[ open; ] the city streets are empty now

[nostalgiabomb]

who: Peter Quill & open!
what: Quill is coming back from a canon update, which includes four years and the events of Infinity War. So he's going to be a little off his game.
when: August 24th and onward
where: All around Riverview & a bit outside the walls
warnings: none, aside from Quill having a pretty rough time


i. the sun always shines on tv;

[ Peter wastes a couple days, sitting in his apartment, staring at a wall. He catches Mantis hovering around, sometimes, and occasionally, he tries to send her a small, reassuring smile. Something that says, It’s fine. I’m fine. I just need a second. Groot doesn’t fully understand why Peter is so— weird, but the kid still recognizes that there’s something wildly wrong. And as the days drag on, Groot just drags over the Zune while Peter stares, offering Peter an earbud.

It’s on the third day that Peter realizes he can’t just— do this. He can’t keep moping. Because Mantis and Groot are clearly worried, and— what if the others show up? Peter did, after all. And Mantis and Groot are still here, hale and whole. So maybe the others will arrive, too. Any day now. And if they find out how completely useless he was while he waited, he’d never hear the end of it.

So he scrubs his face and announces that he’s going to take Groot to the beach.

Of course, about ten minutes after they arrive at the banks of the river for a day of fun in the sun, or whatever the hell Peter’s calling it, Groot immediately wanders away, slipping through the legs of the various beachgoers as he chases down one of those alien sugargliders.

Predictably, Peter panics as he works to shove past the crowd. ]

Groot—

Groot, get back here!



ii. new york groove;

[ A day or two later, Peter’s back at work. Unwise, considering he’s still injured, but the four walls of his apartment were quickly becoming suffocating.

His job with the Perimeter Guard, such as it is, is to scout the area, to map it out, to uncover valuable goods buried in the dirt or left abandoned in reasonable condition, and most days, he’s good at it. He’s agile and clever and does one hell of a job avoiding the monsters that lurk in the abandoned areas.

But today, he seems to be attracting trouble – though truthfully, he’s seeking it out, though he’s unconscious of it. Rather than veer out of the angry looking creatures’ way, he stumbles headlong into them. And for a while, he’s forging a decent path, shooting out huge, burning chunks of them and leaving the corpses to rot in the woods.

And then he’s not.

Peter never played Dungeons & Dragons as a kid, but if he did, he’d instantly recognize a Bulette when he sees one.

Or more accurately, he’d recognize a Bulette as it’s leaping at him, all gnashing teeth and sharp claws and hard armored plates. Peter manages to dodge out of the way, but only barely, and he goes tumbling and rolling across the jungle floor.

Little help? ]



iii. yesterday once more;

[ Peter was in the middle of wandering the aisles of Blu-Rays and DVDs in some electronic goods stores. In his arms is a stack of movies, old favorites and new ones he had picked out based solely on how interesting he found the covers.

The criteria for his current selections: Would the other Guardians like these? So far, he has picked out The Wizard of Oz for Groot and The Dark Crystal for Mantis. Along the way, he picks up Predator for Rocket and Rambo for Drax, because, well, they're going to be here eventually, right? And the films would be decent ice breakers, once they arrive

And he was in the middle of reluctantly looking for something for Nebula (would she have a good enough sense of humor about it if he picked up Robocop, or would she just threaten to sew his face to his balls like she usually does?), except right now, he's frozen in front of a shelf, completely zoned out while he faces a copy of Footloose.

Sorry if he's in your way, fellow patron. ]



iv. turn to stone;

[ It's been over a week since he's been back, and Peter's out on a very, very late night grocery run. He's been putting off getting them various odds and ends – paper towels, boxes of cereal, various snacks – and apparently he's decided tonight's the night—

(because the bed is too empty, and the atmosphere in the apartment is too fucking heavy, and Groot and Mantis are so fucking sad, and he can't stay in there, he really can't, not a single minute more, because shouldn't the other Guardians have been here by now? Shouldn't Gamora have come back with him, since they left together?

Why isn't she here?)

—because he's trying to be productive.

He's also decided, apparently, that baskets and carts are completely unnecessary. So here he is now, a former thief turned Guardian of the Galaxy, juggling his items in his arms as he stands in the refrigerated dairy section. He shuffles things around and reaches for a jug.

And fumbles it.

The plastic bursts open as the jug lands, milk splashing across the floor. It pools around his boots, and for a second, he just stares at it all before he lets out a helpless laugh, scrubbing his face.

One might think that life in space would have erased Peter's love of Terran idioms, but it hasn't, really. He used them whenever he could. Phrases like "killing two birds with one stone," or "letting the cat out of the bag," or going the "whole nine yards" were pretty common from him as he grew up on the Ravager ship.

There's another Terran saying that Peter uses sometimes: Don't cry over spilled milk.

Guess who's trying desperately not to do just that? ]

Comments

for mantis;

[nostalgiabomb]

[ So apparently the time exchange rate is one week in Riverview to four years at home.

Or at least, that’s the case for Peter.

When he wakes in a hospital room, Peter is disoriented and lost and reeling. His entire body aches like an open wound, and on the back of his tongue, he thinks he tastes ash and iron. He sits up, his ribs instantly protesting the movement, and there’s a kind-faced person waiting nearby.

They say, “Welcome back to Riverview Quarantine.”

And the memories come rushing in. A year in this stupid place. An entire year, except he didn’t remember a single goddamn day from this weird moon, not even a single minute, until literally just now. All the planning he had done, all the promises he had made, buried and forgotten. Peter feels like he might actually puke.

He rips off the electrodes and monitors and devices (magical or otherwise) they’ve attached to him, even as the orientation representative does their best to deter him, to tell him he needs to rest, that he’s apparently undergone something terrible – and he knows that’s their coy way of saying he had been straight-up dead.

Peter lurches to his feet and sees his old comm unit sitting beside the representative on a table. He snatches it up, dodging around their half-hearted attempts to stop him, and he runs.

When he slams through the doors of the hospital, stumbles out onto the open street to surprised murmurs of nearby pedestrians, he goes through the information on the comm device with shaking hands. A lot of unread messages, but he ignores them all. Sure enough, still there on his most recently contacted list is Mantis’ information. He wastes no time calling her up, pressing the device to his ear.

And when he hears the line being picked up, he doesn’t even wait for a greeting. Without preamble: ]

Mantis. [ Breathless, clipped, frantic. ] Mantis, tell me where you are. Right now.

[glowfeelers]

[ It was too late when Peter had told her the fate of the guardians. Quill and Gamora had already gone, unaware of the hell that awaited them, and Mantis has spent her time here without them consumed with a guilt she has not felt since her time on Ego.

She could have done something. All she can think is that she could have done something.

She's been lonely and sad, lost and confused, and when she sees her phone light up with an incoming call she doesn't even register in the moment that it says Peter Quill and not Parker. So when she picks up there is no real urgency in her hello - but then she realizes that the frantic sounding voice cutting her off undoubtedly belongs to Quill, and everything changes in an instant. ]

Peter! Peter! [ A mix of emotions hits her like a truck, and there's a sad little crack in her voice. ] You're back! You're here!

[nostalgiabomb]

[ It's a punch to the gut, hearing her voice, and—

He's relieved. That's the first thing he definitely feels, the first emotion he can name without issue. He's relieved, and so, so, so fucking glad, and he brings up a hand to scrub furiously at his stinging eyes.

(She had crumbled away, just under his arm. She had fallen away and all he could do was watch— ]

Yeah. I'm here.

[ And if there's strain in his voice, if the words come out thickly, wetly, Peter will thank Mantis not to point it out.

She didn't properly answer him, but he starts moving anyway. He thinks— he's pretty sure the trams are this way, and no matter what, that's where he needs to go. ]

Tell me where you are.

[glowfeelers]

[ She breathes in as though waking suddenly from a dream, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders as his presence in this world is confirmed. Relief washes over her too, and she wipes a tear or two from her cheeks once she realizes they've even escaped. ]

H-Home. Your apartment.

[ Groot had felt better there, and so had she, empty now as it was. Then, after a few seconds of silence, ]

I'm so sorry, Peter, I didn't know.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He's already running while Mantis answers, shoving past people in his hurry; behind him is a chorus of shouted protests, but Peter doesn't bother to apologize. His ribs fucking ache, but he ignores the way pain lances up along his right side.

Community Housing. Okay. Okay, he's pretty sure he remembers—

And then Mantis is apologizing, and he feels his throat close up, feels the breath leave him, and— ]

Don't.

[ And the word sounds like it's out of him. He doesn't know what Mantis means, doesn't know what it is she's apologizing for. What he does know is that whatever she's about to say, he's not entirely sure if he wants to hear it. ]

Just... don't.

[ The doors are closing on the tram in the station as he rounds the corner – the tram he's pretty sure he needs to be on – and he curses under his breath as he pushes himself. He slides through them just as they slam shut completely, jostling another passenger in his hurry. ]

Just— wait there for me. [ Panted out, and the tram lurches into motion. He latches onto a nearby bar. ]

I'll be there soon, okay? Don't— don't go anywhere.

iv. wassup bud

[shoplifter]

[Laura knew that Gamora and Peter went home — and she had been used to it well enough, with other friends who have decided to go back. It's not a bad note to leave on, even if she's saddened by it, because this little group had endeared themselves to her stoic little self too quickly. And Peter Quill, Star-Lord, well — he shared a foxhole with her, at one point. So yes, she was sad, but it's life. She was ready to look back fondly and try to keep some of the advice given.

And then she finds a clearly miserable man juggling way too much in a store that she probably shouldn't have been in this late at night; see, she had bought a candy bar and a tall can of pringle-like chips that are stuffed into her backpack now, and she had almost left if not for the splatter of milk. She turns and walks patiently toward the noise, and when she sees the mess (not the mess on the floor, of course), she approaches.

... There's clearly a lot wrong here. She knows something must have failed — that home wasn't very good to him, or some kind of terrible reason he'd wound up back in Riverview. He's busy being upset and looking one step away from crying, so she holds up an empty shopping basket and puts her other hand on his arm gently.

It's okay.]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Peter has his head bowed as Laura approaches, both eyes screwed shut, and the heel of his free hand presses against the lid until he sees bursts of color. His breathing turns rough, uneven, and he's trying desperately to keep it together.

He is not going to lose it in an all but deserted grocery store. He absolutely is not.

When she touches his arm, Peter jerks away – and drops a bag of candy in the process. He curses below his breath as he crouches, scooping it up out of the puddle. He holds it by the corner of the plastic packaging, letting the milk drip off.

He looks at her, after that, eyes glassy and slightly bloodshot, and he sniffs a little before putting on a smile. Apparently he's going to just. Pretend he wasn't seconds away from openly fucking weeping in front of all these milks and yogurts. ]

Hey, Laura. [ His voice is bright, if a little brittle. ] Long time no see.

[shoplifter]

[She watches him with a cool carefulness, silent as ever as she plucks the damp back out of his hand and drops it into the shopping basket. Peter would not be the first man to lose it, not when she had witnessed her father weeping over Charles' grave — just before tearing into a truck with a shovel with all the animalistic violence he could muster. She's fairly confident Peter Quill is not one to pass out half-dead after unleashing his anger on a truck, though.

She motions for him to put the rest in the basket.

Softly:]

... You are terrible at juggling. Never join a circus.

[nostalgiabomb]

I'm great at juggling.

[ If by "juggling" you mean "tossing everything up exactly once and dropping everything to the ground."

He glances down at the basket, and a part of him wants to refuse just on principle. He doesn't need help. He's totally fine. Gravity is just being an asshole tonight, that's all. But arguing is a stupid inclination, and he seems to realize it even as his lips part to speak. It's why he lets out a breath as he drops his items in; he wraps a hand around the basket's handles to take it from her. ]

... Thanks.

[shoplifter]

[She nods, releasing her cargo to him.

Better than watching him drop even more stuff.]

De nada. [But she still watches up, quiet and expecting; wordlessly, she moves and collects a new jug of milk, carefully placing it in the basket.] Is this all you need? [a beat] Would you like me to steal a candy bar for you?

[Really, she's just hearkening back to his lecture, just to lighten the air.]

ii.

[madeupnames]

[Peter is quick to learn about Big Pete's return.

Without Gamora.

And in knowing he's back, he gives him space, partly out of fear of what he could even say, and partly because the guy probably really needs said space. He knows what it's like at least a little; it wasn't very long ago that he had a mini-meltdown in Athena's arms over what he'd learned about his future — and the futures of so many. But he's at least had a little time to try and adjust and push through it. Ben wouldn't want him to be weighed down by his mortality, and May wouldn't want him to just waste what time he's got, so he's... trying. He puts on his own mask and gets to work.

When he finds Peter in the jungle, a trail of monster bodies behind him and the Bulette lunging for him, he's quick to aim and fire off a web grenade (and ignore the way his heart leaps up into his throat). The beast's legs get entangled and it goes toppling, rolling round and round 'til it hits a big tree. It's at least dazed and he leaps down to the ground and starts unleashing all the webbing in his current canisters, to keep the thing down.

And you know, he'd throw some witty remark, maybe laugh off the situation, but instead he rushes over to where he'd seen Peter go sailing and yanks off his mask as he moves. He hadn't exactly been at a good enough angle to tell if the guardian was hit or not, and that's kind of freaking him out.]

Pete?! Hey, you over there?!

[You better not have gotten murdered by a D&D monster, he swears to fucking god, he can't deal with a double-death here.]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Yeah, getting murdered by a D&D monster would just be insulting after getting murdered by a giant purple nutsack.

Peter, thankfully, didn't get a face full of teeth or claws, as the Bulette probably would have liked, but the impact of the creature's landing was still enough to send him flying and tumbling, ass over tea kettle.

By the time he rolls to a stop (his progress is gently stopped by big ol' boulder) he's winded and stunned, and his already bruised ribs are so freaking pissed at him, but that's fine. He's fine. He's alive, isn't he?

He coughs, which certainly doesn't make things any better, and tries to get his limbs underneath him. He gets as far as propping himself up on an elbow when he sees the kid rushing toward him. ]

Uh. Hey.

[ Slightly strained, almost surprised. He didn't expect to meet anyone else out here, clearly.

And his gaze slides past the kid to the big landshark monster thing struggling against the webbing it's coated in. ]

... I had that handled.

[madeupnames]

[Peter breathes out a shaky sigh, relieved. He hadn't even been sure that he would come back, and now that he's here there's a little less weight on his heart and soul. He offers a gloved hand out for Big Pete to take, his expression still a little grim, a little strained. What's he supposed to say? He wants to explode into apologies. He wants to make a run for it, like how he'd made a run for it from Gamora on that tram; but look where that got him? Look at what happened.

Guilt paints his eyes as he looks down at Peter. He tries to smile, and while it doesn't reach his eyes, it at least looks somewhat honest.]

... Hey, man, I'm not judging.

[He's gonna fucking lose it. There's no way he can do this. Mantis was hard enough, but now he owes it to Peter to be honest with him — unlike before. Karma's a bitch, what with him only just learning from Mr. Stark that he had been keeping his demise from him, too.

Go figure, that it'd bite him on the ass, this whole 'avoiding and keeping your mouth shut' thing.

At least this Guardian isn't an empath, huh?]

Um. Welcome back?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Peter glances down at the offered hand before reluctantly taking it, hauling himself up to his feet. His hand briefly presses against his aching side – he's really going to need to ice these bruises, later – but after that, he brushes himself off.

(Just dirt, he tells himself. Just dirt and dead leaves that he's shaking off. Nothing more.)

The niceties can come later, apparently, because Peter is looking back at the big, angry creature, who's snarling and snapping in its bonds. ]

How long does that crap last?

[madeupnames]

Aah, 'bout two and a half hours.

[He'd extended the time with some measure of success anyway, in Mr. Stark's lab. Not by much, but by enough. He watches the creature and determines it'll probably get exhausted after a while, which is a double-success as far as the webbing is concerned. He snaps out of his anxious trance long enough to pop the capsules from his wrists, replacing them with full canisters of web fluid.]

Are you — are you okay? You hurt your ribs? We should get you somewhere to rest those.

[... He's scared to ask about Gamora, but it's on the forefront of his mind.]

IV

[ikenai]

[Mikumo, the tall and vivacious idol, is making a late night run to the grocery store also. Instead of the million watt smile she shows everyone on the network and at all of her performances and jobs, she has a hat covering her long hair, no makeup and she has discovered the joys of sweat pants!

All she wants to do is grab a few food items so that she can indulge in her favorite new pastime of eating junk food. Of course, she still loves her customary glass of milk after a long performance and there is none in her personal fridge in the communal housing floor.

When the gallon of milk hits the floor, she feels a pain at the waste until she sees the person responsible for such a horrible travesty and finds herself feeling sorry for him.]

It's a shame there aren't like ten cats at the ready to help you with this mess.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Peter was in the middle of desperately scrubbing his face with his free hand and silently willing himself to hold it together. Hold it together. You are not going to fall apart in the freaking dairy aisle—

But he freezes when he hears a voice nearby. He turns, eyes a little glassy, and a guilty expression on his face. ]

Uh, yeah.

[ His voice is slightly thick before he clears his throat. A little more dryly, ]

Although having a bunch of cats in a grocery store is probably some kinda health code violation.

[ikenai]

[Oh. She's seen that face before. Hm, it's not like this is her friend. She can't just rush over and try to make things better.

She's not even sure if there is making this better.

Maybe that's why Lady M never let her get too close to people back home.]

Perhaps, but I won't tell if you don't. Besides, where I'm from, the cats are part fish, so no violation, right?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ His lips part to respond in agreement – Peter's not a cat person by any means, but he's not going to narc on a place for having a bunch of store-cats—

But he pauses, frowning a little as he adjusts the items still in his grip. ]

... The cats are part fish.

[ And he echoes it back, part disbelieving, part curious.

He's imagining like cat mermaids – cats on top, fish on the bottom. ]

[ikenai]

[Look, the Protoculture humanoids have definitely morphed beyond regular humans.]

Yes, well, Ragna is a world that is mostly water. So, even the people have gills and webbing between their fingers sometimes. One of the members of the flying squadron that is attached to my group back home is from there originally. He and his siblings have displays as merpeople with the mercats with them. It's rather cute.

Although, there's nothing like watching a mercat jump out of the water to snatch a jellyfish out of the air.

[See, Peter, you're right.... And it's weirder than you thought.]

I

[partiallysquirrelblood]

Don't worry! I'll get himď

[That's definitely a girl with a squirrel tail vaulting iver the crowd. As soon as she finds him, she corrals him with that tail and keeps him from running further.]

Over here dude!

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Groot, in the meanwhile, is very determined to get after that sugar glider. He's at that precious age, apparently, where wanton acts of violence against random animals sounds like a good time.

But the kid skids to a stop when she gets in his path, and he lets out a loud, I am Groot! that is probably supposed to me, Get out of my way! He moves to duck between her legs, but he's swept back by that tail, and—

Sorry, Doreen. Groot is definitely going to try to chomp down on it with his tiny wooden teeth. ]

[partiallysquirrelblood]

[Thankfully, there's a lot of fur between him and any part of her tail that coild actually feel pain. All he gets for his trouble is a mouthful of fluff.]

Hey! No biting. You wouldn't like it if someone bit you, right?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Aaand there Groot goes, gnawing and spitting by turns. Empathy, it seems, is lost on the kid.

But Peter finally catches up, breathless and half-frantic. ]

Groot. What the hell.

[ And he snatches the kid up – gently, at least – and tugs him away from her tail. ]

I'm really sorry about him. [ This, at least, is directed toward her, as Groot wriggles in Peter's grip. ] He's been kind of stir-crazy.

Did he bite you?

[partiallysquirrelblood]

The little guy definitely tried, but it's fine. He only managed to chew up my tail-fur a bit. Not exactly the end of the world.

[And the world had nearly ended enough times that she could make the comparison.]

It's been through worse than a baby Flora colossus, anyways.