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Summary
Peter, Drax, Mantis, Groot, Nebula, and Rocket. A bunch’a jackasses sitting in a circle. The core Guardians of the Galaxy, sans Gamora, and — yeah, that will never not sting. So it’s probably for the best that they find their own path, but Peter’s always found it hard to let go of the past. The Guardians will live on, and they will always be family, but they’ll never be this group, in this time, ever again.
“Alright, alright,” Rocket says, with a half-assed attempt at his usual swagger. “Here’s how this is gonna work. We’re gonna, one at a time, name a raccoon baby.” He reaches into the box, pulling one away from the pack. Its little paws knead at the air, trying to find a surface. “Then we’re gonna tag it. Then they’re gonna get to run free ‘round Knowhere until they’ve grown enough to go home.”
Before the Guardians formally disband, Rocket asks one last thing of them all.