Peter Quill (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nostalgiabomb) wrote2017-05-12 02:12 am
nostalgiabomb) wrote2017-05-12 02:12 am
(no subject)
Eternity.
Peter can see it all laid out before him: a single, harmonious cosmos. Every planet and moon Ego has ever touched, blessed with that same beauty he had brought to his own planet. Swirling spires and multi-colored sunsets, unity and peace and tranquility. No more war, no more pain, no more strife. The entire galaxy, and soon the entire universe, joined together under a single vision. One mind, one being. Ego.
It's beautiful.
His mind is filled with it, consumed with it. He feels the light flowing through his veins, his mind, filling up all the places that had been long empty. And more than that, he feels Ego's joy, his happiness, the warm clench of his chest at seeing this echo of himself, this echo of Meredith, unified to create Peter – his missing piece. And Peter finally realizes he belongs.
He had tasted it before, Ego's pride and his joy, as Peter clumsily manipulated the light in his hands, formed little more than a simple ball. His eyes had stung with unshed tears, at the time, and his chest had twisted tenderly, sweetly, as he had caught Ego's gaze. Saw those same tears reflected back, and the words that fell from Ego's lips, hush with emotion, were the most beautiful music he had ever heard: "You're home."
Ego had taken his unwieldy little ball and refined it, of course, had to take what Peter built and infuse it with the natural grace of his touch. And why shouldn't Ego do the same with the rest of the cosmos? This ungainly, gauche thing, unruly and disappointing. Life, struggling to provide itself meaning and serving only to sow chaos in an already chaotic world.
Ego will refine it. Ego will make it elegant. Ego will make it perfect.
And now, Peter understands. He has a place at Ego's side, ruling over his kingdom for all of eternity. Living with the father he had always wanted, as the son he always wanted to be. Except—
An old part of Peter, struggling to claw out of that bliss. "My friends."
But Ego smooths that away, explains in clear terms that Peter must learn to let go of his mortal connections for the good of the universe.
"But my mother." The old Peter, gasping for breath. "You said... you loved my mother."
And Ego did. Loved her with all his heart. Returned to Earth three times just to see her, and as he left that final time, he knew he couldn't return. Not without abandoning his mission. He did what he had to do, he says. He pauses, frowning, gaze returning to Peter as words seem to form on the tip of his tongue. But Ego shakes his head.
"The lesson I learned," he says at length, as he claps a hand against Peter's shoulder, "is that even gods experience temptation. I loved your mother. A part of me will always love her. But you and I – men like us, we know exactly what sacrifices must be made. We're men of action, Peter. We do what needs to be done."
And that last struggling part of him falls away, drowns in stardust.
"Peter," his father's voice, soothing and filled with affection. "Give me your hands, son."
The Guardians of the Galaxy come, just as his father figured they would, just as he warned Peter they would. The construction ship crashing through the oculus is an unforeseen complication, though, and it slams into them, sends father and son flying apart. Peter groans as he pushes himself up onto an elbow, and when he doesn't immediately see his father—
Rage burns within him, and the stars in his eye become blinding.
How dare they. The thought rises to the surface of his mind as he struggles to his feet, and the voice reminds him of his father.
He taps into the power of the planet with an ease that escaped him before, uses it to manipulate matter in his father's throne room. He makes a mess of it, inelegant as he still is, but he throws stone, throws light, uses tendrils drawn from the planet's core as whips to keep the Guardians and their allies at bay.
His training with Gamora serves him well.
And how dare they speak to him like this, try to tell him to fight his father's influence, to tell him his father was manipulating him, when Peter has never seen more clearly. How dare they claim to be friends, claim to be family when they've done nothing but disrespect him and treat him like scum. And above all that, to crash in here, to try and kill his father, when he has been nothing but kind and generous—
How dare they.
His strength flags and he stumbles, attacks and deflections growing sluggish. New to this as he is, he expends a great deal of his own energy, and he falls to a knee. Drax picks him up, throws him into a wall. Nebula batters him with pieces of masonry, using them as makeshift batons. Rocket and Yondu fire at him, keep him constantly distracted, constantly moving. And Gamora—
They both hesitate as they clash. Something in her eyes makes him pause. Something in her voice as she screams at him to fight makes his heart ache. And his father's words run through his head: Even gods experience temptation.
But his father returns, reforms just as Gamora flips Peter onto his back, as she has so many times before. Light bursts from the floor of his castle, snakes around the Guardians, and his father takes control of the situation. He hurries to Peter, hands curling around Peter's cheeks.
"Are you alright, Peter? Are you hurt?"
Peter shakes his head as much as his father's grip allows, pushing himself up. "I'm fine."
His father smiles, relieved. He says, "I'm so proud of you, son."
And Peter feels himself flush with muted joy.
Peter can see it all laid out before him: a single, harmonious cosmos. Every planet and moon Ego has ever touched, blessed with that same beauty he had brought to his own planet. Swirling spires and multi-colored sunsets, unity and peace and tranquility. No more war, no more pain, no more strife. The entire galaxy, and soon the entire universe, joined together under a single vision. One mind, one being. Ego.
It's beautiful.
His mind is filled with it, consumed with it. He feels the light flowing through his veins, his mind, filling up all the places that had been long empty. And more than that, he feels Ego's joy, his happiness, the warm clench of his chest at seeing this echo of himself, this echo of Meredith, unified to create Peter – his missing piece. And Peter finally realizes he belongs.
He had tasted it before, Ego's pride and his joy, as Peter clumsily manipulated the light in his hands, formed little more than a simple ball. His eyes had stung with unshed tears, at the time, and his chest had twisted tenderly, sweetly, as he had caught Ego's gaze. Saw those same tears reflected back, and the words that fell from Ego's lips, hush with emotion, were the most beautiful music he had ever heard: "You're home."
Ego had taken his unwieldy little ball and refined it, of course, had to take what Peter built and infuse it with the natural grace of his touch. And why shouldn't Ego do the same with the rest of the cosmos? This ungainly, gauche thing, unruly and disappointing. Life, struggling to provide itself meaning and serving only to sow chaos in an already chaotic world.
Ego will refine it. Ego will make it elegant. Ego will make it perfect.
And now, Peter understands. He has a place at Ego's side, ruling over his kingdom for all of eternity. Living with the father he had always wanted, as the son he always wanted to be. Except—
An old part of Peter, struggling to claw out of that bliss. "My friends."
But Ego smooths that away, explains in clear terms that Peter must learn to let go of his mortal connections for the good of the universe.
"But my mother." The old Peter, gasping for breath. "You said... you loved my mother."
And Ego did. Loved her with all his heart. Returned to Earth three times just to see her, and as he left that final time, he knew he couldn't return. Not without abandoning his mission. He did what he had to do, he says. He pauses, frowning, gaze returning to Peter as words seem to form on the tip of his tongue. But Ego shakes his head.
"The lesson I learned," he says at length, as he claps a hand against Peter's shoulder, "is that even gods experience temptation. I loved your mother. A part of me will always love her. But you and I – men like us, we know exactly what sacrifices must be made. We're men of action, Peter. We do what needs to be done."
And that last struggling part of him falls away, drowns in stardust.
"Peter," his father's voice, soothing and filled with affection. "Give me your hands, son."
The Guardians of the Galaxy come, just as his father figured they would, just as he warned Peter they would. The construction ship crashing through the oculus is an unforeseen complication, though, and it slams into them, sends father and son flying apart. Peter groans as he pushes himself up onto an elbow, and when he doesn't immediately see his father—
Rage burns within him, and the stars in his eye become blinding.
How dare they. The thought rises to the surface of his mind as he struggles to his feet, and the voice reminds him of his father.
He taps into the power of the planet with an ease that escaped him before, uses it to manipulate matter in his father's throne room. He makes a mess of it, inelegant as he still is, but he throws stone, throws light, uses tendrils drawn from the planet's core as whips to keep the Guardians and their allies at bay.
His training with Gamora serves him well.
And how dare they speak to him like this, try to tell him to fight his father's influence, to tell him his father was manipulating him, when Peter has never seen more clearly. How dare they claim to be friends, claim to be family when they've done nothing but disrespect him and treat him like scum. And above all that, to crash in here, to try and kill his father, when he has been nothing but kind and generous—
How dare they.
His strength flags and he stumbles, attacks and deflections growing sluggish. New to this as he is, he expends a great deal of his own energy, and he falls to a knee. Drax picks him up, throws him into a wall. Nebula batters him with pieces of masonry, using them as makeshift batons. Rocket and Yondu fire at him, keep him constantly distracted, constantly moving. And Gamora—
They both hesitate as they clash. Something in her eyes makes him pause. Something in her voice as she screams at him to fight makes his heart ache. And his father's words run through his head: Even gods experience temptation.
But his father returns, reforms just as Gamora flips Peter onto his back, as she has so many times before. Light bursts from the floor of his castle, snakes around the Guardians, and his father takes control of the situation. He hurries to Peter, hands curling around Peter's cheeks.
"Are you alright, Peter? Are you hurt?"
Peter shakes his head as much as his father's grip allows, pushing himself up. "I'm fine."
His father smiles, relieved. He says, "I'm so proud of you, son."
And Peter feels himself flush with muted joy.