Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Adam Warlock, the fated perfection who yet didn't know how most of things worked.

Little did he know he was bounded to something he's yet to comprehend. A mystical power and another soul he'd to encounter.

---

Adam sat in the corner of the ship, watching as the familiar chaos of his new family unfolded around him. It already had been a year since he had emerged from his cocoon, bound to a power far greater than anything he could comprehend. The Guardians had taken him in, even if they weren’t entirely sure what to make of him at first. Over the months, though, Adam had grown accustomed to their bickering, their laughter, and their unpredictable camaraderie.

He’d even learned to love it.

Rocket was tinkering with the ship’s engine again—probably breaking something in the process—and Peter was loudly complaining about it as usual. Gamora was doing her usual thing, polishing her knives with a practiced grace, and Drax… well, Drax was Drax, staring at the others with a blank expression, occasionally muttering something profound—or unintentionally hilarious.

“Can you please stop breaking everything?” Peter groaned from the cockpit. “We’re supposed to be going to Knowhere, not… wherever you’re sending us with your ‘improvements’!”

Rocket shot back from below, his voice laced with annoyance. “Hey, you don’t fix a ship by playing air guitar, Shit-Lord!”

Adam couldn’t help but chuckle softly at their antics, leaning back in his seat, his golden skin still glistening faintly under the dim lights. He had learned to appreciate the unpredictability of life with the Guardians, so contradictory to where came from. There was something freeing about being around people who didn’t expect him to be perfect, who accepted his flaws and let him grow into who he was meant to be.

“What’s the mission this time?” Adam asked, his voice deep and thoughtful as he looked up from his seat, his golden eyes fixed on Peter, who had now stopped arguing with Rocket and was navigating through the stars.

"We’ve got a job," Peter answered with a grin, his hands expertly guiding the ship through the cosmos. “A few jackasses stole something from this one place, and we’re gonna get it back. Then we’re gonna make a profit. You in?”

Adam raised an eyebrow, still not entirely comfortable with the idea of “making a profit” in the way the Guardians did, but he was growing more and more accustomed to their odd moral compass. He nodded slowly. “What did they steal?”

“Some weird cube,” Rocket said, his voice dripping with non-excitement from below the cockpit. “Big, shiny cube, but it’s worth a fortune.”

“Fortune?” Adam repeated, trying to make sense of the word. “What is it exactly? And why is it so valuable?”

“Because it’s dangerous,” Gamora spoke up from behind, glancing at Adam with a sharp look. “Powerful. And in the wrong hands, it could cause a lot of damage. We’re taking it back, and maybe making a little something on the side.”

Drax looked over from his seat with a serious face. “If it is dangerous, then we will destroy it.”

“Yeah, no,” Peter interjected, shaking his head. “We’re not destroying it. We’re taking it back and getting rich. There’s a market for this kind of thing.”

Adam frowned, feeling a strange tug at the back of his mind. Something about the way they talked about the object made him uneasy. His soul—seemed to resonate with an ancient understanding he didn’t fully grasp yet. It was as though he knew the magnitude of what they going against, as if they were old enemies, destined to cross paths again.

But he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that there was more to this than they realized. If so dangerous the object, it couldn't just be a cube, there has to be more to it. 

“We’ll be there soon,” Peter continued, pulling Adam from his thoughts. “And if these Ravagers want to fight us for it, then so be it. We’re not backing down.”

Adam looked out toward the vastness of space, the stars stretching infinitely before him. A deep part of him—something older, something buried—understood the true cost of what they were after. He didn’t know how he knew it, but the soul that had been bound to him by the Stone whispered, a cold and distant voice: There are fates worse than death.

As Knowhere drew closer in the distance, Adam’s gaze hardened. Whatever this mission was, it was about to change everything—for him, for the Guardians, and for the universe itself. It was more than just an artifact. It was a piece of something far larger...

And something inside him knew it.

---

Arrived their headquarters, they all studied the entire plan. It seemed like the cube was going to be sold to The Collector by an anonymous person in a nearby restaurant, so the plan was stealing it before this happened.

Gamora had requested this be a three man mission. Two entertainers and the runner.

Gamora and Quill would act as a couple in the restaurant to spy and identify the anonymous person, Adam would receive orders to attack, rob and run.

Sounds easy, what could possibly go wrong?  

Chapter Text

Aesir, God, Giant... A talented liar or even just someone's brother. 

Loki, Loki Odinson, that problematic soul of Asgard. He was on a selfish mission to save his skin, as Thanos has threatened his life if he didn't content his desire of obtaining the stones.

---

The golden halls of Asgard stood silent beneath a sky bruised with twilight. Heimdall stood at the edge of the realm, his massive sword stabbed into the stone beside him, watching all things—as always.

Loki appeared behind him in a flicker of green and shadow, his boots making barely a sound on the stone. But Heimdall, of course, didn’t turn.

“Still sneaking around like a thief, Loki. You forget—I see you coming before you even decide to move.” Loki smirks to the deity comment, as his efforts to be quiet fail once more against him.

“And yet you let me in. You must be softening.” Full of pride answers the mischief, stepping closer.

“You’re here looking for answers. The stones.”

“I don’t suppose you’d be so kind as to tell me anything, right?” Lokis tone been turned more dull, as loses faith in Heimdall's character.

“No. Because I’ve seen what happens when you find it.”

"Stupidity. You know what’s at stake. My life is running out, Heimdall. There are debts I must pay—ones that demand more than cleverness. A single stone could save me.” Loki out of character demanded answers, being a prince was a privilege and he was sick of not getting the answers he wanted. He's always been a person who put himself over others, it was time he got this matter fixed up, or so he thought.

"You've always been lost, child... but what you look for is right underneath your breath. I will be fair and spit out something helpful for you." Air felt dense and cold...

Loki felt anxious over this fate Heimdall feared to a secret, yet he didn't care. "So speak, Heimdall."

"What you look for breathes and it has tint of the sun in its skin. A soul who is as lost as yours." Heimdall stopped his sentence as this was the end of the conversation, this riddle was everything he was whiling to give, Loki knew it.

"You're beyond insane if you think that'll help me." With that said, Loki left the Bifrost with hurry, angered and sickened by only being able to obtain useless riddles. "Not even father would set me for failure like you just did." 

---

Weeks had passed since Heimdall’s cryptic words. Loki had replayed his words over and over, turning it inside out, analyzing every possible meaning. He mapped realms, traced bloodlines, even summoned echoes of long-dead seers. All for nothing.

The answer remained maddeningly out of reach. And Loki, for all his cleverness, for all his pride, was running out of time.

The decay in his soul—the silent rot gnawing at the edges of his magic—grew worse by the day. Every spell he cast cost more than it should. Every illusion flickered a second too late. He hid it well, of course. But he knew he was overdoing his search.

He was running out of time.

Then, at last, a flicker of hope.

While reaching through the web of ley lines between realms, Loki’s magic snagged on something old—something ancient and vibrant, humming with a familiar signature. Not exactly the stone he was looking for… but something tied to it. Something that smelled like one of them.

A faint echo. A pulse of power.

It was coming from a drifting place at the edge of known space—Knowhere.

Loki had been there before. A disgusting place, full of scavengers and fools too drunk or too desperate to care about what they stepped over. But now, it glowed in his mind like a thread of gold in a sea of ash.

Chapter Text

The eyes who meet.

---

A not-so-good-looking restaurant and a mission. Gamora and Peter both sat at the bar, inspecting the whole building while they waiting for any signs. Adam stood alone, in a shadowed corner. He still didn't feel comfortable around a huge crowd—and tonight, for his unlucky part, the place was packed.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. Still no signs of a target.

“You sure we on the right place?” Peter whispered, already drinking a cup of alcohol to calm his nerves.

Gamora on another hand was already annoyed by Peters lack of patience. “It is the right place, so be quiet and have your senses up.” She said sharp, taking the cup away from him and drinking the rest, deep inside she was also anxious.

It didn't seem promising, the night went by, they could even see Adam lose himself with no signals, he was as frustrated as them.

Until finally, a suspicious figure with a bag came inside, walking closer and closer until he ended up sitting exactly between Peter and Gamora. Adam noticed this and frowned, out of plan—they thought he'd sit with the collector at one of the tables. 

When the man leaned in and started whispering to Peter, Adam noticed something worse: a flash of metal—a weapon.

Without thinking, he pushed off the wall, moving to intercept—

—but someone faster than him slammed into his shoulder, nearly knocking them both down.

Adam immediately lifted his gaze to the person: a woman with vivid green eyes and dark hair, her pale skin catching the low lights of the bar. Goosebumps prickled up Adam’s arms. Something about her was wrong. He spoke cautiously. “My apologies.”

Their eyes met—emerald green framed by lashes dark as night. Adam didn’t know much about beauty standards, but even he could tell she was gorgeous. Dangerously so.

“You don’t look from around here,” he said, voice cordial but firm, cautivated for a brief moment.

The woman smiled thinly. “Neither do you. Mind your business, cutie.”

He planned to just ignore her and go back to his friends, they needed help. But the echo of her nickname to him did a damage Adam never experienced before... his heart jumped, out of words.

But for when he regained his-self and turned around, his friends were already out of scene.

The bar chairs were empty.

No Gamora.

No Peter.

No strange man.

He turned back again to the woman, yet she was nowhere to be seen. Adam widened his eyes and clenched his first under realization.

“Distraction,” Adam growled under his breath. “Damn trickster.” He realized it too late—the woman had been a distraction. And he had fallen for it like an idiot, mesmerized.

Loki, who succeeded in his objective now shifted his a back to normal appearance, fading in the shadows. Now hidden in the crowd, he watched the golden fool turn, confusion flashing across his too-perfect face.

"Pathetic, really. So easy to distract. So easy to toy with." Lokis thoughts drew some pleasure on his face, him not noticing he was also mesmerized, although a different way.

After being out of range; Loki allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. Tugging his cloak tighter as he melted deeper into the shadows, gone in seconds. Loki didn’t know exactly what Adam was hiding yet—but he knew this much: whatever it was, it would be his.

And if he thought this was the last time he’d see him... He had no idea who he was dealing with.

The night spiraled fast outside the bar.

The man with the bag barely made it to the street before Gamora grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against a wall.

Peter moved fast too, dodging a wild punch from another goon who had been lying in wait.

It was an ambush—and they were outnumbered.

Gamora took down two attackers with brutal efficiency, her knives flashing under the neon lights.

Peter wasn’t as graceful—he caught a nasty punch to the face—but he held his ground, landing a few solid blows of his own.

It was messy.

Loud.

Sloppy.

But when it was over, Gamora and Peter stood victorious, bruised and breathing hard, while the original man—the one with the bag—knelt at their feet, blood dripping from his nose.

Peter wiped his own bleeding lip and leveled a blaster at the man’s forehead.

“The cube,” Peter growled. “Where is it?”

The man laughed, coughing blood.

“You’re too late,” he rasped. “It’s already sold. Collector’s got it.”

Peter cursed under his breath.

Gamora didn’t hesitate—she slammed the man unconscious against the wall, letting him crumple like a sack of rocks.

“Great. We fell in the trap like morons.”

The fight was over.

And so they had no option but to leave empty-handed.

Inside the bar, Adam blinked slowly, the noise and colors still swimming around him.

The spell laid upon him was over, but it had left him disoriented, almost as if time had skipped forward without him.

He stumbled through the crowd toward the door, heart racing. But when he pushed outside—

—Nothing.

No sign of anything or anyone, just some drunken ones throwing up and doing their own thing. Adam turned in place, searching for a familiar face… but found none.

He was alone.

And for the first time in a long while, he realized he might have just made a terrible mistake, a mistake he was forced to fix... after all what perfect creature wouldn't seek fixing in mistakes?

He had to find that woman at all cost.

---

Later, back at the Guardians’ base

Rocket barked a laugh the second Peter limped through the door, clutching his bruised nose. “Looks like somebody lost a fight with a ten-year-old!” Rocket howled.

Peter shoved past him, seething. “Shut it, furball.”

Drax crossed his arms in disappointment “This failure is shameful. Had I been present, I would have crushed them. No cube would have escaped.”

Peter ignored him, sinking into a chair with a groan. The loss burned in Peter's gut. Gamora paced back and forth, eyes flashing.

The job had been simple—in theory. Get the cube, sell it, earn enough credits to survive another month.

Now they had nothing.

Rocket smirked, kicking his feet up. “So… not only did you lose the cube, but our shiny golden boy just poofed?” He shrugged, not even disappointed, it was expected from Peter in this kind of mission.

Peter shot him a glare. “He was right there! Flirting with some random girl instead of watching our backs!” The anger simmered. He clenched his fists, feeling the blood still trickling from his split lip.

Gamora stopped pacing and finally made the question with a cold and tense tone that set everyone in silence.

“…Where is Adam?” 

No one knew where Adam was.

Chapter Text

Adam finally made it back to the ship hours later. The hallways were dim, only a few emergency lights flickering. He stepped inside quietly, half-hoping maybe everyone had already gone to sleep.

No such luck.

The second the door slid shut behind him, Peter’s voice rang out from across the room: “Look who finally decided to show up.”

Adam froze. Gamora was there too, arms crossed, expression sharp and cold. Rocket sat perched on the couch, grinning wickedly, and Drax stood by the wall, looking like he wanted to punch something—preferably Adam.

“I—” Adam started, but Peter cut him off, voice tight with anger. “We lost the cube. Because you weren’t there.”

Adam swallowed hard. “I didn’t leave you. I…” He struggled for the right words. “I was distracted. Someone distracted me.”

Rocket let out a sharp laugh. “By what? A shiny object?”

“No,” Adam said quickly. “A person. She—” He faltered. Just remembering her made his skin prickle, the way her green eyes had locked onto his, the way the world seemed to tilt for a moment. “There was something strange about her. I could feel it. Like… like she wasn’t real.”

Gamora stepped forward, eyes narrowing. “So you abandoned the mission over a gut feeling?”

Adam stiffened. “I didn’t abandon anything. I didn’t even mean to…” His voice faded. The shame was real, but so was the confusion.

He looked up at them, searching for words, but found only honesty. “It wasn’t normal. She made everything—” he hesitated, almost embarrassed, “—feel wrong. I couldn’t tell what was real, she looked so...” He stopped, thinking about her once again, could even say his cheeks had blushed. "Then she touched me and I—” He trailed off, frowning deeply. “I don’t know what she did.”

Peter shook his head, pacing in frustration. “You froze because a pretty girl looked at you. Great. Real professional.”

Adam’s hands curled into fists. “It’s not like that,” he said, sharper than he meant.

Gamora crossed her arms tighter. “What did she want?”

“I don’t know,” Adam admitted. “I don’t even know who she was.”

Peter let out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, well, while you were out getting hypnotized or whatever, we lost the cube, or the Tesseract, whatever the fuck they called it.”

For a long, heavy moment, no one said anything. The ship felt smaller than usual, tighter—like the walls themselves were judging him too.

Gamora’s voice finally broke the silence, softer but cutting: “Next time, Adam… when we need you—be there.” She turned and walked away without waiting for an answer. Drax followed, muttering something about how he would have “...crushed the enemy into pieces the size of pebbles.”

Rocket gave Adam one last smirk before hopping down and disappearing into the vents. Leaving Peter, alone at the far end of the room, just staring at him.

“You’re part of this team,” Peter said. “Start acting like it, dude.” Then he, too, was gone.

Adam stood there, fists clenched at his sides. Alone. Again.

But this time, it wasn’t just guilt sitting heavy on his chest. It was something else. Something he didn’t understand. A lingering feeling that the encounter wasn’t over. That whoever—whatever—that woman was, she had left something behind inside him.

And Adam Warlock didn’t like mysteries he couldn’t solve.

---

Later that night, eaten from the inside by a restless feeling, Adam couldn’t sleep or think about anything that wasn’t related to that woman. He stood up, now walking around the dark ship quarters, and pulled at his hair in frustration. He truly didn’t understand it. All he knew was that his face was burning hot—from pure, concentrated anger.

Did he really lose focus over a person he had never seen before? A woman so ethereal she captivate him?

It was impossible. There had to be more to it, after all Adam never showed any primal instinct like that before.

He had enough. Adam stood, slipping out of the ship into the cold night air. But even that didn’t help. His thoughts were a mess, a fog he couldn’t shake.

A woman… which beauty seemed out of place.

No. it had to be something else.

At least he had some clue now. But why would she go after the tesseract?

Was she working alone? Was there someone else? Was she working with the ones who attacked Gamora and Peter?

A huge piece was missing. Adam could feel it—and that made the thoughts even more unbearable.

Suddenly, a crisp sound cut through the night. His senses sharpened immediately, muscles tense, fists ready.

And there, leaning casually against a wall not too far off, was the very same person —toying with a shiny blue object between their fingers.

The Tesseract.

Although a small difference. The figure wasn't very feminine, but now taller and with a bit sharper features.

“Can’t sleep because of me? I get that a lot,” the figure said, voice smug and infuriating. The cocky tone almost sent Adam over the edge. But this time, instead of freezing, Adam stepped forward.

“What do you want?” he demanded, his voice sharper than his thoughts.

As he got closer, he recognized the cube in the trickster’s hand—the Tesseract itself. “Why are you still here if you already got what you wanted?” His anger was raw, spilling into every word.

The figure; Loki smirked, making the Tesseract vanish in a blink so he could cross his arms lazily. He looked every inch like he was playing a game he had already won.

“When I saw you before…” Loki mused, voice low and amused, “I sensed something else. Well—besides your idiotic—face.” He laughed, cruel and musical. “Don't tell me you fell in love with me—pfft.”

Adam didn’t even think. His fists flew forward, aiming straight at Loki’s smirking face.

Yes. He was that angry. Pissed off in fact.

He wasn’t there to listen to its mocking.

But before the blow could land, Loki shifted —back into that same woman’s form, the one that had unraveled Adam’s senses before. Pale skin, green eyes. Captivating.

Adam hesitated just a second too long.

He didn’t know it wasn’t just his weakness—it was Loki’s spell. Subtle, but powerful. Twisting his instincts, clouding his focus.

“Now, now… be careful,” the woman purred, stepping close enough to place both hands lightly on Adam’s temples, “You wouldn't hurt a woman's sacred face, would you?” With his hands, Loki began using a spell to scan his weakened mind. But the second his magic tried to penetrate inside, a backlash of pure pain hit him. There was something inside of Adam.

Adam’s soul was too strange, too protected.

Loki staggered back with a curse, shifting back into his true form in an instant.

“Blasphemy,” he hissed under his breath, shaking his hands out. “What in Asgard are you?” The playful smirk was gone now.

The air tensed between them—a fight ready to explode.

But before either could move, a loud creak interrupted them.

Adam glanced over and saw Peter opening the door, probably sneaking to check on Adam.

“Darn it,” Adam muttered, turning quickly back to face his opponent—

But the space was empty.

Gone. Like smoke.

Peter glanced at him, unimpressed. “What? Dating an invisible chick now?”

Adam opened his mouth, but Peter didn’t give him the chance. He just shook his head and trudged back out the door, slamming it behind him.

Leaving Adam alone under the stars.

Still angry. Still confused.

Still burning.

What was him? Her? Shapeshifter for sure... but what did it want from me?

Adam couldn't put his thoughts in a straight line, he has woken up to try organizing and now he was the most lost he's ever been.

Chapter Text

The morning crept over the ship like a slow, heavy blanket. Not the loud kind of morning the Guardians were used to—full of yelling, bad jokes, and burnt food.

This one was… weird.

Adam walked into the common room, blinking against the too-bright lights. He caught the end of Rocket muttering something to Peter—something that made Peter snort, but not in a funny way.

As soon as Adam stepped in, all conversation stopped. He felt it. Heavy, awkward. Like a silent wave washing over the room.

Peter was perched on the back of the couch, arms laid across the couch, staring at Adam like he was a puzzle missing too many pieces.

Rocket was smirking in that way that usually meant trouble. Gamora, standing near the table, simply watched—her arms crossed but her face more cautious than hostile.

“Morning, Goldie,” Rocket said, voice light but sharp. “Talk to any… invisible chick last night?”

Adam frowned, thrown off by the question. “What? ”

Peter sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “Look, man, I’m not trying to start something. But I saw you. In the hallway. You were talking to thin air.”

Adam stiffened, confused, the memory of the night flashing back—green eyes, a trick of magic, the missing magical cube.

“I wasn’t talking to no one,” he answered, a little sharper than intended.

Rocket grinned. “So what, you’ve got selective vision problems now?”

“Rocket,” Gamora cut in—not harsh, but enough to make him back off. She turned her eyes back to Adam. Steady. Serious. But not unkind. “We’re not accusing you of anything. We just need to know if there’s something we should be worried about.”

Adam’s hands clenched at his sides.

He wanted to explain—to tell them about the person he saw, the feeling crawling under his skin—but the words wouldn’t come out.

It sounded crazy even in his own head.

He looked away, jaw tight. “I don’t know what happened,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

The silence stretched too long.

Then Drax, surprisingly gentle, clapped Adam once on the back—nearly knocking him forward. “It is alright. We all speak to invisible things sometimes. Once I spent a month arguing with a cursed rock.”

Rocket snickered under his breath. Peter shook his head but gave a small, tired laugh. Even Gamora’s eyes softened.

“We’re not mad, Adam,” Peter said after a beat. “We’re just… worried. That’s all.”

Adam nodded stiffly, guilt twisting in his chest. He didn’t want them to worry. He didn’t want to be the reason they doubted anything. “I’ll do better next time, sorry about that.”

Gamora gave him a short nod. “Good. Because we still need you.”

And just like that, the moment cracked.

Rocket threw a wrench at Peter for no reason. Drax started talking about training techniques. The ship slowly fell back into its usual, messy chaos.

But Adam still felt the weight.

He knew deep down something wasn’t right. Not just with his friends… but with himself.

---

Later that night, the ship hummed softly as the others slept. Adam lay still in his bunk, staring up at the ceiling, feeling like gravity itself had grown heavier. Sleep didn’t come easy. When it finally did, it pulled him under like a riptide.

At first, the dream was soft.

A breeze, a field of stars.

The universe spread wide, stretching endlessly, yet he felt… anchored. Like something was pulling him toward a single point.

A flicker of green in the dark.

Eyes—no, not just eyes... a presence. Familiar and foreign at once. Watching him.

He turned, searching, heart pounding against his ribs. “Who’s there?” his voice echoed strangely, distant and muted. “Is it you again? What do you want from me?!”

No answer. Just the whisper of movement.

The feeling grew stronger—a coil of something in his chest, twisting, tightening —not fear exactly. Not anger either.

Something worse.

He caught a glimpse—just the curve of a face, pale and shimmering in the shadows... but never fully clear.

The closer he tried to get, the further away it seemed.

“Come find me,” a voice whispered, so soft it barely existed. Mocking. Taunting. Familiar.

Adam stumbled forward—desperate to see, desperate to understand—but the dream shattered around him like glass.

He sat up in bed in a jump with a sharp gasp, drenched in sweat.

The ship was silent.

Dark.

But Adam couldn’t shake it.

The feeling that somewhere, in the stretch of space just beyond their ship—someone was waiting for him.

Not to fight.

Not to kill.

“Am I going insane?” Under his breath he whispered, his heart still racing, having a hard time to settle down. 

---

Somewhere between the folds of space and illusion, Loki watched. He leaned lazily against the skeletal remains of a half-broken balcony overlooking Knowhere’s twisted skyline.

The Tesseract pulsed quietly beside him, contained safely in his magic—but for once, it wasn’t the artifact keeping him restless.

It was the golden fool tossing and turning aboard the Guardians’ ridiculous excuse of a ship.

Loki grinned sharply to himself.

The nightmares had been his idea, of course—an easy, invisible tether. A push here... a whisper there.

Fear made mortals clumsy. Made gods reckless. It hollowed them out until they could no longer tell where their own mind ended and someone else’s control began.

Predator and prey.

The oldest game in existence.

And Loki was nothing if not a master at it.

He closed his eyes, reaching out again—brushing the edges of Adam’s dream like a spider plucking at a snare.

The boy twitched, thrashed. Sweat slicked his brow.

Delicious.

Yet…

Loki frowned, feeling an odd tug in his own chest—a thread pulling taut whenever he touched the golden one’s mind. He told himself it was his own desperation's fault or maybe magic bleeding through the golden boy. It would explain why he was making things messy.

But the lie tasted bitter on his tongue.

Instead of slipping away after another successful night of torment, Loki lingered.

He watched Adam breathe. He watched the muscles of his jaw clench in restless anger. He watched the flashes of defiance even in sleep—the way his spirit refused to shatter no matter how Loki clawed at the edges.

Intriguing.

Infuriating.

Addictive.

By morning, Loki hadn’t left his post.

He sat in the same position, the city’s neon filth reflecting off his black leather clothes, staring into the nothingness with an unsettling stillness.

“You’re wasting time,” a voice whispered cruelly from his own mind—his own self, impatient. “He’s just a pawn. Use him, break him, and be done with it.”

And yet…

Loki let out a low breath, closing his eyes, tipping his head back.

That’s when it struck him—sudden and sharp—the riddle Heimdall had murmured before Loki had slipped away from Asgard’s shattered ruins:

“What you look for breathes and it has tint of the sun in its skin. A soul who is as lost as yours.”

Loki stiffened.

He opened his eyes slowly, heart hammering once—violently—against his ribs. The words burrowed deep, settling like a curse between bone and blood.

He laughed, low and bitter.

Of course.

Of course it would be him.

Of course it would be this golden idiot, with starlight in his hair and fists too quick for sense.

Of course the universe would tie Loki—prince of lies, exile of realms—to someone who barely knew what living meant, someone so naive.

He stood, magic flaring along his spine like a serpent uncurling. His smile twisted, full of venom and reluctant fascination.

“Fine then,” he whispered into the uncaring dark. “Let’s see how long you last, little crying star.”

The game had changed.

He wasn’t hunting prey anymore.

It was personal.

And Loki had never been one to play fair.

Chapter Text

It had been months now.

Long, dragging months.

At first, it was just the dreams.

Adam would wake up gasping, fists clenched in a bed that didn’t feel like his own, chest burning like someone had carved something into his ribs.

But then the dreams followed him.

He started seeing things.

Mirages at the corner of his vision—flashes of emerald eyes, a smirk disappearing behind corners.

Reflections in glass that didn’t match the world behind him. Voices whispering half-words in empty corridors, just soft enough that he couldn’t tell if they were real.

At first, the Guardians joked about it.

Rocket would laugh and toss another insult, Drax would suggest smashing imaginary enemies with a grin.

Even Peter brushed it off with a “Dude, you’re just stressed.”

But it didn’t stop. It only got worse.

Adam grew quieter.

His shoulders hunched with invisible weight. His golden eyes, once so vibrant with naive curiosity, turned shadowed and hollow. The muscles of his jaw tensed constantly, like he was biting back things he didn’t dare say.

He flinched at sounds. Jerked at movements. Talked to things no one else could see.

By the third month, the jokes stopped.

The ship grew heavier in ways silence couldn’t hide. Conversations would dull whenever Adam walked into the room.

Peter kept glancing at him with something like helplessness—Gamora with growing tension—even Rocket stopped teasing and offered only gruff, confused concern.

“He’s cracking,” Rocket muttered one night, arms crossed while watching Adam pace the deck, muttering under his breath. “Crackin’ like a damn walnut.”

“No,” Gamora corrected quietly, a rare sadness slipping into her voice, “he’s unraveling.”

Peter scrubbed a hand over his face, frustration bleeding through his features. “I don’t get it. He’s the strongest one of all of us. How can he—”

“Strength doesn’t protect you from the mind,” Mantis whispered from the corner. She was curled up like a child, wide-eyed, feeling every jagged piece of Adam’s breaking heart.

Nobody had an answer. Nobody knew who—or what—was doing this to him.

And Adam—Adam barely knew himself anymore. He just stood at the window of the ship that night, staring out into the velvet nothing of space. His reflection stared back—pale, wild-eyed, trembling.

Inside his chest, his Soul pulsed.

Not with power. Not with pride.

But with fear.

Somewhere out there—hidden in laughter, shadows, and illusions—something hunted him.

It wanted something from him.

And Adam didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. 

---

Nights felt longer, air colder and his soul grew older. It was sure to say... Adam didn't want to do this anymore.

It started with a whisper, it always did.

Adam barely reacted anymore.

The voices were constant—woven into the static of his mind, trailing him like invisible chains.

But this time was different.

This time it called his name.

“Adam.”

“Come, pretty boy.”

“End it.”

He stood, trembling, in the dark hallway of the ship. His golden fists tightened at his sides. His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps.

He followed the voice, it led him to the cargo bay—where the air hung thick and heavy, and shadows warped around the crates like living things.

And then he saw her.

Standing there.

Waiting.

That woman—that trickster; green-eyed, beautiful, poisonous.

She smiled.

Soft, false.

Beckoning.

“You,” Adam hissed through his teeth. “I'm sick of you.”

The woman stepped closer—hands out, open—whispering his name again like a lullaby laced with venom.

Adam moved before he thought.

A blast of energy charged in his hands, pulsing with everything he’d bottled up these long, cursed months.

He leapt forward, hurried to grab her neck and press with force to finally destroy this nightmare—

“Adam, wait!” a voice shrieked.

Too late.

Instead of illusionary flesh and smirking lies, he felt something soft.

Something human.

Mantis crumpled to the ground with a sharp cry—light flickering around her from the force Adam used.

She hit the metal floor hard, her small form stunned.

“—No—!”

Adam’s eyes widened in horror, the spell lifting all at once.

Where the trickster’s smirking face had been—now there was only Mantis.

Mantis, clutching her side, looking at him with tear-filled shock and fear. Her weak body showed nothing but true—real time fear.

He stumbled back, blood draining from his face.

“Wh-what—”

His voice cracked into nothing.

Gamora and Peter were already running in.

Rocket too, face twisted in disbelief.

Groot's face was like none he's ever seen. Shocked and full of emotions.

Adam fell to his knees beside Mantis, hands trembling over her but too afraid to touch her again. “I didn’t— I thought—”

He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Gamora pushed him back sharply, protective and furious, crouching beside Mantis to check on her.

Peter stood there, fists clenched, jaw working like he wanted to scream but couldn’t find the words.

The air was thick with hurt, confusion, betrayal.

Adam stumbled back again—away from them—until his back hit the wall. He slid down, clutching his head between his hands, breathing in ragged gasps.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, over and over, like a broken record.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

But he wasn’t sure who he was apologizing to anymore.

Mantis?

Himself?

Or the world he could no longer trust?

Far, far away—hidden where no eyes could see—Loki watched.

He leaned against a shadowed wall, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. “How deliciously tragic,” he mused aloud. “Go ahead, break...”

But the thrill that usually accompanied his tricks didn’t come.

It felt… wrong.

A tightness curled in his chest as he watched Adam’s golden form tremble, broken, lost.

He shouldn’t care.

It wasn’t part of the plan.

And yet, he couldn’t stop watching.

He couldn’t stop wanting.

Then—like a sudden thunderclap inside his mind—Loki remembered something:

“The soul you seek will know not its keeper —but will burn brighter when broken.”

Loki’s smirk faltered.

For the first time in a long time—something like unease clawed up his spine.

Chapter Text

The silence in the room was suffocating, heavy enough to crush the air from their lungs. No one spoke. No one moved.

The Guardians gathered around the table in their usual mess of mismatched chairs and half-empty mugs, but it didn’t feel like home. Not tonight.

Adam wasn't there.

No one had seen him for hours. He hadn’t eaten, barely slept, and his nightmares were starting to bleed into the waking world.

Peter leaned forward, hands braced against the table, his jaw clenched tight. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the faces of his crew—his family—but he didn’t meet anyone’s gaze for too long. It was as if he was afraid that if he did, he’d say something he couldn’t fix.

Gamora sat closest to him, a hand on his lap, shoulders stiff. The concern was there in her eyes, hidden beneath the sharpness, but she refused to show it fully. If she let her guard down, she might break. And she couldn’t afford to do that. Not now.

Drax was standing, his massive form towering above the table, though he was unusually quiet, his eyes fixed on the floor. He had been trying to talk to Adam, in his own way—encouraging him to face whatever it was that haunted him—but it hadn’t worked. Nothing had worked. Drax didn’t understand fear the way others did. But even he could see that Adam was slipping, unraveling.

Rocket, ever the cynic, leaned back in his chair, arms folded, his small frame hunched like he was trying to disappear into the shadow of his own bitterness. He’d been watching Adam for weeks now, picking up on the subtle changes, the cracks in the armor. But he didn’t know how to fix it. And that, more than anything, was starting to gnaw at him.

Mantis sat quietly at the edge of the group, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She didn’t say much at first, her antennae drooping slightly, a physical echo of the sorrow she felt humming through the room. Her heart hurt in ways she couldn’t explain—every pulse of Adam’s fear and despair resonated inside her own chest like bruises she couldn’t hide. She wanted to help. She needed to help. But even she didn’t know how to reach him yet.

Beside her, Groot perched on one of the chairs, smaller compared to Drax but somehow heavier in spirit tonight. His usual bright, mischievous energy was missing. Instead, he stared at the table, arms curled tight around his knees. When he finally spoke, it was soft, barely a whisper of wood and sadness.

“I am Groot,” he said.

Mantis blinked, nodding slightly. “I know,” she murmured. “He’s hurting.”

Peter exhaled sharply, running a hand through his messy hair. “We can’t just sit here and watch him fall apart,” he said, voice low and hoarse with frustration. “We gotta do something.”

Gamora eyes narrowed slightly, thinking, calculating. “We need a plan. Something better than just… hoping he pulls through.”

“I could smash him into unconsciousness until the bad feelings leave his body,” Drax offered gruffly, arms crossing over his chest.

Rocket rolled his eyes. “Yeah, great idea, Drax. Real subtle therapy.”

Peter took a deep breath and sighed loudly, actually stressing with this situation. “I don’t get it,” he said, his voice rough. He scrubbed a hand over his face, frustration evident in every line of his body. “He changed so suddenly. All since that mission... all since that girl, or whatever.”

Gamora’s gaze softened, though only for a moment. She leaned forward, her tone quiet but serious. “It's so weird, If only he spoke to us...”

“It must be hard for him... when we first saw the signals we did nothing but taking it as a joke or blaming it on him...” Mantis said, a sadness running through her tone. “Maybe we should be more patient with him, he yet don't understand emotions themselves.”

Rocket snorted, bitter. “Yeah, sure. But the guy’s been cracking for months, and we’ve done what exactly? We’ve watched him slowly fall apart, hoping he’ll just… get over it? What are we supposed to do, just sit around and wait for him to self-destruct?”

“No,” Gamora interrupted sharply, her voice taking on a rare edge of sadness. “We’re not doing nothing. But we’re not exactly doing anything right, either.” She exhaled deeply, rubbing the back of her neck, her mind clearly racing for answers that weren’t coming. “Mantis is right, we've been too rough on him—but its more than that. He’s been seeing things, hearing things… This isn’t just a mental breakdown, it’s something else.”

“Something’s got him,” Rocket muttered. “And it’s not just in his head.”

They all turned to him at that, the weight of his words sinking in.

Drax frowned, his brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean? What’s in his head?”

Rocket’s eyes flicked to the others, his sharp gaze flicking over each of them before settling back on the table. “I don’t know. But something’s been feeding off him. It’s like whatever this is—it’s making him weaker. And we’re sitting here doing nothing.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping. “He’s gonna break, and when he does, I don’t think there’ll be anything left of him to save.”

Peter didn’t want to think about that, but the truth hit him hard, like a slap to the face. He shook his head, raking his fingers through his hair in agitation. “Then what do we do? We’re not even sure what’s happening, let alone how to fix it.”

At that moment, the silence stretched long and unbearable.

It was Mantis who spoke first.

Her voice, soft but steady, cut through the tension in the room like a knife. “I can help him.”

They all turned to her, startled, though none of them doubted her sincerity. Mantis had always been a quiet presence in their midst, her empathy and kindness a balm to their many wounds, but this was different. This was personal.

Peter blinked, the exhaustion on his face deepening. “Mantis, you—”

She held up a hand, her expression calm. “I know,” she continued, her voice almost a whisper. “But he needs someone. Someone who doesn’t see him as broken. Someone who trusts him. No matter what.” She looked each of them in the eye. “He needs me.”

“Are you sure?” Gamora asked quietly, her voice a little more tender than usual. “I know you care about him, but after happened... if you’re not ready—”

“I’m ready,” Mantis interrupted, her eyes unwavering. “I trust him. I don’t need to fix him—I just need to remind him he’s not alone. He needs someone who won’t turn away from him.”

The room was quiet for a beat as they absorbed her words. Peter exchanged glances with Rocket and Gamora, each of them wrestling with the idea of letting Mantis handle it alone. It felt like a dangerous gamble, but deep down, they all knew it had to be done. Adam was slipping away, and if anyone could reach him, it was Mantis.

Finally, Peter sighed, defeated. “Okay. Then we’ll let you try.”

Mantis gave a small nod, her expression one of quiet determination. She stood from the table and walked toward the door, pausing just before she stepped through.

“He just needs a little distraction,” she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet hope that the others were too afraid to hold onto. “A little bit of rest, that's what he needs the most right now.” Then, with one final look at the Guardians, she disappeared down the hall, leaving them with their thoughts.

---

Mantis found Adam in the his room, sitting alone by the window, his golden eyes staring out into the dark void of space. His posture was hunched, his hands resting limply in his lap, as though the weight of the universe had settled on his shoulders.

He didn’t even look up when she entered, though Mantis wasn’t surprised. He had become distant, wrapped in a cage of his own making.

She moved toward him, her footsteps light, and sat beside him, a gentle smile on her face. “Hey, Adam.”

He didn’t react at first, his eyes unfocused, lost somewhere in the depths of whatever had a hold of him. But when he did finally turn to her, there was a flicker of recognition in his gaze. He looked at her, really looked, and for a moment, there was a trace of something—maybe relief, maybe guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Mantis shook her head, her smile still soft, though her eyes were full of warmth. “You don’t have to apologize to me, Adam. I know you never meant to hurt me. You’re just—”

“Losing my mind,” he finished bitterly, his voice cracking. “I’m hearing things, seeing things… I don’t even know what’s real anymore.”

Mantis nodded, her expression understanding. “I know. But you’re not alone in this. We’re all here for you. And I want to help you.” She paused for a moment, then added, “Would you like something to eat? A drink?”

Adam’s eyes flickered with something close to surprise. It was the first time someone had offered him something so normal—something that wasn’t tied to his fear or his madness. He nodded slowly, and for the first time in what felt like ages, he spoke without bitterness.

“I’d like that,” he said quietly.

---

They ate in companionable silence, the hum of the ship their only company. Mantis talked about trivial things—places she’d seen, food she’d tasted, places she wanted to visit—but more than that, she provided something Adam hadn’t had in weeks: distraction. For a brief moment, he forgot about the nightmare, about the voices, about the ever-present weight pressing down on him.

After they finished, Mantis sat back in her chair, her gaze gentle but resolute. “I think you should go sleep now, Adam,” she said softly. “You haven’t rested properly in a long time.”

Adam’s shoulders tensed, his body pulling back slightly. He didn’t want to sleep. The nightmares would only get worse.

“Don't worry. I can help,” Mantis offered, her voice warm but insistent. “I can help you sleep. I won’t force anything, but I can make it easier. Just… let me.”

Adam’s golden eyes searched her face, torn between doubt and trust. After a long moment, he nodded, his body finally relaxing enough to accept her offer.

Mantis closed her eyes, her powers swirling gently around her, a calming wave of energy flowing from her hands toward Adam. He didn’t resist, too tired to fight it, and within moments, his breathing slowed, his body slumping into a restful sleep.

She just sat beside Adam, watching as the first hints of peace began to settle over his features. She smiled softly to herself. He was still fighting, but he wasn’t alone.

Not anymore.

Meanwhile, in the quiet of the Guardians’ meeting room, the rest of the crew gathered again, their eyes heavy with concern. The question they had all been avoiding lingered in the air: What next?

Gamora was the first to break the silence.

“We need help,” she said, her voice low but firm. “There’s someone I know of. A sorcerer. The one who has the Time Stone. And he’s powerful. I’ve heard whispers about him for years.”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “A sorcerer?”

Gamora nodded. “Yes. He has powers beyond anything we can understand. If anyone can help Adam, it’s him.”

Rocket scratched his chin, skeptical but intrigued. “So what? We go to Earth and ask this guy for help? How do we even find him?”

“I know where to find him,” Gamora said, standing up, her determination rising.

“Then we go to Earth. We find him. And we get the help Adam needs.” Peter also stands up, his spirit rising now that they had a hint of hope in their way.

With that, they all stood, a renewed sense of purpose settling in their hearts. Adam wasn’t lost—not yet. But they couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

The Guardians were going to do whatever it took to save their friend.

Chapter Text

A long but calm night has passed, it barely felt like the problems had faded away and nothing has happened... back to normal. For now.

The kitchen had the kind of warm you don’t often get on a ship. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, golden and soft, casting a haze over the counters and tables. The smell of pancakes, burned edges and all, drifted through the air like a nostalgic memory. There was laughter too—genuine, full-bellied laughter. The kind they hadn’t shared in what felt like forever.

Peter stood at the stove, wearing some type of chef’s hat, flipping misshapen pancakes with flair that far outweighed his actual skill. Rocket was tearing through a cabinet, swearing about “syrup rations,” and Groot sat on the table playing on his mini game console, swaying gently to a tune only he seemed to hear. Gamora nursed something warm from a mug, watching the chaos like it was a ritual she’d long since accepted. Even Drax was helping, arranging cutlery on the table like he was setting up for a royal banquet.

And then—Adam walked in.

Hair a little messy, cheeks a little pink from sleep, golden skin catching the sunlight just right. Mantis followed behind him, quiet, her oversized sleep shirt brushing the backs of her knees. Her antennae twitched.

They were together. Clearly had been for a while.

All heads turned. Rocket was the first to speak, eyes narrowing with suspicion and amusement.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s strolling in together like they didn’t just roll out of the same damn bed.”

Adam blinked. “We did.”

Mantis immediately stiffened.

Gamora arched a brow, her mug paused halfway to her lips.

Peter’s mouth opened. “Wait—what?”

“We slept together,” Adam repeated calmly, as if he’d just commented on the weather. “She climbed into my bed last night and held me until I fell asleep. I was shaking again. It helped.”

Peter blinked twice, lips twitching. “That’s… sweet?”

“I woke up,” Adam added, looking thoughtful. “Almost had another nightmare so I held her very close. Her chest was against mine. It was quite grounding. At some point, I think I wrapped my leg around hers. It’s hard to describe the positioning, but I think we ended up… entwined.”

Rocket dropped the spoon he was holding. It clanged against the floor. Groot looked scandalized.

Mantis let out a sharp wheeze, her entire face flushed pink as she slowly slid behind a chair for cover.

Adam, blissfully unaware, kept going. “She was warm. I liked how she breathed against my neck. And her hand stayed on my chest the whole night. It made me feel secure. Her skin against mine was soft, like clouds hugging me.”

Peter turned away and bit his fist, trying not to scream-laugh.

Rocket was already choking on air. “Bro… you cannot—you CAN’T just say that!”

“Why not?” Adam asked, blinking.

Gamora, sipping her drink, muttered, “This ship isn’t big enough for this level of innocence.”

Peter turned back, eyes watering. “Adam, you just described the most graphic PG-13 snuggle in galactic history. And you said it like you were reciting a grocery list.”

“I don’t see the issue,” Adam said honestly. “It worked. I haven’t slept that well in months. I’m very grateful to Mantis. I’d be happy to repeat the experience.”

Mantis, now peeking from behind the chair like a hunted animal, let out a low groan. She had gave up saving the little dignity she had left so she just sit beside Groot and pretended the universe swallowed her whole.

Adam turned slightly toward her, completely sincere. “Really. It was wonderful. I think I’d like to do it with Peter sometime too.”

Everything stopped.

Peter dropped his spatula.

Rocket made a sound that was half gasp, half cough.

Gamora slowly turned her head, eyes narrowing.

“I mean,” Adam continued, “he also held me once. When I was struggling. He was very strong, and he smelled nice. I imagine falling asleep with him would feel different but equally effective. Maybe… comforting in a more rugged way?”

Peter, jaw slack, made a noise that might’ve been “What.”

“And maybe both of you could hold me at once,” Adam added brightly. “That way I could experience both energies. I think that would be very intimate. Maybe even healing. I’d feel very safe.”

Rocket threw himself on the floor laughing, smacking the tiles with his tiny fist. “OH MY—HE SAID BOTH! AT THE SAME TIME! THIS GUY!”

Peter stared into the middle distance, like his soul had briefly left his body. “Adam… you can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” Adam asked again, genuinely confused. “If Mantis made me feel secure, and Peter did too, wouldn’t combining both sources of comfort create a superior result? Like dual therapy?”

Mantis had vanished under the table.

Groot, wide-eyed, slowly shook his head. “I am Groot…”

Gamora finally sighed. “This is the worst breakfast I’ve ever had.”

Rocket, wheezing, added, “Please—stop—he’s too powerful—he’s too pure—”

Adam looked around the room, still totally confused, but starting to notice something was off. “Did I say something strange?”

Peter patted his shoulder, biting back another laugh. “No, buddy. You just accidentally proposed a very spicy cuddle sandwich.”

Adam looked baffled.

Eventually, the storm of laughter and secondhand embarrassment passed. Mantis resurfaced, red-faced but composed enough to sit down and poke at her breakfast. Peter handed her a mug of something warm without a word, a peace offering. She accepted it gratefully, avoiding eye contact with Adam, who still looked thoroughly pleased with himself.

They all gathered around the table, plates filled with strange-looking pancakes, alien fruits, and whatever Rocket had scrounged up that passed for syrup. The room buzzed again—not with chaos this time, but with the familiar rhythm of old friendships and gentle teasing. The air was warm, the kind of warmth that came from being surrounded by people who knew you. Who still showed up, even after the weirdness.

Adam ate hungrily, he hadn’t tasted food in days, humming softly in approval after every bite. “This is… good,” he said between chews, like it physically surprised him.

Peter grinned. “Right? Pancake mastery, baby.”

“I didn’t know food could do this,” Adam said, pointing to his chest. “It’s like my insides are hugging me.”

Drax leaned in with a thoughtful nod. “Food is indeed the most loyal friend. It never leaves. Unless someone else eats it first.”

The laughter came easy this time. Everyone relaxed. Even Mantis started to smile again, watching Adam with a fondness she didn’t even try to hide anymore. For once, everything felt normal.

But of course, it couldn’t last.

Rocket leaned back, crossing his arms with a devilish glint in his eye. “So, Adam. You still planning that therapy session with Peter? You gonna pencil that in before lunch or after?”

Peter immediately choked on his drink. “Rocket—!”

Adam perked up, completely serious. “Oh, absolutely. I believe it could be deeply beneficial. I was thinking we could replicate the same environment as with Mantis. Minimal clothing, close physical proximity, a bed that retains warmth—”

Mantis dropped her fork.

Gamora froze mid-bite.

Peter’s jaw hit the floor. “WH— Okay, time out!”

“But it worked so well with Mantis,” Adam continued earnestly, leaning toward Peter like he was discussing a science project. “I felt completely secure. I believe you could offer similar comfort. Perhaps even improved synergy if we sleep chest-to-chest. It’s the most effective alignment.”

“STOP TALKING!” Peter slapped a hand over his mouth, face redder than the twin suns of Xandar.

Rocket was wheezing.

“I don’t mind if we wear underclothes,” Adam offered helpfully from behind Peter’s hand. “I know boundaries are a thing.”

“I AM GROOT!” Groot gasped again, scandalized all over.

Gamora set her fork down slowly. “I need to leave this ship.”

Drax blinked. “I do not understand. I have slept next to Peter before. It was… warm.”

“I’M NEVER SLEEPING AGAIN,” Peter cried into his hands.

As laughter exploded behind them for the third time, Peter finally threw his hands up, face burning red.

“Alright, that’s it. We’re having a conversation.” He grabbed Adam by the wrist and yanked him up from the table, muttering a string of “excuse me”s and “don’t follow us”s to the others as he stormed out of the kitchen with Adam in tow.

Adam blinked, stumbling along with his half-eaten pancake still in hand. “Are we bonding now? Is this the start of the session?”

Peter didn’t answer. Not until they were out of earshot and tucked around the corner in the hallway, where the humming of the ship offered a vague illusion of privacy. Then he turned, hands planted firmly on his hips, eyes wide and desperate.

“Okay—dude,” Peter started, voice cracking as he pointed a finger at Adam’s chest. “You cannot—cannot—say stuff like that. Not in front of the whole team. Not ever. Especially not like that.”

Adam tilted his head. “What did I say that was incorrect?”

Peter stared at him for a full five seconds, then rubbed his face like he was trying to wipe the awkwardness off his skin. “Okay. Alright. Let’s break this down.” He took a deep breath and held up one finger. “One: you said you wanted to sleep with me.”

“Yes. In minimal clothing.”

“Exactly!” Peter half-shouted, then lowered his voice with a panicked glance toward the hallway. “Dude, you sounded like you were propositioning me! Like—romance stuff! Naked cuddle things!”

Adam blinked, clearly puzzled. “But that’s not my intent. I simply wish to replicate the security experience. The body warmth, the closeness. Mantis’ strategy was highly effective in easing my anxiety and—”

Peter slapped both hands on his own face. “Please stop saying words.”

“I fail to see the issue. If it was healing with Mantis, why would it not be healing with you? I'd even offer to include Groot, for maximum spiritual coverage.”

“I—You—”Peter groaned. “You also said you wanted to take us both at the same time, man!”

Adam smiled brightly. “Yes! That way I wouldn’t have to choose. A combined session!”

“That sounds so much worse!” Peter hissed, gesturing wildly like he was trying to physically throw the image out of the air between them.

Adam was still smiling, unbothered. “Peter, I find your presence soothing. You are often loud, but your voice reminds me of soundtracks. And your confidence appears to have a stabilizing effect. I think your body heat would be ideal.”

Peter looked like he was going to pass out. “Okay. Cool. That’s… horrifyingly sweet, actually.”

Adam took a thoughtful step closer, clearly still not understanding. “Is this about Gamora? I am aware that you are attracted to her. You’re biologically and emotionally incompatible with me, and I hold no offense toward that. I simply wish to deepen our bond. Like brothers.”

Peter held up both hands like he was about to be arrested. “Okay. Stop. I get it. That’s… not where I thought this was going.”

“You are visibly sweating.”

“Because you’re terrifying!” Peter cried, then leaned back against the wall, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh. “Look, man. I know you don’t mean it that way. But the others? They don’t know what’s going on in that golden head of yours. They hear you say stuff like that and—bam. Suddenly I’m the guy who might be down to cuddle a dude in his underwear while my girlfriend is three feet away.”

Adam paused, blinking. “Is that… unacceptable?”

Peter gave him a dry look. “Yes. For me, yeah. Extremely.”

Adam nodded slowly, taking it in like new data. “I understand. I will rephrase my offers of emotional intimacy in the future. Would you prefer the term ‘platonic fort snuggle’?”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it. “…You know what? That one actually kinda helps.”

Adam smiled proudly.

Peter pointed at him, backing away. “Just—maybe run your phrasing by me next time. Please. For my sanity.”

“Understood. You are very important to me, Peter.”

Peter groaned again. “God, I can’t tell if that makes this better or worse.”

They stood there in awkward silence for a second, then Peter turned and started walking back to the kitchen.

Adam followed right behind him. “Would you still be open to shirtless proximity if I bring my own blanket?”

Peter didn’t answer.

---

The moment of peace didn’t last. It never did with them.

So Peter stood up, clapping his hands together. “Alright, chaos crew—fun time’s over. Let’s get back to the ‘saving the galaxy’ part of our day.”

Rocket hopped off his stool and stretched, cracking his back. “About time. I’m tired of pretending maple syrup is my biggest problem.”

The two made their way to the control deck, sliding into their usual seats. Rocket flicked switches, his claws moving fast over the console as the ship hummed to life. Peter leaned forward, hands on the yoke, brow furrowed in focus.

“Earth’s in range,” Rocket said, squinting at the radar. “We’ll be there in ten if we don’t hit an asteroid or a moon we forgot to chart.”

Peter smirked. “Let’s not jinx it.”

With a flick of a switch, the ship shimmered for a moment—then vanished from visible light. A soft vibration ran through the floor as the cloaking system engaged, rendering them invisible to Earth’s detection systems. Outside, stars zipped by like streaks of paint across black canvas, Earth slowly growing larger on the horizon.

Gamora stepped forward, arms crossed, her expression a little more serious now. “Once we land… no one leaves the ship but Peter.”

Peter turned to look at her. “Yikes... I forgot about that.”

Groot was the first one to ask, not understanding why was there a reason they couldn't go. “I am Groot?”

Then Rocket jumped out the seat and sat on Groot's shoulder, backing up Groot's question. “Right? I wanted to go down there. We runnin' out of Maple syrup and some other human-shit thats surprisingly good here.”

“We can't go because Earth isn’t ready for the rest of us,” she said simply. “Peter's human. He can blend in. The rest of us? Not so much.”

Gamora ignored him. “Humans still don’t know much about the universe beyond their planet. They panic easily. And the last thing we need is attention from them.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “So I’m going solo?”

She nodded and handed him a small folded piece of paper. “You’re looking for someone named Doctor Stephen Strange. He’s not exactly a friend, but we’ve heard enough about him to think he might be able to help with Adam’s… situation.”

Peter unfolded the note. A New York address was scribbled in her tidy handwriting, along with the name: “Dr. Stephen Strange – Sanctum Sanctorum.”

“He’s got magic,” Gamora said quietly. “Real power. And something to do with time. We don’t know how much he’ll be willing to help—but if anyone can help Adam, it’s him.”

Peter tucked the paper into his jacket pocket and gave a small nod. “Okay. I’ll find him.”

Gamora held his gaze a beat longer. “Once you find him and he agrees to help, I'll send Adam with you. Please be careful, use your watch only for emergencies.”

Peter gave her a lopsided grin. “Hey. It’s me. I got this.”

“That's the problem, moron.” she muttered, giving him cold eyes that only Peter recognized. They meant nothing but 'You better come back in one piece because I care about you' and Peter loved that.

The ship coasted silently toward Earth, cloaked in stars, quiet for now—but with the weight of what was coming settling in each of their hearts. Something was waiting down there. Answers, maybe. Or something worse.

And Peter Quill was about find out by knock on its front door.