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Peter was starting to get sick of the amount of times he’d ended up in these situations.
The first thing that had become apparent to him was the pain, as something was injected into his neck. He’d woken up, kicking and yelling at whoever was closest, but had quickly lost his will to fight as his head grew foggy. That had just appeased the freaks that crowded him, checking his restraints and telling him how much of a prize he’d be.
In all fairness, Quill had been warned about this. Not this instance, specifically, but the human trade. It wasn’t often to get humans around the Galaxy — other than Earth, which was protected due to the small population — so when they did appear, it was a battle for whoever could sell them off sooner
Yondu had been the one to inform him, in fact. Well, he’d informed him many times. Primarily when Peter was a child, grinning at the terror that would form on the kid’s face, before patting his shoulder and telling him that the ravagers would always be there to prevent that from happening. It had given Peter hope. Quite worthless hope, he thought, giving consideration to his current predicament.
His thoughts were interrupted as he was pulled upright, hands on his shoulders as they dragged him forward. He matched their pace with clumsy footsteps, head bobbing. He could still feel the crust of dried blood on his neck gently pulling with each movement; it was how they’d captured him, hitting him hard enough that he lost consciousness instantly. There was still a dull throb echoing within his skull, pain striking with each new movement.
They pulled him through a doorway, before shoving him onto a chair, groaning as his head bounced against the hard material. He couldn’t fight back as metal clicked around his wrists, calves held back as he felt the cold metal circle his ankles. He looked up at his captors, snorting.
“Really going all out, aren’t you?” He slurred, flexing his hands. One looked up at him, the rest ignoring him as they moved around various parts of the room.
“Well of course. We wouldn’t want any difficulties while we test you, would we?”
Peter raised an eyebrow, “Test me?”
The man shushed him, “I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”
Peter frowned, but the person left before he had a chance to ask any more questions. He could hear rattling, a low humming slowly becoming apparent as people started to clear the room. There was a large mirror opposite him, and he could only guess that it was one way as people took the door next to it. Soon enough, he was alone, glaring at his own reflection.
“Subject 4-B, Terran. Current testing stage: endurance threshold. We will now begin.”
Endurance threshold?
Peter didn’t have a chance to ask as a shot of electricity shot through his body. He yelped, body tensing involuntarily at the sensation.
“Stage 1, minimum standard, completed. Performance as expected. No outstanding response.”
Peter snarled, “Minimum standard? What the hell does that mean?”
There was no response, and no warning, as the electricity flickered back on. Peter could feel static under his skin, teeth grating to stop any noise from escaping. It lasted much longer than the first shock, and he found his limbs twitching even quicker than before at the sensation. He coughed as it stopped, head feeling even more dizzy than before. He rested it against the back of the chair, taking a deep breath.
“Stage 2, completed. Performance as expected. No outstanding response.”
Jesus. How many stages were there? Surely they weren't going to continue until Peter passed out. Peter already knew they were going to keep him alive; humans were too valuable in the market to be killed, it would be a waste of product for them. He didn’t doubt that they weren’t above pushing him to the brink, though. He flexed his muscles, trying to shake off the slight burning sensation invading his senses. His wrists hurt the most, so he was guessing it was where the electricity was emerging from.
“Stage 3 will now begin.”
Oh. So he was being warned. Maybe Peter needed to start paying more attention.
An involuntary whine escaped his throat as the bolts of electricity shot through him. It was surreal, his neck craned as far as he could as if trying to escape the hold. He blinked, and concrete walls were replaced by blue skies. He had to think for a moment before he recognised the place. He could remember the electricity, the power he was ‘destined’ to hold. His father, hugging him one moment and using him as a source the next. His eyelids squeezed shut as he tried to block out the memory, back arched against the chair, before the electricity died down.
He gasped, curling in on himself as his body relaxed. His mind felt more jumbled than before, thoughts racing past too quickly for him to hold onto. His vision was far darker than before, blurred at the edges as he tried to regain his breathing pattern.
“Stage 3, completed. Pulse slightly irregular, as expected. No outstanding response.”
He couldn’t find it in himself to respond with a sarcastic comment. His wrists burned, and under the metal he could see the red skin. His limbs were still shaking, aftershocks presenting themselves in the trembling of his fingers and he closed his fists weakly, testing his own strength.
“Bastards,” he muttered. It either was too quiet to hear, or they didn’t care, judging by the lack of response.
“Stage 4 will now begin.”
There was more? Peter’s wrists already felt frayed, and he could almost smell the burning flesh underneath his cuffs. He didn’t know how much more he could take, and a distant part of mind told him that’s what they were looking for.
He could feel his heart stuttering as the electricity jolted. He could barely respond, pressed so far into the chair he could practically phase into it. He could barely feel his limbs as they convulsed, vision blurring before it whitened. His ears rang, and he couldn’t breathe as the electricity prolonged its ending.
By the time he’d come to awareness, someone was standing in front of him. He felt a hand grab his chin as his head was pulled up, making eye contact with the man from earlier.
“You did well. We predicted you’d last a lot shorter on that last stage. A shame we couldn’t get you through to the final one, though.”
“You’re fucking sick.” Peter spat. The man didn’t even flinch, instead sporting a grin.
“That behaviour of yours is something we’ll need to amend. I doubt buyers would be interested in you if you stayed this mouthy.”
“Good luck with that, jackass.”
“Oh, I love a challenge. Perhaps we should put you through another one?”
Peter’s blood ran cold, but his stare didn’t falter as he looked up with hateful eyes. His chin was dropped, exhaustion evident as it hit his chest.
He could hear the rattling of a table being pulled forward, before his head was brought upright again. Something latched across his forehead, pinning it to the chair. A voice came from behind him, a hand raking through his hair as someone spoke softly into his ear.
“Hope you don’t mind. I just love to see the expressions that arise.”
Now that Peter’s head was up, he could see exactly what they’d brought. His eyes landed first to the mallet on the table, large enough in size to make his voice waver and stop whatever remark he was about to reply with. A sharp pain hit his neck, and he could see the glinting of a needle.
“Don’t worry about that. We just need to make sure you don’t fight back.”
The man stepped forward once more, before looking to the mirror behind him and nodding. A voice resounded through the room once more.
“Subject 4-B, Terran. Current testing stage: density testing. We will now begin.”
Now that didn’t sound remotely good. He tried to form his hand into a fist, a small comfort, but they didn’t respond. That fucking needle.
The table clinked as his captor picked up the mallet, his expression blank, he weighted it in his hands for a moment, looking it over, before looking back at Peter and giving him a small, condescending smile. Peter only glared back in response — one of the only movements he could fathom.
The first hit wasn’t too bad. It was lighter than he expected, leaving his forearm with a slight sting. He snorted before he could react, quickly regretting the action as the mallet was swung once again.
That one did hurt. He hissed at the pain, already predicting the formation of a bruise as he took into account the redness of the area. It had hit the exact same spot as before, and it made Peter wonder exactly how far they were going to go with this.
“Mark down each response. Collect as much data as possible.” The person in front of him said, looking back towards the mirror.
Peter rolled his eyes. Data. He wasn’t going to be more than a test here, every detail on him scattered within listless papers and files. It made him wonder how many tests there actually were. How much they were going to analyse him, how much they were going to put him through.
These parts, Yondu had never mentioned. He’d mentioned the capturing, the confinement, the selling, but never the tests. The amount of detail and accuracy Yondu had made Peter almost believe Yondu had seen one of these himself. If so, he wondered why this was never mentioned. He knew Yondu loved scaring Peter, bringing him to fear as much as he could for his own entertainment, so Peter naturally assumed that this would have been one of the key parts that he would have mentioned. He didn’t have much more time to think on it as the mallet struck once more, the pain enough for Peter to let out a strangled cry of pain. He felt his body trying to jerk away, to no avail.
It was slightly higher than the last hit, the redness spreading to the new area almost immediately after the blow. The main thing that spread across was the pain, a dull throbbing sensation encompassing his entire forearm. He could see his reflection. Hair matted, forehead twinkling with his own sweat. His face was angry; the most movement he could allow himself with the drug coursing through him.
The next blow tore skin. A pained noise rumbled from his throat as he watched droplets of blood form, sliding down his arm and onto the chair. His captor didn’t pay it any attention, waiting for a moment, before scanning Peter. He turned back to the mirror, nodding, before Peter helplessly watched the mallet rise.
Crack.
Peter could barely hear it as pain flooded his senses. No noise escaped his lips — only a huff as his chest heaved, eyes closing in a harsh wince. He thought he could hear a faint whistling, his own auditory hallucinations playing as hands prodded at his arm, sparking new jolts and noises from his throat.
“Only a fracture. Shall we continue?”
The question wasn’t directed at him — rather the mirror that had been taunting him throughout the ordeal. A grunt escaped his lips as the speakers crackled, but no voice came out. There was a moment of silence, before the mallet dropped to the man’s side, Peter’s eyes closing in the expectation of pain.
The door opened, but Peter didn’t open his eyes. He only let his vision return as he heard a whistle, the sound of a body dropping to the floor following. That familiar red streak, just disappearing from view as Peter blinked.
“Always managing to get into trouble, aren’t ya?”
“I don’ ask for ‘t.” Peter slurred back in response, a huff following.
Yondu stepped closer, undoing the restraint on Peter’s head forward. Hands immediately moved to catch him as he fell, his own body unresponsive to his will. Yondu held his head gently, using his arrow to strike through the metal cuffs.
“You may not ask for it, son, but it sure as hell follows you.”
As soon as the restraints were broken, Peter looked at his wrists. They were red, practically blistering from the heat they’d been subjected to. They still hurt, but his arm hurt far worse, providing him with a worse distraction.
“You able to stand?”
Peter snorted, “Do I look like I can?”
“Careful, I don’t mind dragging you out by the foot.”
It was a weak threat, and Peter could tell there was no heat behind it as Yondu’s voice wavered slightly. Despite it, Peter stayed quiet, letting Yondu pull him up and wrap an arm around his waist, pulling Peter’s good arm around his shoulders. Peter’s head hung limply, eyes facing the floor as Yondu began to walk.
“You never told me about that part.”
“What?”
“The tests, when I was a kid. You never told me how violent they were — that they even existed.”
Yondu continued to walk, but his voice paused.
“I think you had enough on your plate. No use filling it up even more.”
Peter guessed that was much of a response he was going to get, for that part at least.
“But you still told me about it all in the first place?”
“No better way to prepare you for it. You wouldn’t be half the man you were today if you weren’t scared into protecting yourself.”
Peter snorted in response. Half the man he was today. Here he was, barely able to move, being carried out of captivity by a man who had held him captive before it. It was a tragic irony, in Peter’s eyes at least. Maybe he was nothing more than a prize, being passed around for everyone to gloat with. It looked that way, based on how his life had been so far.
Yondu clearly didn’t have any more words for him as they boarded his ship. Kraglin stood at the door, Peter just about able to hear him as he spoke to Yondu. His mind couldn’t pick up the fragments of conversation his hearing allowed him, so he settled for silence as they talked. He’d known the ship layout by heart, easily able to tell they were taking him to the medbay, so he let himself relax. Yondu wouldn’t have rescued — no, retrieved him if he wanted to hurt Peter.
Now that he wasn’t in immediate danger, he could feel the exhaustion weighing him down. His eyes blinked blearily, registering how Yondu’s grip became more firm. He was speaking, likely to Peter based on the way he shook him, but Peter couldn’t find it within him to respond.
The next time he was aware, Yondu had gone, and he was lying on one of the medbay beds. Kraglin was sat next to him, looking at something in the distance, before he saw Peter try to move.
“Take it easy, Quill. Yondu’s coming back any minute now.”
Peter resigned, head flopping back against the pillow. Kraglin paused, before wiping the hair off of Peter’s forehead.
“They really did a number on you, huh?” Kraglin frowned, looking at Peter’s arm, before continuing, “They got what they deserved. A sickening place, the live trading market is. You don’t deserve to be sent off there.”
Peter looked up at him through lidded eyes, “Plenty more of them out there, though. Probably already rebuilding.”
Kraglin only shook his head, “There won’t be.”
Peter waited for him to continue, but Kraglin was finished, shaking his head as he looked away. Footsteps approached, and Peter turned his head as that recognisable blue skin reappeared.
“I see he’s back with us?” Yondu asked, leaning over Kraglin's chair to get a look at Peter.
Kraglin nodded, and Yondu moved to get a better view of Peter’s arm. Peter’s fingers twitched and he hissed in pain, Yondu looking up momentarily.
“Sorry, kid. Gonna have to touch it to patch you up.”
All Peter could manage was a nod as Yondu began to clean the area. Kraglin placed his hand in Peter’s free one, letting him squeeze to alleviate the pain. It was almost parental — the way they fussed over him. Peter knew better than to think it, though. The one thing he was sure of, was the way Kraglin’s eyes sparkled whenever Yondu talked to him. He’d learned that look from himself, catching his reflection after talking with Gamora. He’d started averting his gaze from her at some point, embarrassed by how easily the emotions were projected on his face, but it only ended up in her laughing; she’d noticed it far earlier than he did, and she found it cute. Especially when he was obvious in his shame about it.
He watched as the bandage was placed, setting into place around his arm with a click, setting into place around his arm with a click. Yondu looked down at Peter’s wrist, wincing at the blistered skin.
“It’s not too bad for now. Something we can deal with in the morning, I think. I think you’ve earned some rest.” Yondu said, looking back up at Peter, who nodded in response.
There was silence, nobody moving. Peter furrowed his eyebrows, “Aren’t you leaving?”
Yondu scoffed, “Leaving? We’re staying right here, boy. Not getting rid of us that easily.”
Peter didn’t know how to respond, so he didn’t. He settled on closing his eyes, head pressing into the pillow as he relaxed. He felt safe, oddly. Kraglin’s hand was still in his own, Yondu’s hands leaning on the bed next to him as they sat together, shoulder-to-shoulder.
“Nearly lost him once. Sure as hell ain’t losing him again.”
Peter didn’t hear him. Or rather, Yondu hoped he didn’t. He couldn’t have his reputation ruined, being seen as soft. That secret was only for Kraglin to know.