Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Muscles aching, leathers smelling like the vent dirt he’s just crawled out of, Yondu plops himself onto the end of the mess hall bench. Leaving the comforting silence for the rowdy chaos of the hall rubs his nerves raw and he hutches his shoulder, trying to shut it out.

It’s only been sixty-odd solar cycles since Stakar hauled him outta the slave pits he’d wallowed in since he was a just a little mite, barely seven standard cycles old. He’d been sold a Kree battle slave, but once they’d figured out his arrow’d made a pretty light show in the gladiator pits he’d been upgraded from blaster fodder and kept planet-bound to entertain the filthy rich scum of the galaxy.

Luckily for him, Stakar’d had a soft spot for the hard-eyed slave trying to escape using the same tunnel the his small recon team had been fleeing down, and he’d offered him a way out and a spot as crew.

Now, wrapped up in a shell of red leather, hard metal flames pinned to his chest, everything still feels a little unreal, like sometimes his body still don’t really belong to him.

Most of the Ravagers, especially those that don’t know where he came from, aren’t thrilled to have a skittish rookie with no skills to break in, one a bit too quiet with a stare that seemed to see a little too much. He’s borne the looks, comments, and shoves in hallway since he’s come on board though, and he’ll bear with more if it means he gets to stay.

As he starts shoveling whatever glowing gunk that’s for dinner tonight into his mouth, he can hear someone mutter “primitive” in his general direction.

He doesn’t know exactly what he did, but he knows words like that are for when he messes up. His muscles lock up, shoulders going stiff as rock as he fights the urge to cringe back in his seat. Instead, he mimics Captain Stakar’s ‘fuck you’ stance and crosses his arms, slouching back in his seat with his chin tilted up and lip curled.

He’d practiced that look in the mirror, until he got it as close as he could to the real thing. Captain had the kinda presence that no one messed with, and someday he’s gonna be the same.

He wipes off the hand he’d been eating with stealthily on his pants as he waits. When the other Ravager doesn’t get whatever response they’d been after, they say a little louder, “Eating like a fuckin’ animal, dunno what Captain was thinkin’.”

Yondu can feel the familiar way the ache from his clenched teeth is spreading down his jaw. He cricks his neck to the side and breathes through his nose, still waiting. Words don’t matter, not really, but this big fucker seems like he’s going for more than just a verbal beat down.

Confirming his suspicion, he can sense someone lurch closer, feel the heat of them looming over him.

“Ya hear me, Udonta? Think yer gonna ignore me?”

As a large purple hand starts to jab at him, he reacts before he can stop himself, forearm coming up to block the jab as he ducks and bring his other fist around and right into the stupid fucker’s junk.

The Ravager howls and doubles over, jigging back as they clutches themselves in pain. Yondu raises half out of his seat, settling low on his feet, reaching out with his senses as he breathes, in and out.

“Udonta!”

He hears the captain bark out his name, and snaps his head to look at him.

“Stand down, Udonta,” Stakar says, craggy features pulled into a scowl as he jerks his head towards the door. “That’s enough, go on.”

Yondu bites his tongue hard, waits for the comforting metal taste of blood to fill his mouth, and turns to march out the door.

He doesn’t let himself falter as he walks back to his bunk. He’s only got seven hours until his next shift and he crawls into his bunk, slides under the ragged blanket and tries to force himself into sleep.

He’d yearned for freedom, wrapped the thought up and tucked in in his ribcage at night to give him some way to get up again. Freedom was birds riding thermals to the heavens, the whirling dance of M-ships weaving through asteroids, standing with his eyes up and never looking down. It was a beautiful abstract of everything he’d never had and this…this wasn’t that. 

He doesn’t look right, and he doesn’t walk right, and sure as hell doesn’t know how to throw words around, careless, like it doesn’t matter how they’ll land. The Ravagers eat and eat, fighting and laughing in the same breath, and sometimes standing with his back hiked against the bulkhead Yondu hates them, just a little.

He brings his knees to his chest, flexes his neck under the dull press of a phantom collar. He wonders idly if the weight will ever really go away. 

Chapter Text

Of course Kraglin's noticed the newest rookie. He’s a bosun’s mate with a mind for names and numbers so he knows the crew roster backwards and forwards.

He’s also noticed that most of the junior crew hasn’t taken to him.

Stakar’s already had to take a few aside to ream them out. The latest had been Maurvi, who gone up and needled the poor guy when he was just trying to put some meat on that skinny frame of his. It’s not the kinda thing Stakar wants to see on his ship, but with a couple hundred-odd crew members shit still happens.

Looking over the duty roster, appears Udonta’s up to graduate from the crank shifts doing grunt work and learn a real job. Maybe he’ll swing by, and have a quick chat, see if he can suss out where Udonta’s interested in going.

Seems like his locater beacon’s showing him in a storage locker where he should be done cleaning already. Matter of fact, he’s been in that room a suspiciously long time. Kraglin’s mouth twists - slacking off, huh?

He strides down the corridor, muttering darkly under his breath about nubs too big for their leathers that think just cause they’ve lasted more than a month they can laze around.

Banging the door open, he’s already got his scowl on his face and his mouth open ready to chew Udonta out when he stops, nearly tripping over his own gangly limbs in shock as he realizes what’s happening.

Three of the crew have Udonta pinned to a wall, leering over him while Maurvi looks like he’s about to uppercut him in the gut.

The Ravagers ain’t the nicest bunch of spacers - they haven’t got a reputation as vicious scum for nothing - but crew is family, and you don’t fuck over family unless they fuck you over first. There may be other ships where that flies, but not on Cap’n Stakar’s.

“Get the flark offa him, you shitstains, the hell,” Kraglin growls out, bony shoulders hiked up and fists by his side.

The crew drop him, backing off with their hands up. Kraglin's got seniority and the ear of the bosun and he's built enough of his own reputation with his knives that he isn't often messed with.

Udonta slumps to the ground like a puppet with his strings cut.

“Jest a friendly little introduction, gotta make him parta the crew official like,” Maurvi says all sleazy, and Kraglin see black.

“Cap’n gonna tie ya to the bow and let ya freeze in space,” he says to them low and cold, grabbing Udonta’s jacket from where he’d slumped to the floor and roughly pulling him to his feet.

Udonta hasn’t said a word, just stares at him dead-eyed, as the crew grumble and shuffle affrontedly.

“Go on, git ta yer stations, fuckers,” Kraglin turns his back to them, jerking his head towards the door “and don’t think I wont be tellin' this up the chain.”

The four crew sullenly file out, and Kraglin heaves a sigh.

“I dunno what they told you, but we don’t hold with that on this ship,” he says, trying to lock eyes with Udonta who won’t look straight at him. “They won’t be the nicest ta you ’til ya earn it, but if someone else does that you c’n get me or onna the other senior crew.”

“Yessir,” Udonta slurs. His eyes still ain’t focusing right, and Kraglin’s starting to worry a little. Udonta looks like a tough fucker, all scrawny muscles and ragged scars, but he isn’t acting right, isn’t fighting back.

Kraglin rubs his temple, and tries to think. He can’t just leave this with a bracing pat on the back and a extra shift off.

“Come with me,” he offers. “Less go get some liquor.” He’ll talk to the bosun about this later, he’s almost off shift anyways. Yondu seems to come out of his blankness a little to stare at Kraglin warily, but then he shrugs and follows.

An hour later, Kraglin’s pleasantly buzzed and Udonta’s made his way through one bottle and is working on his second.

“’S good,” he says, sprawled heavily against the bulkhead as he tips his head to let liquor strong as paint thinner pour down his throat.

“This,” Kraglin says wisely, “is why it’s good to have friends in engineering.”

He taps his nose. “They hide the stills with the good stuff there, dun’ go spreading it around none.”

Udonta grins a little a him, and it strikes Kraglin it’s the first time he’s really seen him do that.

“So tell me, then,” he says. “What brought ya out here then? Ya on the run from somethin’?”

That’s all it takes to have all the light go from Udonta’s face like a blown out candle.

Eyes widening Kraglin hurriedly adds, “Ya don’t gotta tell me, yer story’s yer own.”

Udonta glowers and takes another deep swig of his bottle.

Shifting uncomfortably on the floor, Kraglin wishes he’d kept his damn mouth shut. It ain’t like Udonta’s the only one that doesn’t wanna remember where he’d come from.

“I joined up with Stakar on Knowhere,” he offers instead. “Jest a street rat good enough con m’self a spot. Not many people make it offa there. You know I’d never seen the stars? See nothin’ but a sea of ‘em every day now.”

“I’d been in space,” Udonta says, his voice rough like he’s still having trouble wrapping his throat around unfamiliar words. “But I’d never actually seen t’stars when I was there. Used ta dream about ‘em.”

Kraglin gives him a friendly nudge with that.

“See? Yer born to be up here. They say that’s how ya know true spacers, even if you leave the stars, they’ll always call ya back.”

They both sit for a minute, letting the liquor swim through their veins, then Kraglin reluctantly decides he better make sure Udonta'd got the message about earlier.

“Ya know, don’t let them give ya crap, huh? You just gotta bluff ‘em, lettem know yer not ta be fucked with,” he says. “Ya jest haveta put on a bit of a show, yeah? Fuck em up if ya have to, but not in front of bridge crew ‘cause then they’ll have ta step in.”

Udonta looks at him like a man waiting for the other boot to drop.

“I c’n take care of myself,” he eyes him, all sulky bravado. “I don’t need anyone.“

His words are starting to slur together though, and Kraglin rolls his eyes.

“C’mon, let’s get ya back t’yer quarters.”

He pulls him to his feet and roughly claps him on the back as they head into the corridor, sending a wobbly Udonta staggering a few steps.

After depositing him in his bunk Kraglin turns to leave, throwing a “Night, Udonta,” over his shoulder as he goes.

But as he ducks under the door he hears a quiet slur of, “it’s Yondu,” from behind him, and he grins.

Chapter Text

When Yondu checks his wrist comm the next morning, he’s caught off guard when he sees he’s to report to the gunnery after morning chow. He’d thought he had a couple more weeks of rookie shifts, but maybe they’re short a body and need someone bumped up the queue.

He slides off his bunk and shrugs into his jacket as he starts to toe on his boots. He pauses though, as his foot touches something that squishes, something that definitely shouldn’t be there.

With a grimace, shucks his socks for the spare stuffed in his locker and gingerly picks up his boots with one hand as he grabs his bar of soap with the other and he stalks for the nearest head.

By the time he’s managed to make his boots presentable, he’s missed chow entirely so he runs instead straight for muster. No point making an even worse impression than he has too.

Swinging into rank just as the gunnery master starts calling roll he slouches back against the wall, slowing his breathing down and putting on his best ‘fuck off’ face on as he grimly tries to ignore the squelch of his boots.

When a sullen, slouching rookie shows up to muster barely on time, Tullk has to work to keep the roll of his eyes on the inside. It’s not that they don’t need the extra hands in the gunnery, but he’s has already heard stories swimming around about this recruit causing trouble and the last thing he needs around all his assorted ragtag weaponry was someone with temper issues.

Although according to Kraglin, the kid wasn’t half bad. Tullk reserved the right to form his own opinion, but Kraglin had an uncanny intuition about people and he trusted him enough to give the rookie a chance.

After passing out the usual assignments, he gestures Udonta over to him.

“So, you m’new gunner’s mate?” he asks, reaching out to give the kid a genial pat on the back.

“Looks like,” Udonta says, muscles locked. His hands are in fists at his side and stares squarely at Tullk’s shoulder.

“You ever handled a weapon before, lad? Got ta know where ta start,” Tullk waves a hand at the rack of weapons behind him.

“Most types of blasters including necroblasters, twin knives, and m’arrow,” Yondu recites stoically. “C’n take em apart and put them back together, modify ‘em, use ‘em.”

“Yer arrow?” Tullk cocks his head. He doesn’t remember hearing about anyone on board wielding an arrow.

Yondu squeezes his fists until they blanch, and looks away from Tullk as he mutters “It’s yaka, ’s tied to me and I control it with whistlin’ .”

Tullk is impressed. Nothing will ever replace his love for feeling the recoil of a pretty twin-barrel blaster, but an arrow you can control with your mind has to come in handy.

“How ‘bout yeh show m’how it works then?” he suggests, already starting for the practice range when Yondu shakes his head.

“Stakar has it, prolly get it back once I’ve proven m’self.”

Tullk quirks a brow in surprise. That doesn’t sound like Stakar. It’s not like him to take someone’s weapon unless they’ve categorically proven they’re not trusted to handle it, and even then they’re usually just left at some port or shoved out an airlock.

“Fine then,” he says. “Show me how ya shoot.”

Trudging back to his bunk that night, arms feeling the good kind of wrung out that comes from using them well, Yondu feels a little more settled. Tullk was clearly an expert at what he did, and had the kind of calm and absolute control in his demeanor that made the other crew want to follow him.

His skills had earned him Tullk’s praise and a promise of a spot on the next raid, and for the first time on the ship he’s feeling content, settled, in spite of the incident that morning.

“Heya, Yondu!”

He hears Kraglin’s cheerful voice over his shoulder, feels him lope up to Yondu’s side and rest a companionable arm on his shoulder.

“How’d yer first day go then? Ya like Tullk right?”

“I’m gonna be on the next job, give me a real chance to prove m'self he said,” Yondu puffs his chest out a little as he looks up into Kraglin’s face, watches him grin.

“Ya must have impressed him then, normally he puts new crew through their paces fer weeks before they’re okayed,” he says, giving Yondu a congratulatory elbow in the side, laughing as Yondu swats at him.

They tussle playfully for a minute, ending with Kraglin laughing helplessly as Yondu gets him in a loose headlock.

“Yield, yield,” he says, tapping at the arm around his neck. “I give up, ya win.”

“Good ya know who’s in charge here,” Yondu throws him a smug little smirk as he releases him

“Yeah, yeah, yer top dog, master of all things gunnery,” Kraglin says with a last mock jab to Yondu’s gut.

The words make Yondu’s chest give a funny little skip.

Weird.

He shakes it off.

“Jest remember who has access to the work assignments,” Kraglin warns slyly as he straightens out his leathers. “So yer free now, wanna come ta the rec room before ya hit the sack?”

When Yondu shrugs, Kraglin gestures him down the corridor.

“Ya ever played knucklebones? ‘Cause I’m the king of knucklebone.”

Chapter Text

“Oi, rookie, up and attem, cap’n wants ta see ya.”

Yondu looks up from where he’s methodically cleaning his blaster to a hand waving in front of his face, as Tullk leans down to catch his attention. When he sees he’s got it, Tullk jerks his head in the general direction of the door.

Yondu blinks, sets the blaster down carefully. Captain Stakar?

Then he bites he lip, scowls. Kraglin. Of course. He’d told those fuckers who’d caught him unaware in the storage cupboard the other day that he’d report it up the chain. Yondu’d thought it’d been an empty threat, but clearly not.

“Yessir,” he mutters, slinks grudgingly to his feet to follow Tullk down the passageway.

Tullk knocks smartly three times on an unremarkable metal door, only the stylized star superimposed on a Ravager flame giving away the identity of its occupant.  When there’s a gruff welcome from inside, he waves Yondu forward.

“He’s expectin’ ya lad, go right in.”

Yondu hesitates, before squaring his shoulders and stepping forward. He can help the shot of jitters that runs through him, about to face the captain he hasn’t really spoken to since he’d collided with him in the tunnels leaving the gladiator pits.

That day is still mostly a jumbled blur of of shaky adrenaline and flashes of sharp images, the fierce pulsing knot of determination in his chest, the blinding flare of Stakar’s solar wings in the blackness, how his vision cleared to someone standing there looking like a goddamn dark avenging angel.

He remembers screaming at Stakar, screaming that no one was gonna take him back now and if they tried he’d kill them all, how the captain’s face twisted, colored with old sorrows, and the way he stepped back, given him an offer and way out.

The sluggishly bleeding wound in his side had meant he’d all but collapsed by the time they’d gotten back to the ship. When he’d woken up everything he had on him was all gone – replaced by a scrubbed clean set of blue-black Ravager leathers and a dull ache like a phantom limb, as his implant tries and fails, over and over, to connect with his arrow.

Pushing the door open, he stops in front of where Stakar’s half-slumped over a desk and gives a hesitant salute.  Stakar waves a hand tiredly at him, gesturing him to sit in the chair opposite him. Yondu’s shoulders tense, and he shakes his head.

“Rather stand.”

Stakar raises his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed.

“Just siddown, son, you’re not in trouble.”

Yondu doesn’t trust that for a minute, but he slumps into the chair, giving him a look that’s half grudging respect and half defiance. Stakar huffs out a sigh, then reaches under his desk to pull something out.

Back stiffening, Yondu leans forward as he senses what Stakar has, eyes widening a little when it’s carefully lifted and offered to him. He grabs for it greedily, cradling it gently in his hands and pulling it into his chest.

“Tullk tells me it’s your arrow, tied to you specifically,” Stakar says, watching him with a measured look. “It wasn’t kept from you on purpose, son, we didn’t realize it was more than what ya fought with in the ring. Kept everything ya came with in case it meant somethin’, it’s all yours if you want it back.”

Yondu doesn’t give two shits what happens to his old clothes, to that stars-damned collar. But this… he can feel a gentle pulse start in his implant and he struggles to hold back the shaky breath of relief, hold back the gratitude that wants to spill out. He’s had the implant about as far back as he can remember, been singing the arrow high nearly as long, and it’s like a piece of him has been slotted back into place.

Stakar watches him, seems to see right through him to everything he won’t let himself say, and smiles.

After a beat though, his face turns stern.

“An’ don’t think I haven’t noticed what’s been going on ‘round my ship, I gotta Code and that crap don’t fly.”

Curling a lip, Yondu resists the urge to hutch in on himself. Stakar narrows his eyes, looks straight across to lock their gazes.

“I mean it – it’s one thing t’have a little brawlin’, everyone gets antsy all cooped up like happens here but if someone’s ganging up on you, you report that shit, clear?”

Giving a grudging nod, Yondu shifts uncomfortably. Now he’s got his arrow, he wants nothing more than to bolt. After searching his face, Stakar seems to decide his point’s sunk in and gives him a nod.

“Getton back t’the gunnery, give the crew a show with that thing,” he says, gesturing towards the door.

Yondu eels up from the chair, still clutching the arrow in one white-knuckled grip, and gives a last salute.

Walking the corridor back he feels a little heady, filling up with a restless sort of energy now he can think clearly. The faint throbbing ache in his skull he's had since coming onboard is finally relieved, and he makes a quiet fierce promise to himself – no matter how difficult it’ll be to find more yaka, he’s going to make sure he has multiple arrows, a backup implant. And, he thinks, now it's not just him. He's got Kraglin too, and even the thought makes something warm and soft throb deep in his chest. For once, he almost feels light, like the ever-present weight on him is eased, just a little.

He’s never going to let anyone take this away from him again.