the Blind Guardian

Good Morning, Rocket

I woke up still held in Peter's arms. I gently wormed out of his hold, waking him up in the process.

"Morning, Star-Prince." I managed to say, brushing my long tangled hair out of my face. Once I was free of his grasp, I looked down at my chest. Dried blood was clearly visible on my shirt. Not that much pain, though. Peter grinned as he remembered that nickname by Denarean Dey.

"Morning, sis," Peter said as he propped himself up on his elbows. He scanned me with his blue eyes as I started to slowly sit up. I cringed slightly as I used my core muscles to aid in hoisting myself up.

"You ready to fight?" I inquired as I finally sat up as Peter pushed himself up as well. He at first smiled, then his smile faded away as he realized that I was planning on joining in, too.

"You: no. The rest of us: yes. You had quite the scare last night. I can't risk losing you," he said as he stood up, then extended a hand towards me. I waved it away as I calmly looked at him.

"I'm sorry, but no. If I can survive almost dying three times in less than a week, I can fight." I stated firmly as I stood up and began to exit his room. "I may not look like much, but believe me, I am someone you do not want to mess with."

"Dess, put it this way: I have seen you fight, and you are amazing at it. But you can't—"

"Act irrationally? Like you? I am fighting, whether you like it or not," I interrupted as I stepped out of his room.

Rocket was already up, getting his gear ready. He saw me exit Peter's room and wiggled his eyebrows at me.

"Go to hell, Rocket," I said as I made my way into Gamora's room to get my things. When I enter, Gamora is slipping on Ravager garb. The pants were like Peter's except they fit like skinny jeans, while the shirt had a low neck. The jacket had a v-neck on it while the Peter-Pan-style collar of the jacket was folded down. She gestured towards my side of the bed, and there was another set of Ravager clothes like hers. I slip on the clothes and put on my specialized dark grey handgrips for hand-to-hand combat as well as for protection. I bring the jacket with me as I check my chest where I had been bleeding. If I wasn't going to be in a war against a Cree like Ronan, I would heal the scab at least. I figured I needed my power, so I let it be.

When I finished getting ready around seven minutes later, I fixed my hair into it's typical loose side braid. I then went above deck to where Peter was eating a small energy bar. He offered me a piece of his, but I declined.

"Sorry," I mumbled as I began pulling off my handgrips, giving in to the fact that I was unable to help.

"No. Leave 'em on. You'll need them today," he replied as he put a hand on mine. "You are gonna kick their asses and show them how ruthless you can be."

I looked up in surprise as I went over those words.

"What?"

"You're my sister. I'm not leaving you behind under any extreme circumstances." Peter finished, shifting his weight to his other foot.

"Heh. Thanks, Pete," I said softly, somehow managing to resist the urge to hug him.

"Also, when you said that 'you don't look like much', that was the worst lie ever. I can attest to that. Your boobs a-OOF!" Peter yelped as I rammed my elbow into his gut hard.

"Alright! What's the game plan?" I asked as Peter recovered from the elbow.

"You're coming with us into the Dark Aster aboard the Milano," Peter stated as he gave me a dirty look for the elbow jabbing into his gut.

"Quill? Johnson? Get yer filthy ship aboard mine," Yondu's voice came to life on the intercom.

"Ok. Dess, get the others ready," Peter said as I walked to the rooms to inform everyone to be ready soon.

As the Milano was carefully maneuvered into the belly of the larger Ravager ship, I helped Peter out with docking his pride and joy properly. He smiled at me as I checked every fastener on the Milano, ensuring that it wouldn't shift in flight.

"K Yondu. Let's go," he said as I returned to the cockpit and leaned against the back of the navigator's seat.

As we felt Yondu's ship move, we moved into the larger room behind the cockpit to pass the time. Rocket and Groot were arguing about why Rocket sheds and Groot doesn't, Drax was busily sharpening his knives, and Peter, Gamora and I were discussing what had happened the night before.

"So how did you dream you were stabbed by Yondu, then ten minutes later you were dying as blood was coming from your chest?" Gamora asked as she leaned back up against the wall.

"Do you get the injuries in your dreams?" Peter asked as I slipped on the jacket, buttoning it up to the last button, which left the upper part of my chest exposed.

"In a way, yes. As of right now, I have eleven-no, twelve scars and marks of sorts left behind by injuries from my childhood, when I didn't know how to use the healing factor. I dream about those injuries that have already happened, and then minutes or hours later, I feel those injuries happening to me," I said, rolling up my jacket sleeve to just above my wrist, showing a rather nasty slash across the main tendon.

"So you're saying you have been stabbed through the heart before?" Gamora asked incredulously, while Peter looked up and down at the areas that were exposed.

The Ravager looked at me. "You know, you look great as a Ravager." Peter looked down my long slender body, where it seemed like no muscle existed. I smirked, as past complements had following experiences which corresponded with violence and injuries.

"She has," Gamora breathed, her gaze resting on my chest, where a scar with a tiny centimeter long slip was. Peter looked to my chest as well, his blue eyes focusing on the pale pinkish mark. Gamora looked at me as Peter studied the minuscule mark.

"No. I haven't been stabbed. That shouldn't have happened."