HeadCanon: Infinity War was just a bad dream.
Peter woke with a start, sitting up inbed so fast his head almost knocked into the overhead shelf. He’dbeen…fighting? He and most of the Guardians, fighting Thanos withsome people he didn’t know. Some guy in power armor, a wizard (?),another guy in less bulky armor.
And something terrible, something aboutGamora. He ran his hand over her side of the bed, still faintlywarm, still smelling like her. So. It really was just a dream. Nightmare is more like it, Star-Lord though.
He smelled food. Peter yawned andpulled on his shirt. The alien letters on it shifted thanks to histranslator until he could read it: Gears Shift. In the companionwaythe smell of food was stronger and he found the other Guardiansgathered around the meeting table, which was covered in dishes. Scrambled eggs, bacon (or close enough, he knew not to ask what sortof eggs they were or what animal the “bacon” came from),pancakes, three kinds of toast including raisin (-ish) bread, fourbowls of fruit, half of something that would pass for a ham, rolls,and more.
In the back Rocket bustled in, a basketof fresh-baked biscuits in his hands. Drax, mouth full, wordlesslyreached out for one.
“What is going on?” Peter looked atGamora, Mantis, Groot. Each shook their head or looked away. “Whomade all this? Did everyone get up early for a cooking party?”
“I am Groot,” Groot said, andstuffed a roll into his mouth without bothering to butter it.
“Rocket did all this? What’s thedeal? Is there laxative in the scrambled eggs?”
“Shut up,” Rocket growled. “Sitdown. Eat.”
The way everyone was avoiding his gaze,though. “Okay, I’m just going to say it. Did everyone else have abad dream too?”
Drax nodded curtly. Mantis lookedaway. Groot scowled. Only Gamora answered. “Yes, Peter. We alldid. Except Rocket. He was here making breakfast when I came out,and I was the first up. And…”
She held up her sword, the high-techcollapsing one, sharp as a razor…and repaired. Skillfullyrepaired, but still the marks of tools on it, and he’d seen enough ofRocket’s work to know it.
“Did you break her sword? Is thatwhat all this is, an apology?”
“I said shut up, Pete.” Rocketreached under the table and began pulling things from beneath it,sliding them across the table to each of them. A torc-like necklacefor Mantis, a new game slate for Groot, what looked like a matchedpair of scabbards for Drax’s long knives…and for him, a set ofbeautifully tooled leather holsters for his blasters. He turned themwonderingly in his hands, ogling the stitching, the inset stonebeads, the hand-made buckles.
“God, Rocket. This must have takendays. Where did you find the time?”
The raccoon paused, a roll half eatenin one little clawed hand. As he froze for a moment Peter noticedthat he looked…thinner? Older? His eyes sunk back into his head,his fur less glossy. And he’d never seen that harness before, the allblack straps and the obsidian-shiny armored plates. One strapcarried a series of disks, each with a symbol. The only one he couldmake out was what looked to be a set of headphones.
“Pete…” Rocket put down the roll. “Do me a favor. Please.” And that word meant something. Hewasn’t sure he’d ever heard the raccoon say it before. “Just eat,an’ be happy, and let’s pretend this nightmare never happened.”
“I thought you said he didn’t havethe dream, Gamora.”
“Pete.” Rocket stared him in theeye. “Please.”
And so they ate, and they were happy,and they never mentioned the dream again.
