Chapter Text
“Can you believe that guy!?” The human drunkenly tells his partner.
The equally drunk New Asgardian laughs awkwardly given that for the fourth time, this weird human has complained to them about his… Friend? Pet? Brother? Lover? He honestly had no idea.
“Like, I KNOW I haven’t been the most atten-... Atontiv - No, that ain’t it.” The human thinks for a second. “Attentive!” He cheers, downing another glass of Asgardian Vodka.
Peter Quill leans back in his seat. “Like I was saying-“ He continues ignoring how most people around the campfire were laughing at his drunken antics. “I know I isn’t the most ‘ATTENTIVE’ best fwend- BUT!” He holds a finger up, ignoring how broken his English was.
The blonde human grabs a random guy’s hand, putting it to his chest, the other drunken guy just looks at him in confusion, pulling his hand back after about two seconds. “I still have a human heart-... Well, half-human heart, but still so full of fweelings, man!” The human finishes complaining. And all around the campfire, most of the other drunken Asgardians coo their empathy for Peter. Pitying the poor heartbroken human and his sadness.
These types of events have been going on for about three months now.
After the legendary Starlord arrived at earth to spend the last of his grandfather’s living years taking care of him, the moment came that the senior Quill passed away. After a few years of Peter working his ass off trying to fit in on Earth and have a mundane ‘normal’ life, it was clear to the Ex-Guardian that he wasn’t really gonna fit in. Not after spending all his life living among thieves, assassins, and talking trees and raccoons…
Talking raccoons that wanted nothing to do with him anymore.
“And yet despite how much I still care, I-” Quill’s voice cuts off while telling his worries to this lovely group of drunken people on New Asgard.
Some old lady encourages him to breathe and keep going. Quill whispers some gratitude to her while he collects himself. Teary eyes, staring into the bonfire.
“Despite everything, he just threw me away…” Quill continues. Remembering the heated argument he had with Rocket before the raccoon cut off communication between them completely.
Rocket had been his best friend, and probably the person Quill cared about the most in the universe currently. It was only natural that they had kept in touch after Quill went on his temporary retirement. Going from dumb intergalactic messages, Quill learning what a ‘meme’ was, to video calls with the now Captain of the Guardians of the Galaxy. Their friendship was being handled remotely, but somehow still strong as it had been. Peter was glad to have Rocket to talk to whenever he needed and still have his favorite raccoon person involved in his life…
But, things started going south once Rocket started asking about Peter's return.
“But I don’t hate him… I can't.” Quill says to the crowd that always enjoyed hearing his stories and tales since he came to New Asgard. “You see, it’s not his fault I’m such a mess.”
After a while, Rocket started getting impatient. He wanted to know when he could pick his best friend up and go back to how things were, he was so excited to show Peter all the things he achieved as captain and all the new things he learned. But the truth was that Quill’s Granpa’s health kept getting worse and worse, and Peter wasn't going just to abandon him, but instead of telling his best friend how shitty the battle against cancer was, the dumb half-human just kept making excuse after stupid excuse.
Now, if there was one thing Rocket was known for, it was for being anything but dumb. Rocket knew something was up by the fourth dumb excuse Peter had told him, and Peter, with all his dumb prideful nature, called Rocket less and less for fear of the raccoon finding out. He didn’t want his friend to worry. He knew Rocket would want to do everything in his power to help. Rocket and his heart of gold were amazing like that, but Peter knew the raccoon had much more important responsibilities as the captain of the new Guardians.
A position Quill had left him with. A huge responsibility to carry and manage.
At the end of the day, it was Quill’s own fault that Rocket had so much on his plate. As time went on Rocket stopped calling altogether… Until exactly a year ago tonight.
Peter sighs, sipping into his drink, looking back on how that day the doctors had told him that his grandpa didn’t have much left to live. Days at best.
Peter Jason Quill being the royal fuck up that he has always been, did the best thing he knew how to do when things got bad.
He got totally shit-faced at some bar. Picked a random nameless chick to bring to his house to forget sadness, and the other thing he knew was to be an overall dick.
He shouldn’t have answered Rocket’s call that night…
Peter can still remember how Rocket sounded. Tired. Frustrated… Sad.
It was a video conference with one of those holographic thingies Rocket got him, so they could stay in touch. The raccoon had noted right away how drunk the human was. Angry that the human allowed himself to go back to his old stupid party ways. Quill, being the drunkard that he is, immediately got defensive. Yelling about how he could do whatever he wanted, and that Rocket was no boss of him. Things escalated from there and only got worse once Peter’s date popped her head in, wondering what the ruckus and noise were all about.
Rocket had been justifiably livid, lamenting about if Peter had just left to have a party life while leaving the fate of the galaxy to him. Had he been just some tool to do all the Quill's dirty work. Peter had called his friend a overbearing dramatic whiner, and Rocket had called him a cowardly bitch.
After some more insults and things Peter wished he never had said… Things ended when Rocket told him to go fuck himself on a spike and to never call again…
Plus he blocked Peter…
Of course, Peter bawled his eyes out when he sobered up the next day, wanting to apologize and come clean about his situation, but having no way to do so. Earth wasn’t as tech-advanced unless you were in Nick Fury's not so secret space defense program, which had rejected him. Or you were Tony Stark, and that guy was long dead. Shield was in shambles after that secret war stuff, and Peter would rather run barefoot over sharp glass than go ask for help from the Wakandians after all of their recent political issues with the fall of their king AND queen one after the other. The half-human also wasn’t getting an answer from Nebula and Drax who were probably too busy dealing with shit to answer his calls or check up on him. Mantis was nowhere to be found, with no means of communication or way to locate her. She was likely having the time of her life, finally free of any bounds, loyalties or whatever.
In the end, Peter did his best to keep his sadness away from the lives of what could be considered his ex-family. Lives that are probably better off without him…
The Human decided just to dedicate himself to his grandpa until he finally passed.
Which wasn't long to happen at the Hospital, just like his mom had all those years ago.
After some very taxing, gruesome, and horrible days, Jason Quill Senior died peacefully in his sleep at the hospital. The fact that his death was peaceful did bring some level of comfort to Peter, but little to help with how utterly abandoned he felt.
With no one else to confide in, lonely and heartbroken beyond repair, Peter tried starting anew on Earth. Sadly, he was soon to realize he didn’t really mesh with the rest of the Terrans. Life as the legendary Starlord had made him way too different from everybody on Earth. Earning him all sorts of trouble and conflicts with people who didn't find him as charming as people in space did.
So once again Peter Quill didn’t give up and went to the only place that would have folk who at least knew what an Orloni was. Thanks to somehow managing to reconnect with Valkyrie, despite the tough woman's protest, he got himself a place in New Asgard for a price way cheaper than it should have been. New Asgard didn’t turn anyone away. It was the perfect place for an outcast like him to get settled and feel welcomed.
Except it didn't feel like home.
And Peter wasn't even remotely ready to move on.
Peter kicked himself every day for what happened with Rocket. Despite the raccoon’s clear message of never calling again, Peter made sure to leave Rocket a video message every other day, always. He knew his ex-best friend had blocked him, but still had held onto the hope that one-day Rocket would unblock him and see all the messages Peter left in his mail, realize how much the human missed him, and he would call back, and everything would be as it used to.
Peter never heard again from Rocket though…
Even then, Peter always apologized and told Rocket how much he was sorry for what had happened in these recordings. Explaining the truth about his situation in the first few messages. Speaking to the 'camera' about how hard the journey with his grandpa's cancer had been, how much he missed the good old days with the team, and overall trying his best to make up for how shitty he had behaved…
Until a few weeks ago when Quill just threw the Holo-com against a wall at his new place in a drunken bout of sadness and loneliness, that day he had realized that there was not going to be a call back from them… There wasn’t going to be a tearful reunion or heart-warming hugs. They were gone, off to do their own thing, and Peter was left to die alone on this planet he used to call home.
But Earth wasn’t his home. Earth was just a place. His real home had never called back. Never even checked if he was even alive. His real home wasn’t home anymore… At least not to him.
The half-human had finally become fully convinced that Rocket and the others had just forgotten about him and moved on with their new life with their new families and friends.
Peter couldn’t blame them…
So now here he was, drinking and telling stories to a group of strangers around a bonfire on a weekly basis in his new place at new Asgard. No grandpa, no friends, no family… No Rocket…
“But it’s all okay, right Randy?” Quill threw an arm around one of the men next to him. A meek, short loser whom Peter had appointed as his new best friend!
Who needed Rocket when you could have Randy, the- Uhhh… Randy the dude! Right at your side!!!
“Uhm, I've told you many times, Mr. Quill, we don’t know each other… My name is not Randy. My name is Paul”
“Oh, Randy. You are so funny, dude!” Peter laughed patting his new best friend on the back. Totally not projecting at all.
“Now, who can guess how much Randy and I can chug from this big barrel of homemade vodka?” Peter told the crowd, and they all started cheering, ready to place their bets and enjoy the show.
“Please, go away Mr. Quill.” Paul pitifully said.
No time to think.
It was Vodka time.
His head hurt.
His toes hurt, his back, his butt cheeks, his teeth, everything.
Everything hurt.
Peter groaned. Getting up from the hot floor and shielding his face from the incessant ray of sunlight upon his face. The huge hangover that was splitting his head open was seriously a top ten among all the hangovers in his life.
“Shit!” Quill cursed as he lost balance for a second. Using his hands to keep himself from falling. When had New Asgard’s dirt been so yellow?
What the-?
As he regained his wits and focus, Peter realized he was on top of a structure made from some kind of yellow rock or something similar. The sound of guttural voices and whispers also reached Peter’s ears. In a panic, he looked down from the edge of this weird rock-like structure, seeing a bunch of bipedal creatures looking very scared and pointing at him with long slender appendages, whispering among themselves in a strange, unknown language, from below him.
“What in the name of-” Quill cut himself off, clutching his head at the sudden stab of pain he felt.
“XYLNRA’ ZIGG!!” One of the creatures pointed at him, screaming.
“WHAT!?” Peters called back from his spot, no understanding what was going on. Was he back in space somehow?
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND YOU- OW!” Peter yelled when one of the creatures smacked him with a pointy rock, square on the right shoulder. “WHY DID YOU DO THAT FOR!?”
Peter quickly took cover when he saw more of the creatures ready to throw more rocks at him.
What the hell was happening?
Peter began looking around frantically, realizing a couple of things. His clothes were somehow very fucked up, looking all kinds of scorched and torn….What remained of them, that is. There were two suns in the sky, which explained this hellish heat. And finally, he saw stairs near the far border of the structure he was on top of.
Daring another look down, Quill saw a much bigger creature climbing up the building, growling and cursing at him while the other ones still screamed and threw stuff at him.
“What the hell is wrong with you guys!? I’M STARLORD!!” Quill tried as he covered himself with his hands, maybe this was some weird planet, and using his famous name may make them recognize his work as a Guardian.
“STARLORD? STARLORD NAH-HEE!” One creature replied.
OK, they don't know who Starlord is, that much was obvious…
Quill took that as his cue to use plan B and bolt out of there using the stairs he saw early and swing himself down the building safely. Good thing he worked out and did manual labor during his time on earth and didn’t lose much of his shape otherwise, this would have been impossible. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Peter took off into what seemed to be a busy street with numerous makeshift food stalls and fabrics kiosks.
A very humble city market of sorts?
“STARLORD XYRAGOH!!” Peter heard in the distance, which only served to make him run faster.
The human ran into that seemingly busy market plaza, using all the strange aliens as cover while he got deeper and deeper into the market running from his pursuers.
During his run, Peter saw a stall with very dark curtains that could serve as an excellent way to avoid getting mauled by the mob chasing him. Not-so-stealthtily breaking in, He came across a female alien who was understandably terrified by his sudden entry, but at least she didn't scream when she saw him.
Peter was quick to raise his hands in the universal peaceful gesture.
"Easy, easy." He tried calming the lady down, probably the owner of this stall. "Can you understand me?"
"Argh'blu kha?" The owner seemed to ask, scared.
Quill cursed under his breath, apparently his translator was faulty or not working at all. He couldn't believe his shitty luck.
"My name's Peter Quill, people also call me Starlord." Peter knew she couldn't understand him, but he still tried.
She perked up at hearing the last part.
"Starlord? You understand Starlord?" Peter beamed.
"Starlord? Nah-hee, Starlord oopsbeepicka." She said, her face grimacing in confusion.
"Oopsbeepicka? W-what's oopsbeepicka?" Peter tried to gesticulate with his hands.
The lady seemed to understand putting one of her hands a bit of a distance from the other. "Oopsbeepicka!"
"Is that like, what? Close? Tiny? Tiny Starlord?" Peter sighed, frustrated and deciding to give up on that.
What the hell was going on?
The way things were going, Peter thought it was best to just get out of that place before the angry mob found him. Looking around, he saw that the alien lady had apparently been running a business selling fabrics, clothing, and curtains. Peter pointed to the clothes putting on his most elaborate act of desperation.
"Listen to me, I know you can't understand me, but I don't know what's going on, and I'm very scared of that angry mob that wants to use me as a rock deposit. Can I borrow one of these to cover myself, please?" Peter pleaded, desperate for help.
The lady, for her part, seemed to understand what he was trying to say, grabbing what looked to be a long sheet or curtain and draping it over Quill, hiding the human from sight. She guided him out of the stall, pointing in the distance and spewing out more strange words.
"Starlord brooxeepogre, xe' fah tra poh." She said with conviction.
Quill shook his head, not understanding anything besides Starlord and that she was pointing in a general direction.
She took a deep breath, choosing instead to try to get the human in front of her to understand. "Starlord. " She began, fake scowling, baring her teeth, and putting her hands above her head where her ears would be.
"Brooxeepogre!" She moved her hand in front of her. Making a 'whoosh' sound. This, Peter could understand, it meant some kind of aircraft, and he could work with that.
"Booxeepogre? Yes, I know Booxeepogre, I think I know what that is." Quill nodded when the lady smiled at him. "Thank you so much. I could kiss you right now, bye." Peter promptly took off in the direction the alien woman directed him to.
As he strolled through the crowd, Quill made sure to keep his face and most of his body hidden, worried the mob might spot him. The big piece of fabric the woman had draped over him was doing its job, keeping him undercover and protected from the scorching twin suns. He walked right past one of the creatures searching for him, and they didn't give him a second glance thanks to the layers of fabric covering him. He looked like one of those total chill monks from some peaceful planet where everyone sang in harmony and rainbows and glitter were a thing. Who'd ever suspect the dude in the fancy duds of being the fugitive?
Peter walked for, like, forty-ish minutes before stumbling onto what looked like some kind of ship docking area. Ships were landing and taking off all the time. If he was fast, he could probably hot wire one and make off with it. It was pretty obvious now that he was on some alien planet. Somehow, he had gotten so hammered that he ended up on this random, nowhere world. How did that even happen? He had no clue, but one thing was for sure: he needed to get out of there and find some help…
And he was never drinking Asgardian Vodka ever again.
If only he could recognize the systems of any of these ships, maybe he could-!
Wait…
Was that THE MILANO HE JUST SAW!?
Peter's jaw hung open under his 'robe' as he watched a parked perfect replica of his very first ship in the far-off distance. A fan maybe? The original Milano was turned to scrap material, later to be used for upgrades for the Bowie, so this had to be a copy!
A very accurate one at that.
No matter, it was still similar to a standard model Ravager ship, so Peter could hijack that. He would apologize and give an autograph to the fan later.
Peter casually snuck his way over to the ship, heading straight for the hidden outside panel that all Ravager ships had. He'd planned on messing with the panel and hacking the security, but he stopped dead when he saw a sticker next to it. A password hint written in English, in messy handwriting. There was also some old, ripped duct tape holding the panel together in a real mess.
Wow, this was a spot-on copy of the original. These were the exact same things he'd done to his own ship right after he'd first gotten it and accidentally screwed up the panel, leaving it like that for all the years to come.
Still, Peter could not shake off the weird sense of dread in the pit of his stomach.
What if he tried…
Carefully, Peter punched in his old security code for the Milano. Making sure to tap the submit button twice since the button was supposed to be faulty and would not work the first time.
But, this shouldn't work on this fan copy, right?
The beeping sound of the password being accepted by the ship made Quill jump a bit. How the hell was this possible? How did the fan know of his code? The code was the date of the Beatles' first album; he hadn't told this to anyone but his friends. How could a fan know that?
Things got weirder when Peter stepped into the ship through the hatch.
Looking around, Peter realized most things were right as he used to have them at the Milano. Even Come N' get your love was playing through the ship in his old Awesome Mix Vol. 2 tape. Peter could even see the many knickknacks he had collected in his youth in the same spot he used to have them in the common area.
The feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach was worse than ever. Peter could feel himself sweating, what the fuck was going on? Why this-? No, this wasn't just a copy of the Milano.
This WAS the Milano.
At the sudden realization, Peter decided to turn tail and leave. Something was telling him this was a bad idea. All of this felt wrong, very wrong. Quill tried going back the way he came, only to find himself looking at a small creature clad in what seemed to be ravager clothing with a metal head and one-and-a-half pointy ears poking out of the metal muzzle-like helmet the creature wore. Its huge, red glowing eyes glare coldly at Quill. The whine of a blaster rifle brought Peter's gaze to the weapon in the creature's hands. The gun aimed right at his head.
Peter raises his hands immediately.
A ravager? What could a Ravager be doing here?... Other than Ravaging, that is…
"Hands up, punk. Who the fuck are you and why are you in my ship?" the creature's filtered voice came through the helmet.
Something about the thing in front of him made Peter uneasy. There was a sense of familiarity within him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
At least the creature spoke a language he could understand. Maybe that was something he could use in his favor, at the very least.
"Hi, hello. Yeah, You are a Ravager, right? Heh, so am I- Well, I was one, but one never stops being a Ravager, am I right?" Peter started, trying to talk his way out of getting his brain blown up.
"What?..." The creature stepped back a bit in surprise, lowering his gun slightly at hearing Peter's voice.
This was good! Maybe this tiny guy was Peter's fan and they recognized his voice!
"Yeah, sorry. I'm so glad you speak something I can understand and-... Uhmm… love the copy of my ship, very thorough, I must say!" Peter said enthusiastically, turning on his charm game. "Starlord, by the way. Yes, THE one and only Starlord." Peter finished with pride.
"No…" The tiny Ravager fully lowered his gun, stumbling back. "You can't be Starlord, I- I'm Starlord. I've been Starlord since-..." Peter saw the creature stumble back some more, dropping its gun.
Maybe it was too impressed to have met him? It was hard to know what the Ravager was feeling when it had that helmet on. Though it reminded Peter of his own helmet back then, only a bit more animalistic? This thing must be a true hardcore fan, then.
"Well, no. I appreciate you want to be like me. But I'M Starlord." Peter chimed, uncovering his face. "Peter Jason Quill. But like I said, you may call me Starlord." He gave his best charming smile to the creature.
The thing audible gasped, putting its weirdly familiar clawed hands to its face.
"You gotta be shitting me…" The thing says with a sad voice, choking up.
Peter wondered why it sounded so sad?
"No, no, no, nonononono." The Ravager shook his head in denial, and Peter could swear he heard them sobbing a bit. "You can't be him-You just can't! This is some sick joke!"
"Oookaaayyy, pal. Look, you are being kinda creepy, and I'm in a bit of a pickle." Peter tries to steer the conversation. The feeling of dread getting exponentially worse with each sob. "Listen, I need to-"
"NO!" The ravager interrupted the human. "You listen, you...-!"
"Okay, dude-... Or ma'am… Whatever-. I don't honestly know with that thing on your head. I really need your help." Peter tried once again. Why was he feeling like he knew this thing?
"Is it-?" The creature pointed a clawed digit at Peter "Is it really you… Pete?"
Pete?
Wait a damn minute…
"Rocket!?" Peter blurted out. The very first word to come to his head.
As if to confirm his suspicion, the Ravager reached behind his head, pressing an unseen button and causing the helmet to collapse into a tiny piece in the same way Peter's used to do. With the helmet gone, Peter could clearly see the familiar yet different face of his ex-best friend. The fur under his eyes was all matted with fresh tears. His cute fuzzy face was just like he remembered, except for a scar across his right eye, more like along his snout, and half of his left ear was missing a chunk.
But that didn't matter to Peter.
"ROCKET!!" Peter enthusiastically approached his friend. HIS BEST FRIEND. "Oh my god, Rocket. You have NO idea how much I've missed you!" Peter opened his arms. Glad to see a familiar face, and that of Rocket to boot!
So glad was he, in fact, that he failed to notice the Raccoon in front of him panic at Peter's approach for a hug and pull out a gun.
"Rocket, buddy, I’m so sorry for what happened, the thing with my Grandpa-! AAHH!!" Peter's body lurched back in agony towards the ground, uncontrollable spasms from the electric stunning round rattled his body painfully.
Maybe it was the hangover or his general tiredness, but Peter could feel himself passing out as he twitched on the cold metal floor. Everything was going dark for him. The last thing he saw before going unconscious was Rocket putting a hand to his own muzzle to stifle his cries.
Why was Rocket sobbing?
Was he the one to make his friend cry?
Peter had never made Rocket cry before…
It felt bad. It felt wrong.
To be honest, Peter had just wanted a hug from his friend.
Had he fucked up so bad that he didn't deserve even that?
Somewhere in our space
Music could be heard inside a ship. Happy, cheerful music. Just as happy as its crew.
Except for the captain…
Rocket raccoon, current captain of the Guardians of the galaxy rolled tiredly out of bed, rubbing his sore shoulders as he has to get ready for another day of arduous work.
“Captain, we have twelve unanswered calls.” Adam’s voice came from the speakers, interrupting the music.
“Who would call us so many times, Adam?” Rocket spoke to his personal comm by his bedside stand as he scratched his chest. “We are kinda busy right now with that Chitauri rebellion on Xylos-12. The galaxy is a big place, and we can’t be everywhere at once.”
“It’s from a place called ‘Earth’ apparently.” Phylla’s voice chimed in.
“Earth?” Rocket scrunched his face in a grimace. “Earth has a ton of super powered weirdos, why would they call us for help?”
Rocket began putting on his uniform. He personally knew the Avengers, Earth wasn’t going to ask his small team for help when they were there.
Unless they got killed or something. The only other option was…
“Think it could be Quill, Capt’n?” Kraglin’s voice piped.
“If it is Quill, I’m hanging up on sight.” Rocket deadpanned. He was done with Quill. The raccoon had tried his best to hang onto whatever was left of his feelings for Quill through all these years, but he couldn’t keep chasing after a man who had moved on and clearly didn’t want to see him again.
If the human wanted to dedicate all his attention to that girlfriend of his, alcohol, and parties instead of his friends, then so be it. Rocket wasn’t going to keep up losing sleep about his former leader.
“Capt’n…” Kraglin said, testing the grounds.
“Not gonna have this conversation again Kraglin. That’s final.” Rocket ordered.
It would not be the first time Kraglin had voiced his disagreement with Rocket cutting Quill off his life, and it would surely not be the last. Rocket understood that Kraglin had watched Peter grow from a literal child into the man-child that he is today, but Rocket had made it clear that he didn’t wanna hear anything related to Peter after that fateful call a year ago.
The raccoon already went through one of the worst times of his life when he finally accepted Quill wasn’t coming back. He had moved on just like Peter obviously had. He wasn’t going to ruin the Terran's new life on his stupid planet, with a stupid girlfriend and stupid new friends. Rocket had done whatever he could to delete Quill from his life, and he planned to keep it that way.
No matter how many times Peter appeared in his thoughts every day for the entire time since they fought.
After a few minutes, Rocket finished getting dressed and headed out to the common area where the rest of his team was waiting for him. Kraglin was, of course, not meeting his eyes. The Xandarian wasn't going to get caught disobeying an order, his absurd sense of loyalty wouldn't allow him, but that didn't mean he had to agree with Rocket's decisions.
"Take the call, Cosmo." Rocket commanded.
"Aye, Kaptain!" Cosmo chimed, wagging her tail.
In front of the Guardians, a holographic image of a person familiar to Rocket appeared. Rocket hadn't spent much time with the woman because he honestly was a bit scared about how she didn't take shit from anyone and how she wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty with blood if you wronged her.
"Ugh. About bloody damn time!" Valkyrie wasn't one to appreciate waiting, and her annoyed tone spoke volumes about it. "Do you have any idea how many times I've called you!? If this was an apocalyptic-level threat, we would ALL be doomed, you mangy rabbit!" She was clearly angry…
"You kalled twelve-" Cosmo started.
"Shut it! Pick up the damn thing when I'm calling! What if this was an emergency!?" The Dark skinned woman reprimanded, making Cosmo lower her ears.
"Valkyrie, I-" Rocket tried to interject.
"King Valkyrie, for you." She corrected.
Rocket sighed. If he didn't hold so much respect for her, he would have hung up right there. "King Valkyrie…" The raccoon pinched the bridge of his muzzle. "If this isn't an emergency, what is the reason for this call?"
Rocket sees her falter for a second. Something he had never thought possible. "It's about your friend, Peter Quill-"
"He is not my friend..." Rocket was about to signal Kraglin to hang up before he was interrupted by Valkyrie.
"Brother, booty call, pet, ex, whatever he is to you, I don't care." She retorts, slamming her fist on a table in front of her. “Thought you at least wanted to know we got his ashes for you to pick up.”
"His what now?" Kraglin turned to look at Rocket, a scared look on his face.
“Ashes? He burned someone to death or something?” Rocket scoffed. “I don’t have to pick up after his messes, he is YOUR problem now, Val. Well, Earth's anyway.”
Valkyrie’s expression hardened. “HIS ashes, Rocket.” She took a breath that seemed to hurt her. “He is dead.”
Kraglin gasped, Cosmo let out a whine, Groot looked around in anguish.
Rocket froze on the spot… A million thoughts going through his head. Peter was what now? Nah, this was just-...
“Bah! Tell Quill to go fuck himself. I ain’t dealing with his shit no more. No matter what new elaborate scheme he wants to pull on me!” Rocket turned around, walking back to his room. He had a bloody Chitauri rebellion to deal with, for God’s sake! he had no time to deal with one of Peter’s pranks or cry for attention after an entire year without talking to each other…
“Rocket…” Valkyrie said. Sounding sad for the first time since Rocket knew her.
Why was Rocket’s heart going so fast? Why were his paws sweating so much and his mouth so dry?
“Rocket…” Valkyrie tried again. “We are holding a funeral in two days.”
Rocket turned around slowly. He saw Groot softly weep. Cosmo started whining. Phylla helped Adam hold Kraglin up as he seemed to have lost control of his legs, the expression on his was one of pure bewilderment.
Why were they being so damn dramatic? Quill wasn’t dead.
He couldn’t be dead.
“He has no family or friends to accompany him here as he sails to the afterlife…” Valkyrie uttered with a glare directed at the raccoon. “I thought you at least wanted to say goodbye, but I believe you are the wrong bloke to call since you don't care.” She finished cutting the call off.
Groot wailed a gut-wrenching cry, vines lashing out at his vicinity. Kraglin screamed. Adam desperately tried calming him down with Phylla’s help. Cosmo howled… But Rocket just stayed still…
He just stood there, looking at the screen with the ‘CALL ENDED’ message flashing red. His ears ringing. He didn't feel like he was even in his own body, a stranger watching everything happen in front of him through his eyes. The edges of his vision turned a blackish shade of red. He couldn’t hear anything through the sound of his own heart and the ringing in his ears. He could feel himself breathing more than he should have. He didn't feel himself closing his eyes. He didn't feel himself going down cold to the floor.
He just felt something break within himself.