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[What the flying heck is this, a video file attached to a mysterious number? Oh, the fucking horror, it's — a little kid from the amusement park water war. Only this time it's not so much a water war as it is just the park, and the kid is holding up a sign that says 'STAR-LORD: A PLAY'.

"Our hero lands on a new and mysterious planet," says the kid, kinda robot-like, because it's a kid in a play. "to rescue the fair princess from the clutches of the evil alien warriors." He holds up a very quickly drawn picture of a ship and has it float across the screen for a moment before he runs off. When the image refocuses, Spider-Man swoops in, wearing headphones and Quill's signature jacket. He holds up a watergun like it's the toughest sci-fi gun ever.]

Don't worry, princess, I'll save you and get you back to your father, King Xindar!

[Lanie stands atop the playground equipment (it looks great, totally like a cell with bars) with one of those weird cone-like princess hats on, and all around her are the little heathens that almost defeated them in their water battles. They war-hoot and Lanie waves at Spider-Man like they're just catching eyes across a mall, or something. She's not an actress, but she's doing her best here.]

You're no match for the lord of the stars — take this!

[PEW PEW PEW. He makes the noises with his mouths, so the kids know what's up, and a bunch of them dramatically fall on the ground, saying things like, "Oh no, I've been beat up!" and "Not the Star Lord" and "uuuguUUGGHGH". It's a good two minute battle, just for you. Then Spider-Man leaps up on the steps, and Lanie makes fists, pumping them in the air. Also not very graceful or princess like.

The one kid who intro'd them runs in. "The princess has been saved!"

Lanie knights Spider-Man-Lord with her hand.

The kid continues, squinting at a cue card he's got in his hands. "He has been made honorary knight of King Xindar's army, and they go in his ship back to her planet, so she can finally be united with her father. The galaxy is at peace!" The drawing of the space ship is held close to the feed until it fills it, little ship noises (that are totally not just them making ship noises with their mouths) sounding off until the screen goes black.]

[.... Not much time later:]

Hey, sup. I still got your jacket. ✌️

[ ... Peter may or may not have watched that video, like, five times before he finally responds.

Listen, after all the crap that happened, he's still not completely back at 100%. Sleep is still hard to come by, and he still aches like fuck, but at least he's out of the hospital and back in more familiar surroundings. And at least he's, you know, not getting starved or beaten within an inch of his life. So maybe he's not fully back, but he's getting there.

And that weird fucking video probably garnered the first loud, genuine laugh from him all week.

(His ribs are pissed at him for that and aren't shy about letting him know.)

Not that it's obvious, when he finally answers the kid's text – by voice message, because it's quicker. Because that's always been his preference, because he's that kind of asshole. (Not because his hands still feel a little unsteady. Obviously.) But he keeps his voice level, conversational: ]

That was the weirdest film I've ever seen.

[ a pause. ]

Solid nine out of ten, though.

You think so? It was a little last-minute, but I think it worked.

[He literally paid the kids all of his weekly allowance, and honestly, that's like the third time he's used all of his allowance in one go. He's hopeless. But he also is absolutely relieved that Big Pete seemed to enjoy his idiocy (because look, that weird goofy kid way about him did not earn him any stars in school, but it sure does earn him cool points with the local street kids).]

Did I get the role for the next movie? I gotta say, the jacket totally compliments my suit.

[It absolutely does not.]

It absolutely does not.

[ just saying what we're all thinking, here. ]

It's not the right shade of red for you.

Also? That one's mine.

[ Buuut he takes a thoughtful sort of pause, shifting to get more comfortable where he lies in bed. His breath hitches as he moves, but he lets it out in a quiet exhale once his discomfort passes. ]

Not sayin' that I wouldn't consider you for the sequel, though.

[His hands twitch like he can absolutely do something to help with the shifting (dude you want him to get you another pillow, he can bring you another pillow from across down) — and not for the first time since the rescue, he feels guilty that he has completely healed from any little injury he'd gotten that day. He's at a hundred percent health, fit as a fiddle. Even if he has an occasional nightmare about it, he's physically sound as he can ever be.

He's got a lot of... uh, overwhelmed thoughts about it. A lot of people were killed there, and sure, they weren't good people. But. And there was a lot of blood, and sickly, hungry, tired people — he'd never seen anything like it, and now that it's over, trying to play catch-up and digest everything from down there... Nah, it's fine. It's fine, it's just a part of the job. It was bound to happen.

He swallows hard, grinning brightly.]

Hey, that's not the worst outcome.

You want me to bring it by? Since it's more your color.

Sure, if you've got time. I'd hate to steal you away from your adoring public, though.

[ He means the kids, naturally. The water gun-wielding toddling terrorists.

The monsters. ]

Oh, no, I'm out of the suit for a little bit. Early day off. By order of me, I guess.

[He figures he might as well take the day off to check up on the people he knows who had been taken by those assholes, anyway. And maybe he's a little guilty that he has buried himself in more vigilante work instead of doing it sooner. But, like. It feels intrusive and stupid, to interrupt people's resting times with his dorky self.]

Where're you at? The hospital?

No. I’m a shitty patient.

[ That is to say, he spent about two days there before the atmosphere became too oppressive, too familiar. Peter and hospitals have been a volatile combination ever since he was eight years old. He spent two weeks there when at Gamora’s bedside, after she fell ill because of those stupid nanites, and during that time he had felt like ripping down the walls, like screaming. The two days he spent there for himself had had the same effect.

Which is why, despite the doctor’s suggestions, he had begged Gamora to take him back to the housing complex. And either because she was just as eager to have him back, or because she knew he would try to make his way out under his own power, she agreed.

So here he is now, sitting in bed, with Groot sprawled out and snoring in his lap. (The kid has practically been glued to him since Peter’s been back, and Peter privately thinks Gamora has tasked Groot with acting as Peter’s babysitter.) ]

I’m back at the shared housing. Floor thirteen, room four.

[Peter wouldn't really know what that's like, since three out of three of his dead loved ones all went in the blink of an eye. But that's rough, buddy. Or that's what he'd think if he had an inkling of why someone like Peter Quill would sound absolutely against the idea of getting stuck in a hospital.]

Oh, cool! I'm on the second floor. One sec.

[And where a totally normal and well-adjusted highschool kid would just go up the elevator or something, soon there's a teenager with wind-swept hair peering through the window at Peter Quill, rapping on the glass to say hello before sliding it open and crawling in on the ceiling once he knows there's nobody else here.

And yes, he's got the jacket on.]

'Sup.

[ ... honestly, it’s for the best, because it almost certainly saves Peter a trip from the bedroom to the front door.

But it also scares the shit out of him, and he absolutely jumps when Pete knocks on the pane. Predictably, Groot wakes with a start, too. And then the kid starts crawling on the ceiling like Linda goddamn Blair, and Peter watches with something approaching exasperation. ]

You know about doors, right? Like, you know they’re a thing?

I didn't wanna make a hurt guy get up to answer a door, c'mon.

[He flips down to land on his feet with a youthful little bounce, sticking his hands in his pants pockets (which crinkles up the ends of Quill's jacket, because they're so long on Peter's arms, ha). Now that he has time to really marinate in his thoughts, it's wild to him that this guy was gonna be one of the first people he meets in outer space. If he's really the Spider-Man Mantis meets up with, anyways.

... It's weird. And also kind of scary. And it reminds him of their talk about aliens.]

How're you doing? You're not all mush in there, right?

[He's also, like. Kind of guilty now, about letting Big Pete run off on his own.]

[ His eyes narrow, still wholly skeptical. ]

I’m good.

[ The answer is automatic, and probably not even all that convincing, considering Peter looks like hell. Feels it, too, but he’s getting better. He’s still bruised almost everywhere, still sore, but that’s nothing another week or two of bed rest won’t cure.

He gestures with his thumb toward the window. ]

I thought you were tryin’ to keep the spider thing under wraps? You know folks have eyes, right? Someone might’ve seen you crawl up eleven stories.

Edited 2018-06-21 21:50 (UTC)

[Yeah no, not remotely convincing. But Little Pete sucks at being convincing, too. So it's okay.]

It's fine, I checked around. It's getting dark enough outside that they'll probably think it was you. [He plops down in the nearest chair, practically swallowed up by the red jacket.] It's how I snuck into my apartment every night back home, so I guess it's kinda second-nature? I could be a pretty awesome spy if I worked on it.

[ Peter holds onto his doubt for another few moments before sighing, shaking his head.

Then, ]

That jacket looks ridiculous on you, by the way.

[ like an eight-year-old playing dress-up in an adult’s clothes. All that’s missing are oversized dress shoes and an inexpertly knotted necktie. ]

Maybe just a little bit... I don't think I pull off leather jackets very well.

[He shrugs sheepishly, but the thought's amusing.]

Better at the whole nerdy sweater aesthetic. And it's, like, way cheaper.

... Unless this isn't real leather. Is it real leather? How do you even tell?

[The eight-year-old playing dress up is looking at the inside flap like that would even remotely tell him if it's real leather or not. The jacket itself is, by the way, surprisingly crisp and clean and bloodless.]

Edited 2018-06-21 22:19 (UTC)

It’s real.

[ Simply, with a shrug. Leather jackets are 100% his thing, and they have been for a long while. Basically the instant he found a good one in the appropriate Ravager Red, he had tossed up the double birds to the standard patchwork jumpsuit and never looked back. Peter cheaps out on a lot of things, but leather jackets are one of the few things he lets himself splurge on.

#aesthetic

Surprisingly, there is a label on the interior that proudly proclaims it’s made of genuine leather. Unsurprisingly, it’s written in a blocky alien language.

His lips part to say something else, but he frowns, looking over the jacket. There was definitely an ugly bloodstain on the lapel at one point. Sorry about your personal bubble, Little Pete, because Peter reaches over to take hold of it, examining it a little more closely.

Then, a little incredulously, ]

Did you— did you get this cleaned?

[Huh? Oh. He looks down at the hand, then nudges himself out of one jacket sleeve so it'll just slide right off to the respective owner.]

Of course, yeah, I mean — it took a while 'cus I didn't wanna screw it up? And I heard that leather is bad in the wash. So I had to web search to make sure I didn't do something stupid because I think other than this one fancy jacket my uncle had, I've never really done laundry with leather involved. But it said hand washing it with cold water was a good way to do it? I don't really know where to get leather conditioner, but the blood came out pretty easy.

[He's just rambling like it's a science project, don't mind him.]

[ He pulls the jacket toward himself once the kid shrugs out of it, examining it a little more closely. (This displaces Groot, naturally, who squawks in protest before sleepily rolling over to flop onto the bed beside Peter’s hip, trying to get back to sleep.)

It... looks good. Better than he expected, actually, and probably cleaner even than the last time Peter had taken care of this himself. ]

You cleaned it? Seriously?

[ He’s caught somewhere between impressed and completely disbelieving.

Not that Peter thinks the kid is lying. It’s such a low stakes thing to bullshit about. ]

You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve taken care of it.

[He shrugs, rubbing the side of his nose.]

No, no, it was good. I mean, I like keeping myself busy. Even before the sensory overload kind of stuff, I was always keeping myself occupied while my uncle and aunt were at work.

[He sags back into the chair, trying not to put his feet up on whatever's closest. The kid sure can perch if he's not thinking about it. But as he talks, his gaze is more solemn, and he glances aside with a knitted brow.]

And — like. I owed one you for taking care of Lanie, because I was getting kind of scared that I'd have to tell someone that their, um, their daughter — [He swallows hard, trying not to think of all the people he'd seen at the end of their ropes, treated so terrible; some of them he recognized from his patrols, and it made his heart beat thickly with dread and concern.] you know. Yeah. I'm just... glad you were there to keep her safe.

Edited 2018-06-22 00:39 (UTC)

[ He drops the jacket in his lap, peering up at Pete as he speaks.

Folks tend to accuse Peter of not taking things very seriously, of not looking at things very critically. He does, though; he just doesn’t make a big production out of it. And he does it now, spotting the obvious discomfort in the kid’s posture, in the way he won’t seem to meet Peter’s gaze. (He thinks again about how fucked up that all was. So many of the people in that chamber were young, were just kids. He’s not sure why those psychopaths decided to start hauling in adults, but they did. They must’ve just been trying to cover their bases. They hardly seemed to know what they were doing in the first place.) ]

You didn’t owe me anything. [ Lightly, genuinely. ] I was gonna look after her no matter what.

And, I mean, even if I did think you owed me – which I didn’t and don’t – you were there to help get us out. That alone would’ve been enough to call it even.

[Ha, that's something Peter is trying to figure out, albeit slowly and with fluctuating success: that he can't just swoop in and save everyone before the worst happens. By the time he came swinging in as Spider-Man, people were beaten, hungry, exhausted, traumatized — and it almost felt like he wasn't actually saving anybody. The damage was already done. But he's fifteen and life is hard to navigate (especially with spider powers), so he doesn't quite settle for 'you can't protect everyone every waking moment'.

He was almost kidnapped, too, and...

A confession punches out of him, almost against his will, as he taps a swinging foot against the leg of his chair.]

... I had a chance to try and follow the kidnappers, and I blew it. I panicked and it could have cost everyone else time to... [He finally looks back at Peter, at how he's still banged up and probably dealing with his own crap. Just like Mr. Stark. He'd complained at him, too, like it was even really their problems, to listen to him fret about things out of anyone's control.] Sorry, it got too serious, huh? I didn't mean for it to get all — whiny.

[ Peter looks almost startled at the way the kid looks and sounds so guilty. And when he starts apologizing, Peter shakes his head. ]

Don't apologize.

[ A pause, as he examines the kid. Then, ]

How old are you, anyway?

[ young, that much he can tell, but he's always been shitty at guessing ages. ]

[He clears his throat a little.]

... Fifteen.

[He’s pretty happy that nobody here knows him before the growth spurt that came with puberty.

And with getting bit by a radioactive spider.]

[ Huh. Peter would've guessed a little older, so it's probably for the best he asked. ]

You know what I was doin' at fifteen?

[ He doesn't wait for an answer, just settles back against his pillows, propped up against the wall. ]

Stealing. Boosting people's credits and IDs. Hot-wiring ships and taking them for joyrides. Running from the cops.

And then there's you. Running around in a weird catsuit and fighting bad guys. Shooting weird, low-budget movies with kids on your off hours.

You're doin' way more at your age than you really need to. You get that, right?

Edited 2018-06-22 08:49 (UTC)

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