The Ancient One's Gift

The light of the Bifrost was like a rubber band forcibly snapped apart, violently flinging him out.

One moment he had been tumbling among the stars; the next, his feet were on soft grass. Chu Hang landed steadily, without so much as a wrinkle on his clothes.

Quill had it much worse. He landed face-first like a sack of trash, plowing a shallow trench through the ground before rolling twice and coming to a stop, sprawled there and dry-heaving nonstop.

"Ugh... where the hell is this? Where's my ship?" Quill pushed himself up and looked at the quiet woods around him and the faint city skyline in the distance, his mind still a complete mess.

"Earth. The outskirts of New York." Chu Hang's tone was as casual as if he were commenting on the weather. "As for your ship, it's probably still drifting through space. If you're lucky, some scavenger might pick it up."

He pulled out an old Nokia that looked like it had been made last century and dialed Fury's encrypted line.

The call was answered after a single ring.

"It's me."

There was a moment of silence from the other end before Fury's hoarse, weary voice came through. "You've been gone for almost a year."

"Just got back from Asgard. Took care of some cosmic trash while I was there." Chu Hang sounded as though he had merely gone out to take out the garbage. "I brought back someone named Peter Quill. He's the grandson of one of your old friends."

The line fell silent again. This time, it lasted a full ten seconds. Fury's breathing was clearly audible, heavy like a broken bellows.

"...Where are you?" Fury's voice was incredibly dry, each word squeezed out one at a time.

"The outskirts of New York. I sent