Okay, a little bit of background info on this story: I had originally intended for this to be a one shot (or a 5+1 shot if you would prefer) but each section ended up becoming it's own micro story and it just became easier to break them up into chapters rather than continue writing in a word document that was 30+ pages. So that's how this happened.

Second point of contention, writing Yondu is hard as hell! His method of speaking is a weird mix of sea captain and space hillbilly so hopefully it's not too hard to read! Also, I kept flipping back and forth between thinking I was writing him as a too much of a dick and then thinking he's OOC. I don't think he's such a bad guy to be honest but commanding a crew of thieves and thugs means you can't exactly be nice either.

Also, I have this head canon that Peter immediately came up swinging when he was abducted (he is pretty scrappy in both the comics and the movie) and I figured that might have been impressive enough for the Ravagers to decide to keep him around. Anyway, hope you guys like it! :D

A/N: I own nothing =/

Peter is six years old when his mother dies. He can hear sobbing and prayers and the long, screeching whine of the heart monitor but all of that means nothing because his mother is dead. He's screaming and thrashing, reaching for the bed and trying to touch her. She's so close but she's already gone, inches away and lost forever. Strong arms catch him around the waist, hauling him bodily out of the room and suddenly his grandfather is there, telling him to stay put and not to move. He turns and goes back into the room and Peter runs. He runs down the hall and away from the room and out of the hospital. He runs away from his family and the doctors and the nurses. His mother is dead and Peter runs.

It's cold outside, unseasonably cool and damp for this time of year, and the moon is high and glowing overhead. Tears blind him and a sob hitches in his throat and Peter collapses onto the cold, damp grass on the lawn. Small fingers dig into the dirt, palms pressed flat and shoulders heaving. His jeans are getting wet from the grass, cold water seeping into the denim, but he doesn't care. He sobs and coughs and chokes and none of it matters because his mother is dead and he's alone.

There's a dull whoosh somewhere overhead, a hum like an engine but it seems too close and too quiet. The world is suddenly washed out by a spotlight, the beam brighter than anything Peter has ever seen. He shields his eyes and tries to look up but it's blinding and he can't see anything at all. The light is focused directly on him and he feels like an ant caught beneath a magnifying glass.

Gravity suddenly shifts and abandons him, blocked out and pushed away like the very principle means nothing anymore. He's lifted off the ground, dragged toward the impossibly bright light, and he thinks he screams but he can't be sure. Air whips around him, buffeting his hair and clothes, and he has the distinct feeling that he's falling only he's going up. He feels sick and confused and he wants his mom.

He lands heavily on his knees on something solid and metal like a grate. The light is still bright and blinding but he can hear voices and movement around him. He can't see very much, his vision still white and splotchy from the spotlight, but he can make out the boots and legs and he knows he's not alone.

Rough hands grab him by the shoulders and drag him to his feet. He wobbles slightly and staggers, still dizzy and sick from the weird upward falling he just experienced. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision, but it's a slow process and everything is hazy.

"This the brat we were lookin' for?" a male voice asks and Peter is wheeled around to face a different direction. Through blurry, dark-spotted vision, he can just barely make out a bluish figure standing a few feet away.

The figure steps forward and grabs him by the chin, lifting his head and inspecting his face like he's trying to determine something. "Yep, looks like it. Only Terran I've seen that matches the description." The hand disappears and the blue figure nods to whoever is holding Peter still. "Take 'im below deck and get 'im strapped in for the trip. We won't get paid for busted up cargo."

The hands on his shoulders tighten and start to pull him away and Peter is finally pulled out of his stupor long enough to react. He panics and lashes out wildly, pointy elbow connecting with something solid behind him. There's a startled "oomph" and the grip on his shoulders loosens slightly. Peter uses that to his advantage and pulls away, running off in a dead sprint in an unknown direction. More hands reach out for him, grabbing at his clothes and his backpack, but Peter is small and quick and he knows how to use his size to his advantage. He ducks and dodges and weaves and manages to put enough space between himself and his captors to run.

There are loud, bellowing voices behind him, shouted orders and pounding footsteps, but Peter doesn't stop. He runs as fast as he can and he has no idea where he's going. He's in some kind of hallway, metal walls and grated floors, and there's a low vibration below his feet like he's standing on top of a giant engine.

A voice yells from behind and Peter runs faster, turning a corner and squeezing into a small space in between the walls of the hallway. Someone or something runs past him, grumbling in a deep, guttural language that Peter has never heard. The creature is human-ish but his skin is maroon and he has three eyes and Peter knows for a fact that he's not human.

The maroon-skinned man passes his hiding place without seeing him but comes to a stop a few feet away. He pauses and sniffs the air, head held high like a bloodhound on a trail. He turns suddenly, all three eyes locking onto the small crevice Peter has managed to wedge himself into, and he's coming back. Peter jolts slightly in fear, shrugging out of his backpack and swinging as hard as he can.

The bag catches the maroon-skinned man in the face and he staggers in surprise, tumbling backward and sprawling onto the grated floor. Peter doesn't wait for him to get up as he pulls out of his hiding place and runs the opposite direction. There are voices echoing everywhere, bouncing off the walls and reverberating in his ears, and Peter runs for his life.

The hallway opens out to a wide deck, a large, panoramic window spanning across the open space. Peter stops dead in his tracks. The world outside has gone dark and inky, a velvety black that he's never seen before. Off in the distance, like a tiny, glowing lightbulb, he sees a small bluish dot. It doesn't look like anything but he recognizes it almost instantly. His stomach drops and he feels sick all over again; he's staring at the earth and it's getting further and further away by the second. He's all alone, he's not even on his planet anymore, and he doesn't know what to do.

A hand latches onto the back of his shirt and jerks him backward roughly. Peter still has no idea what's going on, he has no idea who these people are or even where he is, but he's definitely not going down without a fight. He swings wildly but the blow is easily blocked, his tiny fist swatted away like an annoying insect. The grip on his shirt is tight and almost painful and a strong arm bars itself across his chest, pinning him tightly against whoever/whatever it is that has him. He struggles frantically for a second but the grip doesn't loosen.

"Alright, alright," a deep voice mumbles from behind him and he can feel the muscles tense in the arm that's holding him still. "Enough of that. You keep thrashin' around like that an' tryin' to fight everyone on this ship an' we might be forced to tie you up an' toss ya in the engine room. An' you don't want that, do ya?"

Peter stops struggling then, trembling all over and breathing hard. His hands are gripping the leather clad arm across his chest tightly, hanging on like it's the only thing keeping him upright. In reality, it probably is; grief and fear have caused him to feel heavy and shaky all over like he has weights tied to him. He sags a bit and the arm holds him up, strong and vice-like across his chest.

"There ya go," the voice says and he's shaken just a little in approval. "Easy does it, killer."

He's still not sure who/what is holding him but he sees a blue hand emerging from the leather sleeve pinning him down. He thinks it might belong to the same blue blur he saw earlier but there's no way to be sure. He's dimly aware of other people approaching, heavy boots on top of the grated floor as they come closer. They stop a few feet away and Peter finally chances a glance up.

The people before him look normal enough with a few odds and ends that make them not quite human. Some have brightly hued skin, some have scales, some have claws and talons, but they're all bipedal and at least marginally humanoid. The one closest to him, a man with closely shorn hair and patches of facial hair, takes a careful step forward, his eyes never leaving Peter's face. "Quite the little fighter we picked up, eh Yondu?"

The person behind him chuckles quietly and the arm across his chest keeps him still. "Yeah, kid's gonna be a handful, that's for sure."

"So what're we supposed to do with 'im now?" someone asks from the back and Peter is suddenly aware that he's the absolute center of attention.

"Dunno," another intones flatly, dark, beady eyes scanning the boy critically. "Maybe we should eat 'im?"

"Yeah," yet another voice chimes in from off to the side. "Let's eat 'im! Never had Terran before."

There's a surge of movement forward and Peter is dimly aware that holy shit, they're seriously about to eat him, when the arm across his chest tugs him backward a little and a sharp whistle stops the advance.

"'Ey!" the voice behind him bellows and Peter can literally feel the vibration of the words as they're spoken. "Ain't no one eatin' anyone on this ship. The Terran ain't for eatin, understand?"

There's a soft grumble of assent among the other crew members and they back off slightly. "Well, then what're we supposed to do with 'im?" someone asks again and Peter has kind of been wondering the same thing.

The maroon-skinned man from the hallway sneers and casts a dark, dangerous glare at Peter. "Just throw the little monster in the cargo hold until we get back into known space. The sooner we get it off the ship, the better." A few of the other crew members nod in a agreement and some look like they're still wondering what he might taste like.

The person behind him, Yondu, seems to consider the proposal for a moment before coming to a decision. "Change 'a plans," he announces loudly so everyone standing in front of them can hear. "The boy's stayin' with us. Kid's already proved he's more than strong enough to take down you sorry lot. Who knows, with a little groomin' we could make a proper Ravager outta him in no time."

The maroon-skinned man scowls at the proposition. "Him? A Ravager?" he snarls, jerking his head toward Peter. "You can't be serious, Yondu."

There's a soft cluck of disapproval from behind him and Peter glances just enough over his shoulder to see his captor glare at the other man. "Last I checked, Mr. Krc, I was the Captain 'a this here ship, not you. I say the kid stays and that's final. From now on, the Terran boy is part 'a our crew. Anyone got a problem with that, they can come to me." He levels his gaze with Krc, eyes narrowing even further. "Do I make myself clear?"

There's a very faint rumble of assent around the other members of the crew, all grudgingly agreeing to the newest addition to their ship. None of them seem very happy with the arrangement but they all seem to fear/respect their Captain enough not to protest. The only one who seems ready to fight the decision is Krc but he wisely chooses to keep his thoughts to himself.

"Good, then it's settled," the Captain says with an air of finality. "The kid stays. Now, back to yer stations, the lot 'a you. This ship ain't gonna run itself."

"You all heard the Captain," the other man, the one closest to them, says, ushering the other crew members away. He's not quite as feared as the Captain but he holds enough of a title (first mate, maybe?) to command the crew with equal authority. "Back to work."

They listen to him, still somewhat grudgingly, and trudge away from the deck of the ship. There's a lot of grumbling and muttering but they do leave until the only ones who remain on the deck are Peter, the first mate, and the Captain.

"You sure about this, Yondu?" the other man asks after a moment, turning back to face the Captain once the others have left. "You know if we don't deliver the kid to-"

"Eh, screw that," the Captain cuts him off, dismissing the rest of the sentence with a flippant wave of one hand. "That guy's a jackass. Kid like this ain't gonna be no good on a planet like Spartax an' you know it. He's tough, a fighter, he's Ravager material through and through." The arm across Peter's chest shakes him a little again and the Captain laughs. "'Sides, I always wanted a pet."

For some reason, that's what does it. Peter can't hold it in any longer and he doesn't even try. Hearing these strange, strange people talk about him like he's nothing more than a piece of cargo, calling him a monster and pet, he just falls apart. The sob that works its way through him is deep and silent, starting from his core and shaking him from the inside out. He grips the leather clad arm and lets out a choked, hiccuping little sob, tears streaming down his face and dripping to the floor.

For a brief moment, neither the Captain nor his first mate move. They seem taken aback by the boy's crying and aren't really sure what to do now that it's started. They look at each other, down at the child, and then back at each other. This was not part of the plan...now what?

"Ah, hell," the Captain mumbles with a groan and suddenly the arm pinned across Peter's chest is released. Peter is shaking all over, trying his hardest to suppress his sobs, and he doesn't even realize that the blue skinned man is now crouching down in front of him.

"Listen, kid," the Captain starts, eyeing the crying child like he's not too sure what to do in this kind of situation. Maybe kids cry when they're about to explode; hell, he doesn't know. "First rule 'a bein' a Ravager is that Ravagers don't cry."

Peter sniffs and hiccups and cries some more. "I don't want to be a Ravager," he says with another broken little sob. "I wanna go home."

The blue man sighs and shifts so he's sitting down on the grated floor instead of crouching. It puts him closer to eye level with the crying child so maybe that will help. "Hate to tell ya this, boy, but ya can't go home. Ya see, we ain't the only ones with orders to find you. There's a whole lotta people out there lookin' for you, kid, and most of 'em ain't so nice; mean, dangerous people who'd probably skin you just as soon as look at ya. Now us Ravagers, we ain't exactly known throughout the galaxy for our hospitality but I can promise that yer safer here with us than ya would be with some a' the others out there."

Peter sniffs a little and swipes a hand across his eyes. "Why're people looking for me?"

The blue skinned man shrugs one shoulder and turns crimson eyes to gazes out the large window. "Couldn't tell ya, kid. All I know is that we found ya first and that means we get to decide what to do with ya."

Peter watches him carefully for a moment, scrubbing the tears from his eyes with the back of one hand. The man before him is probably one of the strangest looking people he's ever seen in his short life. Blue skin, red eyes, mouth full of crooked teeth; Peter should probably be terrified of him and yet he doesn't seem all that bad. At least not now. Maybe he's just numb from everything that had happened that day but for some reason Peter isn't afraid.

He remembers one of the last things his mother told him, her soft, breathless words as she struggled to speak. She had talked about his father, how he was coming to get him once she was gone. She called him an angel, she said he was made of light. Well, there had been plenty of lights when he was plucked off the ground and pulled into the ship, that was for sure. The blue man in front of him certainly doesn't look like an angel but, then again, he's never seen an angel before so he supposes they could look like just about anything.

"Are you an angel?" he asks quietly, his eyes still focused on the man in front of him.

The Captain looks equal parts surprised and amused by the question and laughs loudly in first mate starts laughing too and Peter really doesn't understand what's so funny about his question.

The blue man finally sobers up enough to shake his head, still chuckling quietly. "Now where would you get a fool idea like that?"

Peter chews his lip and fidgets a little. "My mom told used to tell me my dad was like an angel and I just thought-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," the Captain says, holding up a hand to prevent the sentence from going any further. "Boy, I may look pretty as an angel but I sure as hell ain't one. And I certainly ain't yer daddy, neither." He levels his crimson eyes on Peter. "I'm yer Captain and that's the closest yer gonna get."

Peter's breath hitches just a little at the denial. This man wasn't his father (not that he was hoping for that or anything) and he was still just as alone as he had been before. He wants to cry again but he doesn't know if he even has the energy for it.

The Captain seems to notice his distress and lets out a quiet breath. "But, if ya promise not to start anymore fights an' keep yerself outta trouble, I'll be sure to keep an eye on ya an' teach ya how to be a proper Ravager. Sound good?"

Peter hesitates for a moment before nodding. He doesn't really have a choice and, if what this man was saying was true, this might be his best option. He sniffs once more and nods shakily. "Okay."

"Atta boy," the blue man praises, clapping him on the back heavily. The blow doesn't hurt but it's strong enough to nearly knock Peter over. A blue hand catches him easily and keeps him upright. "Alright, kid, chin up," the Captain tells him, tapping him beneath the chin lightly to lift his head. "Yer a Ravager now. Ya got a reputation to uphold."

Peter does as he's told and a blue hand tousles his hair roughly. The Captain climbs to his feet and nods to his first mate. "Kraglin, why don't ya take the kid with you and go find 'im some clothes. Lord knows he's gonna grow outta those in no time," he says, looking Peter up and down once as if appraising the dirty clothes he's still wearing.

"You got it," the first mate, Kraglin, says with a nod and reaches out to usher Peter along with him. "Come on, kid, follow me. Can't be a Ravager dressed like that."

Peter follows along wordlessly, glancing back over one shoulder to the wide expanse of black space outside the window. He can't see the earth anymore, that tiny, glowing blue dot in a sea of black. The only blue thing he sees is the Captain, standing tall and imposing with his crimson eyes and his leather coat. His world is gone, his mother is gone, he's all alone on this strange ship with these strange people.

His mother used to call him brave, she called him strong. He can't let her down now. He swallows hard and follows Kraglin deeper into the ship.

Peter is six years old when he becomes a Ravager.

Thanks for reading guys!