Knowing Cosmo's propensity to skim surface thoughts, Quill did his best not to think about how much the search for Rocket was beginning to feel like a wild goose chase. It was an effort he was sure the labrador appreciated.

"I do!"

But one that went entirely in vain due to Drax's presence.

"How do we know this dog is not simply leading us astray?" The Kylosian had been in a sour mood ever since apologising to the Decepticon Army (who had thankfully been very understanding about the whole affair) and had somehow managed to convince himself that Rocket was dead.

"Cosmo does not lead astray," Cosmo returned. "And is not in league with sputnik armada. For what it's worth, you have my condolences for your loss. Your cousin fought valiantly."

"How do you know of Vilgar?" Drax demanded, as Quill realised that telepathy meant he was missing out on a part of the conversation.

"She's telepathic." Gamora explained. She looked just as calm as ever, but the hand on her sword-hilt all but screamed she was expecting an attack.

"I do not know what that means."

"She reads minds." Taking a leaf out of Gamora's book, Peter moved his hands as close to his blasters as he could get away with without making it look like he was going to draw and fire.

Drax gave him a look. "My mind is not a book to be read, Peter Quill."

"And it is less like reading and more like watching holonet." Cosmo added.

The Kylosian shot her a glare. "I do not trust someone with such keen access to my memories."

"That is exactly why you can trust me!" Cosmo retorted. "I know you care for 89P13 and I also know you will kill me in many, brutal ways if I am being deceptive." She paused to give Drax a pointed look. "For the record, I do not have nearly that much blood in me." Putting her sniffer to the ground she went on, turning away from the busier street and leading them down an alleyway. "And is it really so hard to believe that someone other than you would want to find 89P13 and make sure he is okay?"

"Didn't you say you wanted to-"

"Da. And I still do." Cosmo's growl turned into a sigh. "He is bad guy, but he is not bad guy. I read his mind a few times, you know? Only surface thoughts because Cosmo understands the value of privacy but enough to know 89P13 is like roasted krakulat nut. Rock hard on outside, all melted and squishy inside. Will never say 'sorry'. Will never say 'thank you'. Will never rub your belly or scratch you behind ear and will call you 'bad dog' and laugh at you for being talking animal when he is also talking animal and is in fact only talking animal because Cosmo does not talk!" The labrador rounded a corner, the slow build-up of her growl once again turning into a sigh. "But he only pretends his heart is small because it is so often broken."

Having been one of the three underqualified and underpaid people who had had to deal with Rocket following the disaster on the Dark Aster, Peter knew all too well what Cosmo was saying was about as accurate a summarisation of Rocket as summaries went.

"Don't tell him I said that. He's still a jerk."

They turned another corner and came upon the demolished remains of what had once been a drug store. As if that wasn't enough, the spent rounds, dead grav-mine and the ball of scrunched up metal practically screamed 'Rocket was here!'

"Well we're definitely on the right track." Peter strolled over to the ball, only for his stomach to drop when he saw what it was. Or rather had been. "Er guys- It's his rifle."

Drax rushed over and upon giving the remains of the weapon a glance, drew his knives with a snarl. "Either Rocket is dead or the one who did this is and if they are not I will make sure that they will-."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Peter flailed his arms about in an attempt at warding off Drax's thirst for vengeance. "There's still the possibility that Rocket did this, right? Like, he's going around faking his death." He honestly wasn't sure whether he was trying to convince Drax or himself at this point. "This could just be another fakeout couldn't it?"

"There's no sign of bloodshed and no dead bodies," Gamora agreed, although the glance she shot at the rubble left the last part of that sentence unsaid.

Things did not remain unsaid in Drax's presence for long. "How do we know he isn't buried under the remains of this building?"

"He is not." Cosmo's tone had a finality to it that was very reassuring. "He went this way." The labrador gestured at a hole in an adjacent wall that looked like it had been carved out of bullets. "And something else did too… I don't know what but it's…" she paused, trotting over to the grav mine to give it a few sniffs. "Something like him… but different."

On that ominous note, the search continued...


Rocket kept to the shadows, following the sounds of bartering and haggling and shooting and shouting that were a constant ambiance on the busier streets of Corix 85. He figured it would be easier to lose his pursuers in a crowd; his short stature and the oddbob nature of black market rabble meant noone stuck out.

At least, he'd thought as much until he caught sight of the recorders. With their bald heads, mechanical brains, and pristine white robes, they stood out among the crowd of rough and surly creatures like orloni in a desert world.

Diving behind the wide leg of a haggling Badoon, Rocket did a quick headcount. There seemed to be a dozen recorders, each of them flanked by a pair of hulking techno-biological abominations that must have come from a later batch. He suppressed a shudder, realising that with their current modus operandi in mind it was a miracle he'd recognised his batchmates... Evidently no expenses had been spared for his retrieval. And if Rocket didn't hate every fibre of Sire, he'd have been touched.

The crowd was not an option then. There were too many enemies for him to sneak past confidently on the best of days, let alone while reeking of sewage. Without his gun blasting his way out wasn't an option either.

Guess he had no choice but to be the damsel in distress.

He slapped his comm unit back into working shape and when he somehow failed to get a signal, he scrambled up the side of a building.

"Guys, I-I need an extraction."

"I am Groot," came the voice of the despondent tree.

Rocket failed to bite back a whimper. Of course they weren't back yet. There were at least half a hundred scummy bars on Corix 85 and almost all of them would send the Guardians on a wild goose chase. In hindsight faking his death had been a stupid idea altogether, and if his hunters had their way with him it'd be an unnecessary one too.

"I am Groot!"

Nothing snapped you out of a panic like parental love. "What!? No! You can't even fly the ship!"

"I am Groot!"

"I forbid you!"

"I am Groot!"

"I can handle it!"

"I am Groot!"

"What do you know about handling!? You don't even have hands!"

"I am Groot!"

"Paws are hands! And I don't have paws, I have hands you idiot!"

The line went silent, allowing Rocket to wallow in guilt. After Xandar he'd made it a point to never call Groot an idiot no matter how stupid he was being. He'd already failed more times than he could count. "Sorry… again."

"I am Groot." Then, more conversationally the tree went on. "I am Groot?"

"Bunch of old friends," Rocket sighed. "You wouldn't know 'em."

The raccoon hung up with a sigh and ran through his options.

Either he risked the crowd or he tried to sit tight and wait for rescue… neither path was particularly appealing but Rocket knew which one he preferred. As much as he admired Gamora's deadliness, Drax's sheer invincibility and Quill's uncanny ability to always find a clever way out of a fix, these weren't run-of-the-mill thugs or paper-people Sakaarans. These were the same people that had killed his old friends… and then brought them back to life to hunt him down…

It had been selfish of him to ask the other Guardians for help, he decided. This was his mess, he could clean it up. There was no reason to get them killed for his sake. Rocket took a deep breath, crouching low in preparation. If he could clear the street and land on an opposing rooftop-

A ray of light burst into existence around him, emanating from a small, one-man ship that had just emerged from cloaking.

His ears fell back against his head. "Crap."

"Subject 89P13! Please raise your paws above your head-"

"Oh, you gotta be kiddin' me."

There was no emotionalistic rush this time around. Just a sigh of resignation. In fact, Rocket wasn't even surprised. If you were going to torment him with two of his 'dead' friends, why not go all the way and slap him with the third while you were at it? He couldn't make out much of Teefs due to the blinding light and the windshield between them but Rocket would have known the voice anywhere.

"I don't believe that I am-"

"Screw this!"

Rocket leapt out of the spotlight before Teefs could beam him up, and throwing caution to the wind, dived headfirst into the street below.

He'd been aiming for someone's head, but unfortunately the crowd took a collective step backwards and Rocket landed on his face instead. Half-a-dozen Recorders and the abominations next to them turned to face him.

"THERE HE IS!" cried a promotion-hungry idiot, as if half of Corix hadn't already noticed.

The raccoon shot into the air, as the ground beneath him was peppered with tranq rounds.

"Move it asshole!" Rocket barked, diving between the legs of screaming, panicking shoppers (who really shouldn't have been surprised by the level of violence present in a black market). He grabbed a chunk of pineapple (banned across the Kree Empire) from a stall and tossed it behind him to little effect. The quantum destabiliser (banned in all major systems) he grabbed next did significantly more damage.

One thing Rocket and his pursuers had failed to take into account was that Corix 85 was a wretched hive of scum and villainy- and neither scum nor villainy reacted well when shots were fired or grenades detonated. Everything from market stalls to shopping carts were promptly flipped onto their sides to serve as makeshift defenselines and all hell broke loose as seemingly everyone who owned a gun, drew one and fired at whoever's existence offended them the most.

The air grew hot with blaster fire, and from a distance all the laser beams could have passed for a pretty solid eight-out-of-ten fireworks show. Ears pinned back against his head to keep out most of the pandemonium, Rocket found himself sharing an overturned fruit cart with a musclebound Kree cradling a hammer.

"Don't own a gun?" ventured the big, blue idiot.

"Got crumpled into a ball." Rocket popped a grape into his mouth. "You?"

"I have forsaken all ranged weaponry due to it's dishonorable nature and vast inferiority."

"How's that working out for you?"

A tentacled monstrosity slammed into the ground in front of him, and Rocket had just enough time to realise that these things could fly before the Kree got up with a roar and knocked the cyborg's head clean off.

"My weapon serves me well, gerbil."

"So I can see," Rocket swallowed, shrinking behind a watermelon as half-a-dozen more of the Hell-Spawn rained fire from overhead.

By now monumental chaos had simmered down ever so slightly into general chaos. Most of the Corix crowd were firing at the obvious outsiders (and Rocket was incredibly grateful and kind of touched that 'the obvious outsiders' didn't seem to include him), but what they lacked in numbers the cyborgs more than made up for in shere power. Thankfully, Teef's ship stayed well away from the fighting- and that gave Rocket an idea.

Rocket took a deep breath and cupped his hands over his muzzle. "DOES ANYONE HERE HAVE ANY HALF-DECENT SURFACE-TO-AIR WEAPONRY?"

"I DO!" cried a Baddoon a few stalls down. "GOT A CRACKIN' DEAL ON AT THE MO! BUY ONE, GET ONE FREE!"

"DON'T PAY FOR HIS CRAP IT'LL BLOW UP IN YOUR FACE!" snarled a Skrull from a few stalls further down. "I'VE GOT A SURFACE-TO-AIR IONISER FOR HALF-PRICE!."

Rocket turned to the Kree. "Any recommendations?"

"Larry is by far the superior arm's dealer."

"Alright." Getting to the arm's dealers presented a new challenge. He'd have to break cover and if he was seen he had no doubt the Hell-Spawn would focus on him and him alone. He had to be discreet about it. Rocket considered the watermelon, frowned, and realised that he a) didn't have a better plan and b) had had worse escape plans. Rocket carved off the top of the melon with a claw, and promptly slammed the whole thing over his head.

The Kree stared.

"Alright," said the talking watermelon with raccoon feet. "Throw me over to Larry."

They complied without questioning it further, and the next thing Rocket knew he landed safely behind Larry's cart in an explosion of fruit. Not wanting to be alone behind the fruit cart, the Kree warrior joined them.

The baddoon seemed only mildly surprised by the method of Rocket's entrance (guess he really did fit in with the black market crowd) and was immediately babbling on about prices and terms and conditions and-

"I can't work with this." Rocket cut him off, snatching a bubble shield generator, a slug-proof carpet and a liquid nitrogen coolant valve. "SURFACE TO AIR IONISER, RIGHT?"

"YEAH! HALF-PRICE!" called the Skrull.

Rocket wrapped himself up in the carpet, activated the bubble shield and gave the Kree a nod. Complying like only he could, the Kree swung his hammer into the shield as if they were playing a particularly violent game of croquet and Rocket flew across the carnage and into the safety of the Skrull's overturned weapon's stall.

The surface to air ioniser was just as bad as everything Larry the Badoon was selling, but easier for Rocket to slap together an upgrade for.

Once more, the Kree joined him, glaring daggers at the Skrull as the Skrull glared right back. Their mutual hatred set the air on fire and sent sparks visibly flying- until Rocket's voice turned their attention downwards.

"Could you two please put your monumentally stupid war off for one minute? Now move it, I need to set up the ioniser."

"That'll be two hundred units!" barked the Skrull.

Rocket balked. "You call that a sale!?" The raccoon shook his head. "Look buddy, we're all gonna die if I don't do something about those flying death machines so show a little-"

"One hundred and ninety-nine. Final offer, mongoose."

"Knock him out please," Rocket grunted as the Kree proceeded to gleefully do just that.

The battle was now firmly swaying in favour of the Recorders, who were slowly but surely making their way through the market. Much of the Corix crowd were starting to cut their losses and retreat, others had gotten too distracted looting each other to bother trying to stop the mechanical abominations from advancing.

"I need one last favour." Rocket began to tear open the ioniser. "Could you buy me thirty seconds?"

The Kree nodded in understanding. "You are asking for a heroic sacrifice."

Rocket cocked his head to the side. "I was thinking more along the lines of a distraction actua-"

"It would be my honor to give my life for yours, gerbil," the blue idiot went on, ignoring him.

"We just met!" the raccoon protested, realising for a second that he might have found the biggest idiot in the galaxy.

"When I was younger, I used to own something like you."

"Oh boy."

"Mister Fluffles was the dearest companion I ever had." He slapped his hand against his chest in a kind of salute. "I, Rohak of Hala, only ask one thing."

Sighing, Rocket mirrored the motion. "For the record, it's Rocket. And I'm not a gerbil. What's the favour?"

"Win this war for me." With that, Rohak broke into a roar, and charged out defiantly towards the approaching Hell-Spawn.

The raccoon watched in awe as the imbecile was promptly brought to the ground by four dozen taser rounds to the face.

"One braincell! I just want to work with someone with one braincell!" Rocket seethed, as he hurriedly swapped the ioniser's standard coolant in for Larry's liquid nitrogen system.

Don't do anything illegal. Quill had said, in his Captain's voice.

Well, that was impossible, you couldn't even drink a beer that was 'legal' in Corix.

Don't do anything immoral.

It was hard to say where Rocket stood with that. He was about to do a lot of murdering. But then Drax hadn't been wrong about murder sometimes being a moral obligation. Although in this case it was maybe less something he had to do and more something he wanted to do.

These were the same people that had torn him apart, day after day. The same people that had killed Lylla and Teefs and Floor for daring to dream of a sky they had never seen. The same people that had given him life and filled it with death and rage and misery.

And now they had Lylla. And they had Floor. And they had Teefs. In the end right and wrong didn't come into it. It was a lot simpler than all that. They had something he wanted. And he wanted it more.

Besides, he owed it to Rohak.

By now, the Corix crowd had fallen further back. The Recorders were advancing, the flying Hell-Spawn would notice him any second now. He slammed the last two wires together and ignored the electric rush as he twisted them to make sure they held. Rocket stood alone against his worst nightmares. He liked it better that way. The ioniser sprung to it's feet. Rocket picked up a rifle from the Skrull's dismal arsenal and hefted it over the cover of the market stall.

"HEY ASSHOLES!" The raccoon waited a moment to cherish the looks of horror on the Recorder's pale faces as they took in the ioniser behind him. "Nice to see you again!"

A dozen Hell-Spawn dived towards him. The ioniser burst into life.

He'd rigged it to fire automatically at anything coming from above. Colourful explosions, the smell of roasted meat and melted metal, and screams of pain filled the air.

With a bark of maniacal laughter and a vengeful fury that would have made Drax the Destroyer blush scarlet, Rocket turned on his own rifle and cut through the Recorders dumb enough to try and run away without a plan. In the unlikely event any of them survived, Rocket hoped they'd learn from the experience.

A few more Recorders had taken shelter behind a stall. Even over the din, Rocket could hear them frantically dialling up comms, and desperately calling for backup. He heard the word 'monster', heard the word 'raccoon', heard their pleas for 'mercy' and their cries for 'help' and, still laughing, lobbed an entire satchel worth of explosives over their makeshift trench.

Rocket breathed in the smell of death and the warmth of the explosion as a head-computer came rolling out of the inferno. "Oh yeah, that's the stuff."

Briefly he wondered what his teammates would make of the carnage. Gamora at least had likely seen and done worse. Drax probably had too. Quill likely hadn't but he'd understand. They all would. It'd be a pain in the ass to explain, but they'd understand… hopefully…

As the last of the Hell-Spawn fell to the ground in unrecognisable lumps, the ioniser's gattling turned into a low hum.

Rocket dialled up the Milano and was immediately met with the concerned voice of a tree.

"I am Groot?"

"Yeah, the explosions were me."

"I am Groot?"

"I'm fine. And I ain't just saying that this time. Really, I'm fine. Are the others back yet?"

"I am Groot."

"Idiots."

"I am Groot."

"A dog!? Wow! They're even stupider than I thought. Imagine needing to get a mangy mutt to track me down when all they had to do was follow the explosions! Bet it was Quill's idea."

"I am Groot."

"Yeah. Yeah I handled it. Well… not all of it yet. Urgh, I guess I should tell you about this… I'm probably coming back with company."

"I am Groot?"

"It's a long story…"

The beam of light hit him from behind again. "S-subject 89P1-1-13!" came the shaking whimper of his batchmate, and Rocket felt his insides vanish as the emotionalistics punched him in the gut again. Teefs was terrified. "P-please stop resisting-"

Rocket cut off the comm and turned, his ears pinned back in shame as he raised both paws to show that he was unarmed. "Relax, buddy. I-I ain't gonna- No! Wait! Don't come any-"

But Teef's make of ship was not made for hovering and had to wobble a little to stay in place. He strayed into range and the ioniser burst back into life.

Rocket dived for the weapon, tearing the wiring apart with a swipe of his claws but it was too late. He could only watch as the craft spiralled out of control, crashing into the buildings on either side of the street. It hit the ground hard and there was a single, horrible moment where Rocket thought it was going to explode.

And then he wasn't thinking anymore and before Rocket knew what he was doing he was running towards the crash site and clawing his way into the ship. He shimmied past sparking wires and leaking fuel that told him it was only a matter of time until the ship did explode, and did his best to ignore his escalating heartbeat.

Breaching the hull, Rocket finally got a good look at the last of his batchmates and felt his jaw drop open.

Rocket had been the smallest at first. It hadn't taken him too long to outgrow Floor (at least the biological parts of her) and they had all wondered whether or not he would eventually overtake Lylla too. Teefs had never liked that conversation, being as self-concious as he was about the awkwardness of his size.

He was undoubtedly much more self-conscious about it now.

Teefs was nothing more than a humongous blob of fat on wheels that so comically towered over the raccoon it wasn't even funny. Scrambling over the walrus' prone form, Rocket tore off the wiring that directly connected Teef's mechanical headpiece to the ship's internals. He then slid over to the front of Teef's face and the strangely comforting familiarity of his prominent teeth. The walrus's cybernetic eyeballs were wide but unfocused.

"Teefs, you there?" Rocket shook him, but didn't even get a groan for his troubles. "Wake up!" he snapped, spiralling into a panic as the ship made a noise he did not like. "Move! You need to move or y-you'll die! You'll frickin' die like an idiot!" Rocket smacked the walrus hard across the face, but that did nothing but make the raccoon feel guilty. "Please wake up…" Rocket strained, his voice cracking as the hull started to bend inward.

It'd be a different thing, if Teefs was already dead. Rocket would have turned tail and ran and hated himself for it after. There was no point dying for something that was already dead…

But Teefs was still breathing and Rocket had been the idiot who set up the stupid ioniser and he was not going to run away and let the idiot die on him. Not again. He was sick and tired of running away while people more deserving of life than he'd ever been, died in his paws. And if that meant dying too, then…

But what about Groot? What about the little Groot that's waiting for you? What about the big Groot that gave his life for you? What about Quill and the aerorigs and killing Thanos for Drax and Gamora and saving the Galaxy and-

Before Rocket knew what he was going to do there came the distinct sound of half-a-dozen buzzsaws and then the windshield burst open as Lylla and Floor rushed inside.

"Move!" barked the otter, rolling Teefs onto his back so that his wheels didn't get in the way and then lifting him clear off the ground with the strength of her arms. "The ship's gonna blow!"

But Rocket found himself frozen on the spot. He wasn't sure why he was surprised considering his cold acceptance earlier. But he was more than just surprised. It was the same emotionalistic overload. He was happy, sad, guilty, overjoyed, terrified… They were here. They were real. They were alive. He didn't hear what Lylla was saying, he didn't hear whatever it was that Teefs groaned out, he didn't hear Floor screaming into his ear to run.

He pinched himself.

The next thing he knew Floor grabbed him by the scruff and they were racing out of the wreckage and across the street he'd more or less obliterated. Lylla, holding the humongous, awkward form of Teef's over her head yelled something but all Rocket heard was the ringing in his ears. Behind them, the ship exploded and although they had gotten out of it's direct radius, the shockwave still sent them hurtling through the air.

Time seemed to slow, or maybe it had stopped altogether- either way it didn't matter. For one beautiful moment the four of them were flying together.

It really is good to have friends. Thought Rocket, as the ground rushed up to meet them.

The next thing he knew, his head was spinning from all the actions and memories and thoughts and feelings, as Rocket got to his feet. He must have been out of it for a while because the smoke and dust had mostly cleared and the fires were starting to die down ever so slightly.

A short distance away, Floor was scrunched up against Teef's comparatively giant face, gently stroking his forehead with one of her legs while Lylla stitched up a gash on the walrus' side.

It occurred to Rocket that he should probably start running again. As painful as it was to admit, his friends didn't know him. He wasn't their friend. He was 89P13. And they were 89Q12 and 89L06 and 89A95… but they were still Lylla and Floor and Teefs too.

The raccoon took a tentative step forwards, his paws shaking and his voice small. "Is he okay?"

Lylla turned to consider him and though Rocket wilted under her scrutiny, he held her gaze.

Eventually, the otter shrugged. "Some cuts aside he's alright. No major damage to his biology or his cybernetics. He's just knocked out."

Rocket nodded, dimly aware of the growing tension between them. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself at them and sob away years of his reputation as an intergalactic jackass. And at the same time all he wanted to do was run as far away from anything and everything as possible. He didn't deserve them. He'd gotten them killed. He'd nearly done it again with Teefs and with Floor before that. And he'd do it again because he was a freakish little monster who was never supposed to exist, who broke everything he touched and who didn't deserve a second chance. Blinded by tears, Rocket turned to run.

He was met with a taser round to the face.


Footnote: I feel like a fair-ish warning I probably should have added at some point was that I am likely to end over half the chapters on cliffhangers of some sorts. Can't help myself. Also! Teefs is here y'all!

I really can't understate how much fun writing this has been so far. Feels like I can flex a lot of different writing muscles so to speak. Action, comedy, angst, more comedy. It's a fine line to balance and emotions are *hard* but it's very rewarding and seeing all your comments and kudos and reviews just makes it all the moreseo.

Kinda broke my Saturday/Sunday rule but I was super excited to share this with you all for what I like to think are obvious reasons. Thanks for reading, let me know what you think, and as ever hope you enjoyed ^.^