Chapter 16
America had left the fish in the palm of the mechanical robot. Her shirt was darkened with the liquid and there were tiny scales that clung to her jean jacket.
In her days on the run, there had always been monsters. Whether that was the human type or the creature type. America had the gift of finding trouble wherever she went. She never--
She never held them in her arms and watched the life drain from their eyes. Sure. It was a self-aware fish that was just a little bit of an asshole. But at the end of the day, it was a living thing. With hopes. Ambitions. Sentient cloaks to steal.
America was sulking along as she followed the group out. Peter lasted about a minute and a half before complaining about the goblet digging into his shoulder. He handed it off to Stephen.
He wanted to say something. Really. But what? He couldn’t comfort her like he wanted mid-end of the world mission. He ushered the group back through the crowds, which was far rowdier than when they had first gotten there.
Fists were flying. People were getting kicked. Hair and ears were being pulled. Stephen held onto the goblet but gestured for the cloak to keep a corner of itself on America.
“What the hell,” Quill murmured, dodging as someone was thrown towards him. Gamora was less inclined to avoid conflict.
She had pried a man off of another and delivered a solid fist into his plump gut. He bellowed over and coughed. Another person with light lavender skin and tentacles in place of hair had ventured to charge at Gamora with a spear. Big mistake.
Her not-boyfriend (it's complicated) Quill had scrambled to dive into the action after her. Stephen was lightly cursing the entire time, keeping himself and America forward and out of the conflict as their companions fought alongside them.
He felt America try to pull away and Stephen latched his freehand onto her upper shoulder, seething a low and demanding, “keep moving.”
Her eyes widened and his sudden change in tone but didn't press, staying close to his side as they continued to push towards treeline. The jagged, twisted branches were becoming clearer as they passed the vandalized fountain.
Since Thanos, civil unrest across the cosmos was something Wong and Stephen discussed at great lengths. Earth had its own turmoil (long before Thanos). It had turned violent, or so Stephen heard, during the first year after the Blip. Now, with the return, the displaced groups were uprising and the global social outcry was right on the cusp of something big.
On other planets, in other civilizations other than his own problematic one, where did the responsibility fall? Who was meant to right the wrongs?
Bigger fish to fry, Stephen, Wong had told him. Now he had a child to protect from forces stronger than himself and the nagging guilt that constantly lived with him just had to keep quiet.
They had nearly made it through the city center without needing to engage, but someone wrapped their sausage fingers around America’s wrist and yanked her from Stephen’s grasp. She let out a surprised cry as the bald, one eyed figure with thick, grayish skin held her close to their chest.
They stood at least three feet taller than America and wore a long leather coat that was repaired with different patches of cloth. As they had her pinned in their meaty, large hands, America could smell the grease and hard metal wafting off of them. She winced after they grumbled something she didn't understand, their yellowing teeth chipped and crooked. Through the crowd they went, plowing through the wall of Xandarians.
Stephen was removing people from his path with tethers of gold, speckled energy, flinging them further from the crowd. Colorful words were spewing from his mouth, sprinkled with a few tasteful threats. Wrong bitch to tussle with today. The goblet struck a few people as he swung it like a bat.
America struggled against the hold as she was being carted off by the giant. They had a round, bulbous nose situated squarely on their bloated and scarred face.
In her panic, America tried to summon her own tentrils of energy because wouldn't it be convenient if it worked while she was being kidnapped? Naturally, her thoughts were loud and scrambled and instead of focusing on her breathing like her instructors hammered in, she flaundered in their grasp like the fish had. Gasping for fleeting life.
America had enough wherewithal to remember one thing. An oh yeah moment as she was being carted further away from Stephen.
“It's about energy, America,” Wong lectured. He didn't often take the time to instruct the students, let alone one-on-one. She tried to swallow the embarrassment of being singled out from her class. As they went on with their individual studies, America got to hang out with Wong and Stephen in the court yard.
She had to admit, it was funny seeing the two of them out of their traditional robes and clad in the same brawny training clothes she had. They hadn't looked as scrappy and malnourished as America though, filling out the robes with an air of command.
And it was good to see Stephen. He had been away nearly three weeks. One of his longer durations without visiting. His presence probably had nothing to do with her recent accidental portal. She was still working on reshingling the roof after it had sucked away many of the old, clay shingles.
Wong had interrogated her until she admitted to not sleeping the last three nights. Then the nightmare had come during the day when she dozed off mid-lesson. Real smart, America.
They had both approached her as she was slinking back to her room. Wong had given her one of his two finger point-n-hooks which meant conversation was non-negotiable. Plus, Stephen silently dissecting her with his eyes left little room to escape.
That's how she ended up with extra training on top of her extra duty coupled with her additional schooling. She suspected it was all a ploy to keep her so busy she wouldn't be able to fight sleep anymore. This training consisted of krav maga, which Wong demonstrated on Stephen.
“Are you listening?” Wong asked in an accusatory voice.
America had been stiffly standing at attention since they started talking about defense strategies. She had to force herself to focus on what was being said, though sometimes uninvited tangent thoughts had wiggled their way in.
“America--” Stephen started with a sigh.
“I'm listening,” she shifted her stance and tried not to let the annoyance slip through her tone. She was hungry and the heat made her sweat just standing there.
Wong gave a short nod and gestured towards Stephen. He was demonstrating how to get out of a hold using strength and momentum.
America reeled her head back and slammed it into the one, red eye. That was not at all what Stephen and Wong had showed her that day in the courtyard, but hey, it (somewhat) worked. They let out a pained cry and released one of America’s arms to bring their hand to the swelling eye socket.
To her surprise, the bright red iris had changed to a dull, dark blue. Angry veins surrounded the center. The bottom lid had tears accumulating around the edge, clinging to long lashes.
They set her back on the ground, blinking at her with pained confusion and letting out small whimpers.
“Are you okay?” America had carefully asked. The gnarled and scarred face had softened and hadn't looked monstrous and beastly so much as scared.
They gaped at her, big tears now spilling from the swelling eye and running along the cracks in their skin.
Yelling and shouting and fighting still walled them in. The confusion was still evident on their face as their hand gentle touched their bruising eye again.
“Oh I'm so sorry. I-you wouldn't let me go. I didn't mean to hurt you,” America stammered. She could feel her own chest tighten with worry. They murmured in response and smeared tears and snot across their face with the side of their massive fist.
“America!” Stephen had finally caught up to them. The treeline was in sight in the distance. Instinctually, he had pulled her behind him, already moving to subdue her captor.
She tugged on his elbow. “Wait. Stephen, don't.”
He glanced down, a cut along his eyebrow and dirt across the side of his face. “What?”
“Please,” she pleaded. “They’re confused. I don’t think they knew what they were doing.”
Stephen’s eyebrow arched as he looked between her and the America-napper, who was barely containing their sobs. “Fine,” he grumbled. The amount of times he had to stop himself with a quick mental check in--Stephen, she's fourteen and you’re always right but she has more energy to argue--was abysmal. “Let’s just go.”
He started again towards the woods. “Come on,” America gently pulled on one of their fingers, which was almost too large to hold in one hand.
“Kid,” Stephen warned.
“They need help,” America snapped back, wispy, dark curls stuck to her forehead with sweat. If Stephen was surprised, he didn’t show it, ignoring her outburst to continue trekking towards the woods with little more than an eye roll.
America nodded to them and gingerly lead them to the woods. There were a few scattered figures darting through the trees, most likely escaping from the commotion.
Navigating the root system seemed easier on their way out of the woods. The roots had snaked further up, tempting America to trip with each step.
When her foot did inevitably misstep and she began to fall forward, the sniffling Xandarian beside her had caught her. She glanced up after they let their arm fall to their side again.
“Thank you,” she whispered carefully beside them. As they approached the clearing, the ship began to take form.
Mantis, Groot, and Drax were sitting on the end of the lowered ramp. The leaves that sprouted from Groot’s head were shriveled and singed, soot darkened the grooves in his bark. Drax was double fisting two large hunks of jerky.
America glanced uneasily at Mantis, who still had a look of fatigue about her.
“What the hell happened to you?” The sudden voice from behind America made her jump. Quill and Gamora had caught up, relatively unscathed. Quill had quickly crossed the space, ignoring their new companion to scowl properly at the teen.
Stephen and Gamora exchanged a head nod.
“I am Groot,” he responded sullenly, kicking his massive foot on the ground.
Quill’s eyes widened. “That was you guys? We heard that explosion from the warehouse.”
“I am Groot.”
Rocket had rounded the corner of the ship and leaned against the opening. His own whiskers kinked and crimped close to his snout. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, we're fine. And we got the converters.”
Quill’s hands hitched at his waist, the leather jacket he was attached to bunching up as he did so. This crew stressed him out.
Drax had finally swallowed the massive, chewy bite of jerky and gestures with his meat slice towards America’s new companion. “You’ve brought a cyclops.” There was drool on the sides Drax’s mouth.
Stephen gave America a pointed look, which she ignored, replying, “I think they need help.”
Peter let out a groaned whine that was blocked out by Drax suddenly speaking a language no one recognized.
When the cyclops responded in the same, gruff, vowel heavy language, America’s jaw dropped. She watched and listened as Drax and her former captor exchanged a few lines back and forth.
“Telly,” Drax voiced, “they're called Telly,” he ripped another bite off of the jerky.
Infuriated. The more time Stephen spent outside of Earth and with this rag-tag team of hooligans, the more infuriated he became. He set the goblet down by his feet. “What else did Telly say? They took America. Why?”
Drax, still with a mouth full, began answering unintelligibly. Stephen was moments, perhaps one stupid comment, away from losing his cool-calm-collected demeanor.
“For the love of--”
“Telly didn't know what they were doing,” Drax responded, swallowing enough that his mouth wasn't completely occupied by jerky. “They’re from one of Xandars moons.” Telly began speaking again and Drax added, “the mining one with the big rocks. Telly doesn't remember how they got here.”
“Guys,” Peter piped. “I don't think I need to remind you that we have an actual mission with a real-life paycheck. So if we could wrap this up.”
“We will take you back to the big rock moon,” Drax replied to Telly, having not even acknowledged Quill’s comment.
America frowned as a thought wormed its way into her conscious. “Stephen,” she muttered. Peter and Drax had began to bicker amongst one another, Rocket adding in his two cents here and there.
Having been occupied by thoughts of his own, Stephen glanced down with an expectant look. He quickly assessed her for injuries now that they weren't running and he could actually pause. Her hair was a mess of dark curls that fell at shoulder length, her baby hairs stuck to her dirt smudged cheeks with sweat. Though he hadnt found noticeable injuries, there was a flighty look in America’s eyes that made his stomach clench.
“There was something weird with Telly’s eye before.” She gestured with her hands. “It was glowing sort of and red. Almost like--” She hadn’t wanted to say it. She didn’t want to admit to that gnawing dread that ate at her stomach.
“Mind control. One of our friend Wanda’s little tricks,” Stephen seethed, shaking his head. “We need to go. They know we’re here.”
America felt the cold, clammy hand of fear against her as if she were tied down to that same slab of stone. They know. Sheknows.