Title: Intergalactic Priority Mail

Author: Jedi Buttercup

Disclaimer: The words are mine; the world is not.

Rating: T/PG-13

Summary: The real question was, what had Peter's mother been doing that would warrant the effort of tracking him down and sending a letter so far away from Earth? And how much trouble was it going to get them into? 9000 words.

Spoilers: Post-Chosen; Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)

Notes: A short series of connected ficlets written for the 2014 Twistedshorts challenge. No intentional comics canon, bar some convenient facts plucked from Wikis; lyric excerpts at the end by Avicii, from "Hey, Brother". Originally posted to LJ in August.

Buffy frowned as she cross-checked the list of Potentials the Council had released – aka, ditched – back in the 70s with the library of Watchers' journals that had, luckily, been scanned and saved to a secure website before the big boom.

"Found another one," she said, giving Willow a concerned look.

Her friend and fellow co-leader of the new Council signed their names to the latest letter with a flourish, then tapped it with the end of her pen and looked up. The paper folded itself in a shower of gold sparks; then a name appeared on the outside, scrawled in black ink, and the letter disappeared with a pop.

"Another one?" Willow made a wry face. "I guess at some point I should stop being surprised. You had Giles, after all – he couldn't have been the only Watcher that didn't feel right about abandoning their charges. Especially the Potentials who didn't have anyone else to go back to."

Buffy nodded. "I don't think it's good news this time, though; Meredith Quill's Watcher may not have turned in his last journal, but Google found a death notice for her ... dated to 1988."

"Eighty-eight?" Willow eyed the window open to the journal index on Buffy's laptop, then visibly did some counting in her head. "And he still didn't report in? If he isn't dead – and I'm assuming you'd have said if he was – then I bet you anything there's a kid. You remember Robin's story."

"The records kinda dead end with Meredith. But I'd bet you're right. If he got to the paperwork in the pre-dig era, we'd never know." She sighed. "I guess ... address a letter to her kid, generically? And if it goes, we'll at least know there's another heir out there. God knows the Council's blood money can't make up for what they – for what we – lost; but we can't just sit on all these huge bank accounts without trying to do something. And they deserve to know what their loved ones' lives were really like, even if they don't believe us."

Willow patted her hand, then turned back to the stack of fancy paper and lifted her pen. "To the living heir..."

"...of Meredith Quill," Peter read aloud to his mismatched team. "I know no monetary compensation can ever make up for the loss of your mother. However, it has come to our attention that as the child of one of the students who attended our predecessor organization, the Watcher's Council, you may be eligible to claim the sum of her back pay, regretfully not sent to her before her death, as well as certain papers and journals compiled during her term of training..."

"Back pay?" Rocket's ears twitched in interest. "Does it say how much?"

Peter scanned down the rest of the letter, skimming over a lot of vague language that tripped his finely honed bullshit detector. "No, actually. It does sound a lot like one of those junk mail scams, doesn't it?"

"Why would anyone go to the expense of mailing junk?" Drax added his contribution.

Peter raised an eyebrow Drax's way – then waved him off when he saw the spark in the overly-literal alien's eyes. Drax might not understand metaphors, but he was getting better at recognizing them, and even more so at figuring out how to push Peter's buttons.

"No – the real question is, what was she doing that would warrant the effort of tracking you down and sending the letter all the way out here?" Gamora put in with a furrowed brow.

"An excellent question," Peter frowned, scanning the letter again. "It doesn't. And you're right – the fact that they found me at all is really weird."

"And you thought your dad was a mystery," Rocket snarked. "Think there might be something in it, then?"

Peter stared at his mother's name in the opening of the letter a moment more, then over at the tape deck where Awesome Mix #2 had been installed since the Xandarians had rebuilt his ship. Then he scanned his friends' faces: implacable Drax, avaricious Rocket, and Gamora, who looked concerned, probably remembering the stunt he'd pulled to retrieve Awesome Mix #1 – and why. He already knew what they'd all say. But they weren't the whole team.

"What do you think, Groot?" he asked the sentient plant form, still only about Rocket's height, but at least finally free of the pot Rocket had rerooted him in.

Groot tilted his head thoughtfully – he really did have a pretty expressive face, for a being made of wood, once you got used to it – and nodded. "I am Groot," he intoned, positively.

"All righty, then," Peter shrugged. "We were between jobs anyway – and it has been a long time since I've been back to Terra. We could even combine it with some data gathering," he nodded to Drax and Gamora. "I heard they had a run-in with some of Thanos' minions a couple years back."

"What are we waiting for, then?" Rocket asked, then crossed his arms. "Besides a little more of a plan? You aren't wanted there by any chance, are you?"

"C'mon, Rocket, I was a kid when Yondu picked me up." Peter rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, and? That's meant to reassure me why...?" Rocket crossed his arms.

"How about you hold your horses while I finish reading the letter, maybe?" Peter snarked back.

"I see no horses here," Drax stuck his oar back in, still digging for a reaction.

Peter sighed, but couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from curling up. Some days, he could hardly remember what his life had been like before meeting the four he now called friend.

But he was about to revisit that past – in memory of his mother, once again.

He wondered just who this 'Willow Rosenberg' and 'Buffy Summers' were, and if they had any idea what they'd really invited to their doorstep by sending him that letter.

One way or the other – he was kinda looking forward to finding out.

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