Yondu isn't sure how long it has been since he had lost all reason, but when he comes back, it's like waking up from a dream he cannot quite remember. Like submerging from a sea of blood he had dived into all too willingly.

He is standing amidst a field of corpse when he becomes aware of his surroundings again, red fog over his eyes lifting slowly, and the Yaka arrow is circling him lazily, searching for more prey. There is blood on his clothes, and he is faintly aware that it is not his own, but he doesn't really care.

A groan resounded from his left, and when he glances over, he sees his crew – his men – getting up from the ground, patting themselves off. They have no more than a few scratches.

Of course not. They had not been his targets. If they had been, they would be just as dead as all the others.

"Capt'n?"

It's Kraglin who speaks, and it is the first time the young Xandarian looks at him like this – confused, a little bit shocked perhaps, insecure. As if he isn't sure if that's really Yondu standing before him.

Yondu can't blame him. He can't remember what exactly has happened, but the mangled corpses speak for themselves.

The question is… Why is he here again?

Memories come back slowly, dripping in much like the blood is dripping from his clothes. They had been drinking… a job gone right, a party had been about to start… only to be interrupted when there had been screams and yells and…

"Yondu! HELP!"

… there had been others, before, during the party, he remembered, not his men, but mercenaries, drinking next to them, talking to a few of the Ravagers… and one of them had handed him a paper, a Wanted poster, pointing at something – someone – sitting next to Yondu…

He had laughed and thrown the crumpled-up paper into the ugly guy's face, snarling at him.

"Ya think I give away a good little thief? Fuck off, jackass."

The mercenary hadn't liked that, had he. There had been weapons, and threats, and just when Yondu had made to stand up and get rid of them all – "Go hide, boy, go," – one of those a-holes had sneaked up from behind him and taken what was his…

"HELP ME!"

And… and he had… he had not been looking out for… for just a second, he had taken his eyes off…

The boy.

Peter.

The final piece clicks into place in Yondu's confused mind, and he whirls around, searching for what had to be there.

And there he is, sitting in the middle of the dirty road, right next to a puddle of blood. Peter is staring up at him, eyes wide and full of unshed tears. There is a streak of dirt and dried blood along the boy's cheek, a bruise blossoming around his left eye, and there – a gnash, a bloody red line across his face where the whip has hit him.

The whip.

"YONDU!"

"Will ye shut it, ye little brat!"

"LEMME GO! YONDU!"

CRACK!

The whip that had been meant to shut Peter up.

Yondu completely lost it when he had seen the whip cracking down, hitting Peter in the face.

…Whips crack around them whenever they take a wobbly step forward, Crack-Crack it goes when Yondu dares to step out of line, Crack-Crack, back to his sleeping place he is herded, Crack-Crack, down onto his back and face the hits rain until the young Centaurian screams and yells because he hasn't done anything wrong, he is just a slave, and that's enough to get punished to near-death…

"…Yondu?"

The voice is tiny and breaking, nothing like the yells and laughter and screams from his memories, and Yondu blinks, disoriented, until his gaze focuses on Peter again.

Who is still staring at him like a fearful little animal.

Boy has just seen him go on a rampage, whistling and growling his way through the ranks of mercenaries – not slavers – arrow cutting left and right and blaster firing until nothing was moving anymore.

It's the first time Peter has seen him kill, has seen him lose control like that, too, and it wouldn't surprise him if the boy was terrified to death because of him.

"Holy fuckin' shit," says someone – Tullk – beside him, but Yondu pays him no mind. He takes a careful step in Peter's direction.

.. and it has to be a good sign that the boy isn't backing away from him, right?

Yondu lowers himself to his knees, careful not to move too hasty, until he is on eye level with Peter.

Down here, the wound looks even worse, red and deep.

"Peter?" He is whispering without thinking about it, hoping that the boy won't bolt away from him like he is a monster.

Well, I am, ain't I?

"Yondu, I didn't cry."

That is not what he expected to hear, and he blinks, tilting his head towards the boy – the boy who still doesn't look scared, but looks at him with something akin to interest and hope.

"… What do ya mean, Quill?"

"I didn't cry," Peter says, insistently, and his gaze searches Yondu's face as if this is the most important thing and he needs to gauge the Ravager's reaction to it. "They hit me and yelled at me, but I didn't cry. And I bit one of them!"

Boy says it with so much pride and that determined gleam in his eyes – the one Yondu sometimes sees in the mirror – that it manages to pull a crooked smile from him, tension seeping out from him. "Ya did, huh? Let 'em feel your teeth back there."

Peter beams at him, even though the motion must be stretching the wound. "Uh-huh!"

And that's when Yondu understands, flabbergasted and unbelieving as he may be, that Peter is not afraid of him.

That child has just seen him massacre a troop of mercenaries and looks at him as if he is… his world.

This little Terran trusts me.

It's a heady, a weird thought. He is not used to it, but… he doesn't mind it. Not at all.

Yondu smiles wider, feeling an almost hysterical chuckle rise in his throat. He swallows it down, instead reaching for Peter. "C'me 'ere."

Peter follows willingly, letting himself be lifted up from the ground and onto Yondu's arms as the Ravager stands.

Kraglin is there at his side in an instant, offering something to the child. "I got yer Walkman, Pete. It fell down in the whole… ye know."

Peter's eyes go wide and he cheers loudly as he reaches for the device. Yondu half expects him to put the earphones on and turn the music on to seal the world out – to forget – but Peter doesn't, lets the headphones dangle around his neck and instead looks towards the other Ravagers who dare to come closer again, now that their Captain seems to have calmed down.

Tullk is the next one to reach them, already inspecting the damage.

"'S a mighty nasty cut there, Quill," the man rumbles as he inspects the cut over Peter's face, cradling the child's face between his giant palms as if it's a fragile and precious thing. "Ain't no promise that it will heal for good."

The thought doesn't seem to scare Peter. Quite the opposite, his eyes are bright and interested when he is released again, his first eager question being, "Will I get a cool scar from it, like Yondu or Kraglin?"

"Bahaha!" Throwing his head back in laughter, Tullk bellows over his shoulder, "Hear that, guys? Quill 'ere wants a cool scar!"

"Ain't gonna be no help with the ladies, Quill, if that what ye lookin' for. Ask Kraglin. No help at all."

"Oh, fuck off, Oblo," Kraglin gives back nonchalantly, not really angry.

"Ahaha!"

Yondu makes no move to intercept the cheerful discussion over wounds and scars and women. Instead he keeps his gaze fixed on the wall on the opposite of the street, letting his breath even out.

He is here, right now, free and unbound. No whips, no slavers…

Ain't the same as back then. Calm down.

The little weight nestling against his chest, head resting against his collarbone, is what pulls him back from the past.

Peter is getting heavier in his grip, the boy's eyelids dropping as he snuggles closer to Yondu's chest.

It shouldn't twist his cold old heart so much, the way in which Peter just assumes that he is save here, with him, with Yondu who could kill him in more ways than he can count and faster than he could look.

Silly, soft, trusting boy.

"Little Terran is getting sleepy over there," someone comments. "Had an excitin' day, aye?"

"Capt'n, should we take 'im?"

"'e's lookin' plenty cozy there, though."

"Hey Pete, you wanna stay with Capt'n?" It's Oblo who says it, flashing a quick grin when Yondu glares at him.

"Mmmmh," Peter mumbles, eyes falling closed completely as he all but clings to Yondu's coat, slumping against the Centaurian with a content sigh even while chuckles resound around them.

And it's then and there that Yondu realizes that he can't kill this boy. He would never be able to give the final whistle. His traitorous, twisting heart would not be behind it.

It should be a terrifying thought, being so powerless because of a child, but he finds that he doesn't mind nearly as much as he should.

He only hears the muttered comment because the others had stopped their friendly bickering right then, leaving the sharp words float audibly through the air.

"Boy is bein' way too much trouble for simple cargo."

The red fog that has already started to lift because Peter was here, he was save – it all comes rushing back, roaring in his ears, calling for blood.

The rest of the crew stiffens as Yondu goes very, very still.

Horuz realizes his mistake in the exact same moment, eyes going wide as Yondu turns towards him – and whistles.

The Yaka stops in his lazy circles (which now had been closer to Peter's head, a silent protection) and dives for Horuz. The man can't even scream before the arrow tip is right up to him, only a hair's breath away from his left eye.

He doesn't even dare to blink, let alone breathe.

"Cargo?" Yondu is growling, eyes flashing as bright as his arrow.

Peter's calm, even breath puffs against his neck, reminding him not to raise his voice, else he would wake the child up again.

But he didn't need to raise his voice. Not for this.

"Cargo, ya say?"

"Capt'n…!"

And there it is, the fear, the knowledge that one breath of air, one whistle would be enough to end his life. Yondu can see it dawning behind Horuz' eyes, and he pauses for a moment to take it in.

Then he whistles.

And bars his teeth in an unsettling grin as the arrow backs off and Horuz almost slumps to his knees in relief, pale and shivering.

"Now listen up, y'all," Yondu still doesn't need to raise his voice. Nobody dares to make a peep as he speaks. "He ain't cargo."

He remembers the glint in Peter's eyes, the boy yelling and trashing, refusing to succumb to fear. Remembers teeth digging into tormentor's hands and arms.

Remembers defiance and rage and single-mindedness.

Remembers that he has been given a second chance with this child of Ego.

Salvation.

He also remembers the way Peter had called out for him, the way blue eyes had lit up at the sight of him.

Trust.

"Peter Quill is crew."

And when Kraglin smiles and some of the others nod, and Peter mumbles something in his sleep, cuddling closer to the source of warmth that is Yondu, he knows that this is his final decision on this matter.

Peter Quill is crew, and nobody will ever lay a finger on him.