Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

These days, the mansion was a mess.

Things strewn about everywhere, from impromptu renovations. Rooms cleared of furniture to make space for whatever their owners wanted to put in now. Charles didn’t mind one bit of course. He had already said the mansion wasn’t his, it belonged to them. And as such, they could choose what to put in it.

The only thing he kept the same was the upstairs study. His study, which also served as a bedroom. It was kept the same as it always looked, minus the piles of books stacked haphazardly around the room, taken from the higher shelves he could no longer climb up and reach. It made it less of a hassle for when he wanted to peruse an old book and was reliant on Hank or one of the other boys to lend him a hand.

It had been two years since he lost the use of his legs, and it still felt some days like he should be able to just stand and pluck his books from the shelf himself. That he wasn’t trying hard enough, and it was more of a mental failure than a physical, despite what the medical exams had said.

Regardless, as messy and cluttered as the mansion was, it paled in comparison to his current mental state. His mind was a mess of worries for his new school, fierce concerns about the brewing global conflict, stress on how his students would be involved with the upcoming draft, self-pity for his current state…

Heartache…

It left him feeling consistently drained. A misery he tried desperately not to impose on the other people living with him. Something he wasn’t sure he was successful accomplishing by the way the three men would sometimes shoot him looks of pity when he was feeling particularly low. Clogging his throat thick with guilt. It kept him up at night as well, turning things over in his mind. Regrets, the wish to change things, wishing he could lash out violently.

It’s one of the reasons he’s so exhausted that Saturday night. Falling asleep just after midnight as soon as his head hits the pillow and sinking into a deep sleep full of incomprehensible dreams.

It’s why he doesn’t notice the way his soft mattress and thin sheets evaporate. Changing to a slab of cool metal stretched below him as, at the same time, the buzzing minds on the floors below cut to blank nothingness. Stifling, heavy, oppressive, his own mind cycling through a feedback loop as it curls in on itself, unable to escape. Charles is then lost in the fits of a nightmare where blows sting his face and burning pain shoots up his spine.

A name burns like acid in his throat and he sees, feels an impression of cool metal sliding and warping around his head. Cutting him away from everything around him as he’s cut adrift.

Alone.

Chapter Text

Charles woke with a low groan and a dull pain emanating from the back of his skull, like it did every morning for the last two years. Later on in the day, the pain might be persuaded to migrate somewhere behind his eyes with the help of medication, but for now, it would nestle at the top of his spine and make him regret waking in the first place.

He propped himself up with one arm, using the other to rub at his bleary eyes and work away the sleep crusted into the corners. Today was… Sunday, right? Which meant no classes, or at least what they’d set up so far as a way of training for all three students at the academy, including Hank. They were locating more mutants with Cerebro of course, but it was a slow process, what with the current prejudice against their kind following Cuba, and everything that had ensued. He didn’t want to throw any children into a situation where they could be hurt, or worse.

He considered rolling over and falling asleep again, it wasn’t like anyone would be waiting for him after all. But when he grabbed for his pillow to clap it over his head and felt only empty air, it was apparent there were several things wrong. First, was the lack of a bed. He was no longer sinking into a too-soft mattress, instead perched on a hard platform which felt like a smooth slab of metal. Laking any and all trappings that would usually come with a bed. Which left him exposed in his sleep clothes, God knows where.

Second what the fact that he wasn’t in his bedroom, slash study. He was in some kind of… storage room? What looked like shipping containers were stacked around him, forming walls which stretched up to a dizzying height when he craned his neck up to look. He was in the centre of the room, on a raised platform also made of metal, and seated on the centre of that platform too, perched on a raised dais that was roughly the same size as the small bed in his office.

The third, and most glaringly important thing he could immediately identify, was that he was completely blocked from his telepathy. Which was almost certainly attributed to the ring of metal scratching against his neck. A collar. The word made something vile coil in his chest as his heart thundered in his ears, but running his fingers around the ring offered no latch or apparent seal. Charles reached out, searching around in what felt like pitch-black darkness as he grasped for any other mind around him. But it felt like a heavy blanket had been draped across his mind. Made of iron. Blocking out the rest of the world and trapping him inside his own head. It was like suddenly losing his vision, or having a limb removed. He swallowed hard and gripped his own thigh while he willed his heart to slow from the rapid beat it had built up. This was just temporary; he wasn’t permanently without his abilities. He would find a way to fix this.

He just had to work out where he was first.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

The voice, gentle as it was, jolted him out of his own thoughts, and his back went ramrod straight as he searched for the source. It was a smooth voice, rich and slightly accented with something he couldn’t identify. It probably wasn’t a voice he’d heard before, but who could tell when you couldn’t brush against their mind and see if it was at all familiar. He didn’t have to wait long to find out who it belonged to as a panel in one of the metal walls slid open without a sound, and a man stepped through.

He was tall, certainly taller than himself, and dressed in… a robe? It was like a lavish dressing gown, red and black with gold trimmings. Which matched the gold jewellery the man had on, necklaces and earrings that dangled almost to his shoulders beside a shock of white hair. As he drew closer, he could also see dark eyeliner underneath his eyes. Making him look both more intimidating and what could have been an attempt to look more alluring. It made Charles lean back as far as he could on the dais without falling off.

“I’m terribly sorry that I wasn’t here when you woke. I hope you weren’t too disoriented by the change in settings.” The man smiled, and it held an amount of giddiness that felt entirely inappropriate considering his current situation. Who did he think he was kidnapping him and then acting so excited?

“Disoriented?” Charles echoed, fingers curling around the edges of the dais as he sat up more to look past the man at the doorway behind him. Only to find it already closed. Not like he could very well make a dash for it anyway, but he would have at least liked the appearance that he wasn’t trapped in the room like a prisoner. “That really doesn’t even start to cover it. Who are you? Where am I?” He demanded in a sharp tone. Right to the most important questions. He wasn’t eager to play whatever game this man had in mind.

He didn’t seem particularly put off by the questions. Or at least he didn’t look it outwardly. His smile still in place as he raised a hand and gestured to his own chest in a fluid motion. “I am Taneleer Tavin. You wouldn’t be familiar with my title, but I’m known colloquially as the Collector.” He explained, unhurried with a nauseating smile that might’ve been charming to someone else. Though he didn’t know who. “However, today you, Charles Xavier, you are the more important character between the two of us.”

And didn’t that just chill him to the bone. To hear his name come from someone he didn’t know, his captor. Charles set his jaw, teeth clenched as he wished desperately that he could pry open the man’s mind and understand what he knew. What he wanted from him.

“You know my name?” He asked testily.

“Of course, I would be a poor curator otherwise.” Taneleer moved again and Charles tensed, waiting for him to move closer. Only for him to walk parallel to him. Striding over to a glowing, yellow panel on the wall, before gliding gloved fingers across it at a leisurely pace. It looked dangerously advanced. More advanced than anything he’d seen before, even with some of the absurd technology he’d had the privilege of seeing from both Hank and the people he’d met in New York. Where exactly was he?

“You still haven’t answered my question as to where we are.” He pointed out with a twinge of irritation as the man continued tapping away at the glowing panel. It was impolite really, being ignored during your own kidnapping. And hadn’t he just called him important?

“Mm.” The man hummed and didn’t glance over for another few seconds. When he did, he had the same wide smile as before. “Apologies my friend, I forget sometimes how strange this all must be. Especially for a Terran such as yourself.”

A what? A… Terran? What is that?

“Your planet hasn’t achieved reliable interplanetary travel yet, correct?” Taneleer turned to him with an indulgent smile to await an answer. But Charles wasn’t sure that he could.

Interplanetary travel? Planet?!

“I’m sorry,” Charles wasn’t really sorry at all, “I’m not on Earth?” In fact, he felt a little hysterical.

“Earth?” The other man repeated the name with a frown, like he couldn’t quite understand what he was talking about. Which he probably should have before taking him from the place. He mouthed the word silently again, then his eyes lit up with recognition. “Oh, that’s what you call your planet. Of course.” He chuckled and pressed a finger to the panel in front of him again. A button that made a whirring noise start up in the floor underneath him. “I’m learning so much about your kind already.” Taneleer commented idly as the platform continued to hum, then shifted.

Charles clutched at the edges of the dais tighter than before and looked down in alarm as the metal platform began to slowly, but steadily, glide across towards the wall. It didn’t even jolt or bump like something moving on wheels, just gliding like it wasn’t even touching the floor.

Somehow, even that wasn’t the most pressing thing on his mind.

“I’m—you kidnapped me and brought me to space?” His voice sounded weak even to himself as he straightened on the dais. His mind was spinning, lost as it was in the dark void where he couldn’t latch onto another mind to stabilise himself. Preferably, the man who had kidnapped him, then he could at least find out why. “Why would you do that? What do you want from me?”

The platform continued to glide across the floor, over to where the man was still standing. He stepped onto the metal platform as it approached and, as Charles watched, the wall in front of them slid aside just before they would have collided with it. Bringing them both through into a hall lined with the same metal boxes. Except each now had transparent windows making up the front-most wall, and inside each was something different, from a cursory glance. Strangely shaped skulls, plants that filled the tight spaces, and oddly designed weapons. He gawked at each as they passed, slowly forming a clearer picture of what the place, this place, must be.

“This is my personal museum,” Taneleer answered his unasked question, rather than the one he did ask. The man had his arms spread wide, like he was basking in the rows of stacked containers as they glid by. “The galaxy’s greatest collection of antiquities, rarities, and oddities.” He turned to offer him a flashy grin that held no trace of humility. “The emperor of Spartax’s words, not my own.”

Charles started back at him, dumbfounded. Every word out of his mouth was appalling. How on earth was he supposed to be impressed by anything he could brag about when he obviously was stumbling blindly in the dark? The man knew that. He was toying with him.

“This is a skull from a beast of fable on Alkarr,” Taneleer continued, oblivious as he gestured to the passing boxes, “this is a crystallised shield from the ancient warriors of the former Njada, and this—”

“Stop.” He couldn’t take it anymore. Charles had to interrupt, speaking up in a harsh tone and capturing the man’s unwavering attention before he continued. Only somewhat put off by the fanatical gaze he was levelled with. “Are you saying you kidnapped me from my home and brought me all the way here, in my pyjamas, to tour me around your museum?”

Taneleer raised an eyebrow at his incredulous look. That smile still hadn’t faded, even after his outburst. There was a beat of silence, like the man was contemplating what to tell him, before he took a step closer and replied in a low voice.

“Come, Charles Xavier, you and I both know you’re an intelligent man. Let’s not pretend you don’t know why you are here.” He let the last couple of words drag out as the platform passed through another doorway, before abruptly shuddering to a stop. Seeming to reach the end of the line, it jolted slightly and nearly sent Charles tumbling off the pedestal if not for his death grip around the edges. The room they were in now was decidedly more put-together than the other halls of display cases. These transparent cubes were displayed so that the items inside could be viewed from almost any angle.

And the one nearest them, the first he glanced at, held a pacing figure.

“What…” Charles stared up at the display case mounted on the path beside them. Inside was a humanoid figure with yellow, bumpy skin and an abnormally large head. But it was most definitely alive and aware by the way it paced the edges of its prison, dragging its head along the glass as it went. It had to be in a blind daze, unaware of the fact that where its head touched the glass had worn down its skin until it left a smear of what he could only assume was blood, vibrant purple, but staining to a darker colour in a ring around the case.

Charles was frozen on the spot.

“Oh dear.” Taneleer sighed, and Charles practically gave himself whiplash looking over at the man who stroked his chin with a deep frown. “The Qnarlian, a recent acquisition I obtained after his species was lost to a planet-scale eruption, last of his kind.” He said by way of explanation, even as he continued watching the alien scrape its head against the glass with mild consternation. Charles’ stomach rolled. “I’m afraid he isn’t adjusting quite as well as I hoped. No matter, I’ll help him along once we’ve got you nice and comfortable.”

Taneleer turned to regard him with another bemused smile, and Charles’ body kicked into flight or fight mode.

He shoved backwards on the dais hard, too hard, toppling his weight and causing him to fall off the side with a yell.

This was bad. Really bad. Quite terrible really, he thought to himself as his heartbeat drowned out whatever frantic words his captor was saying. His face was pressed to the cool floor, and his arms shook as he pushed himself up enough to haul in a wheezing breath after the fall winded him. He couldn’t run. Without his powers, he couldn’t even fight. He was entirely at the mercy of this man, this collector of living people. None of his friends probably even knew where he was if they hadn’t seen him actively being abducted. Why would they think he’d been taken to space!?

Hands wrapped around his arms, trying to pull him up. Rings dug into his skin, and he didn’t waste another moment being dazed. Instead, turning and shoving the hands away with a wide-eyed look. Taneleer stepped back from where he was crouched over him, hands recoiling as if he was struck by a vicious beast rather than a helpless, disabled man.

“Terrans.” Taneleer looked down at him with a cool mixture of condescension and apprehension. Charles knew he probably looked like the opposite of sophistication, sprawled on the ground with a horrified glare that only sharpened as the man sneered. “I’ve heard your kind were savage. I hoped you might have been an exception to the rule with that brilliant mind you carry.”

“I am not some animal you can just capture and display in your zoo.” Charles snapped. Was this man referring to Earthlings being savage as an entire planet? Or just mutants in particular? He didn’t know, but it really didn’t matter either way. He was livid. “What kind of a demented bastard kidnaps and displays people against their will?”

Taneleer actually had the gall to look offended. Taking a step back with a perturbed look down at him. He hated being forced to look up at the man. “A zoo? This is the galaxy’s most esteemed and accomplished collection.” So that’s what offended him? Charles bit his tongue in an effort to hear the rest of his explanation. “You should be honoured! You, Terran, are exquisite enough to warrant a place in my collection as a rare mutated species, and one of the most powerful telepaths I have ever heard of.” Taneleer cocked his head with a piteous smile, like he was speaking to a toddler and not a grown man. “I simply had to have you.”

“No, you didn’t.” He felt sick.

Taneleer only continued to give him that infuriating smile and turned to another glowing screen. Pressing his fingertips to it without Charles being able to do anything.

“You’re concerned now, I understand, I do. But you’ll come to realise you are far better off here than you are back on your dying world.” The man said brightly, like this was the best news Charles had ever heard. “You will be safe, comfortable, cared for.”

There was a noise similar to a car starting up, and Charles baulked as walls started to emerge from the edges of the platform he was still on, prone and unable to move. The walls were transparent, a clear glass-like material.

Just like the walls of the other containers.

“It may also delight you to know that you will be one of my most prized pieces. On display in my private gallery.” Taneleer continued to drone on, but Charles was barely listening. The walls were closing in around him, and at the same time, the platform was raising, ready to slot him into a neat space on a pedestal in this psychotic man’s prison.

Charles couldn’t breathe.

“No!” He shouted, voice catching as the platform raised to meet the low ceiling. Forming a perfectly sealed box. “Let me out! You can’t do this! You can’t turn a person into a goddamned trinket on your shelf!” Charles threw his weight forward and managed to move far enough to hit the wall of the cell. He thumped a fist uselessly against the glass and glared through the barrier at the man standing calmly on the other side. If he only still had his powers… “I’m a person! Not a thing!”

“You, are an acquisition.” Taneleer’s voice was blunt and he wasn’t smiling anymore. “A rare specimen to be preserved, and I must bear that burden.”

Charles slammed a closed fist against the glass again, wishing that it would at least ripple with the force of the blow, but it might as well have been made from iron. “That is the most idiotic thing I have ever heard. Preservation? I’m not some rare and endangered species.” Maybe he could reason with the man? His frantic mind grasped at any solution it could reach, trying to find a way out of this damned box.

“Maybe not on your world, but here, you are.” That grin again, he ached to wipe it off the man’s smug face, and he usually wasn’t a vindictive person. “And now, I have the finest, most rare specimen on Terra here in my collection.”

So that was it then? He planned to keep him trapped in this box, unable to even stand or use his abilities, for as long as he wanted. Perhaps even until the day that he died. And he was supposed to be grateful for the man’s gracious abduction?

Charles slammed his upper body against the glass as hard as he could and yelled at the top of his lungs.

“LET ME OUT OF HERE! SOMEBODY HELP!” Maybe there was someone nearby? Anyone who would hear his cry and come running, see the absolute moral depravity of this sadistic man. But no one came running in, no one heard him except the man who looked up at him with clear displeasure.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing that anymore.” Taneleer swiped a hand over the screen to his side again, and a quiet electronic whirr started up just next to his ear. Charles’ hand shot up, fingers on the collar just before there was a sharp pinprick against the skin of his neck underneath the band of metal. He let out a sharp hiss, grabbing at it harder to try and tug it away from his skin.

But then froze. He opened his mouth again, forming the word ‘what?’ but it sat heavy, unused at the back of his throat.

He couldn’t produce a single sound.

“Ah, that’s much better.” The man grinned.

Charles sat, stunned as the man wandered closer to his cage. He didn’t even try to move away despite the barrier in between them, rubbing at the metal enclosing his throat as he continued to try to produce a noise. Any at all. Even sounds that weren’t words wouldn’t work, like his vocal cords had been completely muted.

Numbly, he was aware as the container lowered a bit, Taneleer doing something to make them almost eye level, with him sitting just a fraction higher than the man below. He was looking down at him now, but felt even smaller than before. A thing. On a shelf.

Taneleer looked up at him with a smile overflowing with pride, obviously undeterred by his weak glare. He placed a hand on his side of the glass, inhaling sharply when Charles leant away.

“You are magnificent.”

The words sent a shiver of revulsion down his spine.

“I just can’t have you disturbing everyone else with your screams.” The hand skated along the glass in front of him as Taneleer walked around the box, pacing back over to the panel and tapping another button. “I’ll let you rest, acclimate to your new environment. It has been a big day for you after all.”

The lights in the container dimmed overhead, stretching the shadows until they swallowed the floor underneath him. Anger and fear boiled into a nauseating mixture in his stomach as he watched the Collector’s retreating silhouette melt into the darkness, but not without a final word which seemed to come from all around him in the solid shadows.

“Welcome to your new home, my precious Terran. Trust me, you’ll never want to leave.”

Chapter Text

Charles had never been good at sleeping with the lights on.

A habit he most likely picked up as a child, lying awake upstairs in his home and listening to parties downstairs that would drag on and on to ungodly hours of the night. Laughter, music, and lights he would try and muffle with a pillow over his head. But what he couldn’t manage to block out back then were the minds. Soaked in booze, pushing thoughts and impressions onto a young boy’s mind that he really would have preferred not to see. It meant he spent a lot of his time as a child building up his mental walls, reigning in his unconscious need to reach out to the minds around him. A natural instinct, to truly see them in a way that had always just felt natural. He had reasoned that at least that mental training meant he wasn’t unconsciously reading Raven’s mind as much back then. Something she had made clear she was not okay with after he anticipated her needs one too many times. Whether that be grabbing her a glass of water when she was thirsty or finishing a sentence just to tease her.

Raven… she was on his mind often as he lay on his back and stared up at the blazing white lights in the case. They never turned off, only dimmed during the artificial ‘night’ that he was sure was designed with him in mind, to simulate Earth’s cycles. One day, he tried to count the minutes, following along and managing three hours before he gave up and told himself it was most likely twelve until the lights switched, from what he could estimate. He was never really good with mathematics.

He missed his sister with a fierce desperation that he hadn’t felt since she left that day two years ago. It ached to imagine her face, her elusive mind, both of which haunted him before when he was occupied, but now in his trapped state, it was like torture. Running over those last days they had spent together was like picking at a scab until the wound was torn open again.

As wrong as it was, he wished he’d never let her go. Not with him.

And he was the one thing he never let himself ruminate on. He wouldn’t sink into that well of self-pity and loathing again, not here. Not where he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull himself back out.

He refused to break down in front of his captor.

And his captor visited almost every day. It was consistent for the first week; he would spend the morning roaming the halls, but make a point to stop in front of Charles’ case. That pleased smile on his face as he’d ask questions without any answer.

“How are you this morning?”

“Are you feeling better?”

“A far more pleasant experience than you were expecting, no?”

For the first couple of weeks, Charles would pound a fist against the glass with empty shouts. Glaring daggers at the man in the hopes that a rowdy museum display would be less appealing. That, as selfish as it sounded, the man would opt for a more docile exhibit to display in his place.

Like he would ever be able to live with himself if that were the case.

But it was a nice thought. Being thrown aside, abandoned like a broken toy. Nostalgic, the taste of those thoughts weighed familiar on his heart. Except that Taneleer never missed the opportunity to remind him that he was indeed rare. Special.

He didn’t feel very special. Not at all.

Days blurred until he couldn’t tell how many weeks had passed. His lack of mobility meant he couldn’t pace the cage like the other restless souls in the containers he could see around him. He attempted to wordlessly interact with them for the first few days, waving his hands and trying to make eye contact (with the few that had eyes), until realising they only looked through him. Perhaps not even seeing him at all.

Food came four times a day and was delivered autonomously, only half of which he even tried to eat. Some colourless paste that tasted like porridge but held too much flavour for him to stomach, not that he could tell Taneleer when he passed by. The same mechanical appendages that delivered the essentials he needed for survival also helped him to the bathroom behind the fogged glass in the corner of his cell. Something that made him burn with humiliation the first few times. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he couldn’t use the bathroom himself, now he was reliant on a machine. There were other things too, daily cocktails of muscle stimulants and who knows what else injected into his legs. Small mercies, he supposed, to avoid pain. He would have preferred to feel the slide of the needle, to at least feel something.

The worst part was the visitors.

The first time he had seen an unfamiliar face pass by the display case, someone other than Taneleer or his workers who kept their faces lowered when they wiped down the outside of his case, he had pressed his hands to the glass with desperate fervour. Ached to shout, scream, do anything other than just look as the finely dressed man stopped to appraise him like artwork at a gallery. Then Taneleer had approached and greeted the man with a proud air.

“I see you have discovered my newest acquisition; he’s a telepathic Terran. A rare specimen even on his own world.”

“A fine piece indeed, I can see why you keep him in such a prominent place.”

Charles had stopped trying after that.

Most visitors looked the same, dressed the same. Rich aliens, both humanoid and not, come to conduct business with Taneleer from what snippets of conversation he overheard in the hall. Other pieces he wanted to acquire, upkeep of certain exhibits, and occasionally talk of selling some of his inventory. Would it be better to be sold to another collector rather than stay here? It was something he didn’t really bother dwelling on. It was clear enough that Taneleer had no intention of selling him, the way he took every opportunity to boast of his ‘rare, illustrious Terran’. Besides, a cage was a cage, no matter who kept him locked inside. If he were only to be a museum piece, then did it really matter where he was placed?

Bitter sorrow and self-pity numbed the anger he felt towards Taneleer and life in general. It wasn’t fair. A piteous complaint that echoed in his mind every day. Why did he have to be the one to suffer? Why did he have to be the one to lose everything he cared about? Why couldn’t someone else lose for once?

The injustice of it all was overwhelming, as it was pathetic.

And he was the very definition of pathetic. Stuck in a glass box like an animal at the zoo, lying on his back for hours on end just to stare through the ceiling and wonder absently how the rest of his world was getting on without him. Hank had probably taken over the school’s operations, handling his account to distribute funds where they were needed. Something he would really only trust Hank to do. If Alex hadn’t already been drafted, he would be gearing up to join the military. Charles had had a hard enough time trying to convince him otherwise when he was there. Shaun would be finishing his degree if he weren’t distracted by yet another girl he was chasing after. Everything proceeding, seamless, as if he had never been there at all.

Charles wished he could hear his wracked sobs when he cried. Usually at night, when his outpouring of emotions was exhausting enough to knock him out after the fluorescent lights kept him awake.

He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious when he woke that particular morning, but judging by the tacky quality inside his mouth, he hazarded a guess that he’d fallen asleep crying again. Which meant he’d most likely slept in. If it mattered.

Charles rolled onto his side, facing the glass to look out at the empty corridor. The yellow, big-headed alien that he’d seen the first day here was sitting in the exact same spot it had been in last night. Slumped against the wall inside its box with glassy eyes. It was obviously drugged to stop it from causing more self-inflicted injuries. He often wondered how long it would take him to seek out the comfort of pain, to keep himself from slipping away, only to become the same drooling mess slumped on the floor. He was already halfway there.

The other inhabitants of the nearby containers were less interesting to watch, given that they were a tome, open and mounted on a stand, and a large plant. And while the plant did glow a rather interesting array of colours at certain times of the day, it didn’t show any signs of sentience. There were other living creatures, even humanoid ones, a little further away that he could glimpse when they paced in their cells. But they were either still asleep or perhaps in a similar state of depression this morning.

It could have been hours later that he heard footsteps echo down the hall. Nothing unusual. But when he heard Taneleer’s voice talking to someone else, he had himself sitting upright, back facing the glass, within a matter of seconds. Taneleer would bring someone by his cage like he always did, to ogle and gloat. It was easier not to see their faces, to pretend they weren’t there. And if turning his back continued to frustrate the man, even better.

“—and this corridor houses my more exquisite pieces, things I cannot keep anywhere but in the centre of my museum. Lest any thief be tempted.” There was a smooth chuckle, and a few hesitant ones in response. A group tour then. Wonderful. It didn’t make him any more eager to turn around.

“We’re not interested in your trinkets, Tivan.” A female voice, rough and gravelly. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes in an effort to block out the conversation.

“Of course. I only thought you might be interested to see another Terran.”

What.

When he spun around, he didn’t care about the smug look on Taneleer’s face. Or the twinge of protest that ran up his back after disuse. His wide eyes locked onto the group standing before him on the other side of the glass, and his heart swelled.

He counted three people, not including Taneleer. No, four, he corrected when the shortest member of the group spoke up from where he stood at waist height and… was that a raccoon?

“If I wanted to see Terrans in a glass box, I’d just walk in on Quill in the shower.” The raccoon spoke. And he could understand him. As rough as his voice was.

“Dude.” The man to his left spoke up and Charles couldn’t believe his eyes.

A human. He was a human, wasn’t he? That was an American accent, American slang, and… was that a Walkman on his hip?

The raccoon continued like he hadn’t heard the man, “Point being, seeing one Terran a day is enough of a headache. Just show us the splicer so we can be done with this.”

Taneleer’s lips pursed, and as satisfying as it was to see the man perturbed, the human remained at the centre of Charles’ attention. He looked young-ish, not as young as himself, but certainly somewhere in his thirties. Pale skin, dirty blonde hair, and a red leather jacket that looked like it was pulled out of a donation bin. Of course, there was the possibility he wasn’t human. Taneleer looked the same after all. But certain aspects tipped him off.

Like the Starlord band logo sewn onto the back of his jacket, as if he’d come straight from a rock concert.

“Ah, but you haven’t seen a Terran like this.” Apparently, Taneleer was determined to show him off. Charles retreated from the glass, leaning away as the man stepped closer. He hadn’t realised he’d even moved closer in the first place. “He’s a mutated Terran.” There was the usual fanatical gleam in his eyes as he said it, “Continuous breeding in an enclosed gene pool has caused their DNA to mutate and produced an entirely new species.”

The look of disgust on the human’s face paled in comparison to his own.

“Are you calling humans inbred?”

Taneleer was unmoved by the human as he smiled at Charles, who couldn’t meet his eyes. It would just make him feel nauseous.

“Don’t feel ashamed. It has led to incredible specimens like this one here.” His hand rose to rest on the glass and give it a cursory pat. Charles glared at it with loathing. “He is a telepath. Able to read and manipulate minds as if they were simply books to open and peruse.”

The words elicited a pang from somewhere deep in his chest. His telepathy, what was once part of his identity, now only existed in fitful dreams, obscured behind the airtight walls of his cell. Like his legs, his voice, all things that were stolen. Taken from him. The rules of grief dictated that they would never come back.

To Taneleer’s credit, his guests did look at least somewhat more interested.

“He can read minds.” The woman spoke in a deadpan voice and threw a look of disbelief around the room for someone to pick up. It was worth noting she was blue. Not unusual for him, even before seeing all manner of alien species. It was the fourth member of their group who really stood out the most.

“I am Groot.” A walking, talking tree. Sure, why not?

“Groot says he’s full of it.”

“I assure you, this specimen is genuine,” Taneleer responded quickly. Stepping away from the glass to fix the raccoon with a hard stare. Any satisfaction he may have felt with the man’s annoyance was overshadowed by the way they were all still looking at him like he was a zoo animal.

“Why don’t you show us then?” The human asked, exchanging a look with the raccoon before looking back at Taneleer. “If he really is a telepath—”

“Then what number am I thinking of?” The raccoon finished his thought with a toothy grin. Taneleer was less than amused.

“This isn’t some party trick that I keep on display.” The man spat the words out like they were too disgusting to keep in. “This is a dangerous specimen. If I were to take off his inhibitor collar, he could melt any mind he came in contact with. He’s been kept locked away since his rescue for your own safety.”

He wasn’t wrong there.

“Rescue?” The human’s voice came, less blasé. He let out a scoff as he looked from Charles to Taneleer. “Is that what you’re calling abduction now?”

Taneleer waved a hand dismissively, “They exterminate his kind on Terra. It was a mercy.”

“Oh, a mercy?” The human’s eyebrows had been blown up to his hairline now, and Charles could only watch, transfixed as the man suddenly snapped at the Collector. “It’s a mercy to be taken from your home and shoved into the middle of this shitty place?”

“Quill.” The blue woman snapped. Grasping the man’s shoulder before he could step closer to Taneleer, who looked properly perturbed by his accusations. “Leave it. We’re not here for him.”

“Yeah Quill, you heard the man, he ain't even properly human.” The raccoon gestured to his display case with a roll of his eyes before nodding ahead at the path leading further into the museum. “Now, can we get our flarking splicer? Or do I have to make a deal with someone else Tavin?”

“Fine, yes of course.” The man wasn’t any less annoyed as he gestured for the group to follow and strode down the corridor without a glance back at the mutant on his shelf. “Follow me Guardians.”

Guardians? Charles rested his weight heavily against the glass wall beside his shoulder, watching the group trail after Taneleer without an iota of hesitation. What a shitty name. Seeing a human, someone else from Earth though, after so long… it formed a painful lump in his throat he couldn’t easily ignore. He was alone. Not knowing what was around or where he was outside of this box, it grated on him. He was disconnected from everything around him, and that human was the first real point of connection he had seen. He’d been angry, for him. Eyes burning, he scrubbed at them with the heel of his palm and struggled to swallow that burning feeling back down. It didn’t matter what anyone had felt or not felt; he was still in the exact same place. With no one to help him but himself.

“Hey.”

Charles started. His eyes flew open (when had he shut them?), and he looked around for the gruff voice with his hackles raised. Someone was here to taunt him, to point and ogle at the thing in the cage—

“Crap, stop freaking out!” The voice snapped, and he looked down, following it to find the raccoon still standing where he was just before. But he’d watched him walk away with the others? He blinked a few times and expected him to disappear, even as the creature leant forward to dig his hands (paws?) into some unseen place under the glass pane above him. Muttering as he did. “Just be cool Terran. You make a single krutarcking sound and I will cut and run.”

Charles’ heart hammered a tattoo into his chest. Was the raccoon breaking him out? He certainly was doing something he didn’t want Taneleer to know about. Of course, he could just be trying to kidnap the ‘valuable piece’ to sell himself, and that possibility did have him on edge, but what did it matter when he was going to get to breathe air from outside this container?

He sat up straighter and glanced up and down the corridor as the creature worked. Noting each of his incomprehensible grumbles or hissed curses, before the raccoon stepped back with the same savage grin as earlier.

“State-of-the-art security system, my tail.”

And just like that, the glass panel in front of him disappeared.

Sending him crashing to the floor.

Fuck.

“Shit.”

Falling onto the floor a good metre below had definitely made a sound. One which echoed in the empty hall until it was near deafening. That was bad. Or at least he told himself so as he pushed his upper body off the floor with a wince and tried to shake the dizziness clouding his mind. When he realised where he was, it was to come back to the feeling of small hands grabbing at his arm.

“D’ast! C’mon. There ain’t any way that asshole didn’t hear that.”

Looking up to see a raccoon yanking at your arm would be comical if not disconcerting any other time, but the threat of Taneleer coming back to discover him free was too horrifying to consider. He would not go back in that box.

With great effort, Charles propped himself up into a sitting position. But when it was clear the raccoon intended for him to get up the rest of the way, he was forced to gesture helplessly at his legs. Which were now bent at an odd angle from the fall. Hopefully that got the message across.

The raccoon looked from his legs to his face, to the end of the hall where Taneleer had disappeared, then back at his legs. Thankfully, his assessment didn’t take long.

“Well, flark me.” He placed his hands on his hips with a sharp grimace. Charles really wished he could be of more help than just lying there useless. Clearly, he couldn’t drag himself out of here, and the raccoon couldn’t support him. He was quite literally dead weight.

And as the wail of an alarm suddenly cut in through unseen speakers, he was gripped by the cold fear that he really was going to be left here.

Until a voice that was decidedly not Taneleer’s broke the tense air between them.

“Rocket! What the hell is this?”

The raccoon, whose name was apparently Rocket, looked over at the human at the same time as him. The same human who had also just walked away. The man heaved like he was out of breath as he swept his wide eyes over Charles’ prone form before redirecting his stare to the raccoon. He had to yell to be heard over the alarm, “What did you do?!”

“Tivan was trying to screw us on that splicer deal Quill, so I decided to screw him instead.” Rocket snarled up at the man; Quill, and pulled some kind of box-y device from his belt. “I’m taking his thing.”

“That isn’t a thing. That’s a living person!”

“So?” Rocket’s tail flicked incessantly as he tapped rapidly at the device in his hands.

“So? So, he said it’s dangerous! Or did you forget about the brain melting?”

“Oh, I’m so scared. He’s a Terran Quill, no offence. Plus, look at him. He’s practically shorter than me! ‘Sides, he can’t even use his powers.”

Charles threw a dispassionate scowl at the raccoon, but he didn’t even glance up from whatever it was he was doing. At least it didn’t sound like they intended to leave him. Even if it was just to piss Taneleer off. That was a sentiment he could get behind.

Although the human was still shifting from foot to foot, glancing at the hallway behind him. “Fine, you crazy bastard. Then why aren’t we currently running?”

“The creep broke Tiny’s legs here or something.” Charles wasn’t sure who he was talking about for a moment before Rocket gestured to him. Not a very flattering nickname, especially given that he was in fact bigger than the creature who gave it to him. “You’re gonna have to carry him while I get an exit open.”

“This is turning out to be hell of a lot more work than just walking in and paying for a hacker.” The words came out sharp, but Quill did come forward to awkwardly try to pick him up. He bent down, got his arms under Charles’ knees and back, then lifted with several strained grunts while Charles grabbed on to the man’s shoulder for stability. Anchoring himself in place as the man swayed. He really wasn’t that strong, was he?

“Hurry up Quill, I found us a back door. If you think you can carry him for more than ten frickin seconds,” He laughed, tense, “why are you swaying like that?”

“Just shut up and move before Tivan’s mercs get here!”

Now that their attention was drawn to it, Charles could hear the distinct sound of footsteps thundering down the halls in the distance. A sound he very much did not like and made known by gripping the man’s shoulder tighter. He was entirely at their mercy, and he needed them to get him out. A sentiment he wished badly that he could impress upon his mind to get his legs moving.

Thankfully, the raccoon scampered ahead, adjacent to the direction the hall wanted you to walk. The human followed, carrying him in a loose, but firm grip as they ducked between pedestals, past other display cases that Charles avoided eye contact with, and towards a sleek grey panel built into the wall. Rocket brought up his device again, tapping at it aggressively before letting out a grunt of approval.

“Got it.”

The panel separated from the wall with a quiet exhale, then slid to the side just enough that the three of them could squeeze through before it had even fully opened.

“Close it, close it!”

“I’m trying, keep your frickin panties on.”

The panel slid shut behind them with a quiet snick, and finally he was plunged into blessed darkness. Darkness he hadn’t been able to achieve even when he squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at them with his hands. It was like a cool balm to his mind, even as the human and the raccoon stumbled through the dark with hissed curses.

“This is a pretty shitty exit. Are you sure it isn’t a closet?”

“Oh, by all means, turn around and do us a favour by getting yourself blasted to pieces!” Rocket punctuated his words with a strained grunt, and something scraped across the floor in front of them. “Did you at least let Nebula and Groot know the deal is off?”

“Yeah, I think they got the message when I ran with the alarm blaring.” There was a dip in pressure, and Charles grabbed tighter onto the man’s shoulder in alarm. Downside of not being able to see, he didn’t know if he was about to be dropped. “I’ve got you man, don’t worry.” Quill supplied with another strained hiss as he lifted him higher while he continued to slowly navigate the dark room. The action didn’t inspire confidence when his arms were already beginning to shake. “Why isn’t he talking?”

“Hell if I know, maybe Tivan took his voice?”

“That’s not how humans work.”

Rocket made a dismissive sound before the tap-tap of his claws on the device filled the burgeoning silence. There was a brief pause for half a minute where nothing happened, then another quiet hiss from what was probably a wall in front of them.

“Here’s the escape hatch. It’ll lead us right into the middle of Knowhere’s crappy market.” A shaft of light spilled into the room, just a sliver, until the door opened further and Charles blinked away the spots in his vision. His heart pounded in his ears in time with the pulsing behind his eyes as he let them adjust. He was out. He was out of the Collector’s grasp, enough at least to feel the air on his face, to have the luxury to feel suddenly too cold.

Raising a hand, he wiped at the wetness that had gathered at his reddened eyes. Inhaling, shaky, but certain that he was free.

Chapter Text

They had emerged onto a bustling street. Filled with people, aliens, of all shapes, colours and sizes. It was packed to the point where he couldn’t pick out any individual, all crowded in between stalls in too-narrow lanes. Steam curled into the air, and he caught the flicker of flames from a few stalls, but what was most overwhelming was the sound.

A wall of noise threatened to overwhelm him after God knows how long of just the hum of fluorescents. Sizzling, yelling, grinding, laughing, scraping, screaming, ringing, wailing. Sound. In the absence of his telepathy, he soaked it in like a sponge and let himself breathe.

“Flarking crap town.” Rocket stepped forward and surveyed the street before them with clear disgust. “At least Tivan will have a hard time finding us between all the pirates and scumbags.”

They moved hastily to the edges of the crowd, where throngs of people were gathered around the market stalls. All of them shoving and snarling to get a spot out front. Charles clung to Quill’s shoulder as tight as he could while they squeezed through. A task that was easier for Rocket than it was for them.

“Move your ass Quill, I told Mantis we’d be there in five.” The raccoon barked over his shoulder to be heard over the incessant yelling.

“Give me a break! He’s heavy.”

“No he aint.”

It didn’t escape his notice that if these people were friends, it was certainly a different kind of friendship that he shared with Hank. All harsh words and verbal jabs, but still, there was an understanding that spoke of familiarity. So, maybe these weren’t a band of outlaws that had snatched him up for a quick score. One could hope.

There was a space up ahead where the crowd thinned out enough that they weren’t pressed shoulder-to-shoulder anymore. Quill drew to a stop and lingered there behind Rocket when the raccoon halted suddenly, staring down intently at the device in his hands. Then he let out a hissed curse.

“D’ast. Groot says Tivan’s deployed his private d-bags to snatch back his precious Terran.” Rocket looked around like he half expected them to be currently surrounded by said d-bags. Which set him on edge as well. Looking around, he had a sudden image of Taneleer himself marching through the crowd towards him, as unlikely as it was. His nervousness must have translated to his grip, because the human held him tighter, which wasn’t exactly comforting.

“Don’t worry, we’re getting you out of here.” Quill tried to reassure him. Even flashing him a cocky smile in the process, adjusting his grip and—oh, oh, he was flirting? Wasn’t he? That was a hand wrapping around his shoulder, tucking him against his chest like he was some damsel in distress. Which… well, he supposed it wasn’t entirely inaccurate; he was in distress and helpless, much to his chagrin.

“Saving people’s what we do.”

“Geezus Quill, keep it in your pants.”

“It’s jee—zus, and you don’t even know what it means.”

“I know it’s a Terran curse, who gives a flark what it means?

There was a disturbance in the crowd to their right, and Charles watched carefully, pushing their argument from the centre of attention to focus instead on the disgruntled shouts that rose above the general cacophony. Someone stumbled, too close to where they were standing, another fell over with an angry shout. Then he caught a glimpse of an able-bodied figure, shoving through the crowd on a direct course towards them. How on Earth did they know exactly where he was?

With a frantic gesture, he waved his free hand in front of Quill’s face, gathering both of their attentions before gesturing furtively in the direction of their pursuer. They seemed to get the picture rather quickly.

“Shit!”

“Okay, looks like we’re going with plan B.”

Charles had to grab on for dear life as the two of them bolted back into the thick crowd. Fingers digging into the surprisingly thin material of his jacket as he tried not to fall.

“What’s plan B?”

“Split up.” Rocket snapped, “I’ll lead them away from the shipyard while youse both head for the Milano.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Quill yelled back, incredulous.

Rocket let out a breathless string of expletives and threw the man a snarl before he shouted, “Just do it asshole!”

No further argument was needed apparently, as the raccoon pulled something from his hip and threw it on the ground behind them. Neither of them looked back, continuing to run, but Charles glanced over his shoulder to see what it was.

Just in time to see the air behind them implode.

Quite literally. The space collapsed in on itself, pulling a couple of their pursuers with it in the process. It dragged them to the ground with pained yells and a seemingly great deal of pressure, considering they didn’t get back up. But they were lost in the scattering crowd before he could see any more.

“You took one of my grav traps?!”

“They ain't yours if I made them!”

Quill spluttered like he was trying to find the words to argue back, but the raccoon had already dropped to all fours and darted into the sea of legs to their left. Circling back in the direction of more shouts and curses that were coming after them. Charles watched him go with no small amount of concern. Yes, it might have been for selfish reasons, but he was still putting himself on the line for him, saving him from Tavin’s grasp.

“Dick.” Quill huffed in irritation as they continued to squeeze past people in the crowd. A bit harsh, but then he continued to mutter to himself. “If he gets himself killed, I’m gonna kill him.”

Maybe not so much Hank and himself, these two reminded him more of his relationship with Raven. The number of times she’d threatened him with bodily harm if he didn’t take care of himself…

They emerged from the worst of the crowd, who were all now rowdier than ever as they tried to locate the source of the commotion (to run from it or towards it, he wasn’t sure). Then emerged into a quieter alley, framed with flickering neon signs that were inscribed with letters he couldn’t even begin to relate to any Earth lexicon. He could only assume they advertised food or some other purchasable service.

The human’s arms were trembling at this point, and Charles eased his grip as the man stumbled, cursed, and then dropped him a little heavily onto a nearby metal crate. He grabbed onto the edge for support, leaning back against the wall of the storefront behind him, and watched the man double over with a wince.

“Don’t tell Rocket I needed a break.” He panted, hands on his knees. A useless statement. Not that he would tell him if he could. “I just need a sec… for my arms to stop burning.”

Stopping wasn’t something he was overly keen on. Tivan’s mercenaries could have captured the raccoon and already be hot on their trail. But it wasn’t like he had much of a choice. If nothing else, it at least gave him a chance to look around.

The stalls around them were devoid of vendors, obviously this street wasn’t great for foot traffic at this time of the day. The only people milling around were just passing through, pace quick and eyes furtive, or bundled into the corner of alleyways with faces obscured by blankets or the like. He didn’t linger, gaze shifting back to the way they’d come from, where there were still the distant shouts from the crowd in the direction Rocket had run off in. Quill was looking that way too, breathing harsh and fast as he squinted at the packed stalls.

“Shit. He has the communicator too.”

That must have been the box device Rocket had presumably used to communicate with the ship. Surely they didn’t need it to find the ship, right? He had said something about a shipyard…

Charles turned to glance the way ahead, away from the crowds, and stiffened where he was sitting. Fingers biting into the metal beneath his grip. Someone was staring at him, at them both, eyes wide and hands frozen by his sides. The man was huge, shoulders the size of his own head with pale skin and a beard dripping with golden ringlets, which swayed and clinked together as the man took a hesitant step closer. He looked to be in shock, but what was most paralysing was the small group around the huge man. Other people, some aliens, were gathered around him and chatting absently. Except when they saw the large man had ground to a halt, they looked ahead and settled into a similar state of paralysis.

There was a pregnant pause, air thick with tension as they looked from Charles to Quill, then back to him. His breath stuttered in his chest when he remembered he couldn’t call out to the human, to warn him or yell at him to turn around—

“This must be my lucky day.” The large man’s grin was as nasty as the soiled clothing he had on. Dark stains, which he could only guess were blood, dotted the leather vest stretched across his broad, naked chest. “Two little Terrans. All alone.”

Quill had turned around now and his darting eyes suggested he was very quickly assessing their unfortunate situation. There were five people altogether, including the largest one out front, and all of them had their gazes fixed on both of them with a mixture of delighted grins and sneers. And if the numbers weren’t enough, the weapons they had on their belts were enough to cause a bubble of fear to expand in his chest. The man out front, in particular, was sporting a rather fancy-looking gun on his hip, some kind of pistol maybe, except it was the length of Charles’ forearm. He couldn’t help but idly catalogue that it must be stolen, considering its polish in contrast to the rest of the man’s ensemble. Which didn’t bode well for his character, if that mattered.

“Hey, keep walking dude,” Quill called, waving a hand in a gesture for them to move on, accompanied by a scowl. “We’ve got dangerous people coming to pick us up, and dangerous people on our tail. We ain’t worth it, buddy, trust me.” The human brushed his jacket aside as he said it, showing off the blasters clipped to either side of his belt. An intimidation tactic which fell spectacularly flat as the group behind the large man snickered in response. Crowding closer to the two of them and prompting Quill to take a couple of steps closer to Charles, who was edging towards the far side of the container without taking his eyes off the group.

“Oh, we know who you are, buddy.” The large man mocked, taking another step closer without any concern for the guns the man had flashed. “You’re that little Terran outlaw they raved about on Xandar. Picked up quite the bounty since then, huh?” Quill stilled at that, suddenly on edge. But then that wide grin left him and narrowed in on Charles instead.

Why? He didn’t have any kind of reputation out here. He didn’t have a bounty or a record, nothing to warrant the look the man levelled him with. Like he was a prime cut of steak left out for a ravenous dog. It was far more disgusting than any look Taneleer had ever given him.

“But you, little Terran, you’ve got one of the Collector’s pretty necklaces on. You lost?” The man stepped closer, and Quill followed suit. Taking out his odd-looking guns and stepping between him and the other man. Hackles raised.

“Back the fuck up.” He snapped, “He ain’t up for grabs.”

“Really? Cause he’s sitting right there, looking all pretty.” The man’s lecherous smirk made Charles’ blood run cold. He and Quill were undoubtedly outnumbered and outgunned without his abilities. If the stupid collar wasn’t still latched around his neck, he’d have no trouble at all putting these men to sleep. But then a lot of different problems could have been solved if he still had his telepathy. Instead, he was reduced to a mute statue, one who was apparently pretty. He was eternally thankful for Quill’s presence.

“Oh, you’re just begging for a hole in your chest asshole.” The human snarled, taking a step forward and gripping his guns tighter. Unfortunately, it wasn’t too intimidating a display when the other man simply gestured, and his goons spread out to either side of them. Encircling the both of them with cocky looks.

“Why don’t you put your little toys away and roll over Terran?” The man drawled, using the word ‘Terran’ like someone would refer to a kitten or equally harmless creature. “You and your friend play nice, and we won’t hurt you too much. We’ll even try to keep all your fragile little bones intact.”

His men were either side of Quill now, hands lingering by their own strange-looking guns at their hips. He could tell the human was feeling the pressure then, shoulders squared and frozen to the spot. It wouldn’t matter if he could see his mind or not right then; he was sure it was doing mental somersaults, trying to find a way out of this harrowing situation.

Charles was in a similar state of panic.

The men were closing a tight circle around them, tightening while their leader leered first at Quill, then at him. They were like two rabbits, trapped in a cage and surrounded by a pack of ravenous wolves. Except he was a lame, tiny, and mute rabbit. Defenceless. And he couldn’t even solely blame Taneleer.

“Back up—” Quill tried ripping his weapons out in one smooth movement. Raising them to eye level to fend off the men either side of him, but the men were faster. Darting forward, Charles could only watch with a sudden onset of panic as they grabbed either of Quill’s arms. Effectively restraining him, before ripping the guns out of his grip and throwing them aside. And of course, they laughed as they did it.

His heart hammered inside his chest as Quill was thrown to the ground, wrists behind his back no matter how much the man snarled and thrashed.

“Calm down!” One of the men laughed and kicked the human in the side. Forcing him to curl away from the boot with a hiss. Charles jerked forward in the spot he was trapped in, desperate to help. Especially when the men seemed to take the kick as an invitation to rain blows on him. Heels were slammed into his shoulders, back, torso, all with dull thuds that did nothing to muffle the grunts of pain. Nor the laughter from the thugs.

“Don’t kick in his skull, can’t have him braindead.” The leader’s words were barely audible through the ringing in Charles’ ears as he watched the human being beaten within an inch of his life. What- what could he do? He could throw himself from this crate, drag their attention to him. That was if they even noticed his poor attempt at self-sacrifice. Still, it was worth trying.

Blood rushing in his ears, he shoved himself forward, pitching his weight off the front of the box. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact with the ground, only to collide with a large palm that fastened itself to his shoulder and shoved him back upright. Pulling a silent gasp from his lips.

He looked up, dread curdling his gut until he felt positively sick.

“Where are you going pretty little thing?” The large man had moved in without him noticing. Crowding into his space and gripping his shoulder with a practically crushing weight. His hand couldn’t possibly have weighed that much alone, which meant he was pinning him in place.

His breath was coming shallow and quick as the man leant down to look him in the eye, and his free hand moved to grab at his hair. Ignoring Charles’ attempt to flinch away as he grasped his head in one large fist, accompanied by an ugly smirk. The man leant close enough that a flash of shiny, metallic teeth was visible beneath the thick beard. “You’re a lot smarter than your friend Terran.” He chuckled low enough for just Charles to hear, “Just sitting nice and still. Not fighting back.” He couldn’t will his body to move as his head was patted roughly, as if he were an obedient dog, “So well behaved.”

If only he could scream, sprint away, fight back in any capacity. All he could do was stare up at the towering man with wide and horrified eyes. Quill would help. He had to. Expect he was still pinned to the ground and bleeding sluggishly, judging by the dark stain growing on his shirt. But Rocket would come back. He would circle around to try and find them, get them out of this before it got any worse.

Except Rocket wasn’t back. And the man’s large, rough hand was journeying down to his arm. Grabbing it in a crushing grip that left Charles reeling with a silent cry as his bones creaked.

“Don’t know how a delicate thing like you broke out of Tivan’s vault.” Fingers grasped at the collar around his neck and gave it a rough tug that made him choke on his own saliva, “But I’m sure he’s missing such a prized trinket like yourself.”

“We dragging the Terran back to the Collector, Scint?” One of the aliens behind the boss, Scint, called out from somewhere hidden beyond the man’s broad bulk. The man’s face screwed up at the question, and he let out a breathy huff. “He’ll pay us good to deliver back lost property.”

“Let’s not be so hasty. When’s the next time you boys think we’ll see a wild Terran in Nowhere?”

Any relief felt from the hand falling away from the metal collar turned to ice, flooding through his veins from where it wandered next. Charles’ breath seized, escaping his lips in a silent wheeze as large fingers bumped against his chest, then down to his abdomen.

No. No no no. He wanted those hands off of him. Now.

He raised both his hands to shove the offending limb away, but was only met with a rumbling laugh before both his wrists were secured in a singular fist and yanked behind his back. Hard.

Something popped in his shoulder and agony like fire shot up his arm, only to be cut off at his throat. Tears burned in his eyes instead and he writhed in distress to pull away. To get rid of the white-hot pain.

“Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” The man crooned, and those damned fingers were back on his abdomen again. Pressing lightly at first, almost mocking, before they pressed harder and encircled his side with a painful squeeze. “Tiny too. Might accidentally snap you in half.” Apparently, that warranted a loathsome laugh, and a few echoed behind the man as well. Charles didn’t look up, instead trying to focus on his breathing so he didn’t spiral into a sudden panic attack.

He could do this. He was alright. The raccoon was going to come barrelling down the alley at any moment with the rest of his friends, who were fighters… right? Yes. He had to remain hopeful, ignore the darkness pulling at the edges of his vision, the face leering down at him as that hand moved down lower again. Purposeful, cruel—

Charles’ eyes snapped up to meet Scint’s awful gaze. Mouth open in a silent cry of outrage and fear as those fingers crushed the flesh in their grip where they had found their way to his rear.

“Ohh yes. I see why Tivan keeps a collar on you now.” The hand squeezed again, and Charles was fairly certain all the blood had evaporated from his pale body. His heart racing as it pumped only cold air to his wheezing lungs and still limbs. “I’ve heard plenty of stories about Terrans bein’ soft and all warm-like.” Scint chuckled, either unaware or most likely delighted by his numb horror as he shoved Charles onto his back on the crate. Moving his hand to grab at the meat of his thigh instead.

That, at least, he couldn’t feel. Small mercies.

“But you, you’re real soft.” His thigh was manoeuvred up and away from his body to accommodate the man as he stepped in closer to crowd him against the crate. The hand holding his wrists shifted then to an arm which could pin his entire upper body against the cold metal and leave his arms trapped and as useless as his legs. Disheartening, he thought absently, but his head was spinning and black dots were dancing in his vision, which made it hard to think properly.

“I wonder,” fingers slid down his thigh to somewhere out of his line of sight. Some place high enough that he could feel sensation, “how soft a pretty Terran like you is inside…”

The man looked back up at him then with a grin that could curdle milk. At the same time, his touch pressed against skin too sensitive for him to try to ignore.

And Charles snapped.

“FLARK! You- you little Shlag!”

The man’s cries echoed in his ears, secondary to the taste of hot iron coating his mouth. It took him a moment or two to register that he had reacted at all. That his teeth were sunk into something warm and fleshy, which had split against his teeth to release a hot spill of coagulated blood or whatever flowed through this man’s veins.

Yes, that was right... he had bitten his arm like a feral dog.

He didn’t let go.

“Get OFF!”

The arm was ripped from his mouth harder than he could hold on, but he felt a hot wave of satisfaction like static over his skin as he came away with a small lump of flesh between his teeth.

It was unfortunate that the moment of pride was overshadowed by the bludgeoning backhand to his face.

His head whipped to the side with a sickening snap. Hot, stinging pain flushed over his right cheek, and it felt like his skull was stuffed with cotton for all he could hear or actually understand. Hands were grabbing at him, yanking him from his perch and dumping him into a heap on the ground before he could properly orient himself.

“Ohh, you naughty little Terran.” A voice growled overhead and he blinked rapidly to try and clear the spots from his vision. He had to clear the haze from his mind. Had to become aware of what was happening around him. Had to stop it.

A hand yanked roughly at his pants and drew attention to the fact that his legs had been moved. One of them was crushed into the ground by the man’s knee. The other held aloft in a grip which was probably meant to squeeze like a vice. Instead, the vice was pressing against his heart.

“You’re gonna pay for that, you cute thing.” Another tug and he felt the soft material slip down over the bump of his hips. There was the distinct taste of pennies in his mouth, either his blood or the man's, and his vision tunnelled.

Oh god.

Fuck this. Fuck all of this! Why him?

Hot, rancid breath wafted against his chin from the man’s harsh pants, and Charles let out a strangled whimper.

He couldn’t do this. Where was help? Where was his rescue?

Irrational thoughts bled through the monsoon of panic suffocating him.

Where was he? Why wasn’t he helping him?! How could he leave him like this? Helpless, vulnerable, unable to do a single thing to defend himself—

He had reached out in one last desperate attempt to shove the man from him and with his current position over him, had glossed his fingers over metal on the man’s hip.

His eyes snapped open.

“There’re those big blue eyes. C’mon cutie, show me how pretty you are when you cry.”

Fear was strangling his chest until his vision blotted, but anger- anger was still festering underneath. Boiling like magma beneath his panic with every touch, every word, with the way his pants were suddenly down to his thighs. The man’s hand groping its way up.

Now that the anger had a way to vent from the molten core of his hatred, he couldn’t bite it back. Even if he wanted to.

He groped blind, grasping for the smooth metal just as the man’s hand closed around his crotch. Twisting the weapon in his clutches, he jammed the point into the solid wall of flesh on top of him. The man’s fist squeezed, and so did his own finger on the trigger as his hearing rang with a high-pitched whine.

There was a snap. Loud enough to penetrate the ringing, warbling tone in his ears.

It was followed by the acrid scent of burning. Like fire melting hair and flesh.

Then, a choked gasp.

Charles lifted his gaze just in time to see the man’s eyes meet his own. Blown wide and teetering on the edge of unseeing. He watched, unable to move a centimetre as those bulging eyes glazed over. But he didn’t see the life leave them. Instead, fixated on the gaping hole where the man’s jaw had been spewing insults at him only a moment ago. The shot from the gun had evidently travelled up through the man’s body, at an angle that meant the blast exited from the lower half of his face. Pieces of his jaw and burnt flesh were hanging from the wound, letting a slow spill of bright red blood pool on Charles’ abdomen, soaking into his shirt like an oil spill.

The smell was nauseating enough to make him sick. Acid burned the back of his throat and his eyes watered, but the sudden increase to the pressure on his chest suffocated him.

It took him a second to realise, albeit numbly, that it was the man’s dead body crushing him.

“Hey!”

The shout was muffled and he wasn’t sure if it was the relentless ringing in his ears or the shock. There was another yell, followed by several grunts, a scream, and a slew of sizzling noises similar to the one that came from the gun.

The weight on top of him rocked and for a paralysing moment, he was sure the man was somehow still alive.

Then, “I’ve got you! I’ve got—shit this guy weighs a billion tonnes!” A man grunted, and Charles’ lungs were finally able to expand properly as the weight toppled off of him. Hitting the ground beside him with a wet thud.

A hand grabbed at his bicep to haul him upright while the other helped tug his pants back up over his hips, and that was enough to kick his system back into gear. He scrambled for the hand, shoving it away from his chest while raising the other, still clutching onto the gun—

“Whoa! Whoa, it’s me! Hey, gun down! Gun down!”

Quill.

Charles met his panicked eyes and nearly crumpled in relief. It was the human. Bruised and bleeding, but alive. He was looking at him like he was about to either pass out or maybe explode, but still kept a hold of his arm anyway.

“Okay, okay.” Quill lowered his other hand slowly from where it was raised, palm open in surrender. “We gotta move before these assholes call for back up. You wanna put the blaster down? Oh, no, yep, that’s fine.” He muttered, not even trying to pry the gun from Charles when he pressed it against his chest. Unwilling to part with the weapon. “Right, I’m gonna pick you up now, and we’re gonna book it to the Milano. Cool?”

Quill waited for a nod, and when he gave him one, small and shaky as it was, picked him up with a hissed curse in the same fashion as he had before.

“Son of a bitch, this ain’t any easier with a broken rib.”

There was a rough jolt, and Charles instinctively wrapped his arms around the human’s neck for support as they stumbled forward. Eyes fixed on the dark blood staining the collar of Quill’s shirt. He wanted to pull away from the other man. He smelt too much of iron, and his mouth was somehow simultaneously dry and sticky with saliva, like he was about to be sick. But he couldn’t will his hands to unclench from his jacket.

He was, however, numbly aware of the angry shouts behind them. And the fact that the jostling was getting more frequent. Quill was picking up the pace, trying to put distance between them and their pursuers.

Charles tightened his grip on the gun until his knuckles felt like they would pop free from his skin.

“D’ast it—”, Quill swore as he tripped, regaining his balance and clutching Charles tighter as they were swallowed into the press of people. It wasn’t enough to lose the men behind them.

Voices roared expletives from the direction they came in. Whether it was the same men after them, or Tivan’s mercenaries, it didn’t really matter. At the rate they were travelling with Quill having to carry him, coupled with his injuries, they weren’t going to be able to outrun them.

Charles felt strangely numb at the prospect. It was as if every drop of fear had been wrung from him. Vaguely, he could feel his hands were shaking.

“C’mon, almost there. Almost there.” Quill chanted, struggling forward through the masses.

Another shout, so much closer than before. The gun in his grip twisted free from his chest before he knew what he was doing. Readied to defend them, himself, from whoever would grab him. He wouldn’t be left helpless again.

But before any hands could grab at them, stop them—

WOOMPF!

The sound was like air collapsing around them, and they were thrown to the ground so fast he could have sworn Quill had taken a dive. A hot blast of heat left his skin tingling as they hit the dirt in a heap. Limb entangled, cool dirt pressing against his cheek, Charles was really only capable of shallow breaths as panicked cries echoed around them.

An explosion, his mind supplied after a few seconds. A strange, space one, but that was what it had to be, judging by the fact that they were thrown off their feet.

He felt more than heard a groan against his arm before the shape by his side moved and let out a series of small winces. Charles was tense, unmoving, before the voice grunted.

“Stupid… raccoon.”

“That ain't no way to speak to your saviour Quill.” A familiar voice crowed and Charles could very nearly sob in relief. Rocket was here; he had saved them. Once he was feeling better, he was going to kiss that raccoon. “You two look like hell.”

“Yeah, well, the bomb didn’t help.”

“Hey, don’t diss the bomb. It saved youse both as much as I did.”

They continued to talk back and forth for another moment, but Charles’ attention was starting to drift, no matter how much he tried to grasp onto his cognisance. His ears were still ringing, and his mouth tasted bad. Pennies and iron, that sort of thing. Small hands pushed against his shoulder and another pair joined them to roll him onto his back. But he didn’t help them.

“He’s conscious.”

“Hey, Tiny, you in there?”

A paw waved in front of his vision. Up and down. Down and up. He followed the motion with his eyes as the dryness in his mouth spread.

“He ain't responding, we should just drag him on board—”

Charles felt it extremely rude to interrupt their conversation, but he couldn’t help the rising burn that hit the back of his throat. He threw his weight to the wide, shaking as he hunched over and threw up a pitiful amount of bile.

No wonder he was trembling so badly, he thought to himself idly as he dropped back down on his back. His head spinning as he heaved in breath after breath. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Maybe that was why his vision was going as well. Or maybe it was shock. Or a possible concussion from the explosion…

“Shit.”

“C’mon, grab him before Tivan’s entire friggin’ army gets here.”

The voices came from all around him, fading in and out as his vision tunnelled once again. Except this time, he was fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to grasp onto his slipping consciousness.

The last thing he saw between blurry, dark spots was the skewed impression of a ship from where his head lolled against an arm. Blue and orange metal streaked across his vision, and he swore he could vaguely hear the sound of… rock music?

He blinked, and they were jogging inside the gaping maw of the ship. Darkness settled heavy over him like a blanket, and that tinny music filtered through his fading thoughts before sleep finally, mercifully, swallowed him whole.

Chapter Text

“Do you think you could ever kill a man?”

The soft words punctuated the quiet static of rain drumming against the roof, the window. He watched the way the water collected on the glass into dark droplets, capturing and refracting the buttery light from the lamp inside the study as they ran down the windowpane. Collecting, swelling, then drifting apart again.

The warm breath against the back of his neck was a stark contrast to the chilled air inside the study.

There was a pause in words and movement, and he knew he was expected to answer. He didn’t really want to answer. The bed was like a warm cocoon, the blankets oh so soft. It was easy to let that comfort lull him back into a half-awake state. At least, not asleep. Never asleep. It was unbearable to waste these hours asleep, knowing that he would always wake to an empty bed.

“Charles.”

A groan escaped his lips, and he closed his eyes petulantly, rolling to his side just enough so that his right shoulder was pressed against the hard, unyielding swell of a bicep. Which then pressed back against him a little more securely, keeping him in place. So, he supposed he should answer.

“That’s hardly the question to be asking at two in the morning.” He couldn’t help the small grumble of exasperation that went with the muttered words. Which was apparently heard as a chin brushed against the side of his neck, followed by another huff in his ear.

“Indulge me.”

Charles really would have preferred not to. But the man was like a dog with a bone when he had a question he wanted answered. From experience, it was easier to just let him have what he wanted.

He rolled over until he had to squeeze past the man’s chest to put himself on his right side. Facing away from the small window and instead looking straight into a pair of steely blue eyes that pierced right through him. It appeared he was serious.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that Erik.”

“The truth, ideally.”

Charles bit the inside of his cheek and levelled the older man with what he hoped was a very disapproving stare for trying to start up a debate at such an hour. It didn’t seem to work too well, judging by the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips. Patient, yes, he would wait there all night for an answer.

“I don’t know,” He tried, but Erik’s look forced him to continue, “No. Alright? No, I don’t think I could.”

There was no way to tell if that was the wrong or right answer short of prying the man’s mind open, but he was sure the other man’s eyebrows would pinch in frustration no matter what he said.

There was a moment of stretched silence he let himself bask in. Pressing his face into the indent of Erik’s collarbone and closing his eyes as he warmed his cheeks against his skin. Erik’s scent was heated iron and mint soap from the shower they’d shared before bed. Electric and comforting all in one. He let it fill his senses until he was heady with the scent.

The man dropped his chin to Charles’ hair, and he felt the rumble of a hum vibrate through his skull.

“Even in a matter of life or death?”

Charles opened his eyes again with a frown, “That seems like an unlikely scenario.”

“Really? What if you were forced to defend yourself through any means possible Charles?”

“Have you somehow forgotten about my abilities, my friend?” Charles chuckled against his skin. They both knew how ridiculous a scenario that was, of course. He had the upper hand over any attacker who would ever bear ill intent towards him. His life was not one Erik needed to concern himself with.

As if reading that very thought, or irritated by the laughter, large hands splayed either side of his head and gently pushed him backwards until he could see those piercing eyes again. Now, narrowed in frustration.

“You have no idea what methods Shaw may employ to disable your abilities.” Erik’s tone was a touch icier than before, along with his stare. Others may have cowered under such a look, but when you had seen it so many times, it lost its paralysing effect. That, and Charles felt the concern-fear-worry hidden underneath the glare, “I want you to be prepared for anything that may happen.”

I don’t want to watch you die just because of your idealistic and naive views on the nature of mankind Charles.

Charles was half tempted to just play dumb and force the man to voice his inner concerns aloud. It wasn’t like there was anyone near to hear his apparent ‘weakness’, but he would give him the plausible deniability he so craved.

Raising a hand, Charles cupped that perfectly sculpted cheekbone, resting two fingers at his hairline, and pressed them to his temple. It was more a physical gesture to ask for permission to ease himself into the man’s mind and show him how he felt. Something he often wished he felt comfortable enough with Erik’s boundaries to not have to ask permission to use his abilities. But he was… nervous, perhaps of being rejected from that gorgeous mind. Erik certainly hadn’t been shy in shoving him out before.

Erik raised a hand to cover his own, encompassing it and pressing Charles’ fingers harder against his head while leaning into his touch. Charles smiled, watched the man’s eyes flutter shut, then pressed his feelings into Erik’s mind as the shallow, sun-warmed waves would lap against the shore. Gratitude, along with reassurance.

My dear, you know I’m not so careless with my life. I could not bear the thought of leaving you and Raven.

Erik’s eyes twitched a little but didn’t open. He only leaned further into the touch, like he was actually nuzzling against his hand…

It’s my job to look out for you. To keep you safe. Can’t stand the thought of you being alone and in danger. Of you getting hurt when I should be there to protect you.

Erik’s thoughts came out quite a bit less smooth and cohesive than his own. Not that he could blame him.

Erik, he admonished, caressing his hairline gently with a sympathetic smile he made sure to impress upon the man telepathically as well. It is not your job to keep me safe love. Simply to be by my side. Trust me, I can take care of myself. I have for all these years, your presence hasn’t somehow spontaneously rendered me helpless.

The mental tone was teasing, and the clear attempt at humour in response to Erik’s emotions caused him to, predictably, pull back both physically and mentally with a grumble. Charles had an amused apology ready to go, when hands gripped his shoulders quite suddenly and shoved him down against the mattress. Pulling a small noise of surprise from his parted lips. Looking up from the new position, he was met with a look heated enough to melt steel. Clearly, the man was annoyed with him.

No—wait, not annoyed.

Oh.

Oh.

Erik must have heard that projected echo because his mouth split into an amused and toothy grin. Eyes half-lidded as he leaned down to press his forehead to his own.

“Would it be wrong of me to admit that I sometimes wish you did rely on me? Just a little?” Erik hummed against his lips and Charles couldn’t fight off his own small, indulgent smile.

“Very wrong.” He agreed through a chaste kiss that was really just a brush of lips. Erik’s mouth chased his as he leaned back minutely to speak more clearly. “In fact, Erik, it wounds me to know you think of me as something so fragile.” He pouted, but the frown was then erased almost immediately by the man’s firm lips. Erik kissed him hard at first, in a way he suspected from extensive experience, the man had devised to silence him. Then the kisses softened into a gentler, warm exploration again after Charles accidentally let slip a muffled keening noise. One that made his own cheeks colour with embarrassment. Christ, he was like a hormonal teenager around the man.

“You were right earlier liebling.” It was murmured half breathless against his lips in a timbre that left his insides feeling like jelly. Erik’s hands had travelled down from where they had framed his head and somehow migrated to his bare chest. Skating down the ridges of his ribcage with the warm press of fingertips, before settling over his hips like they belonged there. Which they very much did. “It’s too late for debates.”

“You’re the one who started it.” He couldn’t help but point out rather petulantly. Erik proceeded to silence him again with a rather messy kiss. Urging Charles’ lips to part with a gentle nip, which they did. The man’s warm tongue licking into his mouth was pure ecstasy, lighting up his nerves and making his toes curl in sheer delight.

Charles… Erik groaned, breath expunged from his lungs in a heavy huff and—oh. He was projecting at him. He grinned, a little sheepish as the other man had to pull away to regain control of his breathing. The red flush on his neck having reached his ears now. God he was gorgeous.

He felt Erik’s brief, blooming warmth of pride, coloured a little by ego as he picked up on that projected compliment.

But the lamp was rattling now, and the memory from Wednesday of the pipes crumpling in the upstairs bathrooms rang fresh in both of their minds. It had taken the entire afternoon to clean up the flooding and avoid the questions that came with it. So, he tamped down on his wandering thoughts. For now.

“Sorry darling.”

There was only a half-hearted grumble in response before Erik dipped his head beneath his jaw to decorate it with more blemishes. One would think Charles’ neck was made of metal the way the man was drawn to it. Not that he was much better as he pressed against the man’s front like he wanted to merge their bodies into one. It burned that they had to pretend in front of everyone else. Every moment spent apart from Erik was pure torture. A thought which he impressed upon the man with a soft noise into his hair.

Erik’s arms wrapped around him like a vice and brought him in impossibly closer.

“You have nothing to apologise for Charles.” It was uttered in a single breath, a sigh against the soft skin between his neck and shoulder where a dark bruise already lay. Charles melted into him without another thought.

Charles woke to the sound of yelling.

For a moment, he thought he was back in the past, in the mansion, listening to the others arguing down the hall about something inane. Whether that be breakfast or whose turn it was with the television. It was only when Charles reached out to take stock of everyone in the house and gather his bearings that he realised where he was.

Sitting upright too fast, his blood rushed from his ears and left his vision spotty as he looked around the room he was in with a wild sense of fear and apprehension. But he was alone. And the room around him was decidedly not his own; it was tiny and more akin to a closet than an actual living space. Technicoloured posters clung to the walls, peeling slightly at the corners, odd bits and bobs crowded every flat surface in the room, and the bedsheets rumpled underneath him were a bright orange. That, and the entire room seemed to be made of metal.

Ah. Still in space.

In space…

Charles’ head whipped in the direction of the wall again, towards the small window he’d barely spared a glance and—

Oh.

That wasn’t the night sky, was it?

Thousands of lights filled the window fit to burst. Each a blazing pinprick of light clustered as densely as scattered freckles on human skin. There were more stars than he’d ever seen in the sky back on Earth. Enough to understand for the first time what Sagan meant when he said there were more stars in the sky than grains of sand on their beaches. It was utterly breathtaking. Especially so when his keen eyes caught some that weren’t even white. Planets. Red and orange dots hidden amidst the winking and glittering lights.

“I ain't gonna move my stuff Quill! Give it up already!”

The familiar gruff voice broke him from his spell, dragging him back to the present and the situation he was stuck in. His memory was clear at least after passing out. He recalled being carried towards a ramp; their spaceship, he presumed. Obviously, they hadn’t stuck around on whatever planet that had been.

“Oh, so we’re just gonna use my room then? Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“Sleep in the flarking airlock for all I care!”

Charles propped himself up against the wall and honed his senses in on the sound of muffled footsteps from the other side of the door. Was someone about to come into the room? What if it wasn’t the people who had rescued him? What if it were those thugs again?

Panic swelled in his chest and he pushed back away from the closed door, sheets bunching up around him as he moved to the head of the cot. It was utterly ridiculous how defenceless he was. He couldn’t even get out of this stupid bed.

Then he felt his hand brush against smooth metal.

Looking down, Charles was startled to see the same gun he’d clung to earlier sitting next to him in the bed. His first thought was how dangerous that could have been, it would have been easy to roll over and shoot himself in his sleep.

His second instinct was to grab the gun and grip it hard enough to hurt. Pointing it with shaky hands towards the door that was sliding open—

“Jesus!” The man in the doorway leapt out of the way, hands raised in surrender as he pressed back against the wall with a panicked expression. Charles recognised him instantly and slowly lowered the gun a few centimetres, relieved. Quill looked less relieved, “Rocket! You didn’t take the gun?”

“Believe me, I tried!” Came a rough yell from somewhere outside the room, “He wouldn’t let go!”

Quill looked back at him, as if searching for confirmation of that statement. Charles answered by wrapping his other hand around the barrel of the gun. Not in a position to fire, but also not letting go. He would be holding on to the only defence he had, thank you.

The human lowered his hands and let out a low breath, sitting somewhere between a huff and a sigh, then slowly edged over to the bed while its occupant watched on with mild suspicion. It wasn’t that he was too worried about being attacked by Quill. If the man wished to harm him, he would have done so during the numerous opportunities he had earlier. But he still wasn’t certain of the man’s intentions. They’d freed him, yes, even brought him back to their ship, he was yet to know why.

Quill approached gingerly before stopping at Charles’ bedside with an awkward look. Charles expected a plea for the gun, which he did not intend to follow. Or maybe a verbal threat. He squared his shoulders, ready to defend himself if need be.

“I’m Starlord.”

Charles blinked, unsure he’d heard the man correctly. He stared up at Quill and tightened his death grip on the gun just a little. Star… lord?

“Or Peter Quill. That’s my actual name.”

“You mean the one that don’t sound stupid.” A voice drawled from the door, and the sight of the raccoon leaning against the frame also helped to ease Charles’ fears, even with the sharp, toothy grin he was wearing.

“Yeah, cause Rocket sounds way better.” Quill snapped back, causing the raccoon’s face to twist into an ugly sneer.

“Y’know what, I change my mind. Both your names are stupid.”

It was devolving into the familiar bickering again. Which, while calming Charles’ nerves to some small measure, didn’t give him any answers. In lieu of yelling to recapture their attention, he waved an arm in a wild gesture. Getting two sets of eyes on his distressed expression again. And, because it was causing him the most frustration, he pointed at the metal ring around his neck with a sharp jab of his finger.

He needed it off before he lost his mind, any more than he already had.

“Shit.” Rocket at least looked remorseful. The raccoon raised a hand to rub the back of his neck with an expression that did nothing to encourage Charles. “Sorry Tiny, I ain’t getting that off with the stuff I got here on the Milano. Unless you want your vocal cords melted.”

Charles didn’t know what his expression was saying, but it must have been tragic judging by the way they looked at him.

“Aw c’mon, don’t pull that face.” Rocket turned to Quill with his ears somewhat flattened and his tail between his legs. It was fascinating that, despite being sentient, he still retained some classic animal behavioural tropes. But perhaps, sophisticated as he appeared, that wasn’t something he would want acknowledged. He didn’t seem to notice Charles’ staring at least as he gave Quill a wince, “You’d think I shot his puppy.”

Quill ignored Rocket, “We’re gonna help get that thing off you.” He stepped closer to Charles again, who let him approach this time without raising the gun. Glancing down at his body tangled up in the sheets at the far end of the bed. Quill made an aborted move with his hands like he wanted to reach out and try to help him up, possibly carry him. Charles didn’t want to be manhandled before he got proper answers, or preferably ever, but thankfully the man seemed to get the idea when Charles narrowed his eyes considerably because he dropped his hands again, “Rocket says he’s got a guy—”

“A robot.”

“A robot, a few jumps from Nowhere. It’ll take a few more hours to get there, tops.”

They wanted to… help him? It was more than he had deigned to hope for. They were actually going to help get the iron manacle off his neck. And they had a spaceship, so they could take him back home, right?

It was far too good to be entirely true.

Charles felt that tension creeping in again, his shoulders rigid and a little hunched. He looked between both of them with a stony expression, one he’d gotten better at over the last few… months? It was obvious at least what he was saying. I’m not buying it. Oh, how he wished he still had the capacity to be optimistic about people, about strangers’ motivations. But he had learnt the hard way several times over that life was cruel. The optimism had been beaten out of him enough to rid his glasses of their rose-tint. Even though these people had saved him, they hardly seemed the Good Samaritan type.

Quill shuffled his feet a little at his probing expression. Glancing over at Rocket, who looked far less squirmy.

“Look, kid,” Charles’ frown became more pronounced, but Rocket pressed on, “I’ll be honest with you, we didn’t just save you out of the kindness of our shrivelled hearts. I mean, getting one over on that jackass Tivan when he was trying to screw us was a great bonus, don’t get me wrong. But we need something from you.”

Straightforward, at least more so. Charles tried not to be offended as he nodded slowly. Nothing ever came for free, and the bill was always due. Besides, not much could be worse than what he’d already been through. At least he hoped not.

Quill visibly relaxed before speaking again. “Thanks for not shooting us, now do you wanna get out of my bed and come meet the others? Maybe we can make a deal?”

Although he didn’t relish the idea of being carried around again like some invalid, he did concede with a nod. Having some degree of agency was an olive branch he would grasp onto desperately, a life raft in a deep sea of confusion and fear. If they wanted to allow him to set the terms of an arrangement between them, he would offer them anything he could afford. Though he suspected there was only one useful thing he could offer.

When Quill nodded back with a wry smile, Charles expected him to lean down again and awkwardly pick him up, and stuffed his gun into his pocket in preparation. So, he wasn’t ready for the human to yell a strange name over his shoulder. Or for the daunting figure of a walking tree to lumber in from outside like it had been waiting just outside the door. Filling the doorframe with its height and bulk.

Judging by the wide smile on its face, it seemed friendly enough. Charles returned the smile with a faint one of his own and tried not to recoil in terror as it approached.

“This is Groot.”

“I am Groot.” The tree echoed, its voice a low timbre in a way that seemed to suit its appearance.

“He ain’t got a wide vocabulary, so youse two should get along great.” Rocket stepped aside to let Groot into the room, and the tree, who was apparently a ‘he’, moved closer. Long arms outstretched to pick Charles up without any sort of hesitation.

Charles’ limbs locked up, and he found suddenly that he couldn’t breathe quite right. Air was leaving his lungs but not coming back in as he sat stiff and unyielding on the bed. His world narrowed in on those hands reaching out for him. God, he couldn’t even get control of himself to raise the gun. He really was useless.

“Hold on you big idiot, at least give the kid a sec to get used to you.”

Properly chastised, Groot took a step back and allowed Charles the space to breathe. Which he did. Hating the way his body wouldn’t respond to his own internal admonishments. He had no reason to be acting like a trembling infant. He was a grown man, and he would shove those memories back down deep to focus on his current situation. He couldn’t afford to break down now.

Wishing he could tell them he was alright, he settled for rolling his shoulders. Forcing himself to ease the tension wracking his frame before nodding to the sentient tree. The gentle smile he received in return looked like it belonged on a child rather than a being of his stature.

When Groot lifted him with that same degree of gentleness and carried him from the room and down the corridor without so much as a jolt, he decided he would let the tree carry him for the foreseeable future.

The room they emerged into had to be a living area despite the cramped space. Though he supposed there wasn’t much space for soaring ceilings on board a ship. The room mostly consisted of a table surrounded by low couches, one of which he was deposited on rather gently to find the material beneath him was firm, but comfortable. It was perfunctory in its set-up, but the various bits and bobs strewn on every available surface, and the few even scattered on the floor, gave it the feeling of a well-lived-in space. It was comfortable, and he suspected it would be just as comfortable even if he wasn’t reclined on the couch. Clearly the people who lived on board spent a lot of time here.

Speaking of those people…

“It’s the human!”

A squeal rang out through the room and Charles jumped, eyes wide as someone practically flung themselves onto the couch beside him. On instinct, he recoiled warily until he realised the owner of the voice was a young woman with… antennae. Yes, they certainly looked like antennae, jutting from a head of silky black hair and eyes that were a similar colour. Large and shiny, like those of a bug. Charles couldn’t even think about shying away from such a fascinating sight. Especially when she had the same goofy grin on her face that he could easily see on his sister.

“Mantis, we’re trying not to scare him.” Quill came around to the front of the couch to try and usher her off, but she didn’t take her eyes off Charles and seemed not to hear the man as she waved him closer with a frantic gesture.

“Peter he’s so cute! You didn’t tell me humans could be so small.”

Small? Charles frowned and squared his shoulders a little to make himself not appear shrunken. Really, they looked to be the same size.

“He’s not that small, there’s smaller, like actual kids.”

“I thought he was a child.” Came a low, gravelly voice from behind Charles and he jumped half a metre, turning quickly to see a very large man standing behind the couch— and how had he not seen him earlier? He must’ve entered the room silently, impressive considering his size.

The man was shirtless and hairless, displaying an impressive expanse of grey skin decorated with a tapestry of red markings over what was a very solid build. Another humanoid alien, more human-looking at least than the raccoon and the tree.

“Drax! You’re scaring him.” The woman by his side, Mantis, snapped. She leaned over the couch and glared hotly at the man. Was that really for his sake? “Peter said he’s sensitive.”

Alright, he was not sensitive.

“Yes, because he’s a child.”

“He is not a child, I don’t think.” She glanced over at Quill for confirmation, and the man pulled a look similar to Charles’ own.

“No he’s not a child!” Quill spluttered like the remark was personally offensive, “Human kids are like way smaller. You’ve seen kids before.”

“Not human children.”

Mantis nodded along in agreement with the grey man, and Quill gave up on the argument, throwing his hands up in exasperation before he stalked over to the far side of the room, where a small, metallic staircase disappeared to a higher floor. The ship had multiple levels?

“Nebula! Team meeting!”

He didn’t get the chance to see if that call was answered, because as soon as Quill was gone, his vision was filled by Mantis’ face. She moved in far too close, and he was forced to lean back, a nervous look passing over his features when her wide, black eyes seemed to swallow him whole. Certainly, he wasn’t unfamiliar with strange physical features, but something about the way she looked through him was as unnerving as it was intriguing. Especially when he noticed her antennae were emitting a soft glow as they waved above her head. Maybe they served some communicative function, or were able to sense something in the air around them?

“Sorry about Drax, he didn’t mean to scare you.” She sounded the words out slowly, like she was talking to a toddler, and he tried not to take offence. It was entirely possible a doctorate meant nothing out here. Instead, he watched warily as she reached out, careful, before placing her hand on top of his, where it still rested on the couch.

Warmth spread from where she touched him. Blooming across his skin like the hot water bottles he would tuck against his chest when he was sick. It was comforting, familiar, and utterly fascinating because it was definitely not just the temperature of her skin.

“Oh!” Mantis gasped, eyes somehow blown wider as she looked back at Charles with a twin look of curious fascination. “You’re excited but still scared…”, his hackles raised in warning, “and getting more scared.”

Yes, he was scared. Was she reading his mind? He jerked his hand back like it had been burned and stared back at her with a hint of betrayal. She had acted so friendly, just like Raven, only to go ahead and probe his mind without him being able to defend himself—

“Don’t be scared!” She sounded upset now and looked it by the way she had recoiled just like he did. Mirroring his posture as she pressed against the opposite end of the couch. A deep frown marred her features and damn him, Charles felt bad. “Peter wanted me to make sure you weren’t too scared.” She was still using that slow tone, maybe that was just the way she talked. “I was just reading your emotions.”

Charles deflated against the arm of the couch. Right. Emotions. That did explain why he hadn’t felt that needling pressure in his skull like he did when Miss Frost had tried to enter his mind without permission. Mantis had just read the feelings floating at the surface of his mind. Like a bird skimming for fish across the sea. Low-level telepathy focused on a state of being rather than the being as a whole.

He relaxed a fraction and offered her the best awkward smile he could manage when he felt like a wrung-out dishcloth. Thankfully, that seemed to do the trick.

She smiled back at him a little… too wide. Then jumped up from the couch to greet the new arrival into the room. It was the blue lady from before and upon closer inspection, her blue skin held a matte, metallic sheen. Not organic then, was she a synthetic being? How fascinating.

“Nebula! Come see our new human.”

“We aren’t keeping him.” Her husky, low voice, coupled with her contemptuous stare, made his hair stand on end. Though he tried not to look so utterly pathetic as he felt by shying away from a glare alone as she approached. “One Terran is enough.”

“Maybe we just picked up a bad one and Tiny over here is better.” Rocket’s voice was loud for his small stature, commanding the attention of the room as he entered and clambered onto the couch opposite Charles with ease. Perhaps that was why they kept the seats low?

“Better than who? Me?” Quill let out a very fake laugh as he walked in behind Nebula. The room was decidedly smaller now that it was occupied by five people. Then, when Groot and Drax wandered in, the latter of whom glared across the room at the large.

“I already know the plan. Why do I have to listen to the small one talk?”

“He can’t talk genius, Tavin muzzled him.” Rocket grunted from where his tiny fingers were skating across the table between them, which, to Charles’ amazement, suddenly lit up with a boxy pattern of blue lights. It was like a three-dimensional computer screen, similar to the panels Tavin had used but much larger. He raised a hand in wonder and waved it through the closest box, watching as the light simply flowed around his fingers as if they weren’t an obstacle at all.

“I didn’t mean the Terran.” If the large man meant it as an insult, he didn’t show it. His scrunched-up face screamed frustration, boredom. Unmoved, even when faced with the raccoon’s literal snarl.

“You better have meant Quill then.” Rocket snapped and jabbed at the console again, bringing up a three-dimensional model of what looked like a strange and complicated building made out of glowing blue lines. “Praxis Prime, this is everyone. Everyone, say hi to the most secure casino outside of Nova Corps space.”

“Hi!”

“Hi.”

It didn’t look like any casino he’d ever seen, which he supposed was the crux of the situation. How did they expect him to help steal from a casino? Surely they weren’t planning to just make him read the minds of the dealers and win them scrap amounts of cash. Or try to read the vault codes and break in that way. He wasn’t sure he could even bring himself to agree if he did have his abilities, as stupid as it sounded. Steal or be stuck in space? He wished he had Raven’s flagrant disregard for moral obligation.

“The place is armed to the teeth with some very lovely anti-airship turrets, so we ain’t getting in if we go guns blazing.” Rocket grunted with a visible frown before gesturing to Quill at his left, “Thankfully, lame is Quill’s speciality.”

“Thanks.” With a huff, the human stepped forward and moved directly in front of the raccoon without sparing a glance at his affronted look.

“The Ravagers said there were vaults on every floor, but the one we want is at the top. Penthouse suite.” He pointed to the top of the model where the building tapered to a floor that was much smaller than the rest. In actuality, it was probably quite large, and the rest of the building was just unfathomably humongous judging by what looked like tiny trees scattered around the outside of the structure and barely making it past the first level. Seriously, why did someone need a casino that big? “The problem is that the guy with the code to the safe keeps it to himself, doesn’t trust anyone that works for him.” Quill’s lips pulled into a wry smile. “Probably because they all try to steal from him like, all the time.”

“I would too, he’s a flarking kajillionaire. What does he expect? People wanna be friends with him for his personality?”

“And what does he do with the ones he catches stealing from him?” Nebula’s breathy voice cut through the levity like an icy wind. Slicing straight to the point.

“Nothing to worry about.” The man avoided eye contact with the robotic woman, staring at the console, “He just, uhm… lobotomises them and keeps them as slaves.” Quill coughed and tapped at the screen again in earnest. Ignoring the alarmed look Charles sent his way. “But that’s why we have… him.”

All eyes were suddenly on Charles, and he felt numb horror climbing up his spine with jagged claws. No. No, absolutely not. It was exactly as he feared. They wanted him to pry into a very dangerous man’s mind and extract codes just so they could rob him blind. What was stopping them from using him and then just discarding him? They could just leave him there to be, what was it—lobotomised?! Ethical questioning aside, it was perhaps the most terrifying thing he could think of. He would be relying on these people entirely…

Then again, he already had. Already was. Did he have much of a choice?

“Taneleer was trying to screw us on the extractor deal, so we screwed him right back.” Rocket’s grin was a savage thing as he stood and gestured to Charles. “Tiny here’s a telepath. Once we get the collar off him, then we get our very own extractor. Then, in return, we can bring him back to Quill’s backwater planet or whatever.”

He wished he could tell them he abhorred the idea of extracting thoughts unwillingly. Not only was it an uncomfortable process physically, often leaving him with a terrible headache comparable to being hungover. But it was also emotionally nauseating, a mental violation, as people had often called it, which he couldn’t disagree with.

However, the promise of being returned home was too enticing to kick up a fuss just yet. His desperate hope must have shone out of his face again because Rocket pulled the same uncomfortable look he did earlier.

After a moment of contemplative silence, it was Mantis who spoke first, “His name is Tiny?” She leaned forward in her seat and looked Charles up and down like he’d have a nametag on for some reason.

“He doesn’t got a name, so I gave him one.”

“He probably has a name.” Quill chided, then, after an awkward pause, looked over at an expectant Charles awkwardly. Neither ‘kid’ nor ‘tiny’ were very flattering names and of course he longed to tell them he was Charles. Charles Xavier. To hear his name spoken by someone who wasn’t his captor. But just because his voice wasn’t working didn’t mean he couldn’t use the written word.

Charles made a gesture in the air like someone would ask for a bill at a restaurant, scribbling with an invisible pen and an earnest look. Regretfully, none of them seemed to understand what he was asking for, judging by their blank faces.

None except the human.

“Oh, pencil and paper,” Quill pointed a finger at him with a proud grin like he just solved a riddle, “Yes, awesome, okay.” He turned and went for the nearest pile of junk stacked precariously on top of a table behind the couch. There were odds and ends everywhere, but hardly any of it was recognisable. Save perhaps what looked like an old pair of earphones and a packet of… baseball cards?

“What the hell is a pencil?” Rocket griped, and Charles shot him a look of horror. Was the technology outside of Earth so advanced that they had done away with writing entirely? No, surely not. There had to be people out there who craved the tactile craft of tracing each letter and being able to ponder with each word you wrote, like himself, rather than just trying to get down as much as you could as quickly as possible.

“D’ast.” Quill cursed and half the bundle of cards poured onto the floor.

It seemed his fears were well-founded.

“Okay, I don’t have anything to write with.” The human paced back over to the assembled group and reached for the console instead. Swiping fingers across the hologram, he instead brought up a grid of strange symbols with a cocky smile. “But he can just use the keyboard on the com screen.” He said with an expectant gesture towards him.

Charles stared at the grid of symbols and tried to grapple with the fact that this was supposed to be a keyboard. There were double as many characters as they had back on Earth, and each was as unrecognisable as the last. At a cursory glance, none of them resembled letters from any of the languages he knew of. He scanned the screen once, twice. Then looked up hopelessly at Quill and watched his proud grin dim.

“He doesn’t understand galactic basic.”

“Yes, thank you Nebula, I got that.” He raised a hand as if to banish the glowing panel back to the table, only to hesitate when Charles’ hand suddenly shot up towards the grid.

There. A letter that at least partly resembled the English alphabet. He could work with that.

Touching the panel didn’t feel like coming into contact with anything physical, like he expected, but it did react to his input. The cross he selected glowed briefly, then appeared in the bar above the panel as a large, capital ‘X’.

“Tsc—?” At first, he thought the raccoon had simply hissed in confusion, but when Mantis echoed the sound exactly, he realised what it was. If only he had a pen and paper to jot down his learnings of this new language…

“No, it’s said like ‘ex’.” The only human on board piped up, seemingly relieved at the sliver of communication he’d been able to offer. At least it would stop the terrible nicknames for now. Until he got his voice back.

“X. Like ‘sex’?” Drax grunted in question.

On second thought, maybe Tiny wouldn’t have been that bad.

“Oh yeah, of course your mind goes there.”

“Nice to meet you, X! I’m Mantis, this funny little raccoon is Rocket—”

“I ain’t a raccoon!”

“But Peter said you were.” Mantis pouted.

“Quill wouldn’t know a Torkul’s mouth from its sphincter.”

“You are a raccoon!” Quill barked over Rocket from the other side of the room.

“Show me a friggin raccoon that can dismantle a Kree warhead and put it back together in two minutes!”

“It took you five! I was there!”

Charles sat back and watched the shouting match. Watched the way the other members of the ship who weren’t involved drifted back out of the room without so much as a hint of concern. More mild exasperation.

He could have been in his own lounge room, tucked into the couch, reading while Alex and Shaun had a shouting match in the kitchen. Hank and Raven would mutter between themselves about how childish they were being, even though they were all a similar age. Angel would be sitting on the sidelines like Mantis, watching the playful fight evolve with amused glee.

He pointedly avoided the gaping thing that yawned in the gaps of the carefully constructed memory. Muted the traitorous wound that festered where he’d moored it, deep, deep down in the depths of the ocean of his mind. Like some Lovecraftian abomination, he would go mad if he dredged it up to take a curious peek or prod.

Focus on the present.

The scene before him was all so achingly familiar that Charles shied away from where Mantis perched happily beside him, afraid she would pick up on the emotions and try to determine what was wrong.

How could he explain that even now, trapped in space far, far from home, he was steeped in memories. Aching for a life he would never have again.

Even if he ever did make it home.