I'm just a boy but I will win, yeah

Lost songs of lovers fellow travelers, yeah

Leave me sad and hollow out of words

It could happen to you

So think for yourself:

If I should stumble

Catch my fall, yeah

If I should stumble

Catch my fall

"Catch my fall" by Billy Idol

The scent of disinfectant tickled Peter's nose as the little Terran pressed his face basically flat against the glass vitrine, peering at his faint reflection and making faces at it.

When not even that made him smile, he sighed deeply, his breath fogging the glass.

Behind him, there was still grumbling to be heard – an unfamiliar voice growled something that Peter couldn't catch, and Yondu's answer was quick and flippant, underlying threat in the words only audible to those who knew him well enough.

Peter, well… he didn't knew the Ravager's Captain that well, despite the year he had spent with them now, but he did now that this was one of those deals were the adults would talk and talk and talk, and in the meantime, Peter would slowly die of boredom.

Grumbling to himself, considering for a moment to kick the vitrine in his frustration, Peter swiveled around, pirouetting around himself to stalk back to another display. He had seen all of them since coming in here, soaking up the sight of whatever new merchandise the Broker had in his exhibition, but by now, even that was becoming boring as hell.

Normally, when they visited the Broker's shop, things didn't take too long. Yondu would march in, Kraglin and Horuz trailing close behind, and hand over whatever thing they had (illegally) gotten hold off to the skittish, polite little man behind the counter. Very rarely, there would be a short discussion over the price – "Ya try'n tell me that's not worth more?" – but normally, one little tilt of the head from Yondu and Kraglin and Horuz shifting a bit closer, shoulders squaring, would make the Broker shut up very quickly and agree to everything and anything the Ravager Captain requested of him.

In the meantime, Peter would dart from one showcase to the other, pressing his nose against the bulletproof glass to get a good look at the things inside. Glittering jewels, dusty pieces of long-outdated machines, seemingly meaningless little cute things – there was a lot to be seen in the Broker's shop, pawns from people who needed quick money and pieces that mercenaries like the Ravagers had picked up. One way or the other, the Broker collected those things, left them waiting for a new owner who would pay a horrendous price for them.

Ones or twice, Peter had even spotted things that he knew from Earth. He fondly remembered that one time, after his first successful theft, where Yondu had easily talked the Broker into giving him a little toy in form of a tiny racing car.

"Ya go 'head and keep bein' an useful lil' thief, Quill," Yondu had reminded him as he had handed the toy over, pulling it away from Peter's grasping hands teasingly a few times until he had the boy's full attention. "Ya ain't, I'm gonna let the boys eat'cha."

Peter had bared his teeth then, making the Ravager laugh that barking, hoarse laugh of his.

(Even after the time he had spent with the crew, Peter still wasn't completely convinced that the threat wasn't meant seriously – because, honestly, a few of the Ravagers did look like they could and would eat a tiny Terran given the chance. But he wouldn't let Yondu see that tiny fear. He would lift his chin and snap right back at such threats, like the men had taught him.)

All in all, the Broker's shop was a rather interesting place to be most of the times they came here, and there were times when Peter actually enjoyed the stay here.

But sometimes, there were times like this, when the person the Broker worked for this time around would be in the shop, too, and things would get more complicated.

Peter didn't like those times. Not only could those meetings take up hours, but he also wasn't allowed to make too much noise during it, because it could be distracting.

Pffft, distracting. The adults weren't doing anything more than exchanging quips, barely covered up threats and demands for what they believed to be a good outcome for them. It wasn't like he could really distract them from such boring stuff. If anything, he would make their day more interesting.

Sighing again, Peter chanced a glance over to Tullk. The man was leaning casually against the wall next to the shop's door, arms crossed and a yawn almost splitting his face just when the child looked over.

Tullk didn't seem that interested or happy about being here, either. Well, he was only here to keep an eye on Peter, anyway. Yondu never took more than two people with him to Xandar, except those times when Peter was there with them, too.

Which was stupid, Peter thought with a pout. He didn't need a babysitter – he was almost nine, he was basically a grown-up already – and there was absolutely nothing here that could endanger him. Apart from the absolutely deathly boredom, of course.

It was time to do something against that.

A quick check - Yondu was still caught up in an argument with the customer, a giant of a man, almost two times the size of Yondu himself. Kraglin and Horuz were busy being the kind of silent, threatening backup they were expected to be.

They wouldn't even notice if he were gone.

Peter used his chance and darted over to Tullk, tugging at the man's jacket as he hissed, "Hey, Tullk. Tullk!"

"Wha's it, Pete?" Tullk shifted, hand reaching over to ruffle Peter's hair.

The boy spluttered, patting his hair back down and trying to escape the playful hand trying to ruin it again. "Can I – no, stop that, geez – can I go outside? I'm bored."

Tullk's grin wavered, and he scrunched up his nose as he scratched his chin, obviously thinking very hard. "Uh, no sure, Petey. Capt'n wouldn't be happy 'bout that."

"But Yondu is busy. He won't even notice when I go outside a bit. Please?" Peter rarely said please anymore, not around the Ravagers, not when they had taught him to take what he wanted with quick and nimble fingers and how to cuss like a master when things didn't go his way. "I will just go look around a bit, and then come back."

"Geez, Pete, really ain't sure… I can't just leave, n' I shouldn't let'cha run around alone…"

"But I'm so bored, Tullk. And we're on Xandar – nothing will happen here, anyway. Come on. Please?"

Peter knew that whining wouldn't work with most of the Ravagers. Whining, crying and yapping would even annoy and anger most of them, Yondu included. That would have been counterproductive.

Some of them though, like Tullk, actually felt bad for Peter if he hit just the right pitch of voice and looked at them with big, hopeful eyes.

That proved true as Tullk ran a hand through his hair, grimaced, tried to look away from Peter's pleading gaze and couldn't, before he finally sighed. "'kay, 'kay, I get it. I guess if ye don' ran away too far then…"

"Awesome!" Peter made for a dash towards the door, only to be held back by a hand grabbing his collar, Tullk snapping, "'ey, 'ey, wait up!"

"What?!"

"Listen up, Pete, 'kay? Listen," Tullk glanced over to where Yondu was still arguing with the broker and that other guy, back turned towards them. After ensuring that the Captain wasn't paying attention to them, Tullk continued with a lower voice, "Ye don' walk away too far, ye don' steal stuff without us havin' yer back, and if there's trouble, ye ran straight back here. Got it?"

"I get it, Tullk", Peter rolled his eyes. "Seriously, you always tell me that as soon as…"

"Whoa, 'ey bud, I just wanna make sure Capt'n ain't gonna rip me in pieces when ye get hurt 'cuz I let'cha ran loose. I like to be in one piece, mind ye."

"As if he would," Peter's eye-rolling only intensified. Sure, Yondu would lose a scrawny useful thief should something happen to Peter, but he could bear that little loss.

Tullk didn't look very convinced by that, and Peter stuck his tongue out, huffing quietly, before swearing solemnly with his hand pressed to his heart, "I will be super-duper careful and not get into trouble."

Slowly, like releasing a wild animal, Tullk let go, even though his eyebrows were still reaching his hairline. "Tha's as good as I'll get, eh? 'kay, run off before I can think 'gain. But if Capt'n asks, boy, it's all yer fault. Ye tricked me, sneaked out, tha' s it, I ain't go nothin' to do with it."

"Oh, yeah, it's all my fault. One hundred percent. Like usual," Peter assured with a thin smile, already slinking towards the closed door.

Tullk obediently positioned himself such that he would block to view towards the door, and Peter used all the sneaking-skills he had been taught in the last year or so to open the door completely silently and to sneak out before it fell closed behind him again.

Once outside, he was greeted by the bright sunlight and the animated chattering of Xandar.

Peter stopped dead in his tracks, flinging his arms out wide and tipping his head back to suck in a deep, relieved breath.

This was amazing, especially after having spent the last weeks on the Eclector, without any sunlight whatsoever. Sure, the artificial light could look nearly the same as the sun, if it were calibrated right, but it still wasn't the same as the feeling of sunbeams warming your skin while you could take deep breathes of fresh air.

Not to mention all the things that could be seen here.

Running off at high-speed, Peter turned around the shop and ran down the street behind it. First get a good distance between himself and the others. There was still a tiny chance that they would notice his absence and not be happy about it.

Once he was sure that he had gotten quite a distance between himself and the shop, Peter slowed down, sauntering along instead of running. Now he could give himself the time to look around and drink in what he saw.

Xandar, Peter had quickly discovered, was a place full of different people and cultures, so there was always a lot to see. There were different species – Krylorianer and Xandarianer, Peter could recognize, but there were others, too, some humanoid, some very clearly not.

Most of them were… well, the complete opposite of what Peter was used to. People here were quieter, more at ease than a ship full of Ravager ever could be. Peter saw a lot of smiling faces as he went, people chattering and laughing without a care in the world. Nobody felt as if they had to watch their backs here. They were careless.

It was tempting, sometimes. Peter caught glimpses of wristbands, glinting in silver and gold, which hung loosely around a wrist. A wallet, not pushed deep enough into a pocket, all but ready for the taking.

One quick step to the side, a flick of the wrist, a short excuse perhaps, and Peter could have taken those, easy as a child's play. He could have brought it back and offered it to Yondu, sort of as a peace offering should the Captain be angry about his short absence.

But that didn't feel right, Peter concluded, dodging a man hastening past him, his fancy wristwatch ripe for taking. Stealing from the Ravagers and stealing from people dealing with the Ravagers was one thing, but stealing from unsuspecting, normal citizen… that was a whole other thing.

Deciding to give a wide berth to all the tempting opportunities, Peter forewent the open plazas full of people and the narrow alleys. Instead he aimed for the green spaces scattered all over the giant city, following a curved bridge over one of the plazas to reach what seemed to be a little park.

It had been so long since he had something even faintly resembling a park… the last few planets he had been allowed to visit with Yondu and the others had been wastelands or planets completely covered in cities and industrial areas. Not much greenery to be seen there, if anything at all.

Upon reaching the park, Peter grinned from ear to ear as he caught sight of what seemed to be a playground.

Jackpot.

He hadn't seen something even remotely close to a playground since being kidnapped from Terra. There was something nostalgic about these places, with their swings and slides…

Peter stopped walking, drowning in memories of home. There had been a playground close to his school, back home. An old thing with only a set of swings and a slide, rusty from age, but he still had looked forward to those times when Mum would pick him up from school and go to the playground with him. He would climb onto the swing as soon as he reached it, swinging up as high as he could while Mum waited back on the ground, and he would swing higher and higher to reach the sky.

"Mum! Mum, look how high I am!"

"Hey!"

Startled, Peter jumped, involuntarily brushing something with his foot.

A ball, he realized as he looked down. It had landed right in front of his feet, without him even noticing.

"Yes, you! Throw it back, okay?"

Peter blinked, looking around first, then towards the person who had called – a Krylorian girl, looking approximately his own age, standing in a group of other children, all of them looking over towards him.

She waved at Peter as she caught his gaze, and still he asked, rather stupidly in his disorientation, "What, me?"

"Sure, who else?" She laughed then, clearly amused by his confusion.

Well, it was just a ball. He should just… throw it back and be done with it. That would probably be the best thing.

Ducking down, Peter picked up the toy, holding it gingerly between his hands. It was almost the exact same size as a football back on Earth, and in a bright green color.

Images flashed through before his inner eye, blurred and faded memories of hours spent running after a ball, kicking it clumsily, cheering loudly alongside his beaming Grandpa when one of them managed to score a point, followed by Grandpa lifting him up, swinging him through the air while they laughed until they could barely breath, and Mum would call them back to the house to have them drink something before they got parched from their playing…

Blinking, swallowing down whatever emotions just threatened to boil over, Peter forced a smile on his face, lifting up the ball over his head as he called out:

"You have space for one more player?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ G ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The game, Peter found out rather quickly, wasn't football.

The reason for that, very likely, was the fact that some aliens probably didn't even have what other species would call feet, which made it rather logical to not play football.

It still was a bit confusing for Peter when everyone just hit the ball with everything they had, be it head, hands, feet, tentacles or tails, but if anything that only served to make the game all the more fun. In no time at all, Peter found himself running after the ball while laughing loudly, cheering when they managed to score a point, and booing while still laughing when the other team scored.

Sometimes Peter had to hold himself back, to remember that this weren't Ravagers he was playing with, but children. Once or twice, he almost tripped someone, or shoved them aside, things he would have done when managing to get Kraglin or Tullk or Oblo to play with him, but every time he caught himself in the last second and hastened to play fair again.

(He never even paused a second to question just how much the Ravagers's habits had already started to rub off on him.)

Time flew as they played, and Peter, for the first time in a very long time, felt like a child again. Not a little thief, not a nuisance to be watched over, not a little Ravager to be groomed. Just a child, laughing and playing.

It ended way too quickly.

One moment, Peter was cheering alongside his team, a mix of children of all ages and species whom he hadn't bothered to learn all the names off, and the next moment, the group just seemed to disband around him, chattering animatedly as they walked towards the entry of the playground.

"What?" Peter was still smiling widely, a tad breathless from running around for what felt like hours. He bent forward, trying to catch his breath as he asked, "You're already going?"

"It's dinner time," the Krylorian girl that had first spoken to him told him, laughing as if he had just made a joke. "And my mother is here to pick me up."

"Oh…" to be quite honest, Peter hadn't even realized that the sun was going down already. He had spent way more time here than he had intended.

For a second, he felt worry surge through him. Yondu wouldn't be too happy when he had been gone for too long…

As if he would care. Right?

"My Ma is here!"

"Dad! I'm over here!"

The group of children disbanded quickly as most of their parents, at least one parent for each, showed up at the entry to the playground, waving towards them. The children scrambled to pack their things, picking up toys and saying goodbye left and right. There were offers made - "You want to come over for dinner?" – or promises to see each other again tomorrow.

Peter stood, a bit forlorn, as he was suddenly the last one left on the playground. There was no one at the entry for him.

The girl stopped one last time, although her mother was waiting for her. She looked back at Peter, insecure.

"You, uh…," she trailed off, wringing her hands as she looked from the Terran back to her waiting mother. "You're going to be picked up, too, right?"

The question alone almost made Peter bark out a bitter laugh. As if. None of the Ravagers would come look for him… well, perhaps they would. It wasn't highly likely, but there was this tiny chance that they would miss a useful thief. But even if they came, it wouldn't be to "pick him up", but to drag him back to the ship and yell at him for making them wait.

But it wasn't like he could tell her that. So Peter managed a rather convincing smile and assured, "Yeah, sure. They will… be here any moment now. Probably running a bit late, you know?"

She smiled, then, clearly relieved. And suddenly he wished he had at least asked her for her name, so that he could now tell her goodbye.

"Okay, then… it was really fun. Bye!"

"Yeah. Bye."

Peter waved after her weakly, even when she had long since turned her back towards him. He could still hear her cheerful voice as she reached her mother.

"Mama, I had lots of fun today!"

"That's great to hear, sweetie. I want to hear everything, okay?"

Staying where he was, forgotten and the last one on the playground, Peter could barely make out in the dark when the girl's hand slipped into that of her mother's, their finger intertwining easily as they kept walking.

Peter's smile fell, washed away by the sudden wave of cold that filled his chest with a hollow pain.

"Peter, hold my hand."

A shiver ran down the Peter's spine, and he bit his lip, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the lump that started to form in his throat. Instead he turned his back on the retreating families, walking back to the swing while he dug in his pocket for his Walkman.

Now with the other children gone, he told himself, trying to see the silver lining, he had the swing all to himself.

Taking a seat on the swing was easier than he remembered, and it made him grin. He had grown quite a bit since the last time! He could easily swing himself up to take a seat, and that he did.

Once seated, Peter dug through the various pockets hidden in his leather jacket until he found his treasure.

Slipping the headphones into place, Peter pressed the play button on the Walkman, expecting the music to start on "Spirit in the Sky".

But it didn't come. The Walkman stayed eerily silent. No buzzing or whirring, no music.

"Oooh no, no, no," Peter murmured, gestures growing frantic as he started hitting various buttons over and over again. Not that it helped. Whatever button he pressed, the gadget just wouldn't come to life.

"Flark!"

The curse went unheard, but it was something to let off some steam.

Empty batteries, Peter knew. Nothing unusual, seeing as he used the Walkman day in and day out, but it was still frustrating. Especially right now, where he was already close to an edge, the lump in his throat and the burning in the corner of his eyes only growing stronger.

Anger and frustration bubbled up and he barked out an annoyed sound, no more than a snarl. He gave up on getting the Walkman to work and ripped the headphones off again. Instead he stared down at it for a moment, before stuffing it back into his pocket, all but curling up in the swing's seat to sulk.

And now?

He could just go back to the broker's shop, or straight to the ship. He even should do that, since it was getting dark and Yondu was very likely already done with his deal and would want to get back home. And no matter how often the Ravagers insisted that Peter was partly an annoying little thief and partly emergency provisions, Peter still knew that they expected him to come back with them. That they would wait for him to come back, even. Making them wait for him would just put him on some kind of nasty, dirty duty again for punishment. Like cleaning the toilets. Ewww.

But he didn't want to go back. Not right now, he decided, swinging forward a little, then back with a bit more force.

One round on the swing, in memory of the fun times he had had with Mum once upon a time, and then he would go back. Just one round. More wouldn't be fun without music, but one round he would do.

The first kick of his legs didn't take him very far, but Peter still vividly remembered how to do it right, how to lean back and then forwards again just at the right time, how to get the most out of each back-and-forth swing. Within no time, he was soaring up towards the darkening sky, air swishing past him and gravity losing its grip on him.

And Peter laughed then, loud and cheerful, even as first tears gathered in the corner of his eyes, drying under the wind.

He felt free like he hadn't for a long time, even as his chest constricted.

It felt just like back home. When he closed his eyes and remembered hard enough, then he could almost see her… and close his eyes he did, remembering as well as he could.

His Mum standing there, laughing up at him. Mum, just like she had been back then.

Back then when she still had been healthy. Back then before she had started to have headaches, had started to get sick all of sudden.

Back then before all her hair had fallen out, hair the same color as Peter's. (He remembered her laughing as Peter had gingerly touched her head, the naked skin there. "It's just hair, Peter. You will see, it will grow back once I'm better.")

Back then when her eyes had been so full of life and laughter, not full of pain and exhaustion.

Back then, when she stood there in front of the swing, cheering for him as he laughed in triumph, calling out to him…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ G ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

… The air was whooshing past him, cooling his heated face – heated by laughter and exertion, but Peter didn't care, he was laughing and laughing, legs kicking once again so that he could swing up even higher, arms and hands burning under his firm grip even as he cheered,

"Mum! Mum, look how high I am!"

Mum's laughter danced in the wind, ringing like bells. "You're almost reaching the sky, little Star Lord!"

Her laughter was everything to him, and he would do anything to hear it again. "I can go even higher! I can reach the stars, Mum!"

"Of course you can! You can do everything!"

Everything, she said, and Peter firmly believed her, like he always did – for her he could reach the stars, for her he could fly…

… and if he did, he wouldn't have to worry about the landing, because Mum would be there to catch him.

"Peter!"…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ G ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"PETER!"

The sharp, loud bellow cut through the bright memories like a blastershot, and Peter's eyes snapped open just as his sweaty, clammy hands slipped completely from the chains they had been holding onto. At the highest point of the swing's arch, he slipped.

Everything seemed to slow down first. One moment, he registered his surroundings again (the playground, he was on the playground on Xandar, not in Missouri, and Mum was…) then he noted dimly that he was leaving his seat on the swing, body catapulted forward by the force he had put into swinging as he lost his grip. He was flying first, then floating – and then everything speed up again as he fell.

Peter screamed then, a high, terrified sound bursting out of him as he flailed, flinging his arms up and down and left and right for anything to hold on to. But he didn't find anything. He was in mid-air, nothing to stop him from the fall that was to come - he was going to slam onto the ground, hard, he was going to…

The impact was painful, but not as painful as he had expected. Peter smacked face-first against a wall, a living, breathing, solid wall just there to catch him. He grunted, and the wall grunted too, and then there were strong arms wrapping around him to press him tighter against…

Oh. That wasn't a wall.

That was a chest.

Peter clamped his mouth shut, scream cutting off as he whimpered soundlessly instead. The adrenaline pulsing through his vein made him jittery, breath bursting in and out of him in sharp puffs. Carefully, he raised his shivering hands and pressed them against the solid chest in front of him, as if to ensure that it was really there.

Someone said something, above him, words numbed by the blood still rushing through Peter's ears. Other things registered better – the warmth seeping into him. The pressure of the arms around him – strong, secure, safe. The rough yet smooth glide of leather under his fingertips - the thrumming hammer of a quick heartbeat just beneath it. The smell of leather, plasma and something distinctly familiar.

"… and what the flark were ya thinkin', boy?!"

The pieces clicked into place as the rough, ragged voice rang out above him, the buzzing sound in his ears finally subsiding.

"Yondu," Peter whispered, breathed, fingers digging into the coat he was pressed against. "Yondu."

"Damn right, that's me," the arms moved, one resting under Peter's legs to hold him up as the other hand moved upwards, gripping the boy's chin roughly to lift it up. A red gaze, flaring with something, bored into Peter's, crooked teeth glinting in the dim light as Yondu bared them in a snarl and repeated, "What were ya thinkin', goin' flyin' like that?! Ya coulda gotten yer neck broken, ya idjit!"

Peter returned the gaze, even though his own sight became blurry as he started to tear up. Fear, shock, and raw pain made themselves known, cutting through him harsher than Yondu's words ever could. Everything came rushing back – exhaustion from the day spent playing, painful-loved memories of Mum, the shock over almost falling and injuring himself…

Everything inside Peter screamed to go look for Mum and hide in her warm, welcoming embrace.

Mum could make all pain go away. He would press his face against her shoulder to hide from the world while she stroked his hair and sang to him and told him that it would be alright, everything would be okay.

But Mum wasn't here anymore. And it wasn't going to be alright anymore. It hit Peter like a punch to the gut, the feeling fresh as if he had only now realized it…

But he hadn't, he had already spent days, weeks, months crying over what never could come back. There absolutely was no reason that he felt like this now, because of a stupid playground reminding him of a summer day with Mum, with a stupid swing and a stupid fall and… and…

And there was no reason to remember all the things that he couldn't have anymore.

No more hand-holding, no more picking up from the playground, no more embraces, no more laughter, no more singing their favorite songs together, no more sleeping in Mums bed, no more star-gazing together, no more dancing clumsily together until they fell down laughing, no more… no more…

"Mum," the tears started to spill as he spoke, voice breaking over the words.

Perhaps later, Peter would hate himself for showing his weakness like that, to Yondu of all people, who would tease him over it, who would make fun of him for it, but right now, he didn't care. He cried straight out, sniffling and sobbing as tears streamed down his cheeks. "I just… wanted Mum."

Wanted to think of her. Wanted to see her.

"I want my Mum!"

Peter yelled the last word, a ragged, sobbed shout as he broke down completely, pressing his face against the chest in front of him as he started crying for real, wetting the leather beneath him with his tears.

He was too caught up in his pain and his memories to notice the hesitant yet warm hand awkwardly coming to rest on his back after a moment. A soft, barely-touch to hold him, anchoring him as he shook and broke.