Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was smiling.

He was actually flarking smiling.

Flarking. That was a word that he had only recently picked up on. "Crude and nonsensical" as his creator would have put it, but he supposed that did not matter any longer.

Rocket hiccupped, feeling a brief sense of dizziness before taking another swig of the bottle in front of him, both paws grasping it's cold glass as the miracle of life dripped down his throat. When it was obviously finished, he held the bottle upside down for longer than necessary and when that produced no results, he lowered it and stared in with one eye, doing what he could to find more of what he craved. With it becoming quite apparent that there truly was none left, Rocket clumsily picked himself up and leaned against a brick wall.

He stumbled across the alley, the lone light of an exterior light illuminating his almost hunched over form as he approached one of the trashcans. Banging on it once before hauling himself up, Rocket promptly began to dig through the garbage, foggy mind still clear enough to remember what his goal was.

"Plastics go here. Glass goes here. Paper goes here..."

After a minute of searching, nothing had yet been found. With a grunt of frustration, he began to work faster and more frantically, tossing whatever he deemed to be useless behind him. Drinking made him feel better. It made the pain go away. He needed it. Even if for only one more bottle.

" Plastics go here. Glass goes here. Paper goes here..."

According to his technologically enhanced taste buds, the beer that he had taken a liking to consisted of barley malt, corn, hops, yeast, antioxidants (ascorbic acid), and propylene glycol alginate as a stabilizer. Once, he would have been totally curious in gaining a greater understanding of how and why such things affected him, but in that moment, he wanted nothing more to forget. For the haunting, fledgling thoughts that constantly followed him around to fade away, if even just temporarily.

"Plastics go here. Glass goes here. Paper goes here..."

Everything was so clear. Too clear. The way that she had gasped when it had happened, the way she had fallen and taken her last breath, his own shock as he turned to see the other two dead as well. It brought about an uncomfortably nauseous feeling that left him feeling sick at best and guilty at worst.

"Plastics go here. Glass goes here. Paper goes here...yes. Good job 89P13."

The High Evolutionary nodded down at his creation in praise, "You're getting quite good at this. Soon you will be able to move onto more advanced tests."

"Av–vanced," the raccoon croaked in response, looking up at his creator.

"And I see that you're vocals and vocabulary are improving as well. Good. We'll make sure to keep a special eye on your progress there as well," he paused for a moment and then cleared his throat. "Tell me 89P13, do you know why we categorize such things like plastics, glass and paper?"

At the blank stare the raccoon gave him, the High Evolutionary went on.

"These things are all of different materials and origins. Plastic from oil, glass from sand and paper from trees. These things exist independently and they have since the beginning of time. To mix them together in some cursed combination goes against the very nature of the galaxies unto themselves. That is the mission I have chosen to undertake as well, to create a society worth living in where everything is precisely as it should be. No senseless violence and imperfect beings. Perfection. You could call it a...utopia. Can you say that? U-to-pi-a."

"Utopia," 89P13 parroted back somewhat enthusiastically.

"Yes. And you are one of the steps in building that utopia."

"Utopia," 89P13 parroted back again.

The High Evolutionary mostly just smiled, "Good...experiment. We'll have to–"

Sweet relief filled him as alchohol ran down his throat. It wasn't much, about a quarter of a bottle. But evidently, that was enough, as before he knew it, his thirst had been parched and the bad memories had been fended off. He didn't need to think of the High Evolutionary and his stupid rants. Or what the High Evolutionary had done to him and his friends, cobbling them together in ways that would have made God himself question the minds of his creations. Or how he had viciously ripped the face off of his creator and left his still form to twitch on the ground.

Rocket drank. And drank. And drank.

But he still thought.

Thought of the scalpel and the pipes.

He found his chest expanding further as his breathing became quicker. The light seemed to dim around him.

Thought of the 'advanced' learning and his first time walking completely upright.

His heart rate was getting out of control, he could do little else but shut his eyes and hold a wet paw to a chest that would not stop heaving.

Thought of the rants and the screams of incinerated failed experiments.

It felt like he was going to explode. Felt like he was going to pass out at any mom–

"Rocket?"

He must have been crazy. It was impossible after all. It had to be. In any case, he found his paw moving over to where he felt the weight on his stomach, gently resting down onto the soft, fluffy fur.

"Rocket?"

When she spoke again, Rocket finally had to pry his eyes open, glossy and confused all at once as he let out a choked gasp at the sight right before him.

"Are you okay?"

Back when he had first been captured, scared and wary of everything, Floor and her prosthetic spider legs had done nothing to soothe those very fears. Even once he had gotten over the initial shock and instinctual stress of his "hurt", Floor as his cage mate had taken him a long time to warm up to. But she was patient and once he had warmed up to her, they played everyday. 

"I-I'm okay Floor," he answered, tears starting to show through. "It's just, I'm sorry, you shouldn't have...I shouldn't have done what I did. I got you and the others killed. I'm so–"

"Rocket and Floor play now?"

Rocket sniffled once, "You wanna play? Right now?"

"Rocket and Floor play now."

"Okay then...what do you wanna play?"

She giggled for a moment. Then two. Then three. At four, he felt sufficiently uncomfortable.

"Floor, what's going–"

"Lets play Utopia!"

Rocket jumped back as the mocking face of the High Evolutionary came at him. Torn from it's original skull and plastered over Floor's face, it laughed at him. Trapped him. Made him feel as though he was going to explode. Like he would pass out at any mom–

Darkness. That was all that surrounded him.

He didn't come to for a long time, not even when a handful of tree branches slunk past the empty bottles on the ground and wrapped around his small form, dragging him away to safety.

Chapter Text

The fireworks were immaculate and it made him feel just a little better about stopping Gamora from going back to save Peter. But that didn't mean that he didn't feel bad about Yondu. And as much as he loathed to admit it, seeing Peter sad did actually make him feel sad. So, it was with great trepidation that once everyone had gone off into their own corners, he followed after the man who had seated himself in the communal area.

When Rocket sat opposite him, Peter hardly even acknowledged his presence.

"Quill?"

"He was always such an asshole and this just makes him a bigger one."

"Hear, hear."

The atmosphere between them was tight and awkward, a far cry from the usual banter that they shared over steering the ship or in the middle of a mission. 

"So," Rocket started, "you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I am. Why wouldn't I? Everything's okay. I just...wanted to be alone for a little bit."

That should have been his sign to get out of there, but Rocket never was the best at picking up on and interpreting subtle cues.

"Well that's too bad then, cause I'm here and I don't like my company to look all sappy and depressed. C'mon, let's get a drink or two. The fridge is fully stocked."

"I don't know..."

"I ain't asking. I'm telling."

Still hovering behind somewhat reluctantly, Peter ultimately followed after Rocket, taking a seat at a rounded table.

"Here," Rocket said, clumsily placing a few glasses next to a long, tall bottle of tequila and a short, stubby bottle of vodka. "Don't chicken out now, it's been too long since you lost to me."

Peter snorted, but filled a small glass nonetheless, opting to start with the tequila.

"You first."

"Alright," Peter said, closing his eyes and thinking for a moment. "To Yondu."

Their glasses clashed in the air and they both quickly drank. Refilling both glasses, they exchanged and Rocket started with his own toast.

"To Groot. Getting stronger everyday."

Again, their glasses clanked together and they drank and swallowed.

This went on.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

Soon, both of them were fairly drunk, getting lazier in their toasts and more ridiculous in their actions. At some point, Rocket ended up with his head on the table.

"Do you think that they might have any fish on the new world?"

Rocket blinked groggily as he rose his head from the table, "Pete, what are you talking abou..." his breath caught in the back of his throat at the sight of the Walrus in front of him.

"What's that friend? I didn't quite hear you. I was just wondering if there were fish on the new world."

"Teefs?" he found himself asking incredulously.

"That would be me, because of just how prominent they are."

Rocket rubbed at his eyes, doing his best to clear his mind of the illusion and it's voice.

"I know we're not meant to eat fish anymore, but I can't help the craving that I seem to get every now and then."

"What are you doing here Teefs?" Rocket asked, his voice low and shaky. "You shouldn't be here."

"I just that I should visit, it has been a long time after all."

Shaking his head, he grabbed a half full glass in front of him and drank it in one gulp. When he looked up again, Teefs was still there.

"I use to find these a lot in my old home you know," the walrus said, gesturing at the bottles holding the rest of the alcohol. "Always falling off the sides of boats, always ending up dropping on my head."

Suddenly all color was drained from the world. Rocket blinked once. Twice. Thrice. But it never returned, leaving him and his surroundings bathed in monochromatic tones.

"I noticed there was a woman on this ship of your's. Didn't you know that it's bad luck to bring a woman onto a ship?"

"Gamora and Mantis aren't your typical women," Rocket protested lightly.

"Women all the same," Teefs said back calmly. "And don't you know that when you kill, curses follow? There are ghosts on this ship. Maybe I'm a ghost."

"I ain't scared of ghosts."

"No, you wouldn't be. You don't fear death. It means nothing to you. Whether it's your death or someone else's. We are dead after all aren't we? Me and Floor and Lylla."

Rocket screwed his face, teeth biting down lightly on his tongue, "That wasn't because of me."

Teefs chuckled light heartedly for a moment and then slammed both fins onto the table, rattling several glasses in the process, "Of course it wasn't your fault! You're only the one who opened that door, the one that stood there crying like an idiot when we could have run, the one who let me get shot!"

"I was trying to free you! To free you and the others! How would I know that that kleptomaniac was going to do what he did?"

"You knew him better than any of us! You could have done more! You could have left us in those cages!"

"And let us all die in the morning!" Rocket yelled, voice starting to crack. "Teefs, I did what I did because I couldn't stand to see the three of you die. I just wanted to save all of you and that was my best chance to do it."

A moment of silence passed between them and then Teefs shouted in frustration, "Damn you Rocket! Damn the day that they threw you into that cage beside us!"

"Teefs, you're getting angry at the wrong guy here. You know how I felt after I saw what I saw? It felt like I was drowning, like I–"

"Don't use that word, it's cursed. You'll kill us both."

"Drowning? Would you stop making up all these rules for one–"

"Damn you Rocket, damn! I pray, I bid for my father the god Poisedon to rise from the deepest depths full of death and blackness in his harshest fury! Cold, dark waves bleeding at the round edges with salt and spoiled fish to smother this accursed mouth with alien and repugnant drink, to choke you until you can speak no more lies, engorging and digging into your heart and lungs until you wind up turning purple and inflated with dreams of mermaids and seaweed covering your eyes and can again lie no more - only when she, crowned in beautiful skies with heavy metal arms and eyes soft enough to bring warmth to your dying body and her unashamedly disappointed feelings, her firm grip makes you screech like a banshee-moving fast and quickly and plunging right through your gullet, finally bursting you completed - a piece of pulsating flesh no more, but a blasted bloody piece of flesh now and nothing else but for the smallest of creatures and the souls of those you have wronged, your ghosts, to nibble and bite and feast upon only to be drank up and swallowed by the furthest waters of my father himself and those who worship him - forgotten to any who have ever known, to any time that has ever existed, forgotten to any saint or demon, forgotten even to my home and your's as well, for anything apart of you, Rocket even any ounce of your once existent, now non-existent soul is Rocket no longer, but is now itself all one hollow, emptied shell."

Rocket snarled, but said nothing in response, pouring out another glass and drinking from it slowly. When he was finished, he finally spoke, "Alright have it your way. I won't say that word no more."

"What word?"

All at once, he was face to face with Peter once more, the smiling human noticeably more sober than he was. The color had returned to the world and to his eyes as well.

"I...you're here," Rocket affirmed with a relieved sigh.

"I am," Peter answered, expression blank and confused. "You feeling okay?"

"I am, it's just...you win."

"Thought so," Peter said, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.

Chapter Text

Rocket yawned, bored out of his mind.

Terra was not at all as interesting as half of the planets he had visited and even worse was that it's technology was outdated and behind most of the rest of the galaxy. That meant that most of what blew their minds, like a vehicle with 2,012 horsepower, was really just an everyday thing for him. Something a toddler might be interested in, he sometimes thought.

It was to his great surprise then that Nebula had taken such an interest in the mechanics of this planet, especially considering that they only checked in once every month or so to report some big finding in a different corner of the galaxy. And yet, now here they were, in a small garage straight after a meeting with the remaining Avengers, the big green one had supplied them with a pack of beers and a fairly modern car, which Nebula was in the midst of dissecting, turning occasionally to a disinterested Rocket to request some or other tool.

"Wrench."

Rocket handed her the wrench.

"Screwdriver."

Rocket handed her the screwdriver.

"Pliers."

Rocket handed her the pliers.

"This engine is so...unique," Nebula remarked. "Certainly not completely different from the more modern types found elsewhere, but this is a good indication that Terrans are preparing to possibly explore further beyond what they know."

"Great, we'll have a lot more to deal with then just Quill I guess."

Ignoring the comment, Nebula went on, "I wonder if it would be possible to help these people. Stark especially, he would know what to do with technology from beyond."

"Stark's overrated and it isn't our job to modernize an ancient society," Rocket retorted.

"It wouldn't hurt to try."

"What are we doing, wasting time here anyway? There's probably a lot more to do anywhere but here."

"What do you want to do? There's only so much that can be done in the cosmos before it's best to just let things run their course. Besides, Kraglin has everything under control."

"That's a very confident statement to be making about Kraglin."

Nebula sighed as she wiped the grease off of her hands with an old towel, "If you really don't want to be here, feel free to do anything else. We're only leaving tomorrow."

"I might just take you up on that offer," Rocket said grabbing the pack of beer, but not leaving the garage. Rather, he climbed into the car and made himself comfortable, hidden from view by the raised hood on the exterior.

In the front seat, Rocket turned the radio on, letting it play on it's default channel. With the loud thrum of the electric guitar blaring through the speakers, he tried not to think too much of Peter, instead taking a sip from the cold can in his paws.

Three years.

Three years since Gamora had been thrown off of a cliff for a magical stone that didn't even exist anymore.

Three years since he had separated from Quill, Mantis and Drax, only to never see them again.

Three years since he had watched Groot turn to dust right before his eyes.

Never would he have imagined himself in this same very situation all these years later. Never did he think that he would find himself wailing uncontrollably over anything else ever again and yet Nebula and the news she brought him did exactly that. At the very least, he could count on her to keep it a secret. Their secret. It definitely added much more of a stake to what had been a reluctant companionship.

Boom, I gotcha!

Walked into my rocket launcha

Better watch where you're going

When you step around the corna

Tonight we feast on chips and cola

Whoa, it's a monsta!

Better call the coppa

Don't you stick your fingers in my bowla

Tonight, I'm about the chips and cola

Before he knew it, most of the pack was finished. Empty cans laying on the floor.

"This sure is nice."

"You can say that again," Rocket agreed, going for another sip and then pausing midway. He turned his head apprehensively, mouth gaping as he did so, "Lylla?"

"That's my name," the otter said with a smile.

Rocket groaned as he turned away, "You're not real. None of this is real."

"What makes you think that?" Lylla asked, reaching out to place an artificial limb on his shoulder. The action only made Rocket tense up even more.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes with both paws, "Why does this have to happen everytime?"

"Hey now," she spoke in a reassuring voice. "Isn't this what you always wanted? To build great machines?"

"This ain't mine," Rocket admitted dejectedly.

"It doesn't have to be."

"It ain't mine and Floor and Teefs aren't here and we aren't flying up into that beautiful sky."

They shared a small period of silence, one which Lylla broke, "Do you remember when you were first captured and how scared you were?"

"Barely."

"Well I remember it really well. I remember the first thing you said."

"You do?"

"Yes, I do. And I felt the same way when you ran off the way that you did."

"Lylla I–"

"No, it's okay. You were always the smartest of us, if anyone was going to escape it always would have been you."

Rocket eyes drifted from her to his lap, head hanging in resignation, "I didn't want to leave you, but it was all I could do, because you were..." he trailed off, not intent on finshing his sentence.

"...dead," Lylla finished for him, her words seeming to stay in the air for longer than neccesary. "But that's your problem Rocket and mine too and Teefs and Floor. We shouldn't exist. We aren't real beings and by that logic, everything we touch wilts and fades away. That's why you're alone now, you should not have made friends with perfect beings, not when you are the way you are. We were your only chance at companionship and now that's gone."

He looked at her tiredly and swallowed before he spoke, "I remember right after, when that door opened and you stepped out of your cage for the first time. It was magical. For so long, for such a long time you were just this treasure that I could never touch. You were golden, I remembered every tiny detail, the shape of your face, all the angles and then there you were standing right in front of me. Holding me. Hugging me. That was unlike anything I've ever faced before. And then in the next instance, you were dead, but I loved you, I really did."

"Imperfect beings," she reminded him, tapping his shoulder. "Are not meant to love."

"You loved me too."

Lylla stared straight ahead as she said, "No, I never did. I never could." She leaned back in the passenger seat.

Rocket did the same, as tears sprung to his eyes, "You did, you did love me."

Lylla looked at the tears staining his face thoughtfully, "I didn't and you didn't either. Don't cry," she said and sniffed, "if you cry, I'll cry too."

He tried to speak again, but found the words caught in the back of his throat, choking him and making breathing all the harder, "Y-you di-di-did. You lo-loved m-me."

She cried with him as he tried to present a case with eyes shut tight, failing miserably. 

"Rocket?"

They snapped open just as quickly, releasing even more moisture onto his face in long trails.

With teary eyes, he looked up at Nebula, her face scrunched up in confusion and concern. 

"Are you okay?"

Only when she reached out to him with a hesitant hand, did he realize that he had been whimpering, quickly ceasing the sound from the depths of vocals.

"Nebs...I'm scared."

"Of?"

"I don't want to lose anyone else."

Nebula looked at him for a long time, eyes shifting as she studied his hunched over form and raised fur. Then slowly and much more surely, she let her hand fall on his head, between his ears, bringing his heaving cries to a slow breath.

"Don't worry. I'm still here."

Chapter Text

"Wait for it."

The fleet of ships steadily approached, zooming past a colorful background of stars as they got closer. Their weapons were evidently ready and charged.

"Wait for it."

The whirring of their engines were getting louder, cutting through the empty vacuum around them as their target drew nearer and nearer.

"Wait for it."

They seemed ready to fire, stopping just short of a detectable range.

"Now!"

The ships fired. The entire mass of fighters came to life as they accelerated, firing on target in quick succession that left no opportunity to escape. A few fighters made it past the first wave as they dodged back towards the main formation. One fighter got caught in the way of another group of fighters, and then exploded. The rest continued onwards.

A flash went off near one ship, the explosion spreading outwards from where the fighter had gone down. The ship's cannon was firing again, this time with more force than the other fighters, but the damage was minimal. The remaining fighters would keep coming though. And by Rocket's count, there were at least seventeen.

"Warlock," he spoke quickly into his comms. "You're up."

Three ships blew up almost instantaneously as a bright flash of gold erupted past and through them, barreling toward the others with unmatched speed.

"Cosmo."

The dog barked in response.

"Keep the mama ship back, we need them alive and their weapons away from us."

"On it!"

The biggest ship of the fleet froze in it's tracks, halted by a force that it could not see.

"Kraglin, keep everything steady on your end, we don't wanna get shot down while we try to board."

"I hear you Captain."

As they got closer to the mother ship, Adam Warlock continued his assault on the fleet, some of which attempted to flee once they realized the ineffectiveness of their weapons against him. 

"Captain!" Kraglin yelled from the deck. "We got a really big gun pointed at us right now and it seems like the type that could instantly vaporize us."

"Flarking hell," Rocket looked over to where the large cannon was setting itself up, taking aim in preparation to destroy. "Warlock? You see this?"

"I'm too far away," he said through the comms even as another ship fell to his power.

Rocket cursed under his breath and then motioned to the child sitting casually in the seat next to him, "Phyla, now's the time to put what we've been practicing to good use okay?"

She nodded affirmatively and promptly left her seat, leaving the ship through the back and floating in front of it. The aim of the cannon went from the ship to her and with a great blast shot out a powerful laser. It hardly affected her as she absorbed it's energy and fired back, destroying the cannon in the process.

"Nice work," Rocket praised with a grin, continuing to steer the ship closer. "Groot, how ready are you?"

"I am Groot."

"Good. Warlock, rendezvous back at the ship, it's about time we teach these guys a lesson about attacking Knowhere."

There always seemed to be music and some sort of festival on Knowhere, whether it was by his hand or Nebulas'. The cause of celebration that night was of course the fact that they had stopped a well known group of space pirates from pillaging the world.

There was the usual dancing and laughing. Drax had brought along most of his adopted kids, or 'morons' as he routinely called them. That meant that things were extra lively, as though the lights and the excitement was not enough.

For his part, Rocket had decided to spend the celebrations on his own, having tucked himself away in a corner where he could still watch the goings-ons of the event. He never seemed to be able to be alone for long though, as Kraglin and Cosmo tracked him down fairly quickly.

"Rocket! Tell Kraglin that my telekinesis is still better than his whistling."

"Says you," Kraglin retorted. "Last I checked, it was my whistling that kept us alive on the last mission."

He chuckled lightly in the face of their pointless argument.

"Grrr. You're worse than Doctor Krusovech," she said, shaking herself off for no apparent reason. "Which reminds me of the time that I was first picked out of the harsh lands of Soviet Russia to be sent to–"

"Hey Cosmo! Look what I got," Kraglin said, brandishing a bright, red ball.

Instantly Cosmo's attention was on him, her tail wagging as he waved the ball around.

"Go get!"

She barked and took off after it.

With the two of them alone, Kraglin sat near where Rocket was, looking out at the party and all of it's noise.

"You doing okay Captain?"

"You know we're off mission for now. You don't have to call me that, you never have to in fact."

"But I do," Kraglin smirked. "Cause that's what you are."

Rocket rolled his eyes, "Whatever you say."

"So are you? Doing okay?"

"Yeah, I've just been thinking a lot lately."

"About?"

"Captain things," Rocket answered somewhat irritability. "I ain't use to having this much responsibility on my shoulders."

Kraglin nodded in understanding, "Well, if you ever need a shoulder to cry on..."

"Har, har."

The kids became particularly fascinated when someone had the idea to light a few sparklers. Together, they watched as the happy, giggling children ran around, chasing one another.

"You wanna go grab a drink?" Kraglin asked.

Rocket took a deep breath, his eyes squinting tiredly, "No. I don't think I do."

"You don't?"

"I really don't. Do you?"

"I really do. Don't tell Sire, but the food he gives us gets a little stale sometimes. Just imagine the type of things we'll get to eat on the new world. The flavors and the smells. I can't wait."

"It's can't."

"Huh?"

"It's can't. Not can't."

"Whatever you say," Lylla shrugged. "Okay, if not the food, what are you looking forward to once we get to the new world?"

"I already told you," Rocket said.

She gave him a pinched expression, "You always say that, but you can't mean it. I mean, isn't there anything you want for yourself."

"Why would I care about myself when I have you guys to care for?" he asked, pausing to fondly pet a sleeping Floor's ears. "It's not like we're just gonna forget about each other when we get to the new world."

"He's right you know," Teefs commented.

"I know," Lylla turned briefly to face him and then looked back at Rocket through the bars of the cell. "So that's really it? You're going to build a great rocket and the four of us are going to fly off into the forever..."

"And that beautiful sky," Rocket finished for her.

"I'm glad to hear that," she smiled at him.

"I'm glad too," he smiled back. "Goodnight guys."

"Goodnight Rocket," they answered in unison.

"Goodnight Floor," Rocket whispered.

"Goodnight Lylla."

"Goodnight Teefs."

It may not have been a perfect world, but it was their perfect world.