Chapter Text
There was little Quill loved more than spending his Fridays with Yondu while Thor was at work. Yondu got him out of the house, keeping him busy as the man went about his errands. Just as he had as a child, Quill cared only about Yondu wanting him tagging along for an adventure and never minded what they did together.
It tended to work out well; Quill was allowed to finish work early on Friday mornings as long as he got all his jobs done, and today he’d completed everything in time to accompany Yondu to the bank to pay his employees. The problem with that was Quill hated standing in queues. He knew it would have been easier for him had he brought along his service dog, but a year after the events that had led to needing her, he’d taken to trying his hardest to go outside his front door without the need to bring her with him.
Yondu helped in her stead, though. He stood close behind Quill to put space between his kid and anyone behind them, talking to him and ranting about how his latest roadside job an hour away had been a waste of his and Kraglin’s time.
“So we get there, and the idiot hasn’t damn turned their steerin’ wheel!” Yondu’s nose scrunched up at the memory while Quill tried not to laugh. “So Krag rotates the steerin’ wheel a bit and the key barrel turns. And o’ course, the car starts, too.”
Quill finally laughed. “How much did you make them pay?”
Yondu waved a dismissive hand. “Wasn’t even worth tryin’ ta get money outta them, Pete. We just cut our losses and went home.”
Quill opened his mouth to respond, but he quickly closed it at the scream that echoed so loudly, he felt deafened. He slapped his hands over his ears instinctively as the familiar anxiety churned in his stomach, and as he snapped his head to the side to see what was happening, all that his eyes could make out were people scattering in terror. His own feet almost moved instinctively with theirs, but he stayed put when Yondu grabbed his arm and kept him in place.
“Get down! Get down on the ground!”
Quill’s shoulders squeezed tightly at the shouting that echoed throughout the lobby, loud enough to bounce off the marble that made up the flooring and pillaring. His throat constricted as a shudder ripped through his body. He felt paralysed, like his mind was telling him to move but his muscles weren’t getting the message.
“Get down!” Yondu hissed as he grabbed Quill again and forced him to his knees. “Ya tryin’ ta get yerself killed?”
Quill’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly as he looked at Yondu. His eyes were wide, and the way he pressed himself against his foster father so reminiscently of his teenage years was evidence enough of his terror.
“It’ll be okay,” Yondu muttered. “Don’t look. Don’t look at anythin’, boy. No matter what you hear.”
Quill squeezed his eyes shut tight. He could hear gunfire around him, more people screaming, and so much shouting, he wanted to go home and curl up in his bed and never go outside again. And then…
“Get up! Get the fuck up!”
Quill’s fingers dug tightly into Yondu’s arms when he felt the man pulling him to his feet. He couldn’t help but look around now, and at the sight that befell him, he was sure he was going to vomit.
There was blood all throughout the lobby, staining the shining marble floors red beneath unmoving bodies. The pack of gunmen running around were getting people to their feet, smacking victims with their guns and kicking them into standing.
“Yondu…” Quill’s whisper trembled. “I didn’t - O-oww…!“
“Don’t you fuckin’ touch him!” Yondu roared at the masked man who had smacked Quill in the face with the butt of his gun. He glanced at Quill to check on him, but his temper only flared at the sight of his kid holding his face in both hands as blood seeped through the cracks of his fingers. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you!”
Quill backed away blindly at the fight he could hear in front of him. He never took his hands from his face, but by now, it wasn’t from the excruciating pain in his face; he was too scared to see what was happening to Yondu, terrified of losing him just like he seemed to lose everyone he loved.
But Quill eventually did pull his hands away after another gunshot, and a sudden, indescribable pain in his shoulder had him screaming for Yondu. Blood seemed to coming from everywhere, he vaguely thought as he felt it seeping through his clothing, rushing down his face, and clinging to his hands as they stained redder than they’d ever been before, but still, another gunshot went off and he was sent crashing to the ground as a bullet lodged itself in his leg and shattered bone.
“Yondu!” Quill screamed desperately. Yondu was looking at him, blood covering everyone involved in the tussle, but Quill would forever blame himself for what happened next; if he hadn’t screamed for Yondu, Yondu wouldn’t have turned his head to look at him and left himself open to the gun that pressed against his head and fired the last bullet.
Quill felt as if his world had stopped. Everything moved in slow motion as Yondu’s lifeless body toppled on top of him, splattering him in so much gore, Quill finally did vomit.
“Get the fuck up!”
Quill didn’t have time to grieve. The arms he’d wrapped around his foster father were ripped away as he was pulled to his feet by his hair and dragged over to the other hostages, led further into the bank and away from the only father he’d ever truly had.
Quill woke up screaming, just as he had been every night for the past two weeks. He couldn’t stop, not until the strong arms wrapped around him finally let go of his body to turn the lamp on instead.
“Peter?” Thor’s voice was slurred, a byproduct of his absolute exhaustion at having his sleep interrupted nightly now. He reached out again and pulled Quill against his body, holding him close and dragging his fingers through his lover’s hair. He was tired, so tired, he only wanted to go back to sleep. “It is okay now. You are safe…”
Quill sniffed amongst his tears. He rolled around and pressed his face to Thor’s chest, mumbling something too muffled to be coherent to either of their ears, but it didn’t matter much because while Thor had already fallen asleep again, Quill tossed and turned for what could have been an eternity until he reached across to his bedside table and grabbed his phone.
Thor had told him once Quill was only hurting himself doing this. He’d looked so worried and sad and lost as he almost begged Quill to stop this, but at the same time, Thor had understood; Quill wasn’t coping with his loss, and he couldn’t accept that Yondu was gone.
Quill’s shaking fingers opened his call list. His eyesight blurred with tears as he took in his recent calls; calls both missed and answered from Thor every day scattered amongst the stacks upon stacks of unanswered calls to Yondu’s mobile and home phone and even to his work phone. He couldn’t stand to see the number of times he’d spent trying to get through, well into the double digits; it made his stomach churn and bile climb his throat as he told himself that this time would be different; Yondu would finally pick up his call.
Dawn rolled by, and Quill had almost succeeded in dialing into the triple digits once again before Thor had reached across and gently pulled the phone from his hands. He looked up at his lover, his tears long-since ran dry, and whispered, “I just want to tell him I’m sorry…”
Thor squeezed his eyes shut tight as he choked on his own sob. He shook his head. “He knows you are not at fault, Peter…”
“I just want to tell him that… I just want to hear his voice again!” Quill whimpered.
Thor sighed. He grabbed Quill by the back of his head and gently guided him to rest his face against his shoulder. “Go back to sleep, Peter; you need your rest.”
“I’m not tired,” Quill defied.
Thor rubbed Quill’s back, wishing he knew how to help. “Lay down. I will bring you coffee and change your bandages.”
Quill nodded. He made himself comfortable amongst his pillows before he reached out for the TV remote. He turned it on and flicked through the channels before he settled on the early morning cartoons while he waited for Thor to come back. He could hear the dogs scratching at the bedroom door, wanting to come in, and as much as he wanted to let them in so they could sleep with them like they used to, he couldn’t; the last time he’d tried that, one of them had stood on his leg and dug their claws into his wound, reopening the stitches and causing immense pain.
The doorbell rang, and Quill groaned in displeasure at someone thinking it was perfectly acceptable to be at their door before the sun was even in the sky properly. “Thor! Get the door!”
Quill listened to Thor’s heavy footsteps cross the apartment until voices took their place. He heard the front door close, and then heavier footsteps that thudded unmistakably from boots approached the bedroom. He felt his anxiety rage in his stomach once more, not knowing who it was.
“Hey, move it, will ya…?”
Quill relaxed as he recognised Kraglin’s voice. He listened to his brother-figure move the dogs away from the door so he could step inside and close the door again. “Hey, Krag…”
“Hey, Petey…” Kraglin mumbled back. He wiped hurriedly at his own eyes as he moved to take a seat on the bed next to Quill. “I got some stuff for ya… He asked me to give ‘em to ya if anythin’ ever happened to ‘im.”
Quill felt his breath catch in his throat. His hands clenched by his sides as he tried to fight back a fresh wave of tears. “I’m not ready…”
Kraglin shook his head. He reached into his pocket and withdrew something wrapped up in a handkerchief. He passed it silently to Quill, unable to watch as he hesitated to open the gift and see what was inside.
Quill let out a loud sob as Yondu’s treasured figurines fell out onto his lap. He picked up the green frog jewel he’d always thought was cute and held it so tenderly, it broke Kraglin’s heart. He looked up at Kraglin and sobbed, “H-he loved collecting t-these…”
“Oh.” Kraglin reached into his pocket to add to the pile on Quill’s lap. “Sorry, Pete. I couldn’t fit ‘im in there.”
Quill wiped at his eyes at the troll doll he remembered so clearly giving to Yondu when he was young. Aleta had bought him a set of troll dolls for his birthday, and knowing that Yondu collected small things, he gave one to Yondu for his collection. “He kept him…”
“‘Course he did; it was his favourite,” Kraglin promised. “There’s somethin’ else for ya, too.”
Quill sniffed. “Can you put them on my bedside drawers for me? Facing me?”
Kraglin did as he was requested. He lined them up neatly, just how they used to be on Yondu’s bedroom shelves. Once he was done with that, he withdrew one more thing from his pocket, a small book that he hesitated in passing to Quill. “Umm… He’s been workin’ on this since he got ya, really… Wanted ya to never, ever forget how far you came…”
Quill gingerly took the book and opened it. It was a photo album, he could see, and the first photo in it was one from not long after he’d come home with Yondu. In the photo, he knelt on the ground with his head bowed, hiding away in the corner as he’d tended to do in his distrust and uncertainty of Yondu.
The next photo in line was a day Quill remembered well - but he’d had no idea of the expression he’d held on his face back then. He almost didn’t think it was even him, unable to believe how happy and innocent he looked at changing his first tyre with Yondu.
He flicked to the next one, and his throat tightened as he found himself looking at him nursing baby Rocket, feeding him a bottle and being so tender with his tiny hands, Rocket had never known anything but love from him.
It was the next photo that had him crying again. He wiped away his tears as a small smile crossed his face at how joyful he looked, wearing a Santa hat as he sat on Yondu’s lap with Kraglin’s arm around him.
It was hard for him to look at the rest of the photos, but he was glad when he made it to the end; there was a letter waiting patiently for him.
“Krag…?” Quill bit his lip as he looked at Kraglin. “...Do I… want to read this…?”
Kraglin nodded. “Ya don’t have to right now if ya can’t… But I know he’d want ya to at some point, Petey…”
“I can’t read this so soon…” Quill battled hard against the tears, but he couldn’t keep them at bay. “I-I can’t …”
“Look at this instead. It’s his will.” Kraglin handed over a piece of paper, trading it for the photo album so he could safely place it inside Quill’s bedside drawers.
The will was easier for Quill to open, and when he did, he felt stunned at what awaited him. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly for a few moments as he looked back to Kraglin, but finally, he whispered, “He left us his house and his business, Krag… And his car is for me...”
“What, ya think he don’t love ya enough for that, Pete?” Kraglin had fresh tears of his own rolling down his cheeks. He shook his head. “He loved ya. Why do you think he never had ‘nother kid after ya? You were e’rythin’ he ever wanted - you were enough for ‘im. He left ‘em to us ‘cause he loved us like ‘is own and knows we’ll work it out between us.”
Quill nodded. He leant to the side so he could curl in against his brother and cry his pain out. “I miss him so much, Krag…”
“Me too, Petey.” Kraglin wrapped his arm around Quill’s shoulders and held him close. “Me, too.”