Alright, another chapter! Sorry about the wait, once again my schedule is like 'woah,' at the moment, so really sporadic updates. Annnd...naturally, that explanation I promised has been pushed back to next chapter. My muse is a jerk. Explanations will be coming... One important thing to remember is this: Not everything is as it first appears. And...on with the chapter.
...
Groot did not pilot much. Before the bounty on Peter Quill and what came after, Rocket was the primary pilot. Groot had never minded. Now that he had his memories back, now that he knew them as more than an aura, as more than a color, he knew more about why Rocket was his favorite. He knew more about why he was empty.
Groot knew more about why he wanted to protect him.
He knew that the most popular theory held amongst his friends as to why Rocket and Groot travelled together was held in the idea that they had come from the same place.
When he had been in the pot they had talked, often over his head, speculating on any number of things. A good few questions had been directed to him, but as he had not been fully himself, the answers had not been known to him. Not that the answers would have been understood by them, regardless, but he had appreciated their attempts to include him.
Rocket had neither confirmed nor denied that version of events, bowing out of conversation around it. As their theory coincided with something they had often sworn to killing the ones involved with, they had let it go. He did not need to remember if he did not want to.
Groot knew, however, that Rocket had in fact been running for long enough to escape from his first prison by the time he met him. It was, in fact, in running from this second prison that Rocket managed to crash-land on the planet that Groot had called home. It was the most exciting moment of Groot's entire life up until that point.
Groot did not remember Planet X with any particular amount of fondness. His kind was one that did not aspire to much more than growing, digging roots deep, looking to the water, appreciating the sun as nothing more than a source of food. Groot, however, had been too busy looking up. There were lights up there, twinkling, golden, and Groot had been unmistakably drawn to them. It was this that gave him the inspiration to learn how to use his spores as a source of light. The others of his kind did not understand him, did not have any interest in the potential around them, and Groot's existence had been very lonely.
That was when Rocket had crash landed and things had changed. Suddenly there was this small being, a good deal similar to a few of the other little creatures that ran around underfoot that were native to his planet, but so very different.
Rocket had crawled out of what, at the time, Groot had taken to be some sort of natural protective covering, and he had been hurt. Rocket had looked up at him, his arm limp, leaking red and Groot… Groot had tried to help.
Flora Colossus were special in the way that they could regenerate themselves after almost near-complete destruction. It was a rare gift, and one they often used to their advantage. Groot had been in fights before, had injuries. As he was something of an outcast there were, at times, fights for territory, or fights for the simple pleasure of fighting. Groot had been forced a few times into remove an arm or a leg so the regrowth could be that much better, stronger. It was sometimes even better to do so than it would be to let it heal on its own.
Rocket and Groot's first meeting basically consisted of Groot trying, and thankfully failing, at removing the mangled limb.
It could have been any number of things that led to his failure. The scream of pain, the look of wariness replaced with one of the deepest fear, the way the small mammal tugged away, so weakly, but as hard as he could… Groot had let go, jerking back as though struck, Rocket doing his best to dart away. He had limped, fallen twice, and was finally cornered by a desperately apologetic Groot, who initially did not understand why this small being was so afraid.
It had taken him a moment to realize that he was not healing. There was no regeneration, no regrowth. Simply more of that liquid, small quivering chest heaving for air. The sudden realization that perhaps he did not rejuvenate, that those limbs were all he had, and a damage must be healed…
Groot had been contrite enough to rip off his own arm, holding it before him, and allowing the wound to heal, allowed another to take its place, letting him see what he had meant to do. It had taken two weeks of consistent attempts with gifts of food and water before Rocket let him approach. It took an attempt on Rocket's life for him to really start to trust the flora colossus.
The ones who had chased Rocket to X had caught up to them.
Ronan had not been the first time Groot had made sacrifices for his friends.
Rocket's reaction to Groot's chest having a hole blown into it, and both of his arms removed had been startling, at first. It was the first time he actually went up to him voluntarily. Rocket had held his hand, screaming that he would be okay, to hang on, which was something he had only learned later. Rocket had not spoken to him for a week after he realized that Groot was okay, and would be okay, healing before his very eyes. He had not forgiven him for this since, it seemed, no matter how often he apologized for scaring him.
This was the crux of the matter, he suspected. Rocket did not like to be scared. He did not like to admit that he could be scared even less, but of all the things in the world, Rocket truly hated the feeling of fear. And Groot knew that in his heart of hearts, Rocket was often afraid. But there was one thing that Groot was even more certain of.
Rocket was also very brave.
Groot had a feeling though, as he followed the auras of his friends, that this time his bravery would not help him.
The orange had not stopped screaming for help, desperation making it crackle.
And he would make the ones responsible pay dearly when he caught up to them. The best part of it was, however…he wouldn't be the only one doing so.
….
Peter Quill watched the Milano fly towards them with his heart slowly sinking into his stomach. Drax and Gamora both immediately fell into ready stances, his own guns held out and ready in slightly nerveless fingers. Everything still felt slightly numb and he hated it. It was then that the Milano began going in for a landing, and they slowly tensed.
They didn't know how it got here, they didn't know who could be piloting it. The only one who had been on the ship was Groot…
Groot.
Peter felt his heart stop, reaching the conclusion of their small, helpless companion at what seemed to be the moment everyone else did, too. If whoever had taken their ship had hurt Groot…it didn't matter if they rescued Rocket, he would never forgive them for it. The Milano landed and Drax let out a roar, charging the ship, Gamora close on his heels, Peter moving into cover-fire position.
It was a similar set-up to before, only Drax didn't have someone on his six this time. Peter would have to cover both.
The hatch opened, and a loud voice split through Drax's war cry like a hot-knife through butter.
"I am Groot!" it bellowed, causing Gamora and Drax to falter, Peter's guns starting to lower reflexively, their eyes widening. And there he was, ducking under, and walking towards them.
Groot.
Peter felt a smile slowly spreading across his face, moving forward, elation rising into his chest at the sight of their friend standing before them. Gamora and Drax both lowered their weapons, resuming their headlong charge with a different goal in mind.
"Groot!" Peter shouted, charging forward, momentary elation taking the place of his numbness. His smile had spread into a wide beaming grin, his guns holstered as he ran forward.
Groot was greener than he had been before, and also a good deal thinner, almost stretched, but it could not hide the same black eyes that peered at them with a mixture of happiness and concern. That concern made them falter, the realities of their situation catching up to them like a blow to the chest.
"Groot…we lost Rocket…" Gamora spoke softly, her step faltering, before her eyes narrowed, watching the way Groot nodded, jerking his head back towards the ship, beckoning them in. "You knew." It was not a question, a weight of certainty in her tone.
"How did you know to find us, dumb tree? How is it that you have come to be as you are?" Drax asked, his smile fading.
"I am Groot," Groot responded, beckoning them once again, this time with his arms, looking almost like he was trying to draw them in. "I am Groot."
Peter frowned, the urgency returning at Groot's almost desperate movements. "Explanations later, after we have Rocket, he'll give us a very thorough translation I'm sure, but we have to get him back first."
Groot hummed at that, nodding, once again beckoning them with his arms. They charged past him, Peter heading to the helm, Gamora with him. Drax and Groot both stood behind them, hovering, before Peter froze.
"…How are we going to find them?" The question drove them to a stop, now that their minds were clear the absolute scale of what they had to do was becoming clear to them. They hadn't managed to slip a tracker on them, they had been too lost to see where they went… They were nomadic. They could have gone anywhere, if they hit lightspeed…
They could be anywhere.
Drax's hand pounded into the bulkhead, just hard enough to cause a ringing clang, hopelessness doing its best to sink into them. But that was the moment when Groot gave another soft hum, and pointed starboard. They paused, staring at him for a moment, hardly daring to hope.
"You know where he is?" Peter asked, staring at him. Groot inclined his head, pointing once again, his expression filled with determination. "Okay. Okay, you pilot…" He started to stand, only for Groot to wave him down, walking over to the soil, fertilizer and water they still had for him, indicating that. "You…you're going to get stronger, big guy?"
"I am Groot." The sharp look in his dark eyes, the kind that screamed death to any who opposed him made Peter grin.
"Alright, but…how do you know where he is?" The question was called over his shoulder as Peter once again started to flip switches, bringing the Milano online and up.
"I am Groot." Groot was dragging everything up into the middle of the deck, letting them see him in order to follow his directions, before planting his hands into the mess of moist soil and fertilizer and beginning to feed.
"Should have known." Gamora gave him one of her small not-smiles, but her face was tense.
They had a rescue to get to.
…
Rocket didn't know how long it had been since they left him. He gasped for air, chest heaving, the stinging of the scalpel wounds ignored under the weight of everything else. He had to keep going, even though he could barely breathe. His breathing hitched, his body tensing.
He felt like he was holding two fist-full of needles, his hands still giving soft spasms of pain, twitching at the feeling, and sending more lances of agony up his spine to his skull. He choked back a mewl of pain, his eyes watering. He hadn't looked down, he couldn't look down, couldn't look at what they had done to him. He didn't want to know how bad it was, didn't want to know about the wetness that stuck to his palms, the 'needles' that dug into his flesh. He shivered uncontrollably, sweat and steadily drying blood caking his fur. He strained slightly at the bonds holding him secured to the operating table he had been left on, the cool metal a sharp contrast to the heat of his wounds.
He felt fuzzy, his mind traveling a thousand miles in every direction, barely able to stick to any one thought for any length of time. Above all, he hurt. He hurt so much, his body screaming in pain even as his mind seemed to be in a fog. He wondered vaguely how long he had been there and how long it would take for the other Guardians to rescue him. Rocket knew they would come for him. They had to. Groot wouldn't let them do otherwise, regardless of his current state.
They would come.
The fog seemed to be getting thicker, a soft whimper escaping as a jolt of pain once more travelled the length of his spine to his head. Now that they were gone he could breathe, now that they had left him alone the panic that strangled him had dwindled slightly. He still could not get out, but he would be damned if he let them know how much they had affected him. He needed to get his breath back, needed to be sure he wouldn't freak out at the sight of them.
The worst part of it was, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to.
Didn't know if he could force back the screams, the whimpers at the sight of them, didn't know if he could keep them separate from them. They were so alike, so alike and becoming more alike by the minute, his mind dancing between parallels and making connections. He felt like he was with them most of all. He felt like he was back there, and in the hardest of moments…
He felt like his team wouldn't come for him. He felt like even though they did come for him…they wouldn't help him. That they'd finally see him for the ugly, repulsive little monster he was, and leave him. The worst part was the feeling like he would deserve it.
That was when he heard it.
The faraway sound of an explosion somewhere in the aft deck, there were alarms ringing through the fog in his head, and a bright bubble of hope started to build in his chest. They were coming. He turned his head slightly, facing the door. He didn't care that he was naked, he didn't care that they had never seen him this vulnerable before, that he was still bleeding, that his fur was plastered to his body, or that he was likely the biggest mess they had ever seen, he just wanted to get out.
He wanted to go home.
He gave a soft whimper as the fuzziness started taking over, wondering vaguely if he was about to fall into unconsciousness, the room seeming to go black around the edges. Rocket remained stubbornly clinging to awareness. He would happily acknowledge he possessed a good many negative qualities, one of the most prominent being a vindictive streak a mile wide. He wanted to see with his own eyes what his team did to the ones who saw fit to, once again, tear him apart and piece him back together again.
The explosions were getting closer, as was the yelling, the sound of voices getting closer to his position, and Rocket had just enough gumption to shout, "I'm in here! I'm in here, get me out!" His shouting was interrupted with a coughing-fit, but it seemed to be worth it as the voices of his team seemed to come for him.
He didn't care if they heard him, he didn't care if the ones who did this gave two fucks about him trying to get help, and decided to hurt him for it. He knew his team. They'd rescue him. They had to.
He really hoped they had one of his bombs with them, he wanted to be the one who rigged the ship to blow, and blowing up this particular lab seemed like a good place to start.
But that was only if he still remained conscious. Why the hell was everything so fuzzy? Did they drug him? He let out a little whimper as for just an instant the pain of shifting shot through the fog, only to be enveloped by it twice as thick as before. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't…
That was when the door finally flew open, Peter Quill in his mask taking the first step in, guns held at the ready. Rocket's head was barely held up right at the moment, lethargy and agony mixing together into a very potent cocktail of misery. Yet as Peter approached, Rocket was more certain than ever that something was wrong. He didn't know what it was, but something was wrong, wrong, wrong… He hissed through his teeth, head still bowed, before looking up at Peter with a half-smile, and finally caught sight of the others.
Drax came in, his knives surprisingly blood-free, his expression colder than usual. Gamora followed him, her expression even more unreadable than he had ever seen it. He curled his toes, staring at them, trying his best to ignore the fear building in his chest.
"It's…about…time…" Rocket managed softly, coughing. Then someone else entered, someone he wasn't expecting.
Groot stood there, the same as he had been before, towering over the others, black eyes locked on his. Rocket felt his stomach give a little flip, the sudden joy at seeing his best friend whole and well almost more than he could stand, combined with his current agony it was almost too much.
It took him a moment to realize that none of them were moving towards him, that Peter had made it to within a couple feet of the table he had been strapped to, and was no longer moving forward. The others had paused in their motion, staring down at him, their expressions unreadable. He felt his stomach once again do a sickening lurch, only there was no happiness in the rush.
Rocket felt the smirk slowly die, watching them as they watched him, before giving a soft, "Groot? Are…are you okay, buddy? You… grew awfully fast." He stared at him, watching those black eyes that were the coldest he had ever seen them. Groot had always been warm when looking to him, had always…always…
"I am Groot." Groot's voice was a disinterested rumble.
Rocket felt his heart lurch, his mouth opening. "What, what do you mean I'm not…?" He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe… His breath entered his lungs in little desperate hisses, fingers almost reflexively trying to curl. The agony at the shift sent his head back as his back arched, his tail bristling in agony as he let out a strangled cry. They did nothing to help, standing there as he finally fought his pain down, as he gasped for breath.
"You heard him, Rocket." Peter's voice was bright, almost amused, and Rocket knew something was wrong, but he was hurt, he was so hurt, he couldn't think, his mind was so fuzzy, his nose felt as though it was numb… "We thought we were coming for something worth saving." There was a brief laugh, the mask finally coming down to reveal Peter's expression, pulled into a smirk, and Rocket was still so fuzzy… "Couldn't even escape from this." He rapped the table, the metal clanging, sending a ringing through his body, the metal implants running through his body joining the cry to the point it made his teeth ache. "I thought you were my master escape artist…" a shrug, followed by a sigh of "guess not…"
"Quill…Peter, you…you're joking right? You're not actually…" Rocket gasped out, only to have Peter once again rap on the table.
"Weak, pathetic, useless little rodent…" Drax' voice cut through the pain, making Rocket look at him. There was a tight bundle of something in his chest that hitched painfully every time he tried to breathe.
"I am not useless!" Rocket hissed out, violence in his words. Gamora silenced it with a single touch of her fingers to his hands, his shattered, mangled hands that he had refused to look at for fear of what he would see. He screamed at the lance of agony that shot into his brain, his fingers involuntarily trying to curl only to make it worse.
"Without these…you're worse than useless. You're nothing. Just a worthless little test-subject." She frowned at him. "I'm disappointed."
Rocket tried to flinch back, tried to curl in on himself, only to once again be reminded painfully that he couldn't, anger and hurt, and that damn foggy feeling of something being wrong battling for dominance. His breath rattled, and he bit down something rising up in the back of his throat like bile. His eyes stung. Rocket opened his mouth, fighting for the anger he knew that lay deep within him, fighting for the feeling of injustice, and finding nothing.
He was numb. A hollow emptiness beating in his chest where his rage used to be, hurt and pain and fear rising up to take its place. They couldn't be serious. This…this had to be a joke. A tasteless, horrible, completely unfunny joke. He looked back, looked beyond them, and met eyes with Groot.
"Groot…" Rocket started softly, body tensing. "Groot, please…" His words died in his throat. Those eyes, those normally warm eyes that stared at you as though you were the entire world…were staring at him as though he was a worm trying to eat its way into his roots.
"Groot…" Rocket whispered, "please…"
There was a pause, Groot giving a low rumble as he walked forward until he was staring down at him, looking him over from the tip of his tale to his ears, and Rocket suddenly felt shame. He tried once again to curl in over himself, fear and desperation, and…
"I am Groot."
Rocket recoiled as though physically struck, choking as those three words rumbled out in a voice that rippled over him like ice-water. His tail bushed out, ears lying back against his head, his eyes widening in shock, in hurt. "No…Groot, no, please…" he choked the words out, watching Groot's face, watching his eyes, his body trembling.
"I am Groot."
"You can't mean that…" Rocket whispered, his body hanging limply, body and soul in desperate pain, fear a knot inside his chest. It was against this fear that he rebelled. "You can't mean that!" He shouted, straining, trying to get at them, trying to force his way out of the restraints. In that moment he didn't care about the pain, he didn't care about the anguish that tore through him. It made his vision hazier and he let out a whimper, falling lax against his bonds. "Groot, guys, please! Please! This isn't funny! I don't know how you got Groot to go along with this sick joke, but…"
"I do not know who is telling these short stories with an amusing ending, but it is not us." Drax's confused voice cut over him, and Rocket flinched back immediately. Drax was many things, but a liar was not one of them.
"We'll be leaving you now, with the monsters." Peter started, turning around and leading the way out. He paused, looking over to him with amused eyes, a smirk on his face. "You'll fit right in, huh? You two practically deserve each other."
They followed him, leaving easily, one by one, Groot the last one to leave. Rocket tried one more time, a soft, "Groot…please…" leaving his lips one more time.
Groot paused, turned around, and stared at him. Rocket felt hope building, watching as his friend stared at him, and finally said softly,
"We are not Groot."
Rocket recoiled as though struck, trembling, his eyes wide, ears flat against his head, tail curling up between his legs, and watched as his friend, his brother, walked away, leaving him in the white of the operating room. Something rose in the back of his throat, watching as they left without a backwards glance, something bitter and wretched that tore its way kicking and screaming up his throat and out of his mouth.
It lasted until the ones he had hoped to escape came back and he didn't know when it would stop.
He hated them for it. Hated his team for being lying, betraying bastards, who would leave him to this hell. He hated Peter, with his smug grin, his comments that pricked too deep, Gamora with her stoicism, Drax with his honesty, Groot…
Groot… That noise that he no longer recognized as coming from him hitched, shuddered, and cracked. Hated Groot…with his too big heart, that no longer had a place for the twisted little monster that he shouldn't have been with in the first place.
In that moment…Rocket realized that the one he hated the most was himself, and that only twisted the knife deeper.
He was never going home.
He had never had a home to begin with.