InsaneJournal

Who: Yondu and Peter Quill
When: January, after these texts
Where: Yondu’s house
What: Peter asks Yondu who is dad is. This will end well -_-
Rating/Warning: Medium because Language
Status: Complete



After their texts, Peter had gone for a walk to try to clear his head. There was too much to process, and he was a little unsettled, if he was honest, that he was starting to have dreams too. He'd been reading the network, seeing others talking about their dreams, and he'd wondered what kind of freakshow he'd signed up for until now...well, he was a freak too.

How could he have two clear distinct memories of the same event? In one, the one he'd always known to be true, Meredith had always danced around the topic of his father., refusing to really talk about him, and getting into a horrible mood if he brought it up. Even his Grandpa Gregg refused to answer any questions without a sneer and a "that no-good?". By the time Peter was 10, he'd learned not to ask anything. He'd grown up assuming everything that didn't look familiar was his father's, any personality trait, anything.

And now he had another memory.

Meredith, driving in a car, singing away. Peter tapping his fingers on the dashboard. Her favourite song, Brandy, playing on the radio.

"This was always your daddy's favourite song. He'd sing it to me all the time," she said, giving Peter her biggest smile. "One day, you'll meet him, my little Star-Lord."

"Where's he now, Mama?" His mom always said that his dad was just waiting for the right time, but Peter couldn't figure out when that was.

"Oh, somewhere out there," she said, pointing out the window to the sky. "You’re so like your daddy, you even look like him. And he was an angel, composed outta pure light..." She started to sing again, his clue that the conversation was over. That was fine though. One day, they'd all be together, and Peter would be happy

As much as he loved his mother, she wasn't that happy, carefree hippy that she appeared in his dream. It was so different, such in conflict with the quiet, gentle woman he remembered that he needed to process this.

Besides, Kraglin needed the walk.

Heading into the house, he unclipped Kraglin from the leash. He could hear the TV going, and he really needed a drink. But first: "You ready to talk yet? Cause I need some answers, Yondu, and you're the unlucky number 1 who has to give them to me."

Yondu had started drinking early, practically when he pulled into the driveway. After their text-turned-phone call shouting match he needed all the alcohol he could get. Explaining Peter's father without explaining Peter's dream father would be a bit tricky - Yondu had been dreaming for over a year, and things had crossed over, not least of all his alien physiology. Attitude, alien vocabulary, and distinct memories - not just the remembrances of the dreams - constantly fought against his real world ones. He could easily slip into saying "Ego" instead of "Kurt". Contrary to logic, he felt the beer would help avoid that.

He sat on his couch, beer in hand, watching 'Live PD', waiting for Peter to return with Kraglin. Where the hell had the kid gone, Nevada? He took a long pull of his beer. Whatever. Gave him more time to avoid this whole deal.

Earlier, seeing as Peter hadn't been home yet when he'd walked through the door, Yondu had taken a moment to pull down the box of Meredith's letters he kept stowed away where Pete couldn't get to them. He'd read through a few, knowing full well she never mentioned Kurt, but felt like if he saw her handwriting, read her words, maybe he could get some sense of strength to do this. By the third letter he had to put them away because strong was not the emotion he was feeling as he rubbed a sleeve at his eyes.

The front door opened and shut and he heard Peter's voice, heard Kraglin's leash getting un-clipped, the clatter of claws on hardwood floors as the dog ran for his water dish.

"Shit." Yondu muttered, taking another swig. It was go time.

"I don't know what bug got up your ass that you suddenly need to know about this guy, but fine." He shouted from the living room, muting the television. "Beer's in the fridge." He added.

Thank fuck for that. Peter took one bottle, stepped away, paused, and went back for another. It was good to be prepared.

Practically throwing himself on the couch, he glanced at the tv and groaned. Another stupid cop show. Whatever. "You know, some people actually wanna know where they come from, so it's not weird to ask." He grew quiet and then suddenly took a slug of his drink. "Look, like I said. I had a weird dream and a feeling like it meant something. So. Kurt. Who the fuck was he?"

Yondu frowned when Peter flopped himself down on the couch. Now he’d have to turn awkwardly to face the kid while explaining this shit. Couldn’t he sit on the lazy boy or something, give him some space? Yondu shifted over a little.

“First, what’d you dream about?” Yondu countered. He wanted to know what Peter had seen exactly.

Peter didn’t know where to start. Now that he had Yondu here, ready to talk to him, everything he was thinking sounded stupid. “I dreamt that my mom was happy.” And that was really the biggest thing. It wasn’t that she was unhappy, it was more that certain topics were guaranteed to get Peter a glare and/or a spanking. It got easier to avoid most things than it was to talk about them. “And that she was happy about my dad. He was going to come and get us one day, but he was busy out there in the stars, being a space man or something. Said I looked an awful lot like him.” He tried to make it sound vague, even though he remembered every detail.

It was just weird sitting there, talking about a fucking dream.

“I don’t know. It seems crazy when I say it out loud, but I just can’t shake this feeling like ...like it means something. I don’t know anything about my dad, Yondu. Until today, I didn’t even have a name. You know how that makes you feel? Like 50% of you is a complete mystery?”

Yondu didn't know that feeling exactly but he knew what it was like growing up without a dad. It sucked. His dream parents had been even worse, selling him into slavery as a child. He washed down the thought with some more beer.

He had to admit, the dream Peter was describing was interesting - for all the years in the dreams he'd spent raising Peter, the boy hadn't talked much about his mom. Only mentioned that she'd died, talked about his dad a lot, and been insanely protective of the mix tape and walkman she'd given him.

“Can't figure why she'd be happy about your daddy,” Yondu finally said, bitterness in his tone. Both for Kurt and Ego. “He abandoned her soon as he found out she was pregnant. They were still in high school.”

Peter knew all of that, and he said as much. “But that still doesn’t tell me anything.” He was starting to get upset and he had to take another good swig of his beer to calm down. It wasn’t really fair to get upset at Yondu for this, it was just that there was no one else to ask.

“Maybe it was stupid to ask you,” he grumbled to himself, slouching into the couch. On TV, a wife was being given a diamond ring. Stupid TV. “It was just a dream, anyways, nothing more. Besides, you don’t know nothing.”

Yondu frowned down at his bottle of beer. He wasn't sure what Peter was looking for. It wasn't like he'd been friends with Kurt. Fact of the matter was he'd hated his guts the moment he'd seen him with Meredith.

“What do you want me to say, boy? We weren't friends. He was a pretty boy that charmed the panties off of the ladies. Your momma wasn't the only one he was sweet on, just the one he spent the most time with. He was a jackass. Thought he was God's gift to women. Charmed the teachers so he never got into trouble. Even though he was trouble.” He finished the bottle, enjoying the memory of him nearly pummeling the punk to death. He'd had it coming.

Peter was quiet for a long while before finally saying softly, “Like me, huh. I’ve never been anything but trouble.” His grandfather had always been fond of reminding Peter of the headache he was compared to Meredith. Meredith, the perfect person until Peter came around.

It wasn’t that he begrudged his mother either. Fuck, he’d be pissed off too if he was stuck raising himself. But the way his mother smiled, and laughed and sang…...Peter wasn’t surprised that she attracted everyone and everything. And even if the dream was bullshit? Well, having that memory of his mother happy and singing, it meant the world.

Yondu knew when Peter was descending into a funk. The sudden quiet, the look in his eyes. And yeah, while he had never made that connection before between Peter and Kurt being troublemakers, at least Peter didn't leave a string of brokenhearted pregnant women in his wake.

“Listen, kid, ain't nobody perfect.” Yondu said after the silence stretched a little too long. “Shoot. I was a trouble maker too when I was young. If it weren't for ROTC and the Marines no tellin’ where I'd've ended up.” Another stretch of silence. “You ain't your dad, Peter. Even if you do have his hair. And his charm. You still ain't him. You're you. You've got your freedom and your whole life ahead of ya’. And that's all that matters.”

Letting the walls fall, just once, he turned to Yondu with a small smile. “You think? Kinda lame, restarting at 35 though….but I have a lead on a job already, just gotta go and talk to some brunette who owns a yoga studio. Not much, little bit of renos, shouldn’t take me long….that is… if I can use your tools…” He couldn’t help but sound oddly proud, while at the same time embarrassed. One of these days, he’d have to check if his storage unit really had been impounded. Or maybe go and check if he still had a bank account. And he really hated that he kept mooching off of Yondu so if he was able to bring in some cash (even if it was on the back of Yondu’s stuff) then hey, he was going to take it.

Yondu returned the small smile. He was glad Peter had finally manned up and gotten himself some sort of work. He'd be proud of him later if he managed to find steady work. At least this meant he wasn't wearing a permanent indent on his couch.

“Yeah sure. Haven't had much use for 'em lately anyhow.” His brow furrowed a moment. “Come to think of it, couple of 'em belonged to your grandpa. Gave 'em to me ages ago.” He stopped short of saying they should be his by rights; he didn't trust Peter yet to not lose or hawk them.

He also didn't feel like telling the kid yet that his storage unit was still intact and that he'd been keeping up the payments. And that in his anger at the time Peter had gone to jail he'd tossed some of the stuff in it he deemed junk. That was drama for another day.

Yondu leaned back against the arm of the couch. “A brunette huh?” His smile turned into a smirk and he gestured for the second bottle Peter had brought with him. “She hot? I hear them yoga ladies are lookers.”

“I guess?” Peter thought about it for a moment while he finished his beer. He’d never really paid attention, maybe because he hadn’t had the opportunity to in a long time. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate a beautiful woman -- it was that he was kept away from them for almost 5 years. He was charming, he knew that. He’d never been alone for too long, but he wasn’t really in any rush for ...well, anything. “I was kind of more focused on the fact that she was willing to hire me. I’m planning on going by in a few days, so I’ll let you know.”

He paused and cocked an eyebrow. “And for your information, yoga ladies are bendy .”