What Cowboys Do

Peter hated waking up early.

He didn’t care that he did it every single day for school, or sometimes when Grandpa wanted him to help around the farm. He always despised it. There was no point in waking up before the sun just to do something that could easily be done later in the day. If God wanted them up at sunrise, he should make it stay dark longer, in Peter’s opinion.

The main incentive for him to get out of bed today was that they were going on an adventure to save his mom. She needed his help or she wouldn’t make it. Peter would gladly wake up early every day for the rest of his life if it meant that his mom would be okay.

Plus, Yondu was a little scary sometimes. Peter didn’t want to see his reaction if he came back and the boy was still asleep. 

When he finally crawled out of bed, Peter noticed that his mom was cooking for everyone. She always did that, whether they were at Grandpa’s farm or in an inn nearby because she was too tired to walk home.She always cooked breakfast, and it was always good. He didn’t know what they were going to do once they got on the road and away from the kitchens.

Maybe she’ll cook wild bird eggs over a fire, his imagination guessed, sending waves of excitement through him. Maybe she would even let him go hunt them down the night before so that they’d be ready to cook the next morning.

Kraglin and Tullk were not so nostalgic. Kraglin’s mohawk was even more messy than usual, and half of his face was red from where it had been pressing into his arm all night. Tullk took 30 minutes to drag himself out of bed despite all of the poking and prodding Kraglin did. Eventually, the first mate told an excited Peter to jump off the table and land on the sleeping Ravager, but his mother stopped him before he was able to act on it.

“You are not going to jump on him to wake him up! Let the boy sleep. He’s probably exhausted,” she reasoned, motioning for him to take a seat as she put some eggs on his plate. Peter lost all interest in Tullk when he caught sight of his plate. His mom’s eggs were the best in town, and he would fight anyone who said otherwise.

Eventually, Tullk did roll out of bed with the promise of a hot breakfast. Him and Kraglin ate like they had never had good food before, so his mom happily offered them her portion. They immediately declined, although Peter could see in their eyes that they really could’ve taken that portion. He wondered when the last time they ate was; after all, they all skipped dinner last night and they were both unnaturally skinny.

Peter had just finished eating whenever Yondu burst through the door, telling them that it was time to go. He was already fully dressed and packed up, so he just grabbed his bags and once again urged them to get a move on before anyone had even had the chance to move away from the table. Peter immediately rushed to get dressed while his mother questioned Yondu about his errands.

“Did you deliver the letter?” she asked. Peter yanked on his pants and started searching everywhere for his shirt. He just couldn’t seem to find it.

“Yeah, yeah, I delivered the fuckin’ letters,” Yondu grumbled. Peter raced over to his mother’s suitcases, looking all around for a shirt he could wear. He didn’t care what shirt it was, as long as it was a shirt.

His mom smiled brightly and nodded. “Thank you, really. It’ll mean so much to him knowing that we’re okay,” she said. Peter groaned. Where was his shirt??

Yondu shifted uncomfortably before growing tired of Peter’s darting about. “Boy! What’s wrong?” he barked.

Peter looked up sheepishly from where he was looking under the bed. “I can’t find my shirt,” he admitted, rubbing his neck.

“Oh, baby, I folded it in with my stuff. I’m sorry, I thought you had another,” his mom said. She opened her suitcase and offered him the exact shirt that he was looking for. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“I wanted to find it myself,” he said, broadening his chest proudly in his old, wrinkled shirt. His mom laughed and kissed his cheek, making him blush. “Mom!”

“Peter!” she mocked. “What? Am I not allowed to kiss my baby?”

Peter blushed more and crossed his arms. “I’m not a baby!” he said.

Before his mom got a chance to respond, Yondu was barking orders again. “If y’all are done makin’ me sick, can we get a damn move on before noon?” he asked, although even Peter knew that it was far from an actual request. Nothing with Yondu was a request.

“Yes sir!” Peter said, excitedly getting his bag and throwing it over his shoulder with the strap across his chest. “Are we going to get a wagon or… or a train?? Can we please ride on a train??”

“Hell no, we ain’t ridin’ no train. I stole two horses from that farm y’all live at. Figured the old grump had plenty left. I ain’t sharin’ my horse and I sure as hell ain’t gettin’ no damn wagon,” Yondu said.

Peter thought he would explode with excitement. His very own horse!!

He was the first one outside the inn, already cooing to the horse that he was familiar with. “Hi Sammy. It’s okay, girl, I’m going to be really nice to you, just like Grandpa showed me. I’ll groom you and give you fresh water and everything.”

“I feel like I made a giant mistake,” Yondu muttered. Peter looked back and smiled so big his eyes were almost scrunched closed.

“Me too. I don’t know about this, Yondu. He’s never had his own horse. Maybe he should just ride with me,” his mom offered, rubbing her arms nervously.

Peter’s eyes widened. “No, Mom, please?? I’m 8 years old! You were riding by yourself at my age!” he complained.

“I got my ribs broken by a horse when I was your age,” she corrected.

“He’s a boy, Meredith. He’s gotta learn somehow, and he ain’t never gonna learn if ya keep coddlin’ him,” Yondu replied.

Peter looked at his mom anxiously. He was desperate to get permission to ride his horse, and it was obvious. She sighed after a moment. “Fine, but you have to do exactly what I tell you to do, got it?” she ordered. He nodded excitedly and thanked her, climbing on the horse and rejecting any help that was offered. It didn’t matter that the animal was double his height; he wasn’t a baby! Even his mom said so.

His mom glared at Yondu when Peter had his back turned, climbing on her own horse. “I’m going to regret this,” she said.

Yondu grunted as he got comfortable on Eclector, the saddle pretty much molded to him at this point. “Stop your worryin’. He’ll be fine. He’s a kid, ain’t nothin’ able to break a kid,” he scoffed, clicking his tongue and tapping his heels. “‘Sides, with the shit we’re gonna see, he’s gonna need to be tough.”

"Are you sure you don't need anything, Ms. Quill?"

Peter rolled his eyes. For the past five minutes, Tullk had been pestering his mom about how she was feeling. His mom was patient with him, of course, but Peter was starting to get irritated. Why was Tullk making it such a big deal? If she said she was fine, then she was fine. He didn't understand why Tullk couldn't figure that out.

“Oh, I’m fine, sweetheart,” Meredith responded for the 100th time. Peter could hear the strain in her voice as well, similar to the one he heard whenever she found out he had fought the other schoolboys again. “Why don’t you go check on Peter for me?”

He glanced over when he heard the familiar thumping of hooves. Tullk had moved over to him, finally leaving his mother alone. Took you long enough, Peter thought.

"So, Peter, how do you like your horse? Your mother says you've never ridden one by yourself."

Peter grinned, any irritation for the Offworlder disappearing with his excitement for his very first horse ride by himself. "It's awesome! I named him Bean and he's the fastest horse around! Right, Bean?" he leaned down to look at the horse, but it just stared ahead boredly. He grinned wider. "Bean agrees."

"I'm sure he does," Tullk chuckled. “But I thought his name was Sammy.”

"Yeah, Grandpa never let me ride the horses because he always said that I was too small, and that meant I never got to name them. Besides, ain’t he more of a Bean than a Sammy?" Peter asked. 

“Suppose so,” Tullk said, looking down at the horse. Peter smiled and patted Bean’s neck the same way his Grandpa always did when someone complimented his horse. “Why didn’t your grandfather ever let you ride?”

"He said Mom got thrown off a horse when she was my age and almost broke her back, and I needed my back to be okay if I wanted to get a job when I'm grown up,” Peter responded.

Tullk narrowed his eyes under his wide brimmed hat. "You can't learn anything if you don't take risks."

"Try telling that to Grandpa," Peter said. He focused his eyes on the horse, suddenly hit with a burst of emotions. He had just left his hometown, the only place he had ever known, and his grandpa behind. He wondered when he would see them again. "I miss him."

"Aye, I know you do," Tullk said, now looking at the sandy horizon ahead of them. It was painfully hot out in the desert, but at least it wasn't summer yet. "But you'll be home before you know it, and you'll have all kinds of stories to tell. Your grandfather will be entertained for days."

Peter smiled, already imagining all of the adventures they would go on and how his grandfather would react. "Yeah. Me and Bean are going to have all kinds of stories," he said. Then he looked at Tullk's horse. "What's his name?"

"My horse? I… He doesn't have a name," Tullk admitted. Peter's eyes widened. How can he not name his horse? "I hadn't ever seen a horse before the War. Honestly, they scared me a little bit when I first got here."

Peter nodded a little bit, trying to think about what it would be like to see a horse for the first time. He also tried to figure out a good name for Tullk’s horse, but nothing was coming to mind. He would have to think it over for a while. "Yeah, that would be scary," he agreed after a moment of contemplation. "What helped you figure out that they aren't scary?"

"Yondu told me he was going to leave me behind if I didn't man up and get on my horse."

"That's mean!"

"It worked."

Peter huffed. His mom never made him do something he didn't want to do. "It's still mean," he said.

"Cap'n!" Kraglin called from the back of their little parade. "Incomin'!"

Yondu turned his horse around immediately, his eyes scanning the perimeter. "Circle formation! Get Mery and Peter in the middle!" he hollered.

Tullk reached over and grabbed Peter's reins, guiding his horse over to be beside Meredith's before he drew his guns. Peter looked over at his mother in confusion and fear. Everything was happening so quickly. "Mom?" he asked.

"It's okay, baby," his mother soothed, rubbing her hand over his arm. He relaxed a bit. "Yondu will take care of us."

Peter nodded. If his mom trusted Yondu, then so did he.

Yondu had moved to face the incoming stranger. He was alone, by the looks of it, but Peter knew better than to believe that. They may have been in the desert, but there were still ways for people to launch an ambush on some unsuspecting travelers. Peter had heard the stories from class about the Oregon Trail and how it was loaded with bandits and wild Indians.

When he got closer, Peter saw that the stranger wasn't wearing regular clothes. Instead, he wore a brown cotton shirt with tassels and feathers hanging off it, matched with some light brown pants. His raven hair was long and braided as well, contrasting well with his leathery skin.

"Mom, he's an Indian."

Peter felt his mom pull him closer, despite their horses being right beside each other already. They had heard the stories of the Indians bashing in the skulls of sleeping Americans because they were still sore about the loss of their land and the stories of the atrocities that the Indians committed during the wars. Everything they had ever heard painted Indians as bloodthirsty murderers who didn’t care who was on the receiving end of their pain as long as they got their share of revenge.

Sometimes, Peter wondered if the Indians heard stories like that about the Americans.The boy had seen what the men in his town were capable of when they felt even a little bit threatened. What about the white soldiers who had their lives on the line? What would they do?

His thoughts were interrupted by Yondu calling out to the stranger in a foreign language. When he focused his gaze on them again, the boy realized that they had both dismounted their horses to pull each other into a friendly embrace. Kraglin and Tullk quickly followed Yondu’s lead to greet the stranger with grinning faces.

“I thought Indians were the bad guys,” Peter said, once again confused as he looked up at his mom. Her eyebrows were furrowed together like they did whenever she heard something particularly strange and couldn’t figure out what it meant. He couldn’t count how many times he had been on the receiving end of that look after saying something completely outlandish.

However, this time, that furrowed brow didn’t dissolve into a soft smile. It remained on her face as she spoke. “You can’t stereotype everyone like that, baby. They probably think the same thing of us white folks. We gotta be better than the stories we hear,” she sighed, rubbing her face. Peter frowned. This guy was stressing out his mom, and that wasn’t okay. She was sick.

“Hey!” Peter cried, getting off his horse to look bravely at the men in the group. They all turned to him, surprised by his interruption. “Mind telling us what’s going on? You’re stressing out my mom!!”

His mom pulled him back, much to his dismay. When had she even gotten off her horse? “Peter, baby-”

“Nah, Meredith, it’s alright,” Yondu said, maintaining eye contact with Peter. “If he wants to act like a man, let him. Peter, this is Niyol. He’s Navajo. Get over here and greet him Terran-like.”

Peter felt his mom’s grip on his arm tighten. “Yondu-”

“What, Mery? Ya think he’s any different than ya are? Ya afraid of him because of a war that ya didn’t even fight in and stories ya ain’t got no proof for?” Yondu spat. Peter frowned, not liking the growing tension. His mom didn’t need to be fighting, and Yondu was scary even when he wasn’t mad. “Niyol’s one of the best damn men I’ve ever had the pleasure of meetin’, and I ain’t gonna let some bullshit stereotype fuck this up. Build a bridge and get over it.”

For a moment, the only sound was the soft rustle of the wind. Peter was looking between his mom and Yondu, waiting for one of them to explode on the other. With every second that went by, he felt like more and more air was being sucked from around him, leaving him suffocating in the tension.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Meredith sighed. “I’m sorry, Niyol. I’ve never met an Indian, and I let the stories get the better of me,” she said. She gently took Peter’s hand, guiding him over to the stranger without hesitation this time. When she offered her hand, Niyol shook it gently before he kneeled down to Peter.

“You’re a very brave young man,” Niyol said. Peter puffed out his chest with pride. “But even the bravest men can be swayed by those around him. I saw the fear in your eyes when you first saw me.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Niyol,” Peter said, just like his mom taught him. “If Yondu likes you, you have to be a good person. Yondu doesn’t like anyone.”

“That’s perhaps the most accurate thing I’ve heard all day,” Niyol grinned. Yondu rolled his eyes, but even Peter could see that there was no malice behind the gesture. Niyol turned to Yondu. “Now, if you don’t mind me asking, where are you going?”

“To see a doctor. Meredith here is real sick, like Peter said. She’s got a possible brain tumor. We got a doctor a few towns over that may be able to save her life,” Yondu explained. 

The Indian nodded. "Well, I wish safe travels for all of you. Yondu, I've already shown you everything there is to show about desert travel. It will be hard, but I can see you're well prepared."

Kraglin scoffed. "Prepared is an understatement," he said, getting a smack on the back of the head from his captain. Peter grinned in amusement.

Niyol ignored it with a fond smile and turned his attention to Meredith. "As for you, I may have some medicines that will help if you'll tell me your symptoms."

Meredith gently rubbed Peter's shoulder, and the boy could sense her hesitation. "It's okay, Mom. He wants to help," he said, looking up at her and giving a smile.

"Oh, baby, it's not that. I know he wants to help," Meredith promised. Peter frowned in confusion, but didn't have time to ask before Meredith was speaking again. "Um… it's mostly headaches. I'm a little sick to my stomach, too."

Before Niyol could even speak, Yondu was speaking. "She's sugarcoatin' it for the boy. If Mery says headaches, she means migraines. Same with "a lil sick to her stomach." She ain't the kinda woman to complain."

Peter glanced up to see his mom glaring daggers at Yondu, who was ignoring her with ease. He glanced between them for a moment, narrowing his eyes as he tried to figure out what was so different about Yondu. Sure, his mom glared at guys at the saloon, but it was… different when she glared at Yondu. Peter just couldn't put his finger on what was so different, or why. Yondu was just another guy from the saloon who happened to be able to help them, right?

"Well, some buffaloberry and boneset will help," Niyol said. He reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle with a reddish liquid in it and a small bag. "The liquid is a decoction of buffaloberry stem. It will help with your nausea, but only take one drink whenever you feel bad. Any more than that can cause adverse effects. These are boneset leaves. We use them to make teas. They'll help with the headaches, but they can have some side effects, too. As long as you only drink it once or twice a week, though, it shouldn't affect you."

"What are the side effects?" Meredith asked. Peter was starting to dislike this whole encounter; it felt too much like a doctor's appointment.

"Mild diarrhea and vomiting," Niyol explained. Peter winced. He had both when he was younger and drank some water straight from the stream behind the school, and it was easily the worst experience of his life. "But if you follow my instructions, you have nothing to worry about."

"Mr. Niyol," Peter called, getting their new friend's attention. "Thank you for helping my mom. But I have a question. If Indian's aren't as mean as everyone says they are, why do people hate them so much?"

Niyol kneeled down to Peter so that they were eye level. Now that they were close, Peter could see the wrinkles around Niyol's eyes and mouth, although he thought the Indian was no older than 30.

"That is a good question, and the answer is far from simple, but I will do my best to explain it. The white men hate anything that isn't like them, whether that be with their skin color, their culture, or their language. If a group of people are different from the white men, then they are afraid of them and they bully that group," Niyol explained. As he spoke, Peter could see the anger in his eyes even though his tone remained neutral.

Peter frowned. "I hate bullies. I fight them a lot.”

"We try to fight them too, but the white men outnumber us now," Niyol sighed.

Peter narrowed his eyes. His mom told him to always stand up for the little guy, although, in this scenario, the little guy was much, much, bigger than him. "I won't let no one talk bad about Indian's anymore, Mr. Niyol. I promise," he said.

Niyol chuckled and ruffled Peter's hair affectionately as he stood up. "Thank you, Peter."

"Well, that was touchin'," Yondu drawled. Niyol's shoulders shook with reserved laughter. "Now, if we're done with the heart to heart, let's set up camp. It's gettin' late."

"Aye, Cap'n," Kraglin and Tullk chorused, glad to be of use. Quickly, they pulled out some blankets and pillows and began to set up cots while Yondu convinced Niyol to stay. Peter tried to run off to help, but his mother pulled him close before he got the chance.

"I'm very proud of you, Peter," she said, running her fingers through his hair. He smiled widely.

“I’m proud of you too, Mom,” he said. She raised her eyebrows. “You admitted when you were wrong.”

Peter smiled brightly as his mother crushed him in another hug. Her hugs were better than anyone else’s. “Oh, I love you so much, baby. You’re an angel.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”