[ He swallows around the lump in his throat when the kid says Gamora’s name.
Peter’s been careful, talking around all of the other Guardians to avoid mentioning them by name. “The others.” “The guys.” “Those assholes.” Anything to keep from calling them directly to his mind. And it’s selfish of him, he knows. It’s fucked up and unfair, but if he lets his mind linger, then he thinks of—
(Rocket, looking at him with disdain as he backed into the pod. Drax, with terror on his face, when Peter had never seen the guy afraid. Gamora, with tears in her eyes and resignation in her smile.
I love you. More than anything.)
He scrubs at his face again, trying desperately to hold himself together. He’s not going to lose it in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. He’s not going to fall apart next to a goddamn land shark corpse. He’s not going to let himself become a mess while the kid sits here and watches.
He’s not. He’s not. He’s stronger than this. He’s—
He needs to keep it together, because Groot and Mantis are back at the apartment, and they’re terrified, and they’re so terribly fucking sad, and he needs to— he needs to be the captain. To be the anchor. To be the steady one they look to while everything seems to fall apart. To be the one they turn to when they need someone to lean against. He needs to take care of them. He needs to—
He desperately presses the heel of his clean hand against his eyelids again, until he sees wild bursts of colors. His breathing turns ragged for a few seconds that drag on into forever, it feels like. ]
Not the apartment.
[ Strangled, thick. He can’t let the others see him crumbling away like this.
And more than that, Gamora’s belongings are still everywhere, and he keeps catching himself raising his head with Gamora’s name on his lips, wanting to ask her, “Hey, have you seen my—?” The ghost of her lingers in the place, casts a shadow over everything.
She’s coming back. Peter knows this with absolutely certainty. She’s coming back, but until then, he can’t— he can’t deal with the absence of her. Not right now. ]
no subject
Peter’s been careful, talking around all of the other Guardians to avoid mentioning them by name. “The others.” “The guys.” “Those assholes.” Anything to keep from calling them directly to his mind. And it’s selfish of him, he knows. It’s fucked up and unfair, but if he lets his mind linger, then he thinks of—
(Rocket, looking at him with disdain as he backed into the pod. Drax, with terror on his face, when Peter had never seen the guy afraid. Gamora, with tears in her eyes and resignation in her smile.
I love you. More than anything.)
He scrubs at his face again, trying desperately to hold himself together. He’s not going to lose it in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. He’s not going to fall apart next to a goddamn land shark corpse. He’s not going to let himself become a mess while the kid sits here and watches.
He’s not. He’s not. He’s stronger than this. He’s—
He needs to keep it together, because Groot and Mantis are back at the apartment, and they’re terrified, and they’re so terribly fucking sad, and he needs to— he needs to be the captain. To be the anchor. To be the steady one they look to while everything seems to fall apart. To be the one they turn to when they need someone to lean against. He needs to take care of them. He needs to—
He desperately presses the heel of his clean hand against his eyelids again, until he sees wild bursts of colors. His breathing turns ragged for a few seconds that drag on into forever, it feels like. ]
Not the apartment.
[ Strangled, thick. He can’t let the others see him crumbling away like this.
And more than that, Gamora’s belongings are still everywhere, and he keeps catching himself raising his head with Gamora’s name on his lips, wanting to ask her, “Hey, have you seen my—?” The ghost of her lingers in the place, casts a shadow over everything.
She’s coming back. Peter knows this with absolutely certainty. She’s coming back, but until then, he can’t— he can’t deal with the absence of her. Not right now. ]
Anywhere else. Just— not there.