,” he retorted, still working through Adam’s hair.

Adam hummed, but didn’t answer. He lingered in Peter’s touch for a few moments longer before he leaned back, gaze trained to the golden crest emblazoned on Peter’s chest. “That…other me. That’s the one that kissed you?”

A startled flush of pink painted Peter’s face as he glanced away, shifting on his feet. “He wasn’t like that when I knew him—”

“But it is him,” Adam insisted, brows furrowing.

A beat passed before Peter set the towel aside, and then pale hands took him by the jaw. Tilting his head up enough to meet Adam’s eyes. “He isn’t mine. Okay?”

Though the words did spark something within him, he still searched Peter’s face. Uncertain even as he tentatively hooked a finger into the loop of Peter’s belt. “He almost took you from me, Peter, and I...”

I am afraid I am not strong enough to stop him a second time, he left unsaid. He felt it when they fought—the power that other Adam possessed. It did not quite dwarf his own, but it was enough that Adam knew he was outmatched.

If Drax had not intervened, Peter might have died—or at the very least broken bone—because Adam had not had the power to remove his alternate self from his person.

An alternate self that wanted his Peter Quill, and that had something poisonous festering in his chest. Directed at that other self, but no less present.

"I'm not going anywhere," Peter said softly, dropping one hand from Adam's face to take his hand instead. Pressing it to his own chest, right over his heart. Where the soul bond still burned. "You'll always have me."

There was an implication there that Adam didn't want to think about, but found he could do nothing but.

Even if his other self had succeeded, Quill was telling him that his heart would always remain Adam's. That he would love him even separated, and in that sense, he would never leave.

Something about it hurt. Maybe it was the lack of a promise, because they both knew they couldn't. Not if they were being honest with themselves.

That hand rejoined the other to pull Adam close, a soft kiss pressed upon his lips. His heart lurched in his chest even as he chose to drown in the affection, sliding his arms tightly around Peter's waist to pull him close. Uncaring of the wet fabric that brushed his skin or the rainwater that yet lingered on Quill's lips.

His grip tightened after a moment as he sought a deeper connection, one Peter happily gave him with a soft sound against his lips. Wrapping his arms around Adam's shoulders, leaning into him. He had already made Quill a promise, and he intended to keep it.

He would not leave him.

Notes:

so just a hypothetical question that probably has no relevance to story reasons whatsoever or anything but how do yall feel abt intimate scenes. like whats ur preference. implied, vague, detailed. i will freely admit im not very good at these types of things anyways but i dont want to jumpscare anyone if their tolerance is like. implied only. so.

Chapter 15

Summary:

“Well, we know one thing Adam wants,” Gamora chimed in, giving Peter a sideways look.

Adam cut in before Peter had the chance to respond, his tone resolute. “Which he will not have.”

“We are in agreement on that matter, at least,” Drax said, giving a slight nod. “Regardless of Warlock’s intentions, we will keep you safe, Peter Quill.”

Peter pressed his lips into a line, uncertain how to feel. He gave a slight nod, nonetheless.

Notes:

mmmmnot sure how i feel about this one but. i dont think its bad i just worry when a chapter is Mostly Talking......but i need the Guardians to be on even levels of understanding their situation, so alas

Thankfully he was able to clear up Rocket’s workbench after he convinced Adam to shower, taking the towels and the discarded clothes to the hamper in his room. He never would have heard the end of it if Rocket saw a mess on his ‘sacred space.’

The cat ran out into the communal ship space as he left, and he barely avoided tripping over her as he made his way back to the cockpit. Still damp and, frankly, cold. The others weren’t much better—Gamora’s makeup had also run down her face, Rocket’s fur was weighed down with water and made the entire space smell like wet raccoon, Groot was still dripping water from his roots, and Drax glistened with rainwater under the artificial lights.

The viewscreen warped and shifted as space folded before them, launching the Milano into hyperspace away from the planet. Peter dropped himself into the captain’s seat, staring blankly as a tapestry of stars reappeared on the screen after.

A tapestry of stars that was, crucially, not Knowhere.

“Scut, did we not juice the FTL engines before we left?” Rocket muttered, tapping at his screen.

The news rolled off of Peter as he sighed. It would be their luck, considering how their investigative mission had gone. “How long until we reach Knowhere, Rocket?”

The raccoon was quiet for a few moments before he sighed, too. “Looks like we’re a few days out.”

Days. Cool. “Yeah, sounds about right. We hear anything back from Cosmo yet?”

Rocket shook his head, glancing back at Peter. “It hasn’t been that long, technically. Pooch is probably still interrogating that flarking idiot that broke in.”

That was true, he supposed. He ran a hand through his wet hair, staring down at the screen of his console. Displaying the galactic map and their current location. “Okay. Well, without FTL, there’s not much else we can do. Take the time to unwind, I guess.”

Gamora looked over her shoulder at Peter as the others began to file out of the cockpit. A frown lingered on her lips. “Actually, can we talk? All of us?”

Peter made a gesture with his hand to signify the now-empty cockpit. “You couldn’t have asked earlier?”

“Peter.”

Another sigh as he got to his feet, shoving his hands into his cold, wet pockets. “Sure. Let’s talk.”

She led the way into the living space, gathering the others onto the couch. Adam stepped out of the bathroom in time to see the congregation, his expression flickering with confusion before he looked at Peter.

All he could offer was a mild shrug, though he took a second to privately admire the outfit Adam was in. A tight, black, long-sleeved shirt that stopped at his midriff paired with equally dark pants that hugged his form just as much.

He was bare-faced, too. A rarity.

Gamora gestured for him to join, and after a beat, Adam did. Standing behind the couch, though he remained skeptical.

“So,” she started, staring right at Peter with burning yellow eyes. “That other Adam.”

Exhaustion gripped him as he realized what kind of conversation she had cornered him into, and he ran his hand down his face. “What about him?”

“Why did he want you?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

As if Peter was supposed to know the answer to that. He shrugged, glancing away briefly. “I don’t know. I don’t—I don’t even think he’s the same person I knew, honestly. He’s…”

“Violent? Crazy?” Rocket supplied, his tone flat.

The frown on Peter’s face worsened, but he nodded, nonetheless.

“He seemed pretty laser-focused on taking you,” Gamora pressed, her brows furrowing. He saw what the sharpness in her eyes truly was, but only for a second.

Worry.

“Are you sure there’s nothing you can think of that made you his target?”

Truthfully, no, nothing jumped out at him as the singular reason for the other Adam’s persistence. They had shared a kiss, sure, and that other Adam had attached to him after the loss of his own Peter Quill—but that didn’t feel like enough to warrant his tenacity.

Not from his perspective, at any rate.

“No,” he said after a beat.

She stared at him for a minute, and he could tell she didn’t fully believe him. “You have an idea, but you think it’s stupid.”

He made a face at that, because wow, rude. Reading him like a book so bluntly in front of everyone. “Yeah, because it is stupid.”

“Tell us anyway.”

He sighed, slipping his hand back into his pocket. “It’s not—”

She cut him off with, “I’m not letting you leave until you tell us, Peter. I don’t like feeling like you’re keeping secrets.”

“It isn’t a secret, it’s just not important,” he retorted, gesturing with his hands still in his pockets.

Her expression finally cracked with something like annoyance, her eyes narrowing. “You were stuck in that reality with that man for a week and you don’t think there’s anything you’re glossing over? You don’t think there’s anything else that we should know?”

“Wasn’t a week,” he returned, flippant. At her continued glower he huffed out an annoyed breath and glanced elsewhere.

“I think it is in your best interest to tell the assassin what she wants to know,” Drax offered from his place on the couch.

Maybe, but that didn’t make him any more willing. It wasn’t his story to tell, which was half the reason he had kept it to himself the first time. “I’ll need to tell you the context for any of it to make sense,” he said, a last-ditch effort to avoid the subject.

Gamora wasn’t one to be swayed, and he knew that. “We have nothing but time.”

From his place on the couch, Rocket snorted. “She’s got ya there, Quill.”

Yeah, that was what he thought. With a heavy sigh, he ran a hand over his face one more time. Replaying the events of that other reality, nightmarish in his memory. The only bright spot had been Adam, and even then, Peter could see the weight he carried. The pain. How it dulled his shine.

He placed his hand back in his pocket and pulled the jacket a little tighter around himself, biting the bullet and just telling them what he had experienced. The Adam that had loved his Peter Quill—the same Quill that got bit. The same one that Adam himself had to kill, because Peter didn’t want to be a monster.

Something that was true even for him, but he didn’t voice as much. Didn’t feel like it mattered, because he would never ask that of his own Adam anyway.

“I showed up a month after that and landed right next to Adam. He thought I wasn’t real for a little while,” he continued, staring at a point over Gamora’s shoulder. “But then he couldn’t seem to differentiate between me and the Quill he lost, or maybe he didn’t want to. I don’t know. But then uh, ha. I…died. Right in front of him, and he, uh…”

Another pause as he glanced to the side, brows furrowing. “He shattered reality to fix it. I don’t know how, and neither did he, but he did it.”

“You died?” Rocket demanded, expression twisted into a scowl.

Peter shrugged, glancing over at his own Adam briefly. “It didn’t stick. Obviously.”

Within white eyes was nothing of surprise. Nothing to indicate Peter had said anything he did not already know, and he felt a twinge in his chest at the realization.

Adam felt him die. Of course he must have; the bond was tethered to them both.

“It is valuable insight into his motivations,” Drax said after a moment, his expression almost thoughtful. “I am uncertain what you mean by ‘shattered reality,’ however.”

Peter snorted, a wry twist to his lips. “Exactly what it sounds like. He just…” he made a vague gesture with his hand, “poof, and everything was gone. Nothing but ashes and blood in a white void.”

At that Adam turned his head away, a troubled frown on his face—just as Rocket turned to look at him with intense scrutiny. “You can do that?”

“No,” Adam said, fingers flexing against the back of the couch before he sighed. “At least, I…don’t believe so. I don’t know.”

The answer didn’t seem to reassure Rocket, who looked back at Quill with uncertain eyes. “If that other Adam can just magic reality away and ours can’t, what the hell can we even do to stop him? Doesn’t that make him the better Adam?”

“No,” Peter said, somewhat defensively. “He didn’t do it on purpose, so I don’t think it’s something he can just do on command.”

A complicated look crossed Adam’s face when he returned his attention to the group once more, though he didn’t look at anyone in particular. “In any case, Rocket is correct to seek our plan of action. I cannot imagine he will sit idle.”

Drax glanced back at Adam with a mild frown. “A wound of that size would be lethal, even for you. We have time to consider.”

“Not much,” Adam returned, giving Drax a pointed look. “You know death has no hold on me.”

Peter held a hand up to interrupt what might turn into an argument, his other rubbing the spot between his brows with a sigh. “Look, I don’t know, okay? We didn’t exactly get a lot of information when we were down there. So far, my best guess is that the colonists became those fanatics, and they opened that tear in reality to bring the other Adam through.

“Beyond that, we don’t know anything. We don’t know why, we don’t know what they want or what they might do. We’re in the dark.”

“Well, we know one thing Adam wants,” Gamora chimed in, giving Peter a sideways look.

Adam cut in before Peter had the chance to respond, his tone resolute. “Which he will not have.”

“We are in agreement on that matter, at least,” Drax said, giving a slight nod. “Regardless of Warlock’s intentions, we will keep you safe, Peter Quill.”

Peter pressed his lips into a line, uncertain how to feel. He gave a slight nod, nonetheless.

“It’s always something with you, Quill,” Rocket said, gesturing to him with a hand. “I’d be impressed if your problems didn’t also cause me problems.”

Peter stared at the raccoon for a beat, eyes narrowing. “Yeah, yeah. Are we done now, Gamora?”

She gave him a scrutinizing look. “Almost. What happened back at that cavern? One second you were with us, and the next you were unconscious on the ground.”

“Yes, I would also like to know the answer,” Drax chimed in, leaning forward on the couch to clasp his hands between his knees.

That had him hesitating, uncertain he wanted to say. He knew they wouldn’t take it well. Still, everyone was staring him down, so he buckled and told the truth. “…He trapped me in my own head. I couldn’t get out.”

A beat of quiet until Adam broke it, his tone careful in a way that suggested anger. “He should not be able to do that. I cannot.”

Peter offered a shrug, unsure what else he could say. “Well, he can.”

“Another point in the masked freak’s favor,” Rocket muttered, staring down at the ground with a glower.

That was enough to have Peter staring at Rocket with blatant exasperation. “Would you stop that? It’s not like we don’t know a dozen telepaths out there, you know, like Mantis, that could counter this ability or anything.”

Rocket snorted as he slid off the couch, reaching up to scratch at his ear. “Famous last words, Quill.”

The he wandered off toward his room without another word, apparently done with their discussion.

“I guess this team meeting is over,” Gamora said from beside him, though she still looked troubled. As Drax and Groot stood from the couch, she turned to face Peter again. “He isn’t still in your head, is he?”

Quill shook his head.

She didn’t look wholly convinced, but it was the entire truth. She sighed and glanced away. “Okay. Just let us know if that changes, would you?”

He sketched a false salute. “If I can, sure. If I can’t, well, that should be obvious, huh?”

She turned a glare on him as Drax went to his room, Groot trundling down to the hangar where his plants were. “Not funny.”

He shrugged, giving her an innocent smile. She glared at him a moment longer before she shook her head, and then she left too.

The only one left was Adam, which was unsurprising. He felt the weight of that stare on his face and met it after a moment with a plastered-on smile. “What a day, huh?”

Golden lips pressed into a line, a crease between blonde brows. “An exhausting one, it seems.”

He stepped out from behind the couch, drawing into Peter’s space. Reaching to take his hands, holding them gently in a soft grip.

Peter let him, sparing a brief glance for the touch. Watching golden thumbs rub lightly over his knuckles, black paint catching the light. “Are you saying I look tired?” he asked incredulously, lifting his gaze to Adam’s eyes.

“Yes,” Adam said bluntly, and it was enough to make Peter laugh.

Even if only a little. “Alright, jerk. In my defense, I just played the role of a soccer ball that got kicked around between two godlike entities, so cut me some slack.”

A touch of confusion lit those eyes. “I…don’t know what a ‘soccer ball’ is, but I assume you refer to the fight with my other self.”

A wry smile bent Peter’s lips then, his tone vaguely amused. “Wasn’t much of a fight on my end, was it? I felt like I spent the entire time being grabbed by one of you and dragged somewhere. Or thrown. Or dropped.”

Hm. Maybe he had been a football instead.

A warm hand came up to cup his cheek. “Forgive me. I only wanted to keep you safe," Adam said, though he didn't sound all that remorseful. He almost sounded teasing.

Truthfully there was a part of Quill that was a little unsettled by the way that situation had unfolded. Turning over that other Adam’s honeyed words in his mind, promising to give him the ability to save himself—because he certainly hadn’t been able to in that moment.

The more reasonable side of himself that was still miraculously piloting his brain right now knew it was stupid to worry about that. He had been more than capable of defending himself in the past, and there wasn’t any shame in having people that cared about him. That wanted to protect him when he couldn’t manage it alone.

Even if he still wished, sometimes, that the people he cared about weren’t so willing to risk themselves on his behalf.

He leaned into Adam, slipping his hands free to wrap his arms around Adam’s broad shoulders instead. “Forgive you for rescuing me from your evil self? Hm, I don’t know…” he mused, his tone a little exaggerated. His attention dropped to Adam’s lips when he tacked on, “That’s a tough one.”

Then, belatedly realizing he was still wet, he tried to pull away from Adam with a start. “Fuck, sorry, you just got out—”

Strong arms around his waist pulled him back in, a firm kiss to his lips cutting him off. Whatever he had been trying to say scattered into nothing at the affection, and he brought his hands back up to take Adam's face between his palms as his eyes slipped shut. Tilting his head slightly for a better angle and leaning into the embrace, because if Adam didn’t care, then why should he?

Adam pressed into his space until Peter was backed against the hard edge of the kitchenette counter, and then warm hands were slipping under his wet shirt to touch skin at the same time that Adam’s thigh pressed between his own. He shuddered at the sensations, a gasp lost between their lips.

“Eugh, gross. Don’t you two have a room?”

Heat burst under his skin at being caught by Rocket, of all people, but Adam didn’t seem to care in the least—and that only made his face burn hotter as he pulled away, putting a hand on Adam’s chest.

“Did you need something, Rocky?” He asked, wincing at how audible his embarrassment was in the waver of his voice.

It didn’t help that Adam hadn’t stepped away from him at all. He’d just moved on to kissing Peter's face instead, impatient hands holding him in place against his thigh.

Jesus Christ, what had he gotten himself into?

Rocket snorted in amusement, approaching his workbench. He stepped up onto the stool with a single foot to place two very familiar objects down on top of it, saying, “Your guns, lover boy. Grabbed ‘em for ya while you were out. You’re welcome, goodbye.”

He left without further fanfare, and Peter pushed at Adam’s chest until he listened and pulled away enough for Peter to step away from the counter. He took Adam by the jaw with a hand, his face contorting into a weak scowl even as a self-satisfied feline smirk split Adam’s lips. Showing teeth. “You are a menace.”

Adam hummed, blatantly pleased with himself. Using his hands, still on Peter’s hips, to drag him in closer. “I believe Rocket had a point. Don’t we have a room?”

It wasn’t the question Adam was actually asking. “’We,’ huh?” He remarked fondly as he let Adam go, sliding his hand down to rest against Adam’s shoulder.

The second he did, Adam was kissing him again. It drew a small laugh from Peter, the sound muffled against their lips before he pulled away slightly. “God, you might actually be worse than I am,” he said through a bright smile, shivering when Adam moved on to kiss his jaw. It took him a second to remember Adam had asked him a question, and then it took a moment longer to answer when teeth sank into what little exposed flesh of his throat there was. “Yeah, we have a room,” he murmured, somewhat breathless.

Taking it for the permission it was, Adam gripped Peter by the backs of his thighs and hauled him up. He didn’t need guidance to wrap his legs around Adam’s hips, taking his stupid golden face in his hands and smiling into yet another kiss before he was carried away.

Notes:

for those of u who might have seen snippets i posted over on my tumblr, um. i had to write an entirely new chapter ahead of it because i wasn't happy with that one's pacing, BUT i will probably still be using most of it in a future chapter. the one after next, perhaps. i had plans 4 it and i still want to write the scene that happens in that one cause i think its v cute.....

next chapter however will um. take me a while. for perhaps obvious reasons. sorry in advance. im running away now.

Chapter 16

Summary:

Peter withdrew enough to look up at him, fondness overflowing in blue eyes. “You know, not that I’m complaining, but what brought this on?”

Flashes of memory of that other self, speaking far too brazenly with Peter. Trapping him in his own mind to make him easier to take, as if that other self had any right. Watching him fall and feeling, for a moment, helpless to prevent it.

He pressed his forehead to Peter’s with a soft sigh. “I just need you,” he whispered at last.

Notes:

Hi. this whole chapter is pretty much just sex. sorry.

Inside Quill’s room, Adam had set him on his feet and locked the door before pinning Quill against it in a ravenous kiss. With impatient hands he peeled off that heavy jacket and let it fall unceremoniously to the floor, grabbing Peter by the hips to pull him close.

A soft sound got trapped between them as Quill’s rain-wet arms wrapped around his shoulders, leaning into him. Teeth nipped playfully at Adam’s lip, and his fingers sank deeper into the clothed flesh of Peter’s hips before he bit him back a little harder.

Delighting in the pleased snicker it earned him before Peter withdrew enough to look up at him, fondness overflowing in blue eyes. “You know, not that I’m complaining, but what brought this on?”

Flashes of memory of that other self, speaking far too brazenly with Peter. Trapping him in his own mind to make him easier to take, as if that other self had any right. Watching him fall and feeling, for a moment, helpless to prevent it.

Adam kissed the space between Peter’s brows, peppering more of them against his cheeks, his jaw, and finally his lips once more. Feeling the shape of a smile against his skin.

He didn’t know how to put it into words. How to articulate what he needed, because speaking plainly about how he felt to another had never been a strength of his. He pulled away to see Quill’s face, studying it as if he wanted to commit his features to memory.

He pressed his forehead to Peter’s with a soft sigh. “I just need you,” he whispered at last, because it was one of few things he knew for certain. The only feeling he could identify in words.

Pink lips bent into a soft smile, pale, chilled hands settling against his jaw. The ice clinging to them melted at the contact with Adam’s skin. “Take me, then. I’m not going anywhere.”

Such ready acquiescence. It only made that spark in Adam’s gut burn hotter, and he closed the gap between them to take those pretty lips for himself once more. Only briefly, though; he stepped away after a moment, feeling Peter’s hands slide down his chest as he went. He took one of them and pulled Peter with him until they were standing in the center of the room, seeing the curious amusement in blue eyes.

Then he spun Peter around like they were dancing, slipping an arm around his abdomen to pull him close. Back flush against Adam’s chest. He heard the bright laugh as he kissed Peter’s jaw, biting playfully at his skin.

“Do you actually know how to dance?” Peter asked, his voice a little unsteady when Adam slid his hands beneath that damp shirt to touch skin.

Fine hairs brushed his fingertips, and he scraped his nails through it before he hiked the fabric up more. “Barely.”

Another soft laugh as Adam removed the shirt, Peter turning his head to look at Adam with an equally gentle smile. “You should show me sometime.”

For a moment all Adam did was stare. Taking in blonde lashes feathered around darling blue eyes that looked at him with such gentle devotion, and he felt something within his heart crack at the sight. A deeper affection swelled there, and he lifted his right hand to hold Peter by the jaw. Keeping him in place for a kiss, one he readily melted into.

He tried to turn around, but Adam gripped his hip with his free hand to keep him faced away. Breaking the kiss to instead angle Peter’s head to the other side, kissing his cheek as Peter huffed out an almost petulant breath. “I want to touch you, jerk.”

Adam smiled to himself as he peppered kisses along the curve of Peter’s open neck, pausing here and there to sink his teeth into tender flesh. Marking his skin with the most loving of bruises. “Patience, my love.”

He felt Peter shiver under his touch when he lifted the hand from Peter’s hip to scrape nails over his left pectoral. Catching the nipple in the touch and taking a moment to tease the hardening bud of sensitive flesh. Hearing the desperate breaths from Peter in his ear, feeling how he writhed ever so slightly in his hold.

He kissed a path between throat and shoulder, the hand holding Peter’s face dropping to his hip. Fingers skimming over the strap holding the thigh holster to Peter’s belt. He nipped at Peter’s shoulder as he undid it, dropping his other hand to do the same with the holster on the other side.

A desperate hand pressed back against his thigh, nails digging into his clothed flesh. It was likely reflexive, but Adam still took the opportunity to pry it off gently. He leaned back slightly, lifting that freckled hand to his lips. Angling it just enough to expose the soft inner wrist to the bite of his teeth. “Naughty.”

“Adam, please,” Peter breathed out, squirming in his grasp.

A smile bent his lips even as he dropped Peter’s hand, taking him by the hips instead. Turning him toward the desk and giving him a light push between the shoulder blades, watching him catch himself against the flat surface with another impatient huff.

Red-faced, trying not to look himself in the mirror. “God, I should have known you’d be the type to play games,” he muttered, though he didn’t sound put off by the observation.

The opposite, in fact.

A quiet sound not unlike a laugh as Adam got onto one knee behind Peter, his hands seeking out the boots next. Undoing the seals so Peter could step out of them, putting them aside. Lowering onto his other knee to drag his hands up the length of Peter’s leg. Slowing at his thigh, feeling the stiff texture of the straps holding the holsters in place.

He nuzzled into the outside of Peter’s thigh as he teased his fingers around the clasp, taking an odd sort of pleasure in the scratch of damp denim against his skin. He undid the fastenings, letting his fingers tease the inside of Peter’s thigh as he went. Then he tossed the holster aside before moving onto the next.

A stuttering whine fell from Peter's lips when Adam slipped his fingers ever so slightly higher as he pried the last holster off. Close enough to feel the heat of him, but not close enough to touch.

He tossed it away and slowly got back to his feet, kissing up the curve of Peter’s spine as he went. Feeling the tremble of skin against his lips as he sought out the Walkman on Peter’s belt, unclipping it and setting it gently on the desk in front of him.

He found his way back to Peter’s face, showering that freckled, red cheek with attention as he slid the belt free and dropped it onto the ground without further fanfare. He slowed then, his hands siding around to settle over the clasps of Peter’s pants. He hooked his chin over Peter’s shoulder, staring into the mirror.

Taking the moment to truly see Peter’s bare-chested form, now.

Freckles dusted the surface like stars against the endless black, light brown hair kissing his chest. Trailing down to his navel, darkening where it dipped beneath the waistband of his pants. Adam trailed his fingers through the fine hairs idly, his gaze caught on something else.

Twin scars curved along the shape of his ribs, just below each pectoral. Adam lifted his hand to run his fingers along the left—the one closest to his heart. A softness settled in his chest when he met Peter’s eyes in their reflection. “You are beautiful,” he murmured, petting idly over the gentle swell of Peter’s soft stomach with his other hand. Basking in the soft hair beneath his touch.

The red of that beautiful face spread further, blue eyes averting. Adam let one of his hands trail up to Peter’s jaw, fingers following the column of that pink-flushed throat with adoring reverence. Feeling the scar carved across the skin before he trailed lower, over Peter’s clavicle.

Down the fuzzy line of his torso until he was below Peter’s navel, fingers brushing metal and denim. Undoing the fastenings with one hand, the other petting over Peter’s ribs. Rubbing his thumb into a pert nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

Desperate little sounds slipped from Peter's lips as he arched into the touch, dirty blonde brows twisting together. “Adam, please, please,” he begged, pale hand lifting from the desk before twitching and dropping back to it. A petulant whine catching in his throat.

A smile bent Adam’s lips. He took Peter by the jaw with his free hand, the other gliding down pale skin until it slipped beneath open denim. Brushing a light touch against soaked boxers, feeling the twitch of sensitive, needy skin as Peter moaned his pleasure and frustration both—because it was so close to being what he wanted.

He lifted that beautiful face until Peter was staring at him in their reflection, skin kissed reddish pink to his shoulders. Adam hummed, kissing the one he rested against. “Look at you,” he cooed, “my darling star. So eager for me.”

The color painting pale skin only darkened, his fingers curled so tightly against the desk that his knuckles were paper white. Body tight with repressed need.

With a firmer, more purposeful glide of his fingers, Adam tilted his head toward Peter’s. Lips brushing his ear, a slight upward twist to them when he felt Peter rock into his touch without thought. “How do you want me, my love?”

Peter didn’t answer in words. Instead he shifted as if to turn around, and after a second's consideration, Adam gave him the space to do so. Pale hands took him by the face almost immediately, Peter dragging him down into a frenzied kiss as he leaned back against the desk. Teeth nipped his lip, and he gripped Peter by the hips to pull him into himself.

A desperate, pale hand dropped between them. Palm rubbing against Adam through the fabric, between his legs, and the touch caught him by surprise enough that he couldn’t suppress the sound he made as he pressed into it. Teeth nipped at his lip, a little more insistent this time, and Adam understood what he was saying.

The answer to his question.

He slid the denim and boxers from Peter’s hips at the same time, the fabric dropping around his ankles after a point. Peter stepped out of them and kicked them away, breaking the kiss to instead bite at Adam's jaw between desperate kisses.

Adam leaned into the affection with a short breath, dipping his hand between their bodies. Carding his fingers through unruly hair covering soft, heated skin, until they slipped between the drenched lips of Peter’s vulva. Coating his skin with Peter’s need.

Hands tangled in his hair, the needy sound against his ear sending sparks down his spine as Peter leaned into him. “Adam, god, please, please—” he begged, rocking his hips down into Adam's touch.

Adam nuzzled into his shoulder and neck, using his other hand to lift Peter’s leg. Maneuvering it until he had his arm under Peter’s knee, his hand braced against the desk. Holding him open. Peppering soft skin with gentle kisses.

There was barely any resistance when he slid a finger into that wet heat. Desperate hands grabbed his shoulders, nails biting flesh as he worked the digit into him.

Teasing him further with a fraction of what he wanted, because Peter fell apart so easily in his grasp and Adam loved every second of it.

Peter keened against his ear, rocking his hips into the intrusion with half-spoken pleas. Adam teased that slick opening with a second finger before pushing it in, smiling subtly to himself when Peter tangled a hand in his hair again. Moaning his approval, skin burning with a beautiful shade of red.

“Adam,” Peter gasped, using the hold in Adam’s hair to pull him close. Lifting his other hand to cup Adam’s jaw, nails biting flesh ever so slightly as Peter bit his own lip, letting it go with a panting breath.

Their foreheads touched, and hazy, adoring blue eyes flicked up to meet his through blonde lashes. “I need you. Please.”

Adam hummed as if considering the plea, though he never looked away from Peter. Rubbing his fingers against his soft inner walls, watching the way he turned his head away with twisted brows and a soft whine caught in his throat.

A slight twitch of a smile graced Adam’s lips, and he leaned in to press a kiss to Peter's cheek. Trailing a path to his ear, biting the lobe before he mused quietly, “How could I deny such a good boy?”

A shudder rippled through Peter, the flesh encasing Adam’s fingers tightening around him at the words. His smile grew wider at that as he withdrew, slipping his fingers free to undo the fastenings of his own pants.

A task Peter was all too eager to help with, his hands shoving the fabric down until it rested low around his thighs. Pale hands skimmed the hem of Adam’s underwear, which resembled red panties more than anything.

A delighted smile broke over Peter's lips when he pulled them down, blue eyes flicking up to meet his once more. “I fucking knew you tucked.”

Amusement twitched at the corners of his lips despite himself. “Oh?”

Peter made a dismissive sound, slipping a hand between them to pull Adam free. The touch had him bracing against the desk with his other hand, a short breath leaving his lips.

A kiss to his jaw. “Either that or you were built like me. Do you even know how tight your fucking pants are sometimes?”

At that Adam laughed, if only slightly. Of course Peter would be the one to notice things like that. He lifted his hand, taking Peter by the jaw and tilting his head back for a kiss. One that grew in need and demand when Peter's hand disappeared around him only to return seconds later, slick and wet.

“Take me,” Peter pleaded on a breathless whisper against his lips, moving his wet hand to take Adam’s hip. Digging nails in to pull him a little closer. “Please.”

Adam released his hold on Peter’s face. He shifted his hold on Peter’s leg to hold him open a little wider, taking himself in hand as he leaned in to bite into Peter's jaw.

A jolt shot through Peter when the head kissed his opening, a shaky breath leaving his lips. “Hot,” was all he said, but then he was rocking down into Adam. Nails biting flesh against hip and back as Adam pushed into him.

He sheathed himself as far as he could go into that soft, wet heat, feeling the brief sting of nails breaking skin as Peter panted for breath between them. “It’s so fucking hot,” he breathed, almost a whine.

Adam lifted his hand to that scarlet face, angling it until their eyes met. “Do you want me to—”

Dirty blonde brows twitched together, pleasure and warning both as Peter pulled him even closer. “I will kill you if you stop.”

That pulled another short laugh from Adam, and he kissed Peter’s cheek softly. “As you wish, my darling star.”

He withdrew to watch as he slowly pulled out of Peter almost completely before thrusting back into him, just as careful. Taking up a steady pace at first that quickly became faster and a little harsher, jostling Peter against the desk with every thrust. Feeling the weight of that sensitive bundle of nerves rub against him with the position they were in.

He was pulled back into another desperate kiss, moans and whines muffled against his lips as Peter met the motion of his hips in kind. One of Peter’s hands slipped beneath the shirt Adam wore, nails raking across his chest. Catching a nipple and latching onto it, the sparks the touch ignited earning Quill a rough bite to his lip.

His other hand was desperate to grab Adam’s simply to hold it. Adam threaded their fingers together before pinning Peter’s hand to the desk, angling his head to bury it against Peter’s neck. Biting hard enough to leave a mark, embers of delight burning within him at the unabashed moan against his ear. Adding to the desperate climax building low in his gut.

“Please, please, please, god, I’m so close, Adam, so close—” Peter babbled, the movement of his hips erratic as he chased his own high.

Adam kissed his way back up to Peter’s ear, his voice breathy with desire against burning, sensitive skin. “You’re so good for me, my little star. Such a good boy. Come undone for me.”

That wet heat tightened around him, gushing yet more slick. Peter's nails bit into the skin of his knuckles as he whined openly, his head thrown back, expression twisted with ecstasy.

Adam rode him through it, the tight friction enough to bring him over the edge, too. Spilling heat deep inside Peter.

A deep, buried part of him purred at the feeling. It ached to do it again, and again—but Adam was quick to shove it down, trying not to give it much thought.

He buried his face against Peter’s sweat-damp shoulder, basking in the feel of him. The scent of them. He pulled out of that wet heat and finally lowered Peter’s leg. Running his palm up and down Peter’s side, over his abdomen, down his thigh. Slow and reverent in his touch.

Nuzzling further into the space between neck and shoulder, letting Peter’s hand go to slide an arm around his back. Holding him closer.

Peter was quiet as he caught his breath, though he lifted a hand to run it through his own damp hair with a sigh. His other hand came up to tangle in Adam's hair, idly scrubbing at his scalp. A touch Adam adored, kissing the scarred skin of Peter’s throat softly in response.

They stayed like that a few moments. “My back is going to be so bruised tomorrow,” Peter remarked at last, his voice a little hoarse. He didn’t actually sound that bothered, though.

“Sorry,” he murmured against Peter’s skin, though he wasn’t that apologetic.

Perhaps he was predictable, or maybe Peter just knew him that well, because he snorted with amusement and called him out for it. “No, you aren’t. But that’s okay,” he said softly, pulling on Adam’s hair until he withdrew enough for Peter to take his face between his palms.

A soft kiss was pressed upon his lips, and Adam melted into it with a gentle sigh.

“Neither am I,” Peter murmured, pulling away to simply look at Adam.

Soft, adoring blue eyes that Adam wanted nothing more than to drown in. Roving his face, a subtle, content smile on his face. “Will you stay with me? I know you don’t sleep, but—”

“Yes,” Adam said simply, because he had no desire to be anywhere else.

The smile grew when Peter leaned in to kiss him again, still soft and loving. “Okay. You might have to carry me to the bed, though. My legs are like jelly right now, dude.”

Adam hummed, pleased with himself at the words. He took a moment to tuck himself away, fastening his pants back into place before he pulled Peter close. Hauling him up into his arms with ease.

Peter slid an arm around his shoulders, the other hand plucking at Adam's shirt with a small pout. “Also, you’re taking your clothes off next time, jerk.”

An amused twitch of his lips as he set Peter down on the mattress. He remained leaned over him, bracing against the bed as he brushed the hair from Peter’s face. “Is there anything you need?”

Peter shuffled back on the bed, closer to the wall. He took Adam’s hand and pulled, saying, “Just you.”

With a tiny smile, Adam let himself be pulled down onto the mattress. Trapping Peter’s arm beneath his ribs, though he used it to curve around Adam’s lower back. Pulling him closer, until they were flush against each other.

Their legs got tangled together as Adam draped half of himself over Peter, burying his face against his chest. Nuzzling into the beautiful scar framing his pectoral, one arm trapped between them as the other hand pet slowly over Peter’s abdomen. Soft, pliable, and covered in fuzz. Adam adored every part of it.

Though maybe he just adored Peter.

Peter’s other hand threaded through Adam’s hair again, gentle in his touch. A kiss was pressed to the top of his head, a happy sigh brushing his skin. Adam pressed a gentle kiss to that scar in response and closed his eyes, choosing to drown in the softness of the moment.

There was a string of words hanging between them that neither said, but Adam was convinced they both felt anyway.

As complex and heavy as the cosmos, but infinitely more peaceful.

Notes:

I did not have time to proofread or edit when I finished this so I may come back and make tweaks later, but as it stands i need to get ready for my class immediately or im going to be late so im just going to not think about it for now!!!! i hope you like it anyways!!

Chapter 17

Summary:

Gamora turned to lean her back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. Leaning into his space a little. “Aw, I get your NASA mug? Does that mean I’m your favorite?”

“I don’t have favorites,” he responded diplomatically, though he didn’t meet her eyes.

She laughed brightly. “Oh, bullshit. Your favorite is the sun, Peter. It’s all over your face.”

Notes:

mmm a little long i think......I actually had to cut this one off or i could have kept going forever lmfao im finally getting into the story im gonna lose it. anyway

 

The days-long travel to Knowhere passed in relative peace. Or maybe it just felt that way to Peter, because the others still bickered and argued here and there—he was just a little more zoned out than usual.

He was standing at the coffee machine, half-asleep still as he listened to its mechanical whirring. This time he knew his face was still covered with black lipstick stains, but it was too early for him to care.

Gamora joined him at the counter, taking a moment to pet the cat curled up into a ball beside the microwave.

The cat whose name was Mary, he had learned. Adam had said her name without thinking a day or two ago, trying to caution her from knocking over someone’s abandoned glass.

The name had caught his attention immediately, his eyes finding Adam’s face. “Mary?” he’d asked, the shock in his voice audible.

A golden hand had flown to Adam’s lips, his expression sheepish when he turned to look at Peter. “Forgive me,” he had said, dropping his hand to take Peter’s a little too tightly. “I know I should have asked first.”

He hadn’t known what to say in the moment or how to feel, but later that night when Mary had been curled up on his lap, he couldn’t help but feel incredibly soft as he whispered her name to himself. Scrubbing the fat of her cheek, watching her whiskers push forward as that feline smile spread over her furry lips.

Mary. A soon-to-be-momma cat named after the best mother Peter could have ever asked for.

The thought had made his eyes water, tears slipping down his cheeks as he laughed a bit at himself. Mistaking the reason, Adam had leapt to offer comfort—feeling a little guilty, perhaps. Peter had been embarrassed as he tried to explain himself. To reassure Adam that he wasn’t sad, because it was true.

Just overwhelmed, maybe. A good feeling for once.

It was difficult to articulate the feeling of—of being confronted with evidence that someone truly did care about him. Enough to remember the things he said, even when they felt pointless. Even when it was a story everyone had to tell these days, of dead family, ruined childhood, an empty shell where a life used to be.

Adam must have heard many stories like it in his life, and he even had one or two like it himself, yet he remembered Peter’s mother. Honored her with the cat’s name, and he couldn’t think of anything she would have loved more.

Even after his halting attempt at an explanation, Adam held him close anyway. Peter had leaned into his chest, basking in the gentle heat of him. Finding a comforting sort of peace in his embrace.

Hm. There he went again, spacing out. A part of him blamed Adam almost as much as he blamed getting actual sleep the past few days, which was a rarity for him.

Although that was probably also Adam’s fault. He had figured out how to exhaust Peter pretty damn quick after the first time. Like it was a game to him, or something.

Smug bastard.

Beside him, Gamora glanced his way. She was barefaced this morning, her yellow eyes vibrant against her green skin. “You making one for me, too?”

He cracked a smile at that, flicking his attention to her. “What, you came around to coffee when I wasn’t looking?”

She mirrored his expression, amusement glimmering in her eyes. She pet from Mary’s ears, over the curve of her spine, and to the base of her tail before drawing her hand back to herself. “You were right. It’s an acquired taste.”

He snorted, gesturing to the mug currently brewing. “You can have this one, then.”

She turned to lean her back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. Leaning into his space a little. “Aw, I get your NASA mug? Does that mean I’m your favorite?”

“I don’t have favorites,” he responded diplomatically, though he didn’t meet her eyes.

She laughed brightly. “Oh, bullshit. Your favorite is the sun, Peter. It’s all over your face.”

His skin burned at the remark, but he chose to ignore it. “You know, I’ve tried to tell him this,” he gestured to his face, covered in kiss marks, “doesn’t really make people want to take me very seriously, but he just didn’t seem to care.”

She hummed, the sound playful. “Like you don’t let him get away with it.”

Another subtle smile as Peter chose not to answer, because she was right.

When the coffee was done, he handed her the mug and reached into the cupboards to grab another. She didn’t put sugar or creamer in it and didn’t wait for it to cool before she took a sip, both hands wrapped around the ceramic.

Crazy person. Quill needed at least some sugar in his coffee—it was too bitter, otherwise. Not that he said as much, placing the mug under the drip before he replaced the used pod of coffee with a new one.

After a beat Gamora said, “Did we ever talk about the spacedock?”

The question had Peter’s mind going blank in thought. He closed the top and ran the machine again, turning to look at her with a mild frown. “I don’t…think so? A lot happened back there, it’s a lot for me to keep up with.”

She gave him a sideways look, a playful glimmer in honey depths. “Especially since you were almost kidnapped. Again.”

He made a face at that, his tone flat. “Ha, ha. So what did you find at the spacedock?”

She took another sip of coffee before she shifted against the counter. Pressing her hip to it to face Peter instead. “Rocket has the actual files, but the dock hadn’t been used once since the colony ‘disappeared.’”

Peter furrowed his brows at that. “Not even the day we arrived?”

Gamora shook her head, taking another sip.

“Then how did those guys get on the planet? Teleportation?” he asked, scrunching his face. A thought occurred to him, then, and he tacked on, “Also, wait—why didn’t the ship pick up on their presence when we scanned the colony for life?”

Gamora hummed at that, her own expression shifting into something a little more pensive. “I’ve been thinking about that too. If it was teleportation, then maybe they got in after we scanned? Or maybe we need to upgrade the Milano’s scanners to reach below surface level, since they were in a cave.”

Peter huffed, returning his attention back to the coffee machine. “Another expensive thing to add to the list.”

Gamora nudged his ankle gently with her shoe, more casual than her typical combat gear. “Relax, Peter. Like you said, there’s a lot we don’t know about these people. They could have been cloaking, signal masking—anything.”

It didn’t appease him much, but it was true in any case.

After a moment of quiet, Gamora spoke again. Her tone soft. “How are you feeling, by the way? The other guy hasn’t contacted you again, I hope.”

A half smile pulled at one side of his lips when he cut a quick glance to her. “He hasn’t. I wouldn’t hide something like that from you guys.”

She gave him a narrow look, seeking something in his expression. Then she frowned slightly and glanced away, taking a longer drink to extend the quiet. “I’ll believe you this time, if only because I don’t think you’d willingly endanger the team.”

Yellow slipped back to his face, piercing and moderately accusing. “But you would hide if it only affected yourself. I know you.”

The machine stopped, and Peter pulled the mug to himself with a sigh. “Well, it doesn’t, so you don’t have to worry about that, okay?”

Gamora hummed neutrally, and neither of them pointed out that he hadn’t argued the point.

 Mary unfurled from her tight ball position, rolling onto her feet and standing with a big stretch. Gamora pet her again as the cat slowly made her way over to them both, and after a moment, Peter held his hand out to her. Letting her rub her nose and fat cheek against his fingers.

“I hope you know that one of her kittens will be mine,” Gamora said, giving Peter a sideways look when she lifted the mug to her lips.

He laughed at that, watching the feline smirk spread across Mary’s fuzzy lips. “You’ll have to talk to Adam about that one. She’s his cat.”

Gamora hummed, removing her hand to hold her coffee with both hands again. “I read that terran cats can have up to nine kittens, sometimes. What would he need all nine for?”

Deciding she had her fill of attention, Mary made a soft sound before she walked to the edge of the counter and lowered herself as close to the ground as she could get before gently hopping off the counter. Landing on her feet and trotting off elsewhere.

“I mean, I agree with you,” he said, amused at her insistence, “I'm just saying.”

 She made a thoughtful sound, watching Mary wander over to the cat tree. “He’ll give me one. Adam likes me.”

She didn’t sound the least bit uncertain, and it made Peter laugh as he reached into the cabinets for sugar packets. Three of them. “Eh, you're probably right. You and Mantis are his favorites.”

Another amused sound from her, her eyes all too knowing when she looked at him next even if she said nothing. “Thanks for the coffee, Peter,” she said by way of parting.

“Any time,” he said as he began ripping the packets open, pouring sugar into his coffee.

In the silence that followed her absence, he found his mind wandering to Adam. Not unusual of late, but specifically, he was thinking of the day they met. If one could call stumbling upon his cocoon drifting in space ‘meeting.’

Time kind of slipped through his fingers out here in space, but he was sure it had to have been nearly a year and half now since then. Maybe a little less.

For a few days a cocoon was all it was, but Rocket’s scans indicated life somewhere inside it. It hadn’t made any sense to Peter, but he'd kept it in the airlock anyway. Wouldn’t be very nice to throw someone back out into space like that.

As much as Rocket and Drax insisted he should.

When it finally did split open, there had been a brief confrontation with Adam—who had woken up confused, angry, and though he would likely never admit it, scared. He’d had Peter pinned to the wall by his throat, Drax’s blade hovering around his own golden neck, Rocket’s gun pointed at his gut.

Trying to talk everyone down had been a nightmare and a half, because as it turned out, Adam was stubborn and didn’t take threats well. Naturally. Peter didn’t either, but he tried to be forgiving in that Adam wasn’t threatening him so much as he was looking for answers and just being very aggressive about it.

Rocket had been the first to reluctantly stand down, but it had taken more for Drax to finally relent—Peter’s hand around his wrist, squeezing in a silent plea—and only then did Adam let him go, that golden face tight with anger.

The memory alone gave him a headache to think about, and he paused to rub the space between his brows with a sigh.

Needless to say, they didn’t immediately hit it off. Trying to befriend Adam back then had been a lot like putting his hand on a hot stove and letting it burn him, but Peter was persistent. Annoyingly so, at times.

Being able to help the Guardians with their jobs had made Adam a little more tolerable after a while, though. The look in his eyes had been familiar, one that Peter had seen before on every one of them.

The relief that he was still capable of doing good, despite everything.

He made a brief detour to the fridge to find the creamer only to learn he was out, which had him sighing heavily to himself as he returned to his coffee. Oh, well. Black coffee with sugar never killed anyone.

…Although he took a few more sugar packets down and tore them open, just in case.

Warm arms slid around his waist from behind, and he jolted at the touch as his heart jumped to his throat. The kiss to his shoulder had him cursing internally at himself, shaking off the spilled sugar that landed on his finger. “Jeez, you scared me. I thought you were meditating.”

Adam hummed, resting his cheek against Quill’s shoulder. “I was, but then I started to miss you.”

The smile that brought to his face was tiny and begrudging, his heart tightening a fraction in his chest. “Wasn’t gone that long, pretty boy,” he said, blending the sugar and coffee together again before lifting the mug to his lips. Bitterness barely hidden by artificial sugar greeted his tongue, and he made a mildly sour face before resigning himself to it anyway.

Wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever had, honestly.

He felt Adam shift slightly to settle more fully against him. Nuzzling into his shoulder with a soft sigh. “It was long enough.”

The admission made his face burn, but he didn’t give a response beyond an amused hum.

If anyone had told him Adam Warlock was the clingy, cuddly type back when they first met, there was no way in hell he would have believed them—but here they were. It was an odd thing for Peter to try to adjust to. Mostly because, frankly, he had gotten used to the lack of touch that came with being surrounded by a group of dysfunctional people that never learned how to love other people before.

Or in Drax’s case, people that had forgotten how.

The thought gave him a moment of pause, and he wondered if that was why sex was such a casual thing to him where holding Adam’s hand was not. A certain type of emotional intimacy he was not well-versed in, and didn’t quite know how to reciprocate beyond following Adam’s lead or simply allowing a touch he wasn’t used to.

Come to think of it, Adam was the one who touched him the most out of the Guardians. He always had been.

Tentatively, he lifted a hand to settle it over Adam’s arm around his waist. Rubbing up and down the exposed skin absently.

Adam held him tighter in response, kissing his shoulder again.

Maybe they could have stayed like that, but a slow, periodic beeping from the cockpit sounded. Normally a quiet notification, but it was loud in the silence of a mostly asleep ship. Peter turned his head toward it, recognizing the sound after a beat. “Is someone calling us?”

Adam withdrew, somewhat reluctant. “Cosmo, perhaps?”

Peter glanced his way before taking off for the cockpit, mug in hand. He didn’t even blink when Adam followed him. It was so routine by now that he almost expected it, though a part of him was a little worried about that.

Expectation was an easy place for disappointment to dig its heels in.

He set his coffee mug down on an open space on the flight console, hitting the answer button on the holoscreen as he took his seat. Adam came to a stop beside him, leaning against the side of Quill’s chair this time rather than the wall.

Big black eyes stared at him from the other screen, green-tipped antennae wriggling slightly. A smile bent Mantis’ lips. “Peter Quill, it is good to see you. And you, Adam Warlock.”

“Likewise,” Adam returned, his tone genuine and friendly.

Letting that be their shared greeting, Peter skipped straight to, “How’s it going over there?”

Mantis hummed at that, glancing aside. “Your intruder was shielded against mental probing. It took several days for Cosmo and I to breach the barrier protecting her thoughts.”

She paused, refocusing her attention on Peter. An unusual hesitation kept her silent for a beat too long before she said, “She was hired by your father, Peter.”

In an instant the blood drained from his face, his expression falling into a reflexive nothing. There was a lot to process in that simple phrase, and he couldn’t decide which was more pressing—how Mantis knew his father, or why his father hired someone to break into his ship?

Had she been digging around in his head without him knowing?

What the hell did J’son want, and why now?

They had never met in person. Peter had only ever seen his face on holovids and pictures, had only ever heard his voice through tinny speakers. He had never been a prominent figure in Peter’s life, yet the shadow of his absence loomed over him anyway. It always had.

When he had hunted down his mother’s killer all those years ago, he had learned that J’son knew of him. That he had known ever since Peter was taken from his home planet.

He just hadn’t cared.

Mantis seemed certain, if remorseful, when she spoke next. “He’s been watching you, Peter. I don’t know for how long, because your intruder did not know, either. But she did know more about you than she should have, and it did come from him.”

The thought made his skin crawl. He felt Adam’s hand on his shoulder, gentle and reassuring, and tried to focus through the unease. “Did you ever figure out what she was after?”

An apologetic shake of her head. “Not yet. It took tremendous effort for Cosmo and I to get even that much information. Cosmo is resting, but I could not do the same until I told you.”

A beat of quiet. She seemed to be waiting for something, and eventually he cracked and asked, “How did you know? I never told anyone.”

She averted her eyes then, her antennae shifting slightly. “…The intruder knew. We did not seek to invade your privacy, Peter, but the fact that you are his son was the motivation for the crime. It was not possible to avoid the knowledge.”

Motivation for the crime. As if he ever actually cared. Peter made a face at the thought alone, frustration that wasn’t directed at anyone in particular building in his veins. He shoved away from the chair, saying, “It’s fine, Mantis. I appreciate the warning,” before leaving the cockpit entirely.

A strange sort of desperation led him to the radio. Flicking through songs, listening to them for a few seconds before skipping to the next.

It wasn’t enough. He needed the music to drown his thoughts, to wash away the memories plucking at the surface of his mind, the barely concealed pain threatening to split him open. He needed it to be so loud that it hurt. That he couldn’t hear anything but old guitars and drums in his skull.

A man that had never cared about him and never wanted him had, for some reason, sent someone to invade his ship. To invade his room. That same someone had stabbed Adam, and—and did god knows what in his room. What would his father even be looking for? Why? Why? Why?

He reached down toward his walkman clipped to the waistband of his sweats without real thought, but a voice in his ear stopped him short.

“Oh, sweet thing. You always did run for the radio when you were overwhelmed. It had always been like—what was it you used to say? ‘Pulling teeth’ to get you to talk to me. I see you treat your Adam no differently, at least.”

A cold shiver rippled down his spine, and his gaze snapped up toward motion out of the corner of his eye.

Gold skin. His Adam, descending the steps into the living space with a worried frown on his face. “You ran so quickly, love. What happened?”

The words didn’t even register in his mind because he was too preoccupied with that other Adam talking in his skull.

You shouldn’t even be awake yet, he returned, lifting a hand to run it through his hair. Staring at a point on the floor.

“Peter?” Adam prompted, stepping into his space. Lifting a hand to touch his face.

“Wonderful what spite and hate will do for a person’s recovery,” other Adam taunted, a knife’s edge to a playful tone. “Drax owes me a little bit of blood for that stunt, I think.”

“He’s in my head,” he hissed, reaching blindly for Adam. Hands wrapped around his elbows, the scrape of claws making him shudder. Feeling cold where there should be heat and snapping his attention up to what was a golden face, bleeding purple and black.

A wicked smile split those lips open, sharp fangs biting into the bottom lip as not-Adam tipped his head to the side. Crimson eyes gleamed in the low light of the Milano. “A shame he can’t do anything about that, isn’t it, sweet thing?”

A flash of irritation as Quill tried to free himself, but the hands gripping his elbows only tightened. Claws indenting flesh as not-Adam leaned closer, the icy chill of his body making Peter shudder.

“Did you know, darling,” he continued, pressing into Peter’s space until his back was against the shelf that held the radio. Lifting a clawed hand to take Peter by the jaw, angling his head back to meet his eyes directly. “That I was trapped between realities for a while? Oh, yes. Wanda saw me get bit, you see, and thought to shove me there until they could ‘fix’ me.”

He paused, a subtle sneer on his face. “But the fabric between realities is not lonely. Monsters and gods lurk there that you could never conceive of. I met one of them. Or, well. Many of them, technically, I suppose.”

He had drawn so close that Peter realized he didn’t breathe when he wasn’t talking. A deathlike stillness that held his body.

“It showed me the truth of our reality, Peter Quill. The tragedy woven into our souls.”

Within those crimson eyes fury and heartbreak warred. A desperate longing met with the cold indifference of fate, of the universe, of everything Adam held dear.

A love that was as insignificant to the cosmos as radiation was. Background noise. A star that burned bright and fast.

“You and I are never allowed to be happy.”

The background of the Milano shifted and changed into crimson, broken New York streets. The other Adam disappeared from him in a blink, revealing behind him a scene of abject misery.

Himself, standing in the center of the street. Lonely, even surrounded by the Fantastic Four.

Ash caked his skin, golden tears rushing down his face like twin rivers. Silent as he stared at his own hands as if they had somehow betrayed him.

Realization had Peter's heart dropping, stepping closer to Adam as if there was anything he could do. As if this was real and not the memory of an event that had already passed.

Richards stepped forward, placing a tentative hand on Adam’s shoulder from behind. “I…am truly sorry, Adam. There are no words to express—”

Pain lanced that golden face, intermingled with brittle fury. Adam whipped around and shoved Reed away, the waver in his voice doing nothing to dampen the bite. “I will hear nothing from you, Richards. Quill is—was—”

A bereaved sob left his lips, dusted with ash. He faltered where he stood until he collapsed to his knees in the dust below him.

“I will never see him again,” Adam choked out.

This was a memory, he knew, but still Peter reached out to touch his shoulder, to offer some sort of comfort however infinitesimal—

A golden mask tipping in his direction ever so slightly, a streetlight gasping for life above him as the background melded into something familiar.

“Adam?” He heard himself call.

He could feel the way Adam’s heart ceased beating in his chest. The way he almost didn’t look, because he was half-afraid it was a lie.

But he did, and Quill felt the way his heart shattered at the sight of him. Younger than in his memory, softer, but the soul still burned so hotly. So brightly.

How strange to see himself the way Adam did. Like the sun was threatening to burst from his skin. As if he was light.

Was this how his own Adam saw him?

Of course it is, love. You have always burned this bright. It would not be you if you did not.

The tentative, brittle voice of the Adam he had met that night. “...Quill?”

He watched himself step forward, and felt the fear that pushed Adam back. The fear of feeling again, after spending the last month in the dregs of apathy. The fear of loving that which he could not keep.

The fear that he would lose himself entirely if he lost Quill twice. That he would become someone else.

A well-founded fear, the other Adam whispered in his ear, though he didn’t sound gloating or proud. He sounded defeated.

As if he had given up.

I did.

The scene changed again, walls bleeding white until Quill recognized the platform holding the teleporter. Adam stood before its open void, staring into it. Feeling the agony of corruption burning through his veins, a poison that had no cure. A death assured, but he had accepted the consequences to save Peter.

To save at least one of them, even if it wasn’t his own.

The red barrier separated him from everyone else, and—

He surrendered. To the thing that had haunted him for weeks, the other self he had always tried so tirelessly to prevent.

What was the point anymore? There was nothing left to keep him here. No Guardians, no Quill, no mission.

He died the moment Quill’s ashes blanketed his skin. What difference did it make who piloted their corpse?

Scarlet encased his very being, desperate apologies and explanations falling from black-red lips before Wanda shunted him between realities. He fell into the endless void with a heart that no longer beat.

Other realities flit by him. Worlds where Adam and Peter met and fell in love. Worlds where Peter always, always died. Leaving Adam behind, taking the light with him. Taking love and hope and the will to keep going.

Taking everything Adam ever had, because what did he have, before he met Peter? What kind of life was endless service to the cosmos? What kind of life was struggle after struggle with no rhyme or reason?

Peter gave him everything he had ever longed for. Love. Family. A purpose beyond duty. A sense of logic in a galaxy that frequently seemed devoid of it.

The sheer weight of the grief Adam carried threatened to crush Peter. It was all-encompassing, inescapable. Persistent, everlasting. Following him into death, into undeath—following him into whatever space he occupied now.

He thought he knew what grief felt like. Thought he knew how deep it could bury itself, how painful it could feel. Like a knife in his gut, in his heart, twisting and carving through him.

But this was not what Peter had felt when his mom died. This was something else. As if half of Adam’s soul had literally been split in two, scattered into dust with the Quill he lost. As if he would never regain the pieces he had lost.

Even so, Peter was adamant that stagnating in it was worse than trying. There had to be a way forward. Peter refused to believe he would leave Adam so overwhelmingly, desperately lonely someday. That he would be the reason Adam gave up on everything. “Didn’t we talk about this, Adam? You can’t give up just because he’s gone. You have to learn to live with the loss or it’ll keep eating you alive.”

“No,” Adam hissed, cold hands grabbing his shoulders from behind. Claws digging into his shirt as he was pulled back into a broad, lifeless chest. “He did not deserve to die like that. I did not deserve to die like that.”

He turned Peter around, hand seizing his jaw as he leaned into his space. All malice and hate, a vitriol that was not aimed at him but was felt all the same. “In every reality where I learn to love you, you are taken from me. Over and over and over again. No matter how firmly I claim your soul, no matter how many brands, how many bonds, how much magic I pour into you—you will always return to her in the end, and she never gives you back. She never lets me keep you.”

Pain hollowed his heart, his hand raising to wrap lightly around the ashen purple hand holding his face. “Adam, I’m human. I was always going to die someday.”

“No. I will not allow it. Your soul is mine, it will always be mine—she cannot have it!”

His brows twitched, watching the manic look in those red eyes with caution. Still holding on to his hand, because this was still an Adam in pain, and Peter could not ignore that. “Who is ‘she?’”

A burning loathing in crimson eyes as the scene changed around them again, the cascading realities melting into endless, vacuous black. Using the grip on Peter’s jaw, the other Adam angled his head to the left.

There stood a cloaked, hooded figure. A shadow was cast over the face in a slant, revealing the lower half.

A jaw devoid of flesh or blood. Stark white bone in the dark, empty eyes unseen even as the weight of them was nonetheless felt.

“Who else, my darling? I speak of Death.”

Notes:

augh this chapter did hurt me in fact. and then i went back over it and was like no, i think it could be worse. anyways, see u next time :]

Chapter 18

Summary:

“So tense, darling. You know you have nothing to fear from me.”

“Do I know that?” Peter asked on a disbelieving breath.

The hand at his throat finally lifted, gliding along his jaw instead. Thoughtful. “Maybe I want you a little scared,” he admitted after a beat, his voice quiet against Peter’s ear. Cheek resting on Quill’s shoulder. “Maybe I’m still—angry. At you.”

Notes:

u all have 2 start being mean 2 me cause im starting to feel like im gonna fuck up one of these days and disappoint yall (joking)

The mere sight of Death seemed to destabilize the tenuous reality the other Adam had constructed around them. Quill fell through the ground, out of Adam’s grasp, and his heart leapt to his throat as a yell of shock was ripped from him. He tried to kick on his boots, only to realize he was still in his sweatpants and navy-blue t-shirt.

Cascading images of realities he had never seen and versions of himself that had never been flit by him. The myriad colors bled together until they all ran black, little pinpricks of light dotting the expanse. Like distant stars.

They made the shape of Death’s face, staring him down as he fell between worlds. Gleaming purple hands, tipped with chipped-black claws, swiped at him from seemingly nowhere, trying to grab onto him. Interspersed with them were pale hands, unknown to him, reaching.

In the panic rising in his throat, he tried to reach back toward Adam, because at least he knew him. Cold skin grazed his, claws shredding flesh as he slipped—but then the sharp points dug beneath his skin to grab him, blood running down his arm as pain lanced through him, and he stopped falling. Hanging in that starlit nothing, Death staring down from above.

Then he was hauled up, soon colliding with a solid body. Steady on his feet, and when he looked at his arm, there was no blood.

But hadn’t there been?

“Peter, no—” he heard someone call, the voice registering in his mind seconds after he heard it. Derailing whatever thought he had.

He turned to look, the name “Mantis?” slipping from his lips.

A clawed hand took him by the jaw before he could, gentle force behind the icy grip as Adam redirected Peter’s attention back onto himself. Confusion muddled his thoughts as he stared into red eyes. “I am the only real thing here, Peter. Everything else is Death.”

“He’s lying to you, Peter!” came Mantis’ voice again, somehow both right next to him and far away. “Please listen to me—”

Adam wrapped his other arm around Peter’s back, pulling him close. The hand around his jaw never left, though it did glide a little further back. Closer to his throat. “Don’t listen to that old crone, darling. I love you. I would never deceive you.”

His brows twitched, truth seeming to slip through his fingers. Half-memories of a cavern filled with bats and red light, littered with tall yellow batteries. “You tricked me before.”

“Mm. Did I? I remember being quite honest with my intentions,” he remarked, a faint upward twist to one corner of his lips. Leaning into his space, ice kissing his skin with every word. “You are mine, sweet thing.”

Peter shook his head at that, trying to back away from the other Adam. The hand around his throat tightened in response, claws digging into his skin to pull him closer. “I won’t let you go, Peter Quill. Not again.”

He couldn’t have responded if he wanted to with the grip on his throat—or could he? He didn’t understand the rules of this place—but even so, he watched a pale fist impact sharply with the other Adam’s jaw. It had him staggering, his grip on Peter slipping.

Pale, cold hands grabbed him and yanked him backward, throwing him to a floor that wasn’t tangible but was nonetheless there. He caught himself on his hands and knees, turning over onto his back to see Mantis standing in front of him. Shorter than even Peter was, almost dwarfed by Adam, but standing tall nonetheless.

And standing defensively, too. “You do not belong here, Adam that is not ours,” she said, somehow managing to sound reasonable and angry at the same time.

A sneer split grayish-purple lips, a sharp canine peeking out with the expression. “Such a bothersome title, isn’t it? If only I carried another name these days…”

In a flash he was beside her, swiping one of her legs out from under her with his own as he shoved her toward the ground. She grabbed onto him and pulled him down with her as Peter got to his feet, using their combined momentum to throw Adam onto his back and climb on top of him before she ever hit the ground. Hands around his neck.

“Magus. I see it in your head,” she observed, not even sounding winded.

A lazy smirk spread across undead lips, red eyes gleaming, and Peter knew why.

Adam didn’t need to breathe.

She was thrown back with a burst of purple energy. “And I see Knowhere in your head,” he spat back, getting to his feet. “I should have known. You’re all too young for it to be the Proscenium yet—you even still have the Milano.”

Mantis caught herself on her feet, keeping herself between Adam—Magus?—and Peter. “You adopted that name because you’re hiding from yourself. From what you did.”

A twitch to his expression, a little closer to mania. “Get out, insect.”

 She ignored him, digging deeper into that wound. “Magus didn’t kill his Peter Quill. Magus would never do what Adam did. You hide behind the mask because you hate yourself!”

“Get out!” Magus shouted, and the background shattered into an empty void. No light, no stars—no Death hanging over them.

Just empty shadow. Obscuring everything in every direction he looked. Though unease crawled under his skin, he took a step toward where he last saw Mantis. Tentatively calling her name, his gaze flitting through the dark aimlessly.

A hand grabbed his, cold enough that he flinched and tried to pull away at first. But then another grabbed his other arm, and he heard a hushed voice say, “I’m here, Peter. I have you.”

Distrust rippled down his spine as he tried to jerk away from her—away from him?

Magus was cold, but so was Mantis, sometimes, so who…?

“Stop—stop struggling, Peter, I’m trying to help you—” her voice hissed, her grip on him strong even as he tried to get away from her. Feeling panic rise in his throat, because he couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that it wasn’t her at all.

Magus had pretended to be Adam before, so who was to say he couldn’t pretend to be Mantis? He had even sounded like his own Adam. Softer and more loving, a tone he had only ever heard Adam use with him. Even his friendly voice that he used for Mantis, Gamora, and Groot was different.

Could he sound like Mantis? How could Peter know?

Claws scraped gently across the skin of his throat from behind, and an icy shiver tore down his spine. Feeling his own skin ripple at the cold breath touching his ear. “Doubting your reality so soon, my precious star? You always were easy to toy with, I suppose...”

The hands that might’ve been Mantis disappeared from him. An illusion, then, or…was she kicked out? Had she been real?

His skin jolted in time with his heart at the frozen kiss pressed to his cheek, still acutely aware of claws against his skin. Another hand settled against his hip, thumb pressing into muscle. “So tense, darling. You know you have nothing to fear from me.”

“Do I know that?” he asked on a disbelieving breath. It wasn’t like Magus couldn’t hear the fear. Like he hadn’t been hearing it since that cavern.

Wouldn’t anyone be scared in this situation?

The hand at his throat finally lifted, gliding along his jaw instead. Thoughtful. “Maybe I want you a little scared,” he admitted after a beat, his voice quiet against Peter’s ear. Cheek resting on Quill’s shoulder. “Maybe I’m still—angry. At you.”

He turned his head toward Magus, finding blazing red eyes already staring at him in the dark. Contemplative. “Why me?” Peter asked, though he had a feeling he knew the answer.

Crimson eyes traveled over the features of his face slowly. “You got bit, and then you had the audacity to ask me to kill you. To kill half of myself. I will never—I will always be empty, Peter Quill. Because of you. Because I loved you.”

He pulled away, stepping around Peter to stand in front of him. Gliding his arms over Peter’s shoulders, leaning into him. “Do you know what I regret most about that night, sweet thing?”

A beat of quiet and Peter realized Magus was waiting for an answer. Peter floundered for one, saying, “If it wasn’t killing your Quill, then what was it?”

A moment passed where Magus simply stared at him. Shifting one arm until it was trapped between them, his claws grazing the skin of Peter’s throat. Right over his pulse, making him shudder. “I should have let him turn.”

The words felt like a knife to the heart, delivered so matter-of-factly. It was the first time he felt like he was looking at someone he didn’t know, because Adam wouldn’t want him to be—to be trapped in a cage just to have him. A curse with no cure, a sentence Peter would never be able to live with.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, voice wavering with uncertainty.

Piercing red eyes gleamed like a predator eyeing prey. “He would still be mine. I would not be empty, if I had just…”

A small hitch in his breath, lashes fluttering over red eyes before they averted. Before he withdrew from Peter entirely, lost in the shadow. “He would still be mine,” he repeated, like it was the only thing that mattered.

But it wasn’t. Peter glared into the pitch dark, brows drawing together. “He would have learned to hate you.”

A short silence. “Yes,” Magus agreed, but offered nothing further. Merely an acceptance of what might have been and perhaps finding it a preferable alternative.

After an extended absence, cold hands settled on either side of his face. Claws biting into flesh, red eyes burning back into view. "I could not save him," Magus said, his voice thick with grief and righteous anger both. “But I can still save you. I will save you.”

“I don’t need—” he began to protest, raising a hand to grab one of the ones holding his face.

They dropped to his chest instead and gave him a push. Forcing him to fall once more. The promise of “Whatever it takes, Peter Quill,” followed him as the shadows shifted and changed. Until they bled into metallic walls, artificial lighting overhead, almost blinding.

He squinted against the light, his bleary eyes barely making out the Joan Jett poster pasted haphazardly to the ceiling.

In his disorientation, the sight of it sparked a memory—namely the one where Peter had put it up. He was a few inches short of reaching the ceiling even on the bed, so he'd stacked a few old books on top of each other and used that to reach.

He knew full well it was risky and stupid, but he figured it would only take a few seconds to tape it in place, so what was the harm, really?

Well, it only took a few seconds for him to slip and fall, too. Right off the bed, banging his skull into the dresser on the way down to the floor, and hell if that hadn’t given him one of the worst headaches of his life.

Rocket had bitched him out when he regained consciousness, though his lecture had gone mostly over Peter’s head at the time. Because of the concussion, naturally.

That was shortly after Adam joined the team. He wondered if Adam even remembered the incident, but he hoped he didn’t. It was an embarrassing memory.

As if there weren’t hundreds of other more embarrassing memories Adam probably did remember, anyway.

It took a few beats to determine if he was still dreaming or not, but he got his answer in the form of warm hands grabbing his face. Wide white eyes leaned into his view, blocking the poster of Joan Jett. Gold skin gleamed under the light where it wasn’t covered, worry lingering in every facet of Adam’s expression.

“Peter?”

He frowned minutely, shifting to try to sit up. Adam moved to help him, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. His hand found its way back to Peter’s face, swiping across his skin with his thumb. The other lingered where it was wrapped around his bicep. “Are you alright? Mantis tried to help you, but she was forced out—how did you escape?”

His brows furrowed slightly, gaze averting. “He just…let me go. I don’t know why.”

A beat passed, the crease between Adam’s brows the only indication of his disbelief. Still, he didn’t try to needle Quill about it. “I don’t suppose he told you what he wanted from you.”

The events of what happened in his head were a little unstable in places. Details slipping through his fingers, leaving only the general impressions of what he had seen. Remembering the parts that felt important to him.

He remembered that, though. The prevalent theme of their talk had been centered around it. “He wants to…‘save’ me. From Death, I think. The god. Goddess? Whatever.”

An odd look crossed Adam’s face then, his head quickly angling away. Not so quick that Peter didn’t catch the flicker of guilt in his eyes, though.

It had Peter frowning, staring at Adam’s profile. “What?”

A long stretch of silence spanned between them before Adam pulled his hands back to himself. Resting on his lap. “…during the time crisis, I placed a brand on your soul. Should you die when I am not around, your soul will return to me. Not Death.”

The information took a few seconds to sink in, but then Peter blinked as a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. “…Why?”

White eyes met his briefly. “I did not want your soul to become trapped with a Death in a reality you did not belong to. It…made sense at the time to anchor your soul to me, instead.”

Adam fidgeted with the end of his sleeves idly, glancing away again. “In any case, it was removed when the other version of myself took the bond.”

Peter made a face, rubbing at his eyelids with his index finger and thumb. “But you replaced it when I got back,” he guessed, because if it was gone, Adam wouldn’t be acting this way.

Another long quiet that was answer enough. “…I don’t intend for it to be permanent,” he said eventually, gesturing vaguely with a hand. “I am not…my goal is not to cheat Death.”

Peter dropped the hand to rub it down his face, looking over at Adam again. Finding white eyes on him already, pensive. “Yeah? What is your goal, then?”

Adam's brows knotted together slightly. “…to keep you safe. That is all.”

All he could do was stare for a while, brows furrowed over a frown.

Seeing a pattern he didn’t want to see. Remembering how they had met Adam—alone, miserable, angry, apathetic—and comparing it to the vacancy of feeling he had been shown by Magus. The month long period of him experiencing the same isolation Adam himself had endured before meeting them.

The lengths they both seemed willing to go to in the name of keeping him safe.

Magus had told him that he gave up after shoving Peter through that portal. Was that the precipice his own Adam stood at? One bad day away from repeating the same mistakes? It didn’t seem like it, but he knew better than anyone that appearances could be deceiving.

“You are overthinking again,” Adam said gently, reaching over to lay his hand lightly over Peter’s where it rested against the mattress.

He ran his hand through his hair, blowing out a sigh as he turned his head away. “I really hope so, Adam,” he muttered, though he remained unsure.

Slowly, Adam shifted his hold on Peter’s hand to bring it to his lips. Pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles, meeting his eyes when Peter looked his way again. “Don’t let him get under your skin, love,” he said gently.

Right. Though they were both Adam, they were still from different realities. Different experiences. Different triggers, maybe.

Different enough to matter. He hoped.

He gave a nod, trying to push it from his mind for now. “How’s Mantis? You said she was kicked out.”

Adam hummed, holding Peter’s hand on his lap. “She is…upset at present, but she is alright. She’s in the living space with the others,” Adam explained, glancing Peter’s way again. “I assume you know we have arrived at Knowhere.”

A subtle smile bent his lips. “Yeah. Mantis was kind of an obvious giveaway.”

Another hum as Adam rubbed his thumb into Peter’s knuckles. He seemed to be a bit distant for a moment, but then the look faded with a few blinks. “The Milano has been granted additional security by Cosmo. An order he gave before turning in for the evening, I suppose.”

Right. Because…because of his father. He turned his head away, what little lightheartedness he wore slipping from his face at the reminder. “Hopefully it sticks this time.”

A beat of silence before Adam asked the question Quill didn’t want to answer, but knew he had to eventually. “Who is your father, Quill, to have influence and money enough to hire another to break into our ship?”

 Our. Peter tried not to linger on the word, shaking his head slightly to dispel it. He debated how to answer before eventually settling on blunt honesty, even though he knew it didn’t sound true coming from his mouth. “Emperor J'son. From Spartax.”

Adam didn’t immediately respond, but neither did he immediately sigh and dismiss Quill as lying. His thumb continued to rub into Peter’s skin as he thought it over, before eventually saying, “You were right, then. You don’t look like him.”

Peter scoffed, lips twisting with vague amusement. “Yeah, because I have a soul,” he muttered, mostly a joke.

But Adam squeezed his hand in reassurance, his tone unmistakably fond when he said, “A very bright one, unlike your father.”

That took Peter a second to process, but then he was glancing Adam’s way with a mild furrow between his brows. “You’ve met him?”

Adam made a vague gesture with his hand, making a slight face. “The High Evolutionary did. I simply happened upon J’son in passing.”

Adam didn’t speak of him much, but Peter knew enough to know the High Evolutionary was the closest thing Adam had to an actual father. “…Okay, wait, it’s a little bit funny that our dads met before we did. How long ago was this?”

A slight crinkle formed at the bridge of Adam’s nose, but it was just as quick to disappear. As if he hadn’t even realized that was essentially what happened. “A few years by this point. I fail to see the humor, though.”

An amused smile pulled at one half of Peter’s lips. “Human superstitions about fate, I guess. Don’t worry about it. Did you talk to him, though? My dad?”

“Not through any will of my own,” Adam remarked wryly, the gleam in his eyes matching as he recalled the memory. “I was content to ignore him, but he wished to talk anyway. A supercilious man with a hollow soul. I did not like him.”

“A super—” Peter started before cutting himself off with a sigh, rubbing at his eyelids again. “What does that even mean?”

Adam hummed, faintly amused. Lifting Peter’s hand to kiss his knuckles once more. “Haughty. He believed himself above everyone else.”

At that Peter could only make a face that conveyed agreement, giving a shrug. “Yeah. Sounds like him, I guess.”

“I do wonder what he could want from you now, though. You never speak of him, so I can only assume he was not an active part of your life.”

At that Peter’s expression shifted to one more pensive as he stared down at his hand, held in Adam’s. Brows tightening over a frown. “No. He…” he paused, trying to organize his thoughts into something coherent. Focusing on the warm touch of Adam to keep him from drifting too far into unpleasant memories.

“He wasn’t,” he said, about to stop talking there, but…

I see you treat your Adam no differently, at least.

He frowned a bit, and decided that if he couldn’t tell Adam, he couldn’t tell anyone. And that was too lonely a thought to be true.

“Not that it mattered,” he continued after a beat, plucking idly at the blanket under him. “Still got wrapped up in his stupid war with the badoon, anyway.” He stared at the black paint coating Adam’s nails as he spoke. It was starting to chip in places, but the extra detail was vital in keeping his mind off of more unpleasant things even as he gave voice to them.

“I don’t know how they figured it out, but they knew I was his kid. So they took me away from earth when I was a child and locked me away somewhere in space.”

Adam squeezed his hand and shifted until he was closer to Peter, lifting his other hand back to his face. His touch was soft and gentle, but reassuring, too. As if he could hear what wasn’t being said, and that made it easier.

Peter leaned into it, trailing his gaze to Adam’s face. “I learned later that J’son knew. About me, about where I was, what had happened. He just hadn’t cared enough to do anything about it, so he left me there. He hasn’t cared since, so I…I don’t know what he wants. I don’t know why. It doesn’t make sense.”

A sober expression settled on Adam’s face. Visible thought happened behind his eyes, as if he was slotting pieces of a puzzle into place. “No. It does not make sense.”

Peter stared for a beat, brows furrowing slightly. “What are you thinking?”

Something seemed to unsettle Adam as he withdrew, glancing around the room. “We thought the intruder broke in to take something, no? But…”

The pointed silence sank into Peter with an unsettling realization. He lifted a hand to his mouth, staring off to the side. “You think she planted something instead.”

Somehow, that was infinitely worse than discovering something had been stolen from him. Besides his peace of mind, which was long since gone anyway.

“Mantis said he had been watching you,” Adam reminded him, returning his attention to Peter. At least he looked as disturbed as Quill felt at the thought.

“Yeah,” Peter said quietly, digging his nails into his own skin for a beat before he took a breath and dropped his hand to his lap. “…I hate that you’re probably right, Adam.”

“I certainly don’t want to be,” Adam remarked, and the face he made at the prospect was convincing enough of that. “But he is an emperor. There are easier, less amateur ways of getting what he wanted, if what he wanted was material at all.”

Everything he said made sense, and it made Peter’s skin crawl. “We should talk to the others about this, I think. Maybe Rocket will be able to help.”

“Yes,” Adam agreed readily, standing from the bed. Using Peter’s hand, which he still held, to guide him from it as well.

The both of them were a little too eager to leave, but nonetheless Adam lingered behind to let Peter go first. Releasing his hand to instead put a hand on his lower back, gently urging him forward.

 

Notes:

sorry it took so long......i cannot guarantee the next chapter will be any faster tho because. all my projects r due Soon and im gonna like. melt. anyway. i hope it was worth the wait!!

Chapter 19

Summary:

Yeah, Magus scared him—but he’d have to be blind to not see Adam in there, too. That pain he carried, the loneliness. The undercurrent of anger that had defined Adam when they met.

Where did the line go? How did he divide Adam from himself? Which part was him, and which was Magus?

Or were they both Adam and Magus at the same time? The same person in a different light? At a different stage of life?

Notes:

hiii sorry it took me so long...

Almost as soon as the doors closed behind them, Peter found himself accosted by a strong finger jabbed into the center of his chest.

“Why did you kick me out? I was trying to help you!” Mantis demanded, her brows drawn low over big black eyes. A small frown bent her lips downward.

Peter only blinked at her, and that seemed to worsen her frustration. She crossed her arms over her chest, stamping her foot as she blew out one cheek petulantly. “You kicked me out of your head, Peter. Not Magus.”

To his right, he heard Adam repeat the name. He glanced to find a frown on that golden face. “You refer to my other self.”

Mantis cut her attention to Adam briefly, her expression mellowing somewhat. “Yes. He’s been using the name Magus with his followers.” Then she returned her gaze back to Peter, the petulant annoyance returning in full.

He lifted a hand to his chest, pointing to himself. His brows lifted. “I kicked you out. How the hell did I do that? I’m not a telepath.”

The ire in her eyes buckled to worry, and she shifted slightly on her feet. Her gaze fell away, the antennae atop her head drooping. “You believed him.”

The heavy stare of Adam settled on the profile of Peter’s face, but he ignored that as he shifted on his feet. Frowning slightly. “I didn’t, though. Right?”

When she lifted her gaze to him again, her eyes were filled with pity. “You did. He tried to force me out and failed, and that was when everything went dark. He put you in a position to doubt yourself and your friends, and you did.”

Oh.

Mantis’ tone shifted to something more disappointed than angry, though even that didn’t feel like the right word. “When he showed up the last time, you decided he was more real than I was, and it was that lack of faith that let him shut me out. And he was happy with himself. That you chose him over me.”

Immediately, Peter found himself shaking his head and reaching out to Mantis. He clasped her shoulder, stepping into her space somewhat. “No, that’s not true, Mantis. I wouldn’t do that to you, not on purpose. Never on purpose. Okay?”

The distress written on her face only seemed to amplify, but then she was surging forward. Wrapping her arms around Peter tightly, her cheek against his shoulder.

He froze for a second or two, processing the touch before he hesitantly returned the embrace. Keeping his touch light, uncertain. He spared a glance to Adam, who wore a complex expression before glancing away. He moved toward the living space after a moment.

“It is precisely the subconscious that frightens me, Peter,” she said, squeezing him a little tighter for a brief moment. She was deceptively strong for her small frame. “He deceived you without words by letting you jump to your own conclusions. What can I do about that? Anything I said would have made you doubt me more, but I had to try. And I failed.”

“You didn’t fail,” he reassured her, lifting his hands to her shoulders to push her back enough to see her face. He met her eyes, adding, “You were exhausted already, Mantis. Cut yourself some slack, huh?”

She pouted slightly, but eventually said, “I’ll feel better when I’ve put a shield around your thoughts. I just…can’t do it yet, after everything.”

He offered her a small smile. “That’s fine, Mantis. I’d rather you didn’t push yourself, okay? You’ve done more than enough today.”

She gave a nod, but a mild frown remained as she fidgeted with her hands. Almost like she didn’t entirely believe it. Then she gestured behind her, saying, “We should join the others. They’re waiting for you.”

He gestured for her to go first, and after a beat, she did—but then she abruptly stopped and turned to grab his hand, squeezing it tight. “You can’t trust Magus, Peter. Please. He is not the Warlock you know, nor the one you knew. He is someone else.”

A beat before he gave a nod. “I know, Mantis.”

…did he, though? He wasn’t so sure it was that cut and dry. Yeah, Magus scared him—but he’d have to be blind to not see Adam in there, too. That pain he carried, the loneliness. The undercurrent of anger that had defined Adam when they met.

Where did the line go? How did he divide Adam from himself? Which part was him, and which was Magus?

Or were they both Adam and Magus at the same time? The same person in a different light? At a different stage of life?

Mantis frowned. “You cannot trust him, Peter. He will abuse it.”

Another short nod as he pulled his hand away, trying to push aside the instinctual annoyance at her insistence. She was just worried. “I know, Mantis. I get it.”

She eyed him a few seconds longer, and he knew she didn’t believe him fully. Still, she reluctantly dropped the subject and turned around, heading into the living space. Peter followed, finding Adam immediately.

He was beside Gamora, the two of them standing near the coffee table. On the couch faced away from the kitchenette was Drax, who was apparently having a heated discussion with Rocket that Groot was tentatively trying to break up.

Repressing a sigh, Peter moved toward the pain point first. He threw himself down on the couch on Drax’s other side, resting his elbow against the back of it to lean his head against his knuckles. “What are we arguing about this time?”

At his less-than-subtle interruption, the two fell silent but kept exchanging heated glares until Rocket eventually looked away with a roll of his eyes. Focusing on Quill, gesturing with his hands. “Your dad.”

At that he cut a quick glance to Mantis, wondering how much they knew about him. She was already watching him, the antennae atop her head pulsing briefly.

I told them of Magus, and that your father was responsible for the break-in. That was all, came her voice in his head.

He pressed his lips into a line before returning his gaze to Drax, then to Rocket. “Okay. What about my dad?”

Drax sat back against the couch, spreading both arms over the back. Curling the left to avoid bumping Peter’s elbow. “Do you love your father, Peter Quill?”

Peter blinked at the question. “Not particularly.”

Drax gave a nod, glancing to Rocket. “He is a dishonorable coward to send lackeys to do his dirty work. I propose we kill him.”

Ah. That made more sense. Peter used the hand he was leaning against to instead rub at brow, sighing. He cut a skeptical look to Rocket. “So wait, are you arguing against murder?”

Rocket scoffed. “Flark no. Scutbag deserves what he gets, I just don’t want to end up in the Kyln. Again.”

Peter hummed, lifting his head to scrub at his jaw. “You know, Rocket, I think the Kyln would be the least of our worries if we killed the Emperor of Spartax. Since, you know, that’s who my dad is.”

At that Rocket laughed, but he was the only one. It was the reaction he had expected to get, honestly, so he just waited for Rocket to get it out of his system. Which didn’t take long, seeing as he was the only one laughing. Adam and Mantis already knew his father’s identity, and everyone else was just staring at him. Waiting.

When Rocket regained his composure, he wiped dramatically at his eyes. “Yeah, okay. If your dad’s the King of wherever, then how come I met you in prison all those years ago? Not exactly premium digs for a prince, Quill.”

Quill waved a flippant hand, making a face. “Never said he was a good dad.”

“In any case,” Mantis cut in, taking a seat on the opposite couch. She kept her knees together, her hands on her thighs. Shoulders tight. Her gaze drifted slightly before settling on Rocket and then sliding to Quill. “Peter is telling the truth. Emperor J’son of Spartax was the man that issued the order, and he seemed to believe very strongly that Peter is his son.”

At that Rocket went quiet, his expression shifting between a couple of different things before it settled on anger. He turned and shoved at Quill’s knee, indignant. “Have you known that the entire time, you flarking scutbag?”

A tired sigh left Quill, and he felt a comforting heat at his back. Adam drifting closer to the arm of the couch that Peter was leaned against, probably. Still, he stayed focused on Rocket. “I knew he was my dad, but I never had any reason to think he'd do anything like break into our ship.”

Though it didn’t truly drive the anger from Rocket, it mollified him somewhat. He grumbled and turned away, crossing his arms over his chest. “The hell does an emperor want with your stupid earth junk, anyway?”

At that, Peter tilted his head back to look up at Adam. Glowing eyes were already looking, something pensive creasing the space between pale brows. Peter gestured slightly to the room, and after a beat, Adam unfolded one arm from his chest to lay a hand over Peter’s shoulder. The tip of his thumb brushed the skin of Peter’s throat, making him shiver slightly.

“Rocket,” Adam began, though his gaze lingered on Peter’s face for a few beats more before those white eyes slid away to the raccoon. Peter returned his attention to Rocket, too. “Do you have the means to check for spying devices?”

A second before Rocket turned back around to face Adam, disbelief in the way his arms fell back to his sides. “You’re kidding.”

“I am not,” was Adam’s flat answer.

Rocket stared for a long minute before huffing out a sigh, running a hand down his snout before making a vague gesture with it. “Not on me, but I can put something together. It’ll take me some time to get the parts. Couple hours, maybe.”

At that, Gamora chimed in. Her brows were pinched and her head was slightly tilted. “Couldn’t we get the Security Corps to sweep for any bugs? Might be faster.”

Peter made a face, looking from Rocket to her. The footage Rocket had shown him played in his mind—he still didn’t know why the Milano had been abandoned mid-flight checks, but knowing his father was involved didn’t exactly paint a pretty picture. “I don’t know. I think I want to keep it to people I know I can trust for now. Not that I don’t trust Cosmo, but…”

Gamora considered that for a moment before she gave a nod of understanding. “You know your dad better than us, I suppose.”

It was almost enough to make him laugh, but all it got from him was a twitch of the lips. “I really don’t.”

Which was all the more reason for caution.

It wasn’t long before the team dispersed, with Groot and Rocket heading out into Knowhere together. Drax remained on the ship, but had returned to his room. Gamora lingered, along with Adam and Mantis.

Gamora was the one to break the silence first. “Mantis, do you want to stay with us tonight? We can share my room. There’s sleeping bags in the hangar—which is more like a cargo bay—” she teased, glancing to Peter. She didn’t actually care what it was called.

He sighed and leaned his head back against the armrest. “Hangar is shorter and sounds cooler, don’t care,” he responded, to which Gamora snorted with amusement.

He glanced up at saw the faintest upward tilt to the corners of Adam’s lips, too. He slid his hand up from Peter’s shoulder, over the side of his neck, until his fingers curled around his jaw. Brushing the underside with gentle touches.

He barely heard Mantis agree, seeing her and Gamora out of the corner of his eye as blurs of green and pale tones as they walked over to the hangar together.

“I suppose that does beg the question of where we’re staying tonight,” Adam remarked, his other hand mirroring the first. Rubbing a soft thumb into the dip below Peter’s lip. “I assume you don’t want to return to your room.”

 We. It made his heart do funny things every time Adam said it. Like they were a package deal, or something.

He hummed, his gaze flicking in the direction of his room. “No. We can stay here though, can’t we?” He asked, looking back up at Adam.

Soft white eyes roved his face, and if Peter didn’t know better, he’d say Adam almost looked smitten. “Of course we can, love.”

Then he leaned down to kiss Peter’s cheek, releasing him a beat later to walk around the couch. Taking a seat next to him. After a beat of hesitation Peter shifted on the couch to lean against Adam. It seemed to be what Adam wanted anyway—he was quick about wrapping an arm around Peter’s waist to keep him close.

After a few moments, a thought occurred to Peter. “We were hours away from Knowhere when Magus got in my head.”

Golden fingers tightened where they rested against his clothed skin, but only for a moment. “Yes. You were unconscious for a while.”

He hummed neutrally, brows furrowing slightly together. It didn’t feel like hours, but then most dreams never felt as long as they were. “I guess it’s like mid afternoon out there then, huh?”

“Approximately,” Adam answered, waiting a second before tacking on, “and Rocket stole your coffee this morning. Though he complained about the sugar.”

Peter snorted at that, amused despite himself. “That’s what he gets for stealing my stuff.”

He considered making another one very briefly but discarded the thought just as quickly. Probably too late in the day to have one and have any hope of sleeping tonight. Still, he wanted something to drink anyway, so he got up from the couch after a moment. “You want anything to drink?”

Adam considered for a moment before eventually saying, “A water, perhaps.”

“You got it,” Peter said, making his way toward one of the minifridges. He took out a bottled water for Adam and one for himself too, making his way back to the couch. He handed the water to Adam before sitting beside him again, drawing his legs up onto the couch this time. “So Cosmo is out for the day. Guess that means we have another day off until he recovers, huh?”

Overhearing him as she made her way toward her room, sleeping bag and Mantis in tow, Gamora said, “Ooh, we should watch movies.”

Peter unscrewed the cap to his water bottle and glanced her way. “Your definition of movies is very different than mine.”

She disappeared for a few seconds before returning to the living space with Mantis still following her, seeming content with whatever they planned on doing. “We can watch your movies. They’re always silly, anyway.”

“Thought you hated silly,” he remarked, taking a quick drink.

She didn’t directly answer, glancing to Adam instead. “Have you ever seen one of Peter’s earth movies?”

“I have not,” he said with a vague gesture of his hand.

At that Peter gave a nod of concession. “Yeah, alright. But only ‘cause I wanna see Adam’s reaction to Dirty Dancing.”

“Unpleasant title,” he remarked as Peter shifted forward, changing the settings on the table to turn touch sensitivity back on. He laughed at the dry joke as he navigated the menus, though it was probably just a factual observation from Adam’s perspective.

Gamora led Mantis to the couch opposite them before disappearing behind Peter and Adam. Rummaging around in cupboards until Peter heard plastic rustling, and he glanced back to find her putting popcorn in the microwave. It was hard to repress a smile—they hadn’t watched movies as a team in a while, yet she still remembered the ritual Peter went through anyway. “Don’t burn it, now.”

She waved him off, starting the microwave. “You focus on starting the movie, would you?”

The last time they did this, Adam had been a part of the team. Peter had invited him to join them for movie night then, but he had declined. At the time Peter thought it was because of the noise—the Guardians had a habit of getting loud—but he was sitting here willingly, watching Peter flick through their movie library with vague interest.

Though eventually he remarked, “A lot of these titles seem related to dancing in some way.”

“To music, you mean,” Peter returned, selecting Dirty Dancing to bring it up on screen. “Everyone knows musical movies are the best ones.”

Behind him, Gamora snorted as the popcorn began to pop. “They’re the silliest ones, you mean.”

Mantis had a smile on her face as she sat across from them, her hands in her lap. “I always liked them. They’re fun.”

“See, Mantis gets it,” he said, letting the opening credits play.

Eventually the four of them were seated at either couch with identical popcorn bowls. Peter was tucked into Adam’s side, resting his head on Adam’s shoulder and laughing to himself whenever Adam expressed mild disbelief with premise of the movie. Mantis was squished between the armrest and Gamora, but she seemed to like it there, holding the popcorn bowl on her lap with a pleasant expression.

She seemed happier than she had, at least. Less stressed—though echoes of it still lingered in places.

Drax joined them after a while, drawn out by the noise. He sat on the opposite end of the couch on Gamora’s side, though he took the popcorn that was offered to him. Even Rocket and Groot managed to return before the movie ended, though not by a whole lot.

They ended up putting on another one to mollify those two, who were understandably upset that they’d missed out on impromptu movie night. Quill chose Grease for this one, keeping with the theme—though truthfully, he didn’t have much interest in movies of other genres. Not for long, anyway.

He saw too much fighting on a regular basis to care much for action movies, though those were Drax’s and Rocket’s favorites. Groot and Mantis liked nature documentaries, and if Adam ever watched one, he probably would too—but those were too boring for Peter. Gamora had never outwardly said what her favorites were, but Peter could guess with the way her eyes always seemed glued to the screen of a good drama or thriller. Maybe she’d even enjoy a soap opera here and there.

Not really Peter’s thing either, given that drama and action usually went hand in hand, but at least a drama had more to it.

He thought he might like comedy movies once, being a bit of a funny bastard himself, but then he watched an old flick and decided he didn’t. It felt too tied up in laughing at other people for things they couldn’t change, and that just felt like bullying to Peter. There was nothing he hated more, so he never ventured further into other movies in that sphere.

So, he only really liked musicals when it came down to it.

Though Adam seemed to be struggling with the concept of one. “I fail to understand why they keep singing when talking would suffice.”

Peter poked him in the ribs, snorting to himself. “’Cause it’s a fun movie and they don’t care about realism. Also, it’s a musical. That’s kind of the point.”

Adam huffed, but didn’t argue. He just held Peter that much closer.

The third movie was one Drax and Rocket fought to pick, and eventually they both agreed on Die Hard. Not surprising, but it allowed Peter to check out of the scene for a bit. Relaxing into the heat of Adam, the noise of the Guardians a pleasant background.

He drifted in and out for a bit before he opened his eyes next, bleary and half asleep. On the floor was Mantis, tucked into her sleeping bag with Gamora right beside her with only a couch pillow beneath her head and a blanket haphazardly tossed over herself. On the couch still sat Drax, arms crossed over his chest, popcorn bowl on the floor. His head was bowed, and he seemed to be asleep—Mary was seated on the couch behind him, a happy feline grin on her face as she licked his bald head.

Rocket was curled up against Groot, the two of them asleep at the other end of Drax’s couch. Adam was still completely awake—but sat still regardless, allowing himself to be used as a pillow by Peter.

He shifted somewhat, and only then did Adam move. “Peter?” he asked quietly.

Peter only made a vague sound at the back of his throat, pushing at Adam’s chest until he got the hint. He reclined back on the couch and Peter settled himself between it and Adam, though most of himself was draped over Adam.

After a moment Adam wrapped his arms around Peter with a sigh that sounded almost fond, and then Peter was falling asleep again.

Notes:

the end bit was completely self indulgent idk. sorry. we return to regularly scheduled plot next chapter i prommy <-guy who knows things

Chapter 20

Summary:

 After a beat, he turned his head slightly to press his cheek to Peter's. Letting his eyes close as he listened to his love breathe, slow and even. Feeling the rise and fall of his torso beneath Adam’s other hand, against his chest.

Peter had never asked him to be anything, but he had given him a choice. The first where Adam truly felt like the answer was his own.

“There’s a place for you here, if you want it,” he had said, his eyes as bright as his soul. His voice kind.

He had always been kind.

Notes:

okay well once again adam had other ideas so i guess you're not getting plot yet. blame him not me.

They had made a mess last night. The scent of popcorn lingered from all the places it had been scattered, buttery and far too salty to be healthy. Beer cans littered the floor near Gamora, Rocket, and Drax. Even Peter had one or two—a necessity to enjoy Die Hard, in his words.

Adam had declined the drink himself, as had Mantis, who chose instead to pull her sleeping bag out of Gamora’s room and drag it out toward the couch.

“Ooh, issis a sleepover?” Gamora had slurred with excitement, lurching off the couch and taking a pillow with her. “Never had one of those.”

Mantis had giggled, unzipping the sleeping bag as Gamora all but flopped down next to her. “Don’t we always have sleepovers?”

“Not like this,” Gamora had mumbled, already half asleep as soon her head hit the pillow. “S’nice.”

Mantis had hummed, staring at her for a beat with soft eyes. Then she had disappeared toward the hangar, and returned a few minutes later with a blanket. She draped it over Gamora, who had passed out in the interim.

Then Mantis had crawled into her sleeping bag and zipped it back up before wriggling around to face Gamora, and they were both asleep not long after.

Rocket had been the third to fall prey to it, his beer can slipping from his grasp to land on the floor in a messy spill. He slumped against Groot with a snore, and the flora colossus had resigned himself to his fate as the pillow much as Adam himself had, staying rigidly still as Peter half-slept against his shoulder.

The last had been Drax. He fought against sleep for a while before giving in, and Mary had made herself at home behind him. Cleaning the back of Drax's head and seeming very pleased with herself for it.

Most nights, Adam did not mind that he couldn’t sleep. It was peaceful. Quiet. He found it easier to meditate, to focus. He also liked having at least someone awake when the others weren’t, keeping an eye on the ship itself.

Now, though, he felt out of place. Even Groot slept, slumped against the armrest as he was. Gentle snores—broken by much heavier ones from Drax—filled the space. Everywhere he looked, he was confronted with a facet of life he would never experience. Even the movies had been…strange, in the way they made him feel. Watching but not understanding. Seeing human life play out before him and not understanding. Like he was watching something in another language, even though he understood the words.

He felt alien. Other. Reminded that he was not like anyone else; his existence was uniquely lonely, even surrounded by friends.

Human, yet not. He did not sleep, he did not eat, he did not drink. Even the water he had agreed to earlier remained mostly untouched, because he didn’t need it.

Mortal, yet not. Time would never touch his body. Not the way it would someday touch the rest of the Guardians, wrinkling their skin or graying their hair.

Built to be the perfect human machine. A thing to take orders, to fulfill some banal purpose for men that would never deserve the stars they reached for.

Even death was not death for him. It was rebirth, regeneration, renewal. He would always come back. He aged in phases but not in physicality; he had been a bumbling childlike entity at one point, a self-modeled saint another—and now he was this. Whatever this was. Whatever phase this would be called when he died and came back anew the next time.

His deathlessness made him a perfect tool. Designed to be used, and that was precisely what the cosmos did. Taking him and throwing him at their myriad problems, because he was always meant to be a hammer to a nail. Always meant to be used by another.

He lifted a hand to thread his fingers through blonde strands, the motion thoughtless. Desiring a distraction from his ruinous thoughts.

 After a beat, he turned his head slightly to press his cheek to Peter's. Letting his eyes close as he listened to his love breathe, slow and even. Feeling the rise and fall of his torso beneath Adam’s other hand, against his chest.

Peter had never asked him to be anything, but he had given him a choice. The first where Adam truly felt like the answer was his own.

“There’s a place for you here, if you want it,” he had said, his eyes as bright as his soul. His voice kind.

He had always been kind.

Beneath his fingertips, Peter’s skin trembled. After a beat of assessment, he gently maneuvered Peter’s body. Pressing him against the back of the couch, gently extracting himself from him to slide to his feet.

The floor had grown sticky beneath his boots, the unexpected resistance under his heels unpleasant. He shook his head with a quiet sigh and took a short trip to the hangar, seeking a spare blanket.

Once acquired, he returned to Peter’s side only to find him sitting up, half awake. He glanced Adam’s way, bleary-eyed, and reached for him after a brief delay.

A subtle smile pulled at Adam’s lips as he took Peter’s hand, easing himself back onto the couch. Pulling Peter down with him until they were laying together again. Then he released Peter to spread the blanket over both of them, though mostly Peter.

After a few moments, Peter shifted to lay more on Adam than the couch once more. Nuzzling into his chest, all but straddling Adam’s lap in his effort to be closer.

Adam laid a hand over the back of Peter’s thigh, which was spread over his waist. His other hand went around Peter’s middle back, using both grips to adjust him further. Keeping him close, but comfortable all the same. Then he lifted his hand from Peter’s back to thread his fingers through Peter’s hair again, scrubbing gently against his scalp. His other hand trailed a slow path to Peter’s hip, where it stopped to hold him.

Feeling pleased when Peter fell back asleep soon after.

The weight of him was pleasant against Adam’s skin. He basked in the pressure, feeling more at ease than he could ever remember being. Peter wasn’t usually a peaceful sleeper, unless he was so exhausted that even his subconscious slept—but he was more or less still tonight, aside from the occasional minor shift here and there.

Morning was quick to arrive. The first to wake was Mantis, who slowly unzipped her sleeping bag and sat upright. Her antennae were droopy and angled in slightly different directions, her eyes barely open as she squinted into the dark of the living space. She turned her head a bit, gaze landing on Adam. After a moment she spoke, though quietly. “Good morning, Adam Warlock.”

He hummed his acknowledgment. “Are you feeling better now that you’ve rested?”

She considered for a moment before giving a nod. “Enough to place a shield around Peter’s thoughts, at least. When he wakes.” Then she turned her attention to Gamora, pressing her lips into a line briefly. “…Though I may have to rid Gamora of her hangover first.”

Adam snorted with vague amusement. “Here I thought that was my responsibility.”

A smile bent Mantis’ lips, carrying a knowing tilt. “Only when it is Peter that is hungover.”

At that Adam gave another hum, glancing down at Peter. Still peacefully asleep against his chest, seeming as comfortable as he would in his bed. Adam moved his hand slightly to rub a thumb over the bone of Peter’s brow, feeling his heart tighten in his chest.

The kiss marks he wore the night before had been wiped clean while Magus was in his head. Pointless, perhaps, but it had given Adam something else to do besides sit with that helpless feeling.

A strange experience for Adam, to be incapable of solving a problem. To see someone he cared for in potential danger and know there was nothing he could do to stop it.

With a gentle hand, he tilted Peter’s head enough to lean down to press a kiss to his brow. Then he returned his attention to Mantis, though he glanced briefly to the opposite couch. “Then who handles Rocket and Drax?”

A softness lingered in her eyes as she stared at him, but she nonetheless hummed with consideration. Drawing her knees up to her chest, resting an elbow on one to prop her head up with her palm. “What was the name of that earth game Peter made Gamora and Rocket play to settle an argument that one time?”

The memory resurfaced easily, as Adam had been to the left of the captain’s chair and watched the entire scene play out. Bemused, as always. “I think the title was rather literal,” he responded in deadpan.

She inclined her head, her antennae wobbling back into their correct places. “Ah, that’s right. Rock, paper, scissors. We can do that, I suppose. Whoever loses gets Rocket.”

Adam snorted at that, close to an actual laugh. “I will simply take Rocket to spare us the embarrassment.”

She giggled at that, her eyes playful when she looked his way. “To spare you the embarrassment, you mean. I would win.”

“Naturally,” he agreed easily.

A comfortable quiet settled before Mantis spoke next, her tone soft. Watching with knowing fondness. “I'm happy you’re finally together. Listening to you two think lovesick circles around each other was exhausting.”

A flush of heat blossomed under Adam’s skin at that, his fingers tightening briefly around Peter’s waist. “I did no such thing.”

She snickered at that. “You literally came to me for help! And all I did was tell you what you already knew,” she reminded him, her tone fond and teasing, “but if it makes you feel better, he was always worse. Louder. Brighter. Trying to tune him out was like trying to turn off the sun, you know? At least you were quieter about it.”

She didn’t actually sound all that bothered, but all Adam could do was hum neutrally. Willing the heat scratching under his skin to disappear as he held Peter.

The next to wake was Drax, sitting upright. He blinked a few times until his gaze fell to his lap, where Mary had curled up to sleep herself.

With a slow hand he reached to pet her, and she made a soft sound before lifting her head to look at him blearily.

“Good morning, Drax,” Mantis greeted, getting up from the floor. She approached around the back of the couch, touching her hand to the back of his head. Her eyes flashed along with her fingertips, and then she withdrew. “How are you feeling?”

He made a vague sound, still petting Mary. “Better. Thank you.”

Everyone else was quick to stir after. Mantis had kneeled in front of Gamora to touch either side of her face, and Groot picked Rocket up from under his arms. The raccoon was so out of it that he didn’t even protest, merely sagging like a limp stuffed animal as Groot carried him over to Adam.

With a sigh, Adam lifted a hand to tap Rocket’s downturned forehead. Golden light spiraled from his touch, disappearing beneath Rocket’s fur.

After a few seconds the raccoon began to squirm with lucidity, shouting his indignity until Groot carefully set him down.

“You're welcome, Rocket,” Adam deadpanned.

The raccoon waved him away as he scurried off. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, blondie.”

Groot began to clean up the space, Drax watching as he pet Mary for a few beats longer before he eased her off of his lap and joined the flora colossus. The noise seemed to finally get Peter to stir, shifting against Adam with a tired groan.

Adam shifted his hand from Perer's hair to his cheek, his touch soft as his gaze settled on that sleepy face. Bleary blue eyes stared at him, uncomprehending for a few moments, before memory settled.

The paleness of his skin dusted a light pink as he pushed himself up somewhat, but Adam took hold of his chin to keep him in place. Angling his head to lean in for a soft kiss between dirty blonde brows, using the point of contact to cleanse the lingering effects of alcohol.

Not that Peter drank much last night, but still.

“Good morning, love,” he murmured when he pulled away, shifting his touch to rub his thumb slowly across Peter’s cheekbone.

The pink had firmly settled into freckled skin, but still Peter leaned into him ever so slightly. “Mornin’,” he mumbled back, letting his eyes close for a brief moment.

He almost seemed content to stay, but then Peter opened his eyes with a little more awareness and gave a short sigh. He reluctantly moved to slide off of Adam, getting his feet on the floor.

Though he did take Adam’s hand to pull him off the couch with him, which Adam was happy to oblige.

Mantis was quick to approach, her bright eyes focused on Peter. “May I place the shield now?”

Peter blinked at her, barely awake. “I just woke up.”

“Didn’t seem to matter to Magus last time,” Mantis quipped, lifting her hands to hover at either side of Peter’s temples. “May I?” she asked again.

He simply gave a nod, sighing quietly.

Mantis placed her hands against his temples, her eyes lighting up along with her touch. Her brows knotted together with concentration, head tilting slightly.

A few moments passed before she released him, her expression evening out. “There. He shouldn’t be able to contact you again, so long as I keep it maintained.”

Peter shook his head slightly, making a face. “…Feels weird.”

She gave a nod. “Yes. You have no psionic capability naturally; it will feel weird. But you will adjust.”

He made a vague, disgruntled sound before turning away from her. Toward the table. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said, bending to turn off the screen projection. The projected still image the movie had settled on after the credits rolled disappeared from above the table, and its touch sensitivity was turned back down to zero.

The antennae atop Mantis’ head wriggled slightly. “Oh,” she started, glancing to her left, “Cosmo is awake. He wants the Guardians to speak to him as soon as possible.”

Peter made a face at that, gesturing to himself. “I just—”

Uncaring of his plight, Mantis forcibly maneuvered him toward his room. “Get ready. He sounds urgent, Peter.”

With a louder sigh than the ones before, Peter obliged—but he tossed a look back at Adam as he went, his intent easy enough to read.

He left the others to follow, ending up in Peter’s room. Peter himself stood at his dresser, rifling through open drawers to pluck out new clothes. Blue eyes flicked up at Adam, a glint of playfulness in their depths. “So, I was thinking—probably time efficient if we showered together, right?”

Adam felt the tiniest upward flicker at the corner of his lips, his head tilting slightly to the left. “Hm. So it would be.”

An amused snicker as Peter set his clothes atop the desk, reaching for Adam. Grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him closer, an action that Adam played into well enough.

If only because he was just as eager to take Peter’s face between his hands, angling his head up for a searing kiss. Pleased when Peter hummed satisfaction against his lips, his hands slipping beneath the shirt Adam wore to touch skin.

All too soon Peter was pulling away, a smile on his lips that he pressed into Adam’s jaw. “I like it when you go along with my bad ideas,” he murmured against Adam’s skin, withdrawing further to look up at him with adoring blue eyes.

Adam hummed, his fingers slipping into Peter’s hair. Tugging loosely, but nonetheless satisfied when Peter followed the motion of his hand with only the slightest parting of his lips. “Don’t get too used to it.”

There was a breathless edge to Peter’s voice when he said, “Wouldn’t dream of it,” that Adam liked. He slipped his other hand around Peter’s jaw before leaning in for another kiss, one Peter met him halfway for. He let his fingers trail down from Peter’s jaw over the lines of his throat, feeling healthy skin give way to scar and back. Caressing the prominent bone at the base, following the gentle slope toward his shoulder.

He broke from the kiss to bury his face against Peter’s throat, biting the sensitive flesh. He released Peter’s hair to grip his hip, pulling him closer.

A breathless, short laugh against his ear as Peter’s hands came up to his shoulders, pushing slightly. “The shower, Adam.”

A beat passed before Adam sighed, withdrawing somewhat reluctantly. “Go, then. I’ll join you in a moment.”

“You better,” Peter said, taking up his clothes in one hand. He paused long enough for one more quick kiss before he fled the room again.

Adam kept most of his clothes in the hangar, in the same storage unit they used for spare blankets and other such things. It was a quick detour to grab what he wanted, and then he was striding to follow Peter to the shower. Uncaring if a few of the others noticed, the same way he didn’t care if they saw the marks Adam left on Peter’s skin.

Well. That wasn’t entirely true. He did care if they saw the marks—but only in the sense that he wanted people to see them, anyway. The love bites and lipstick stains.

He held no shame that Peter was his.

The shower was already running by the time he stepped into the room, locking the door behind him. A slight smile bent his lips when he heard Peter half-singing, half-mumbling the words to a song Adam recognized.

Adam set his clothes aside on the counter, right over Peter’s, but paused to listen for a few moments. It was rare that he caught Peter like this—he would sing loudly when he was doing it wrong, but he sang quietly when he was trying to do it right. As if he was somehow shy, or self-conscious. Adam had never known him to be so.

 Eventually, though, Adam stripped down. Setting his boots aside and out of the way before he stepped into the shower, revealing his love already under the spray of water. Peter turned to face him, pushing his hair back with both hands to get it out of his face. “Took you long enough,” he remarked, half-teasing.

Adam hummed, content to watch the water caress his skin for a beat before he reached out to settle a hand over his hip. Gratified to feel soft flesh beneath his touch, digging his nails in to pull Peter closer. “I was listening to you sing. You have a beautiful voice.”

Pale skin burned pink almost immediately, blue eyes averting even as Peter slipped his arms around Adam’s shoulders. “I don’t know about that.”

“Do you not think so?” Adam asked, wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist.

Peter made a face before glancing back at Adam, though he didn’t meet his eyes quite yet. “Dunno. I used to, but uh…you know. Voice changed, so it’s…different.”

Adam hummed, pausing to press a kiss to Peter’s forehead. Pleased when Peter leaned into it slightly, those blue eyes finally flicking up to meet his. “Metamorphosis is its own beauty.”

A tiny upward tilt to pink lips, Peter’s gaze soft. “I guess you’d know, huh?”

Adam hummed his affirmation, gaze dropping to the gentle curve of Peter’s lips. It grew wider a beat before Peter leaned into him, and Adam met him halfway. Pouring the softest devotion into the kiss, using one of his hands to trail up to Peter’s ribs. Rubbing a thumb over the tail-end of a scar chosen on purpose.

Like the marks of a butterfly’s wings upon emerging from its cocoon.

A wondrous thing.

Notes:

have i mentioned that they make me ill. because they do.

Chapter 21

Summary:

Adam swept an arm toward the hall behind him. A playful glint lingered in his eyes. “After you.”

“Uh huh,” Peter said pointedly, poking Adam in the ribs as he walked past. “I know what you’re up to, golden boy.”

“I’ve no idea what you mean,” Adam returned innocently, in the tone that very much suggested he was anything but.

Notes:

bit of a short one this time...

They didn’t have long to themselves before Mantis began to rush them. All of them, not just him and Adam. Whatever she heard from Cosmo, it gave her voice an edge of urgency that he wasn’t stupid enough to ignore. Thus Adam and Peter were quick to finish their shower, rushing out to dry off and grab their clothes—which had become a joined mess on the counter.

The shirt Peter pulled on wasn’t his—far too much of his skin was showing for that to be true—but he also didn’t have much time to care, so he just opted to be grateful that Adam had chosen a shirt with sleeves and a high neck for once. Even if it stopped at his midriff and didn’t have much of a back to speak of.

He was more careful with the pants because there was no way in hell he was running around in leggings, but still pulled them on just as fast as everything else. Sparing a brief moment to wonder just how stupid he looked. Especially compared to Adam, who just had comfortable pants on and a nice, soft white sweater. Peter’s sweater.

Oh well. No time.

Adam paused to pull on his boots as Peter rushed out, making a quick stop at his room to grab his own boots.

Idly, he noticed how much of his room had become cluttered with Adam’s stuff. The makeup on the desk, the clothes on the floor or haphazardly thrown into the hamper in the corner of the room. The cat toys strewn around, an empty can of wet food pushed into one corner that he had to throw out yet.

The red Walkman on the end table, earbuds still attached and loose. He managed to pull one boot on before he let it distract him, reaching over from where he sat on the bed to take the Walkman in hand. Carefully wrapping the wire around the cassette player before tucking it into the drawer of the end table, because Mary liked to bat them around when they were hanging off the edge like that.

Then he returned to putting his second boot on, halfway through when the door swished open. His heart leapt to his throat for a second as he jerked his head up to look, but it was just Adam leaning against the door frame with crossed arms.

Of course it was. There was no one else on the ship but the people he trusted.

He eyed the sweater hugging Adam’s form with a bit of a begrudgingly amused look. It both fit and did not—it was snug around the chest, shoulders, and arms, but loose around his abdomen. A bit of the reverse for Peter; the entire thing was just slightly loose on him, as Adam’s chest and arms were both broader.

Maybe he should be grateful that Adam hadn’t chosen a full shirt today, given the difference in the size of their midriffs. “Nice shirt,” he remarked dryly.

An amused smile split Adam’s lips enough to show teeth, the burn of his white eyes more prominent in the way they eyed Peter. “I’m more fond of yours, I think.”

He snorted at that, though he felt the skin of his cheeks burn anyway. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, securing the second boot in place. He grabbed his red jacket off the end of the bed as he got to his feet, holding it over his arm. “Let’s go, before Mantis passes out from stress.”

“Mm. It is more likely she will hit someone, but in either case,” Adam said, sweeping an arm toward the hall behind him. A playful glint lingered in his eyes. “After you.”

“Uh huh,” Peter said pointedly, poking Adam in the ribs as he walked past. “I know what you’re up to, golden boy.”

“I’ve no idea what you mean,” Adam returned innocently, in the tone that very much suggested he was anything but.

Still, Peter walked ahead. Feeling the comfortable warmth of Adam right beside him, but then his skin jolted when heated, bare fingers touched the open space between his shoulder blades. Where his skin was visible. Drawing a hot line down the line of Peter’s spine as they walked together before that wandering hand settled around Peter’s waist, the grip of his hand firm enough to pull him just a little closer.

His skin burned scarlet from the touch, but he didn’t protest the hold nor the closeness.

In the hangar already were Gamora, Mantis, and Drax. Peter glanced between them. “Is this everyone?”

Drax glanced past Peter toward the living space, his back against the wall and arms crossed over his chest. “Rocket will not leave the Milano unprotected, and Groot will not leave the rodent.”

Yeah, that made sense. Peter joined them with Adam right beside him, hand still burning its print into his bare skin. “Okay. Well, we shouldn’t keep Cosmo waiting.”

Gamora eyed him, her gaze slipping between Adam and Peter. She snorted to herself with amusement before turning away, her lips twisted in a smile. “Trying something new with that shirt, Peter?”

He watched her walk up to the hangar door, keying in the code to open it. “Yeah, yeah,” he said flatly as the ramp assembled out toward the dock, “laugh it up.”

“It’s not your style,” she said, glancing back at him with playfully narrowed eyes, “but it’s not the worst thing you’ve ever worn.”

He hummed, following after her when she descended the ramp. “Still haunted by the cow onesie, I see.”

“I’ll kill you,” she retorted for even mentioning it, no heat or bite in the words at all.

He laughed at that, pulling on his jacket as his feet alighted on the dock. Adam and Mantis were quick to join, Drax just behind. He tucked his hands into his pockets and waited, though Gamora was already walking ahead.

Mantis followed as Adam strayed toward Peter, his arm slipping back around his waist, and only then did Peter let himself be dragged forward. Drax walked behind, seeming content to be there. Gaze alert the way it was on a quiet battlefield, taking in their surroundings as they walked.

The walk to Cosmo Tower was uneventful, and before long they were all crammed into the elevator leading up to Cosmo's office. The doors opened to reveal the familiar space, already packed with others around a wide table. The desk from before was nowhere to be found, though the chair that belonged to it still lingered.

An uneasy quiet gripped the air around them. Peter recognized the other members sitting at the table as Cynosure and some of her team, as well as Security Corps personnel.

The seriousness of whatever was about to happen settled in, and Quill took his seat at the end of the table. Adam took the one beside him, and Gamora and Mantis took the seats directly opposite Peter and Adam. Drax remained standing behind Quill, his arms over his chest.

Cosmo took the ramp up to sit at the head of the table, staring down the length of it. “Peter Quill, where is raccoon and tree?”

“They didn’t want to leave the Milano unattended,” Peter said with a one-shouldered shrug.

Though Cosmo huffed, he nonetheless said, “Very well. Meeting starts now, then.” He reached up to paw at a few buttons in front of him. “Attention to holoprojector, please.”

The lights dimmed as a holographic galactic map sprang up from the table. Various sectors were flagged in an ominous red, casting that color into the dark. A brief flash of memory of that cave, of those streets. Peter shoved the thoughts aside, though couldn’t suppress the shudder that ripped through him.

A warm hand settled on his knee under the table, and he held onto the sensation to stay present in the moment.

After a moment of inspection, Gamora chimed in. “This is the sector we were just in,” she said, pointing it out on the map.

Cynosure pointed to a neighboring sector. “We were here.”

“Da,” Cosmo said. He went quiet for a long moment, his gaze glued to the map. Then, quietly, “Civilizations gone missing in red sectors.”

The hairs at the back of Peter’s neck stood on end as he glanced Cosmo’s way. “Vanished? Like the colony we went to?”

“Da,” Cosmo answered, before giving a shake of his head. “But also nyet. Cynosure, explain what your team saw on mission.”

There was a moment where she seemed reluctant, fiddling idly with her hands before she clasped them together and glanced toward the Guardians. Toward Peter. “I split my team into three to tackle three different problems. Two of them, my own included, bore witness to…what I can only describe as an invasion. Though it didn’t start out that way.

There were these people in golden armor that we’d see occasionally, spouting something about salvation and a new world. Religious sect, we thought, so we paid it no mind.

But then people started going missing. The ones that believed the so-called Universal Church of Truth. Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands. Half the city was gone in a day or less, and the ones that remained…” she glanced away, twisting her thumbs around themselves before she sighed quietly. “We couldn’t save them from what came next.”

An uneasy quiet settled, but only for a moment. “Tell us,” Peter said, his gaze intent.

Cynosure met his gaze again, her brows pinched. Then she nodded. “I don’t know how it happened, only that it was fast. The sun became shrouded in darkness, and then…these ships the likes of which I have never seen dotted the horizon, as if they had always been there. Beaming down these…these monstrous things.”

She paused, lifting her hands to her lips before frowning and setting them back down. “It was a massacre. Those that gave in were taken away, and those that fought became a blood feast for the beasts.”

“How long ago was this?” Peter asked, a frown on his face. This all seemed to be happening too quickly.

She glanced to him again, and every line of exhaustion was visible in her face. “The massacre was yesterday. We only just arrived in Knowhere this morning.”

Cosmo chimed in then. “We lost contact with some planets after you left for mission, Quill. Lost more while you were on planet, and still we are losing them now. Cosmo would not be surprised if one went missing during this meeting.”

“How? How are they moving that fast?” Peter asked, lurching forward against the table to stare down at Cosmo. “The force we encountered on that colony was small. Are you telling me there’s an armada out there?”

“I am telling you there is an armada,” Cynosure answered, steepling her fingers together. “I have seen it.”

“But how,” Peter pressed, laying an arm on the table with a tightly closed fist. “The timeline doesn’t add up. It’s been, what, a week or so since the first colony disappeared? It takes a hell of a lot longer than that to build a fleet of ships. To mobilize an army.”

“They took the very planet I was on in less than a day, Peter Quill,” Cynosure said, not unkindly—just matter of fact. “My other team that encountered them reported witnessing things beyond their comprehension. Large battery constructs created from thin air, for one.”

“We saw the batteries,” Gamora said, contemplative. She frowned, looking to Peter. “If they can create them from nothing, it would make sense that they had so many. Especially in that cave.”

“A ship and a battery are two very different things,” Peter said, though his frown matched hers as he lifted a hand to cover his mouth. Scratching at his skin, staring down at the table. “But if they can spin it out of nothing, then…”

“Nothing is impossible,” Mantis supplied, her dark eyes bouncing from Peter to Cosmo. She opened her mouth to speak when a new sector flashed red, everyone’s attention flitting to it.

Then another.

Cutting a direct line to Knowhere.

“Nyet,” Cosmo growled, hitting a button to take the map away. “We must move Knowhere.”

A memory surfaced in his mind, like something from below bobbing up to the ocean surface. Still a little hazy, a little unclear in picture but not in voice.

He could hear Magus clearly. The haughty tone, the playful malice. And I see Knowhere in your head.

A sinking realization washed over Peter like a frozen wave, and he dropped his hand. Staring at where the map had been. “I don’t think that will help, Cosmo. Not while I’m here.”

Every pair of eyes in the room turned to him, and he almost buckled under the expectation in their gazes.

“This isn’t your fault,” Adam said at the same time Mantis did, both of them indignant.

Reassurances that fell on deaf ears, because Peter knew the truth. Hadn’t Magus said it enough times? “No, it is. He’s in this reality because I’m here. He’s coming to Knowhere because I am here.”

At that Cosmo stamped his foot on the table, the clack of his claws against the sleek surface getting everyone’s attention. “Who, Peter Quill? Who is coming?”

Somehow managing to look Cosmo in the eyes through the guilt poisoning him, Peter said, “Magus.”

Chapter 22

Summary:

It was quiet here, aside from the heavy thrum of power coursing under metal walls. The only source of light was the large viewport before him, dwarfing the observation platform he stood upon with such grandiosity.

It was quiet here, aside from the heavy thrum of power coursing under metal walls. Yellow bricks lined them at various stages of capacity, emanating a soft golden glow into the otherwise dark room. The only other source of light was the large viewport before him, dwarfing the observation platform he stood upon with such grandiosity.

In his hands he held a small, plastic device. Hovering near his chest, the buttons as familiar to him as breathing used to be. The lyrics flowing into his ear from comfortable earbuds, too, carried painful familiarity.

I’d sacrifice anything, come what might—

For the sake of having you near.

He remembered the first time he ever danced with Quill to this song. He had made a fool of himself—he could not dance—but Peter had laughed, his eyes overflowing with the softest of love anyway.

In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night and repeats, repeats in my ear—

“Don’t you know, little fool, you never can win? Use your mentality, wake up to reality—"

The dead thing in his chest lurched low, taking his body with it until he was hunched over the cassette player. A sudden blurriness took his vision, dropping onto the golden ground beneath his heeled white boots in splashes of pale yellow. He blinked it away with a quivering breath before straightening again, forcing the memory from his mind. Staring up at the viewport, trying to focus.

The shape of a severed celestial's head filled the pane. Half turned away, but empty sockets where eyes once were still lingered. Old teeth clinging to a skeletal jaw, a metal helmet donned atop its head with sharp wings flaring out at either side.

How long had it been since he’d seen it?

An old pain flared in his chest, the longing for things long since lost. Memories of better times. Simpler times.

Faces flit by behind his eyes—green skin, big black eyes, red tattoos, striped fur, heavy bark, a freckled smile—twisted with joy and mirth. Tucked away in Mantlo’s bar, all of them more alive than anyone he had ever known.

Especially Peter. A man kissed by the cosmos to bear the light of an entire sun. An eternal flame in the endless dark.

As it always seemed to of late, his desperate agony to see his love created his image at his side. A ghost. A memory. “Man, I haven’t seen Knowhere in…god. What’s it been, ten, fifteen years? Feels like a lifetime ago,” came Quill’s voice.

It was off. Already, the tone of his own Peter was lost to him. Didn’t he used to sound older? A lower pitch, an almost lazy lilt to his words. Yet now he sounded more like some weird amalgamation of both himself and this reality's Quill.

The younger version, whose voice carried a higher pitch—but still had that familiar brazen edge to it. A voice made for reckless youth, fit for a life that had not yet been dampened by the weight of a galaxy that would never stop crushing it beneath its heel.

A pained knot formed between his brows at the thought that he would forget his own, some day. His laugh, his sighs, his whines. The way his skin morphed around his smiles, the crease between dirty blonde brows when he frowned, the exposure of his teeth when he threw his head back with a boisterous laugh. The shape of the constellations crafted against pale skin during long nights, the scars memorized with such loving grace.

Yet more things that Death would take from him.

He had never felt such a vile hatred for another in his entire existence.

A soft hand touched his shoulder, and it was wrong because Peter’s hand was callused—but as soon as he had the thought, the feeling changed to match. “Hey. You know you don’t have to do this, right?”

It was what he would say, if a little subdued. Pleading on behalf of those that would never deserve his empathy. His love.

Or perhaps pleading for him. For the man he used to be.

Reluctance slowed him as he turned his head to look upon that apparition. A faithful recreation of the man on his mind, burrowed into his heart. Shorter than himself, stockier. Pale skin with freckles and laugh lines, creases at the corners of his blue eyes, which stared up at him. Pink lips bent downward, dragging with it the overgrown stubble that darkened his jaw. Uncertainty lingered in every inch of that false face.

Touched by time the way he never would be. With a hesitant hand he reached up to touch a ghostly cheek, his purplish-gray fingers stark against pale peach, black claws indenting what wasn’t there. Scraping through short, coarse hairs as he slipped his touch to his jaw.

Tricking himself into feeling skin and heat where there were none. Into feeling life where there would only ever be death. “Of course I do, my love,” he said quietly, taking in the features of the one he adored so endlessly.

The one that gripped his dead heart even still, separated by realities and death both. There was nothing in these worlds he would not give to have him again, but then—he had nothing left to give, did he?

His love was lost to him for eternity.

With that thought, the features changed beneath his touch. A slimmer body, younger face, brighter eyes. This version was one he loved, too, but…differently. Still, he swept his thumb over the shape of pink lips. Slipping his hand down to dig claws into the tender flesh of this one’s throat, pulling him closer. “I am the only one that can save you.”

Like a rabbit caught in a trap, those baby blue eyes stared up at him with trepidation and hope both.

Always so hopeful. So naïve to look for the good in evil, to find false reflections of light in the dark. “I don’t need to be saved, Magus. I’m human—we aren’t supposed to live forever.”

The music, the memories, the severed celestial head beyond the viewport—all of it combined into a hair trigger that the words pulled, his melancholy snapping to vicious anger faster than one could blink. With a snarl he slashed through the visage, scattering it into nothing. “Says who!? Show me its face and I will give you a corpse!”

A sharp clearing of the throat from behind. “Your worship?”

For once startled by an unwelcome intrusion. Magus whipped around to face the source, his baleful glare matching the poison in his voice. “What?”

A pale woman draped in elegant finery stood at the foot of the elevated platform he stood on. Her eyes watched him with both curiosity and caution, her hands clasped before her. “We are moments from the time to act. Are you ready?”

He sneered and turned away, staring at Knowhere. His grip on the cassette player tightened a fraction, but the sound of plastic cracking beneath his fingers had him forcibly calming himself. Flexing his fingers around the casing, letting out a breath. “Doubting me so soon?”

“No,” she said, and he could hear the lie. He chose to ignore it for the time being; there were more important things at hand. “But even I admit that talking to oneself hardly inspires trust in your sanity.”

A mirthless laugh as he lifted the cassette player, staring down at the casing. A crack had formed in the clear covering showing the tape inside, straight through the word ‘love’ scrawled atop it. “I have never been sane, Matriarch.”

The Matriarch hummed at that, noncommittal. “What god would be, I suppose?” She said idly, letting the silence hang for a moment before she asked the question that had been lingering in her mind. “Who were you talking to?”

“A ghost,” he muttered, pulling the earbud from his ear as he stopped the music. Wrapping the wire around the cassette player. “More than that you need not concern yourself with.”

“I can only imagine it was someone you hated,” she mused, knowing she walked a thin line but choosing to do so anyway.

A burning ember in his chest that he smothered just as quick. He chose not to answer her, instead turning sharply away from the viewport to stride down the steps and further past her. “Knowhere won’t wait forever, Matriarch. Mobilize the cardinals first.”

“And your pets?” she asked, though she knew the answer already.

He waved a hand. “They will have their fun when the cardinals are done.”

“And you?”

The question she kept asking. Needling for his motives, trying to dig under his skin to get answers he would never give her.

He stared down at the Walkman again. At the broken ‘love you!’ written across it, at the tape inside full of songs with so many painful memories attached.

He swiped a thumb over it, aware that he had stopped in his tracks after a moment. “I will be exactly where I need to be,” he said at last, and didn’t linger long enough for her to ask where that was.

Notes:

this was supposed to be part of the next chapter, but this part has been done for days and the rest keeps getting rewritten, so i figured it might help me in the long run to just get the finished part out there so i feel like i can take my time with the rest of it....i know no one is rushing me but myself, but still :'D. i hope u like it regardless :]

Chapter 23

Summary:

In a flash of golden light that Peter had to look away from briefly, men in gleaming gold armor appeared above. A voice boomed out over the crowd with unnatural volume. “Citizens of Knowhere, rejoice; you have been chosen for a higher purpose. Surrender willingly, and our benevolent Magus will allow you to bear witness to the birth of a new reality.”

Notes:

it figures that i post the previous chapter and THEN get my shit together enough to finish this one skfnlskj

Once everyone had been caught up to speed on who Magus was and what he was after, a hasty plan was devised to minimize damage as much as possible.

With a few of Cynosure’s people and a small contingent of Security Corpsmen, Cosmo bolted for the aviation control center. The rest of Cynosure’s people, herself included, were split to speed up evacuation efforts. The Guardians gave their assistance, in addition to the remaining Security Corps—of which there were many.

The biggest surprise came from the Spartoi forces still on Knowhere—more than Cosmo originally thought—pitching in to assist. As uneasy as their presence made Peter, even he wouldn’t put the lives of innocent people in jeopardy over it. They weren’t in a position to be picky with allies.

Evacuating civilians off of Knowhere wasn’t feasible; a lot of these people called this place home, and had nowhere else to go. Especially not on such extremely short notice, and that was leaving aside the obvious issue of rapidly approaching Church ships. An armada, Cynosure said.

So the civilians were being escorted to shelters and bunkers, secured by Cosmo’s people. It was all they had.

There was a strange duality in Peter’s chest. Trying to reconcile the need to run, like it would somehow keep Knowhere safe, with the need to help. To affect the things he could change.

A difficult thing to appease himself with. The approaching armada was Peter’s fault—the people here were his responsibility now, whether he liked it or not. He needed to ensure their safety to the best of his ability.

 He just wished he knew how to do that with any certainty.

The artificial sun above flickered during their escort of a batch of civilians. At first Peter thought he was seeing things; it happened so fast. A blink-and-you-miss-it moment of total darkness, were it not for the startled gasps of others that had also noticed.

Then it blew out entirely, throwing Knowhere into an unforgiving dark that was only barely broken by street lights and neon signs. All around them, the sound of ships falling out of warp space overshadowed the panicked screams of the civilians. Peter turned to look, eyes wide.

Large ships cast an otherworldly golden glow as they crept out of the dark. The sound of their engines was distinct in an eerie, haunting sort of way. Each one seemed large enough to hold hundreds of people, maybe even thousands. Every one of them was adorned with the same massive, golden symbol.

A little bit like an ankh, but not quite.

In a flash of golden light that Peter had to look away from briefly, men in gleaming gold armor appeared above. A voice boomed out over the crowd with unnatural volume. “Citizens of Knowhere, rejoice; you have been chosen for a higher purpose. Surrender willingly, and our benevolent Magus will allow you to bear witness to the birth of a new reality.”

A different voice continued, but no less commanding than the first. “Eternal life awaits the faithful. A reality where mothers never lose their sons, where death does not part the lovers. Choose wisely.”

The crowd froze with terror so strong that Peter could feel it against his skin. A trigger just shy of being pulled.

Gunshots rang out into the night, clanging against metal. He didn’t know who did it—Cynosure or Security Corps—but it turned the crowd into a panicked stampede, turning tail and running. It was only because Adam grabbed him and yanked him close that he avoided getting caught in the bodies himself, but then they both found themselves embroiled in a fight soon after.

Half of them focused on keeping the armored invaders busy—Adam, Gamora, Drax, and the Spartoi forces—while the other half focused on rushing civilians out of the firefight.

Whoever the hell thought opening fire with innocent lives still on the line was a good idea, Peter couldn’t say.

It was mostly him and the Security Corps rushing people to safety, plus Cynosure’s people. Gunfire and magic warred around them, and more than once Peter found himself utilizing his element guns to create shield walls to cluster behind so people weren’t caught out in the open.

A small contingent of Spartoi soldiers split off from the main fight as Quill and the others got further away, bringing up the rear and offering a defensive backline as they fled the fight. Their presence unnerved Peter, but he tried to focus on the bigger picture rather than his own grievances.

Saving people.

A couple of twists, turns, and minor skirmishes later brought them to the shelter doors. Just as people flooded inside it, something overhead—more distant—exploded with deafening cacophony that Quill felt in his bones.

He whipped around with the other guards, his wide-eyed gaze finding a church ship careening toward the ground a little ways away. Half of it was gone, the remaining half caught in a fiery blaze.

On nearby security towers stood fully extended anti-air defenses, which shifted to target the other church ships still blotting the darkened skyline.

The ship crashed into a cluster of tall buildings, crushing them and scattering debris all over the streets in the worst hailstorm Peter had ever witnessed.

He didn’t want to think about the lives lost on impact. The people that had yet to evacuate, the ones that refused to do so.

He didn’t want to, but he did. The guilt sank a little deeper as he turned away from the scene, somewhat numb. Only half aware that the civilians had been safely secured inside.

In a distant sort of way, he heard a member of the Security Corps call out, “We’ve got reports of civilians trapped in the central market! Move out!”

The Security Corps rushed around him. The Spartoi reinforcements started to leave, but lingered. One of them turned toward Peter, a woman with dark skin and kinky hair. A long, red cape flowed down near to her calves around ornate armor—a general, maybe. “Peter Quill. Stay close.”

He didn’t even ask how she knew his name, because at this point it would just feel weird if she didn’t. Still, he frowned and glanced up at her, a slight tilt to his head. “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t here for the civilians?”

If she were, she wouldn't have stayed behind for him. Right?

Her expression betrayed nothing of her thoughts, but there was a sharpness in her brown eyes. “You are a civilian, yourself. Or do you genuinely believe those Spartoi guns of yours are a solution to the problem you find yourself in?”

“Haven’t let me down yet,” he retorted, but nonetheless began moving to follow after the Security Corps. They were further ahead, but Peter didn’t need to see them to know where he was going; he knew where the central market was.

The woman hummed but said nothing else as she fell into hurried step behind him. Her small regiment of Spartoi soldiers followed suit, cementing the idea that she was the one they answered to.

They were halfway there when a streak of gold caught Peter’s eye a split second before heat landed to his right. He jolted at the abrupt appearance, turning his attention to Adam with no small amount of surprise. A quick glance revealed that he was scuffed and disheveled in places, but not seriously injured in any way. “Adam? Weren’t you—”

Irritation lingered in Adam’s tone when he cut in, his expression pinching. “You forgot your comms device on the ship. Again.”

He raised a hand reflexively to his ear, only to find that Adam was right. He winced a bit, getting the distinct feeling he was in hot water all of a sudden. “Sorry?”

Adam parted his lips as if to respond, but then his gaze cut to the Spartoi soldiers behind Peter. His already sour expression seemed to worsen, if that were possible. He returned his gaze to Peter, searching.

After a beat Peter gave a slight nod, reaching out to lightly touch his elbow. Adam huffed but nonetheless lifted a hand to take Peter by the wrist, seemingly for no other reason than to hold it. “Where are you headed now?”

“Central market. People are trapped there,” Peter answered, keenly aware of sharp brown eyes watching the interaction. He had to wonder what she was thinking, but then he supposed he didn’t really care, either.

Adam gave a nod. “Alright. Lead the way,” he said, releasing Peter’s wrist.

He didn’t need to be told twice, rushing to continue on their path. Adam kept in step with him, the Spartoi forces just behind. The map he referenced in his mind told him they were close, but then—

A blinding flash of purple had him wincing and turning away, somewhat gratified that the Spartoi soldiers were no different.

But Adam was, and his posture went rigid as he grabbed Peter by the elbow. Hauling him closer. “You.”

A familiar voice answered with playful malice. “Ah, my vexatious double. You never did have manners, did you?”

Peter glanced back up to find Magus, hovering above. The glow of his eyes in the sunless expanse seemed brighter, sharper. The leftovers from what that other Adam had worn in that hellish reality had been cast aside for pristine white robes with sharp, angled shoulders and an open chest. Purplish-gray thighs were partially exposed, hidden in part by long flowing cloth and white stockings tucked into heeled boots of the same color.

An outfit more fitting for the role he chose to play, maybe.

“And you do?” Adam retorted with audible annoyance.

Magus waved a flippant hand, but otherwise ignored the question. Instead his red eyes shifted to Peter, lingering on him a beat before a feline smirk spread over black-painted lips. “Hello again, sweet thing. I missed your pretty face.”

Heat burned under Peter’s skin despite himself, and he wasn’t all that surprised when Adam yanked him behind himself. Trying to block him from Magus.

From behind, he heard that Spartoi general speak up again. Her voice all sharp anger. “You are the one responsible for this invasion?”

That crimson gaze slipped away from Peter to look at her, amused. There wasn’t an inch of defensiveness in his posture, in his expression—he wasn’t threatened by anyone here. “Victoria. Do you still dance, or did your father beat that out of you in this reality?”

A stunned beat of quiet before the general—Victoria?—spat out a harsh, “You don’t know me, devil,” as she assumed a more defensive posture. Her soldiers followed suit.

A mischievous spark in red eyes as Magus waved a hand. “No. The Victoria I knew was better.”

All around him, purple rifts split the sky open—and almost immediately, large beasts clawed out of them. Massive leathery wings spread out to catch their weight, and a chorus of sound caught between a shriek and a roar split the air as the beasts descended upon them.

Golden spears launched past him to puncture the thick hide of the creatures—built a lot like lions, Peter thought as he scrambled to get distance between him and them. Pulling his guns free as he went.

Fur exploded from their bodies, surrounding their naked faces in thick manes of black. Their lips were pulled back in vicious snarls, exposing a pair of elongated canines that bit past their bottom lip. Rows of sharp teeth completed the freakish predator look.

Their large paws were just as bare, up to their connective joints on each limb. Large, ebony talons curved out like cruel knives, and Peter watched as one clawed into the golden armor of a Spartoi soldier—

And tore the metal asunder, the sound horrific and loud. Blood sprayed the beast’s jaws, and it let out a victorious shriek before pressing its advantage.

Peter raised a gun toward it, not entirely sure what to hit it with—but an educated guess landed him on plasma, and he pulled the trigger.

Heated rounds tore into leathery skin hidden beneath a body of dark fur, and the beast shrieked anew before turning its attention toward Peter. It had milky white eyes. Devoid of sight.

Bats, his brain supplied, and the hairs at the back of his neck stood on end as a shudder rippled down his spine. Vampires? Vampire lion bats?

It pounced toward Peter only to be thrown aside by a shock of golden force, its wings flapping to catch itself as it yowled.

Other blinding flashes of gold lit up the night as those metal-wearing churchmen teleported in, and true chaos broke after that.

All around him, metal clanged against metal, and inhuman shrieking filled the gaps between. Peter found himself dodging beast and man both, struggling against the instinctual anxiety of the gnashing teeth and claws that made him a bit too reckless. A bit too careless, maybe. Enough to separate himself from Adam, somehow, who had found himself caught up in a brutal fight with Magus anyway.

It led to him getting cornered by one of those monstrous animals, snarling and prowling. He raised a gun to fire at it, and it pounced with a shriek.

He suffered a claw to his ribs, his blood splattering the pavement as he tried to throw himself out of the way a second too late. He stumbled on his feet with the hit, a hiss skating out between his teeth, and then he had the weight of that massive, monstrous beast tackling him to the ground. His hands were pinned beneath claws, tearing flesh until he released his guns with a pained whine.

He tried to pull himself back and away, but the beast followed with a growl that was as menacing as it was warning. Crushing the weight of its massive paw into his chest, holding him down.

He heard Adam shout his name, followed by bright streaks of purple lighting up the dark. Heard a crash too loud to be anything but a solid wall cracking open, and then he didn’t hear much of anything from Adam.

God, it terrified him.

He didn’t know how much time passed; couldn’t tell through the panic, fear, and blood loss. Even so, it became apparent the beast wasn’t going to kill him—and that only made sense, didn’t it? Magus didn’t want him dead.

Though if Peter tried to wriggle out from under it, it would only press harder—and snap its teeth at him in a way that had him shuddering, turning his head away with eyes screwed shut.

The clack of boots on pavement seemed loud, and it was then that Peter realized it had gone silent. When had that...?

A purplish-gray, bloody hand carded through the dark fur of the beast as Magus came into view above him, his face stained with speckles of red.

A smirk twisted dark lips as he tilted his head. “Forgive my pets, darling. They can be…overzealous,” he said, patting the beast.

With a low snort, the creature finally moved. Peter said nothing as he tried to sit up, face contorting with the pain that shot through him with the movement. He watched that creature curve around Magus, rubbing its head against his hip with a low, almost whining sound. With an idle hand, Magus pet the beast as red eyes flit over Peter. Assessing. “Mm. She got you pretty good, I see.”

He released the beast to lean down, grabbing Peter by the elbow. Claws digging into the jacket sleeve as he hauled Peter to his feet, which only made the pain flare up worse. He couldn’t have suppressed the whine if he tried.

“Such a baby,” Magus cooed in a way that sounded as mocking as it was loving, pulling Peter against his chest. One arm around his waist, the other curved up between his shoulders to tangle his fingers in Peter’s hair. “Hush, sweet thing. I have you.”

His cheek was held against Magus’ shoulder, his brows furrowing. “Where’s Adam,” he mumbled as hot magic burned under his skin. Stitching his flesh together from the inside, and the sensation made him wince with a quiet hiss.

Magus made a sound caught between dismissal and boredom. “He’s alive, if that’s what you’re asking. I only made sure he couldn't interrupt us, as he is prone to do."

Peter turned his head slightly to try and look—to see what had happened while he had been pinned to the pavement. Claws scraped against his scalp in gentle warning, but Peter wasn’t stupid enough to try and pull away from Magus like this.

Off to the sides of the street stood those churchmen at attention, but not actively looking their way. A nearby wall had caved inward, the rubble making it difficult to see if Adam was there or not. Maybe he had been thrown further. Peter couldn't say.

Eventually he pried his worried gaze away, choosing to believe Magus was telling the truth. If only because the bond was still there, somewhere in his heart. Still that flicker of heat that wasn't all his, one that burned a little hotter if he focused on it. He settled his attention on the fallen Spartoi soldiers, one of which had been mangled. Torn armor, drenched in blood and gore. “Are they dead?”

It felt like a stupid question to ask.

An amused sound at the back of Magus’ throat. “Only some. Did you think I invaded Knowhere for the sole purpose of killing everyone here?”

Peter frowned at that. “No.”

The hand in his hair gripped hard enough to pull his head back, and though it made Peter wince, he followed the motion anyway. Meeting sharp red eyes that watched him more like a predator than anything else. A dark smirk revealed the hint of fangs. “I could, of course. It wouldn’t be that hard—who better to destroy this little station than someone who lived upon it for years?”

“Don’t,” Peter said, a simple plea. The people here didn’t deserve that. Didn’t deserve to lose everything just because Peter happened to be here. “You came here for me, right? So—” and he tripped over what he wanted to say, pausing to collect himself. God, Adam was going to kill him. He took a breath and said, “If I go with you, will you leave them alone? Will you leave Knowhere?”

It wasn't what he wanted, not even close, but he would do anything to avoid carrying the weight of Knowhere's demise on his heart for the rest of his life. Anything.

A dark, intense look swirled within those eyes. The hand in his hair shifted to scrape claws down the column of his clothed throat, dragging the cloth with his nail. “Ever the martyr, aren’t you, darling thing?” he murmured, head tipping slightly to the right. Considering.

Before he could answer, a gold spear embedded itself into Magus’ shoulder. A dark gush of blood spurted from the wound, trickling down his arm. Magus winced at the impact, but mostly it set his eyes ablaze as he snapped his attention back toward a Spartoi soldier that had gotten back to his feet. He released Peter to pry the spear free, and in a blink he was gone from Peter’s side before he could even say “No—”

Too fast to even see.

The creature remained with Peter, watching him intently with its cloudy eyes. Maybe listening to him was the better was to describe it; either way, it cut him off from his weapons. Not that Peter had any particular inclination to grab them right now; he didn’t want Magus to think he was lying about his offer, because he wasn’t.

He looked over at the soldier just in time to see red spray from the man’s throat with a sickening gurgle. It splattered onto Magus’ white robes as the soldier fell backward, and only then did Peter notice the chunk of bloody red meat caught in Magus’ teeth.

Fleshy. Glistening against what little light remained. It had Peter shuddering, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin as he watched Magus spit the chunk onto the ground. He made a face as if he had bitten into something sour, shaking his head slightly. Red painted the lower half of his face and throat, soaking into the high neck of his robes. “Eugh. Spartoi.”

Then he glanced up at Peter, offering a mock-sheepish grin that did nothing to make Peter feel more at ease. “No offense, darling. I’m certain you’d taste better.”

He really didn’t know how to respond to that, or how to feel. Other than uneasy, but that wasn’t helpful. “You didn’t answer me,” he settled on at last, opting to pretend it hadn’t happened at all.

Magus hummed thoughtfully, lifting a hand over his wound to suffuse it with magic. Closing it up. “Well, I was going to. Not my fault some people have no manners,” he remarked, dropping his hand to walk back to Peter. He kicked the soldier’s leg on the way for no other reason than to be petty. “It’s an easy thing to agree to, my dear. I never wanted Knowhere in the first place. You could have been on Spartax, or Earth, or anywhere—the place never mattered.”

A bloody hand raised to his face as Magus drew near, still wet and glistening, and Peter stared very intently at Magus’ face to avoid thinking about the cold, sticky wetness against his jaw.

It didn’t help much, because Magus’ face was also drenched in blood.

Claws scraped his skin, and then Magus brought his other hand up to take the other side of Peter’s face. “Only you did.”

Then he leaned in to kiss the space between Peter’s brows, the sticky feeling of blood clinging to his skin left behind even after he pulled away. “Cardinal Raker.”

A man clad in gold stepped forward, bowing low. “Your worship.”

“Take Peter Quill to my room upon the flagship. Leave this one with him,” he gestured to the lion thing, finally looking away from Quill to meet Raker’s eyes. “And ensure that none seek his attention until I return. Especially not the Matriarch.”

The words were as much a threat as an order, but again Raker merely bowed. “I live to serve, your worship.”

“You’re staying?” Peter asked, the idea making him uneasy.

A bloody smile bent dark lips as Magus returned his attention to Peter. “You want Knowhere spared, do you not? They will only listen to me, my dear. Give me time.”

He didn’t wait for Peter to respond—he just shoved him into Raker, who grabbed him with one hand and the vampire lion the other.

In a blinding flash of light, the world fell away.

Notes:

im. too sick to proofread right now so i can only hope there aren't like. glaring issues. but i hope you liked it anyways!!

magus design based on this :] https://www.tumblr.com/thessstrangeskeleton/780930295615700992/fuck-this-guy-bruh?source=share

Chapter 24

Summary:

His eyes landed on a pale, brunette woman standing at the end of the room they ended up in. Her brown eyes were intense as they shifted from Raker to Peter, a burning curiosity in their depths. “Cardinal Raker. This isn’t the place for converts.”

The fingers on his arm tightened as Raker led Peter past her. “Yes, Matriarch.”

The woman followed after a moment, her elegant dress flowing behind her. “Then this is the one Magus sought, I assume.”

The second Raker took Peter from him, the pleasant expression he wore fell away to a much flatter one. He shifted his focus to the remaining cardinals. “Alert the others that we have what we came for. We’re withdrawing from Knowhere.”

As one, the cardinals dipped into their low bows. Many of them left upon standing to carry out his will, but one remained. Staring toward Magus. “How are we to handle the converts we’ve taken? Do we release them?”

The question only had Magus staring with the slightest tilt of his head. “Did I tell you to release them?”

A beat of uneasy quiet before the man bowed his head. “No, your worship. Forgive my insolence.”

At that, Magus allowed the tiniest flicker of a sharp smile. “Forgiveness is earned.”

The man straightened, seeming adequately repentant. “Yes, your worship. I shall submit myself to an educator when our mission is complete.”

Magus waved a dismissive hand. “See that you do. Now go—I have no desire to linger here.”

The cardinal left that time, leaving Magus alone on the battle-weary street. Metal tasted heavy on his tongue, scenting it in the air. Cloying.

A disgusting amount of Spartoi. A sharp, pungent flavor he would probably still taste weeks from now. He wrinkled his nose at the thought, glancing around at the bodies strewn on the ground.

His gaze lingered a beat on white armor with gold details. On a flickering soul laid against a red cape, spread out under her limp body.

For a second he only stared, but then he turned to approach her. The sound of his heels clicking against pavement loud in the silence, broken only by those damned anti-air cannons every so often.

When he stood above her, he tipped his head to the side in inspection. Narrowing his eyes, debating with himself before he begrudgingly leaned down. Extending a hand to touch two fingers to her forehead.

An agonizing burn ripped through his dead veins as hot magic kissed his icy fingertips, washing over Victoria’s dark skin in a tide of purple. Watching the flickering of her soul slowly stabilize as her wounds closed, her life no longer hanging in the balance.

He shook his hand out slightly as he stood upright. Still feeling the phantom agony of searing sunlight threatening to burn away his brittle skin. For the most part, he had gotten used to the pain—and even if he had not, it wouldn’t matter. His goals were too important to cast aside his most valuable tool just to save himself some discomfort.

One of his beasts approached with a low sound, throwing the weight of their body into his hip. He idly reached down to pet it, rubbing at a tall, bat-like ear before smoothing its fur down. Hearing a discordant rumbling in its chest, an ugly sound that Magus nonetheless enjoyed hearing.

He glanced down at the beast before he pulled his hand away, using it instead to open another portal. He gestured toward it. “Go, my lovelies. Return home.”

With a bit of a mental nudge, the creatures listened; they stalked through the portal until none were left on the street. He closed it behind them and then cast his gaze toward the broken wall he had thrown Adam through.

A resentment that was not fully directed at this reality’s Adam bubbled in his chest, but still he stalked toward the wreckage.

Adam. Always running from himself, from his feelings, from the uglier parts of himself. Casting them off onto Magus—damning him to the pain of living when Adam himself could no longer endure it, and ensuring Magus had even less to work with than he did.

Like he had done after saving this reality’s Quill. Leaving Magus to deal with the bite, the infection—the agonizing process of turning into something he was never meant to be. Lonely and isolated as he fell between realities, his entire life warping from a choice that had not been his to make—yet he was the one made to bear the burden of consequence.

Funny, that.

With a flick of the hand, he cleared the rubble hiding Adam’s body. He stepped up to his prone mirror, casting a dispassionate look over him. Covered in blood both his own and not, myriad bruises and wounds littering his skin.

Hm. Maybe he had overdone it.

A beat passed before he knelt down, grabbing Adam to drag him up into his arms. “It is one of my greatest misfortunes that your continued existence is necessary,” he muttered flatly, knowing Adam couldn’t hear him. The words weren’t really meant for him, anyway.

He got to his feet and carried Adam out onto the street, pausing a moment to reach out with his mind. Finding the familiar thought patterns of the Guardians was almost laughable, but he singled out Mantis from the others; she was closer. She would have to do.

He took to the skies, catching sight of his forces disappearing from Knowhere’s skyline one by one. He touched back down onto the ground soon after, unceremoniously dropping Adam’s body in the middle of the street. Easy to find. Easier to rescue.

Though Mantis was faster than she seemed—she turned the corner at the end of the street, stopping short when she saw Magus standing over Adam. Her expression hardened in an instant, her antennae angling forward. Like a dog’s ears swiveling as it tracked prey. “What did you—” she began to ask, but she stopped short when she realized the missing element of the picture; he could feel the way her heart dropped, could see it in the way her antennae drooped ever so slightly. “Where’s Peter?”

A part of him thought he should leave her with her questions, but…wouldn’t it be more fun to tell her the truth? Wouldn’t it be just that little bit demoralizing, to know someone you loved gave himself willingly to the wolf to protect the sheep?

A sharp smile bent his lips as he tipped his head. He could see Mantis’ unease in the way her shoulders tightened, eyes glued to his face. “Safe with me, where he belongs.”

She stalked closer, her hands tightening into fists. “He isn’t yours to take!”

“I took nothing that was not freely given, dear Mantis,” he remarked, gesturing to their surroundings. To the utter lack of templeships in the sky by this point, to the withdrawal of his cardinals and beasts both. “You should be thanking him for his heroic sacrifice.”

He pushed the memory to her, letting her see it from his eyes. Watching the pain lance her features, the heartbreak of loss. Then he glanced down at Adam and raised a brow. “Act quickly, my dear, or you will lose them both.”

He didn’t linger to hear her answer, the scenery of Knowhere falling away around him.

 

 

-x.x.x.x.x-

 

 

That blinding gold light faded just as quickly as it had appeared, and Peter found himself inside one of those massive ships. Yellow batteries lined the walls. There were tubes curving throughout the interior that were filled with the same golden glow. Raker gripped his elbow tightly, hauling him forward so sharply that he stumbled before catching himself.

His heart beat a little too fast in his chest, throwing his gaze around the open space. At the sheer grandeur on display.

His eyes landed on a pale, brunette woman standing at the end of the room they ended up in. She was draped in a flowing, pink silk dress and adorned with gleaming gold jewelry. Somehow it seemed more tasteful than gaudy. Her brown eyes were intense as they shifted from Raker to Peter, a burning curiosity in their depths. “Cardinal Raker. This isn’t the place for converts.”

The fingers on his arm tightened as Raker led Peter past her. “Yes, Matriarch.”

The woman followed after a moment, her elegant dress flowing behind her. “Then this is the one Magus sought, I assume.”

It felt a bit strange to be talked about like he wasn’t literally right there, but before he could even open his mouth to point that out, Raker yanked him forcibly to his other side. Further away from the woman, but closer to the beast—and that had Peter bristling, his gaze dropping to the creature in an instant as his mouth snapped shut.

Its ears twitched, its claws scraping the gilded floor with every step. The pointed, batlike tip of its nose wriggled before it snorted, and milky white eyes shifted in Peter’s vague direction.

He tried to inch away from it, feeling his heart in his throat, but Raker pushed him back into place. “Walk, prisoner. Your lack of binds is a courtesy to our worship’s favor, but I can rectify the situation with but a thought.”

A twinge of annoyance struck Peter then, and he forced his gaze away from the beast to glare up at Raker. Feeling the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end with his back to that thing. “Do you seriously think I’m going anywhere right now?”

A smirk split Raker’s lips as he glanced briefly down at Peter, though it lacked any actual warmth to it. Just malice. “Not with the beast here, you aren’t.”

“I dunno,” Peter began with a sardonic twist to his words, jerking on his captive arm only to have Raker yank him back into place with a grip somehow more unforgiving than before. “I think you’ve got that fucking covered, dude. No death cat required.”

He was going to bruise with how tight Raker’s grip was, at this rate.

“I live to serve,” Raker said flatly, dragging Peter up onto a raised platform. The beast followed suit, along with the woman. A lurch beneath his feet made him stagger once more, and he realized the platform was, evidently, an elevator. Powered by no discernible rails or any other system that made logical sense.

He inched toward the edge of the platform to glance down. A swirling black abyss waited far below the grand hall they had been on, which dwindled in size swiftly. A lethal fall, probably, but then he was being pulled back toward Raker.

“Impressed?” The woman asked, her voice proud in a way that suggested she assumed the answer was yes. “The things we can achieve through faith energy alone…”

“’Faith energy?’” Peter repeated, glancing her way with furrowed brows.

A smile pulled at her lips, subtle and knowing. “Those constructs that line the walls. They’re faith fonts. Batteries, in essence…if batteries could turn dreams into reality.”

“Sounds fake to me,” he muttered, but he did think back on that conversation with Cosmo and Cynosure. About how the church made things from nothing, apparently.

Well. Not nothing, he supposed. From faith itself, whatever that meant.

“What is fake to one is reality to another,” she said with a nonplussed shrug, her gaze sliding away briefly. But then it returned to Peter, a little sharper than before. “Even Magus is not immune. There are times when he talks to no one, touches nothing—but it is real enough to him. I can see it in his eyes.”

There was an almost frightening intelligence in her eyes as she scrutinized him head to toe. “I have to wonder if he talks to you. I have to wonder if all of this,” she gestured to the ship at large, gaze wandering to the batteries, to the wide viewports full of distant stars, to the gilded floors and overbearing opulence, “is for you.”

Entire civilizations decimated on his behalf? He didn’t like the thought of that at all, even if a part of him knew it was at least somewhat true. “I hope not.”

Brown, piercing eyes skewered through him. Calculating and cold one second, playful and mischievous the next. Was everyone in the church insane? “What, you don’t find it an honor to have a man willing to bring empires to their knees for you? More than that, perhaps—the capability to do so?”

“No,” he retorted, frowning at her. “I don’t want people to die for me.”

She gave a light laugh then, a controlled sound like tinkling bells. “Oh, darling. It’s far too late for that.”

The elevator came to a swift stop and Raker dragged him off of it. The beast took its place beside him, and once more Peter found himself staring at it with caution. Thoughts derailed by its proximity.

Another long hall passed him by as Raker dragged him to a stop outside a set of ornate doors. The only ones around, it looked like. Raker used his free hand to key in a code, and the doors swished open. The beast prowled in first, and then Raker shoved Peter in after it. The doors closed just as quickly as they opened, sealing behind him.

Leaving him alone with the beast, as neither Raker nor the woman came with him.

Logically, he knew it wouldn’t kill him. He had seen as much already. But convincing his brain of that was a futile task, and thus he remained deeply uneasy with its presence. Standing deathly still with his back to the closed doors, his eyes trained on the creature as it strode around the room until it vanished deeper into the darker shadows.

All he heard was a low snorting sound in the dark. It unnerved Peter, but at least it was…over there. He spared a moment to actually inspect what he could see of the room, a mild frown lingering on his face.

It was large and open, though sparse. It seemed devoid of personal affects, for the most part—or at least in comparison to Peter’s own room, which was cluttered wall-to-wall with stuff. The walls were ornately patterned with a dark base and gold, feathered swirls, but otherwise barren. The floors were the same gold as the rest of the ship, albeit mostly hidden by a large black rug.

There were no viewports or even lights, though. Aside from a single blue lamp in the shape of a star. It sat on the end table beside the bed, which was a four-post canopy with deep purple fabric tied to the posts. The sheets were both black and purple, and probably one of the fancier sets he’d ever seen.

Though that could describe this entire ship, truth be told. An overdose of opulent gold and intricate patterns.

Hesitantly, he moved toward the star light. Taking a seat at the edge of the bed, running a hand over the thick, soft blanket with a tiny frown.

Did Magus even need to sleep?

The sound of the doors swishing open made him jolt slightly as he flicked his gaze up to find Magus stepping into the room.

Still drenched in blood. Peter couldn’t help but stare at the crimson caked to the lower half of his face, feeling the cold caress of trepidation at the memory it evoked.

A faintly amused smirk curved Magus’ blood-soaked lips as he approached Peter. Unbothered by his unease, which had to be obvious to him. “I hope you aren’t too comfortable yet, darling.”

He stopped just shy of where Peter sat, red eyes cutting through the blue light. He lifted a hand to glide a finger under Peter’s chin, claw scraping skin. “There are two things left on my list, and they both involve you.”

His brows furrowed over a light frown, staring up at Magus as if he would ever be able to decipher his thoughts. He hid them too well, but even so, he caught the glimmer of satisfaction within those eyes. Of pride, maybe. “How so?”

 Magus dropped a hand to Peter’s chest to shove him until his back hit the mattress, and his heart jumped to his throat as all too abruptly he had Magus settling on top of him. Thighs at either side of Peter’s hips.

His face burned hot in an instant, crawling down his neck. “Uh—”

The curve of those lips sharpened, mischief dancing in crimson eyes. “Relax, sweet thing. I had other things in mind,” he said with that edge of playfulness that was becoming familiar.

Pointed claw tips settled over his heart, just barely biting through fabric. Something about it felt familiar, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. Those clawed fingers took on a white-purple glow before unfathomable heat sank deep into his chest.

All at once he remembered why it felt familiar, and he snapped his hands up to grab at Magus without conscious thought. “No—” he gasped out as his skin burst with flash-heat sweat, his breaths coming out in short pants from the discomfort.

Magus hummed, briefly leaning down to press a cold kiss to Peter’s cheek. “Hush, pet. You’re alright.”

Sharp, knife-like points ripped at his insides, sparks of strange pain shooting down his spine until something came loose from his very soul.

The bond. Adam’s bond.

When Magus pulled his hand free from Peter’s chest, the sunny glow that he gripped in his claws was too bright for Peter to look at. He turned his head away, squinting—but still saw Magus crush the light into nothing out of the corner of his eyes.

Then he settled his hand over Peter’s heart anew. A scalding heat burned into his chest a second later, a feeling like sharp points hooking into his soul sparking pain down his spine anew.

He had become doused in sweat so quickly, the hazy heat and painful sensations rendering him half-delirious. Still, he was aware enough to know what had happened. What Magus had done.

He replaced Adam’s brand and bond upon his soul with his own.

Claws scraped lightly at his jaw, a cold kiss pressed to his opposite cheek. “Halfway done, pretty thing. Though breaking mental barriers can be incredibly painful, so…” Magus sat upright, staring down at Quill with a slight tilt to his head. “You’ll be better off unaware. Consider it mercy.”

Before he could even ask what Magus was talking about, two cold fingers pressed to the space between his brows—

And then everything went dark.

Notes:

magus ur gonna kill the man. anyways i hope u liked it, twas a fun chapter to write :]

Chapter 25

Summary:

She stared at him with wide eyes, her brows drawn and a tiny frown on her lips. Her antennae drooped low after a moment, and she shifted her hold to his shoulders. “Adam?”

He didn’t know what to say. What to do. His shoulders fell under the weight of grief, throat tightening as “I can’t feel him,” bled from his lips. A poisonous admission.

The murky haze of awareness returned to him with the sudden, vacuous hole in his chest. It startled him into a choked inhale, tasting metal on his tongue as his bleary eyes opened. He coughed, warm liquid painting his lips as he sluggishly turned onto his side.

Urgent hands grabbed at him, a shrill voice in his ear that he didn’t have the capacity to process.

His body bloomed with the agony of bruises and ugly gashes both, but all were secondary to the yawning void in his heart. Even as he watched red drip from his lips onto the pavement below.

It felt like a piece of him was missing. Like a piece of him had been ripped out until there was nothing left. No direction, no heat, no source of life.

Nothing but void. A feeling Adam never wanted to feel again—one he desperately chased away the second he got Peter back the first time. A hollowness that turned into something sharp and heavy in his chest as it heaved, eyes stinging as liquid heat dripped down his cheeks. Splattering the ground with gold.

It was difficult to even get to his knees, but those hands from before helped. Kept him upright when he swayed, when the world blurred around him. He shifted his heavy eyes to a familiar face.

Mantis.

She stared at him with wide eyes, her brows drawn and a tiny frown on her lips. Her antennae drooped low after a moment, and she shifted her hold to his shoulders. “Adam?”

He didn’t know what to say. What to do. His shoulders fell under the weight of grief, throat tightening as “I can’t feel him,” bled from his lips. A poisonous admission.

Her expression buckled as she shifted to wrap her arms around his shoulders, pulling him into her as she leaned forward. Holding him tightly, though he remained numb to it. Hands folded loosely against his own lap, fingers twitching but not moving to reciprocate. “He isn’t dead,” she said softly, but no less full of conviction. “That isn’t what Magus wants.”

Bitterness without direction sank its teeth into his chest. “How can you know that?”

“Because it showed me,” she said, pulling away from Adam to look into his eyes again. Earnest. “I can show you, if you let me.”

A beat of thought before he gave a short nod. Mantis lifted her hands to settle them against Adam’s face, her voice gentle. “This might sound…unpleasant for you, but try to focus on Magus. Not Peter.”

The very thought had him wrinkling his nose in displeasure as he closed his eyes. Still, he did his best to listen as a memory that wasn’t his danced behind his eyes.

Though it was impossible not to focus on Peter when he was the subject of the memory. Seeing the fear in wide blue eyes, staring up at Magus—who had a grip on him that Adam could only describe as threatening. A hand in his hair, another at his hip, claws digging into flesh in both places. There was a tremor in Peter’s voice that would have gone unheard by anyone but Adam—and Magus, too, he supposed. Fear blended with that reckless burning hope that made Peter who he was.

If I go with you, will you leave them alone? Will you leave Knowhere?

And, oh, the elation the words stirred in Magus’ dead heart. Everything it wanted, everything it needed—freely offered, in its mind. It didn’t even have to threaten or coerce or force, all of which it had been prepared to do.

This had been a possibility in its mind, of course. One of many. Peter was nothing if not a predictable, foolish little martyr. A blind idealist.

A bleeding heart.

Of course Magus took the offer. None of this would matter without Peter, and there was no one better suited to ensuring his survival than it could—because it didn’t care if Peter was happy. Didn’t care if he felt safe or comfortable.

A pet did not need to be any of those things to survive. It just needed a cage, food, and water. Maybe attention here and there.

Magus had no issue with providing that.

As the memory vanished, Adam found himself glaring down at his lap with a burning hate deep in his chest. He idly wiped remnants of hot tears away with a white sleeve, considering Magus’ thoughts with blatant disgust and revulsion.

How vile, to look at Peter like an animal to be kept more than a person to be loved.

A beat passed before Mantis spoke again. “I don’t know what it needs him for, but Peter needs to be alive for something. So…he’s still out there. We just need to find him.”

A scoff left Adam’s lips as he forced himself to his feet, swaying where he stood until he all but collapsed against a nearby solid wall. His vision blurred for a moment, body heavy with pain, but still he grit out, “We will need to do more than that.”

Mantis followed him up, her hands steadying him again. “Step one is getting you a doctor,” she said, her wide eyes glancing down the street adjoined to theirs.

Adam shook his head slightly. “No time for that,” he muttered, taking one of Mantis’ hands and lifting it to his face. “Help.”

She stared at him for a moment before plucking his meaning from his open mind, and then her brows pinched slightly. She gave a nod anyway, settling her other hand at the other side of his face.

Diving into his head to cut off the parts of him that felt pain until all of him was hollow. Empty. Void of feeling of any sort.

Even the instinctual unease, the desperate clawing to not feel this way, was buried beneath the weight of nothing. He pressed a hand to his own ribs, where he remembered the greatest pain, and knit his own flesh together with unimpeded magic. Closing his eyes tightly with focus.

Mantis slowly eased on the pressure in his head, allowing him to feel just enough to know where a wound was. Keeping the pain of it blocked off.

When he was done, she pulled away. Drawing out of his head and back to herself.

Even so, the emptiness lingered. An aching nothing where another soul should be, nestled against his own.

No. Part of his own.

A piece of him was missing. A piece of him was missing.

“Adam?” Mantis called, her voice gentle.

His expression tightened as he forced his gaze up to her. Pushing aside the useless, spiraling thoughts, even if he couldn’t stamp out that numbness in his soul. “Where are the others?”

She tipped her head to the side, gaze sliding away as her antennae wriggled. Pulsing with light just beneath her skin. Then she met Adam’s eyes again. “At the Milano.”

With a tired breath, he pushed away from the wall and held his arms out toward her.

Recognizing the gesture, she stepped into his space and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Standing on the tips of her toes to do so. Adam adjusted his hold accordingly before departing the ground in a rush.

 

 

-x.x.x.x.x-

 

 

Prying the shield from Peter’s mind was more annoying than he wanted it to be. He had to be careful enough to avoid inadvertently causing brain death, but forceful enough to put pressure on it so it would break.

A rush of victory washed over him when it finally did crack beneath his assault, and he dove sharp mental claws into the weakness to rip it apart. Piece by piece, until no trace of it remained.

At last, it leaned down. Flush against Peter’s unconscious form, taking his pale face in his hands. Feeling the sticky sweat beneath its fingertips, scraping its claws through damp hair as it pressed their foreheads together. Closing its eyes with a slow sigh.

“I have you, my love,” he murmured, wrapping his own barrier around Peter’s mind. Stronger. Better. Guarding those silly little thoughts from every prying eye but his own.

More importantly, now nothing remained of anyone but him. Peter wore his bond around his soul, had his mark burned into his very being, had his wards around his thoughts. All proof of his ownership.

A dark, delighted creature purred in his chest at the thought, and he pressed a series of insistent kisses to Peter’s jaw. Nipping at soft flesh with his teeth.

Tasting the salt of his skin on its tongue. A shudder rippled through it as, not for the first time, it was overwhelmed with the desire to bite into one of Peter’s precious arteries. To taste his lifeblood on its tongue, to feel the heat of it on its lips.

The thought had it ducking its head to nuzzle into that pretty little throat. Inhaling his scent, which was still so familiar to it. Lighting up its senses in delightful ways.

Leather and earth, but something cosmic, too. Sunlight pouring through his skin, dotting it with little brown flecks.

With an impatient hand, Magus tore away the cloth shielding Peter’s throat. Exposing his darling little pulse, which Magus swiped its tongue over. Feeling the beat against its flesh for the split second it touched it, and then it nuzzled deeper into the curious little thing. Digging its claws into the opposite side of Peter’s neck, curling around to the base. Holding him in place.

He felt that slow, steady pulse quicken as awareness returned to Peter, and it drove him mad. Hearing the rapid beat of that fragile human heart, the blood rushing through delicate veins. So close to his lips. To his teeth.

A gentle, wary hand touched his elbow, pulse spiking sharply when Magus dragged his teeth over it. Teasing to hear the hitch in Peter’s breath. “Magus,” it heard him whisper, a trembling plea. “Please don't.”

A wicked smirk curved its lips at the fear in those two little words. He scraped his claws playfully against the back of Peter’s neck, feeling that sensitive skin shudder. He kissed the frantic pulse beneath his lips with something almost close to gentle reverence. “I won’t turn you, Peter,” it murmured against precious skin, and that—for once—was the honest truth.

Then he sank his teeth into that coveted flesh, closing his lips over the fresh wounds. He felt a delicate artery puncture beneath his fangs, and a moment later hot blood flooded into his mouth. Painting his eager tongue with such divine life.

Frantic hands grabbed him tightly, the sharp sound that fell from Peter’s lips sounding more like a whine than a shout. A tremor shot through the writhing body beneath him, strong enough that Magus could feel it everywhere their bodies touched.

Magus used his thumb to stroke a loving touch over the shape of Peter’s larynx. Under his chin. Across his jaw. Gliding back down to touch the dip between his collarbones, listening to those short, panting breaths fill the quiet of the room. Slowly, tight hands went slack before eventually dropping back onto the mattress. Not from blood loss—Magus was careful about that—but from acceptance. What could he really do, after all? Magus wasn't going anywhere unless it wanted to.

Nonetheless, it was an acceptance that only had Magus gripping his throat tighter, claw and thumb pressing deeper into soft flesh. Biting that much harsher.

He wanted to ruin him. To devour him, maybe. Tear into his flesh until he could settle into his very bones, until they were one and the same. Inseparable by anyone, anything.

Instead, he managed to show some restraint by finally withdrawing. Lapping up the excess blood before kissing the wound closed—though not so much that it didn’t leave twin scars in the shape of perfect little punctures.

He wanted to leave his mark on Peter’s body. On every facet of his existence until not even the cosmic abstracts could deny he belonged to Magus, and Magus alone.

He trailed bloody kisses up the side of Peter’s throat, over his jaw, and finally settled on his lips. Taking his face in both hands once more, pressing deep into the kiss. Biting at his lip before releasing him, staring down at those hazy blue eyes. Disoriented, not entirely present in the moment.

Utterly beautiful. Magus pressed one last kiss between dirty blonde brows, and then it slid down the length of Peter’s body until its heeled boots touched the ground anew. As it went it took Peter’s hands, dragging him upright and off of the bed with it.

That fragile body fell into his, and Magus caught him with a tiny smile. Arms wrapped around his lower back, a hum reverberating behind his lips. He nuzzled into Peter’s hair, still damp with sweat. “Did I exhaust you, pretty thing?”

He got no response from Peter. Not until he lifted a hand to run his fingertips over the slight divots of the scars against his neck, still sticky with blood that hadn't been fully wiped away. Feeling the full-body shudder ripple through Peter, the short exhale that trembled. Hearing the quickening of his breath, the fluttering of his heart.

"Ah," he said at last, lifting his hand to Peter's jaw to angle his head back. Blue eyes screwed shut, turning slightly to the side as if that would somehow make Magus disappear. "I frightened you. Fragile thing." He shifted his hold to cup that soft jaw in his palm, claws scraping gently against pale skin. "Did you truly believe I would kill you, Peter?"

A shake of that pretty head as Peter forced his eyes open again, glancing sidelong at Magus. Something bitter in his eyes. "I asked you to not do that."

Magus hummed, tipping its head slightly. "Do what, my dear?"

Peter shoved away from him, and Magus allowed it for now. Even if he did reach out to the beast lurking in the dark at the other side of the room, stirring it awake. "You bit me."

"Yes," Magus agreed, unbothered. "If not you, it would have been someone else, and I wouldn't have cared nearly as much about keeping them alive during the process. Is that what you would have preferred, my love? A life for your comfort?"

Peter shook his head, lifting his hands to run them through his hair. "Shut up."

A derisive scoff left Magus at that. "No. This is the reality you now live in, my dear. Either adjust or suffer, it makes no difference to me."

He walked past Peter, pausing long enough to take his delicate jaw in his hand. Digging his claws into his flesh and pulling him close, which Peter hissed against but nonetheless let himself be moved. "But trust that whatever you choose, you will live. I will not allow you to do otherwise."

Defiant blue eyes glared back, but more than that, there was hurt buried within them. "Yeah? How do you plan to stop me if I decide I'd rather be dead?"

Magus contemplated his answer a beat before his grip on Peter's jaw tightened a fraction. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Peter's unresponsive lips. Speaking into the small space between them. "You won't know until you try, pet, but I suggest you don't. It won't make you very happy."

Then he released him and moved for the door as the beast prowled out of the dark, moving to block the exit from Peter.

Magus locked it on his way out.

Notes:

bit of a light one this time....had um. a bit of an emergency w my cat, but shes recovering now. hence why this one isn't as long as I'd like it to be, but ah well. I hope u enjoyed it anyways...my thought is that the next chapter will be a proper adam chapter, but i suppose we'll see when i get there lmao

Chapter 26

Summary:

There was no room in his heart for all the different things that warred for space within it. Demanding to be felt all at once.

It was easier to numb himself to feeling. Enough that, eventually, his breathing slowed and evened out; his heart closed to the twisting pain of hurt; and the fear scratching under his skin faded into dull noise.

Notes:

hi. sorry. summer classes started so ive been busy with that and watching my cat, though her stitches have been removed now, so hopefully that will be less stress on me in the future 😅

His skin wouldn’t stop crawling. Like a thousand insects skittering under his skin, made somehow worse by the sweat dribbling down his neck. He lifted his hands to clasp them behind his neck, trying to force himself to breathe evenly.

What had Mantis said? God, it felt like two lifetimes ago. Before all of this even started. Counting, maybe? From…from…

 No, he couldn’t do it. His breaths were too shallow and fast, his mind fixated on the feeling of—of being trapped. Helpless. Of his blood being siphoned from his body, of teeth in his neck.

Dizzying. Uncomfortable. Terrifying. He had never felt more like a prey animal in his life, and he loathed it.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that he had collapsed into a dark corner of the room. Back to the wall, knees pulled up to his chest. He buried his face against them, brows pulled tight as he fought to just breathe. Gripping his shins so tight he could feel the indent of his own fingers through the jeans.

There was no room in his heart for all the different things that warred for space within it. Demanding to be felt all at once.

It was easier to numb himself to feeling. Enough that, eventually, his breathing slowed and evened out; his heart closed to the twisting pain of hurt; and the fear scratching under his skin faded into dull noise.

In some distant way, he heard the doors to the room swish open. After a moment’s delay he lifted his head to look, watching the beast prowl out of the way to allow someone from the church in. They wore long robes that fell to their ankles, almost priest-like; a contrast to the gold armor Peter had gotten used to seeing. They set a tray down on the nearest flat surface to the doors and didn’t linger after, casting Peter one flat look before sweeping out of the room. The doors sealed shut behind them.

Peter stared blankly at where the tray was left, unmotivated to investigate. Though after a few moments he figured out what was on it anyway, because the scent of warm bread carried.

For a brief moment temptation gnawed at him. They had been in such a rush this morning that none of them had time to eat. Not that Quill had a great track record with eating regularly, anyway. Still, he ignored the offering and remained where he was.

The beast made a low sound where it sat in the middle of the room, throwing its head back a little as it scented the air. The wings tucked against its back rippled slightly before it turned away from the food to stare in Peter’s direction instead, unsettling white eyes seeming to stare right through him.

An unusual sort of intelligence lingered in their depths, and for a moment he wondered if they really were sightless. Then a more prudent thought slipped past him as he realized its disinterest in the food in favor of staring—was blood a more appealing scent to it? Peter was covered in the stuff, but it hadn’t reacted any of the times Peter had been actively bleeding, nor had it had any interest since. Did it have the same vampiric tendencies of its master after all, or did it just resemble one?

Or, and this seemed a little more likely to Peter, did Magus just have more control over the beasts than it appeared? It seemed to understand and obey orders unfailingly, evidenced by its determination to disable but not kill on Knowhere. Even now, it was still here carrying out Magus’ will. Guarding Peter or…keeping him prisoner. He couldn’t tell. Maybe it was both.

The creature made another low sound, vaguely disgruntled in tone. Its pointed bat-like nose twitched as its tall ears flicked idly, staring at Peter a few moments longer before huffing deeply and trundling back toward the doors. It lowered itself to its belly, leaning against the doors where it chose to lay down. Relaxing its wings from their tucked posture ever so slightly.

A strange quiet settled before long. Peter stared blankly over at the tray, which was barely illuminated by the star light. Slowly, he turned over what had happened in his mind until his thoughts caught on something in particular.

The soul bond. Cleaved from him, severing the ties that bound him to Adam. Through it he could no longer feel that gentle heat. Instead, it was hotter. More intense. A raging inferno where a controlled campfire had been.

Magus. His brows twitched at the thought, a slight downturn to his lips. It was odd—the bond was a two-way street, in Peter’s experience, and this was no different. It felt a little like someone had wrapped a rope around his heart and started yanking it backward if he focused on the bond itself; a vague sense of where Magus was on the ship.

He put it out of his mind pretty quickly, if only because the sensation was unpleasant.

Though it did instill a restlessness in him that finally convinced him to get up and move, if only to get a better sense of where he was. Of what was in here, besides himself, the bed, and the…what was it even called? It certainly wasn’t ‘death cat,’ but that was all Peter had. Besides vampire lion thing, which was an even worse name for it.

He shook his head with a sigh and put a hand against the nearby wall, the coldness of it stark against his bare hand in a way it hadn’t been against his jacket. Then he lifted a hand to tap his visor into place, the night vision lighting up the dark space in a flash.

His initial assumption about no lights seemed to be incorrect—he looked up toward the ceiling to find familiar fixtures embedded above. Then he cast his gaze around for a control panel somewhere that might turn them on.

His gaze caught on what looked like a pair of doors on the other side of the room. There didn’t seem to be a keypad near it, or any other sort of mechanism to open. Automatics, maybe. Curious, he wandered over toward the doors, which did swish open when he was close enough. Beyond them was shadow so impenetrable that not even the night vision could pierce it; the low light from the star lamp didn’t reach this far.

After a moment of debate, he tapped the visor away and stepped inside anyway. Probably a bathroom, right? It made the most sense. Or…maybe a wardrobe, or something. He put a hand on the wall closest to the doors, searching until his fingers caught on the slight protrusion of a keypad. He turned his head toward it, but the interface wasn’t lit up; go figure.

He stepped fully into the room just in case he accidentally hit the ‘lock’ button, but his attention was caught by the sound of something crunching underfoot. It was reflexive to look down even though he knew he couldn’t see whatever it was, but as he shifted his foot over it, he recognized the sound as glass. Or something adjacent to glass.

He pressed a random button on the keypad, and the doors behind him snapped shut with a hiss. Yeah, that wouldn’t have been pretty, probably. He shook his head and tapped another button, and this time bright fluorescents flashed on overhead. Revealing the opulent interior of a bathroom, no less extravagant than the rest of the ship.

Except, of course, for the broken glass littering the floor. He trailed his gaze from the brittle shards up to the counter, and then the mirror.

Shattered entirely. Dried blood painted the jagged edges of the remaining pieces, more of it on the polished white counter and even the floor. Trailing to the doors and, presumably, the room at large.

The knowledge that this was Magus’ room had Peter frowning somewhat, glancing back up at the busted mirror. Dozens of images of himself were reflected in the broken pieces, distorted and bloody.

Did Magus not have a reflection? He’d encountered that vampiric myth before, in old books he read when he was a kid. Dracula—when he thought Dracula was a myth—was the one that came to mind. Something about mirrors reflecting the soul, and undead not possessing one—but that part, at least, didn’t feel true. Not for Magus, anyway.

Peter could feel his soul next to his own, courtesy of the bond. It existed. It was real and tangible in the ways that Adam’s was, so…if he didn’t have a reflection, it wouldn’t be because of that.

But then, maybe the mirror was unrelated to the vampire thing at all. Maybe he had broken it for reasons all his own. There was no real way of knowing, he supposed, short of asking.

After a beat longer he turned back toward the keypad, hitting the button to open the doors. Light spilled into the darkened room as they swished apart, casting a long corridor of brightness. Crimson stains curved off toward the left, in the vague direction of the corner Peter had been tucked into. He tapped the visor back into place and searched out a control for the lights in the main room, finding them near the bed. On the darker side without the light, though a soft blue glow still somewhat illuminated the duvet.

Peter made his way toward it, pressing the lights on before he removed his visor again. They weren’t as overwhelmingly bright as the bathroom lights, but it was still leagues better than the dark.

The beast by the doors snorted lowly, the sound disgruntled, before it shifted to hide its face beneath its massive paws.

Well. It was better than the dark for Peter, anyway.

He found that blood trail again and followed it to a dresser, sat between the doors leading out of the room and that corner Peter had been in. The trail stopped before it, a little on the left, where there were three slender drawers stacked atop one another.

But only the top drawer had a bloody handle, so with a small frown, Peter pulled it open. Curiosity getting the better of him, as it often did.

Nestled inside the space were wires and headphones. A few different kinds, it seemed, but the most prominent thing that caught Peter’s eye was the Walkman.

The one that Adam had shown him in that alternate reality. An almost burnt orange color, meticulously free of whatever dust had lingered when Peter last saw it—but stained red where bloody fingers touched it.

A crack had split the clear casing revealing the tape, through the word ‘love.’ Peter’s heart dropped in his chest as he slowly reached for it, taking the cassette player in a gentle hold. Pulling it free from the drawer to see it better.

Magus still had it.

The unfeeling daze he had put himself in shattered at the revelation, a pain born from sympathy biting at his heart. So much grief and rage poured onto it in the form of crimson fingerprints and splintered plastic. An agony that Peter knew the full weight of after Magus had shared his own memories.

Ashes clinging to his skin. A drowning pain that seemed to have no end, a piercing loss that oscillated between hurt, fury, and bitterness. Though as he considered it, Adam had been a bit more like a wilting rose under the weight of longing; Magus was more like a sharp blade that wanted everyone else to bleed with him.

Even Peter himself, it seemed. He idly wondered why as he lifted a thoughtless hand to his neck, ghosting his fingers over the place where teeth had pierced flesh. Feeling subtle twin divots in his skin, one for each fang.

He frowned at the realization that he had been left with the scars, but it didn’t do much to derail his thoughts.

Was it resentment? Wanting to make Peter hurt, because his own was gone? Or did hurting someone else simply make his grief easier to handle? Temporary dopamine where crushing loneliness, vicious anger, and desperate sadness became the norm?

He knew how debilitating it could be. How it could change someone, make them behave in ways they never would normally. He had nearly been a victim to it, too. Chasing vengeance against the person that took his mother away, even though it would change nothing. She would still be dead, and he would still have suffered those years of loneliness and desperate longing. Aching to just be a kid again, oblivious to the pain that waited out among the stars.

Carefully, and with no small amount of hesitation, Peter reached for a pair of headphones from the drawer. Similar to the ones he had. He plugged them into the cassette player, glancing over at the doors like Magus would return this quickly to catch him red-handed. It wasn’t like this was his first time taking something that didn’t belong to him—he had distinguished himself among the Ravagers as a thief long ago—but still. He felt a little guilty about it, given that it was…that it used to be Adam.

Though Magus hadn’t cared when Peter had asked him not to bite him, so…he set the player down on the dresser for a moment as he adjusted the headphones, and then he picked it up again. Finding the play button as easily as if it was his own, catching a song in the middle of playing. Slow and beautiful, a lighter song. It had the sound old pictures carried, weathered at the corners in their sepia tones.

I’ll find you in the morning sun, and when the night is new.

I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you. I’ll be seeing you—in every lovely summer’s day.

He frowned lightly, and that was when he felt a sharp lurch in his chest that wasn’t his own. It was a strange experience—similar to a phenomenon he only experienced when talking to Mantis, or…other telepaths.

He closed his eyes with a sigh, and the voice in his head that followed wasn’t entirely unexpected.

What are you doing?

The edge the words carried lacked anger. Instead, they seemed—anxious, maybe. Nervous? A strange tone to hear from Magus.

Listening to music. Obviously.

That isn’t yours, Magus retorted, and there was the familiar anger that Peter was beginning to associate him with.

The song faded, the next beginning to play. Peter took a beat to listen before he answered. You’re the one that left a thief alone in your room.

A long moment of quiet that Quill decided to fill. You could always get out of my head, you know.

You are more annoying than my Quill was, Magus admitted with impatience. Damage it any further and it will be the only regret you’ve ever had.

Peter moved back toward that corner, sitting with his back to the wall. He shifted one of his hands to look down at his palm, finding the dried blood was coming off on his skin. Because your Quill gave it to you. I know. But—I mean, not to sound rude, but—did he even know you? Like, the whole…Magus thing?

The silence that followed felt more purposeful. Like Magus was debating ignoring him, frustration and anxiety simmering low in Quill’s belly. Not his own, though. Magus didn’t seem very skilled at keeping his emotional impressions separate from his thoughts; they bled into Peter whether Magus meant them to or not.

He even caught flashes of images behind his eyes when he closed them. Cells, deep somewhere in the ship. Low lights, but not low enough that Peter couldn’t see haggard and wounded faces pass by in shapeless blurs of color. Some alien, some less so.

His brows twitched, a twinge of sympathy in his chest.

Yes, Magus responded at last, uncertain. Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to share or not, but he did anyway. Though he didn’t elaborate further, and suddenly the bleeding emotions retreated as Magus closed in on himself. Like a turtle retreating into its shell.

Peter let him pull away, brows furrowed tightly as he stared down at the Walkman held in his hands. Focusing on the music playing, listening to the lyrics somewhat absently. Eventually he closed his eyes with a sigh, leaning fully back against the wall.

We may never, never meet again on the bumpy road to love—

Still, I’ll always, always keep the memory of the way you hold your knife; the way we danced ‘til three; the way you’ve changed my life—no, no, they can’t take that away from me.

No, they can’t take that away from me.

This was one he recognized when he had searched for songs to put in Adam’s mixtape, but he had skipped over it for…obvious reasons, maybe. The only love songs that made it onto Adam’s tape were the popular ones, like Frank Sinatra or Billie Holiday. Something he could handwave away if Adam ever asked. Rather silly, in hindsight.

To think he had ever been able to conceive of a world where Adam didn’t love him.

A tiny part of him almost wished he still could. If only for Adam’s sake—and Magus’ too, despite everything.

Notes:

this was meant to be another dual pov chapter, but it got longer than i expected. Also it. isnt adams pov but we arent gonna talk about that. sorry for the wait!! i hope u enjoyed it anyway...i swear we're returning to adam soon 🙏

Chapter 27

Summary:

That pain festered at the words, and Adam tuned out the ensuing yelling and arguing. Turning away from the fighting, staring at nothing in particular as his mind wandered.

Where else could it possibly go, other than to him? To Quill laying half beneath him on what had become their shared bed, one arm around Adam’s waist and the other holding his cassette tape. Humming the song they both listened to, a smile breaking over his black-smudged lips when Adam buried his face in the crook of Peter’s neck just to be closer to him.

The Universal Church of Truth had not lingered in Knowhere long—an hour at most, as far as Adam understood it—but still, damage had been done. An entire neighborhood of buildings had been crushed beneath the weight of a fallen ship bearing the church’s crest, fires burning in the dark where debris had fallen in the streets.

Illuminating motionless bodies where they had fallen.

All of it passed by Adam in a blur. Courtesy of Mantis, they found the Milano—which was not where they had left it—hanging precariously between the machinery and wiring of Knowhere’s shipyard. As if caught in their embrace from a devastating fall. Smoke drifted from its metal casing in dark plumes, sparks dancing from the exposed wiring and dropping into the dark below. Flickers of orange danced in the dark, but they were rendered to smudges in his periphery as he sought out the Guardians.

There would be time enough later to process it all, but not now.

He found them at ground level a safe enough distance away, made minuscule from this distance—but even so Adam could tell from body language alone that they were arguing with each other. Dreading the confrontation, Adam nonetheless brought Mantis over to set them both down behind Rocket.

“—you weren’t here! None of you were!” Rocket spat, jabbing a finger at Gamora.

Her expression tightened, but she remained silent.

“You think I wanted this to happen? That’s my ship! That’s our—” Rocket began, his voice threading as if on the verge of breaking before the raccoon’s expression soured in a tight grimace. “Groot and I were alone on that ship when those freaks happened. None of you even—I got no word from anyone. Not from Quill, not from you—do you know how blindsided I was when the spacedock started going up in flames? What the hell was I supposed to do?”

Standing off to the sides were Groot and Drax, both silent with their own thoughts. Groot seemed lost in melancholy, Mary held within his wooden arms as his gaze remained fixed to the ground. He was charred in places, patches of blackened bark along his left flank. Drax, by contrast, leaned against a half-crumbled wall with his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze cast out over the dark horizon with an expression to match.

A beat passed before Gamora lost her hostility, if only slightly. Yellow eyes averted, something like guilt tightening her brows. “Yeah. You’re right. We should have radioed you when we realized what was happening, but…”

Rocket waved a hand before dragging it down his face, turning half away. “Happened too fast. Heard it before. Just—I tried reaching out to Quill, you know? Didn’t get an answer.”

At that Adam’s expression pinched, his brows furrowing. “Because he left his comms device on the ship,” he remarked quietly, staring at a point on the ground but not truly seeing.

A derisive scoff from the raccoon as he dropped his hand back to his side. “Yeah, why am I not surprised? You’re a flarking idiot, Quill,” he snapped, turning sharply to glare at the empty space to Adam’s left. Mantis shifted at his right, glancing between Adam and Rocket as a stretch of stunned quiet passed between them.

It drew the heavy gazes of the other Guardians, and Adam could not bear their weight any longer—he turned his head away, fidgeting absently with white sleeves that were not his. He supposed from their perspective it only made sense that Quill would be beside him, and that he was not…

The faintest edge of panic crept into Rocket’s voice when he spoke next, taking a step closer to Adam. “Where’s Pete?”

A sharp pain lurched in his chest at the question, yet he could not find it in himself to answer beyond a slight shake of his head.

That only served to frustrate the raccoon, who gestured sharply at Adam with both hands. “What the hell does that mean? Where is he?”

Wedging herself between Adam and Rocket with a sort of forced calm, Mantis said, “Rocket, please.”

“No! This ain’t fucking rocket science, tell me what happened!” Rocket demanded, jabbing a finger into Mantis’ knee.

She winced slightly, a flash of annoyance in her expression before she forcibly smoothed it out and sighed. Though when she spoke next, she sounded—defeated, almost. Almost as much as Adam felt, perhaps. “…He left with the Magus to spare Knowhere.”

That pain festered at the words, and Adam tuned out the ensuing yelling and arguing. Turning away from the fighting, staring at nothing in particular as his mind wandered.

Where else could it possibly go, other than to him? To Quill laying half beneath him on what had become their shared bed, one arm around Adam’s waist and the other holding his cassette tape. Humming the song they both listened to, a smile breaking over his black-smudged lips when Adam buried his face in the crook of Peter’s neck just to be closer to him.

A thought occurred to him then, and the pain it caused broke the gentle memory as his gaze snapped to the trapped Milano.

The gift Peter had given him still resided within the ruined ship. He had not taken it with him this morning; he had no reason to think, at the time, that he would not be returning.

Perhaps Peter had the right idea after all, bringing it everywhere he went.

It was not truly a deliberate decision to leave the Guardians the way he did; he was airborne before he could think it through, hearing the protests of those below chasing him as he dashed toward their trapped and broken home. So extensive was the damage that myriad tears in the metal casing littered the ship throughout, a few big enough to slip through without troubling himself with the bay doors. Smoke drifted from the openings, fires inside creating an almost unbearable heat when he touched down inside the living space. It made his eyes water almost instantly, the acrid stench of burning leather and cloth pervasive.

He didn’t linger long to take in the devastation, but he was sure he would dwell on it later. On the sheer magnitude of the loss they had suffered in such a short time at the hands of his other self. The guilt and anger could choke him then, but right now, he was focused on one thing only.

He rushed for Quill’s door through ash and flame, not even bothering with the keypad—it was likely too damaged to be of use, anyway—and digging his fingers into the slightest gap between door and frame, feeling the scalding heat of the metal searing his fingertips as he forced it apart enough to slip into Quill’s room.

Detaching himself from the stab of pain at the devastation that had reached even here, the fire burning away old posters of earthbound rockstars. Burning away what little remained of Quill’s presence, and suddenly his desperation to find what had been given to him grew tenfold. A frantic thoughtlessness that had him rifling through drawers, sweeping the ground with his eyes as swiftly as possible before he found himself before the end table. A delayed thought that he had left it there last—he was fairly certain—before he ripped the drawer open, revealing the gift he coveted safe within its confines.

Somehow, miraculously, untouched. With the marred flesh of his fingertips he grabbed it, ignoring the sharp pain of the burns as he held the cassette player close to the chest.

Then he was rushing out the way he came, the creaking and groaning of warping metal and burning memories following him into the still-dark sky of Knowhere. He landed near Mantis once more, stumbling slightly from the dizziness that came with smoke inhalation. Still, his grip on the Walkman remained firm, and he unfolded his arm from his chest to stare down at it.

Something within him shattered at the sight of it, and he didn’t even know why. It was as if the crushing weight of everything was finally catching up to him, and he could not bear it; he collapsed to his knees with a sharp, shuddering breath, curling in around the Walkman tucked to his chest. Holding it tight with both hands, watching gold slip from his cheeks to splatter the ground.

There was vicious agony in his desolate heart that cleaved his soul in twain, and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing he could do to patch that wound, because a piece of him was missing. Not even the tiny flicker of heat that connected him to Mantis could soothe the loss threatening to drown him, and for a moment he thought he might let it.

Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders to pull him close, and only then did he become aware that someone had knelt before him. That voices were talking, quieter now than before. No longer shouting and yelling, but simply talking. To him or each other, he couldn’t discern.

But he recognized Gamora’s voice in his ear, even as soft as it had become. “We’ll get him back, Adam. And we’ll kick Magus’ teeth in while we’re at it.”

Maybe she believed it, but he could not. He knew—he had known—that he was not capable of defeating the Magus. Even if he was—the Magus was him, was he not? Death for either of them was meaningless, and thus the cycle would only continue. Grief, loss, desperation, denial, conflict, fury—over and over, for eternity.

How could any of them hope to put an end to the endless? To kill what could not die?

It only took Magus an hour to take everything from them, and to ruin Knowhere as thoroughly as he did. Only an hour.

What hope—

Strong hands took his face as Gamora leaned back, yellow eyes meeting his with a force of will he had come to expect from her. “Stop spiraling. You know Peter wouldn’t give up if the roles were reversed. He’d chase Magus all over the galaxy to get you back, odds be damned.”

A part of him almost wanted to laugh, but he didn’t know why. Wasn’t she right? That was who Peter was.

What he was.

Hope. The only fickle thread of it that Adam had. That he’d ever had, in truth. He made better tomorrows sound so easy that even Adam could be fooled into believing it, once in a while.

He closed his eyes with a shuddering inhale, feeling the steep lurch of his heart. He did not fully believe himself when he muttered, “We’ll get him back,” but that mattered little.

They had no choice but to try. It was who they were, too; taking on impossible odds for one another, because the Guardians weren’t just a team of misfits that had nowhere else to go.

They were family.

When he had regained control of himself, Gamora helped him to his feet. Though she kept a hand on his back even after, offering a tiny bit of comfort. A gesture still unfamiliar to her, but one she had learned from Mantis and Peter both.

Taking the moment to interrupt gently, Mantis said, “Cosmo reached out while you were gone, Adam. He wants us to convene in his office as soon as we can.”

He refrained from scoffing, though his gaze flicked up to their ruined ship briefly. The emptiness in his soul reflected in the tone of his voice. “As if we have anything better to be doing anymore.”

The words had Rocket’s face scrunching, apparently displeased. He gestured to Adam with a vague hand. “You know, blondie, I just remembered why I didn’t like you when we met.”

Mantis clicked her tongue in apparent disapproval. “Rocket,” she chastised, though Adam glanced toward the raccoon anyway as he persisted.

“You’re so emo about everything. It’s honestly impressive,” Rocket remarked as he scampered near, close enough to whack Adam’s shin with the back of his furry hand. Evidently deciding to take the lead to Cosmo Tower. “For a little while there I thought you might be, you know, an agreeable and likable person.”

It felt like an insult, but it was delivered in such a cheerful tone of voice that Adam didn’t quite know what to say. Eventually he landed on a bland, “Noted, Rocket,” as he followed after the raccoon. The others fell into step with them, Mantis and Gamora at either side of Adam while Groot and Drax brought up the rear.

“The rodent is exaggerating. You have always been an unlikable and disagreeable person,” Drax said after a moment, entirely earnestly. “It was my understanding that this was precisely why you were a valued member of this team. We are all difficult people.”

Beside him, Gamora turned to look back at him with an amused twist to her lips. “Speak for yourself, big guy. Some of us are fun.”

“No, you are also difficult,” Drax responded swiftly, to which Gamora laughed.

A polite, “I am Groot,” was aimed at her, and her smile grew when she glanced back once more.

“Aw, thanks.”

Something about their antics had Adam’s wounded heart soothing, at least somewhat. Listening to their idle banter, their playful jabs at one another—and at him, too, sometimes. Even so, it was apparent that such teasing was in part a performance, in part a mask; hiding the raw pain that they all felt, to some degree.

Losing Peter would have been demoralizing enough, but they had also lost their home. Their means of finding him.

He stared down at the cassette player in his hands, an idle thumb swiping slowly over the red casing. The wire of the earbuds was carefully wrapped around the device, and he could only assume it had been Peter to do so—Adam had, evidently, a bad habit of leaving them unraveled.

He could feel the weight of Mantis’ eyes on him as they walked. He ignored the attention as he carefully unwrapped the wire, lifting one of the buds to his ear and then the other before he pressed down on the play button. Hearing the familiar click as the device started, and a moment later music drowned out the world.

Maybe he was beginning to understand the appeal. The reason Quill was always seeking the radio as some sort of comfort when he was anxious.

It was better than suffocating with one’s own thoughts.

Notes:

aaaaaaaaaaa i had to split this in two or it would have gotten rly long........so next chapter might be dual pov, we shall see. I hope u enjoyed it anyways :]

Chapter 28

Summary:

Gaunt, ashen faces blurred together in his periphery as he walked past barred cells. Different from the ones meant for converts, because at least converts could serve a higher purpose.

These creatures were no better than animals, operating on instinct and desperation. Clawing at the bars, hissing and spitting into the dark. Beady eyes followed him as he strode past them, some cowering, some glaring with open hatred and defiance.

Notes:

hiiii this is a long one 💜 hopefully it makes up for the wait lmao

Before the elevator doors even opened, Adam tucked the Walkman safely away against his waistband. Centering himself more for the conversation ahead, which would undoubtedly be difficult. Unpleasant. Retreading things Adam would prefer to ignore.

It felt familiar to walk into Cosmo’s office and find Cynosure already there, seated with one other of her company. Cosmo sat at the end of the table, head bowed as he read through reports.

The surprise came in the form of the Spartoi general, standing at the far end of the table. Close to Cosmo. Two of her masked soldiers were at either side of her, postures rigid despite the state of their battered armor.

Brown eyes lifted to meet his, and Adam couldn’t have stopped the flicker of a sneer from taking his features even if he’d wanted to. Though Rocket beat him to speaking, sounding just as offended as Adam felt.

“The hell are the Spartoi here for?”

Cosmo looked up briefly from his reports, glancing from Rocket to the general and back. “Their presence is courtesy. They helped defend Knowhere.”

“Yeah? They also hired someone to break into our ship and bug Quill’s room!” Rocket fired back, teeth baring with his frustration.

“And stabbed Adam, don’t forget,” Gamora remarked flatly.

Only then did the general speak, one brow slightly raised. “He seems rather intact for a wounded man.”

Cosmo cut in before anyone could carry the hostility further. “Nyet. We are not here to argue. I know what Spartax is guilty of—I did investigation with Mantis. This does not change that Knowhere lives were saved by their presence. Trust Cosmo on this, da?”

Gamora snorted and moved to take a seat at the opposite end of the table, keeping her eye on the Spartoi. “Sure, Cosmo. I’ll trust you—but not Spartax.”

“Seconded,” Rocket muttered as he took a seat near Gamora, glaring down the length of the table. Groot sat near to him, still holding Mary—a fact that had Rocket giving the cat mild side-eye, though Mary stared at him in open curiosity. Mantis took a seat on the other side of the table.

“Good,” Cosmo said, glancing up briefly. “I am not asking Guardians of Galaxy to trust Spartax.”

Adam cast a quick glance to Drax to gauge his opinion as he moved to sit near Mantis, finding the katathian staring icily at the Spartoi general. He took up space nearest to Adam, but did not sit. He kept his arms crossed over his chest where he stood, and Cosmo didn’t seem keen to tell him to do otherwise.

Although he did, at last, seem to realize something as he looked over them. His keen eyes settled on Adam—and why did everyone keep looking to him in Peter’s absence—and the dreaded words fell upon the room.

“Where is Peter Quill?”

A stretch of quiet as Adam deliberated an answer, casting a sideways look to the Spartoi general. Frowning to himself because he didn’t want her to know this, but there wasn’t really a way to dance around it.

In the end, it was Drax that spoke in his stead. His gaze slid from the Spartoi general at last to look at Cosmo. “The Magus has taken him. It is my understanding that this is why his forces departed Knowhere so abruptly.”

At that, the Spartoi General spoke. Her brow was tightly furrowed, her lips set into a frown. “He was taken?”

Rocket snorted, glaring over at her anew. “What, jealous someone else beat you to it, bootlicker?”

A flicker of irritation across her features before she pushed it aside, but Cosmo interjected before she could speak again. “Nyet, no fighting. Cosmo would like to offer you aid in finding Universal Church of Truth, but…”

He paused with a sigh, head dropping slightly before he continued. “I am sure you have noticed, but the sun is still down. Our engineers work to fix this, but is taking time. More importantly, structural damage to Knowhere surprisingly significant. Repairs will take weeks, maybe.

“Civilians displaced until then, which will create new problems in districts that aren’t as bad. Of course, this isn’t accounting for bodies…”

Rocket huffed, leaning his elbow onto the table to prop his head up. “You’ve got your paws full. We get it.”

Cynosure spoke then, her eyes on Cosmo. “You have my aid, Cosmo.”

“Appreciated. Also, there is problem with chasing Church of Truth anyway.” Cosmo pawed at a button in front of him, bringing up the holo to display readouts Adam didn’t understand. A graph of some kind, fluctuating in height but nonetheless steady.

Unsurprisingly, Rocket understood what he was looking at. He gestured to the holo, brow furrowed. “These fuel emissions?”

“Da. Emissions from normal vessels. Like Milano—you leave trail when you jump to hyperspace,” Cosmo explained, cycling to a new image. “Some of my people tried tracking the emissions from Truth ships, but this was result.”

The new graphs were erratic, with high highs and low lows—but then they abruptly leveled out into a flat line after. Adam watched Rocket’s face, which scrunched with confusion. “Wait, the ships don’t have traceable emissions? How’s that possible? Every energy source in the galaxy leaves some kind of trail.”

A beat before Mantis spoke, sounding uncertain. “Perhaps not. We still don’t truly know what the Church is capable of—who’s to say they haven’t found a new source of energy that doesn’t leave a trail?”

Rocket shook his head, lifting his hands to rub them over his face. “But that doesn’t make sense. If it’s organic—”

Cynosure interrupted then, glancing from the readouts to Rocket. “Have we not discussed this before? The Church makes things from nothing. It is not out of the realm of possibility that they have achieved this feat, as well.”

Visible frustration warred on Rocket’s face. “Sure, whatever. They made magic energy that doesn’t leave a trail. Say I believe it—how the flark are we supposed to find them?”

The question had Gamora glancing sidelong at Adam. “Can you feel him through the bond?”

Adam pressed his lips into a thin line and gave a tight shake of his head. Surprise colored her features, but she didn’t press in the moment.

Rocket threw his hands up, turning half away from the table. “Great. We’re never gonna find them, then.”

“It would not matter even if we could,” Drax said, looking at Rocket with a mild frown. “The Milano was destroyed during the invasion.”

Cynosure ticked a brow. “Destroyed?”

An uncomfortable quiet that was as much an answer as anything else.

Cosmo made a vague disgruntled sound, pawing at buttons anew. “Another thing to add to list of doom,” he muttered.

“Pardon, but if I may,” the Spartoi general addressed Cosmo, who gave a nod. “It sounds like you’re all in dire straits. I can send word to the emperor and have our best engineers here within hours, if you like—Knowhere would be repaired within days, at worst.”

A sharp look in Cosmo’s eyes when he lifted his head toward her. “And what does Spartax get from arrangement?”

The general glanced down the table, sweeping her attention across the Guardians before settling on Adam. “We assist in finding this Universal Church of Truth.”

Adam’s brows twitched, his frown worsening as he glared at her. “In finding Peter Quill, you mean. If you think we are going to rescue him from one tyrant only to give him to another, you are incredibly mistaken.”

The Spartoi didn’t dispute the claim, but her voice carried the edge of haughtiness that had Adam’s teeth grinding. “You think you’re in the position to be picky with your allies? You don’t even have a ship. You have no means of finding this Church without outside help, and Knowhere—no offense, dear Cosmo—is not in the position to be that outside help. It may not be repaired for weeks without Spartoi intervention, and I don’t think Peter Quill has weeks to spare under the Magus’ thumb. Or are you a gambling man, Adam Warlock?”

He did not recall ever giving her his name, but that mattered little in the face of her provocation. He glared at her as if he could set her ablaze with his eyes. “Peter Quill is not a thing to be traded like a bargaining chip. I will not agree to letting you take him.”

A quirk of dark lips. “I am merely asking that you let us help you find him.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence. I know what you’re asking.”

Mantis abruptly took his hand, glancing at him with bright black eyes. “Adam.”

It took a moment to discern the intent in her pleading, if only because he was so infuriated that it made it difficult to think—but then he gave a slight nod and let her into his mind.

I know this isn’t pleasant, Adam, but—she’s right. Not only would Spartax’s help would make all of this go faster, but they’d be a formidable army against the Church—and I really don’t want to leave Peter with the Magus longer than we have to.

Neither do I, he returned, glaring back over at the general—who had become embroiled in argument with Gamora, Rocket, and Drax—before he continued with, but you know as well as I do that Peter doesn’t want anything to do with them. Wouldn’t it be a betrayal to accept their help on his behalf?

A moment of thought. Maybe. Wouldn’t it be a betrayal to do nothing, too?

He wanted nothing more than to rip something apart in that moment, but he merely flexed his hands as he hissed out a sharp breath. I hate this, Mantis.

I know. So do I, but…I love him. We all do. I can’t just sit here and do nothing knowing he’s in danger.

Adam closed his eyes for a moment, pain lancing his heart. No. Neither can I.

Then, comfortable with the tenuous agreement, Mantis spoke up over the raised voices and said, “We’ll accept your help.”

At once, Gamora, Drax, and Rocket cut sharp looks to her—but Adam saw the antennae atop her head wriggle with pulsing light, and they remained quiet. Though, Adam noted, equally as displeased as he was.

The general gave a true politician’s smile, tipping her head in a slight nod. “Excellent. Then I’ll send word at once.”

She strode from the room with her guards in tow, and the tension carried until they were tucked into the elevator and out of sight. Adam let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair as the other traced the shape of the Walkman under the fabric of his borrowed sweater. “I want to crush something.”

Gamora gave him a sympathetic look. “Yeah. That’s how I feel, too.”

“That’s how we all feel,” Rocket retorted, standing on his seat and gesturing to the elevator doors. “The hell does she think she is, strong-arming us into a deal like that?”

Cynosure made a vaguely amused sound, but not necessarily at their expense. “She is Spartoi. They are all like that. Though I must say I am—surprised. To see that you find the bargain so disagreeable.”

“What, you think it’s a good deal to get Spartax’s help when they want to take Pete away from us?” Rocket demanded, glaring hotly at Cynosure. “Quill is an annoying dumbass sometimes, sure, but he’s our annoying dumbass. No one else gets to have him.”

“They will not have him in any case,” Adam retorted, flexing his hand where he dropped it on the table. “I won’t let them.”

“Neither will I,” Drax agreed, his tone as serious as the sharp edge of a sword.

Cynosure made another vague sound, almost curious, but said nothing.

Cosmo, however, was staring down at his reports with the equivalent of a frown on his face. “I am not liking the Spartoi involvement in sensitive Knowhere repairs so much. Rocket—you will help, yes? Make sure no nefarious deeds are done?”

Rocket snorted but gave a nod. “Yeah, Cosmo, I’ll keep ‘em on a leash. Damn Spartoi.”

He muttered the last part, but it was nonetheless a sentiment Adam could agree with.

Soon after that, Cynosure took her leave with her teammate, leaving only the Guardians alone in Cosmo’s office. A few beats of frustrated silence passed before Cosmo said, “So, you said Milano was destroyed?”

“Almost completely,” Gamora said, though there was no accusation in her voice.

Rocket offered, in a voice betraying his exhaustion, “I can give you it’s location before we leave. It’s, uh. It’s bad.”

Cosmo made a vague sound of affirmation. “Da, thank you, raccoon. In meantime, this sector has been totaled, but residential sector A-4 only suffered minor cosmetic damage. I can arrange for you to have temporary living quarters in empty apartment units there.”

A moment of consideration before Mantis asked, “Can you put us all in the same apartment?”

“Da. Should be one that will fit…Warlock does not need to sleep, so that leaves…” he glanced up, squinting at the Guardians.

The words made Adam’s brows twitch, but he didn’t remark on it—Cosmo was right. Though it was both something he did not need, and was not able to achieve through natural means anyhow.

Even if he wanted to.

“Groot and I can share a room,” Rocket said, waving a hand. “And I guess, if pressed, we can share with Drax too.”

“So can me and Mantis,” Gamora offered. “Maybe Drax should room with us. Might be more fun.”

Drax seemed to consider for a beat before giving a nod, to which Gamora and Mantis both grinned.

Cosmo brightened. “Oh. Much easier, yes,” he said as he made the arrangements.

Adam tuned out of the details, though eventually he heard Gamora say, “Hey, Cosmo. Did Mantlo’s survive?”

Cosmo glanced up at her briefly, apologetic. “Nyet. Bar was destroyed. However, there is one in residential A-4 that I hear many good things about. Starlin’s. You want the location?”

“Ooh, yeah, give it to us,” Gamora said, perking up a bit before shifting her focus to Adam. “Did you want to join us?”

His nose wrinkled at the thought of being in a crowded bar, but frankly, he did have the compulsion to drink alcohol in this moment. He sighed shortly. “I suppose.”

Would it even affect him, he wondered?

Truthfully, a part of him wanted it to. If only because there was nothing he desired more than to be unconscious right now without having to experience near-death first.

Or…was it less a desire to be unconscious, and simply a desire to stop existing for a little while?

Either way, he had never before felt such deep envy within him over something so mundane.

 

 

-x.x.x.x.x-

 

 

Gaunt, ashen faces blurred together in his periphery as he walked past barred cells. Different from the ones meant for converts, because at least converts could serve a higher purpose.

These creatures were no better than animals, operating on instinct and desperation. Clawing at the bars, hissing and spitting into the dark. Beady eyes followed him as he strode past them, some cowering, some glaring with open hatred and defiance.

All of them were pitiful mistakes he would correct when they no longer served their purpose.

A figment of his own imagination walked beside him, prompted into being after overhearing Quill listening to music that did not belong to him.

As if he would not have called upon him anyway. As if he did not seek him in every quiet moment, in every desperately lonely shadow.

“These poor people,” Peter remarked softly as they passed the cages. Voice still that strange amalgamation of his younger self and whatever he had sounded like before.

Magus’ brows twitched. “They are no longer people,” he retorted, himself incapable of keeping the biting vitriol from his words. Not that he tried in the first place, really.

Aged blue eyes flicked his way, something disapproving in their empty depths. “Why, just because they’re vampires?”

“Yes,” Magus hissed, uncaring of his own callousness. Where most might put the line of loathing on their aberrant nature of being neither alive nor dead, Magus cared little for that. No, his reasons for wanting them extinguished from reality were more personal—perhaps even obvious.

Vampires had killed Peter, and in so doing, had stolen from him the only real future he ever had. In what world would he harbor empathy or compassion for them? In what world would he want them to exist?

They were nothing more than an unfortunate accident born of his own lack of control upon being freed from the fabric between realities. A misfortune he would someday rectify.

He only hoped the day would arrive sooner rather than later.

“They didn’t ask to be made,” Peter said gently.

The words burrowed into him with ugly hooks, and he whirled upon the specter of the one he had lost. Surrounded by the caged animals that had taken his life. “I don’t care. None deserve mercy.”

Gentle, callused hands reached for his face. His nose wrinkled as his brows furrowed, but he allowed the ghostly touch; tricked himself into feeling heat and skin. Easier than accepting reality.

Blue eyes stared up at him, made softer by the loose curls of graying blonde hair that framed them. A tiny frown bent pink lips downward as Peter took him in, and none of it was real—it would never be real again. “That can’t be true, because you’re a vampire, too—and I don’t think you deserve this, Magus.”

A broken mirror in his mind, pain lancing up his arm where his hand had become bloody and shredded.

He didn’t respond, and instead turned away from that ghost. Continuing down the hall.

He was above all of them, anyway. If it had been Magus in control that day—Peter would still be alive. Magus would not be here.

But as always, it had been Adam to make the choice—and Magus had to bear the consequences. Familiar resentment spiked harshly in his chest, a visceral hatred he would never be able to relinquish.

You should have let him turn, you golden fool .

The empty howl of the void was his only answer, these days. Adam no longer occupied space in his mind. Magus could not even feel him burrowed in some deep corner of his soul—and he had tried, at first, to find him. To drag him to the surface and demand answers from him.

But just like Peter, he was gone. Leaving Magus to navigate the aftermath alone.

He had become a graveyard of ruined futures. A monument to dead souls.

A ghost of what could have been.

He approached the controls inlaid against the wall, raising a hand to the lever that opened the cells. It was routine by now; he had done this countless times since assembling this grotesque menagerie.

Taking each of their minds to crush them under his own just before he flipped the lever and opened the cells. Forcing them to go where he wanted them to go. To do what he wanted them to do.

He guided them toward the doors at the end of the hall, which opened right on time; Raker and one other held them wide, allowing their mini undead army to pass through into the hall beyond. Magus walked along behind them, maintaining his focus and control to guide them toward the bridge—which was a fair trek from here.

Their minds squirmed under his thrall like a colony of incensed ants, pressing and pushing against his hold. Writhing under the weight of subjugation.

The Matriarch awaited further ahead, her hands tucked into over-long sleeves. Something like mischief turned one corner of her lips as Magus drew near, her gaze sliding cross the unfortunate mass of undead. “It is my understanding that the Sacrosanct nears completion,” she remarked, glancing sidelong at him. “A bit ahead of schedule, no?”

“You're complaining about expediency?” Magus retorted, though he didn’t look at her. Choosing instead to remain mostly focused on his task.

She offered a dainty shrug, following alongside him. “No. I’m only curious if things would have moved so quickly if your human pet hadn’t been part of the equation.”

Magus’ brows pinched at that, but he mostly ignored her. “As if you have not also chafed among the stars.”

“Ah, but you care little how I feel,” she said with an almost playful lilt.

She was right, so he didn’t offer anything in response. It was quiet for a short while, though the strain of suppressing so many wills for so long was starting to catch up to him. As always.

He did note, however, that he could hold them just a little longer each time before that happened.

“I find myself curious about our guest,” The Matriarch said after a time, somewhat quietly. She turned her sharp eyes onto Magus, her expression not quite neutral—there was always the edges of amusement or mischief lingering there, some cunning, hidden desire—but more bland than usual. “He seems a rather obvious weakness one might exploit, no?”

It had been said quietly enough that only he would hear, but he was perhaps the last person that should have. He snapped his attention to her, baring his fangs in a sneer. “You forget yourself, woman.”

The sharpness in her brown eyes only seemed to strengthen. “Yet you do not deny it. How curious.”

He had the briefest notion to grab her, to sink his claws into the tender flesh of her throat—

It was the split-second diversion of focus needed for the strongest-willed of those vile creatures to break free from him. The psychic backlash was enough to stagger him with a hiss of pain.

He tried to reassert his hold over the weaker ones, but it was already too late; chaos erupted in an instant, and he had to release them to focus more on fighting than anything else. Though it didn’t escape his notice that some of them ran, rather than fight; cowardly annoyances he’d have to deal with later.

Beams of light born of faith energy tore through the undead, rending their paper flesh to ash as if the sun had struck them. Magus had jerked the Matriarch back from one to lunge at it, sinking claws into flesh with a vicious hiss until he tore its ugly head from its shoulders.

New blood joined the old where it sprayed against Magus’ form, wetting skin and robes both as he ripped through another, and another.

It didn’t take long before what stragglers were left fled further into the ship, joining their brethren, and Magus felt he was about to grind his own teeth to dust with the frustration. “Hunt them down and kill them,” he hissed to Raker and the other Cardinals, met with bows and nods before they took off.

Raker would undoubtedly alert the rest of the ship, which freed Magus to address his more immediate concern.

He turned to the Matriarch only briefly, half of the anger boiling his stagnant blood directed at her. Still, he needed her yet; a fact that he loathed as much as anything. “You might want to find somewhere to hide until they’re dead.”

She seemed startled by the events that transpired, but not shaken. She even had blood on her person, ash on her skin. She looked up at him with a narrow glare. “I can handle myself, your worship.”

He didn’t even have the chance to respond, because as she was talking, he felt a sharp spike of unease—of fear—from the other end of the tether in his mind. More visceral and immediate than the passive fear he felt in the presence of Magus’ pets.

Peter.

Cold panic clawed up his spine to seize his throat, and he abandoned the Matriarch where she was to take flight. Ascending the levels of the ship faster than the lifts could.

The beast left with Peter should be safety enough, but it was not a chance Magus was willing to take. Not ever.

Flickers of bad memories at the back of his mind—a red-hued street, ash coating his hands that got carried away with the wind—and he bolted through the door of his room that had been forced open.

A bloodied body laid on the floor, and above it—

Peter, a crimson shard of glass held tight in his hand. Red rivulets ran down his wrist, under the sleeve of his jacket.

Wide blue eyes flicked up to Magus. Not fully present, not fully processing what was happening. His chest was heaving with heavy breaths, and his gaze fell again to the body at his feet.

Not truly dead, Magus knew—so he made sure to cave its skull in with the heel of his boot as he strode over to Peter.

Hate burned in his chest as he watched pulpy brain matter and skull fragments spill onto his floor in a tide of red, but the feeling dampened when he looked up at Peter again. Replaced instead with a gnawing, incessant feeling.

One that had him reaching out with a gentle hand. Wary blue eyes snapped to his bloodied fingers, claws still damp with viscera and crimson. Yet he didn’t stop Magus from wrapping them around the jagged weapon in Peter’s grasp, slipping glass free from torn skin to drop it unceremoniously to the ground.

Then he took Peter’s hand in his, keeping his touch light. Inspecting a beat before he allowed his magic to burn through him from the inside, closing those ugly wounds until there was nothing left of them.

He lifted his gaze to inspect the rest of Peter, searching his soul for any trace of the vampire corruption and coming up short. Still, it was a compulsion to ask; the answer necessary to settle his own nerves. “Were you bit, my dear?”

It took too long for Peter to process the question, but eventually he shook his head. A tight frown settling on his face, his gaze dropping down to the gore painting his boots—a shuddering breath—

Tasting the impending anxiety attack on his own tongue, Magus slipped his free hand around the back of Peter’s head to pull him into his embrace. Dropping Peter’s bloody hand to wrap his arm around his waist instead, holding him securely against his frame.

Little of Magus remained blood free, but Peter didn’t seem to mind—he buried his face against Magus’ shoulder, clinging to him tightly. Short breaths heated his skin, and Magus allowed himself a moment to breathe as he tilted his face to nuzzle into Peter’s hair.

“I have you, my darling star,” he murmured softly, pressing a soft kiss to Peter’s hairline. “You are safe.”

Notes:

man. these 2 (3?) compel me like u wouldnt believe. anyways i hope u liked ittt 💛i meant originally to write the last scene from peters pov but it wasnt working out, so u get magus instead. which is fine i assume. <-guy who loves magus

Chapter 29

Summary:

The cold shoulder beneath his cheek was a strange comfort. He stared idly at the red river dribbling slowly down Magus’ neck, streaks of ashen purple still visible beneath the tide that seemed to engulf him in its entirety. Bright splashes of scarlet interspersed with deep, almost black shades of the same color.

Gentle fingers scrubbed through his hair, making it wet and tacky. Pointed claw tips scraped at his scalp, a gesture meant to be soothing.

Somehow it was.

On ocean of acrid iron bit at his eyes, making them water; the stench was horrendous. Grotesque in its own right. Enough to make his stomach churn with unease and disgust, but they were such distant sensations; his body had become separate from his mind. Detached and far away, as if that could somehow save him from the reality of the situation.

The cold shoulder beneath his cheek was a strange comfort. He stared idly at the red river dribbling slowly down Magus’ neck, streaks of ashen purple still visible beneath the tide that seemed to engulf him in its entirety. Bright splashes of scarlet interspersed with deep, almost black shades of the same color.

Gentle fingers scrubbed through his hair, making it wet and tacky. Pointed claw tips scraped at his scalp, a gesture meant to be soothing.

Somehow it was.

A part of him buried within himself recognized that it was Magus he leaned into, and not Adam. Magus’ drenched, heavy robes that he held onto, cold still-damp blood under his nails. Under his cheek. In his hair.

Whatever he might have felt about that was subsumed by the separation of his mind and body.

Lost to the memories that flashed behind his eyes. Trying to make sense of what seemed senseless and coming up short.

He had noticed the beast first. Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen it position itself in front of the door. Prowling low with wings at the ready, teeth bared.

He had slipped the headphones off to the sound of its rattling, unnatural growl. A guttural, visceral sound that sent shivers down his spine—yet somehow, he had heard the hiss of breaking seals and screaming metal over it, and it had him swiftly drawing in on himself. Tucking further into the corner.

The door was thrown open with an inhuman hiss met by the vicious growl of the beast, who lunged in a blur of motion so fast Peter could barely see its form disappear out of sight. He could still feel the echo of his heart racing in his chest, beating against his ribcage like a frenzied bird.

He remembered hearing the vicious snarls and spitting rage spill into the room—remembered feeling it in his own bones—before realizing very quickly that whatever the beast fought was not the creature that greeted him when he got to his feet.

Wild red eyes had locked on his, long canines digging into a thin lower lip. Even for undead, the man had been pale and skeletal, with sunken cheeks and jutting bones.

Almost monstrous.

A shudder tore through him anew at the memory, and he turned his face to hide it more completely against Magus’ shoulder. Squeezing his eyes shut as he held onto him a little tighter, hearing the way Magus hummed softly against his ear. Feeling the arm around him tighten, claws slipping under the jacket to grip flesh.

They paused against his skin, feeling the jagged tears that started near the end of his ribs and sliced down to his hip.

He could still feel the bruising sting of the bathroom door caving completely inward under the force the vampire had tackled him with. Could still feel the icy desperation lingering in his veins as he fought to keep gnashing teeth from his skin, even in the breathless delirium that struck him on impact.

Crunching glass was loud in his memory, and it was only because the vampire was obviously weakened that Peter had been able to throw it off of him long enough to get to his feet. Frantic hand grabbing a jagged shard of mirror as he tried—and mostly failed—to avoid razor-sharp claws that tore at his ribs. Ignoring the stinging pain of his palm as he fled back into the bedroom, and somewhere between being tackled and landing on the floor he knew he had reached out to him without thought. Without reason.

Magus.

The vampire had lunged for him anew with a snarl of rage and desperation, and—

Did it count as taking a life if they were already undead? It would not be the first time he had to do so, but there was something far more visceral and repulsive about cutting someone open. About being close enough to feel their blood spray his skin—their choked breath against his ear as they fell from the shock of being slashed into.

Peter had shoved the body to the ground and stumbled out of the way, chest heaving, palm screaming with sharp agony, eyes wide and frantic when he caught motion out of the corner of his eye and thought, for a horrifying second, that it wasn’t over.

As complicated as his feelings for Magus were, it was impossible to pretend that seeing him in that doorway hadn’t felt like a prayer that had been answered.

A part of him he didn’t want to think about had even been grateful when Magus caved the creature’s head in, because at least he knew with certainty that it was dead then.

Warm heat enveloped his torn flesh, mending it back together with a gentle touch. The hand in his hair slid to his jaw instead, pushing his head back to stare down at him. Sharp red eyes scrutinized him closely. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

He shook his head slightly, ignoring the bout of dizziness that sprang up with furrowed brows. Maybe he was finally hitting his limit for blood loss today.

Only a day. Only a few hours, really, if that—why did it always feel so long when vampires were involved?

A beat or two passed before Magus frowned subtly, his hold loosening before claw tips slid down the length of his throat. Pausing briefly where Magus had bitten him, and it felt like an eternity between then and now.

Eventually, though, Magus pulled away from him. Peter had the split-second urge to reach for him—pull him close again, maybe—but he shoved the feeling down and crossed his arms over his chest instead, swallowing his unease. Watching that red gaze drop to the body at their feet, head tilting as dark, bloody lips bent with a dissatisfied sneer. “Worthless,” he muttered, more to the dead than to Peter.

Motion caught his eye, and Peter glanced behind Magus to find the beast prowling back into the room. Pride lingered with every step it took, its head held high and lips split around a feline grin.

Held within its teeth was a severed head, and Peter swiftly averted his eyes—but in his periphery he still saw the trail of crimson the beast left as it strutted over to Magus. A tail of red-tinged bone dragged under it. The beast dropped the head at Magus’ feet with a lick of its lips and a soft noise.

Magus delighted at the sight, his voice pitching up into a loving coo when he said, “Oh, what a good girl.” He bent low to scrub blood-slicked hands through black fur, and she preened under the attention. “Maybe I needn’t have worried after all, hm? What an excellent guardian you make.”

He gave her a final few pats to her head before withdrawing, and she rammed her skull into his thigh with an odd rattling sound that didn’t last long. An imitation of a purr, maybe.

Red eyes shifted back onto him, and then the room at large. A silent question in his eyes that he was trying to answer, but judging by the twist of his brows and the downward tilt of his lips, nothing he thought of was satisfying.

It was a look he had seen on Adam before. The day they met Magus.

“I cannot leave you here,” Magus said at last, those eyes settling on him again. Narrow with his displeasure. “Yet I cannot put you somewhere else with loose vampires on the ship, as this might simply happen again. How annoying.”

Peter’s attention snagged on that. “Loose? How many?”

Magus hummed and glanced elsewhere. “Not as many as there used to be.”

A flicker of frustration sparked in Peter’s chest. “How about you try giving me a straight answer?”

Magus huffed out a short sigh, shifting his weight more onto one foot as he lifted a hand to inspect his claws. “The truth of the matter is that I don’t know, my dear. Do you think I keep a tally of all the worthless vermin I kill?”

He wasn’t sure what he thought, honestly. What he expected. Magus both was and was not a stranger to him, as he imagined he himself was to Magus; unusual waters for both of them to tread. Echoes of familiarity, but just as many shadows of the unknown.

After a beat Magus flicked his hand in dismissal, shifting his attention back to Peter. “What I do know is that the longer they run amok in my ship, the more likely it is we’ll end up with more vampires than we started with. A circumstance I will not abide.”

“So, what, you plan to recapture them? Why did you even have—”

An amused snort as Magus reached out to grab Peter by the elbow with a tight hand. “’Recapture.’ Ah, darling, you are adorable,” he remarked as he turned and all but dragged Peter toward the open doors. “They are not worth the effort that would require.”

Peter stumbled at first but quickly caught his footing, glaring at the side of Magus’ face he could see. The beast prowled alongside them without needing to be told—or maybe it had been? “Where are you taking me?”

“Nowhere,” Magus said flatly, leading Peter down the hall until it opened up more. The sides of the hall dropped off into the deeper parts of the ship, no rails to prevent accidental slips or falls. Magus led them near the edge, taking a moment to peek over it before looking back at Peter. “Were you not listening? I cannot leave you anywhere. You will simply have to accompany me.”

“To kill vampires?” Peter assumed, expression scrunching with intense displeasure at the thought. “Did you forget that I’m unarmed? That wouldn’t be any safer than just leaving me in some room somewhere.”

“Yes, it would,” Magus retorted, grip tightening a fraction on Peter’s arm. “I will protect you.”

Peter’s brows furrowed as he stared at Magus, feeling that he was about to walk a very fine line. “I don’t recall that working out very well for the other version of me.”

Any mischief or callous playfulness that might have lingered in those eyes vanished, along with any outward expression. A careful blankness, sharp enough to draw blood. “Then you must also recall that he was armed that day too, and it didn’t make a difference. But if it had been me instead of the coward that is Adam—” he yanked Peter close, crowding into his space with bared teeth, “He would still be with me.”

Only a small part of that vitriol was meant for him—he could see it in the sudden distance in those eyes. The hatred aimed at someone that wasn’t there. Even so, the grip around his elbow was bruising—but he kept his eyes on Magus, all the same. Not ceding ground any more than he was. “Yeah, maybe. But it would be because he could protect himself, too.”

For a long moment all Magus did was stare, but the tiniest flicker in his expression had him withdrawing. Grief and longing that only broke through that anger for a second, but it had been enough to slacken the vice grip on Peter’s elbow. Enough that Magus felt compelled to turn away, hiding that vulnerability.

It didn’t stop Peter from feeling the strangling of a heart not his own.

A beat of silent contemplation passed before Magus sighed and lifted his free hand. A purplish-yellow light burst into view above his bloody palm. It was blinding enough that Peter had to look away from it, but he felt—

Lightning in his teeth. Static. Familiar sensations.

Reality shifting, Adam had said.

It had his mind racing. Matter created from nothing. Was it true, or was it—some kind of reality shifting, bringing things over from other places? Other timelines? Was that even possible on such a scale?

When the light cleared, he looked back at Magus with wide eyes. Held in that crimson-stained hand was—

One of his element guns.

He stared at it, uncertain what to make of it—but it was definitely his, adorned in stickers both he and Mantis had decorated it with on some random night months ago. Worn and faded with use, but visible enough for him to know it was his.

Red eyes scrutinized him before holding the weapon out to him. “Do try to be mindful of your targets, darling.”

It was a threat more than it was an idle quip, and Peter tore his gaze from the gun to look up at Magus. “You don’t have to worry about me hitting you by mistake.”

An amused smirk bent Magus’ lips. “I know.”

Peter took the weapon after a moment, staring down at it in his grip. Feeling an odd sort of whole, at least in part, with it back in his grasp.

Not as helpless. Not as bare. Not as dependent on another.

He preferred it this way.

“Do you, my dear? Or are you simply used to it?” Magus asked in a deceptively soft tone, dropping Peter’s elbow to wrap his arm around Peter’s waist instead.

Peter’s brows twitched together as he holstered the gun for now, glancing back up at Magus. “I don’t need to be saved, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Magus hummed, wrapping his other arm around Peter’s waist to pull him close. Flush against his chest, the dampness from the blood sticking to Peter’s shirt and bare skin in ways that made him a little uneasy. “Oh, certainly, you may not need to be. But you want to be,” Magus remarked, almost teasing when he pressed his forehead to Peter's and murmured, “Why else would you reach out to me in your time of need, sweet thing?”

The skin of his face burned beneath the blood painting it, but he couldn’t argue the point as much as he might have wanted to. He had called out to Magus, even if it had been thoughtless.

Maybe that was worse. Maybe Magus was right.

Peter didn’t want to think about it.

Dark lips split around a mischievous smirk, but Magus said nothing further. He pulled away just enough to press a kiss between Peter’s brows, and then—

Without any warning, Magus let himself fall over the edge into the abyss, dragging Peter with him.

Notes:

I wanted there to be a second half to this chapter but the second half has been rly mean to me the past few days so. i figured id post this at least since its finished, and work on the problem child separately. see yall next time 😁

Chapter 30

Summary:

Everywhere he looked, the scenery was the same. Gilded gold and ornate patterning, gleaming metals and burning bright yellow lights coursing through the caverns of the ship. Pulsing like a living thing, something eerie in that harsh glow that Peter couldn’t place. Maybe it was the depth of the shadow that such lights created, giving off this swirling, inky darkness in the peripherals of his vision. It made his skin itch with unease.

Orienting himself was difficult here. It seemed more alien to him than anything he’d ever seen; every level of the ship seemed built with this vast openness, as if they had been designed for a creature that could fly before anything else. For all he knew, that was exactly it.

Notes:

um. pretend it hasnt been over a month, okay?

It was frantic, the way Peter slid his arms around Magus’ shoulders. A startled breath escaped him, the sound lost to the fall.

Clawed hands held him tight as Magus reoriented them, the dead drop of their weight suddenly shifting to something lighter. More controlled. The typical way it felt with Adam’s flight. Before long there was solid ground beneath their feet, but the sudden change in direction and location left him dizzy.

Not that Magus seemed to mind. He lingered in their faux embrace while Peter adjusted to their surroundings, seeming content to stay this way a while.

Nearby, the winged cat beast landed. Peter hadn’t even realized she had followed them down, but he supposed he wouldn’t have been looking anyway. Of course she would, though. She seemed loyal to Magus to a fault.

When he felt stable enough to stand, he pulled away from Magus. A clawed hand came up to take him by the elbow as if he would take off otherwise, red eyes sweeping over him a moment before Magus turned away. “Come along, darling.”

Peter huffed but didn’t protest. There wouldn’t be much point and, frankly, Peter was exhausted.

He had woken up not that long ago, and already he wanted to go back to sleep.

The cat followed close to Peter’s flank, and he didn’t even have the energy to be afraid of her presence. Not when there were more pressing issues to worry about, and she had proven she wasn’t a threat to him specifically. Even if she was a threat to almost anyone else.

Everywhere he looked, the scenery was the same. Gilded gold and ornate patterning, gleaming metals and burning bright yellow lights coursing through the caverns of the ship. Pulsing like a living thing, something eerie in that harsh glow that Peter couldn’t place. Maybe it was the depth of the shadow that such lights created, giving off this swirling, inky darkness in the peripherals of his vision. It made his skin itch with unease.

Orienting himself was difficult here. It seemed more alien to him than anything he’d ever seen; every level of the ship seemed built with this vast openness, as if they had been designed for a creature that could fly before anything else. For all he knew, that was exactly it.

Magus led him into an open room where the hallway floor split off into separate rooms, spreading out like capillaries branching off from a vein. Near the end of the room was a raised platform staring out into the starlit expanse, and Peter instinctively looked for anything to orient himself—but the planet in the viewscape didn’t seem familiar to him at all. No stars jumped out at him, no asteroid belts or celestial bodies he could pick apart in his memory.

Unknown territory. Not uncommon—space was a big place—but still.

The cat took a seat beside him, and he saw her licking her jaws out of the corner of his eyes. Thankfully, though, his attention was caught by a side door swishing open, two bodies in mid conversation stepping through into the main chamber. He recognized one immediately as the Matriarch—it was hard to place her as anyone else—but didn’t feel any recognition for the man donned in gold metal.

They noticed each other at about the same time, with the metal man almost immediately dropping into a reverent bow at the sight of Magus. “Your Worship. You honor us with your presence.”

A strange sort of cruel amusement laced with blatant disinterest crashed through Peter. Feelings that obviously weren’t his, yet when he glanced aside to Magus his expression hadn’t changed.

The Matriarch was less deferential, but she did dip her head slightly in acknowledgement with that same subtle, coy smile upon her lips. “Your Worship.”

Brown eyes slipped from Magus to Peter and back before she spoke again, her tone light as the pair of them approached. “If you were hoping for a quick resolution to our vampire problem, I’m afraid I must be the bearer of bad news.”

A displeased curl of darkened lips, exposing a fang. “Yes, I figured. Raker?”

The Matriarch glanced at Peter again. Despite her silence, Peter could see the curiosity there—which seemed to burn just a bit brighter than he remembered when they first met. He felt, truthfully, a bit like an exotic animal on display under her scrutiny—but then he supposed he felt that way with Magus, too.

By contrast, Raker seemed content to ignore him when he wasn’t ordered to drag him around, which Peter almost preferred. “My apologies, Your Worship. We pursue them still, but they’ve gone into hiding.”

Peter glanced sidelong at Magus, but he didn’t seem very surprised. Though it was honestly difficult to discern much of his expression beneath the blood painting his face, anyway. “Of course they have. How troublesome dead things can be,” he muttered sourly, turning his face somewhat away. “Their extermination must be a priority. A moment.”

He took a half-step away and paused, glancing back at Peter briefly. Weighing his options before he turned his attention to the man in gold. “Raker. Watch him, would you?”

Peter made a face at that as the cardinal gave a nod, and only then did Magus take his leave. Approaching the raised platform at the furthest end of the open room, where he was more or less alone. Facing away from them.

The Matriarch watched him go for a few moments before turning her attention to Peter, tipping her head slightly. “Are you feeling alright, my dear? You look a bit under the weather.”

He wasn’t entirely sure ‘under the weather’ encapsulated the way he was feeling right now, but he wasn’t about to point that out. “Peachy.”

A slight smile played at her lips, a faint pink gloss to them as her eyes swept over him. A brief inspection that lingered on the lone element gun tucked away in its holster. “A curious turn of phrase, but if you insist,” she said with a small one-shouldered shrug, her eyes flicking back up to Peter’s face.

There were clearly thoughts behind her eyes, but she opted to keep them to herself this time. Raker didn’t offer anything in the ensuing silence, which left Peter to take in his surroundings once more. He found his gaze landing on the viewscreen once more, at that expanse of stars set into the inky black. His brows pinched slightly. “Where are we?”

A mildly amused quirk angled one corner of the Matriarch’s lips, a delicate brow raising ever so slightly. “Even if you knew, darling, would it matter? You have no way of relaying the information to your allies.”

Peter cut a glance to her, feeling distinctly called out. He might have thought of the possibility, but he knew it wasn’t possible at the given moment. Trials and tribulations of forgetting his communicator as often as he did, he supposed, but it was wishful thinking to assume Magus wouldn’t have stripped it from him even if he hadn’t. “I’m just curious.”

The Matriarch hummed, not at all convinced as she glanced over her shoulder to inspect the viewscreen herself. She kept her silence a beat or two longer before returning her attention to Peter, weighing something on her tongue. “We were approaching orbit of the Sacrosanct. This vampire business has slowed us for the time being, however.”

The Sacrosanct. He tucked the name away for later, letting his gaze wander toward the shadows clinging to far corners. “Why did you even have vampire prisoners? How did you have them?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Matriarch cut a sharp look toward Magus before glancing away, lifting a hand to idly toy with the delicate gold chain around her neck. Red gems were woven into it. “I’m afraid I’m not the one to ask, darling.”

Before Peter could decide if he wanted to say anything in response, Magus interrupted. “I’ve found our unwanted stowaways,” he remarked as he returned to them, gaining Raker’s attention as well as the Matriarch. Magus met Peter’s eyes a moment, and he realized in an absent sort of way that the blood caking that ashen purple face was cracking where it was drying.

Then he shifted his focus to Raker. “The Sacrosanct is complete enough for now. Take the Matriarch there, but no one else. We will follow you down when the ship is clean.”

Raker dropped into a low bow once more. “Yes, Your Worship.”

The Matriarch tipped her head slightly as she studied Magus. “Wouldn’t our lovely guest be safer on the Sacrosanct as well?”

‘Guest.’ She had a generous definition of the word.

Red eyes snapped to her in a way that would unsettle Peter, but to her credit, the Matriarch didn’t seem very fazed. “He is not your concern, Matriarch.”

An uneasy moment of quiet before the Matriarch turned her attention elsewhere, offering a neutral hum. “If you say so, darling.”

Another moment passed before Raker took the silence for his cue, guiding the Matriarch away. They left through the opposite side room from which they entered, and Magus watched them go until the doors sealed shut behind them.

Peter didn’t let the quiet hang for long. “You don’t seem to like her.”

The drying blood cracked beneath the grimace that crossed Magus’ face, his attention returning to Peter. “How I feel about her is irrelevant. Her presence is necessary.”

The way he spoke almost seemed to suggest a ‘for now,’ but he never voiced as much. He simply shook his head and took Peter by the elbow, leading him back out of the room. Toward that eerie stretch of hallway with no walls or rails, the beast following silently behind.

“You don’t think she’ll try to stab you in the back?” Peter asked, wondering what he could possibly need her for.

Wasn’t he the figurehead of the church? The final authority? Raker, at least, seemed to think so—and even the Matriarch deferred to him, on occasion. Or, at least, she accepted his word eventually…even if she wasn’t the most overtly loyal.

Magus snorted, as if the question was amusing. “She certainly thinks about it,” he said, glancing off to the side. Into the inky black shadows that gave the ship its uneasy atmosphere. “But she knows that I know she does.”

Ah. He supposed it would be hard to hide that from a telepath. Magus threw him an amused sideways glance, as if to prove the point, and Peter found his brows pinching. “Healthy work environment, then?”

At that, Magus laughed, his nails pinching into Peter’s sleeve. “Oh, I care not what fantasies drive her, so long as she continues to serve her purpose.”

There was a beat of quiet as they neared the end of the hall, which approached a long wall that expanded from starboard to port, a single unassuming door locking away whatever hid behind.

“And so long as she does not get in my way,” he added at last, stopping before the door a moment as it swished open. Red eyes flicked back to Peter as Magus pulled him forward, placing a firm hand on his back to guide him forward into the narrow doorway. “But she knows better.”

There was a dark edge to the words that Peter didn’t need an explanation for, so he didn’t ask. But he did latch onto a different part of the conversation, a curiosity he’d harbored since he met Magus on that colony planet.

He glanced over his shoulder to find red eyes affixed to him, sharp and ethereal even in the low light here. Otherworldly. “And what is it exactly that’s so important to you?”

A beat stretched before Magus urged Peter forward, his hand never leaving Peter’s back. A long quiet stretched as they navigated narrow halls that split into many paths, much like before. Their chosen route eventually opened into a wider room, which seemed like it should be bursting with life—but it was empty. Lone halls that stretched toward the far end of the ship, pulsing yellow lights coursing through translucent tubes.

An eerie silence gripped the space, as if the ship itself was holding its breath.

“You, of course,” Magus said at last, his voice quiet—but the walls of the ship still caught his voice, bouncing it gently back as they walked. “Your continued existence is all that matters.”

Somehow, Peter caught the lie in the words. Perhaps not fully, but it most certainly wasn’t the full truth, either. Peter’s existence mattered—but for a reason, not for its own sake. A frown took his lips when he turned his attention unto Magus, scrutinizing him. “You once told me you wanted to save me from Death. How do you plan to do that?"

A beat before Magus smiled, the expression devoid of mirth or joy. A lethal sharpness. “Impressive memory, my dear."

Piercing red eyes landed on Peter then, the smirk remaining on his face for only a moment before slowly dropping. “Don't worry your pretty little head over it,” was all he said, turning away again. He didn’t give Peter time to respond before he continued by lifting a bloody finger to his lips, saying, “Now hush, darling. We enter the viper’s nest, and your delightful beating heart already makes you quite the enticing mouse without all the squeaking.”

It took a moment to parse that, but then Peter’s brows were tightening. He hesitated to speak but then decided to reach out through that mental connection instead. How, Magus? You can't stop Death. It's a part of life. It gives life meaning.

The claws at his elbow sank deeper, poking holes through his jacket sleeve to catch on the thin fabric below. You know very little of how the cosmic abstracts function, pet. I have been embroiled in the fabric of this reality, of all reality, since my conception. Do not presume to tell me what Life is, for I am it's avatar and always have been.

Abruptly he stopped, standing before Peter in a flash. A hand around his jaw, claws biting into flesh caked in dried blood. "Death is not part of life. She is a tumor that I will see excised. Do you understand me?"

A moment where Peter only looked at Magus, uncertainty in his eyes. In his chest, tangling with the quiet fear there. At the realization of what Magus was telling him, the confirmation of it like a falling anvil in his mind. Laced with heavy finality.

I will break reality if that is what it takes to save you.

Notes:

so. because im eternally impatient and got fed up w this chapter (it had to be rewritten multiple times, and i even entertained a matriarch pov at one point before axing that as well and starting over. again.), ive decided i will just do what i always do and split it into two...but on the bright side, the second half is shorter, which means i may bundle it with the adam pov ive been sitting on for. looks at the calendar. we'll pretend we dont see that. love u all sry for the wait,,,,,,,,life has been. a lot recently lmao

Edit: I just linked the playlist for Magus' mixtape on my tumblr (same name as here) for those who are curious! I forget who suggested it originally, but i finally got around to it :]

Chapter 31

Summary:

"Darling, forgive me. This is going to hurt."

Notes:

Posting real fast before my bus gets here but i hope u enjoy!!

 

When Magus had reached out to locate the ravenous minds of the bloodsucking filth infecting his ship, he had felt the concentrated consciousness of many living bodies locked away. It seemed Raker had gotten the word out rather quick, and the more mundane of his ship—the priests and the educators, namely—squirreled themselves away. Half the cardinals guarded them, and the other half were spread out, still searching for traces of the remaining vampires.

Magus could feel their desperation clawing at him in that brief moment of locating them.

Blood hunger. The motivation for the creatures that sought out Peter, he had to assume, though such a crime was unforgivable regardless of the cause. The ones hiding now were plagued by it, but too afraid of retribution to act on it.

Yet he knew from experience that it was not a matter of ‘if.’ It was a waiting game, unless they were rooted out first; blood hunger could not be denied, in the end.

None of them would be in this position if that were the case.

Familiar, burning tendrils of sheer hatred laced through his lifeless veins. Impossible to quantify but ever present when he allowed his thoughts to drift too long. Too close to what he was now, what had been done to him.

Turned into something he wanted to purge from reality itself. Denied the ability to pretend he was not what he was without losing his own agency, his own mind. All of it forced upon him.

How I wish I could have torn you to ribbons myself, Adam, for this last accursed gift you gave me.

But Adam lingered no longer, and the silence that met him carried a lonely edge.

A large beastly body pressed against his hip, a stringy mane of dark fur touching his skin. He shifted a hand to pet the feline absently, rolling a large ear between thumb and forefinger. Listening to that ugly rattling sound kick up in its chest, similar enough to a purr.

Such loyal creatures.

“Where is everyone?”

The voice was quiet, but nonetheless broke through the spiral of fury Magus had been tumbling down since Death had been mentioned.

He blinked, his gaze sliding to the side to eye Peter. Following Magus somewhat closely, but not as closely as Magus would have him be. Clutching his lone element gun in his hands, his gaze sweeping the narrow hall they found themselves in. Visor on.

Even in his haze, he knew it was a question Peter asked more to fill the silence and less for a genuine desire for the answer. He was a talker when he was nervous, much to his detriment in some cases.

Well. That was inaccurate. Peter was a talker regardless of how he was feeling.

Hush, pet, or I will make you.

He felt Peter’s indignation but paid it no mind as he returned his focus to their surroundings. Extending his psychic touch to find the vampire that had been closest.

He did note that Peter obeyed, however. Keeping silent. It had him smiling to himself the tiniest fraction, satisfied.

Were anyone else his target, reaching into their mind would likely take more effort—but the blood hunger left their thoughts open and frenzied. Easy to find and pry open, because there was barely enough of the self left to resist the intrusion.

Scattered thoughts flit by like hummingbirds, fleeting and disjointed. Through their eyes, he could see the barest sliver of himself—unmistakable white robes turned crimson, a dried river of red coating his person. An image trapped between something. Pipes, maybe, or a broken door that hadn’t shut all the way. It left his visage somewhat blurry, but no less distinct.

Even if he hadn’t recognized his own shape, he would know by the sharp spike of fear they felt at the sight of him. Clawing up their throat like a colony of ants vying for escape, a bone-deep shiver of unease. Warring with the surge of frenzy at scenting fresh blood rushing beneath living skin. A beating heart.

How satisfying to know his presence alone was deterrent enough, at least for this one.

Through their eyes, he watched himself turn his head to stare right at them. Hidden in the dark, but the fear spiked at the motion—

And they bolted.

Their vampiric speed took them down the hall in a blink, faster than Peter could react to.

But not Magus.

He shot after them, closing on them in an instant. Their fingers barely brushed the door that had only just started to swish open when Magus’ claws closed harshly around their elbow, yanking them backward and throwing them to the floor. The impact rang in the empty hall, followed by the short, panicked breaths as the cretin tried to scramble away from him. Glowing eyes staring up at him, blown wide.

Magus crushed their ankle beneath his heel to halt their attempt at running anew, hearing it crunch beneath him. Hearing their shriek of agony as he surged upon them, draping himself over their lap as he caught their face in a firm grip. Disorganized, weak hands shoved at him, those rapid breaths turning into desperate cries as the claws of his thumbs sank into soft, wet eyes, his teeth bared in a hiss.

They screamed as purple, almost white light engulfed his hands, blood boiling away where it touched him as it rushed from their sockets. Skin sizzling and warping beneath his palms, their jerky attempts at freeing themselves still too easy to ignore. Their panic, however, was less so.

He caught every stray, fleeting memory that shot off from their dying mind as they melted beneath his touch. Every blink-and-you-miss-it snippet of another life. Faces he didn’t know, a blue-toned man and a child that seemed like a cross of him and the dying. A planet he couldn’t name with vast fields, livestock parting the tall grass as a distant sun set on the horizon.

Red glowing eyes and a white grin splitting the dark, divided by cold bars.

Sights that did nothing to spark sympathy within him. Their skin cracked into deep gouges, taking on a gray hue as ash spilled from the crevices until that was all that was left of them. Magus dropped his hands into the pile of dust as the glow faded, brows pinched tightly together.

These abominable creatures took everything from him—why should he care that he did the same? Was it not fair? Was it not just, in some way, to make them feel what he felt?

Desperate, aching longing to return to a time and place that was forever lost. To people never to be seen again.

Old, painful memories of a life tinted in rose.

A hand on his shoulder, and it took him too long to realize it was real. Weighted and warm. “Magus?”

Tentative. Uncertain. Magus blinked, dragging the pieces of himself that had scattered back into place. Withdrawing from Peter’s mind—he had not meant to share that agony. To share the pain of memory. Not like this, not so raw and unfiltered. Uncontrolled.

He flicked his eyes up to Peter, who had crouched to be at his level. Sidestepping the ashes as best he could, his blue eyes staring down at the mess with a twist of golden brows. A light frown. When had he removed the visor?

After a beat he glanced back at Magus, studying his face. “…you okay?”

A question that merely earned him a blank stare.

The lack of answer had blonde brows pulling together just a fraction tighter. Then he dropped his gaze to the ashes once more, and Magus watched those eyes turn somewhat distant. “…I wonder if the others just want to go home, too.”

The implication that he had unintentionally shared even that much with Peter was uncomfortable, but he pushed it aside. What was done was done, it seemed.

He scoffed as he got to his feet, wiping dust from his hands while looking elsewhere. Trying not to think about another time and place where he had done the same. “It is better for their family that they didn’t. The blood hunger would have killed them eventually.”

Truthfully, Magus cared little what happened to another’s family. It just seemed the easiest route to appease Peter’s morality with what must be done, because he wasn’t willing to entertain another argument about the worth of a vampire’s life.

Peter considered that for a moment before he sighed, straightening up. “How can you know that? How can you be so sure?”

A curl of his lips that was less amused and more furious, directed at the bloodsucking parasite within him. He met Peter’s eyes. “I am one of the accursed things, or have you forgotten? I know what it does to the mind. It becomes a compulsion if left ignored.”

He thought briefly of the incident that created another like him, and the chain of events thereafter that left him with a small army of vile things he wanted nothing more than to watch burn in the sun. His brows twitched, his claws itching as he turned away somewhat. “Starving beasts care not what they eat, so long as they do. Do not fret over impossible scenarios, Peter Quill. Only tragedy awaited them, regardless of how they achieved it.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Peter said, somewhat hesitant. He knew he didn’t speak from experience, but rather from hope. Wishful thinking. “They could have found a way to be happy. Not every tragedy is written in stone.”

Thousands of realities fluttering past him as he fell between worlds.

Thousands of tragedies, each and every one.

Not written in stone, no. But certainly written into the stars. Into the very fabric of reality itself.

The thought left him bitter, a sneer curling his lip as he whirled around to face Peter. “You need to start living in reality, Peter Quill. There are no happy endings here. Not for me, not for you, and not for them. Or are you going to tell me that you honestly believe their child would embrace them as a monster? That their partner would not brand them such? Even you cower away from these,” he hissed, parting his lips to press a thumb to the sharp point of a canine.

An irritation he felt reflected back at him, Peter’s voice taking on a slightly harsher edge. “It wasn’t your teeth that bothered me when you bit me.”

A twinge of something in his chest that he didn’t like, and didn’t want to analyze. Tied too close to his struggle to retain his autonomy, and the bitterness that came with it. “The bite was inconsequential. You were afraid before then, and you remain so now.”

“Inconsequential?” Peter repeated, and Magus saw the flicker of anger spark in his eyes. “It felt pretty fucking significant to me!”

“Ugh,” Magus scoffed, glancing down at the ashes at his feet. Lips twitching with displeasure upon noticing how much of it still clung to him. “Mortals and their ridiculous—”

Sensitivities went unsaid as his ears caught the sound of movement, too quick to be anything but his quarry. He whipped around in an instant, claws outstretched. Catching a runner by the throat, but there had been more than one—

A blur of motion as his feline companion slammed into the other body, a growl ripping from her throat as she knocked the man to the floor with a spray of deep red. Magus, for his part, threw his quarry up against the nearest wall and wasted no time.

Heat and searing light not unlike the sun filled the cold hallway, Magus’ hands ablaze with white-purple energy. He felt the burn beneath his own ashen skin as he torched the body beneath his hands, not bothering to toy with them this time. Unwilling to risk it when another yet walked.

Frantic claws slashed out at him, horrific screams turned to background noise in his mind as he watched them burn away with dispassion.

When they burst into gore and dust, Magus turned his attention to the second vampire just in time to see his loyal feline finally get bucked off, but it was clearly too late for the man already. Blood poured from a deep gash in his throat, large slashes carving down his torso as he tried and failed to stand.

Magus strode over to him and crushed that fragile skull beneath his heel, sparing a quick glance toward his feline companion—she seemed to be fine, aside from a few scratches along her ribs that she stopped to lick at—before shifting his focus to Peter. Giving him a more thorough look over.

His hands were tight around the gun, his eyes wide where they stared at the body on the floor. Breaths a little rapid, but not something Magus had to worry about yet. If anything he just seemed more startled than on the verge of panic; the scuffle had ended almost as soon as it started, in fairness.

His soul still burned as brightly as ever, Magus noted. No cracks of black where the virus would have taken hold. “Were you bit, pet?”

Blue eyes flicked up to his face, lips pressing into a line briefly. He shook his head. “No. And stop calling me that.”

Magus huffed somewhat impatiently, shifting his weight onto one foot and settling a hand on his hip. Lifting the other to inspect his nails idly. Crimson coated his hands, some fresh, some not. Gore caught beneath the claws, dusted with ash here and there. “We will simply have to argue some other time, my dear. I don’t care to be ambushed twice.”

Peter carefully stepped around the body, frowning to himself as he came somewhat closer to Magus. “Don’t worry, I'm not letting you off the hook that easy.”

His feline companion made her way over to him as well, her giant head rubbing against his upper thigh. He lowered his hand to pet through her fur, imbuing his touch with a burst of healing to close her wounds. Though he slid his gaze up to Peter and kept it there, quiet for only a moment. “Threatening me with a good time, are you?”

“If you consider bitching at each other a good time, sure,” Peter remarked flippantly.

Magus felt the twitch of his lips in response, amused by the banter. “As if I don’t adore it when you get mean, my dear. Would that it happened more often, but alas…”

He shrugged one shoulder before reaching out to grab Peter by the elbow, turning to drag him further down the hall. “Come. We’re wasting time.”

He felt the way Peter stumbled to follow before he found his footing, huffing his displeasure with a short exhale as the cat brought up the rear.

 

 

-x.x.x.x.x-

 

 

The visor went back into place as Peter was all but dragged behind Magus, who had both a longer and faster stride than he did. He seemed confident in where he was going, so Peter allowed his gaze to wander the halls again. Aimless.

Thinking of that vampire that yearned for home in their final moments. For a family they had been taken from. Thinking of the other two immediately after, and wondering if they felt the same.

Maybe it was better to not know. Magus didn’t seem like the type that could be dissuaded, especially not in regards to this—and even Peter’s sympathy could only go so far when he was backed into a corner with no way out.

Though the thought hurt, anyway. The tragedy of these people to be changed against their will. To act against their will, even, if what Magus said was true.

A part of him was admittedly ashamed that he hadn’t considered it before. So caught up in his own head with fear and unease that he hadn’t been able to see them as anything but monsters.

It didn’t really make things easier to have that clarity, truth be told. It didn’t make the blood dried to his person any lighter.

If anything it felt just that little bit heavier.

A flash of light striking gold plating caught his periphery, and he turned his head to find that he had been dragged to a central chamber. Ahead were a trio of cardinals, coming from the opposite direction. Trundling alongside them were two of the vampire cats, one with a torn ear and the other with an abnormally long tail that dragged the floor.

Both cats perked up at the scent of one of their own, and they chittered across the way to her. She responded in kind, and the noise drew the cardinals’ attentions toward them.

Almost immediately they stopped in their stride, two of the three turning to bow in Magus’ direction. The third was delayed slightly, but nonetheless did the same. “Your Worship,” the one in front greeted.

Magus clicked his tongue as he strode past them, dragging Peter up onto a raised platform. “Yes, yes, hello. Have you found any of them yet?”

A beat after the cardinals straightened out, and the one in front tentatively took the lead to join Magus on the raised platform. The cats had no such reservations, already halfway up the steps by the time he moved. Encroaching on their sister to rub muzzles, chuffing and making their discordant rattling sounds.

Peter eyed them with a small frown, their number making him somewhat uneasy, but returned his attention to the group when the cardinal answered.

“We encountered five, your worship,” he explained, reaching down to unlatch a bulky device from his belt. Identical ones were carried by the other two cardinals. The man held it up, but aimed it away from Magus. “Raker handed these out before the hunt, and they’ve been instrumental in executing the vampires,” he said, flicking the switch on the side to cut a bright swathe of light through the deepest dark of the elevator shaft.

Pocket sunlight, Peter realized.

The way Magus bristled was an obviously physical thing, recoiling from the flash with tight shoulders. Strong unease coiled like a serpent in Peter’s gut, but it wasn’t his, and he frowned slightly when he glanced Magus’ way. Wondering, briefly, if he should reach out in some way.

But then the cardinal switched the light off and clipped it back to his belt. Magus followed the motion with his eyes, his expression carefully blank. “I see. Should I trust that you killed all five of your targets, then?”

The cardinal hesitated before he shook his head, eyes downcast as if apologetic. “No, Your Worship. Two escaped our clutches. I take responsibility for the failure.”

A beat of inspection from Magus, deathly silent. “Ah. So it was your mess I had to contend with.”

The displeasure in his voice was obvious to anyone, but Peter still winced sympathetically and glanced elsewhere for a moment.

The cardinal inclined his head in deference, bringing a hand to rest over his chest. “My apologies, Your Worship. It won’t happen again.”

“Ensure that it doesn’t. I will not babysit my own cardinals,” he retorted, glancing away from them as the platform buckled under their feet. Raising from its position.

One of the other cardinals spoke then, sounding indignant. “Twas Lance’s misstep, not Jauthri’s. Tis painfully apparent he is still new to his position.”

The cardinal in front—Jauthri?—sighed, while the only one that had yet to speak suddenly looked like a deer caught in headlights. Staring between the one that threw him under the bus, and Magus. “Your Worship—” he tried, somewhat imploring.

Magus’ claws twitched against Peter’s elbow, his head tilting slightly. Recognition caught in his eyes. “Weren’t you supposed to submit yourself to an educator? Yet here you are, still making mistakes. Explain yourself.”

Jauthri interjected on his behalf, seeming apologetic. “There hasn’t—”

A flash of anger that Peter felt, even if claw tips hadn’t poked at his skin. “Silence. I seek the lamb’s answer, not yours.”

An uncomfortable moment of quiet before Lance awkwardly dropped to one knee, holding a hand over his chest and bowing his head. “Forgive me, Your Worship. Things have been chaotic since Knowhere—I haven’t found the time.”

“A pathetic excuse,” Magus retorted, releasing Peter to step into Lance's space. Grabbing him by the lower half of his face none too kindly, shoving his head back to meet his eyes. “There was plenty of time between then and now to do what needed to be done. I find it more likely you are disobeying orders.”

The man shook his head with wide eyes because it was all he could really do, but the gesture went ignored as Magus shoved him further back to release him. A sneer bent his lips as he wiped his palm down the bloodied length of his robe, addressing Jauthri—though his disdain remained on Lance. “If he evades the educator a second time, I will have both your heads. Am I understood?”

A moment before Jauthri dropped into a short but no less respectful bow. “Yes, Your Worship. I will not fail you.”

“Certainly not twice, no,” Magus returned hotly, taking his place at Peter’s side again. Latching onto his elbow with tight claws and simmering annoyance.

The elevator came to a stop not long after, and Magus separated from the cardinals and their two cats. A decision that was probably relieving in some way to the soldiers, Peter was sure.

Although he had a feeling it was Magus that stood the most relieved. Those handheld lights had put him on edge; even the display that followed had probably been motivated, in some part, by that feeling. Or at least that’s what Peter thought, though he chose not to voice it.

They progressed through the levels of the ship methodically, with Magus rooting out vampires like some kind of bloodhound. Particular brutality awaited each, even if Peter had been the one to gun them down; there was nothing left to chance, however unnecessary Peter thought it might be.

Though at least Magus refused to linger in their execution like he had the first time. Something Peter preferred, honestly, if only because it was easier to look away.

Easier to ignore, even if some part of him still felt those twinges of sympathy. A complicated thing.

Another body hit the floor, though it left its head in Magus’ hands. He clicked his tongue as he inspected the face, expression crinkling slightly with displeasure. Then he dropped the head without further fanfare, reaching across the space between them to grab Peter’s elbow. Pulling him along as they continued further into the ship, and he resigned himself to it with a quiet sigh.

From the anticipation bleeding through their connection along with Magus’ quickened step, Peter could only guess that they were close to the end. They had climbed a level or two since parting with the cardinals, but Peter caught the occasional glimpse into their heads anyway. Magus prying into their awareness, tracking their progress.

All over the ship, cardinals had been hunting down vampires alongside them. More than Peter would have expected, but then he supposed he only agreed to one vampire when he let Magus take him from Knowhere, anyway.

In the end, their final target came to them.

Or, more accurately, their final target came to Peter. Such had been the case for a few of them, and he learned rather quickly that not all of them were weak enough to throw off of himself; some of them had bitten someone, a fact that had incensed Magus when he realized.

This one was no different as his body collided with Peter’s faster than he could process their presence, the strength behind them unfathomable as his back hit the ground with a harsh clang.

It had been completely thoughtless, the way he threw his arm up between him and the thing snapping for his neck. Aiming to press into their throat to hold them back, even as he felt vicious claws sink into the bare skin of his midriff.

But he missed, or maybe this one was just plain faster, because he saw long fangs pierce the leather of the jacket—

And a searing pain ripped into his forearm unlike anything he had ever felt in his life. Like lava boiling under his skin, like poison biting at his veins.

The world seemed to stop in time with his heart as it fell through the floor, cold realization doing nothing to lessen the burning in his blood.

“No!”

A moment later they were gone, ripped off of him with brutal force. He could hear in the way only someone underwater could; distant and distorted, but there was a feral hiss, a scream, and then nothing but blood tainting the air. Painting the side of his face, but he couldn’t even react to it.

Still laying there staring up at his burning, splitting arm, wondering if this was what that other version of himself felt.

The aching hollowness of finality, greeting him in the blink of an eye. Nothing grand or profound about it; just an end. Abrupt and violent.

Ashen hands grabbed him, claws ripping skin in their frenzy as they hauled Peter up to his feet. The gun slipped from his grasp as he was moved, unresponsive even as sharp claws tore at the sleeve to reveal pale skin splattered with freckles and dried blood.

Yet the two imperfect punctures pierced into his skin, more like short tears of flesh, nonetheless stood out. Gushing a deep red.

Almost black.

There was nothing to do but watch a thousand emotions flit by in Magus’ sharp eyes in a scant second. The fury that tightened his hold, the regret and indecision swallowed by a fear that engulfed Peter, too.

But then those brows flickered, and the set of Magus’ mouth tightened as his blazing eyes met Peter’s. He shifted his hand to cover the wound in its entirety, claws indenting skin.

“Darling, forgive me. This is going to hurt.”

It was the only warning Peter got, delivered in a soft, almost apologetic voice, before that hand lit up in blazing white-purple.

Suddenly the lava in his veins became nothing in the wake of his skin melting beneath a heat he couldn’t even fathom. Like touching the surface of the sun.

A scream tore from his throat unbidden, his free hand snapping out to grab onto Magus as his legs buckled in an instant. Collapsing into that wall of a chest, and he would have fallen to his knees had a strong arm not slid tight around his waist to keep him standing.

“Magus—what are you—” he choked out between teeth clenched so tight he thought they might break, the agony ripping from him in plaintive whimpers and tears bursting down his cheeks.

“Hush, love,” Magus murmured, the softness of his voice a painful contradiction to the fire ripping through Peter’s body. “I promised you I’d keep you safe. I meant it.”

This didn’t feel like safety, but his vision began to swim as everything bled black, and he couldn’t formulate a response before the pain dragged him under with the force of a riptide.

Notes:

See u next time :]

Chapter 32

Summary:

It had been fear that repelled Adam then. Wondering if it was a compulsion of the Magus. If giving in was tantamount to giving in to him. It was the same reason he had not bound Peter’s soul, despite wanting to—despite admitting to this Peter that he should have.

Possessed by the perceived balancing act of running from cosmic destiny. An act that was for naught in the end, as it always was.

Everything led back to Magus eventually.

It was expected when Peter went lax in his arms, his entire dead weight anchored in place by Magus’ arm. Claws biting into bared flesh and leather both as he remained steadfast in his focus, which required precision and speed.

Force, too. Unfortunately for Peter.

Intuition had compelled him, or perhaps it was simply instinct. Whatever it was, something in him had sprang forth with urgency at the sight of the bite. The wild thought that maybe if he was fast enough—forceful enough—he could burn it out.

That inky black stain upon Peter’s soul that should never have been there.

Flesh warped and melted under his touch, muscle beginning to char and peel away. Blood evaporated around him, and he tried not to think about how much Peter had lost already.

It was worth the risk to try.

The same thought had occurred to Adam, he knew. The brief impulse. He didn’t have to wonder why Adam didn’t do it; the echoes of his thoughts were attached to his memories before they became part of Magus, and lingered even in Adam’s absence.

It had been fear that repelled him then. Wondering if it was a compulsion of the Magus. If giving in was tantamount to giving in to him. It was the same reason he had not bound Peter’s soul, despite wanting to—despite admitting to this Peter that he should have.

Possessed by the perceived balancing act of running from cosmic destiny. An act that was for naught in the end, as it always was.

Everything led back to Magus eventually.

Golden fool.

When not even the tiniest speck of black remained, Magus finally relented on the heat. Dreadful hope welled in his chest despite himself, turning his touch tentative as he moved his hand away to inspect the wound. Carefully pulling Peter’s arm closer, angling it slightly toward the lights.

A mess of gore greeted him. Charred flesh and muscle peeled away from bone, stark white against the light. Blood slowly dribbling in places, but even so, the finer details were not lost to him.

Where there should have been two puncture wounds were instead warped flesh, the marks incinerated away. Most importantly, the corruption was gone. No black tendrils reaching to eat the soul until there was nothing left but virus; no infection that would change Peter into something he was not meant to be.

He wished he felt relief at the sight, but his gaze was fixed to a brand new anomaly in that weak soul.

A blank spot where sunny gold should be. A plainly visible absence of essence.

His lips pressed into a tight, thin line as he slid his hand back into place over the gruesome wound. Feeling the knot between his brows as he glanced toward Peter’s hidden face, head limp against Magus’ shoulder.

That would have to be a worry for later.

A softer glow encased his hand as he worked to mend flesh, tendon, sinew, and muscle back to their original states. The strain it placed on him reminded him he was approaching his limit for what his body could handle.

He had been pushing himself when he decided to move the vampires in the first place. He had been pushing himself for days before that, even, to rush the Sacrosanct. Making sure everything was in its rightful place.

Timing was important, after all.

Carefully, he slid his fingertips over reddish pale skin. Inspecting the wound with critical eyes.

Healed as completely as it could be, but nonetheless still marred by flame. There was no outcome where it wouldn’t scar, as much as Magus might have wished otherwise.

He guided Peter’s arm down before releasing it, lifting his newly freed hand to Peter’s temple. Tapping away the visor before curving his fingers around the back of Peter’s head, carefully lowering that limp body to the ground to kneel beside him. Settling Peter gently on his back, his fingers sliding out of short hair to touch skin instead.

A perplexing blend of hot and cold greeted him. As if Peter was burning up on the inside, and his body was compensating through the cold sweat drenching his skin.

The pink that normally colored his lips had faded to a whitish color, edging on blue. Wet streaks carved through blood dried to his cheeks, smearing orange and revealing the veins of his face beneath. More pronounced than they should be, like bruises pressed upon his sickly skin.

So much paler than his normal sun-kissed tone.

Large paws entered his periphery, and he spared a glance toward the beast for only a moment as her snout drew near to Peter’s midriff.

Sniffing at the gouges scored there. Magus hadn’t even noticed them. With a mild start he dropped a hand to pass over the wounds, forcing his magic to the forefront once more. Feeling the burn of it as it clawed through his veins more keenly than he would otherwise, grimacing tightly at the sensation.

When he was done, he shook out his hand and flexed his fingers with a short hiss. Raising it to inspect his palm.

Black cracked along his skin in the shape of his own veins, sinking below the silver bracelet encasing his wrist and spreading to each individual digit of his hand. Turning his fingertips almost the same color as his claws.

He stared at the discoloration long enough to notice the breakage of his skin hidden in those darkened pathways, looking like a lesser version of the vampires he had burned alive today. The way their skin broke open like dehydrated earth.

He rubbed his thumb across his fingertips idly, the brief pinprick of pained irritation not enough to distract him from the smear of dust that followed in its wake. He tipped his head at the sight, his expression slackening.

His own, or another’s?

A rasping sound left his feline companion as she pushed her broad nose into his wounded palm. Pain touched his skin at the contact, pinching down the length of his arm, but the action was enough to break him from his thoughts. He blinked at her when she pulled away, licking her bloodied jaws before yawning wide. Exposing rows of sharp teeth, with long canines not unlike his own.

Then he glanced back down at Peter, and realized very quickly that he was going to need help that Magus could no longer give. At least for now.

He bolted into action with the thought, sliding his arms under Peter’s body to haul him up as he got to his feet. Holding him close to his chest, even as his right hand protested the contact. He began rushing before he addressed the cat, urging, “Come! We have little time!”

She made a sound that Magus interpreted to be understanding, rising to her feet and turning to run after him as he all but fled through the halls.

There was no one he trusted enough to see to Peter’s care, but he had little choice in the matter now. Fear dogged at his heels, the halls turning into a blur around him as he sought the nearest capable mind.

What a blessing to find one on this level. An older doctor, loyal to the promises Magus had made. To the future of endless prosperity.

It was enough. It had to be.

He tore into her mind. You. Open the door immediately.

Confusion bounced back at him, along with surprise and a jolt of fear, but she nonetheless complied. Sliding the door open just as Magus reached it, clearing the way at the sight of him so he could carry Peter inside.

Other lucid faces in the small medbay threw him odd looks, gazes shifting between him and the door, but he paid them no mind as he rushed Peter to the nearest open bed. Turning toward the old woman with an edge to his voice, brows tight. “He needs blood. Universal Spartoi.”

Wizened pale eyes stared at him before giving a sharp nod, and she rushed off to the side somewhere. Magus cared not to follow her diminutive stature, returning his attention to Peter. Reaching out a thoughtless hand to brush honey-gold strands from his forehead, the backs of his knuckles ghosting against sweat-stained skin.

Humans did not typically make it very far this deep into space, and the further from Earth one got, the less human blood that became available for transfusions. Not that there was ever much to begin with.

Spartoi blood, on the other hand, was far more common. As one of the predominant empires of the galaxy, it only made sense; thus it was Peter’s only choice.

Ideally Magus would be able to compensate for the blood loss and none of this would be necessary, but...

He flexed his cracked fingers as he withdrew his hand, anger simmering beneath his skin as the woman returned.

She removed the tattered jacket first, and then cut the shirt and sleeves open under it. Magus watched her hands as she wiped blood swiftly and efficiently from Peter’s skin, even his face, before she set him up for a transfusion.

He remained at Peter’s side throughout her treatment of him, still as a statue. Immovable. She wove around him with relative ease; she was far shorter than him, and much thinner.

His feline friend had taken her spot beside him some time ago, sitting on her haunches with her tail curled over her paws. Sightless eyes stared straight ahead, but her ears swiveled this way and that with each new noise.

He ran his fingers through her mane idly, taking some kind of comfort in her presence.

When the woman finished, she stood at the foot of Peter's bed. A frown on her severe features as she surveyed him, her arms crossed over her chest as her gaze eventually trailed to the screen containing his vitals.

“He needs to be moved to a private room.”

It was the first thing she had said to him. He waved a hand at her in acquiescence, not sparing her a glance. Too focused on Peter’s sleeping face, a faint pinch between his own brows as his thoughts circled each other.

Staring at that little blank spot in that sunny soul and wondering, despite himself, if he had chosen correctly. Would it have been better to kill Peter and rebuild him? Adam seemed to think the corruption of the soul would persist even in a new body because it altered the very essence of a person, but he had never personally tried.

He watched the little old woman engage the transport of the bed without another word, dragging Peter toward the back of the medbay. He and the cat followed after her, his eyes wandering idly over the space. Frightened and curious faces stared as he went, looking away swiftly when they thought they were caught.

So many options he’d had to consider in so short a time, and none of them felt correct. None but the path he had chosen, at least, but even that was pure instinct. No proof or evidence to guide him, just the near-certainty it would work.

What was better—a soul corrupted and wholly changed by the virus, or a soul that was intact aside from one tiny piece gone missing?

He supposed it depended on what that piece changed. If anything.

The old woman stopped at an unassuming portion of wall, reaching out with a wrinkled hand to press a button hidden away somewhere. The wall slid open to reveal a small room on the other side, the lights dimmer. More tolerable.

She hauled Peter’s bed inside, locking it into place once she had him where she wanted him. Magus stepped into the room after her, glancing around the small space. As plain a hospital room as any other, but at least it was private.

She shuffled around him to close the door again, the lock engaging. Then she looked to Magus, her old eyes narrowing as a frown bent shriveled lips. “I can’t let you stay when you’re a walking a biohazard,” she remarked sharply, pointing a bony finger to a door somewhere over Magus’ shoulder. “There’s a bathroom through there. Go take a shower.”

He blinked at her audacity, shifting his focus to her fully for the first time. “Let me? I don’t need your permission to be anywhere, let alone here.”

That sour expression remained, though her eyes were more troubled than agitated. “No, you don’t, Your Worship. But I need you to understand that you brought me a burn patient covered in blood and ash.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight, cocking her head toward Peter. “That’s a guarantee that he’s going to get an infection. All we can do is hope it isn’t severe, but I doubt it with the state he’s in. In order to contain it, I need to reduce his exposure to foreign bacteria like blood—and I don’t need you to say it to know that it isn’t yours, or his for that matter.”

He glanced away from her, staring at Peter with another twist to his brows. Accompanying a small frown. Of all the times for his magic to be giving him trouble…

When she spoke next, she softened her tone somewhat. A fact that made Magus bristle, claws flexing. “He clearly means a lot to you, Your Worship, so I hope you understand that I’m only trying to do right by you both.”

The gentle tone was enough to trigger his temper, but he chose instead to simply breathe through it. Ignoring her for a moment, because if he did otherwise, he would most certainly regret it.

How frustrating to require the services of this woman, however temporarily. He was impatient to take over Peter’s care, if only because he desired to leave this place as soon as possible.

Plus, frankly, he didn’t trust mortal doctors to be able to keep Peter alive. Not when magic did so far quicker, and more reliably. He placated himself with the knowledge that even if the worst should happen, it wouldn’t matter.

That precious soul belonged to him even wounded, and he had no plans to relinquish it to anyone. Least of all Death. He would rebuild Peter’s body until the end of time, if that was what it took to keep him.

My ever-loyal feline, he began, pushing his thoughts toward his beast companion, stay here, would you? Do not allow anyone to move you, and above all, keep Peter Quill safe.

The cat’s ears perked, her sightless eyes finding his general position in the room. She croaked a soft sound at him, acknowledging what was said.

Then, without a word, Magus turned on his heel and left the woman. Disappearing into the adjoined room, the door sealing shut behind him.

 

 

-x.x.x.x.x-

 

 

Soft music drowned out the world around him, though this time not because it had been too noisy.

It had been too quiet.

The bar had its own radio, but the volume had been lowered to match the dour mood hanging over the place. People sitting and drinking in silence, or speaking in hushed whispers.

It was technically still early for people to be here, yet the tables were fairly full even so. Drinks still flowed freely.

Adam had a few, too.

…maybe more than a few. The waitress that had stopped by to collect the empty glasses had nearly filled her tray with them, though they weren’t all Adam’s. Just…mostly.

He wished he could say it had made any discernible difference in his awareness, but it had not. He remained as lucid as ever, if a bit less reclusive than usual.

Not that it mattered. Each of the guardians had fallen into their own quiet contemplation, drinking in silence.

For once it had been too much for Adam, so he resorted back to the Walkman. Arms crossed on the table, face hidden in the crook of his elbow as he listened to a song he didn’t know the name of.

Though he didn’t listen long before his thoughts drifted away. Back toward the predicament, incapable of distracting himself for long.

Magus. A name that created a bitterness in his heart he didn’t like, that made him dig his fingernails into the sleeves of the sweater he wore.

An entity that was Adam, but was not at the same time. A being that was faster than him, that had access to powers Adam did not have. Stronger than him not just in physicality, but in magic, too.

He could not help but wonder how. Was there a means to strengthening his own magic? Could he do the things Magus could do, and simply didn’t know it yet?

Or was it simply power that came with experience? Age, even? Because that other self was clearly older than him; something in his presence gave him away, even if the body did not. Adam couldn’t explain it.

The feel of him was so unlike what Adam knew himself to be.

He turned the questions over in his mind, dissatisfied with potential answers. He did not have time to build upon his magic or to search for ways to unlock these potential abilities Magus had.

Yet he also held no faith that Spartax would be enough to make up the deficit, either. An army against an army still left Magus uncontested.

“My boy, you always want the most straightforward solution to these things.”

He frowned a bit at the memory of the High Evolutionary, turning to hide his face more fully against his arms. It had been so many phases ago, but he still carried the memory. The shame of once being so childish, though the heat that prickled at his skin now came from realizing he was still doing it.

Still looking for easy, childish answers to problems that had no easy solutions.

He remembered thinking the High Evolutionary sounded older than usual, back then. Tired when he sank into the seat beside Adam, who had been so bright-eyed then. So idealistic and simple.

“But the truth is that life will never have easy answers where it matters. Especially not for one so special as you.”

 Adam had frowned at that, brows furrowing. Staring at the High Evolutionary with such open uncertainty. “But then…how do I do the right thing? If it’s never easy, how will I know what the ‘right thing’ even is?”

That metal helmet had turned toward him, the contemplative gaze somehow preserved despite the mask. “Trust your instincts, my boy.”

That had made Adam huff, turning half away with a worsening frown. It had seemed so preposterous to him at the time, to trust something as unreliable as 'instincts.’ He would rather have had—

Well. A more straightforward answer, maybe.

The High Evolutionary lifted a hand to settle it against Adam’s shoulder. The gesture warm, despite the coldness of his suit. “Did you expect something different? If there are no easy answers, dear boy, then all you can do is trust yourself.”

Trust his instincts. Adam’s brows furrowed, still uncertain.

But then he thought of Peter. The way he deferred to Adam for certain things—the trust he gave so easily. Like Adam ever knew for certain what he was talking about. Like he wasn’t led by gut feeling at least half of the time.

He turned the thoughts over in his mind before sighing to himself, shooing them away. Trying to clear his head.

Listening to the song playing in his ears until that was all he could hear. Then, finally, he asked himself a singular question:

Who was strong enough to defeat the Magus?

Void of other distractions and doubts, the answer seemed so obvious. So glaring. He cracked his eyes open to stare down at the table, brows tightening over a minor frown with the realization.

Obvious, but undeniably a terrible idea. He could think of no one else that would add more friction to this team than him, yet…

What choice did he really have, in the end?

He sat upright, running his hands over his face with the impending dread sinking low in his gut. Staring at a distant point on the far wall, mind abuzz.

To stop the avatar of life, he was going to need the avatar of death.

Notes:

the adam pov was meant to be longer, originally, but uh...felt fitting to leave it there. forgive my sporadic update schedule, i cannot promise the next chapter will be this quick 😅but i hope u enjoy it anyways...

Chapter 33

Summary:

Adam gave a slight nod, but Mantis could tell there was more on his mind. At the tip of his tongue. She waited to see if he would voice those thoughts, and found herself gratified when he did. Tentatively.  “I…do have a request, if you’ll indulge me.”

She hummed her response, the sound vaguely affirmative.

“Could you…put me to sleep, Mantis? Only for a little while.”

It didn’t take particular insight to know that Adam was out of it. She noticed when he sat up in the bar without a word, looking like someone had thrown ice water at him.

She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or something else, but the absent stupor he fell into followed them back to their temporary housing. Where he was currently sitting at the counter that separated the small kitchen from the living room.

Mantis was in the kitchen proper, putting together whatever crunchy snack she could find in the cabinets already. Which wasn’t much, truthfully, and she wasn’t even particularly hungry; she was just…impatient. Rifling for things kept her hands busy so she wouldn’t rush Adam to speak, but she was reaching her limit for patience. Such was often true with Adam; he wasn’t one to share his thoughts openly unless needled, or unless one happened to be a particular half-human man with blonde hair and big blue eyes to plead with.

Although even then…

Among the Guardians, it was Adam that took the most offense to having a telepath invade his thoughts without prior permission given. Peter was second, but even he didn’t normally care that much so long as no one went digging for his personal history.

Like his father. Mantis still winced with the memory of seeing the betrayal in his eyes through the viewscreen, though Peter had tried to hide it quickly with a blank face.

It made his rejection of her against the Magus sting more than it maybe should have.

The others had split off to get a shower, tend to minor injuries, or otherwise settle in, which left just her and Adam out here together. She let the silence linger for a few more moments before she finally sighed, taking her small bowl of random snacks and turning toward the counter behind her. Setting it down and leaning against the flat surface, crossing her arms as she stared at Adam.

He sat across from her, his elbow on the counter to prop his head up as he stared out at the window to her right. There wasn’t much to see but streetlights and snippets of neon signs; the artificial sun wouldn’t be restored until the Spartax engineers arrived, most likely.

She kept her tone light when she spoke. “Is there something on your mind, Adam? Besides…you know, the obvious.”

A small sigh left him, his free hand tapping a finger to the counter. His voice was flat when he answered, “You know the answer already, Mantis.”

She had no way of knowing what specifically was on his mind, but she knew he was bothered. She waited patiently for a few seconds to see if he would continue of his own volition, but she wasn’t surprised when he didn’t. “Would you like to talk about it?”

It was almost amusing when his face pinched with displeasure at the question, nose wrinkling with the thought. As if he was allergic to sharing his thoughts.

She was reminded of the day Peter returned to them from that other reality. Adam had come to her when Peter was asleep on the couch, and had very much looked like he had tasted something bitter. Letting Mantis into his head, because it was easier than talking.

She remembered stifling a laugh, because Adam had already known. He had just been reluctant to accept his own feelings, which had sprouted long before. She even knew the memory attached to the start of them, the softness in Adam’s soul that he carried for that moment trapped in time.

A breezy evening on Knowhere, the sun setting behind Adam. Illuminating Peter in soft orange light. Setting golden hair ablaze as it got tossed by the wind, the blue of his eyes so otherworldly in that moment when he looked up at Adam. Something tentative in his expression, the freckles pronounced against his sun-kissed skin.

Strange fluttery feelings festered in Adam’s chest at the sight, but he had ignored them.

“So…here we are. Knowhere. Shouldn’t be too hard to find your way from here—most people that travel stop in through here, anyway,” he had said, gesturing with a gloved hand to the busy streets below them. Standing on a platform that overlooked the city, as alive at night as it was during the day.

Adam had hummed and glanced away, brows furrowed ever so slightly. Thinking he should walk away, yet he remained even so.

And Peter had noticed, or maybe it had always been the plan, but he turned to lean his elbows back against the railing in front of them. He tipped his head, blonde locks swiping over his forehead before hanging loose in the air. Blue eyes piercing. “You’re free to leave if you really want to. I won’t get in your way. But, uh…well. Gamora would miss you, you know? So would Mantis. And Groot. Even Rocket and Drax, despite all their barking.”

A beat before that pale face bled a little pinker, and blue eyes averted. “And…I guess I would too.”

Even in the memory, Mantis could feel the way Adam’s heart jumped in his chest—followed immediately by a brief flash of annoyance and a flicker of his brows as he looked over at Peter. Seeing the brief hesitation in hopeful blue before Peter met his eyes fully, his voice kind when he spoke next. Honest.

“What I’m trying to say is…you don’t have to leave. There’s a place for you here, if you want it.”

Mantis was glad it had been Peter to ask. She wasn’t fully convinced Adam would have obeyed the pang in his heart begging him to stay if it had been anyone else. Too driven by his perceived sense of cosmic duty to allow himself happiness.

But something about Peter made it difficult for Adam to say no, or perhaps the longing in his heart was simply harder to ignore around him. Either way, Mantis was grateful for it. She liked having Adam around, even if he was often difficult.

Eventually, Adam interrupted her thoughts with a frown and the shake of his head. Plucking idly at his sweater and not meeting her eyes. “No. It is unpleasant.”

She couldn’t exactly say she was disappointed, but she still found herself repressing a sigh as she dug into the bowl of snacks with one hand. Looking away from Adam. “Alright. I’m here if you ever change your mind.”

He gave a slight nod, but Mantis could tell there was more on his mind. At the tip of his tongue. She waited to see if he would voice those thoughts, and found herself gratified when he did. Tentatively.  “I…do have a request, if you’ll indulge me.”

She hummed her response, the sound vaguely affirmative.

Adam took it for what it was, glancing up at her with furrowed brows. Not quite meeting her eyes, fidgeting with his sleeves. “Could you…put me to sleep, Mantis? Only for a little while.”

She stilled momentarily as she studied his face, her brows pinching. The grief that claimed him had never truly left, even after Mantis had shown him that Magus didn’t intend for Peter’s death. Grief and guilt.

Thinking he should have been faster, maybe. Stronger. That Peter should still be with them.

A familiar line of destructive thinking. She glanced toward the window, debating, before ultimately decided it shouldn’t hurt to grant Adam this. The space to stop feeling everything at once.

He wasn’t asking for a cure. Just a reprieve.

“Okay,” she said after a beat, quiet. Glancing back at Adam to find some of the tension in his shoulders bleeding away with a soft sigh.

The only place left for Adam in the small apartment was the couch, so that was where they ended up. She placed her hand on his forehead and compelled him to sleep, and almost immediately he was down.

She spent a few minutes making sure he was comfortable. Dragging out a pillow and a thin blanket for him, situating each in their place.

Then she simply stood there, lost in her own thoughts for a while.

“Hey.”

At the sound of Gamora’s voice, Mantis perked up somewhat. Turning to face her with alert eyes. She was donned in a tank top and sweatpants, with nothing but socks on her feet. Her hair was damp and loose, hanging in its uneven cut around her shoulders, and her face was bare.

“How was the shower?” Mantis asked.

Gamora shrugged, glancing to her left. “Water could’ve been hotter, but whatever. How are you holding up? I haven’t had the chance to ask.”

None of them have. It’s been one thing after another since discovering the Magus.

Mantis replayed it all in her mind. Losing Peter however briefly to Magus in that mind space. The invasion. Losing Peter for real, and knowing there was nothing she could have done to stop it. Seeing Magus with her own two eyes, blood splattered around his mouth and against his torso. Gloating.

Adam, beaten and bloody on the ground. The Milano, on fire and ruined—taking with it a thousand memories of joy and home.

Their troubles didn’t stop there, but with the way Mantis’ heart broke upon its recollection, maybe it didn’t matter. Her antennae drooped low as she bit her lip, shaking her head; it was the only answer she trusted herself to give.

Moments later, strong arms wrapped around her to pull her close. Mantis turned to fully let herself fall into Gamora’s embrace. Sliding her arms around Gamora’s waist, hiding her face between her neck and shoulder.

No words were exchanged, but what could be said if not empty platitudes? Sometimes all one needed was to cry, because that was all that could be done.

At least Gamora seemed content to be the person Mantis cried on, rubbing a hand gently up and down her spine. Giving her the space to fall apart and slowly put herself back together.

It had been the reverse often enough before, so maybe it was fair.

When Mantis finally pulled away from her, Gamora lifted her hands to take Mantis’ face in her palms. Angling her head up to meet her eyes, earnest yellow boring into deep black. Her voice held conviction, even if it was delivered softly. “We’re going to be okay.”

Mantis gave a nod, sniffling slightly. She could do nothing but believe her; to do otherwise would be to accept defeat, and Mantis had never been a very gracious loser.

Gamora eyed her a moment longer before leaning in to press a kiss between Mantis’ antennae, which bounced off the top of Gamora’s head. Then she dropped her hands, one of them taking Mantis’. Squeezing. “Come on. A few episodes of our favorite show should help you feel better, right?”

A small, tenuous smile bent Mantis’ lips as she allowed Gamora to lead her away. It was less the show and more the company, but she knew if she said as much Gamora would get self-conscious and quiet.

So she kept her silence and let herself be whisked away.

 

 

-x.x.x.x.x-

 

 

There would never be a point in Adam’s life where waking from sleep felt natural, he was learning. It was always disorienting and unpleasant, like clawing through gel of some kind to finally reach awareness.

He woke to a dark and empty room he didn’t immediately recognize, but recollection returned to him a moment later. He sighed quietly and sat upright, running a hand through his hair to push it away from his face.

The sheer quiet pervading the space told him everyone else had gone to sleep, a fact only affirmed by all the lights being switched off.

Slowly, Adam got to his feet. The blanket fell away from him as he moved, a feeling like compulsion pulling him back toward that window staring out at the city.

Yet his gaze was drawn skyward, his brows furrowed and lips bent in a frown.

He was of two minds. One drowning in worry for Peter; desperate to hold him again, to be assured that he was real and alive in his arms. To hear his voice, to see his eyes.

The other simmered with guilt and uncertainty. That feeling from earlier hadn’t changed; he knew he needed his help here. That he was the only one capable of defeating Magus.

Thanos.

A difficult decision to come to. To accept. Drax and Gamora alone would not approve, and for good reason; Thanos had wronged them both. Even Peter would not like it—he may even hate it more than enlisting the help of Spartax, or at least just as much.

It was obvious in the scant few times Thanos had been a subject of discussion. A disdain Peter never elaborated on, but Adam knew enough to guess it was personal.

The frown on his face worsened with the thought. He hoped Peter could forgive him for this. All of this.

He looked over his shoulder, toward the rooms where the Guardians slept. Then he glanced to the door leading out into the night, and slowly moved away from the window.

He hoped the Guardians could forgive him for this, too, he thought as he slipped out of the apartment quietly. The silence prevailed even out here, so unusual for Knowhere.

An entire station on edge.

One final moment of hesitation gripped him as he stared back at the door, brows furrowing. Then he closed his eyes with a sigh, and resolve took uncertainty's place. He returned his attention skyward and took flight, seeking the one he needed to end this.

Leaving Knowhere—and the Guardians—behind.

For now.

 

 

-x.x.x.x.x-

 

 

In the hours since Peter was bit, the cardinals had been busy with hunting down everyone else that had suffered the same fate. Putting them out of their misery early, before they could change and further spread the infection.

It wasn’t a particularly difficult task, so Magus saw no reason to involve himself beyond giving the order. Besides, he didn’t feel like fussing with yet another shower just to be near to Peter.

He had even wiped down his feline companion once the old woman left him alone. The cat slept in the corner of the room now, peaceful. Hunger sated from the vampires she had torn into earlier.

Unlike Magus, who had not bitten any of them. So revolted by their being that he wouldn’t even resort to it in the dregs of blood hunger, he was certain. Naturally it meant he was stuck craving blood at present, but it was a feeling that went ignored.

For now, at least.

He sat at the edge of Peter’s bed, taking him in. The blood bag was nearly empty, yet Peter remained unconscious; Magus wasn’t sure if he would need a second one or not.

He had lost a fair amount of blood, so he just might.

Though at least his skin no longer seemed deathly pale. Not quite its original tone, but not blue and bruised, either. An even middle ground.

Magus lifted a clawed hand to touch that soft cheek, feeling the give of skin beneath his touch. Heat greeted him, still higher than it should be—but no longer scalding. A thin sheen of sweat still beaded at his forehead, still made his skin damp and sticky, but less so than before.

Still, Magus stood from the bed and walked to the other side of the room. Toward the empty counters that housed a sink and spare clean cloths, of which he took one to run it under the cold water.

In a disheveled pile on the counter beside him were Peter’s tattered and bloody clothes, because in the end, everything had to come off. Replaced with a sterile hospital gown instead.

Needless to say, that was a task that Magus completed alone. More for his own peace of mind than for Peter’s, though it had been a factor.

He twisted the excess water out of the cloth and returned to Peter. Folding the fabric to lay it across his forehead, sighing when he sat at the edge of the bed again. Taking Peter’s right hand to hold it in his lap, thumb swiping idly across the pulse point in his wrist.

His left arm had been wrapped in sterile bandages after the burn site had been meticulously cleaned and treated. They were almost as white as the blanket, which had been pulled up to cover most of Peter’s chest.

And, of course, that vexing blank spot in Peter’s soul persisted. A scar from surviving a bite that should have changed him.

He collected an awful lot of those, didn’t he? Proof of his human frailty. Of how easily Peter could be lost to him.

He stared at the line of scarred flesh that extended from end to end across Peter’s throat. Created by a blade that should have never gotten so close.

A memory that was as visceral to him as it had been to Adam. His brows furrowed tightly over a frown, flicking his attention up to Peter’s closed eyes.

Blonde lashes kissed freckled cheeks. He didn’t quite seem at peace upon second glance; there was subtle tension in the lines of his face. Displeasure or fear, or maybe both.

Something Magus could help with, perhaps.

Carefully, he situated himself on his side on the bed. Between Peter’s chest and arm, leaning into him only a little. He lifted his hand to cup Peter’s cheek and hid his face in the crook of his neck, closing his eyes. Ignoring the scent of Peter’s blood as he reached into those sleepy thoughts.

Seeing a nightmarish recreation of desolate New York streets, a crimson moon engulfing the night sky. Bats squeaked in the distance, blood splashing beneath boots, and he saw the flash of a bloody gold mask shadowed by a red hood.

Another flash of a white smile and red eyes in the dark. He heard the way Peter’s heart beat a little bit faster, the sound loud to Magus when he was so close.

A nightmare of memory. How long would it haunt Peter, he wondered?

But then he thought of Peter’s mother, and had a feeling he knew the answer.

With careful precision, he pried the pieces away bit by bit. Taking away the frightening imagery until nothing remained but dreamless sleep, giving Peter peace.

Then he slid his hand down to Peter’s neck, fingers settling over his pulse. Feeling it beat beneath his touch, listening to his heart in tandem. Slowly but surely returning to a normal cadence.

He moved his arm down the length of Peter’s body to drape it across his waist, sighing quietly to himself. Remaining where he was, though it was difficult.

The scent of Peter’s blood so close to him made his teeth itch with the need to puncture skin.

He would have to leave soon to address it, but he didn’t want to. There was nothing he hated more in this moment than the thought of leaving Peter under the care of someone he didn’t know.

Leaving the cat here was only a minor consolation; he would feel better if it were the cat and Raker, but he had already sent Raker to watch the Matriarch on the Sacrosanct.

He supposed he could move Peter there now that he was no longer in danger of dying. Of course, he would probably have to move the doctor as well, just in case…but at least Raker would be there to keep watch.

The Sacrosanct had always been the goal anyway; there was no point in delaying the inevitable. So he extracted himself from Peter’s side to get to his feet, striding out of the room to seek out that old crone.

Preferably before he became the very thing he sought to protect Peter from.

Notes:

u get a three in one this time >:3

Chapter 34

Summary:

He had barely stepped into the helm when Thanos addressed him, the back of his chair facing Adam. A large gloved hand swiped across the glowing screens before him, the images on them changing. “Have you finally tired of gallivanting across the stars with the fabled ‘Guardians of the Galaxy’?”

Notes:

if i stare at this any longer im gonna lose my marbles pls take it

Space was a lonely place. It was difficult to fathom that he had almost forgotten; so much of his life had been spent out here among the stars. Alone. Drifting from one conflict to another. Lacking real purpose or drive, pulled along by a bothersome sense of cosmic duty above all else.

Somewhere in those increasingly apathetic phases, he had met Thanos. First as adversaries, then as reluctant allies—and later as something close to friends.

Two avatars of opposite domains, forever in conflict, yet needing one another to strike that critical balance of the universe. Two lonely people sequestered in space, never really meeting or talking to anyone but each other.

Back then, Adam had mistaken the friendship he felt for love, or at least something like it. He had never told Thanos, of course. His first love would always be Death.

The feeling had fizzled out rather shortly, anyway. Never quite reaching the levels Adam desired, and Thanos would never have been able to give him what he wanted most.

A love that was his in their entirety. Body, mind, and soul. Unshared by another.

The thoughts brought into painful focus that empty space where a bond should be. An ache he felt in his very essence. A longing that threatened to drown him.

It was a blessing to finally stumble upon Sanctuary-II; the sight of it drew him out of his melancholy, though that desperate feeling encompassing his entire being never quite faded. Always lurking somewhere in the background, even when Peter was perfectly near and within reach.

Wanting. Always wanting. A state of being he had never occupied before, because he had never been allowed to want prior to the Guardians.

Desire mattered not when duty called.

An airlock on the side of the ship opened, and Adam realized he had just been floating there, adrift in his own thoughts. Something that kept happening lately. He shook his head with a minor frown, approaching the airlock to land inside the ship. Waiting for the interior to pressurize with his arrival, the door leading out into the ship proper only opening once that was done.

He rushed out into the hall beyond, heading for the helm first to find Thanos. If he wasn’t there, then at least the computer could tell him where he was—but he had a feeling he’d find him sitting in that same old chair.

Who else would have opened the door for him?

He had barely stepped into the helm when Thanos addressed him, the back of his chair facing Adam. A large gloved hand swiped across the glowing screens before him, the images on them changing. “Have you finally tired of gallivanting across the stars with the fabled ‘Guardians of the Galaxy’?”

There was an edge of mocking to the phrase, but Adam ignored it as he stepped fully into the helm. Though he did question briefly how Thanos knew, he rationalized it rather easily. The man collected information of all kinds; it seemed improbable to think he would not know of Adam and the Guardians.

He approached Thanos’ command console. “No, but the reason I am here does involve them.”

Thanos hummed, swiping his screen again. Adam glanced down at it—

At the familiar image of a man that looked too similar to himself, skin an ashen purple, lips split wide over a bloody grin. Looking every bit like some fabled harbinger of reckoning, the skyline blotted out with Church warships behind him.

The sight of his other self had Adam tightening his hand into a fist at his side. He forced his gaze away, toward Thanos. “You know?”

It wasn’t meant to sound like a demand, but that was how it was delivered anyway. Not that Thanos seemed to care.

“More than you, I think,” Thanos remarked, finally shifting his attention to Adam. Contemplative. As if there were many things he wanted to say, and he was gauging which to start with. “The existence of the Magus is not a surprise to me. I had, in fact, expected him much earlier—when I met you.”

Adam could only stare. “When you met me,” he repeated flatly, to which Thanos gave a small inclination of his head. It only confused Adam further, and he continued with, “I have never known a Magus before this. I do not have one.”

Thanos glanced away again, falling quiet a moment. “Do you think our first meeting was hostile for no particular reason, Adam?”

“I was under the impression it was a misunderstanding. Was it not?”

A wry smile curved Thanos’ lips, but it faded quickly. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose it was. Shortly before you and I met, I had received a prophecy of sorts that told me of the Magus—and my role in stopping him, as he was foretold to be the single greatest threat to my mistress Death that there would ever be.”

He wants to…’save’ me. From Death, I think.

The memory resurfaced with the declaration, and Adam felt himself freeze.

Was that the true goal? The death of Death?

A universe that never died, all to save Peter Quill from his own human mortality?

Somewhere deep within himself, he knew the answer. He and Magus were the same person, after all—but Adam would never act on such dark thoughts, and that was the crucial difference. He would never upset the balance of the universe for one man, no matter how beloved.

…yet doubt lingered anyway, somewhere at the back of his mind.

“I was granted knowledge of Magus’ energy signature, and it matched yours,” Thanos continued, oblivious to Adam’s inner turmoil. “Thus I believed you to be the Magus. Yet clearly, you are not. More curious...” he tapped at his controls, bringing up a chart of some kind that Adam didn’t quite understand. “This is the signature of that alternate version of Magus, and this is that of the one I was promised. You, when we met," he explained, pointing out the different readings. He slid down to the last one, glancing up at Adam. "This one is yours. Consistent for the past few months. Do you see what I do?"

It took a moment to pick up the patterns. These sorts of things were never his strength, but eventually his eyes recognized that both 'Magus' signatures were similar. One just happened to be more chaotic than the other. His own, however, differed starkly from either of them, and that made him frown as he met Thanos' patient eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

A beat before Thanos answered, watching Adam carefully. “Is it not obvious? I suspect you and the Magus were one and the same at that point in time.”

The notion had Adam's expression pinching as he shook his head. Ridiculous. Impossible. "And yet I am not the Magus. I am Adam Warlock."

Thanos’ frown mirrored Adam’s as he drew his hand back to himself, though he didn’t look away. “I know not why you didn’t become it. The only explanation I can conceive of is that it did not come to the realization that it was a separate entity from you. Not yet, at least.”

He stood from his chair then, the height of him towering. “It may very well be the case that your Magus is simply an infantile version compared to the one ravaging our reality now. I suspect sooner rather than later it will become its own menace, just as this one has.”

He faced Adam then, and there was something—almost sad, in his eyes. Distant. “But make no mistake, Adam Warlock: you do have a Magus. And one day you will become it, whether you intend to or not. You always do.”

Always. Like he didn't have the power to change his own fate, to alter reality if he wanted. He took a few steps back, ignoring the charts and Thanos both. Staring out at the multicolored stars dotting the viewport pane. "I will not make the mistakes my other self did. I will not become anyone, least of all the Magus."

He could scarcely think of a more harrowing fate. Losing himself to some...parasitic thing living in his body. Especially something so incredibly dangerous as the Magus clearly was. A creature that ravaged entire planets and crushed life beneath its heel without remorse or care. A selfish thing that served itself before anyone else.

A creature that wanted to kill Death to extend the life of its mortal love beyond his means. A love that was not even truly its own, but its obsession didn't seem to care.

He wished he could rip it all down. Throw it away. He was not the Magus—he would not be. He wouldn’t.

“You think you are the first Warlock to deny his darker half?” Thanos asked evenly.

The question was not accusing or judgmental, but it still made Adam bristle nonetheless. Returning his attention back to Thanos, expression tight. "You speak as if you know."

"I do." Thanos gestured to his console, where numerous sensors, readouts, and those images resided. “It seemed prudent to investigate your unique nature by every means possible, seeing as our destinies are entwined.”

The information that Thanos had, evidently, been gathering information on him didn't surprise him as much as it maybe should have. He simply continued to glare, tipping his head slightly. "And you didn't think to mention any of this to me before now?"

"I had the thought that alerting you to its existence would trigger the manifestation of the Magus," Thanos explained reasonably, glancing down at the screen that still had Magus' face on it. Frowning intensely at the sight. "But you have met the Magus, and your own remains dormant. I know not what it's trigger may be, in that case."

Given recent events, Adam had a feeling he might know. Still, he kept it to himself as he dropped his gaze to the ground. Contemplating the information, but thinking on it didn't make it any less difficult to accept. Eventually he decided none of this mattered right now; not while the Magus was still a current and present threat in the galaxy. Not while Peter remained trapped with him.

Adam had little time to waste. He turned to Thanos, meeting his eyes. “I don't suppose your research revealed any way to stop it?”

He felt the weight of Thanos’ eyes on him. “It did.”

A small burst of relief had Adam relaxing his posture ever so slightly, and he nodded. “Show me.”

That was all that needed to be said; Thanos took the lead, leaving the helm to lead Adam elsewhere. He let his eyes trail the familiar halls as he followed the titan, though he truly wasn't taking in any details.

His thoughts circled the Magus, whether he liked it or not. His supposed future. Inevitable, so Thanos believed.

It burrowed under his skin.

Before long, they found themselves in a trophy room of sorts. Artifacts of all kinds were hidden behind protective casings, but Adam only spared them brief glances as they passed. Not particularly interested in trophies.

Until Thanos stopped in front of one of them, pressing a series of buttons before slipping his glove off. Offering his handprint to the device to raise the casing around what appeared to be just a simple, small green gem. Oval in shape.

He slid the glove back on before he took it carefully in hand, and Adam watched as Thanos turned toward him. Staring at him with obvious question.

Adam had one of his own, his gaze fixed to the gem. “What is that?”

A beat. “The soul gem. It is the only way to defeat the Magus—but somehow, I get the feeling it is meant to be wielded by you, not me.”

Apprehension bloomed under Adam’s skin as he flicked his gaze back up to Thanos, a crease between his drawn brows. “How?”

A single word to convey many questions.

Thanos lifted the stone up to Adam’s eye level, saying, “The gem will guide you.”

 And though Adam doubted, he trusted Thanos enough to allow him to place the gem upon his brow.

He would not have come here if he did not.

A sharp bolt of psychic pain shot through Adam as the gem fused to him, enough to white out his synapses. He had the vague impression of falling, of being caught—and then nothing at all.

 

 

-x.x.x.x.x-

 

 

Bleary eyes squinted against the dim overhead lights, strong disorientation and fatigue fogging his mind. It took him too long to remember where he was, and even then, it took him a while after to convince his sluggish limbs to move. To sit up, at the very least.

Sleep still gripped him so tightly that it felt like a physical weight trying to drag him down. He raised clumsy hands to wipe at his eyes, and then lifted his head to inspect the room he was in.

It was huge, for one. Much bigger than the room he had been in before. A dresser stood before the foot of the bed, and to the left of the room were two antique armchairs placed near a tall bookshelf. Everything from the walls to the furniture carried that signature opulence that he had come to expect from the Church.

Though this wasn’t the ship, clearly, because his gaze landed on two large arched doors made of glass. Situated at the far right of the room, near the corner.

Beyond it was a tar-black sky with a red moon.

The imagery had him freezing, shaking off the heft of sleep as unease took its place. For a moment he almost wanted to believe he was still sleeping, but the blanket felt real when he grabbed it.

He stared down at it, frowning to himself. Realizing he was in a large bed—larger than he’d ever seen—covered with soft satin sheets. The shirt was the thing that caught his eye the most, though.

A black tee with sleeves that extended to the elbows, the golden symbol of the Church emblazoned on the front. He plucked at it with his left hand, the frown remaining even though the fabric was soft—

And that was when he noticed the white bandages wrapped around his arm, and suddenly it all came back to him.

Getting bit, the poison in his veins—and Magus burning him alive, or at least that was how it felt.

He ran the fingers of his opposite hand over the cloth, a strange tightness seizing his throat as he began to peel at it. Gaze glued to it as he slowly unraveled it to reveal the flesh beneath.

Warped and red, as fresh a burn as any could be. Ugly and glistening.

It felt a little bit like reality splintering around him to see it. To know it had been real—that he had been bit, that Magus had actually burned him—

A cold, gloved hand seized his jaw and forced his gaze away from it. Onto an ashen purple face with narrow red eyes, instead.

“Ignore that, darling,” Magus said, releasing Peter’s face to wrap the burn anew. “It’s a temporary cosmetic wound, nothing more.”

He barely had the mind to wonder where Magus had come from, his heartbeat quickening in his chest. Too caught up in his own head to pull away, though a part of him wanted to.

“You burned me,” he whispered, brows tightening. Not sure what to make of that.

A flash of irritation across that familiar face as red eyes flicked back up to meet his. Tightening the bandage just a little too much as he sealed it. “To save your life, you’ll recall. Or would you rather I had let you turn? The idea didn’t seem to appeal to you not so long ago.”

“No,” Peter retorted, recoiling from Magus’ grasp to curl in on himself. Hands in his hair. “I don’t—I…” he started, but quickly trailed off. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say. He didn’t know how to feel.

There was a part of him that inexplicably felt betrayed. How could someone that claimed to love him hurt him so grievously? How did Magus find it in himself to melt the flesh of the one he supposedly loved?

The other part of him was—yes, fucking glad that he wasn’t undead. That even though Magus had confessed he wanted to let his own Peter turn, he still found another way. He still chose to spare Peter a fate worse than death, even if the method had hurt more than anything Peter had ever felt.

The conflicting thoughts just left him confused and uncertain, almost overwhelmed. His hands drifted down to cover his face, hiding from it all.

He heard a soft sigh as the bed dipped to his right. Gloved hands wrapped around his own, gently lowering them to his lap before one of those hands released him. Touching his newly exposed face.

Cloth and claw both grazed his skin, trailing down the line of his jaw to take his chin in a firm grip. Tilting his head up and holding him in place as Magus leaned into his space, so close that Peter had nowhere to look but at him.

Close enough to feel the unnatural, deathly chill of him invade his space. To smell ozone and metal.

There was a softness in those red eyes, but a tiredness, too. Making the lines of his otherwise perfect face seem just a bit harsher. “Do you honestly believe I would wound you so without cause, Peter Quill?”

The gentleness of his voice was at odds with the not-quite-fresh blood still clinging to his fangs, which Peter couldn’t help but stare at before meeting Magus’ eyes. Searching. “…I don’t know. Did biting me have cause?”

A joyless bend to perfectly painted dark lips that faded as quick as it came. “Ah, a man of your word, I see. How vexing."

Peter frowned at that, feeling a tiny flicker of annoyance somewhere in the tide of too many emotions. "I'll drop it when you apologize."

A subtle smirk returned to those lips, red eyes alight with amusement. “I’ll not apologize for the bite itself, darling. I wanted to do it—you are the only one I will ever desire in that manner. That aside…”

Red eyes averted as Magus pulled away from Peter, shifting his attention to adjusting his gloves momentarily. Hidden beneath long black sleeves of lace and dark cloth. Small, delicate frills lined the high neck of the shirt, which had small pearl buttons down the front. Dark shorts and heeled boots that reached his thighs completed the look.

Decidedly more casual than those Church robes. Less bloodstained, too.

“It is true that it was not my intention to break your trust, Peter. The…desires of a vampire can be remarkably single-minded, on occasion. Forgive me for that, if you would—I'll ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

Peter stared at him, uncertain. “Ensure it how?”

Red eyes flicked his way, the look in his eyes indicating the answer should be obvious. And maybe it was, but Peter wanted to hear it anyway. “I warned you before, did I not? It will always be someone, and if it cannot be you then it must be someone else. This is the reality that we both live in.”

He hesitated to ask his next question, because this time he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. Gaze slipping to Magus’ lips, where he knew sharp fangs had been stained red. “And what happens to the people you bite that aren’t me?”

Red eyes never left his. “What do you think, pretty thing?”

Magus wasn’t asking for his opinion. He was giving him an answer, and Peter couldn’t help but fall into the trap. Whether Magus had knowingly laid it or not.

The deeply unsettling thought that Magus would never kill him, but had a casual disregard for everyone else. That he would always survive a bite from Magus, but no one else would be so lucky.

The memory of teeth in his neck, of feeling trapped and helpless—it frightened him. He would do anything to avoid it.

Except he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t live with that choice knowing it was the death of someone else. Someone that had never asked for this, had just been a person living on their home planet before Magus and Church ripped them away from it all.

Neither of which would be here without Peter, and the guilt beginning to gnaw at him only grew with the thought.

He pressed both of his hands into his face, curling in on himself somewhat.

All he could hear in his mind was the voice of Yondu after putting a bullet in the back of the skull of a fleeing man. Taunting him with his softness and the careless, devouring nature of the universe.

Maybe he had been right. Maybe the galaxy would eat him alive.

Maybe it already was.

He dropped his hands to his lap, suddenly feeling incredibly tired. He stared at the white bandages wrapped snug around a burn inflicted with love, and had the strange, disconnected sensation that something in him was beginning to break. “Don’t,” he murmured.

A questioning hum from Magus, who leaned back into his space. Lifting a gloved hand to scrape claws under his chin, a gentle coercion.

Look at me.

So Peter did, brows furrowing when he looked up at Magus. “You can have me. Just don’t bite anyone else.”

He half expected Magus’ lips to split with a satisfied smirk, but instead he was met only with the unwavering stare of those unsettling eyes. The light touch against his chin shifted to a firmer hold, Magus’ eyes narrowing with the slightest curl to his upper lip. “These pathetic people would not offer themselves in your stead, Peter Quill. You owe them nothing, least of all yourself.”

Whether or not they would do the same never mattered. Most people wouldn’t do the things Peter did, but he had to. He couldn’t reconcile any other choice in his own head, couldn’t justify the cost. Not for himself. “I know,” was all he said.

There was a long moment of quiet where Magus simply studied Peter’s face, traveling every feature. Eventually, though, he let out a small sigh. “Do not make a monster of me for granting you the things you ask for, Peter Quill.”

“I won’t,” Peter murmured, numb.

Another silence that stretched, and then the hold against his chin slowly shifted into a soft touch against his cheek. Sliding down to his jaw, dipping lower to run gentle claw tips over the lines of his throat.

Then, slowly, Magus leaned ever closer to him. Cold lips met his in a soft, almost loving kiss, the hand at Peter's throat curving loosely around it. A combined touch that had Peter’s face flushing with heat despite himself, his brows furrowing.

He still didn’t know how to react to this. What he should do.

But then he thought of Adam and closed his eyes with the guilt that sprang anew in his sinking heart. He angled his face away, breaking the kiss—and paradoxically, he felt no less guilty for it.

Especially because Magus pulled away, but not so far that Peter couldn’t feel his presence still. His voice was quiet when he spoke. “You’re never going to see him again, Peter Quill. Why worry what he thinks?”

There was so much certainty in his voice that it made Peter’s heart sink even lower. Seeking out the sight of those glass doors over Magus’ shoulder. Staring at that sunless sky marred by a red moon and glittering stars, knowing his friends were out there still. Somewhere.

The thought that he would never see them again, that he would never see Adam again…it opened such a deep, aching pit of loneliness in his soul. One that had been there since he was ripped away from his mother, in truth. Since he grew up in the lonely cold expanse of space with no place to call home and no one to call family. No one to even call a friend.

Just a bunch of pirates that stole a kid from a prison, and none of them knew how to care for a child. Especially not a human one. All they knew was survival, and it was all that mattered to them.

Magus shifted his hold to take Peter by the jaw, angling his head to force eye contact. It was a small relief to see that those red eyes were void of anger or slight. If anything, he just seemed curious. In a morbid sort of way. “Did you think you and I were temporary, my precious star?”

He didn’t know what to say to that, but the truth was that he hadn’t thought about it at all. Hadn’t considered the real ramifications of giving himself away beyond saving Knowhere.

Maybe a part of him had assumed he was going to be rescued, but he didn’t even know where he was—how could anyone else?

A sardonic twist to those dark lips as Magus tipped his head, because there was nothing Peter could hide from Magus. “Silly boy.” He leaned in to kiss Peter between his furrowed brows, and then he released him. Withdrawing. “You will be mine until every last star in this galaxy dies.”

Which sounded like an awfully long time.

Another twist of his lips as Magus stood from the bed, reaching out to swipe down the bridge of Peter’s nose. Claws gentle against his skin. “It is eternity, my precious star—because you will always be alive.”

He turned away before Peter could respond, but he wasn’t sure what he would’ve said anyway. Instead, he just watched Magus walk around toward the dresser at the foot of the bed. Pulling a drawer open to retrieve something, and then he tossed it Peter’s way.

He jolted, catching it clumsily with his wrists as he stared down at the object.

His Walkman.

“Adjust or suffer, Peter Quill. I told you already.”

And this time Peter heard the meaning in the words. Not the threat it originally sounded like, but rather a simple statement of fact.

Yearning for a change in circumstance was only going to hurt him in the end. There was no change; this was all he was going to get.

Stuck on some planet he didn’t recognize surrounded by a cult with a bunch of death cats—and Magus.

A deeply lonely thought, and when he glanced back up at Magus, he was passing through the open door out into the hall beyond. Leaving Peter to himself.

It shouldn’t hurt to watch the doors close behind him, but it did. Because this was always where Peter found himself in the end, wasn’t it? Alone.

Everyone always left.

Notes:

while i dont know that i got thanos' voice where i want it yet, i actually struggled the most with the peter pov. you do not even want to know how many changes that thing went through. i had one draft that was super dark, but it funnily enough didnt fit the magus in that moment, so i toned it down but then it was too light...........so i hope what i landed on in the end was somewhere nicely in the middle, and that u enjoyed the chapter anyways 😁

Chapter 35

Summary:

“How are you feeling, boy?”

He blinked, unsure how to answer that. “Uh…aside from being stabbed in the shoulder twice by a crazy old lady, I guess I’m fine?”

The attempt at humor fell flat as the old woman shook her head, her wrinkled frown worsening as she set her instruments aside. “No. Your vitals are consistent with those of someone in a state of fight or flight, Peter. Very high cortisol and adrenaline, very high heart rate.” She paused before she met his eyes again, scrutinizing. “Are you an anxious person?”

He shrugged and stared off into the distance. Fidgeting absentmindedly with his hands. “Dunno.”

A while after Magus left, Peter convinced himself to get out of bed. Sliding his feet onto the floor, finding he had dark, loose pants on and socks to match. He wobbled a bit when he was standing, gripping the end table until he felt steadier. Glancing around the room once more before deciding to look around a bit.

Might as well. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do.

He took his Walkman with him. Attaching it to his waistband and slipping the headphones on, hitting play as he started to wander.

Music was good for quieting his over-loud thoughts. For those moments when he was feeling a bit too much and just needed to drown in something else.

But it was always a poor substitute for loneliness. Like throwing a blanket over a pit and expecting not to fall in when one walked over it, but it would have to do for now. He approached the dresser first, a little curious about its contents.

In the drawer where his Walkman had been pulled from, he found Magus’ too. Tucked neatly away and meticulously cleaned of the blood that had stained it—though the line that broke through the scribbled words remained.

He felt a brief pang of guilt at the sight of it. He hadn’t even spared a thought for it after that vampire attacked him; he had been so lost in his own mind that he had left it on the floor in that corner.

His only solace was that Magus had forgotten, too. Both of them too swept up in the present to spare much of a thought toward it. That meant he must have retrieved it while Peter was still asleep.

At least it survived the ordeal. Peter would have felt like the worst person in the world if he had inadvertently ruined it.

He slowly closed that drawer and moved on to the others, finding them full of clothes. The intricate and flashier types that Magus wore, a tossup between revealing cuts in the fabric and more delicate cloth. Lace, mesh. Leather here and there.

His sense of style wasn’t all that different from Adam’s, honestly. Though there was definitely more of an emphasis on prettier, delicate things than in Adam’s own wardrobe.

As he searched the other drawers, though, he came to the slow realization that Magus’ clothes only made up a small part of the dresser. It took a while to notice, if only because everything was the same few dark tones, but a lot of these clothes were more like things Peter would wear. Jackets, comfortable shirts, pants with deep pockets and zippers.

There was even a stash of pins in one of the drawers near the bottom, and Peter kneeled down to really look at them. Parsing through the mountain of little metal things, turning them over to see the faces. Most of them were the normal kind. Silly tourist-y pins, or puns, or things that Peter liked. Some were clearly gifts from Magus, though. A black pin with a white ribcage bedecked in a bouquet of flowers, or otherwise creepy-cute designs.

He put the pins away and got to his feet, dusting off his hands and knees. Not that he thought he needed to, really. The floors seemed to be immaculately cleaned.

He wandered over to the bookshelf next. He had gotten used to books just being pocket libraries in the form of tablets, but there were some actual ones lining the shelves. Old, leather, and weathered a little with age.

Touching their spines was a compulsion as he skimmed the names, head tilting slightly to read them. Most were stories he hadn’t heard of, so his gaze fell to the other things on the shelf. Little random knickknacks, mostly, or weird plants he hadn’t seen before.

The porcelain cat figures had a small smile twitching at his lips. Something Adam and Magus seemed to have in common, though…Magus’ feline preference seemed to be a lot larger. And scarier.

He reached out to run his fingers over one of the armchairs as he moved away, staring down at it. Beautifully swirling, silver patterns set against dark purple fabric. Yet more old stuff, or…earth stuff, he supposed.

He was stalling, he knew. He frowned to himself as he hesitantly lifted his gaze from the chair.

Toward those glass doors. The red moon.

He wanted to move forward, but he was stuck in place. Flexing his hands, taking a breath before he finally convinced himself to just walk. Skin prickling the closer he got, lifting a hand to open one of the glass doors. A manual handle, he noted as he slipped out onto a beautifully carved balcony. Like every other part of this apparent palace.

The exterior walls were so perfectly linked together that there didn’t seem to be any handholds, either above or below—and as he looked over the edge of the balcony, hand lifting to hold the railing, he realized he was high above the ground.

The Cardinals down there looked so small from here. Still, he could see their gold armor reflecting that red glow from the moon. It made Peter frown and look elsewhere, spotting a sprawling garden full of colorful blooms closer to what might be the back of the palace. He wasn’t sure. Like everything made by the Church, things were so alien in their perfection that it was hard to know what he was looking at.

Slowly, though, his attention was dragged toward that moon. Close enough to cast a haunting glow on the world, but not so close that it seemed to be eating the stars.

Peter still didn’t like it. Didn’t like the memories attached. He lifted a hand to scratch thoughtlessly at his scarred throat—and then swiftly turned back around. Slipping back into the room and putting as much distance between himself and the glass doors as he could.

Stupid to look. He knew that.

For a few moments he stood by the bed, eyes closed as he held the headphones closer to his ears. Queen threatening to deafen him, but he hardly cared.

When he felt he could breathe a little easier, he dropped his arms to cross them over his chest. Eyes wandering aimlessly.

Only to realize he had missed a door earlier. To the left of the bed. He hesitated before he walked over to it, pressing the button to open it.

Revealing a spacious, ornate bathroom on the other side. Marble counters and polished wooden cabinets. Intricately tiled floors.

At the sight of it, he couldn’t help but wonder if all the earth stuff was an attempt to make him feel more at home. The old books, the fabric chairs, the glass doors with manual handles.

He wasn’t sure if it was working, if so. He hadn’t called Earth home in a long time, and he doubted he ever would again—but there was something nostalgic about it all, anyway.

Feeding an old ache he wasn’t sure would ever leave. A child of Earth, but a man of the stars. Never really feeling like he belonged to either, always riding the line between.

Still…he ran a finger over the smooth, cold counter, and couldn’t help but appreciate the attempt anyway. It was a level of thoughtfulness that he wouldn’t have expected from Magus.

Assuming it was on purpose, at least.

He dragged his eyes up to the mirror, reluctant to see whatever was reflected back at him.

Tired blue eyes. He leaned a little closer, frowning at the purplish skin under his eyes. Lifting a hand to touch, turning his head slightly. Feeling the beginnings of scruff bump his palm, though he couldn’t really see it in the mirror.

His hair was loose, too. Messy. His hand traveled higher to toy with it, but there wasn’t much he could do short of brushing it and running a little gel through it again. Though honestly, he should probably shower—he grimaced when he found blood still dried into the strands.

He sighed, inspecting the cabinets next. Finding towels, and even gel and a brush. Bandages and a shaving kit, too, though he wasn’t sure he cared enough right now to do anything with the latter.

He left to gather a change of clothes, and then came back. Setting everything aside before turning his walkman off, prying it from his waistband to put it on the counter.

Then, with slow fingers, he started to unravel those bandages. Grimacing as more of the wound was revealed, until he could see it in its entirety.

He turned it toward himself, staring at it. A larger swathe of damaged skin than he would have expected, though the center was the worst.

An angrier, uglier red than the edges. Warped in a way that vaguely resembled a handprint. It even seemed yellow or somewhat green in places, which…couldn’t be good.

No bite mark, though. For whatever that was worth.

Then he dropped his arm with a sigh and set to undressing. On his right arm, something caught the fabric of the shirt as he pulled it off. He glanced toward it with a mild frown.

Finding four little white squares on his bicep. Bandages, he realized belatedly as he began to peel them off. Though there didn’t seem to be anything of note under any of them except minor amounts of blood, and he ticked a brow as he dropped the last one to the ground.

Well, whatever. He disrobed the rest of the way and stepped into the shower. Staying as long as he needed to get the blood out of his hair.

There was a tray of food waiting for him when he finally returned to the bedroom. His gaze swept it anew, but found he was still alone.

He frowned as he dressed himself in a baggy T-shirt and shorts, unsure if he liked that he had been looking for Magus. Of all people. Then he approached the tray.

Of all people, he repeated to himself with a frown. Feeling stupid for thinking it as he sat gingerly at the edge of the bed, hesitating a beat before he picked up a round piece of bread. Warm to the touch and soft.

As if he had options for who he could possibly want to see. There was no one else here that he knew, and most of them he felt even less comfortable around than Magus.

Comfort and Magus in the same sentence had Peter’s frown worsening as he chewed on the bread, staring off into space.

It was complicated. Like everything else about Magus. Still, though, some part of him felt…almost reassured when he remembered how Magus held him. When that vampire had broken in.

He wasn’t half bad at it when he wanted to be.

Inexplicably the thought had his skin heating, and he chose to just stop thinking as he picked at the food on the tray. He didn’t eat all of it because he lacked much of an appetite, but he ate enough. Probably.

Afterward, he had opened the door to take a peek outside his room. Mostly out of a bored sort of curiosity, but he discovered Raker standing guard outside.

He debated a minute before he leaned against the frame of the door, close to Raker. Tipping his head to the side. “Hey. Do you know where Magus went?”

If anyone did, Peter assumed it would be Raker. Though the man ignored him for the first few seconds, he eventually sighed and shifted his attention to Peter very briefly. “Our Worship is attending to the completion of the Sacrosanct.”

Peter frowned, letting his gaze wander the hall a second. Some people were giving him funny looks, but most seemed to pay him no mind. “Okay. Cool. When will he be back?”

“Whenever he is done,” Raker answered noncommittally, facing forward.

Peter gave him a flat look that went ignored. “Thanks. You’re so helpful.”

At that Raker actually cracked a smile, though it lacked humor. More sharp and cold than warm. “It is not my job to be helpful to you. Now return to your room—Our Worship has not given you permission to wander.”

Peter deliberated long enough that Raker turned toward him, extending an arm. He shoved against Peter’s chest, the force of it making him stagger away from the door—and then it closed in his face, and he could only stare incredulously at the metal.

That guy sucked.

Later that same day—night? Hell, it might even be the next day, he couldn’t tell anymore—he received a visitor.

The sound of the door opening startled him, making him wobble from his place atop the back of one of the armchairs. Still, he maintained his balance as he taped one corner of a dark blanket to the wall, dragging the other half up to cover the glass doors.

“What are you doing, stupid child? Get down from there!” came the voice of an older woman.

He gave her a petulant frown over his shoulder as he taped up the other end, using those little squares he’d dropped earlier. They had a surprising amount of sticking power, for some reason. “Sorry, who are you?”

“The unfortunate soul who has to be your doctor,” the kree woman returned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Get down. Right now.”

He clicked his tongue and stepped down the length of the armchair onto the floor. “Okay, okay, jeez.”

She lifted a bony finger to the armchair still propped against the covered glass. “Sit, boy. You need your meds.”

She turned to the mobile medical unit she brought with her then, picking through her things.

His nose wrinkled at the command. Like he was a dog. Still, he dropped himself into the seat despite his misgivings. The less she yelled at him, the better off he’d be.

Besides, if she wasn’t supposed to be here, Raker wouldn’t have let her in. Bastard was strict about following Magus’ rules.

It was probably exactly why he got stuck outside Peter’s door.

The woman brandished a needle when she turned back to face Peter. He eyed it warily, feeling the point close to his ear but below his jaw twinge with memory. “What’s in that?”

“Roll your sleeve up,” she said, gesturing to his right arm. He tentatively obeyed, and only then did she answer. “This is a strong antibiotic. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but that burn of yours is infected.”

Then she punched the needle into his skin without any further fanfare, making him jolt with a hiss. “Ow?”

“Don’t move,” she chided, emptying the contents of the needle before pulling it away. Covering the spot with a small square bandage before she returned to her medical unit. “It should clear up in a few days. And this,” she began, returning with another needle, “should help ease the pain until then.”

He was ready for it this time when she jabbed him with it, though he still winced. She covered it with another small square adhesive bandage and pulled away.

Well. He supposed he knew where he got the other ones now, at least.

When she returned, she grabbed his left wrist and pulled his arm up. Unraveling the new bandages to inspect the wound with a critical eye.

A deep frown was set into her face as she turned his arm more toward the light, leaning back somewhat to let it in. “Doesn’t seem any worse, which is good. Try to avoid letting it dry out.”

She wrapped his arm anew, and then ran a few noninvasive tests after that.

Her brows furrowed at some of the readings she got, which he had to assume was just her natural expression at this point. A few beats longer of staring at the results before she lifted her gaze to Peter, her finger curled under her chin. “How are you feeling, boy?”

He blinked, unsure how to answer that. “Uh…aside from being stabbed in the shoulder twice by a crazy old lady, I guess I’m fine?”

The attempt at humor fell flat as the old woman shook her head, her wrinkled frown worsening as she set her instruments aside. “No. Your vitals are consistent with those of someone in a state of fight or flight, Peter. Very high cortisol and adrenaline, very high heart rate.” She paused before she met his eyes again, scrutinizing. “Are you an anxious person?”

Anxious. That was how Mantis described him when they met. He shrugged and stared off into the distance. Fidgeting absentmindedly with his hands. “Dunno.”

“Are you currently afraid for your life?”

A quick twitch at the corner of his lips as he spared her a glance. “You're not that scary.”

She seemed less amused as her attention returned to the readings, laid flat on her medical unit. “These were all higher than average when you were asleep, as well. This kind of stress—the chronic kind, that is—can have detrimental effects on your health, child. It’ll make that infection worse, for one.”

She shifted her attention back to him, lips pressed into a line. Showing just a glimmer of worry. “You need to relax.”

As if it were that easy. As if there was anything in this room alone—that he wasn’t allowed to leave—that could remotely help him relax.

Perhaps seeing the thoughts reflected on his face, she glanced back at her medical unit. “I’ll mention this to the Magus tomorrow morning, if I can find him. He seems keen to be your caretaker, and for all his blunders when he brought you to me, he does take this seriously.”

That caught his attention, and he frowned minutely. He supposed maybe he should have put it together earlier, but…he looked up at her. “Magus brought me to you?”

He hadn’t just healed Peter and called it a day? But then…well, Magus probably wouldn’t have left the wound in the state he did if that were the case.

Why, though?

“Covered head to toe in the worst case of a biohazard spill I’ve ever seen in my life, yes, he did,” she affirmed, pausing to check that everything was in order with her unit.

It was odd.

The old woman hummed, apparently satisfied with her things. “Until I can talk to him, you should focus on resting. Try some breathing exercises—” she rifled through the second shelf of her medical unit before handing him a thin tablet, which was apparently a pamphlet of sorts on how to breathe, “—they should help you relax a little bit.”

He stared down at the tablet in his hand as she pulled her medical unit away, leaving the room.

His brows furrowed as he thought of Mantis, and it seemed…so, so long ago.

“You should try breathing exercises,” she had said, a bubbly expression on her face as she struck a yoga pose. Something she had also dragged Peter into. “Counting down from ten while you breathe in and out slowly is a popular choice, especially for anxiety. The counting is used as a focus to calm the mind while the breathing calms the body.”

“That’s really cool, Mantis, but I don’t have anxiety,” he had responded, trying to mimic her. It really wasn’t all that difficult; yoga was mostly flexibility, and let it never be said Peter wasn’t flexible.

She had hummed, her dark eyes looking elsewhere. “It can also be good for stress.”

He set the tablet down on his lap and lifted his hands to his face, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes before dragging his fingers down his cheeks. Staring at the picture the tablet was open on of a kree woman smiling in the direction of the sun, but he wasn’t really looking at her.

He was thinking of his family.

Of the time Mantis had asked him to braid her hair, and it had taken him a few tries to remember how to do it. He thought of how she had bullied him into letting her play with his, after, the both of them listening to his music on a portable radio. Both of them singing badly to the lyrics and laughing at each other.

He thought of Rocket showing him how to do basic ship repairs and the uncharacteristic patience he showed that day. Feeling at ease with the natural flow of conversation, which included snark and name-calling. He had shown Rocket an old strategy game afterward, and remembered finding him sitting up in the living room in the middle of the night still playing. Laser focused.

Gamora trying to teach him hand-to-hand, only giving him a break after he had landed on the floor for the fortieth time. Winded and exhausted, he had just laid there like a starfish until she came back over and laid beside him. Setting a water bottle next to his shoulder and smiling to herself when he started filling the silence with rambling conversation and broad gestures.

He thought of Groot, offering him a flower he had made himself after a mission had gone wrong. When Peter was alone by himself in the cockpit, head in his hands. On the verge of tears when he had noticed the wooden, outstretched hand, and the delicate bloom held between bark fingers.

He had cried, then, but he had smiled, too. Groot had hugged him after he took it, and though he was made of wood, Peter didn’t shy away from him. Had hugged him back.

He thought of all the shots and blades Drax had taken for him, all the lives he had ended because they threatened his own. He thought of the time Drax had gotten so drunk Peter had to drag him home—almost literally—and the sheer exhaustion even that had inflicted upon him, but the memory was fond anyway because Drax had been singing in his own language almost the entire time. A victory song of some kind, maybe.

Drax never asked for much and showed interest in less, but he had said once that Peter had given him his honor back. Had given him a purpose beyond death; he had once again become a protector, and it was the only gift Peter could ever give him that would mean anything of value.

And Adam…he thought of the warm kisses, the proud stains he often left on Peter’s face, the soft possession in his arm around Peter’s waist. He thought of whispers and love bites against his skin.

He thought of peace and safety.

The memories finally broke whatever had fractured within him earlier, leaving a gaping void in his chest. His eyes turned blurry all too quickly, tears spilling over to rush down his cheeks. Staining his hands. He dropped them both onto his lap over the tablet.

Somehow feeling too much, yet also feeling empty. Like there was nothing left of him.

To never see them again…it was a pain he couldn’t fathom.

Notes:

the writing process for this one was. a huge mess lmfao. originally it was gonna be a mantis + adam chapter, but I skipped ahead a bit to start on peter's and then it just kept evolving and ended up chronologically happening before mantis + adam....same with the upcoming magus chapter, though that one will catch up to the mantis + adam chapter assuming all goes well. i like a lot of what ive written for magus so i hope i get to keep at least most of it, but it does need to be restructured, so itll take me a bit 💀anyway i hope u enjoyed it n thanks for sticking around!!! i appreciate all of u💜

Chapter 36

Summary:

Peter sat up, brows furrowed as he reached a hand out to pinch Magus’ cheek.

“Good morning to you too, my dear."

Peter huffed and dropped his hand, shifting until his legs were over the edge of the bed. “Just making sure you’re actually here.”

“I believe you are supposed to pinch yourself,” Magus returned, ticking a brow, “but yes, darling. I’m here.”

Notes:

its a long one lads

Timing was important. He had done all he could to buy himself that time, but he knew the clock was ticking down regardless.

The Sacrosanct needed to be finished, and everything needed to be in its place.

Timing was important…yet Magus had still wasted precious preparation time hovering around Peter for those two days he remained unconscious. The more logical part of him chafed with the knowledge; he should have left Raker to watch the old woman and left it at that.

Even now, the thought rankled. Peter was too important to abandon to anyone else, and especially not in such a vulnerable state. Magus would accept the breakneck pace of working harder in a shorter timespan instead of letting someone else touch what was his.

Of course, such work required a method of restoring his energy faster than simply waiting or falling into a cocoon. Luckily for him, Adam’s dusty old tome of spells had been useful for that. A small ritual circle that did the trick, though it was meant to be written with special enchanted ink.

It was simpler to use blood. There was no shortage of it; all he had to do was demand and his followers tripped over themselves to obey. To bend the knee and bleed for him. It became harder to do by day, of course, if only because all the blood became difficult to ignore. Igniting his senses in ways he detested the longer he went without feeding.

Though it had the added effect of making the spell more potent, at least. Enough to heal his blackened, cracked skin. He wasn’t sure why—maybe it had something to do with his aberrant nature now, or perhaps there was simply power in blood. He couldn’t say and didn’t particularly care enough to investigate further.

It worked. That was all that mattered to him.

A drawback of forcing himself into such tight constraints, though, was that he no longer had the time to sit idle with Peter like he might want to. One day bled into another in the blink of an eye for him, but he felt it at the back of his mind. That growing loneliness and desperate sadness that clawed at Peter.

An endless abyss they both knew well.

It would have to be dealt with before long, but almost as soon as he had the thought he was being accosted by that old woman. Bright and early, looking as surly as ever.

The look she gave him would wither someone with a more living constitution. “That boy of yours is suffering from chronic stress.”

As if that was any surprise to Magus. From the nightmare of Magus’ home reality to this one, Peter hadn’t had much chance to feel anything else. Never mind whatever stress he had been under before Magus even entered the picture. “Yes. Of course he is.”

The woman sighed and shook her head, lifting a hand to drag it down her face. “It’s going to hurt him. It’ll make the infection worse, he might start losing weight, he won’t sleep. The list of detrimental health issues that result from this sort of thing really do go on and on, Your Worship. It might benefit you to address it sooner rather than later.”

Not for the first time, Magus found himself annoyed at just how fragile Peter was. He glanced elsewhere with a frown, his mind already diverging from the task he had set out to do today.

The concept of offering another tranquility was, perhaps, one of the very few things Magus was truly inept with. He was created from hate and loneliness, despair and rage. He was not meant for peace.

After some thought, he decided with some uncertainty to start by simply removing the risk of a worsening infection altogether. From there…he wasn’t sure. Chronic stress didn’t sound like a problem that could be solved in a day.

“Noted,” was all he said to the woman before he turned away. Abandoning his previous task before he had even started it. He walked the halls, finding his way to Peter’s room after a time.

Raker stood guard out front. As ever he dipped into a low bow when he saw Magus, straightening after Magus made a somewhat dismissive hand motion. He opened the door without needing to be asked, and Magus swept inside without a word.

The large, dark blanket blocking the glass doors caught his attention as Raker closed the one behind him. The display didn’t surprise him, of course. He had known this place would unsettle Peter, but he had not chosen it to torment him.

There were not many planets that remained livable when they spent more than half their solar revolution in darkness.

Either way he made note of it. Perhaps some minor remodeling was in order, if it would make Peter feel more at ease.

His gaze slid to the bed next, where he found a cold tray of mostly-untouched food. The sight had his frown worsening as he shifted his focus to the far side of the mattress, where Peter was buried face-down in the sheets.

A gentler heartbeat than when he was awake, but still not quite slow. Even from here, Magus could smell the rush of blood, the subtle adrenaline spike.

Another nightmare.

As quietly as he was able, Magus walked around the frame of the bed until he was seated at the edge. Leaning over Peter to sweep soft blonde hair from his face, feeling the heat of his skin like a burn as he brushed his knuckles to Peter’s temple. Watching the tension slip from that beautiful face slowly as Magus chased the bad dream away.

A beat of contemplation before he decided he would let Peter sleep a little while longer. It seemed unjustly cruel to give him a moment of true rest only to take it away.

So he slowly got back to his feet, wandering the room somewhat absently. Though his gaze was critical; he was looking at it with a lens of change. Adding things to a list in his mind that Peter might enjoy, or that might make him feel more…relaxed.

His own had always missed Earth. He visited it often enough, and even in space, he carried it with him in bits and pieces.

A part of Magus had thought, foolishly, that they both did.

He should have known better. This version of Peter had been stolen from Earth, had watched his mother’s murder. This version of him did not call Earth home, and perhaps never would again.

A true child of the stars.

Though to say Magus had only picked the décor out of nostalgia would be inaccurate. Peter may not be on Rocket’s level of technical know-how, but he was clever enough to make a weapon of tech if left to his own devices long enough. Even if the weapon was quite literally a broken metal bit from a holo projector, or something of that nature.

Still. Perhaps precautions could be taken to eliminate that particular risk and still give Peter something to do. His boredom rivaled his loneliness on any given day, after all.

Magus’ wandering led him to the blanketed doors. Idly he reached a hand out to touch the soft fabric, glancing at the corners. Held up by little white squares in all four.

He quirked a brow at that, glancing back at Peter before he dropped his hand. Then he moved on, though a subtle impact against his boot and the scrape of something skittering along the floor had him pausing. Staring at the ground to find a thin display.

He bent to pick it up, inspecting the screen. A kree woman facing the sun, the title boasting a list of breathing exercises. Stress reducers, supposedly.

Useless thing. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with it, so he brought it over to the bookshelf. Tacking it on at the end.

The door opened a moment later, and Magus’ attention snapped to it as a frail-looking younger woman stepped inside. Carrying a tray of fresh food that did little to mask the scent of her blood, a foreign perfume to him. This was someone Magus had not met yet.

Assigned by the Matriarch, he had to assume.

The sight of Magus startled her so deeply that she jumped and then scrambled to keep her hold on the tray after. Her face darkened with an embarrassed blush when she caught it, and she kept her gaze fixed to the floor. Wondering if she should bow, or curtsy, or even speak. Maybe apologize.

On any other day it would be amusing, but Magus had not the care for it today. Too preoccupied with other matters. “Set it down,” he said quietly.

Like she had moved without thinking, her body jolted to obey. Shaky hands setting the tray down beside the other, her shoulders bunching near her ears as Magus approached.

She straightened when he was closer, only to drop into a low bow anyway with stiff posture. He waved her courtesy aside, staring at her until she lifted her timid gaze. Face turning an even deeper shade of green upon meeting his eyes. “Are you normally the one that delivers his meals?”

A shy nod as she clasped her hands in front of herself, but she said nothing. Not trusting her voice enough to speak, apparently.

He turned his attention toward the cold tray. “Then you would know if his lack of appetite was commonplace, no?”

She nodded, and then realized he wasn’t looking at her, so she stammered out a quiet, “Uh—y-yes. He doesn’t…he never finishes his food. Your Worship.”

He frowned at that and returned his attention to her, displeased. “Then why was I not made aware?”

Her eyes widened, and she half-turned toward the door. Pointing to it without looking away from Magus. “I—I told the guard. H-he said—uh, he said you had more important things to worry about. Your Worship.”

Certainly not Raker. The man knew better than to think on Magus’ behalf. “Which guard?”

She held a hand to her lips and shook her head, short brown hair bobbing around her ears with the motion. “I don’t—I don’t know. Not the…not the one at the door now, I suppose, but the one that was there last night.”

He plucked her memory for a face. It took a moment to place it, but he recognized the man as the third cardinal he had met days ago. The one that had thrown his cohort to the vampires, so to speak.

Incompetence commingling with incompetence. He would tear it out from the bloody, rotten root.

He turned away from her with dark thoughts behind his eyes. Worthless masses of flesh.

But then his gaze landed on Peter, still somehow asleep, and he felt some of that burning rage cool into a low simmer.

The guard would have to wait. For now.

A beat before he realized the woman had lingered, still partially visible in his periphery. Openly admiring him now that he wasn’t actively watching her, her eyes wide and her blush dark.

He’s scary…but he’s so pretty, too, she thought, the words buzzing loudly in her mind.

A flat expression settled on his face before he turned to look her way. Ticking a pointed brow. “You may leave.”

Her gaze was swift to bounce away, and she dipped into a low bow once more before taking the cold tray and all but fleeing the room. Ducking her head all the while.

It was always strange to hear such thoughts, in that it both fed his vanity and repulsed him in equal measure. At least the girl had been innocent enough in her attention, though.

Unlike some that harbored more explicit fantasies. He was hardly a prude, nor did he particularly care what his followers dreamed about so long as it did not interfere with his own goals—but he always found himself repulsed by the thoughts anyway.

As if he would debase himself with such low standards for companionship, let alone in the manner they often desired. Ignoring, of course, his extreme lack of interest in sex to start with.

Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that his heart and body were functionally the same in that regard. To have one without the other was an impossibility, and none would ever be more worthy of holding his heart than Peter Jason Quill.

Shaking the thoughts off with a sigh, Magus picked up the new tray and carried it over to Peter’s bedside. Setting it on the end table before sitting at the edge once more, reaching a hand out to gently jostle Peter’s shoulder.

It didn’t take much to wake him. He had probably been stirred to some level of awareness already simply by Magus talking, so he was relatively quick to open his eyes. Bleary and disoriented.

It took a long moment for clarity to enter those eyes, and then he closed them with a deep sigh before turning onto his back. Rubbing tiredly at his eyes before stretching his arms above his head, fingers touching the wall.

He dropped them against the mattress and opened his eyes again, and that was when he noticed Magus. A moment passed, then two, and finally Peter sat up. Brows furrowed as he reached a hand out to pinch Magus’ cheek.

The scent of his blood so close was immediately distracting. Feeling the heat of it in Peter’s touch, making his own brows twitch with a frown at the itch it provoked in his teeth. “Good morning to you too, my dear,” he murmured after a notable delay.

One Peter didn’t remark on as he huffed and dropped his hand, shifting until his legs were over the edge of the bed. “Just making sure you’re actually here.”

“I believe you are supposed to pinch yourself,” Magus returned, ticking a brow, “but yes, darling. I’m here.”

Peter swiped the fluffy biscuit off the tray and didn’t respond, occupying himself with eating instead. Something Magus was content to be patient with, in part because it allowed him time to restrain the lurking beast in his blood. Shoving it back into its cage as he let his attention wander elsewhere. Crossing one leg over the other and settling his hands in his lap.

Perhaps something closer to the Milano would suit this version of Peter better. A fusion of Earth and space, something that honored both halves of himself. With safe options for entertainment, of course.

His own had enjoyed the occasional movie here and there, but was fonder of reading old books or working on engine parts. He and Rocket had been incredibly close when they were both still alive; the two bonded over ship repairs and tech creations they made together. Perhaps it stemmed from being an engineer back on Earth, before he found his way into space.

Either way, it didn’t seem to be a particular desire this Peter shared. Much of the activities he enjoyed were more social. Movies, drinking, sex, playing games. Even letting himself get thrown around by friends that were much bigger and stronger than him in feeble attempts at sparring.

Anything to be close to someone else. To satisfy that desperately, achingly lonely thing burrowed into his very soul. A facet of this Peter his own had never quite shared, not nearly to this extent.

A remodel might help, but it wasn’t the answer. Perhaps he would simply need to take Peter with him when he returned to his work. Keep him close enough that he didn’t feel ignored.

A peculiar thing. He had told himself he did not need to make Peter happy, yet…here he was anyway. Wanting to.

“So are you still busy?” Peter asked after a while, his voice somewhat muffled. Talking around his food, Magus realized.

He clicked his tongue when he looked back at Peter. “No. And don’t speak while you eat,” he chided, though there was a fondness within him anyway. His own had been much the same.

It was a curious thing when Peter picked out a lie. He didn’t always, but he was better at it than Magus anticipated. Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised—Peter was an accomplished liar, too. This one, at least.

He was even a thief, or at least he had been. A life lived so differently to his own, yet they reflected each other anyway. Humor and charm, wit and instinct. Leading with their hearts and stubborn hope.

Echoes of the same soul that reached the same compound of stardust through vastly different means.

In this moment, Peter recognized that Magus wasn’t being honest. That he was busy, but he had come anyway.

On his better days, Peter might insist that Magus leave. Unwilling to be the reason someone else put their plans on hold. Self-sacrificial in all aspects of life.

Today was not one of those days. Peter averted his gaze toward the tray as a faint pink blush spurred by guilt stained his beautiful freckled cheeks. “…if you say so.”

Selfishness. For once. It made Magus smile, something proud in the expression as he watched Peter.

Be as selfish as you like, precious star, he thought. Letting Peter hear it and seeing that flush darken in response. Peter reached for the water on the tray and took a sip, though it did little to make his skin feel less hot. “So, uh—what took you so long?”

There was an admission within the question that Peter barely tried to hide.

I wanted to see you.

A moment of thought before he shifted somewhat, leaning closer to Peter. Raising a hand to touch the soft skin of his jaw, turning somewhat coarse with stubble. A familiar texture that distracted him, his claws gliding through the short hairs almost absently.

More distracting than his blood, even, but not for long—so Magus leaned the rest of the way in to kiss Peter’s cheek. A soft gesture.

Feeling warm skin shiver beneath his lips as his teeth craved to sink into it, more so when Peter tilted his head just slightly toward Magus.

He had forgotten what he meant to say, incapable of stopping himself from teasing that precious skin with the subtlest of bites before he wrested control of himself once more. Releasing Peter to pull away, keenly aware of that racing heart in his chest. “Forgive me, darling,” was all he said in the end. Half aware of himself and half not.

Perhaps he had gone too long without feeding. A troublesome thought to have.

“Sure,” Peter said, pressing an elbow against the end table and propping his head up with his hand. Staring at Magus openly, his voice turning a touch quieter. “Just…don’t do it again.”

Despite his desire to touch, Magus kept his hands to himself this time. Not quite trusting he wouldn’t devour Peter, and that was not why he was here. “Of course not, my dear. I would not willingly deprive myself of you given the choice.”

Even though, technically, he was doing exactly that.

Peter hummed at that, red clinging to his skin like it belonged there as he averted his eyes to the tray. “If you say so,” he murmured again.

He returned to eating after a moment, though less from desire and more for something to occupy his hands while he thought things over. Blue eyes eventually found their way back to Magus, dipping to the lower half of his face before snapping back up to his eyes. Clearing his throat. “It’s, uh. Been a few days, right? Have you…is it rude to ask if you’ve bitten anyone?”

What a vexing question to ask in this moment. Magus laid a hand over his knee, claws digging into the leather of his boot as he averted his gaze. “I believe you asked me not to, my dear.”

A thoughtful hum as Peter stared at him, seemingly oblivious to Magus’ internal struggle. “I guess I just didn’t expect you to listen.”

Magus stared down at his hands and clicked his claws together, brows furrowing. “To tell you the truth, my dear, I try not to bite others without need in the first place. It is not an experience I enjoy.”

The sheer vulnerability involved in the act alone was a strange violation that never sat well with Magus. The fiendish desperation that went hand in hand with blood hunger, the feeling like he would lose himself if he didn’t satisfy whatever monster made a home within his veins.

Like now. Walking the line between Magus and Monster.

A bit funny that there was a distinction, he supposed.

“I dunno,” Peter said, inching a little closer to Magus until their bodies were just shy of touching. “You seem to get a kick out of ripping people’s throats out, at least.”

He only half heard Peter, once again struggling with the scent of him so close. Even his body heat was more distracting than usual, and Magus’ thoughts were racing. “It’s different,” Magus said after a moment, blinking through the haze of his own mind. Clawing through it. “It’s…I can’t—”

A pale, warm hand took his. “Hey. You know I can feel it, right?”

“I am not here for this,” he spat as he snapped his hand back to himself and got to his feet. Putting sizable distance between them in the hopes that it might clear his mind.

A futile effort, of course. His own desire became a knife wielded against him.

The green girl, the old kree woman, even Raker—Magus could smell all of them. The blood in their veins. He could hear their heartbeats as assuredly as their thoughts, and though the blood hunger had twitched in their presence, it had not wanted—and that made it easy to ignore.

But Magus wanted Peter in every way a man could be wanted, and the blood hunger yearned in kind.

The softness Peter spoke to him with only incensed him further. “I know. But it’s okay if you need me while you’re here, Magus. I already offered before.”

The frantic beat of a delicate heart nestled within an ivory cage disagreed. There was fear cloying in Peter’s throat at the prospect, at the memory. Skin shivering with the phantom pain of teeth in his throat.

But he was keenly aware of the conversation they’d had about compulsion and starving animals not so long ago, and that was just as frightening if not more so. Especially because he could see the difference—he knew when he was looking at Magus, and when he was not. Even in rapid fluctuation.

He did not want to be left with a violent animal that held no regard for him.

Magus bristled when Peter slid from the bed, the scent of him carrying closer until they were inches apart. He reached a hand up toward Magus’ face, his eyes guarded yet somehow still pleading—

And Magus’ control snapped. He grabbed Peter by the waist with harsh hands, turning to shove him up against the wall. The tips of his toes barely touched the floor as his hands frantically grabbed for Magus’ shoulders, instead opting to get his footing atop of Magus’ boots. His heart rate spiked into his throat, breath leaving him in a simple exhale of Magus’ name.

His teeth sought the soft flesh of Peter’s throat, piercing through the scars he left the last time. He felt Peter’s full body flinch against him, heard his breathing turn fluttery and uneven as a trembling hand slid up to tangle in Magus’ hair. Grip tight even as he angled his head away to make it easier.

His own fear at war with the need to surrender.

Warm blood flooded his tongue, making that monster within him purr with satisfaction. He shifted his hold to slide one arm tight around Peter’s waist, dragging his other hand up to grab Peter’s jaw. Holding him the way he needed to sink his teeth just that much deeper into that precious artery.

He felt Peter shudder with a breathless exhale, and the pinch of pain and discomfort became unfocused. Hazy beneath a dizzy, warm state of mind. An almost pleasant sensation. One that had Peter all but going limp in Magus’ arms as he tried to simply breathe through it.

A submission that made him want to take more than he should. Blink-and-you miss it fantasies that had pale flesh burning hotter beneath his touch, apparently shared.

When Magus felt more like himself, he finally pried his fangs from Peter. Feeling blood cool to his lips and chin, tasting that divine essence on his tongue. He swiped the flat of it over the bloody punctures to close the wounds, but remained nuzzled into that enticing throat. Closing his eyes as he simply breathed Peter in for a few moments.

Then, slowly, he pulled away just enough to see Peter’s face. Hazy blue eyes stared up at him, a beautiful rouge flush to his skin. Pink lips parted around soft, panting breaths.

Beautiful. Everything about Peter was so beautiful.

The compulsion was impossible to ignore; Magus kept his hold on Peter’s jaw and leaned in to claim those pretty lips as his own.

Blunt nails bit into his shoulders as Peter was forced to contend with the taste of his own blood, but—

He tipped his head slightly to the side and kissed Magus back. Whether from Peter’s own unbearable loneliness or from the pleasant emptiness of his mind, Magus cared not; it was still a door opened.

He dug his claws into soft flesh, the gentle kiss turning heated and forceful in a flash. Pressing hard enough that Peter found himself backed against the wall once more, trapped between it and Magus. Sharp teeth sank into Peter’s bottom lip, and the soft moan it earned was lost in the next kiss.

Oh, Magus could devour him. Wanted to, even. He released Peter’s jaw to bite at it instead, his hands sliding down to take his love by the hips. Slipping his fingers beneath Peter’s shirt to feel skin. Claws scraping against sensitive flesh, taking satisfaction in the shiver the touch earned.

“Magus,” Peter breathed out, warm hands gliding down to settle against Magus’ chest. The haze blanketing his thoughts had faded ever so slightly, guilt and regret beginning to creep to the surface—but there was need and desire, too. Selfish want that only served to confuse Peter further.

Eager to touch and be touched. To be loved, to not be alone.

He oscillated swiftly through different versions of wait and stop in his head, but also please and I need you. Contradictory and bewildering, leaving Peter feeling a little lost—but all the same weak in the face of the closeness he desired.

Even if, ideally, he might desire it from someone else.

In the end, Peter reached up with tentative hands to take Magus by the jaw. Shivering when Magus nipped at his throat before allowing himself to be moved, until those blue eyes were staring up at him. Thumbs just under Magus’ bloodied bottom lip, gaze dropping to it after a beat.

“Don’t leave me again,” was all Peter said. Spoken so quietly, with no small amount of guilt and shame.

He knew it was unwise to want Magus near. To put any kind of trust in his hands.

Yet there he was. Wanting. Trusting in some small, twisted way, because that was who Peter was.

Forgiving, even when he shouldn’t be.

A pleased grin split Magus’ lips, his claws digging just that much deeper into soft, warm skin. “Never, my beautiful star,” he murmured. Sealing the promise with another kiss, this one infinitely gentler. An affection Peter returned with a soft sigh, arms sliding around Magus’ shoulders.

Surrendering himself a second time.

Notes:

do u know i cut that stupid kiss out like five times and it just kept coming back every time. whatever man. like magus was always going to kiss peter again obvi but i just. didnt expect peter to want to kiss him back so soon 💔 but i guess thats my bad for giving him abandonment issues and then. abandoning him. oh well.

Chapter 37

Summary:

She stepped outside in the dead of night to find Rocket sitting next to the door, tinkering with one of his guns. He didn’t seem to acknowledge her arrival, but he did speak to her quietly. “Hey, Mantis. Couldn’t sleep?”

She tucked her hands beneath her arms, staring out at the stars. Frowning deeply. “Something like that, yes. You couldn’t, either?”

Rocket just smiled, like the answer should be obvious. Maybe it was.

Notes:

I literally start my shift in 5mins just take it pls. Sex at the start but it's short because the sex is kind of not the point for it

The gentle kiss evolved into something rougher and more devouring. Fangs pinching the soft skin of his lip and making him shudder with a gasp, a cold, blood-soaked tongue gliding against his as Magus both yanked him into his chest and bent him backwards. Seeking more than he could possibly get, but Peter buried his fingers in Magus’ hair anyway. Holding tight and pulling him in just as much.

The guilt over his own need did nothing to stop him from whining against Magus’ lips, desperate for more than this. For more touch. More skin against his.

Warm satisfaction spread within him, not entirely his, as clawed fingers slid down his sides. Over his hips and around the backs of his thighs, and he recognized the gesture a split second before Magus hauled him off his feet.

It broke their kiss as Peter settled his arms around Magus’ shoulders, ducking his head to kiss at his jaw. Feeling claws sink deeper into his thighs as he wrapped his legs around Magus’ hips.

He delighted in the ease Magus had in moving him, the feat sparking something low in his belly. Like he weighed nothing.  

Shortly after he was thrown down onto the mattress, but he wasn’t left bereft for long. Magus slotted himself between Peter’s thighs as he followed him down. Hands rubbing up and down the exposed skin, claws digging in as he leaned down. Teeth seeking Peter’s throat again.

He tipped his head to the side to allow it, crossing his legs behind Magus’ back as his hands buried into fluffy white hair. Shuddering with a moan at the pinch of pain, at the stomach-turning sensation of his blood pulling away from him.

It combined with his desire in confounding ways, muddling the pain and discomfort into something intoxicating instead. Leaving him feeling lost in a warm, blissful haze.

One of Magus’ hands pressed to the mattress as he leaned fully over Peter, the other sliding up his thigh, over his hip, his chest. Stopping at the collar of his shirt, claws slipping under—and then he was ripping the fabric in two, exposing Peter’s chest to his wandering fingers.

The pad of a thumb brushed over his nipple and made him shiver, his fingers tightening in Magus’ hair a fraction. Feeling the kiss of the tip of Magus’ claws against his skin.

“Magus,” he breathed, thoughts cloudy. Warm and distant in ways he couldn’t explain, but it felt—nice.

To not feel anything but this. The hands on his body, the bloody lips kissing a line up his jaw to press more of his own blood onto his tongue. Claws scraping lower down his torso.

Magus pulled away to kiss down his chin, the front of his throat, to his chest. Peter’s hands slid down to his shoulders, shuddering at the sensation of fangs teasing his nipple. Of a hand warmed only by Peter’s body heat slipping beneath the waistband of his shorts to touch him. Fingers slipping between wet lips as Magus bit him again, enough to hurt.

Peter jolted and arched his back into it, a desperate whine skating past his open lips as he rolled his hips down against Magus’ palm. Turning his head away as his brows furrowed, his face burning from lots of things—but guilt always came crawling back. Eating at him for wanting this.

For needing Magus like this.

Magus came back up to kiss the corner of his lips. Biting at his jaw, the heel of his palm right where Peter wanted it. He burned hotter at the tease of fingers against his opening, the claws only giving him a second of pause—but not enough to stop Magus from pushing one into him.

It didn’t hurt like he had expected it to. Like he had maybe wanted it to, just a little.

Teeth bit the lobe of his ear before whispered words made him shiver, Magus’ voice lower than usual. “Someone’s thinking too much,” he teased, pausing to nip at the corner of Peter’s jaw. Fingering him leisurely, the slow drag of his skin both inside him and against him driving Peter mad. Like he wanted to take his time, despite the insistent roll of Peter’s hips.

He was going to melt.

“Let me take your worries away, precious boy,” Magus whispered against his skin. Plucking at the guilt and shame lodged in Peter’s chest to emphasize his meaning.

It pulled the feelings closer to the front, and Peter felt them lodge in his throat. Behind his eyes. His nails dug into the lace of Magus’ shoulders, screwing his eyes shut with a quick nod. Feeling all the worse for it.

A hidden smile against his skin, the indent of fangs impossible to miss.

The thoughts. The panic, the shame, the sickening guilt. Gone in an instant, like they had never been there. Leaving his mind blessedly empty, until all he could feel was Magus. Inside and out.

And it was a bliss he had never known.

 

 

-x.x.x.x.x-

 

 

The morning after Adam left without a word, the Spartoi engineers arrived.

But it hadn’t just been the engineers.

It was soldiers, too.

A strange tension lingered in the atmosphere as Mantis and Gamora walked the streets together. Mantis had her hands tucked into the pockets of her hoodie, eyeing the Spartoi soldiers littered throughout the street. Like watchdogs on the morning crowd.

It even put Gamora on edge; she was tense beside Mantis, her grip tight on the tablet that contained her list of what they needed at the apartment. Sharp eyes occasionally glaring daggers as they passed a squad of soldiers, but never too overt.

The sun hadn’t been fixed yet, so despite the early hour, everything was still drenched in darkness. Rocket estimated it could take anywhere from two to five days, maybe more, depending on how severe the damage was.

It made Mantis uneasy. Tense and nervous thoughts bouncing against hers. Distrust and resentment, indignation and spitting fury. Grief, apathy, loneliness, fear—she felt it all. Like a whirlpool of negativity, made worse by her own dark feelings.

Especially toward Adam, currently. He had a right to keep himself closed to her, of course, but to leave without saying anything? Without telling them where or why or for how long?

It made her as angry as it made her so crushingly sad. Hoping that no one else would leave or be taken from her in such a short time.

She didn’t think she could bear another loss.

The thoughts had her antennae drooping as she looked to Gamora, whose yellow eyes flicked her way swiftly. Always keenly aware of when she was being stared at. She raised a dark brow, tilting her head a bit.

A frown settled on Mantis’ face. She removed one hand from her hoodie and held it out to Gamora, who stared at her palm for a moment before switching the tablet to her other hand to take it. Holding Mantis’ hand snugly, squeezing once as they walked.

Mantis sidled closer to her, leaning her head on her shoulder. Antennae bumping against Gamora’s cheek and hair, which made her laugh happily.

She chose to nestle her thoughts closer to Gamora’s, which, despite everything, were the closest to calm Mantis was going to find in all this chaos.

It was nice. As nice as it could be, at least.

Not much had changed by the second day. Rocket came home late and frustrated, as he had yesterday; the sun was still not fixed; the soldiers remained; Adam had still not returned.

So Mantis had sat on the floor of her shared room with Gamora and Drax, both of them asleep, and tried to reach for Adam’s mind. Stretching her own consciousness farther than she ever had before. Feeling the strain it placed upon her.

How Magus had managed to do this to Peter, she couldn’t guess. He had been so far away…the strength of will required was a high bar to meet.

Yet he had done it. The thought unsettled her, if only because she didn’t like knowing that the threat they faced was so far above them.

A threat that had stolen the closest thing she would ever get to a brother.

As her thoughts wandered, she found her focus shifting. Away from Adam and toward Peter; she had felt the wards break the day Knowhere was attacked. It had broken her heart, but there had been nothing she could do about it.

He had been too far away.

Even now, when she reached for him—she got nothing. Like there was a wall rebounding her, or a distortion field. Either way, her thoughts couldn’t reach beyond a certain point.

The strain from the effort became too much, and she had to pull back into herself. Opening her eyes to glare at the floor at her lack of progress.

She would keep trying.

 The days began to blur together. The Guardians were getting restless with the lack of progress, but by the fourth day, the artificial sun came back on.

In the middle of the night.

It took time to sync the cycles with the hours, but eventually they got it working correctly. Most of the cluttered streets had been cleared of debris and bodies both by then, though that general air of unease lingered. Soldiers still patrolling, engineers still lingering.

Guardians growing ever more restless. Cosmo had reached out a few times, had pulled them into meetings with Spartax’s general on a few occasions, but the updates were slow. Though Spartax’s spy network was nigh unmatched in the galaxy, they still had not found a trace of the Universal Church of Truth.

Nine days passed, and for every one of them Mantis had tried reaching for whoever her heart hurt for the most that night. Adam or Peter.

Tonight it was Peter. Clutching memories of the two of them lovingly pestering each other, or simply enjoying one another’s company.

Drawing on Peter’s sleeping face on a night when he had fallen asleep on the couch after drinking too much. His pointed teasing about Gamora, which always got him an elbow in the ribs.

Sitting together in Peter’s room with his music playing on the speaker. Chatting about one of the movies they had just watched while Peter braided her hair, or singing poorly together to one of the songs.

Feeling at home when he hugged her, and she crushed him back enough to make him wheeze a laugh.

Oh, she missed him. More than she could say. Missed his stupid jokes, his warm hugs, his music, his ridiculous movies.

Her cheeks were wet as she searched for him, her heart heavy. Overburdened with grief.

Nine days. Longer than when he disappeared into that alternate reality. Nine days as the Magus’ prisoner.

Something ugly festered in her chest. Rage and self-loathing. Guilt.

How much longer would it take to find him? How many more days? How many more weeks?

The thought scared her.

As ever, her thoughts brushed against an impermeable wall. She knew now that it was whatever defenses Magus had put in place to guard Peter’s mind, but she still searched for openings. Gaps in the barrier that might let her in, even for a few seconds.

Only this time, she was forced away by another. A voice entered her mind not long after, and she felt her blood boil hot at the intonation. Familiar yet not, twisted with cruel mocking.

Not very fond of listening to ‘keep out’ signs, are you, little bug?

The Magus.

Her hands tightened into fists where they rested on her knees. He isn’t yours.

Deep amusement was her answer. Have you tried telling him that, my dear?

A memory was pushed her way with the question. There was no context and no meaningful way to discern if it was currently happening or something that had already passed, but she saw him through Magus’ eyes.

Peter.

Blonde hair hid half of his sleeping face, which was resting atop Magus' clothed chest. Holding Peter in his arms. Silk sheets were pulled up to pale shoulders, but not enough to hide that his skin was on display—and that there were little red bite marks and bruises scattered amongst the freckles.

Her heart dropped at the sight.

Ah, but you can't, can you? Magus began, something cruel in its mocking. What a shame.

The smugness had her expression pinching, anger in her veins. What have you done to him?

Another burst of amusement. Nothing he did not ask for, little bug, fret not. He is exactly where he needs to be. The same cannot be said for some people, hm?

She severed the connection between them then, feeling a deep anger that he had plucked information from her thoughts yet again. Magus, apparently satisfied, did not pursue her; she waited a few minutes to be certain.

Her thoughts circled each other until they became static noise in her mind, and she couldn’t bear it anymore. She got to her feet, all but fleeing the room. Needing space to herself. Fresh air, too, maybe.

She stepped outside in the dead of night to find Rocket sitting next to the door, tinkering with one of his guns. He didn’t seem to acknowledge her arrival, but he did speak to her quietly. “Hey, Mantis. Couldn’t sleep?”

She tucked her hands beneath her arms, staring out at the stars. Frowning deeply. “Something like that, yes. You couldn’t, either?”

Rocket just smiled, like the answer should be obvious. Maybe it was.

He continued to pry pieces off of the gun, replacing them with others from an open toolbox beside him. “Where ya runnin’ to?”

She shrugged, lifting a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “I don’t know. Somewhere quiet.”

“Docks are quiet this late, usually,” he said, lifting his gaze to her. Squinting. “Unless ya don’t like the sound of ship engines now and then, I guess.”

Maybe some noise wouldn’t be so bad. She glanced in the direction of the docks, her brows furrowed. “What about you? Will you stay out here?”

“Eh,” Rocket said, tucking his tools away carefully, “I was thinkin’ I could head up to Starlin’s, have a few whiskeys, maybe punch someone in the face. Start a bar fight, get arrested, hopefully maul a Spartoi bastard in uniform. You know. Usual stuff.”

A flicker of a smile on Mantis’ lips as she watched him square everything away. “Or you could come with me to the docks. I bet you know all the best spots to see it from.”

Rocket bobbed his head back and forth with an expression like he was weighing his options before he shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I could do that too.”

He picked himself up and holstered his gun, its parts shifting and locking into new places to make it more compact. He started trotting off without a word, so Mantis followed close behind.

In the end, Rocket led her somewhere vaguely familiar. It took her a second to recognize it; the time of day was different, and she was seeing it with her own eyes this time, but…

This was the place where Peter had convinced Adam to stay.

She flicked her gaze around, mesmerized. Feeling a gentle breeze tousle her hair, hearing the whirr of a ship taking off somewhere nearby.

And it was peaceful. For once.

Rocket sat beside her, his legs easily slotting between the rails to hang over the edge. He unclipped his tablet from his belt, but then paused. Thinking a moment before he rifled in the pockets of his shorts. “Hey, Mantis, you want this, uh—what the hell does Quill call it, ‘trail mix?’ It's got fruits and nuts or whatever. Stole it from some Spartoi bootlicker earlier.”

She glanced down to find a package of snacks held up to her, ticking a brow. “You stole it. Do you not want it?”

Rocket snorted. “No. I just didn’t want him to have it.”

A beat before Mantis shrugged, taking the package. “Thanks, Rocket.”

“Sure,” he responded, settling his tablet on his lap.

They fell into a peaceful quiet afterward, Mantis leaning her elbows against the railing to snack on her ill-gotten goods. She had glanced over at Rocket briefly to find him playing one of those games Peter had shown him, the sight making her frown minutely as she glanced away.

Even in small ways, he had touched their lives. Impossible to not feel his absence.

Impossible not to remember what she had seen, either. Heart pinching at the image of Peter asleep with Magus, bitten and bruised.

Somehow it had been worse than if Peter had been locked away in a cell by himself. At least that would have made sense, and while it would still be bad, it would not have so many questions racing through her mind. Ones that made her sick to even consider.

She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him with Magus for another second, yet she had no choice.

Her spiraling thoughts were momentarily distracted by the arrival of a loud ship. Large, luxurious. Flying Spartoi make and colors, draped in regalia and finery.

She blinked, watching it slowly pull into the docks. Stabilizers extended to catch the ship as it landed, engines powering off slowly. A ramp extended, and two Spartoi soldiers descended. Behind them was a man, unarmored, and behind him were two more soldiers.

She squinted in her attempt to make the man out, but it wasn’t until that small party drew closer that she could see. Lit up by the streetlights of Knowhere below her.

Tall. Pale. Brown hair, dark eyes. Full beard.

Startled recognition hit her hard enough to make her choke on her mixed nuts.

Beside her Rocket scrambled into action, setting his tablet aside and rushing to his feet. Scampering up her back to cling to her shoulder with one hand, his feet around her hips to anchor himself. Then he hit her hard between her shoulder blades with his free hand a few times, until she eventually spat the nuts out with an undignified sound.

“Flarkin’ scut, girl, what did you see?” Rocket asked, flabbergasted. Gripping her other shoulder once he was assured she wouldn’t start choking again.

She was still trying to catch her breath when Rocket cast his gaze where she had been looking, finding the man in an instant.

He stilled, though the hands on her shoulders tightened. “Is that Quill’s flarkin’ deadbeat dad?”

 

 

-x.x.x.x.x-

 

 

When Adam woke next, he was laid flat on a table of some kind. For far too long of a moment he did not recognize where he was, but then the shape of the metal and the interior of the room began to make sense to him.

Slowly, he sat up on the table. A brief twinge of…not pain, exactly, but certainly something strange gave him pause, and he furrowed his brow. Lifting a hand to brush his fingers over the stone now embedded there, smooth and cold to the touch.

How strange.

He looked for Thanos as he dropped his hand back to the table, but saw him nowhere near. With unsteady legs he slid off the table, stumbling into the wall in an effort to catch himself. The world spun around him, so he simply stared at a fixed point on the ground until the feeling eventually passed.

Then, slowly, he started to move. Directionless at first as he oriented himself, but then his steps became more confident and sure as he recognized where he was within the ship. The medical bay; a place Adam scarcely saw himself.

Finding the helm from here wasn’t difficult, guided mostly by old memories.

The door to the helm swished open and Adam passed through into the room beyond.

Standing at the viewport with his arms crossed behind his back was Thanos. Contemplative.

The sound of the door opening had him angling his head somewhat toward it. “Awake at last, I see.”

“’At last?’” Adam repeated, walking around the console to join Thanos at the viewport. Taking a moment to inspect the view; a small, brown planet was close to the periphery of the viewport, an asteroid belt visible in the distance. Not where they had been last.

Thanos hummed and turned more fully toward Adam. Giving him a careful once-over. “You were out for eighteen cycles. I was beginning to worry.”

His heart dropped at the information, his gaze snapping to Thanos. “Nine days? I did not have nine days to spare.”

Thanos seemed unbothered. “The Magus is hardly going anywhere.”

Suddenly Adam realized he had not even told Thanos why he had to find Magus. Why it mattered more than simply stopping an evil version of himself. “It is not about the Magus. He took someone very important to me when he attacked Knowhere, and I need to get him back. Nine days—I cannot even imagine…”

Guilt and profound sadness sprang to life in his chest. He always knew it would take time, of course, but he was keenly aware that every passing hour was another hour Peter spent in the Magus’ clutches.

It weighed on him. Nine days that could have been spent searching, instead laid out on a table in Thanos’ medbay.

He could not even bear to think of the grim possibilities.

A knowing glint lit Thanos’ eyes, but he averted his gaze as he made his way toward his chair. “I have been searching in your absence, but have had no luck thus far. This Universal Church of Truth has not made any moves since Knowhere. No planets captured, no civilizations vanished. No trail to follow.”

Adam pressed his lips into a line at that, casting his gaze to the floor. Unease rippling beneath his skin.

“I suspect your dark shadow is biding it’s time. Preparing, most likely, for us.”

At that Adam looked up at Thanos, who sank into his chair and leaned back. Fingers pressed together over his chest, elbows braced against the armrest. “You believe he’s expecting us?”

A somewhat sardonic twist took Thanos’ lips. “If I know it is our destiny to defeat the Magus, then I cannot believe the Magus does not know it is his destiny to be defeated. Better to assume he is strategizing than to arrive unprepared.”

“You think him clever?” Adam asked with barely hidden vitriol, lip curling slightly as he turned away. “He is impatient and violent. His strategy thus far has been brute force above all else.”

“Because it knew it could get what it wanted through force alone,” Thanos said, almost dismissive. “You cannot tell me it was wrong.”

Bitterness had Adam flexing his fingers at his side, but he didn’t protest the point. As much as it made him want to break something.

“In any case,” Thanos continued, “he is you, and I know you too well to underestimate your cleverness—so I will not underestimate the Magus.”

“I am not the Magus,” was his automatic response, despising the comparison. Even if he knew fundamentally that it wasn’t wrong, if only on a technicality.

The quiet only lasted a short while before Thanos spoke again. “This individual Magus took from you. It was Peter Quill, was it not?”

He sounded near-certain. It made sense, Adam supposed. He had likely seen the invasion through his own means somehow, especially if he had been watching the Magus specifically—and he had only taken one man that Adam had any relation to.

Adam’s heart pinched as he stared at the ground. “Yes.”

Though Thanos said nothing, Adam could still feel his displeasure. His opinion of humanity was not unknown to Adam. Moreover, it seemed as if the two knew each other to some degree—if Adam was right that Peter’s hatred of Thanos was personal, at least.

“I will not pretend to understand your apparent obsession with him,” he said at last, and Adam knew he was linking both Adam and Magus with the statement, “but it is ultimately besides the point. My goal is to stop the Magus. To this end, I will keep searching for its whereabouts.”

Adam gave a short nod, lifting his gaze to Thanos then. “I appreciate it.”

Thanos hummed, sitting straighter in his chair. Reaching for a compartment to pull something free. “I assume you will want to return to your…friends.”

A question disguised as an observation. “I need to, yes. I had not meant to be gone for quite so long.”

He drew near to Thanos just as the titan pulled a bracelet from the compartment, the object seeming entirely too small in his grip. “Take this, then. I will contact you through it when I find the Church. Should you need, you may also reach out to me.”

Adam took the offered device and settled it around his wrist without further question. He lingered a moment before meeting Thanos’ eyes, which watched him neutrally. “Thank you, Thanos. Truly.”

A hum as Thanos looked elsewhere. Never quite comfortable with genuine gratitude or affection. “Your gratitude is unnecessary. The Magus threatens me just as much as he threatens you; assisting in his defeat is the logical choice.”

Adam hid a small smile when he looked away then. “Of course. We can’t have anyone thinking you might be altruistic.”

Thanos made a face then, waving a hand. “Perish the thought.”

The smile lingered a second longer, but it was quick to fade. He stared at the bracelet around his wrist, toying with it idly before he spoke again. “One last thing, though you may know already: Spartax will be joining us. Whether we like it or not.”

Piercing eyes looked his way. Thanos curled a hand under his chin, propping his elbow on the armrest. “Their army will prove useful to cut through those warships, but I will secure my own forces nonetheless.”

Adam nodded, dropping his hands back to his sides. Relieved to hear it; he trusted Thanos far more than Spartax. “Now if only I knew how to explain that you will be joining us.”

A sardonic smirk split Thanos’ lips at that. “A task I hardly envy you for, Warlock. The Guardians and I have a fraught relationship.”

“To put it mildly,” Adam muttered, thinking of Gamora and Drax.

The latter in particular was going to be an issue. One Adam did not know how to solve, aside from utilizing Mantis in some way. A thought he disliked as much as she surely would, but…

He frowned and pushed the thoughts away for now. He turned to leave, making it to the door before he paused once more. Lifting a hand to toy with the hem of his sleeve. Peter’s sweater.

He shouldn’t ask. He usually didn’t—the less he knew about how Thanos went about his portion of keeping balance in the cosmos, the better.

But this was different.

“How do you know Peter?”

A short quiet, but Thanos was hardly one to lie. Especially not to Adam. “He was a child in one of my prison worlds not so long ago.”

Adam turned to look at Thanos then, a deep frown on his face. If Peter was a child when he met Thanos, then that would have been during his last crusade on Earth. The last that Adam knew of, at least.

To be a child in one of those places…Adam’s heart was heavy to know Peter had lived through so much tragedy. That it never seemed to stop.

Though Thanos did not look at him, he nonetheless spoke again. “He made himself memorable.”

He didn’t elaborate any further, and Adam did not want to know. He turned away and walked out of the helm, heading for the exit.

A sinking feeling in his chest that accompanied the foolish hope once more that Peter would forgive him.

Notes:

Mwah love u all

Chapter 38

Summary:

The silence that followed was contemplative as they both studied the sea of flowers ahead of them. A tall, thick tree stood somewhat behind them and to the right, long vine-like tendrils of leaves draping low and flowing with the wind. They both basked in the quiet before the Matriarch spoke next, her tone serious. “Do you know what I think, Peter Quill?”

He hummed inquisitively, but didn’t look at her.

“I think life has sat you at a game of chess. It is time you learned how to play, or you will continue to lose.”

Time passed, though Peter still wasn’t sure how long. How many days. Magus never said, and Peter never bothered to ask.

What would be the point in knowing, anyway? What good would it do? He wasn’t leaving this place. Not only because he didn’t have the first clue where to start, but because his thoughts weren’t his own. They hadn’t been in a while.

Magus saw everything. Every thought, every feeling, every memory. There was nothing of Peter’s that was just his anymore.

A gentle wind kicked up, blowing his hair into his face where he sat on a bench in the garden. Somewhere to his left was Raker, he knew, even if he couldn’t see the man. Enthused as ever to be Peter’s chaperone in Magus’ absence, though at least these days he was never gone that long.

A red hue stained the world, but there was an utter lack of feeling at the sight anymore. He suspected it had something to do with Magus; allowing him to take Peter’s guilt had, evidently, been enough for Magus to continue taking whatever he liked.

Fear. Despair. Loneliness.

All gone. As if they were never there.

In some weird, twisted way, Peter got the feeling Magus was ultimately trying to help. In his own way. It made a certain kind of sense: take away all the awful negative things, and all that was left was happiness. Right?

Except that wasn’t how it worked. In the absence of negativity, there was only emptiness.

In some ways he liked the apathy. It did feel nice to not be afraid all the time. To not have that weight dragging him down. Even sitting out here was a feat he wouldn’t have achieved if that fear hadn’t been taken from him.

If only it felt nice all the time, but it didn’t. The absence of feeling often became an itch under his skin that he couldn’t quite scratch. A need to feel something, anything, as long as it wasn’t that hollow emptiness.

That something was Magus more often than not. Dragging him to bed and feeling whatever Magus wanted him to feel that day. Loved, owned, pleasured, pained—it varied, but it was better than nothing.

“My, but that is quite the scar.”

The Matriarch. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw her, but she was dressed as elegantly as ever. A dark, sheer gown was layered over an opaque, dark red dress that matched the color of her lips. Her brunette hair fell in loose curls to her shoulders, immaculate as the rest of her.

Peter stared at her a beat before following her gaze down to his left arm.

The burn had been cleansed from him that first night he slept with Magus.

When he had been lying half on his side and half on his front, still short of breath. Pressed against Magus’ chest and sweating through the sheets—and, he was sure, Magus’ shirt. Not that he seemed to give a damn.

He felt Magus in every inch of his aching, burning body. The bruises and bites along his neck and shoulders, mirrored on his chest, hips, and thighs. The gentlest of burns from sharp claws breaking skin in the places Magus had grabbed him, and the tender, dull throbbing between his legs. Uncomfortably wet and messy, but Peter had not cared enough to shower after, and neither had Magus.

He had been half asleep again when he felt the bandages on his left arm tugging. He’d cracked his eyes open to see Magus peeling them off, brows pinching. Watching idly as Magus tossed the bandages away and hovered his palm over the wound, white-purple light blinding enough that Peter had simply closed his eyes again.

Feeling the intense heat under his skin as the burn healed.

When gentle claws carded through his hair, the heat receding, Peter peeked at the wound again. Seeing the subtlest warped flesh around a textured handprint scarred into his skin, but no longer infected or blazing red. No longer tender and sore.

As healed as it was ever going to be. No infection. No open skin.

Just evidence.

“That was what I actually came here for,” Magus had remarked, somewhat amused as he pressed a kiss to Peter’s temple. “You distracted me.”

“You distracted yourself,” he had muttered back, huffing as he closed his eyes again. Hearing Magus laugh, a quiet sound as the sheets were pulled up to cover his skin.

He didn’t answer the Matriarch, instead turning his attention away. Staring at a red flower with the idle thought that Groot would like it, but whatever twinge of sadness might’ve accompanied it simply wasn’t there.

She sauntered over to join him on the bench, clasping her hands in her lap. “I admit I’m glad to see you wandering the grounds, my dear. It must be better than being locked away all the time, no?”

Truthfully Peter didn’t care. He felt the same wherever he was. Bored, apathetic. Tired.

The breeze was nice, though. The flowers were pretty. That was something. “Sure. Don’t think he’ll like that you’re talking to me, though.”

A somewhat amused smile bent her lips as she looked away. “Perhaps not. Do you let Magus’ displeasure decide everything for you?’’

His brows twitched at that, but he didn’t answer her.

She hummed, apparently unbothered by the lack of response. She lifted a delicate hand to the dainty necklace around her neck, toying with it idly.

The silence that followed was contemplative as they both studied the sea of flowers ahead of them. A tall, thick tree stood somewhat behind them and to the right, long vine-like tendrils of leaves draping low and flowing with the wind. They both basked in the quiet before the Matriarch spoke next, her tone serious. “Do you know what I think, Peter Quill?”

He hummed inquisitively, but didn’t look at her.

“I think life has sat you at a game of chess. It is time you learned how to play, or you will continue to lose.”

He blinked at that and finally looked her way, brows furrowed, only to find brown eyes watching him already. Eyes matching her tone. “You are not as helpless as you think, darling. Play to your strengths.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, not entirely sure what she was trying to say—but even the inkling he had made him doubt.

Play to his strengths against Magus?

If she meant manipulation, she was delusional. As if it would ever be that easy on someone that was in his head. That would probably find this conversation later, if he wasn’t hearing it now—and none of it would matter.

Not that it did anyway. Peter wasn’t really the manipulating type. He didn’t like using people.

Her lips twitched, apparently seeing his lack of understanding. “In time, my dear. Just keep it in mind, hm?”

She moved to stand, but he stopped her. Taking her soft wrist in his hand, eyes fixed up to her face. “Why do you even care?”

She stared back, seemingly unbothered to be grabbed so abruptly. Something hidden danced in her eyes. “I know what it is like to be a pawn in another’s game. I also know you will only win when you learn to play.”

She pulled away then, and he let her go. Brows furrowed as he watched her leave, something uneasy in his chest.

It wasn’t advice from the kindness of her heart. He knew that. Even the advice itself was proof enough; why give it if she wasn’t guilty of doing the same?

So what game was she playing? What part did she want him to play?

He didn’t have long to ponder before cold fingers slid against the sides of his throat and startled him, but only for a moment. Claws clicked where dark fingers linked together under his chin, and he huffed as he tipped his head back. Staring up at red eyes with a frown.

Magus tilted his head to the side slightly, thumbs rubbing idly against the underside of Peter’s jaw. He leaned down to kiss Peter between the brows, and then again on his lips before letting him go. “Don’t let her get into your head, my dear. She cannot be trusted.”

Peter stared pointedly at Magus’ back as he came to stand in front of the bench. Watching him turn toward Peter with a half-smirk, hearing his thoughts. “Yet you trust me anyway, so I must be doing something right, no?”

A small frown as Peter glanced away, feeling his skin heat slightly. Unsure how to feel about being called out, or maybe incapable. Because as vexing as it was, as stupid as it was—he did. On some level. A tenuous thing, but there nonetheless.

What was it they said? ‘Better the devil you know’?

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Magus move. Dropping into the seat beside him, facing Peter rather than away. Leaving no real space between them. “On a brighter note, my dear, I’m all caught up at last. All that is left is to wait.”

His brows furrowed as he turned toward Magus. “Wait for what?”

A moment of thought before gentle claws lifted to trace the line of his jaw. Making his skin ripple with how light the touch was. “For Death, of course.”

His fingers twitched on the bench, expression pinching. “What, you think she’s just going to show up?”

He didn’t know much about the abstracts, it was true, but he still expected them to be some form of omniscient. Wouldn’t Death know Magus wanted her dead?

There was open cruelty in Magus’ smile then, his fingers dipping lower. Following the line of Peter’s throat. Fingers brushing the barely-healed bite marks there. “Did you know that Death has a lover, darling?”

It wasn’t a question that wanted an answer, so Peter didn’t give one. Magus knew he didn’t, anyway.

He dropped his hand to Peter’s thigh, leaning into his space to kiss his jaw. Whispering against his skin. “She will arrive. Whether or not she believes it is wise is irrelevant.”

Though he didn't spell it out in so many words, Peter still knew what Magus meant. He glanced down at the claws sinking into his clothed thigh, brows twitching. "An eye for an eye?"

A smile against his pulse, teeth nipping at him a moment later. Making him shiver and shift against the bench, never more aware of Raker lurking somewhere in the background. "Isn't it funny, darling? Even Death denies her nature where her love is concerned, yet she still sought to deny me mine."

A moment later Magus invited himself astride Peter's thighs, claws sinking into his jaw where Magus held him. Red eyes bore down into his, a sharpness there that wasn't meant for him. “This time I will kill her first. She will never take you from me again, the hypocritical bitch."

The claws were starting to hurt, so Peter laid a gentle hand over Magus' thigh and whispered his name.

A beat passed, and then another. Slowly, the death grip on his jaw slackened as the burning intensity of those crimson eyes simmered down. Pale brows knotting together slightly as a lukewarm thumb dragged across his chin, under his lip.

Then Magus leaned into him, pressing their foreheads together. Shifting his touch so that both hands framed Peter's face, his eyes slipping shut. "Forgive me, darling. I don't mean to frighten you."

"I'm not afraid, remember?" Peter returned quietly. Sighing as he closed his eyes, too. "You took that away from me."

A soft hum, and then a gentle kiss to his hairline. "Do you want it back, darling?"

He wasn't sure how to answer that. "Sometimes," he muttered after a notable pause, cracking his eyes open again. Frowning. "I feel...I don't feel real anymore. I don't know if it's because you've taken things from me, or if it's...if it's me. If I would feel that way anyway."

Red eyes watched him, that crease returning the longer Peter spoke. Gentle thumbs rubbed at his skin slowly, dragging a few moments before Magus spoke. Choosing his words carefully, or at least that's what it sounded like. "I took these feelings from you precisely because they were making you feel this way, my dear. Do you not remember how empty you felt before I returned to you? How lonely?"

His brows furrowed as he tried to recall, but everything felt like it had blended together. Days sliding into each other, memories disorganized. Out of order, maybe. He didn't know anymore.

A beat before Magus' brows twitched, a frown on his face. Not one made from frustration or unhappiness, but rather one crafted from worry. Concern.

A strange thing to see so openly on Magus' face. "Why does it persist?" He murmured, more to himself than Peter. Dropping a hand to Peter's chest, fingers splayed over his heart. "Is it..." he began quietly, but trailed off. Frown worsening at whatever he didn't say.

"I will find some way to fix it, darling," he said after a while, pulling away from Peter to kiss him between the brows. "I promise you that."

"Fix what?" Peter returned, staring up at Magus.

Red eyes watched him a moment before Magus turned away, sliding himself off of Peter and back to his feet. "I will find a way to make you feel real again."

It wasn't what Magus had on his mind, and Peter knew that. Picking out his lies became easier the more Peter heard them, but it became just as tiring to keep picking them apart.

So he let it go, shifting his attention elsewhere. "Sure."

A quiet moment settled, but it didn't last. Magus took Peter's hand and dragged him to his feet, shifting his hold to wrap around Peter's waist instead. "Come, darling. I had something I wanted to show you. Perhaps it will help?"

He didn't sound fully certain, but Peter had no real reason to protest anyway. It wasn't like he had better things to do, so he simply stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and let himself be led away. Hearing the shift of metallic armor as Raker followed them after a few moments, and something about his gait told Peter it was very begrudging.

 

 

-x.x.x.x.x-

 

 

Knowhere was in a perplexing state when he returned to it. Physically restored, but socially…

There were quite a number of soldiers in the crowd that did not belong. Adam touched down on the ground outside the apartment of the Guardians, ignoring the curious stares of onlookers as he slipped inside.

A knife whipped past his face, missing his skin by mere centimeters. He blinked as it embedded in the door, and then shifted his gaze to find Gamora behind the counter. Twirling another one, a faint furrow between her brows as she stared at him. Frowning. “You’re lucky I missed.”

Adam hummed, pulling the blade free and walking it over to her. Setting it on the counter. “Somehow I suspect you almost didn’t.”

She sighed, tucking both knives away. “Where have you been? Do you even know how badly you hurt Rocket when you disappeared without a word? How much you hurt Mantis? We’ve already lost one person, Adam—”

He raised his hands in an effort to placate, averting his eyes. “I…I understand. I apologize, but I did not want to be persuaded out of doing what needed to be done. Nor was I ready to explain what that even was just yet.”

He still was not, but he knew he would have no choice.

Gamora opened her mouth as if to continue the argument, but then paused. Reaching a hand between them to brush Adam’s hair from his forehead.

Revealing the gem.

The sight of it had her expression falling into a careful blankness as she retracted her touch. Yellow eyes guarded as she stared a hole through him.

Evidently recognizing what it was. Where it came from.

“So he’s alive?” she asked after a long moment, her expression beginning to crack. “Because I can’t picture you stealing from a dead man.”

Guilt had Adam unwilling to speak, but he forced himself to anyway. “…I am sorry, Gamora.”

Her lips twitched half into a sneer as her brows pinched. “’Sorry,’” she repeated with no small amount of vitriol, practically spitting the word as she pulled her knife free again. Twisting it idly in her hand. “You knew he was alive this entire time and you didn’t think to say anything? To anyone?”

“Knowledge of his survival never became conducive to our goals,” Adam responded truthfully, but it was only half of the whole. He hesitated before he tacked on, “Besides which, it would have been unproductive knowing the history you and Drax share with him.”

She glared at the countertop, blade twirling between her fingers.

“I would not have gone to him if I did not think it was necessary, Gamora,” Adam reiterated firmly.

Her expression tightened. “Is it? We already had Spartax. Why would we need him?"

He placed his hands on the countertop and leaned into her space, knowing her sharp yellow eyes would immediately flick up to his own if he did. She ceased her twirling of the blade to hold it by the handle instead. “We both know Spartax does not have Peter's best interest at heart. Had I believed otherwise, or that they were remotely capable of assisting in the task that lies before us, I may have left well enough alone. But I do not. I cannot if the price is Peter's safety."

For a long moment they simply watched each other until Adam continued, softening his voice. Aiming for something more empathetic, though it was a skill he was still learning. Mostly from observation; Peter and Mantis both had empathy to spare. “If our circumstances were different, Gamora, I would never ask this of you, nor of Drax. I do not seek to make you feel as though your pain is unheard, but I…I can see no other way to stop the Magus. I swear this to you.”

A long stretch of silence before her brows twitched and she finally looked away. Twirling the blade again. “He—he made me kill my sister, Adam. The only one I had. How am I supposed to just…”

In an instant, the admission had pain lancing her features. She dropped the blade to the counter, leaning against it like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Comfort was not something Adam was very good at giving, but it still felt appropriate to try. To reach out and lay one of his hands over hers.

Tears spilled down Gamora’s cheeks. “I hate that this is where we are. That I have to—I have to forsake her memory just to save someone I care about.”

Adam did not know what to say, so he simply repeated, “I am sorry, Gamora.”

Whether she could sense or hear it, Gamora’s pain nonetheless drew Mantis out from the hallway. Her dark eyes swept the room, catching on Adam, but ultimately finding Gamora. She rushed to her side to pull her into a hug, and she buried herself into Mantis. Clinging to her tightly.

Only when she regained herself did the others begin to meander out into the living space, as well. Even Mary was drawn out by the volume of people, trotting over to leap up onto the counter. Staring up at Adam with big eyes and meowing at him.

He reached a hand out to her, letting her sniff. She eyed him the entire time before she blinked, and then rubbed her cheek against his fingers. Soft fur touching his skin as the gentlest of purrs rumbled in her chest.

“And where the flark did you run off to, Blondie?” Rocket demanded, pulling himself up onto the stool in front of the counter. Giving the cat a narrow look before staring up at Adam pointedly.

He didn’t answer immediately, opting to pet Mary a few moments longer. Trying not to think too hard about the origins of her name, but failing.

A woman he had never met, but knew much about. He knew her taste in music, knew the general look of her face, saw the light of her eyes in Peter’s. He knew she loved cats and that her golden heart lived on within her son.

Not for the first time, he wished he could have met her…but perhaps it was for the best that he did not. He could not imagine she would like him very much.

Not if Thanos was right and he harbored a Magus just like this one. One that may be just as keen to steal Peter away, twisting love into a dangerous obsession. A violent one, even.

He didn’t like the thought of such evil lurking in his shadow.

“Blondie. Did ya get a flarkin’ lobotomy out in space or what? I’m talkin’ to ya!” Rocket interrupted, shoving impatiently at Adam’s shoulder.

He blinked, and then dropped his hand from Mary. Shifting his attention to Rocket. “No.”

“You have been missing for nine days,” Drax pointed out, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Staring at Adam.

He winced at the reminder, glancing down at the counter. “Yes. It was not my intent to leave for so long.”

“Where were you?” Mantis all but demanded, leaning against the counter to glare up at him.

Yellow eyes briefly met his, but the answer stuck on his tongue a few moments longer anyway.

He supposed it might be best to just…rip the band-aid off, as Peter would say. Get to the point. “I sought assistance from Thanos. It took much longer than I would have liked.”

Gamora looked away from him again as the others fell silent. Mantis stared at him with furrowed brows and wide eyes, disbelieving—but he offered her proof when he felt her scratch at his mind.

She buried her face in her hands a moment later, dragging them up over her antennae and smoothing out her hair. Eyes closed.

“Thanos.”

The only thing Drax said, his voice dangerously neutral. When Adam looked at him next, he saw him staring down at the floor. Indents in his skin where his fingers pressed in.

Sharp eyes drifted up to Adam’s face. “So he is not dead.”

A subtle shake of the head. “No, my friend. I am sorry.”

Drax’s expression and posture did not change, but Adam could nonetheless feel the hostility. See it in his eyes. “A friend of Thanos is no friend of mine.”

It was not wholly surprising, then, that Adam felt the apartment wall crack and give out behind him in the next moment. Drax’s body weight thrown into him until they were both tumbling out onto the busy streets of Knowhere, dust and debris following in their wake.

He heard someone yell—several someones, honestly—but had not the time to decipher if he recognized the voice as a heavy fist slammed into his cheek once, twice. They were the only hits Drax got as Adam shoved against his broad chest, cosmic force throwing the katathian off of him.

A crowd had begun to form around them as he scrambled to his feet. Taking a defensive posture, but still reaching out with his hands in an attempt to placate. “Drax, please—”

The peaceful gesture went ignored as Drax threw a short blade at him. He ducked out of the way and swiftly moved to grab it after, mindful of the civilians around them. He only just got it in his grip when he felt wooden tendrils wrap around him, and saw Drax get snared in much the same way.

“I am Groot!” bellowed the flora colossus, clearly distraught as much as he was angry.

Adam did not resist the hold; he was not intending to fight anyone, but Drax was beyond reason. He wriggled his long blade free and jabbed it into Groot’s tendrils, and a moment later got thrown to the ground harshly.

Adam was dropped where he stood as Rocket rushed out next to check on Groot, followed by Mantis and Gamora who both darted in the other direction.

“Drax, calm down,” Mantis called as she rushed over to him, hands outstretched. “Please! Adam is our friend!”

He whirled up to his feet and slashed at her with his long blade. “Our friends do not seek aid from Thanos!”

A metallic clang resounded as Gamora blocked the dagger from reaching Mantis’ abdomen with her sword, her teeth bared in a vicious sneer as she shoved Drax back. “Friends don’t attack each other either, you fucking idiot! Snap out of it!”

Spartoi soldiers were beginning to push up into the crowd, breaking it apart. Adam’s distress only furthered at the sight, and he returned his attention back to Drax. “Please listen to reason, Drax—”

A moment later he was lunging for Gamora, grabbing her by the throat and throwing her to the side. Directly at Adam.

He snapped his arms up to catch her as they collided, the both of them tumbling backwards onto the stone ground. She rolled past him and sprang up to her feet while he got to his knees and pushed himself up, watching her run back into the fray without a second thought.

Wooden tendrils ripped the long blades away from Drax as Mantis ducked a swing, kicking at his leg—though it did nothing to unbalance him, and he grabbed her by the face to slam it into the wall.

Gamora leapt onto his back afterward, her sword around his neck. “Leave her alone!”

“Gamora, no!” Adam yelled, rushing forward to try and stop her.

Drax slammed her back against the wall, the force jostling her and giving him space to slip his hand under the one she held the blade with. Grabbing her and throwing her over his shoulder, her body hitting the ground with a tiny spray of red where her sword slashed his ribs.

The wound went ignored as he charged straight into Adam. Knocking into him with such force that the stone gave out under his back, and he winced at the pain of it before the entire weight of the katathian bore down on him. Hands around his throat.

“Drax—” he hissed out, shoving at Drax’s face with one hand and digging his nails into the flesh of his forearm with the other. Feeling magic under his fingertips, but not wanting to maim Drax if he didn’t have to. “I am not your enemy—”

There was a mindless, visceral hatred on Drax’s face. “You consort with Thanos while a man that wears your face breaks our family apart, and you have the gall to tell me you are not my enemy?”

Something about that hurt in ways Adam couldn’t articulate.

A pale hand slapped down onto the back of Drax’s head, Mantis’ frantic, “Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep,” reaching his ears.

The hold around his throat slackened, though Adam could see Drax resisting the compulsion. Trying to. In the end it wasn’t enough to best Mantis, and he fell right on top of Adam. Crushing deadweight.

If he had any breath to spare, he would have lost it. As it was, he simply felt the pain of the impact like a bruise, and struggled to shove Drax off enough to catch his breath.

Green hands pulled as Adam pushed, rolling Drax onto his back. Yellow eyes met his as he sat upright, lifting his hand to his throat to touch the would-be bruises. “You okay, Adam?”

A man that wears your face breaks our family apart.

His heart sank even as he gave a short nod. Cheek pulsing where he was hit, the faint taste of iron on his tongue where teeth had cut muscle.

Mantis knelt beside him, her brows twisted with worry as her dark eyes roved his face. Blood trickled down her forehead, over her brow. Her lips parted as if to speak, but another interrupted before she could.

“That was quite the spectacle so early in the morning.”

The voice was familiar, if deepened with age. It made Adam bristle as he snapped his head up to find someone he never thought he’d see again.

J’son. Visibly older than when Adam had last seen him, standing just a few feet away. Flanked by his own guards, the crowd now gone. Streets emptying by armed coercion.

His hands were clasped behind his back, his brown eyes as cold and calculating as Adam remembered. Soul still hollow—perhaps more now than it had been then.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded in a rough voice, getting to his feet. Feeling Mantis grab his wrist while Gamora stiffened behind him.

A joyless smile bent J’son’s lips, and the expression in his eyes never changed.

“I believe it is time we talked, Guardians of the Galaxy. Don’t you?”

Notes:

that adam pov kicked my ass just so u all know. i hope u enjoyed it anyways lmao

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Sometimes It Rhymes (Quillock)