Firelord
John might not admit it later, but Peter would - hell, he'd admit it right goddamned now if he thought it was going to do any good. But stating fear was pretty useless in the grand scheme of things, and Quill had always been a man of action. It was a lot easier than deliberating, after all.
And this thing? This almost person who seemed to be bouncing around faster than they could keep track of and making them both unsteady on their feet as they panicked in one direction or another? Well, Quill was pretty sure that it wasn't going to have a conversation about fear or anything else with them. So he pulled his blaster up and took the fastest shot of his life.
Bubbles came out of his gun. Soapy, pretty bubbles that reflected the light of John's fire in a way that felt like it ought to be poetic and Quill made a noise; loss and horror rising in his throat. "Fu--" and then that thing was closer yet and Quill was pushing John back, because he wasn't fighting fear with bubbles today. They needed time to get their wits back, to make a plan. "Fucking go! Run!"