A Bond Can be Surprising Part I
Your life had a rather demoralizing beginning. The product of a fruitless night of passion and heartbreak, you were born a Xandarian and citizen of the Nova Empire. You were a quiet child, always watching, always analyzing everyone's movements if they were within your range. This quick thinking is what led you to become a prize much later on in life, after the tragic passing of your mother through an attack by Ronan the Accuser. Your mother had been dismissive when it came to raising you, always doing the bare minimum to keep you alive, yet never reaching out to give you the nurturing that you needed and deserved. It was quite sad, others would say, to grow up never knowing the love of a mother or the sound of a father. But by the age of 13, you were alone and you didn’t have much concern for yourself.
Food? You never ate more than you needed to. Clothing? As long as it still fit, you could find more at any time. Memories? You never had rose tinted glasses to view your memories from. It was harsh, it was cold, but it was something you could say belonged to you. Perhaps if your mother had ever smiled at you, had ever given you praise for any of your young endeavors, then you would feel sadness looking on the years spent in her presence, would miss her. Did it make you a monster because you didn’t? The Nova Empire took you into the training corpse, not knowing where else to place such a silent, brooding child, with darkness in her eyes. There was something strange about you, something they couldn’t quite put their eyes on. Maybe it was fear that cast you out soon after, fear of the unknown look in your eyes or the energy burning through your skin whenever another cadet looked at you strangely or a group of female alien cadets took it upon themselves to speak cruelly of you. You’d hurt them, not out of anger, but because you could.
When you turned 14, a blue man came across you in your small alcove, whistling a tune along the way, his red clothing making his bright blue skin stand out even more. And in a twist of fate, Yondu Udonta took you into his home, his band of Ravagers, as a companion to the Terran boy who he also had on board. It was the first time you met Peter Quill, but it wouldn’t be the last. Your years with Yandu were plagued with misadventure after misadventure, you clothes eventually becoming a red bodysuit with a material strong enough to withstand the expansion of your energy field when you took down enemies. For a time, Yandu and Peter as well as the rest of the Ravagers became somewhat of a family to you.
They taught you how to fight, sustain, liberated you from deep within yourself and opened up the idea of revenge to you. It was the quickest thing you had ever latched onto, something that gave you a reason to close your eyes and dream at night; you dreamed of destroying Ronan, making his blood drench across planets and galaxies as everyone bowed down and praised you. But you were young, revenge would have to wait until the time was right.
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Yandu rasped over the quiet of the ship, all of the crew either tending to their own devices or resting in the back of the ship. You sat in the co-pilot chair, staring out through the wide window showing you a far off planet and the inkiness of space. You lightly tapped at your thigh, definite in your answer, yet feeling something holding your tongue. You had been in this ship for years, been with the rest of the crew and Peter for a long time. And Peter- Peter did matter to you. In the beginning, he had been the annoying Terran nuisance, but now he was someone precious, worth holding onto.
But you couldn’t. Word had spread of your expertise dealing with assassination tactics and the one person you had hoped to impress had caught word and sent an envoy to ask you for your assistance. Ronan the Accuser needed your help with the promises of glory, of fame and fortune to last you a lifetime. It didn’t matter- you didn’t want the title, you just wanted his destruction for killing the mother who never wanted you and was never given the chance to try. That was the only objective, even if it meant you had to leave your true family behind.
“I need this, Yandu. I know what I’m getting myself into.”
“Do you?” He asked nonchalantly, glancing over at you as he steered smoothly past an asteroid, “We may not have the best rep out there, but Ronan? You’d be choosing the side of a cold hearted killer. People will be after your head. The bounty isn’t something I can just give up.” He admits, and you know he’s serious.
“Then don’t. Do what you have to do.” You said with an air of finality. Yandu hums in response, both of you understanding that once you take the position at Ronan’s side, then it would be the end of your life here with them. Still, as you packed up the rest of your belongings, leaving a small note for Peter, you couldn’t help but feel that you were one step closer to figuring out who exactly you were.
Or maybe it had simply been a trick of the light.
Ronan is massive in physical form and in energy reserves. The first time you met on the abandoned planet of Moraga, he had been quick to try and establish his dominance over you, only to fail scathingly. You made your offer clear, to help him obtain the orb he sought after with Gamora, who you had studied in every regard, without disclosing your part of the bargain until a later time. Ronan appeared annoyed at the fact that you did not sign over complete allegiance to him, but the fact that you were handing over your complete skill, it was enough to lower his suspicion.
You slept within his vast empire of conquered lands, kept yourself isolated if you were not needed, storing energy into the tattoo along your back, the numbers a vibrant blue that glowed in the blackest of night: 89P13. The tattoo had been there for a long time now, even before Yondu's era, but just after the death of your mother. Your energy had taken a liking to it, and you realized that it had amplified your powers when you concentrated energy there. You didn’t know anything about Bonds or Bondeds, or the connection that the tattoo made between you and a creature you had yet to meet. In fact, among other civilizations, some viewed Bond tattoos as a mark of coming of age, destruction, bad luck, or evil sorcery. The Fenerials of Quadrant 7 killed anyone with a bond mark so that the population had been known to only have free skin. The Galaphorians of Star 17, Quandrant 33 worshipped bond tattoos, almost as much as the Terrans of Earth. But to you? It was just a tattoo that held information you had never had enough knowledge about to care whether the tattoo was hurt in battle or not.
For the most part, the tattoo was not an issue. You stored energy into it secretly, kept it to yourself because why bother disclosing information that was no one else’s concern? Ronan never brought it up in conversation if he did know and never questioned whether you had one or not. It wouldn’t be lying if you said no because you had no idea what it really meant, that somewhere out there, there was someone or something that needed you near. And you had no idea that it went deeper than that, that your bond tattoo was an anomaly, something not quite the same as the naturally forming tattoos of the Terrans like Peter, who had two names written on him by the time you had left the Ravagers.
Two years passed at Ronan’s side, completing task after task, with more blood on your fingers than you cared to remember. Gamora was added to the task of uncovering the orb, and there was always something off about her, and the way her energy levels fluctuated too much. But she was kinder than she appeared, more broken than she let on, and much like you, her eyes always lit up with rage and vengeance when Ronan entered a room. The idea of betraying him was much too easy to accept, all too natural for someone merely working to end his insufferably disgusting life. The pair of you had worked as a team at Ronan’s demand for some time, and it was easy to read her movements before countering any enemy that went after her, sapping the energy right out of them until they were heaps on the battleground. Gamora was different from Peter, serious where he was fanciful, brutal where he was too soft. It was a difference that you appreciated, but it made you miss your friend even more. Ronan’s terror only continued to escalate the longer it took to find the orb for Thanos, a being who you had never had the pleasure of meeting before.
The orb being in Peter’s possession was the most ironic moment of your life.
But maybe it was really the most perfect timing in the universe because it gave the tattoo on your back meaning, a purpose, a reason to wake up and breathe and finally laugh for once and smile more because the- person of sorts attached to you by a tattoo was one of the funniest, rudest, and most blunt beings in the entire galaxy.
“Do you remember the details of the plan?” Gamora asks as the two of you rest by The Broker’s outpost, waiting for Peter to emerge. You give a nod, resisting the urge to snort. Of course you remembered. If all went according, you would both have your hands on the orb and the ability to obtain enough money. Gamora wanted to be free of the tyrant, to no longer be used as a weapon, and you were hoping to have enough money to purchase more power, enough power and energy to wipe Ronan off the surface of the galaxy. Gamora would distract Peter once he came out, and if he was empty handed, the both of you would get the orb back from The Broker, with force if necessary. But Peter exited the small shop with the orb in tow, having been pushed out by The Broker himself. You slip out of the way just as he turns and sees Gamora eating, rolling your eyes as you watched them from your vantage point. Of course he’d been drawn in. Peter had been a pig when it came to females ever since he hit puberty. Of course it made sense to send Gamora in, she’s beautiful and intriguing and seeing you would definitely cause too many questions and open wounds and make the Terran suspicious.
You watch their interaction, keeping as objective as possible, waiting for Gamora to give the signal. The moment she grabs the orb and kicks Peter down, you round the corner and jump over him, running in line with her, a small smile on your lips. Peter was a fool, gaping after the two of you before pushing himself up to give chase. You easily dodge one of his electrical blasts, the orb falling and rolling away once he pounced on Gamora after tripping her up, the green fighter kicking him away with a flurry of kicks and punches before rolling up onto her knee, a flicker of shock running through you when you saw her raised hand and the knife between her palm, her eyes set to kill. And you were moments away from snatching away the knife out of reflex, to protect Peter because no matter how much time and space is between the two of you, he will always matter, when a ball of fur tackles Gamora to the side and a tree creature runs over with a sack. The rodent of sorts is crawling all over Gamora’s head, and she screeches as tree branches begin to wrap around her. Thinking quickly, you send out a wave of energy that tears the small limbs from her, and take off after Peter and the orb. There is an almost painful twinge that runs along your spine when your partner throws the creature and he crashes into glass, but this is your mission and you will not fail.
Peter had grown, gotten taller, stronger, more full of himself in the time that had passed since your parting day. It’s almost as if you don’t know him but you know him too well. You chase him down while Gamora stands and aims, throwing a boomerang that knocks the orb straight from his grasp and into yours when you catch it before it hits the ground. You run for the ledge and jump over, using an energy wave to slow your fall and steady a perfect landing. Just as you reach to put the orb into a satchel, Peter is tackling into you and snatching it back, Gamora pouncing on him a moment later with a knee to his throat. He’s clever, has always been, and attaches his jets to her back to send her flying into the once tranquil fountain. You stand before him, mouth tugging up into a cold smile as he stares at you, tossing the orb up and catching it as if it were a simple terran baseball and not a crucial object for your mission. And maybe he actually doesn’t remember or recognize you initially, because the second he does, the orb falls in his grasp and he’s sputtering out nonsense and-
“(y- y- y/n)!? Wait- Wait a second. Wait a gosh, darn second! You mean to tell me- ALDSFJALSKDF-” The sack goes over his head and you laugh, flexing your fingers as Gamora goes after the forest creature trying to steal Peter and your orb away. You allow her to wreak havoc to her heart's content as she slashes at the oversized tree to get him away from the bag, eyes narrowing when Peter shoots her in the chest with an electrocution device the moment he sees light. It’s actually rather entertaining, how much of a fight he’s putting up over an orb that goes well beyond his understanding and pay grade.
“This is going to hurt.” The small creature laughs gruffly, taking out a launcher and aiming for a moment before shooting a long distance electrocuting orb that catches Peter in the back.
“Thanks…. Squirrel.” You mutter as you take a few steps over to Peter’s fallen body. The orb is so close at hand that it is such a disappointment when the Nova Corps police arrive unexpectedly, forcing everything to a stop. Escape is possible, your energy makes it easier for you to escape their gravity devices, but you will not abandon Gamora, your partner, and even if you are on opposing sides of the matter, Peter either. It would be a nuisance, but a small one in comparison to how sweet it would soon feel to crush Ronan under your feet. The Nova Corps officer addressed the talking…. Animal. You were still not too sure what manner of creature he was, but from the Terran animals Peter told you about in the years past, he resembled a raccoon?
“89P13: drop your weapon.” There must be a mistake, he must have been talking to you instead. But for them to be aware of the tattoo… had they kept record of it for that long? Did they relinquish your name in place of mere numbers and letters? It was laughable, it was disgraceful, an outrage. You were angry beyond words, energy pouring from your veins, ready to crush their machinery before the rodent put down his weapon in response, muttering under his breath.
“Aw crap.”
No. You fought even the idea of that theory being true. It didn’t add up or make sense and you are (y/n): Assassin of Planets, deserter of Xandar, ex-ravager. You couldn’t possibly be tied to anyone, let alone anything in the universe. Your tattoo was not a soul-bonding mark of some sort. That was just impossible. Impossible.
“Of the authority of the Nova Corps, you are under arrest.”
.x.
The Kyln is disgusting and much below other places you’ve slept in or been captured and brought to. Even the ravagers main ship was much more put together and most of the men were simply gross, as Peter would put it. The creatures and criminals kept here are jeering and vile, all spewing nonsense about killing you and Gamora for working with Ronan. They are all talk, and you would have gladly slaughtered half of them for some peace and quiet if not for the guards putting a power disruption band around your neck with a detonation sequence set if you were to remove it. You stare blankly ahead as they throw things, anything they can find, at you and Gamora, keeping close to her in case she needs you and even knowing that you don’t. It’s odd, when you think of how you’ve changed. Years ago, no one mattered to you except you and your revenge. But then you were shown kindness and camaraderie and it opened your eyes to the kindness that sleeps under eyelids and hides in the dark. You, in turn, have become somewhat kind in your own ways. You are loyal, in your own ways.
You nearly take out Drax’s eyes when he tries to kill you and Gamora down in the showers, but you hold your tongue and your power, fully aware that she is capable of handling every single one of the foes on her own. Still, you appreciate Peter using his smooth talking ways to dissuade the situation; you still haven’t spoken about why you were there with Gamora, and truth be told, you would rather leave all of that in the dark. You made Yandu promise never to tell him the truth about your departure in the first place.
Your stay in the Kyln is short lived, especially with a half thought plan and Groot putting the place on high alert when he removed the battery. You and Gamora take down one of the guards for his integrated keypad and the six of you make it to the main hull before the guards gather. You paw at your collar, at the thing keeping you from your power, as Rocket, you learned the name of the creature, still stunned that this raccoon may very well be bonded to you, scurried around the platform connecting wires and reworking schematics to control and eventually shut off the artificial gravity. Despite yourself, you are in awe at his genius, it is beyond something you are capable of, even if he has the worst personality you have ever come across.
Once all of you make it to the ship, you redress, unconsciously revealing the tattoo running down your back, and Gamora picks up on it, questioning it quietly.
“Isn’t that Rocket’s subject number?” You nod, tugging on your form fitting jacket.
“I suppose it is. I never thought another …. Being would have my tattoo as their subject number. It’s really…. Odd to me. I learned about soul-bonding marks from Peter and other creatures during my travels across the galaxy but this is new. Different. It is a storage for my power; I thought that was all it meant.” Gamora is quiet for a moment, a thoughtful look on her face.
“Tell him. It is different from what I myself have heard of, but soul-bonds are treasures in their own right, no matter who they are between.” You want to ridicule her; it’s not like you haven’t seen Peter’s name scribbled tiny on her waist. But you would never tell the idiot, and she probably wouldn’t either. You appreciate her honest sentiment, it is rare that Gamora allows herself to feel real emotions when all her life she’s been used as a weapon, surrounded by those who wish to harm her. And although you were now with estranged enemies, it was looking as if a partnership was being forged. And maybe you could destroy Ronan much sooner than you thought.
You don’t tell him. It’s not the right time, as you land on the ancient celestial head of Knowhere. It isn’t the right time, as the team winds down and waits for their meeting with the Collector. In fact, you are beginning to think the right moment will never arrive, when the drinking and fighting began, Rocket pulling out his launcher in the middle of the bar, drunkenly berating Drax and Gamora. Peter tells him to put his gun away and he persists before you step up, staring him down with a steely gaze. He backs down for the first time just as Carina, maid for the Collector, comes to take you to the meeting place. And still, the right time does not come. Too many things are happening with the orb, and Ronan, and Thanos. The Collector shows you the power of the orb, what it truly is, and the thought of that much power is enough to suffocate you on your want for revenge. You tremble, hands balling into fists to keep yourself from grasping onto the purple infinity stone. As the Collector explains more about its properties, Carina draws in closer, eyeing it much the way you were a moment ago. But she doesn’t stop herself, doesn’t pull away, her disdain for her position and job is enough for her to grasp onto the orb while knowing the consequences. The balls of destructive energy shoot out quickly, blasting at the collection of precious, ancient objects, the power tremendous as it peels at Carina’s skin. Everyone runs for cover, but you are too close, an energy blast bursting from her and shooting through you.
The darkness is tangible, you can almost touch it with your fingertips and feel it in your chest. Maybe it’s the afterlife and it is time to put the need for revenge to rest. But you can feel a shake of sorts in the background, like a visual image being tossed to and fro. It makes the darkness shake as well and it is harder to drift off into nothingness.
“(y/n)! (y/n)! Come on, come on! Wake the fuck up! We gotta go! Groot, carry her!”