Chapter Text
chapter one
Location: KNOWHERE, Random Bar, One Year After the Incident
A year had passed since the incident and yet, no amount of alcohol on any of the planets she had searched was capable of numbing the pain from that loss. It was so deeply ingrained in her. It wept and clung to every fiber of her being. And she knew deep down it would never go away. Not until she found what she was looking for.
But she sure-as-shit wasn’t going to find it at the end of this bottle of glowing opalescent blue liquid that gave her a cold sort of burn in her belly. Her lips tingled as she sipped on it, finishing the miniature glass that fit comfortably in her hand.
The neon lights of the grimy and bustling tavern swirled around the room, riding the particles floating in the air like waves and she watched them dance around her head. Petra slumped in the stool, her head of dark hair fanning onto the countertop around her elbow as she rested—if only for a moment. No one seemed to notice her, which she liked and had hoped for as she leaned back into the worn hood of her uncle’s sweatshirt. It stopped smelling of him, of home, long ago but the memories of windburn and rubble clung to the cotton and with each slow breath, she felt the memories hug her back.
But across the room, the front door swung open on its hinges—like the wooden doors of an old western saloon—and a group of outsiders wandered inside. They too seemed to hope to stay under the radar, but their ring leader was charismatic and loud. He pointed to the barkeep and shouted an order, tapping the countertop with his large fingers. His curly hair mingled with the soft glow of neon lights as he bobbed his head to whatever music was playing, if there was music playing, but Petra wasn’t sure.
All she heard was everything.
The patrons milling about in the back corner, gambling away their last units on a game she had never heard of but had picked up in the last hour as she sat at the bar. The group of females at a table nearby were practicing a traditional and ceremonial outing that Petra related akin to a bachelorette party, though none of them used that phrase. A busboy was smoking in the alley, the barkeep was stealing from the till, and the lights carried their own energy she couldn’t shake. Not to mention her own narrowed thoughts replaying the last moments of a place she could never return to. And something else hummed amongst the room, she couldn’t name it but it felt a lot like destiny.
At the end of the bar, the group had now taken to the stools and were arguing about who would get to fly out of here when ‘Quill’ eventually blew their cover. The loudest voice amongst them belonged to a raccoon, and to Petra’s surprise he was far more advanced than her knowledge on the species allowed and she watched him closely as he ripped a steel mug from the largest one and finished his bet. His eyes found hers from his end of the bar and they narrowed, but she looked away—following the leader, Quill, as he crossed the dancefloor, shaking his hips and spinning on his toes.
He approached the nearby table of females, holding out his arms and offering, “ladies! How about you let the Starlord buy you a drink?”
A few of them blushed, but the most bird-like scowled and shooed him away with the snapping of her beak. He jumped back suddenly and held his hands near his face in a defensive pose. But he didn’t let the rejection stop him—he spun on his heel again and slid dramatically up to the counter and the woman sat beside Petra. She was a quiet patron, keeping her head down and buried beneath a dark shawl, but sat this close Petra could make out she was a Sovereign—although her golden skin had started to bronze and chip away.
“Hey there, darlin’,” Quill said, his voice gravelly and his dialect familiar. “Are you lost?”
“Leave me alone,” the Sovereign woman said quietly, not lifting her eyes to meet his charm.
But he didn’t give up. “Boy, I tell ya, there’s something real familiar about you. Do you happen to be from Tennessee?”
Tennessee. The state’s name hit Petra’s ear like a bullet and she sat up, perching on the end of her stool as she recognized the earthly place and realized why he sounded familiar—he was speaking her language, not English generated or taught through a foreign accent or device, but truly and completely hers. Quill puffed out his chest and sent a wink at the woman sitting beside her, oblivious to her interest in what he’s saying.
“Because you are the only Ten-I-See.” Proudly, he smirked and waited for the patron to respond.
“That was horrible,” Petra couldn’t help but mutter under her breath.
But the Sovereign reared back—her elegant face stricken with insult and disgust. She scoffed, “what did you just call me?”
Quill, not understanding her tone, reached to brush the shawl away from her face but she recoiled from his touch. “I called you a ten, darlin’. The only ten I see in this whole—”
“A ten!?” The Sovereign rose from her stool, dropping the shawl from her golden crown—tarnished and half-removed, but telling. Quill’s eyes widened as he realized who she was, or used to be, and he laughed at himself and the situation.
“That’s not what I—you’re taking it the wrong way—I—”
But before he could explain, or stumble over more of his words, she slapped him across the face and drew the attention of a rather large and statue-like man as he emerged from the bathroom. His Sovereignty had no disguise, no shawl to hide behind and the raccoon at the end of the counter barked out a raucous laugh. A mean growl came from the large Sovereign as he strutted through the bar.
“Wait,” Quill panicked, “I can explain! A ten is a good thing—a great thing! It means you’re hot and I want to have sex with you.” Quill’s waffling only brought her greater offense and enraged the male. His eyes widened as they bounced back and forth between the two Sovereigns and he shook his head wildly. “No! That’s not what I meant, obviously I don’t want to have sex with you when you’re so clearly his girl.”
“I am possessed by no one. I am not a thing,” the female said, adjusting her shawl to cover her head and the missing pieces of her crown.
Petra wasn’t an expert in the interplanetary laws or comings and goings of each life-form, but it was fairly obvious that Knowhere was a place for rejects and scavengers, and Sovereign’s would never be classified as either of those things. These two did not belong here, which was an intriguing fact, but she couldn’t dwell on it too long as Quill kept talking and digging his own grave deeper and deeper.
“You’re totally right, that’s my bad,” he half-apologized. Looking over his shoulder, he dragged his finger in a circle as he nodded to his group and called out, “Rocket, time to go.”
“You will go nowhere,” the room fell silent around the male Sovereign as he closed the distance between himself and Quill—who laughed, pointing at the man. The irony was not lost on Petra but she knew better than to point at a physically superior being in a moment of great tension.
“You heard him, Quill,” the raccoon shouted. “We’re going nowhere.”
“Hard to go Knowhere, when we’re already here,” Quill joked. “You know what I mean?”
“Clever,” Petra muttered, taking the final swig of her blue drink. Quill’s eyes darted to hers at her remark—his eyes narrowing only slightly, having just noticed her. The Sovereign kept his glare locked on the man still standing too close to his companion and it’s then that Quill decided to lay his hand on her arm to apologize. Petra groaned, dropping her head to her chest and shaking her head as the scene escalated.
The shrouded Sovereign flinched out of Quill’s touch, gasping her disapproval.
The god-like, mountainous Sovereign grabbed Quill by his leathered vest and lifted him to the tips of his toes—a growl and stern grimace chiseled into his golden face.
Quill squealed as he was dragged to his toes and brought face to face with the alien. Lifting his hands to the large hand fisted around his shirt he protested, “hey, hey, hey!”
“Yes!” The large bald-headed and heavily tattooed Kylosian grunted from across the room—flexing his muscles as he kicked away from the bar and snapped his stool in half, brandishing the legs as weapons and charging the altercation. “Kick-ass time.”
Petra told herself she wouldn’t get involved in the affairs of others. She was far too busy and determined to find what she lost, to get mixed up in anything other than that. But this was going south and it was going south very quickly. The only way to get out of it was to get involved. With an eye roll, she placed a five dollar bill on the counter and stood from her stool.
“I’m going to ask you nicely just this once, to put the small stupid man down,” she said as she stood off to the side, between the two golden beings. The Sovereign regarded her with a glance and scoffed.
“Get out of here, little Xandarian,” he grunted—more brutish than a Sovereign ought to speak, but condescending all the same. “Run home to the Nova Corps, before you see something you shouldn’t.”
The rings on Petra’s finger hummed as her power started to grow, spreading through her body like an unforgiving wildfire—fast and all consuming, burning intensely. The core around her pupils began to glow a deep mauve and her fingers twitched. As she flicked her wrist, the large hand around Quill’s vest snapped and twisted in an inhuman fashion—bending and crumpling.
Quill dropped to the ground and took a defensive stance with his hands raised to fight off the powerful being in front of him. The Sovereign’s focus shifted to Petra and her small size and he took an ominous step towards her, showing no signs of pain, only agitation.
But she didn’t flinch.
She lifted her cerulean eyes encircled in pink and her magic gathered into a glowing orb in the palm of her hand. The energy of the small bar shifted too. The patrons raced out and Petra heard nothing but the scream of power coursing through her. It was never something she was afraid of, but something she was taught to use fearlessly.
“I told you to go home,” the Sovereign commanded, as if he had any authority on Knowhere or over her. But no one did.
“And I told you I'd ask nicely only once,” she responded coolly, as the hood she kept up to conceal her from the others unleashed her wavy hair that fell just below her shoulders. The neon lights she sensed earlier buzzed around her, weaving in patterns no one else could see or feel but they told her things. So when the Sovereign shot his large broken hand out to grab her, she dodged him effortlessly—thrusting her magic at him and pinning him to the wall. He kicked and growled, but his sturdy strength was no match for hers. “We’re both a long way from home.”
The female at her back cried out, racing toward Petra’s frame but a stool leg swung into her stomach—sending her flying across the bar into the glass shelves. With a loud crash, she hit the floor, shattering different concoctions and mixtures.
“Yeah, that’s right!” The raccoon shouted down at her from the bartop, “pick on someone your own size.”
“She is her size,” the burly tattooed guy pointed out, as he took the chair leg and smashed the male Sovereign over the head with it.
Petra dropped her hands—her magic flowing back into her. “I didn’t need the help.”
“No, of course not,” Quill said sarcastically. “The little girl could have handled that all on her own with glowing pink fingernails.”
Petra lifted her eyes to him, uninterested and unfazed by his tone. With a scoff, she lifted her hood back onto her head. “Like you’re one to talk. That was probably the lamest pick up line I’ve ever heard and then you needed a little girl to rescue you.”
The raccoon and the bald-guy laughed. The small creature hopped off the counter and kicked the golden boot of the large Sovereign passed out on the floor. “She’s got you there, Quill.”
The air shifted slightly and Petra stiffened. Outside, a group of scavengers and thieves and ravagers gathered as the patrons of the bar explained what happened. Anger coursed through the air as they reached for weapons, legal and not. Petra swallowed hard and searched the bar for an exit other than the obvious saloon doors.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” she told them.
The raccoon waved her off, grabbing an unscathed bottle from the floor and taking a long swig. “Don’t worry about it, Drax and I have it handled. The big guy is out for the count and the girl, well, she’s—”
“I have not had my drink yet,” the bald-guy interrupted—taking the bottle from his friend.
The air grew thicker with malice and ill-intent and the pressure resting on Petra’s chest grew heavier. “No, we need to go now.”
She suddenly remembered the busboy smoking in the alley and she spotted the dark corner that led to a hole in the wall. She started to leave them, letting them face the angry horde on their own seemed fair, it would be three against a dozen or more, but something stopped her.
Tennessee.
The word pulled her back into the fray, reminding her of her mission.
“There’s going to be an angry mob here in about three seconds.” Petra looked between the three guys, choosing to focus on Quill, who had stayed eerily quiet since she called him out. Her eyes softened and she asked, “can we please go?”
A loud roar bellowed from outside the front doors and Quill nodded. “Rocket, time to go.”
Bullets sprayed into the bar as they ran for the exit that appeared to have been blown out by a large missile or small bomb. Rocket led the way to their spaceship as Petra and Quill kept close behind him. Only Drax hung back a little, to roll a large barrel in front of the opening—blocking the horde from following them. As soon as they realized they were trapped, they course-corrected and started chasing them through the winding trails that made up the streets of Knowhere.
“Where’s the ship, Quill?” Rocket shouted out over his shoulder, jumping over boxes and mechanical parts as they came to a small clearing. The mob of thirsty lowlifes echoed far off down another street and they stopped their running.
“Ahh—” Quill scratched his head and spun in a circle, contemplating where their escape was. “I parked it by that bag.”
“A bag?” Petra exclaimed, waving her arms through the warm breeze that was constant on the burning planet of garbage they were currently on. “You parked by a bag? Dumbass.”
“Hey!” Quill barked, pointing at her, “that’s not helpful.”
“Quill,” Drax pointed behind the group to the glowing light of torches. “Find the bag.”
“It was one of those take-out bags, you know? Wrapped in plastic, had a smiley face on it,” he explained, searching the street wildly. But the horde grew closer and Petra took a deep breath—feeling the atmosphere swell with anticipation. She dropped into a squat just as a bullet whizzed past her, cutting the air just above her head. Quill’s eyes widened as he watched her narrowly avoid being shot, but then he gasped as a gentle ting, reverberated and the bullet hit the side of nothing. “My baby!”
“You cloaked it?” Rocket asked incredulously, smacking Quill on the back of the head as he dove towards an empty part of the street and landed mid-air—clutching onto something Petra couldn’t see. He knocked four times and then another two in quick succession. A hiss suddenly fanned out as the ship’s door was lowered and a large humanoid tree stood in the opening. “Thanks, buddy.”
“I am Groot,” the tree said as Quill, Drax, and Petra barrel inside.
Someone hit a button and the door slid closed as more bullets began raining against the side of the vessel. Quill and Rocket took the captain's chairs and the spaceship roared to life as Drax and the tree clung to a tethered net. Petra did the same as they lifted from the ground and soared into the upper atmosphere of Knowhere, escaping the threats and calls of the scavengers below. Petra held on tightly, her knuckles turning white around the netting as her first time in a spaceship quickly became an experience she didn’t know she wouldn’t be prepared for.
“Little Girl is going to be sick in Quill’s ship,” Drax barked, pointing and laughing as he addressed Quill. “Ha ha, it will stink and you will have to clean it with your tears.”
“No, no!” Quill called out over his shoulder, looking between Petra and the open window in front of him. “Don’t throw up! Not in my baby!”
“Oh, come on,” Rocket added. “She’s fine. You’re fine, aren’t ya, Sweetheart?”
“No, she is not fine,” Drax answered. “She is whiter than Quill.”
Petra took a deep breath in through her nose, closed her eyes as she adjusted herself to the motion and her surroundings. Her grip on the net loosened and as she opened her eyes she was met by the concerned faces of three men and a humanoid tree. She blinked at them, pushing the hood off her head and rubbing her pale face with her hands. “I’m fine. I’m not going to be sick, I’ve just never been in a spaceship before.”
“Never been in a—” Quill scoffed. “Honey, this isn’t just a spaceship. This is a custom job, modified Ravager M-class starship. Have you been living under a rock on Xandar, I mean, to call my baby a spaceship is just—”
“Little Girl lives under a rock? No way, her bones are too tiny, she would be crushed for sure.”
Petra smiled at Drax, and the literal sense he took from Quill’s sentiment but before any of them could say anything else, Rocket called out, “Quill, I need a location. I’m flying blind up here.”
“Xandar,” he shouted back—his hands on his hips as he stared Petra down. “We’re taking the little girl home.”
“I’m not a little girl. I’m eighteen,” she tells him.
His glare suddenly shifted into a charming smirk as he leaned against the table in the middle of the ship. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and nodded at her, “well, in that case, how you doi—”
But she lifted her hand to stop him with a look of pure disgust. “Stop, you’re embarrassing yourself.”
Quill dropped the act and narrowed his gaze on her before calling out, “yup, definitely dropping this one off at home.”
“Xandar isn’t my home,” Petra told them and the air within the ravager grew warm and sticky. “I’m from your home—” The statement felt false on her tongue and so she adjusted it, “sort of.”
Quill acknowledged her curiously, cocking his head to the side and levelling her with a heavy look. Slowly, he shook his head and said. “You’re looking at my home, darlin’.”
Petra copied his expression mockingly and said, “your real home.”
The starship was silent as Drax looked dramatically between Quill and Petra—their gazes locked on the other in a challenge only Quill had set, but Petra would win. He blinked as she said, “take me to Earth.”