Chapter Text
Rocket trudges away from the battlefield, his head hung low and pointed tail dragging through the dirt. His team's plan had gone awry thanks to his ineptitude, and they ended up losing yet another match. The demon's presence attracted glares of contempt shot at him by his teammates as he passed them with his shoulders hunched.
It wasn't fair - he had only been doing his best. Or, perhaps, that was the problem. Maybe this wasn't his best. If only he had paid more attention, maybe he wouldn't have screwed up so badly.
Rocket didn't bother to stick around to hear their gossip. After all, he already knew exactly who their muttered complaints were directed at.
Normally, Rocket tended to brush off his occasional losses, simply blaming it on bad luck. However, it was the middle of the phestival, and now was not the time to be making careless mistakes. His teammates had every right to be fed up with him. He deserved it.
The comparisons his teammates always made sure to make whenever he was around echoed in his head. Zuka was everything he was not: valiant and formidable in battle - a reputable soldier Rocket could only dream of being a fraction of. Though, he had no claim to his father's fame. They weren't even related by blood. Rocket couldn't have even begun to ponder why a famed veteran would adopt a sorry soul like him.
Perhaps it was out of pity. Nobody had ever wanted Rocket, not even his biological parents. He had never asked about Zuka's family - he didn't dare - but he had always speculated that Zuka had been orphaned, just like himself.
He didn't want pity, though. He was sick of it. He hated being coddled. He hated being seen as weak. It cost an arm and a leg to get to where he was right now, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let that loss die in vain. Even though he felt a twinge of guilt for going behind his father's back and endangering himself to prove a point, he was resolute in his decision.
That was why this defeat stung more than usual. It left a bitter taste in Rocket's mouth. It was pouring more salt into an open wound that refused to heal.
He was so lost in his self-loathing that he ran headfirst into Ban Hammer. The larger phighter towered over him, and Rocket scrambled backwards with a pathetic yelp. He growls, tail lashing behind him as he spins around and scoffs when he almost immediately recognizes Rocket by his voice. “Ohoh, if it isn't the miserable pipsqueak. What do you want?” His voice booms throughout the clearing, making the smaller demon wince.
“N-nothing… I was just leaving.” Rocker mutters, taking a few hesitant steps backwards. His tail curls between his legs. He didn't want to interact with anyone after his complete fumble of the evening's match, especially not a confrontation with the warden of Banland.
“Heading out so soon, eh?” Ban Hammer snorts, clearly amused by Rocket's response. His smirk doesn't linger for long, though. He pulls his blindfold up, revealing four narrowed, scornful eyes that focus their sights on Rocket. “You cost us that match, you little shit.” The demon spat, every word laced with venom. He took a step forward, causing Rocket's eyes to widen and back away further. “Perhaps I should teach you a lesson.” He muses, putting a finger up to his chin in mock-consideration as he closes in on the ranger phighter.
Rocket was practically quaking in his boots, staring up at the warden like a deer in headlights. His fight-or-flight response kicked in, adrenaline coursing through his veins as his mind screamed at him to do something- anything, but he found himself frozen in place instead. He closes his eyes as Ban Hammer’s weapon rises, catching a mere glimpse of the disdain written all over his face. He braces himself, preparing himself to be beaten into a pulp, before-
“Ban Hammer!”
Rocket's eyes fly open again, and he snaps his head towards the source of the call. He breathes a sigh of relief as soon as he sees the familiar figure of Sword racing over to them. His partner steps in front of him, wearing an expression mixed between shock and fury. “What the hell are you doing?!”
Ban Hammer blinks down at the warrior, deathly silent as he studies him for a moment. He then broke off into a bout of laughter. “Cousin! Oh, how nice it is to see you! Your puny boyfriend and I were just having a friendly lil’ chat.” Ban Hammer's anger had subsided as suddenly as it had formed, and he was smirking down at the two younger demons haughtily.
“Piss off.” Sword flashes Ban Hammer a warning scowl. “Mind your own damn business. Rocket didn't do anything to you.” He takes Rocket's hand and yanks him away from the warden.
Sword keeps his eyes trained ahead, but Rocket couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder at his tormentor as he was led off. A shit eating smirk was still plastered on Ban Hammer's face, but his gaze grew darker, and he drew a line with one finger over his neck in a cutthroat motion.
Rocket gulps and tenses up slightly when he sees the gesture, which Sword notices in turn. Once the duo are out of sight, Sword gently rests his hands on Rocket's shoulders and turns his partner around to face him.
“Hey, are you alright?” Sword gives Rocket a gentle, sweet smile that only makes him feel worse. His eyes focus on the grass beneath their feet, unwilling to hold Sword's gaze. “Mhm.” He replies half-heartedly.
Sword frowns slightly when he hears Rocket's reply. The two had known each other since they were young, and the red-horned warrior was far from stupid. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know that his partner was upset. “You sure? Cause you really don't seem-”
“I'm fine, Sword. I didn't need you to stick up for me. I can handle myself just fine.” Rocket abruptly snaps, cutting Sword off mid-sentence. His hands were balled up into fists, and his eyes were filled to the brim with an indistinguishable emotion. The unexpected action completely caught Sword off guard. He opens his mouth like he was about to reply, but he swiftly shuts it again when he notices how tense Rocket had become.
Rocket's brief annoyance dwindled into a forlorn grimace, and he dips his head in shame. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap… I just- I don't know.”
Sword sighs and places his hand under Rocket's chin, tilting his face upwards. “Shh… don't apologize, Rocket. It's okay.” He pulls his partner into a hug, white and red wings wrapping around him, and the embrace is returned after a moment. The two hold each other tightly for what seemed like ages before Sword finally spoke up again. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Rocket shakes his head, sniffling. Sword flashes his friend a concerned glance, but decides against prying. “Alright… you wanna crash at my place for the night? Medkit's out on a business trip for a few days, and I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you used his bed for a night or two.” He offers before adding on awkwardly, “ah- that is, only if you want to.”
Rocket seemed hesitant at first, but he eventually acquiesced. “You really don't mind? I don't want to barge in or anything…” He rubs his arm, tail flicking anxiously from left to right.
“Course not, buddy.” Sword gives Rocket a sympathetic smile and squeezes his shoulders. However, his smile falters slightly as he observes his partner more thoroughly. “You look exhausted…” He notes, looking Rocket up and down. “Rocket… please, when was the last time you had a decent night's sleep? You haven't been overworking yourself just because of the phestival, right?” Sword continues to inquire, his voice tinged with worry.
Rocket shook his head profusely again. “No… I'm fine, seriously, Sword. Kicking enemy asses is hard work, but I promise I'm alright.” His levity in this situation only seemed to fuel Sword's cause for concern, as his brows furrowed a little further.
“Rocket…” He begins with a weary exhale. “Come on, please don't lie to me. You and I both know that isn't the full story.” The warrior took the shorter’s hands into his own, still gazing down at him. The more he examined Rocket’s battered and bruised body, the more he felt sick to his stomach he felt. “What did you do to get all these injuries? You’re not a frontliner, yet you look like you just rushed into the middle of the fray with no regard for your own safety.”
Rocket turned his dark, weary gaze up to Sword, holding it for a moment. The sympathy and worry in his partner’s eyes as he scrutinized him was something he didn’t deserve. Why did Sword care so much? They were on the same team. Sword knew that he had let everyone down - again. Why wasn’t he on his case like Ban Hammer had been?
“That’s fucking rich coming from you.” The snide remark left his mouth before he even had the chance to think. “Why do you always have to act like you’re some goddamn hero all the time? Worry about yourself for once.”
Sword’s face twisted into an incredulous expression, and he let go of Rocket’s hands. “Why? Why shouldn’t I be worried?” He throws his hand up into the air to further emphasize his point. “Are you serious? In all the years I’ve known you, Rocket, I’ve never seen you act like this. I care about you too much to sweep this under the rug. Of course I’m going to be worried sick!” The demon’s voice hitches, and he tries to take a step towards Rocket, who only moved away from him defensively.
“I don’t need you to protect me all the time! Stop trying to act like you’re my dad!” Rocket retorts, tone raising as his temper increases. He stood stiffly in front of Sword, barbed tail lashing back and forth vehemently as he felt himself losing his last shred of patience. “What part of ‘I’m alright’ don’t you get?”
“What I don’t get is why you’re acting like this!” Sword’s voice was notably strained now, the blue demon’s jarring response striking a nerve. “I’m not trying to be like anyone. Rocket- I just want to help you!” His white and red feathers ruffled, standing on edge as he gave Rocket a look of desperation.
The ranged phighter was about to shoot back an angry counter to Sword’s statement, but he already felt the fight in him withering away again. Now conflicted, he curled his tail around his leg in uneasiness. “Maybe you shouldn’t.” He finally mumbled as he tore his gaze away from Sword and back to the ground again.
“Wh-” Sword took an immediate step forward, then proceeded to hesitantly close the distance between the two once more. “Rocket?” He inquired cautiously. “What do you mean?” When Rocket didn’t budge and offered no explanation, he slowly draped his wings back over him with a sigh. “Come on, let’s get you home, and then you can rest. We can talk about this later when you’re ready, okay?”
Rocket simply nodded his head, allowing Sword to guide him away from the battlefield and onto a train headed for Lost Temple. He was silent the entire journey, not even giving his partner so much as a glance. Sword kept a wing wrapped around Rocket, trying his best to offer some kind of comfort while keeping an eye on him. By the time the two got to the doorstep of Sword’s home, Rocket was swaying and on the verge of collapsing.
“Alright, alright… here.” Sword ushers Rocket inside and closes the door behind them. Rocket made a beeline for the couch and flopped onto it with a groan, tail drooping off the side. Sword looked on apprehensively, then took a seat next to his partner.
“Can I at least help you with your wounds?” He breaks the deafening silence after a few moments. “I won’t ask any more questions, promise.” He adds after a heartbeat.
Rocket didn’t respond right away, and with his face hidden, Sword would have assumed that he was asleep if it weren’t for the muffled sniffles emitting from his smaller frame. However, he was able to get Rocket to agree to his offer, and within a couple of minutes, he returned with a first aid kit.
He couldn’t help but notice Rocket’s flinch when he gently took one of his arms to inspect it. Sword’s eyes widened slightly from momentary shock when he saw just how bad of a shape the demon was in now that they were under a brighter light, and he couldn’t help but gasp. Cuts littered Rocket’s good arm, presumably gashes received from an enemy’s blade. His prosthetic wasn’t in much better condition, either. Yet, the most unnerving part of it all was Rocket’s nonchalant response to all of this. He stares back at Sword apathetically, his normally blazing blue eyes dull.
“What the hell, Rocket.” Sword finally exhales, voice harsher than he had intended. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to collect himself, then gets to work bandaging Rocket’s injuries. It was only when he had finished that he heard the shorter demon speak up. “M'sorry…”
Sword sighs, setting the bandages and the first aid kit off to the side so he could focus his full attention on his partner. “Rocket, stop apologizing. I just hate seeing you like this. I may not know what’s going on, but can you please tell me what I can do to help?” His tone remains gentle, and he wraps his own tail around Rocket’s as he waits patiently for an answer.
“There’s nothing you can do.” Rocket wipes his eyes with one gloved hand, expression dour. He stays silent for a little while longer, but then he breaks into an unbridled sob. He pitches forward, burying his face into the red horned warrior’s shoulder. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”
All Sword could do was sit there and rub Rocket’s back, whispering sweet nothings into his ear in hopes that he could alleviate some of his partner’s pain. “You’re alright… just breathe… it’s okay…”
After a couple more minutes of shuddering and whimpered apologies, Rocket falls silent again. Sword peers down to see him fast asleep in his arms, and he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.
Rocket woke up with a gasp and in a cold sweat. He shot up from his quite uncomfortable resting position, eyes darting around the almost pitch black room he was in. It took him a few moments for his eyes to adjust, and he exhaled in relief when he realized he was only in Sword’s room. The aforementioned demon was cozied up under the blankets next to him, breathing evenly. He let out the occasional snore, and Rocket couldn’t help but soften his gaze as he looked down at his partner. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep, his anxiety over Rocket temporarily forgotten.
Careful not to disturb Sword, Rocket slowly swings his legs over the bed and gets up, eliciting a quiet creak from the bed. The winged warrior stirs slightly, grunting before wrapping his arms around a pillow that he probably assumed was Rocket before falling back into his slumber. With a quiet sigh of relief, Rocket inches away from the bed and to the door.
Making his way to the kitchen, Rocket couldn’t help but become lost in his thoughts, as there was no background noise to distract him. He fumbled in the cabinet until he found a glass, and then moved to the sink to fill it up with water. The taste was bland, but Rocket hadn’t had any sort of expectation for the liquid to begin with.
In fact, most things were beginning to grow dull to him. He had noticed that, throughout the past few weeks, long before the phestival had even started, his enthusiasm had dwindled until it was virtually nonexistent.
He set his glass down in the sink, scowling slightly as he wracked his brain, trying to conjure up any sort of memory of the last time he had truly enjoyed something.
He came up empty, per usual.
Maybe Sword was in the right to question him. After all, he hadn’t been acting like a brat to just his partner. His newfound bitchy attitude had stretched to practically everyone he knew. After thinking more thoroughly about it, he realized that his fellow phighters had started ignoring him more often and only gave him curt replies when he greeted them. Even Zuka, someone who was not easily angered, had grown agitated with his petulance. He had tried his best to maintain his normally hyper, enthusiastic front, but the phestival had sucked the last of his already weakening willpower from him.
Rocket had never paid much mind to his own emotions, preferring to push them to the side if they weren’t beneficial - but as he stood in the silence of the kitchen, he realized the fundamental reason behind his misery:
Himself.
It made sense, after all. Rocket wasn’t known for being in tune with his actions, as he was more of a shoot now, ask questions later sort of demon. That was the problem, though. His lack of self control led to his own demise. He was burdening Sword by causing him to worry over someone already too far gone. He was burdening his father by failing to live up to even half of his glory. He was burdening his teammates because he could never do anything fucking right-
Simply by existing, he was making everyone’s lives worse.
It wasn’t a good idea, he knew all too well. His eyes almost instantly locked onto the discarded weapon precariously perched on the edge of the coffee table as he steps into the living room. Sword must have forgotten his gear when he had carried Rocket into his room to get some much needed rest.
Maybe this wasn’t worth it. Perhaps these past weeks were all just a dream, and Rocket would wake up beside his Sword, free from the burdens of responsibility and commitment to upholding a legacy he never asked to have in the first place.
The fleeting thought of waking Sword up crossed Rocket’s mind, but he forced it away. There was no way he was going to disturb his partner after he had already done so much - rather, too much - for him.
He pushes the neatly folded letter in his hand into his pocket as he approaches the weapon. The metal shimmered in the faint moonlight filtering through the gaps in the blinds, casting a pale sheen over Rocket’s bandaged arms - yet another reminder of how he had grown into nothing more than dead weight that the people he knew were forced to carry. Not like they’d have to worry about him for much longer.
Another step forward. Rocket snatches the weapon, pulling it up to his face so that the blade is held high in the air, above his head. He inspected the sword with slight awe. He had never seen it up this close before. He could almost feel the surges of power coursing through it. It was fit to be wielded by a god - nothing like the lowlife sort Rocket was.
He moved closer to the window, the silver and red adorned sword clutched tightly between his fingers. He takes a moment to just breathe, gazing up at the shimmering dots of light above, paired with the waning crescent moon. It was a stunning sight to behold. The murky sky above was alluring, almost as if it were calling Rocket to go mingle amongst the stars.
In the time he took to stare out at the cosmos, he began to relax. His limbs ceased their trembling, and his muscles untensed. There was still a hollow pit in his chest, but it was paired with a quaint resolve now. A strange sort of certainty that this was what he wanted.
In a robotic manner, Rocket presses his back to the wall and slides down onto the floor in a sitting position, still gripping the hilt of the weapon. He stayed still for what seemed like ages, staring down at the blade.
Why was he hesitating? Wasn’t this what he wanted? Wasn’t this best for everyone he had ever cared about?
He didn’t know.
And he didn’t take the time to ruminate over all the questions, the doubts, the uncertainties that had been running rampant in his mind for Illumina knows how long.
As he plunged the sharpened edge into his abdomen and choked on his own blood, the last words that escaped his lips were a futile plea that would never be heard.