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He’s alive. That’s the first thing Rocket processes as the last of the aliens disintegrate, that he’s alive and his ribs fucking hurt.
He can move fine, but the patches of burnt away fur and raw, scratched skin sting as he examines himself for serious injury. His paws were burning and covered in some black powder from his guns, and maybe also from the alien freak he had been shredding when it had turned to ash. He wipes whatever it is off on his suit.
Despite the small and big pains, he was alright. He knew so far they had one casualty, and that’s it. Most others were probably still on their way to where everyone had collected, or lay resting on the battlefield.
Rockets mind couldn't stop wondering to the latter. Roughly 5 minutes ago, he saw Groot, and jumped into the fray of missiles to pull him away from the blast, and maybe he held on a little tight, maybe a little long, and maybe he screamed a little loud, because the best friend he’s seen die twice was right there and alive. But when they got up it was just a glance at each other and then they returned to their priorities.
Now the fights over though, and he coughs a couple times to expel some straggling dirt, and maybe some blood, out of his throat. Rocket can’t help but stare at the scene about 10 feet in front of him, where everyone here so far seems to have gathered around Tony, paying their respects, and he figures he should too. They aren’t close, but in the few times they’ve interacted, it’s been fine. He only makes it a few wincing steps when there’s a hand on his shoulder and he whips around and it’s-
It’s Carol. He snarls instinctively, shrugging the hand off.
“Whaddya want?” He grumbles, the small soar of hope in his chest falling through. She’s unoffended by the hostility, and kneels down to his height beside him. They can see the details in each others face now- her hairs a mess and her face looks beaten from her one on one fight with Thanos, but the unwavering lightheartedness and humor he’s used to from her is still there, shining and strong in their wake of victory. He looks just as bad, goggles cracked and face dirty, covered in small burns and aches. But they’re both alive, so that’s good.
“Not much- but there’s some people looking for you?”
She begins to describe them- A tree that can’t talk much, someone calling himself ‘Star-Lord’, a grey, buff man covered in tattoos, etc, but he’s not listening. Everything is spinning around him as he lets out a shaky breath of relief. They’re alive. They made it- they made it and he has to find them-
“Where are they?” He whispers, probably interrupting her tangent on the name Star-Lord and how she’s heard of him once or twice, and she points northward past a hill of rubble.
Rocket cuts the conversation short as he begins hobbling towards it, hesitant on his pained paws, then he starts running. After a few steps, he’s on all fours scrambling desperately through the devastated crater where the Avengers HQ once stood, kicking up dirt in his wake as he sprints. The destruction of the battle is all around him; small fires are flickering where the bombs stuck, theres broken glass and metal framework from the building that once stood, and there smell of smoke, dust and dirt is suffocating. On top of these inconveniences, he’s pretty sure he’s got something wrong with his chest and the way he’s running isn’t really helping that. Each paw on the ground shifts something the wrong way, the kicked up dirt falls against his burns and stings, and his eyes are watering from the rough air. But he keeps running.
“Groot? Quill?” Rocket calls, his voice giving away the distress he felt. He’s roughly 20 feet away from this pile, compared to the 70 he was where carol pointed him this way. He’s starting to slow down to a jog now, jerking his head in all directions in a desperate attempt to see them. He cranes his ears, trying to hear them, and sniffs the air, trying to sort some sort of familiar, long forgotten scent- but through everything, he can’t tell.
“Drax? Gamora? Mantis?” He’s crying now, but he doesn’t notice. They’re here- they’re somewhere- but he can’t tell where, and now there’s panic settling deep in his chest. He calls their names again, louder this time, and waits, now standing still.
Then he hears it. It’s Quill, yelling his name back. He doesn’t even need to think to speed up and take the hard left towards the noise, clambering through the difficult terrain that takes him down an indentation in the ground where one of the ships bombs must have struck, and when he emerges from it breathless on strained, tired legs he sees them.
Those bastards are standing there, alive and undusted, and it’s like those 5 years of pure rage at the stupidity of chance and grief are gone. The first he sees is Quill, standing tall with his blaster in his hand on the side and one hand pointing in the direction of where Rocket had yelled. His face is dirty and roughed from the fight, but the iconic shit eating look rocket absolutely despises is there, thank god. Beside him is Groot, who’s left arm is in the process of regrowing the scrapes his branches had obtained. A little ways behind them, Drax is sitting on a broken piece of structure with his forearms resting on his thighs with Mantis next to him, hands in her lap and legs close together. Nebula is there too, standing with her arms crossed near Quill. They all look dirty, tired, a little beaten, but alive. His family’s alive.
They spot him when he spots them, and the two who were sitting are at their feet now. They’re spewing questions and exclamations he only partially picks up- “How long did they say it’s been?” “What the hell happened?” “You’re alive!” But instead of answering, he runs to the closest person he can, which happens to be Quill, and kicks painfully off his legs to lunge at him and he hugs him.
It startles everyone, even Rocket himself, for him to turn to physical affection as a hug (not quite hug, but wrap his small arms around what he can of his shoulders and neck to just hang off his chest). It’s tight and awkward, but slowly, Quill returns it.
“Hey asshole, how was Nidavellir?” He quips, but there’s no reply. The only noise coming from him is a soft, muffled cry.
Groot’s quick to approach the pair, eying Rocket with concern. “I am Groot?” He asks, now not the only one to walk forward. The paw closest reaches towards him, and the now sobbing raccoon is passed off to the tree.
“Rocket?” Quill asks tentatively, concerningly glancing towards the others. Nebula meets his gaze and holds it blankly, so he looks back. “Are you, uh... Are you alright?”
“Shut up Star-Munch and give me a goddamn second.” Rocket sighs, face hidden in the thicket of Groot’s shoulder. He pulls back after a few seconds, and wipes down his tears before turning towards Drax.
“C’mere, ya idiots.” He exhales, hands extended to the final two. Mantis looks more excited than to others for the affection, because everyone else looks pretty confused. The two go in, both wrapping around Groot to enclose Rocket between them. It’s a little hard at first, but there’s comfort in how Rocket lays his head on Drax’s shoulder, with his paw holding onto Mantis tightly, and the make it work- and maybe all of this pressure isn’t good for him with his current physical state, and maybe it hurts, and maybe it feels like his chest is being crush again and it’s straining his breathing but at this moment he literally cannot give a shit, because after five shitty years he’s holding his family.
“You felt tremendous loss.” Mantis whispers, hand on his back. “Loneliness and grief. You feel relieved now.”
Rocket pushes the two off meekly, than wiggles himself out of Groots arms. “Don't psychoanalyze me now. Where’s Gamora?”
It’s silent again. Now's not the time for that- this is a reunion.
“How long has it been for you?” Drax is the first to ask. For them, it was no time at all. For everyone else, who’s to say.
“5 years.” Nebula interjects, stepping closer to the group. Her face is dry compared to Rocket, who’s still wiping away the tears he can’t seem to stop. “It’s been 5 years for us. We… We thought you all were gone.”
“Holy shit..” Quill mutters, eyes wide. “We’ve been dusted that long? I thought you're lifespan was only half of that.” He jokes, managing a laugh out of the raccoon.”
There’s a more understanding atmosphere now as everyone returns to looking at Rocket, who’s wiping more tears now through his laughs.
“Yeah asshole, you have. And frankly, it’s been a pretty shitty 5 years.” He’ll ignore the comment about his lifespan for now.
No one takes turns this time- there’s suddenly 4 sets of arms around him, and now 5, and they’re here. They’re really here.
And the pains in his body are gone- because this is a welcome pressure on his wounded body. It’s his family holding onto him and not letting go and not going anywhere.
“I missed you guys so much.” He whines. In an hour they’re gonna pretend nothing happened and Rocket didn’t get emotional over them so he might as well get it out, and he does. Everyone lets him, and in those 5 minutes the 5 years of missing them is gone.