Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Burning pain swept through his neck. 

Crystal knives dug into his collar.

The hot, rank scent of acid breath penetrated his nostrils.

The monster wrapped itself around him.

He choked on his own blood.

Tears spilled from his eyes.

A body lay, strewn across the sand.

Blue blood stained his hands.

Pale, dead organs wrapped around his throat and choked him.

Water filled his lungs and drowned out his cries.

Salt stung his eyes.

The house collapsed around him.

Wind kicked at his face and bit his bare skin.

Ice scraped his arms.

His head was slammed into the ground.

Blades slashed at his cheeks.

Brick wall smashed into his cranium.

The faint smell of paper crept up on him.

White robes wrapped around his dead body.

Antlers stabbed his chest.

The sand burned him.

The car crashed.

He was impaled, and his gear was pulled straight from his gut.

The phone rang twice.

Rocket awoke as his body slammed into the floor of his bedroom. He’d fallen out of bed again.

Chapter Text

A cold breeze whipped at his cheeks as Rocket slid down the arena. His skates ground against the ice beneath his feet, and his stick lay steady in his hand.

The puck slid just beyond reach, but Rocket dove to get at it faster than any of his teammates. His hockey stick slid out in front of him, and he reached out to bat the puck into the net.

In the blink of an eye, Rocket was shoved down onto the ice. His helmet-covered head slammed back into the rink’s short wall, and for a moment, he found himself in a daze.

“Rocket. Rocket. What’s your fucking problem?” A sour voice snapped down at him as he regained his senses. 

Rocket looked up and adjusted his helmet so he could see. There, in front of him, his teammate– Hockeystick– slid towards him against the ice. His other teammates swarmed to gather around the scene.

“Get up.” Hockeystick snapped.

Rocket pressed his back to the wall and easily boosted himself back up onto his feet. He adjusted his hand around the stick enclosed between his glove, and glared at Hockey.

“What’s your fucking problem?” He snapped.

“Are you in a daze?!” Hockeystick cried. “You fucking bodyslammed me before going for the puck, idiot. What is your fucking problem?!”

“What’s the issue here?” The coach called as he slid forward. Before the man could interfere, Rocket sprung up and threw himself into his teammate.

Hockeystick fell to the ground with a sharp cry of alarm as Rocket ripped his teammate’s helmet up and threw his own gloves off his hands. With Hockeystick pinned beneath his legs, he threw his fists repeatedly into his face– until he felt hot blood on his fingers.

Eventually, the coach tore him off, and began to scold him.

“ROCKET! This is practice, son! That’s your teammate.”

Rocket slid back until he felt the wall secure against his back. He brought his fingers to his gaze, and gave the coach a glare.

“Mm.”

His nails were crested with fresh blood, and Rocket hastily wiped off against his jersey. Despite it, he liked the feeling he got when he came so close to destroying Hockeystick’s face.

The coach sighed as Rocket retrieved his gloves and the mock-game continued on.

“Save it for the real shit, kid.”

Rocket wiped a pool of sweat off his forehead and onto his arm as he finished packing his gear into his hockey bag. Just as he was about to leave the locker room, assuming he was the last gone, a voice from the corner startled him.

“Rocket.” Hockeystick’s fist closed around the back of Rocket’s neck and shoved his forehead to the painted brick wall. “You pull that shit again on me, I’m gonna kill you. For real. I’ll do it on the fucking ice.”

Rocket glared at the wall before his face and let out a weak growl. Despite how much he wanted to, he waited until Hockeystick had let him go before he made his next move. It wasn’t an attack, however. He remained passive as he continued to pack his things.

“You’re actually so sped, dude.” Hockeystick muttered as he packed his gear up off the bench. “Like, you’re actually so autistic. Fucking fag–”

“The fuck is your problem?!” Rocket whipped himself around. His hands twitched and curled into fists, and he was just a second away from tackling his teammate.

“Do not fucking come at me.” Hockeystick hissed. He held one of his skates by a few fingers, and waved the blade around in the fluorescent white light from overhead. Rocket, with nothing to defend himself with, snatched his bag up and slung it over his shoulder in retreat.

“Kill yourself.” Hockeystick spewed one last empty remark as Rocket left the barren locker room. He was fuming, but he brought it upon himself to protect his face from Hockeystick’s blades– so silently, he slipped away, and exited the arena.

Zuka’s truck was quietly parked at the front. Rocket eyed it as he rounded towards the shotgun.

It was a shabby old thing, with dented doors and scrapes along its side. Rocket hated thinking too much about it– it always brought back the memories of the crash.

Zuka loved Firebrand for paying to bring his beloved truck back to life, but Rocket secretly wished he never had. He’d rather walk– and that said a lot– because Rocket knew himself to be lazy. He hated walking, most times.

As Rocket swung open the truck door and threw himself down into the shotgun, hockey bag propped up on his lap, he wasn’t greeted by his own father, but Firebrand, gloved hands on the wheel and a cheery smile strapped across his face.

“Where’s dad?” Rocket asked first.

“He had to work late.” Firebrand began, before he delved into a spiel of details. “He got a call from a regular client who hooked her gear up to her television. The T.V bugged out, and her gear couldn’t function, so Zuka was finishing up at her home. Weird situation, isn’t it? At least it’s one of the better jobs he’s taken– I heard the lady’s voice over the phone, she seemed quite nice–”

“ Okay , Firebrand.” Rocket hissed.

Firebrand’s mouth snapped shut at his tone, and with a grumble, Rocket leaned back and slipped his bag into the back seat.

Firebrand turned his head towards Rocket as he began to pull out of the parking lot and attempted a weak smile.

Rocket gave him a look of dismay and turned his head towards the window to watch the buildings as they passed. He tried to ignore the anxiety that curled in his stomach with every little rattle and speed bump that shook the truck.

“Soo.. How was hockey?” Firebrand prodded him.

Rocket let an exasperated sigh like a hiss escape his mouth, and Firebrand fell silent once more.

They sat there awkwardly for another moment, before Firebrand asked a question again.

“How come you don’t like hockey anymore, hon?”

Rocket slammed his fist down against the window.

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

Firebrand seemed to go pale, and his lips tightened against each other wearily.

“Oh, Rocket.. I forgot. My apologies.”

Rocket pushed out another exhale and let his knuckled hand slide down the door.

“It’s fine.”

Firebrand nodded and propped himself up until his posture was perfectly straight. Rocket found that despite his properness, in recent years he’d begun to slouch– and his height hadn’t helped while sitting in the car.

“Are you going to tell your father how practice went?” Firebrand swallowed.

“Nothing even happened.” Rocket crossed his arms. “It was bullsh– it was bull. Y’know, I’m too good.. For.. Those guys. I should stop playing.”

“Your father wants you to continue. I think you should too, you’re a natural skater.”

“I know.” Rocket bit back. “Doesn’t mean I gave a ffffffffuuuuuck.”

Firebrand eyed him gently.

“Your father doesn’t appreciate it when you cuss–”

“If you tell him I’ll be pissed at you.”

“Okay.” Firebrand sighed. “I’m gonna turn the radio on, is that okay?”

“Fine.”

Firebrand reached out to switch on the radio, and it immediately buzzed to life and whirred with loud static.

“Change the channel!” Rocket hissed.

Firebrand turned his head to peer at the truck’s tiny console screen. His long horn scraped the roof with its tip, and its flames licked softly at the fabric above.

“You’re gonna set us on fire.” Rocket narrowed his eyes.

“My flame is harmless.”

Rocket rolled his eyes and slumped over against the door as Firebrand swung his head around to get a closer look at the station. His horn would’ve slammed into Rocket’s face, if not for his massively unhealthy slouch.

“This is my favourite channel.” The god groaned.

“Just change it.” Rocket spat.

“Have you noticed how bad all the local channels have gotten?” Firebrand then perked up.

“No.”

“Is the news like that too?”

“I said I haven’t noticed, Firebrand .”

“Sorry.” The deity muttered as his fingers curled around the stereo’s switch. He flipped through a few channels, before he landed on the local news– the old man’s second favourite.

“Local reports show an increase of technological related issues related to Blackrock-funded sources..” The reporter began. “They strain from television to radio, and even phone-lines. Even the new mobile phones have been affected. Uhhh.. We have a reporter here, live at the Crossroads Centre Square.. Um, here’s Cuff.

Firebrand leaned in further as the live reporter began to speak and turned the volume up. Rocket was just about ready to shove his earbuds in, but he was silently and secretly intrigued by what was typically boring news.

“Well, Latte, here we are live at Crossroads Centre Square. Uh, as you can figure, behind us, the televisions that are typically hung from the tower, here, are all uhh, fuzzing out. Y’know, we have a few technicians, government-regulated ones, trying to work out the situation, but, uh.. Not happening. Not happening at all. Y’know, since Blackrock, uh, ‘generously’ donated all that equipment here, uh, the government’s been thinking about getting rid of it all.. Or so I’ve heard. There are reports that Blackrock is trying to uh, start up a war with Crossroads.. Despite our neutrality. Either that or they’re trying to brainwash all the people to uh.. But hey, that’s conspiracy territory. We’re thinking it’s a skilled hacker. Who did this. Uh, now, here we have a live interview..”

The news began to fizzle out as the interview was buzzed with questions and encouraged to ramble aimlessly.

“Never trust Blackrock people.” Rocket muttered to himself. “They’re twisted.”

“Hey.” Firebrand looked over. “That’s a generalization. I’ve met many kind Blackrock citizens– you know your dad is from there, right? So is your brother.”

“Mmmmm.. Then there’s a reason they left.” Rocket mumbled aimlessly as he plugged his earbuds in and shoved them down. He set his chin on the window, as the music began to settle in and drowned out Firebrand’s voice.

“I think your father’s home!” Firebrand exclaimed after they’d arrived and begun to approach the front door. Rocket followed his step-father, gaze pinned to his shoes, as he slugged his hockey bag across the concrete path.

They never ended up moving out of Rocket’s childhood home down by the shoreline– not even after Firebrand decided to move in with them. It wouldn’t take any offering of money to get them away from Crossroads, and it wasn’t because Zuka liked his job.

Rocket wasn’t exactly sure why his father wanted to keep his life steady in the Crossroads. The boy dreamed of escaping to another home– if not in Crossroads, then the beautiful jungle faction of Playground. He hated school, he hated his hockey league, he hated his neighborhood, and he hated the streets he had to walk in the evening whenever he took the dog out.

Also, I’m like, lonely as fuck.

That was hard to admit to himself.

Imagine the sports in Playground? He changed the topic inside his own head.

Either Rocket had seen too much reality T.V starring the wealthy Playgrounders, or it was just the place to be.

Better than this lame fucking city. So much for a world hub, or whatever it's trying to be. Playground would never take some scam-ass tech deal from Blackrock, not in a million years.

“Rocket? Are you coming?”

Rocket looked up as Firebrand awaited him.

“What’re you thinking about?” Firebrand turned away. “Your mind is always so busy, isn’t it?”

“Nothing.”

“School? Hockey?”

“I said nothing.”

“A new friend?”

“I said nothing !”

Rocket had to bite his tongue if he didn’t want to yell at Firebrand. The god could clearly tell, and he sheepishly pushed open the already-unlocked door. He stepped inside, and Rocket began to drag himself up the steps after him.

When they got inside, Zuka nodded in greeting. He was sat at the kitchen counter, elbow propped up against it, and in his hand, he held the phone against his ear. Its cord was wrapped up around him, and he had scattered paperwork strewn around the surface he normally should’ve been preparing food across.

“‘Phone is still not working!” Rocket’s father let out an immediate hiss of annoyance as soon as the door was shut behind Rocket. “I was on hold with a client, when the line cut off, and when I tried calling back– just fuzz! Again! Third time today!”

He sounded too mad for Rocket’s own good– so the boy quietly began his hurry up the stairs.

“Rocket!” Zuka called him back. “Could you help out here?!”

Rocket opened his mouth to shout a nasty retort– but quickly caught himself. Instead, he let hot air slide past his lips in a sigh and a growl escaped his throat.

“Rocket.” Zuka raised his voice.

Rocket, already frustrated, whipped himself back down the stairs and full-force tossed his hockey bag into the wall. It made impact with a somewhat remarkable slam and bounced back onto the sofa.

“Rocket!” Firebrand exclaimed. Zuka simply narrowed his eyes.

“What?” Rocket glowered.

“Take this.” Zuka frowned as he began to compile his mess of paperwork. “Slide it onto my desk in the office. Then take Flame out for a walk.”

“Seriously?!”

“Rocket.” Zuka pinched the bridge of his nose between two sweaty fingers. “Now.”

Rocket gave his father an intense (or so he thought) glare as he took a loose step forward to snatch up the pile of papers. As he did, Firebrand leaned over the counter to gently caress Zuka’s frustrated face.

“Where’s Icedagger, hon?” The god softly asked.

“Out.” Zuka looked up to touch noses with his spouse. “Not sure where, not that it matters.”

“Zuka..” Firebrand whined. He always talked to Rocket’s father in that voice. It was like Icedagger’s, although not as ear-shattering, still whiny nonetheless. Over time, as Rocket grew, he’d come to hate it.

“It does matter.” Firebrand continued. “He’s a teenager, I don’t want him getting into trouble, or being influenced by others, or..”

“He’s a god who doesn’t age, Firebrand.”

“He’s a child!”

“He’s not my responsibility.”

Rocket hurried into the office to drop off the papers. He couldn’t stand another word of that argument. His parents were back and forth every time Icedagger left to do something on his own– their eldest was the one thing they never agreed on.

Eldest? I forgot I’m older than him now.

Wow.

That doesn’t feel right.

Icedagger would always be Rocket’s older brother in his heart. Even if he was the worst one to have ever existed.

When Rocket returned to the living room to fetch Flame, the phone was face-down on the counter and Firebrand was wrapped up in Zuka’s embrace. Rocket turned his head away and gave a loud whistle.

Almost immediately, Flame charged down the stairs. Her tail wagged, and the fluff that sagged from her flanks soon engulfed Rocket as he got down on his knees and let her sit up in his lap.

Since they’d found her, Flame had grown out a healthy, lush coat of curly golden fur. Her skin had cleared of crust and cracked skin, and Rocket massaged the thin fluff beneath her ears.

“Hi stinky! Hi stinky! Hi stinky..” Rocket greeted her as she licked his face.

“You wanna go walk?!” Rocket smiled as he asked.

Flame perked her ears and tilted her head as Rocket reached up onto the leather ottoman to retrieve her brightly-coloured red leash. He strapped it to her collar, and they both excitedly got to their feet.

“Be back before burgers and ‘dogs.” Zuka called towards Rocket. “I’m grilling tonight, we might eat outside.”

“Alright.” Rocket’s mood was immediately entertained by the prospect of food. “I will.”

He didn’t look back as he wrapped the end of the leash around his hand and strolled outside.

It was a quiet evening. The sun had set early, and a chilly breeze flew through the neighborhood. The soft chirp of crickets and cicadas buzzed wildly, and Rocket sighed to himself as he slipped one hand into the pocket of his hoodie.

He walked quietly with Flame for a while, as he took his usual winding route south of the neighborhood. The evening was still, as wind fluttered in the air and nipped at his bare face.

Rocket didn’t bother with his earbuds. He found himself listening, as the waves down by the shoreline crashed against the stone wall that held the city up against the sea. 

As they walked, dim street lights lit the usual nightly path. There was little to no light on the road, but Rocket had adjusted himself to somewhat eerie nights south of the city.

Zuka had warned his son not to walk too far south with Flame– and yet Rocket did. Nothing had happened there since he was nine, and after all, could fight.

And if he couldn’t, his step-father was a god.

As the evening by the shore became quieter, Rocket turned a corner onto the lowest street in the city. It wrapped all the way around the island, and yet, no one down in the south-west took it.

Not even his father’s many enemies patrolled the street anymore. They were no longer enticed by the chance to mug a quiet pedestrian, and they have no idea that Zuka’s son ever roamed the streets here.

Normally, however, Rocket avoided the collapsed warehouse. Zuka had never bothered to have it fixed, and where it remained, it lay decemated. Upon coming up on the street where it lay, Rocket typically took a turn and headed up home.

This time, however, as he approached his turn, the wind carried a couple of quiet voices and laid them down for him to hear.

Rocket stopped as he stepped foot at the corner of the sidewalk.

He never looked– he hated looking– but he definitely heard voices coming from the warehouse.

“Hold on, Flame.” Rocket tugged on her leash. He crossed the quiet street down towards the beach, partially allured at the opportunity of a fight, and his companion silently padded along at his side.

The wreckage of the warehouse still haunted Rocket. Situated atop the old docks above the worst end of the south beach, lay the massive ruin of collapsed concrete and metal. It made Rocket feel nauseous– the way it lay so still in the darkness. It spilled out into the trash-ridden sands, and filled the beach with shards of metal stolen by rust and weeds. It was almost as if it got wider each time Rocket had to look at it– like slowly, it expanded, ready to consume.

Rocket crept closer towards it. He wanted to gag at the strong smell of pungent sea-salt, and the loud, thunderous bang of waves as they smacked against the dead building made his skin crawl.

The voices had gotten louder, and Rocket forced himself to locate them. Eventually, as he got closer, he had to squint to be able to see past the darkness.

The black waves were so tall. They threatened to swallow him up with every swing they made towards the land. Rocket had no idea who’d want to stand on the beach on a windy evening like this.

As he peered closer, the darkness split, and Rocket reared back on his feet as the silhouettes of two tall men were made clear in the shadows.

“HEY!” Rocket gasped. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! THIS IS PRIVATE PROPERTY!”

The voices immediately hushed, and the air went dead silent. 

A rush of cool air trickled down Rocket’s back like sweat as the taller man stopped to stare. Before Rocket could make anything out about him, however, he scampered off into the abyssal darkness.

The other stood still, and watched Rocket without a hint of fear.

Rocket tried his best to make out the shape of the man. He was lean, and definitely not a threat to Rocket– at least not by his form.

Yet the way he was so unmoving.. The way he didn’t run off with the other man.

He wasn’t scared.

The hairs on the back of Rocket’s neck immediately stood up on end. A shiver ran down his body, and he crossed his arms to his chest.

Flame barked at the man, a sharp, shrill cry in the late evening. It didn’t split any tension.

The man continued to watch him, and although afraid to turn his back, Rocket quickly darted up the street and ran home.

Chapter Text

Deep, dark waves of black washed over Rocket’s body as he slowly sank to the bottom of the sea.

Water curled around his body and seeped through his thin clothes. 

A chill swept across his form, as he curled himself into a ball and let himself descend.

It was a never ending fall, surrounded by nothing but vast emptiness. It was cold and solitary– a place where even at the surface, the Moon never penetrated the waves, and no light made it past the surface of the water.

Rocket opened his eyes, but was met with nothing but pure darkness.

He opened his mouth to scream, but the strong, tangy salt water filled his mouth and rushed down into his lungs. He felt his airway, as it was crushed by the sudden pressure of the water, and cried another silent plea. His tears were dissolved to nothing as they were swept away but the current, and then with one swipe, he was mercilessly shoved to the bottom.

Rocket sprang out of his sheets. He was drenched in sweat, and salty tears stung the corners of his eyes. His heart raced in his chest and threatened to spring from his body and out onto the floor.

Rocket patted himself down and clenched his wet shirt between his knuckled hands. He wiped sweat from his temple, inhaled snot straight back up his nose, and coughed up a sour gob of mucus.

The dim light of Wednesday morning penetrated the thin curtains of Rocket’s bedroom. Almost at once, as he sat up on the edge of his bed, Rocket felt the warmth as sunlight hit his body and brightened his pale skin. He let the rest of his sweat drip down his back, as he rung out his hair and his heartbeat began to slow. He took a deep breath, wiping his nose, and with a massive yawn, stretched himself out of bed.

His legs popped as he padded across the wooden floor. As he quietly made his way to the exit of his room, he slipped on his sandals and tucked one hand into the pocket of his hoodie. Then, for a moment, he stood and stared at the door. 

I swear to Illumina. He cursed to himself as he leaned forward and brushed his forehead against the door.

The fuck’s wrong with me?

Rocket stood in silence until the warm scent of fresh bacon and eggs made its way up his nose. Rocket, unable to resist, took a deep breath and pushed open the door to make his way down the stairs. 

Firebrand stood at the stove as Rocket seated himself at the tiny island that separated the way between the kitchen and living room. The god was busy frying food in a wide metal pan, dressed in his red robe and a quiet smile.

Rocket listened as the pan bubbled and fizzed. It gave a satisfying crackle, as he sat and blinked sleep from his eyes.

“Is dad gone again?” He then looked up to ask.

“He had to take an early job.” Firebrand softly spoke.

“And Icedagger?”

“Still out. It’s just you and me.”

“Oh.” Rocket groaned and gave a tiny nod. “Mkay.”

Firebrand, with a smile, turned and slid a mouthful of food off his spatula and down onto the porcelain plate in his other hand. He walked up to Rocket and slipped the meal down on the counter before turning to continue preparing more.

“What’s on at school today?” He asked as Rocket drenched his food in mounds of slimy ketchup.

“I dunno.” Rocket lied. A test I won’t study for?

Rocket had been failing his second semester, he was sure of that. Between math, science, and history, he couldn’t bother to keep up with the difficult workload he'd been assigned to. There was only one class he enjoyed, albeit easy to fall asleep in. It was his shop class, and there, he was able to learn the basics of being responsible for his own gear– even if he didn’t have his launcher in his possession. They regularly took apart older weapons, learning the basic layout each had inside and the way they were biologically connected to the average person.

Rocket thought back to his father. Zuka was doing fine without his gear– they all were. Most of Rocket’s makeshift family  didn’t have theirs anymore, after all. The Broker’s was destroyed along with Zuka’s, and both Firebrand and his sister, Windforce, had their ancient blades shattered by the Spawn. As for Rocket’s, Zuka had it locked up in his shop– where nobody could get at it.

It’s for your own good, Zuka would remind him every time he asked for it back. Most parents would never let their kid have their gear until they move out. Actually, it’s a rising trend– gears might start becoming less popular. They cause a lot of damage, you know.

But isn’t your gear a part of your soul? Rocket would protest. It’s how you make babies ‘n’ stuff.

..I know, son, I know. You’ll get your gear back in time.

When Rocket had finished eating, he scraped what remained of his food garbage around his plate with his fork and knife. Firebrand eyed him as he did.

“What’re you thinking about today?”

Rocket sighed.

“You always ask that.”

“It’s because I’m curious.” Firebrand smiled. “You’re never open about anything.”

Rocket bristled back.

“Yes I am.”

“So why don’t you tell me and your father about school? Your hobbies? Hockey?”

Because all you people ever do is critique my every move.

Rocket slid his plate over to the side and pushed himself out of his chair.

“I dunno.” He said again.

“Rocket,” Firebrand sighed and called back for him as he began to shove his way upstairs. “Can you at least put your dishes away?”

“No.” Rocket droned as he trudged up the carpeted stairs. He knew Firebrand wouldn’t protest– the god would do anything to appease his step son. 

“I don’t have time. I gotta get ready for school.”

“Oh, okay.” 

Firebrand drooped, and without hassle, Rocket was able to slip back into his bedroom.

As soon as he stepped inside and swung the door back the other way, he threw himself back into bed. Flame darted in past the door, and tossed herself next to him

Rocket sighed as he swept the covers across his body. He reached out to pet Flame, and scratched her ears as he sank beneath his duvet.

As he lay, his eyelids began to dip, and softly, he found himself between consciousness and sleep.

Softly, he heard the sound of the waves crash against each other, and water slowly penetrated his ears.

Rocket lay for a few minutes.

Then after a moment, Firebrand called up.

“ROCKET? ARE YOU GETTING READY?”

Rocket seized his pillow between forceful fingers and let out a growl that startled Flame.

“YES!” He screamed back, as he sat up in bed and threw his blankets off onto the floor. He grasped the bridge of his nose between two fingers, this time forcing the exhaustion from his face and trying his hardest not to collapse back into sleep.

He slid slowly out of his bed, as Flame watched him curiously, and slumped over onto his beige, carpeted floor. Beside his bed, low to the ground, sat his tall, wooden mirror.

Rocket tucked himself into a seated position and stared at his reflection.

His blue eyes reflected in the light, but they were dull and faded. His massive horns, however, bright in the morning light, twisted around his small face like the tusks of a giant.

Rocket couldn’t help but imagine what his horns would look like if they were cut like Zuka’s. At the moment, they were a tangled mass atop his head, and Rocket wished more than anything that he could just slice them off and style them to his pleasure.

Shorter horns are more intimidating. Rocket thought. You can’t grab them during a fight.

Statistically, you were plainly more likely to be grabbed off the street if you had long horns.

Especially around here.

Rocket let a rough exhale escape his nose, and wrapped one of his skinny hands around his neck.

His finger brushed up against the long scar that slowly travelled around the center of his throat. It ran deep– a pale, fleshy streak, perfectly straight beneath his skin. Rocket swallowed, and it bobbed up against his finger.

When he closed his eyes, an acidic green gaze looked back at him from the void.

Rocket immediately opened his eyes. 

It was just him in the mirror.

What had he been doing again?

Deciding whether or not to even get changed.

“ROCKET?” Firebrand’s voice suddenly hollered up at him. It startled Rocket and made him jump from his cross-legged position on the floor.

“Y-Yeah?!” Rocket called back at his step-father.

“It’s almost time for you to leave!”

Rocket’s attention snapped to the clock.

Seriously?

He had only ten minutes to pack his bag–

so he jumped to his feet.

“Yeah!” He called back down, as he threw his bag to the bed and began to shove his unopened textbooks inside. He then reached for his nightstand, and caught his sketchbook between his fingers. He pulled it over in front of himself on the bed, and quickly contemplated whether or not he wanted to bring it to school with him. 

Rocket, in a brief moment, ran his hand across its rough cover and felt each crevice and fold it held. It was an old sketchbook– yet still not entirely filled with drawings– so every day, Rocket worked at his sketches inside. 

Another way Rocket wanted to be like his father was by taking up his job. His dreams of becoming a Phighter had long since faded– it was an impossible job to get, even with the bias of having B. Zuka as a father. 

Most Phighters trained with their gears as teenagers, anyway.

All Rocket really wanted to do was mod gears. He liked to watch his father work, occasionally helping him to pull apart unused gears and fix up broken ones sent in for repair. Rocket spent most of his time in the shop sketching down directions and most of his time at school sketching down dreams of his own custom gears. Occasionally, however, he liked to sketch down people, and considered himself rather good with anatomy.

Rocket flipped to one of his persona drawings and immediately shut his book.

Nope. Nope nope nope nope nope.

Shyly, Rocket slipped his sketchbook behind the textbooks and quietly zipped his bag shut. He then grabbed his pack by its handle, and began to lug it out of his room and down the stairs.

Firebrand was still in the kitchen as Rocket made his way towards the front door. He began to approach Rocket as the boy fiddled with his shoes.

The god held with a recently cleaned pan in hand and a soft smile of pride on his face.

“Have a good day, sweetheart.” The god nodded.

Rocket grumbled as he slipped on his untied sneakers and got up to flip the lock on the front door.

“You too.. Firebrand.”

He tried as hard as he could to slam the door behind him on his way out.

Rocket found himself staring at his feet as they carried him home from school. The concrete he walked dipped and clumped together in pits–occasionally fading into tar as it became unpaved– and it was only a small distraction from the thoughts that raced through his uneven mind.

School hadn’t been anything special. It was long. Gruelling. He’d fallen asleep in his last class, but he’d grown accustomed to the teasing that came with his almost daily naps. His classmates would hurl their insults at him, and it was only at school that he didn’t have the energy to give it back.

Rocket sighed as the breeze nipped at the tips of his fingers. As they froze, he brought his hands up to adjust the blue bag strewn over his back, and brushed a bundle of short-cut hair from his face.

He then took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. It was a chilly blue, just barely tinted with colour behind bleak clouds of white. The sun was low and rapidly approaching the horizon. 

Rocket found himself watching it and waiting for its warm glow to heat his cold cheeks.

Then, suddenly, Rocket’s foot was caught on a chunk of pavement. He was thrust onto the sidewalk, as his shoe was ripped from his sweaty foot, and he rolled over on his hip as it crunched against the pavement.

Rocket lay still for a moment, as waves of burning pain spiralled through the leg he’d landed on. His bag lopped over his back, his shirt was stained with sweat, and his torn blue sock hung awkwardly off his foot.

“Yo, yo, are you good?”

The thump of footsteps shattered any coherent thoughts Rocket had. As they approached, Rocket set his hands on his head and screamed in pain.

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”

A boy, definitely the same age as Rocket (although, with a noticably deeper voice) stopped in front of Rocket’s crumpled frame just as he’d stopped screaming.

“Oh my goodness. Dude.. ‘You need an ambulance?!”

Rocket’s eyes flashed up. The boy had bent over in front of him, and looked down with immense curiosity.

Rocket took a moment to observe the boy before he looked away. Traditionally, he was unable to hold eye contact for longer than two seconds.

It was weird. He’d never seen this kid here before– despite the fact that he appeared as if he’d just come from school.

He was a tall boy, with a scarily broad chest that barely seemed to fit his t-shirt. His arms were wide and littered with menacing scars, and his hands were rough and scraped, with pudgy fingers and a strong grip on the backpack slung over his arm.

Rocket immediately ripped himself from the sidewalk he’d displayed his overdramatics on and painfully jumped to his feet. He brushed a tiny fleck of dirt from his other hand and adjusted his shoe back on– in an attempt to ignore the pain in his hip.

For one awkward moment, the other boy froze and stared awkwardly at him. Unsure of what to do, Rocket stared back, and took the time to examine his other rather aberrant features.

He had a mane of a mohawk, occasionally braided here and there into little bundles of hair. His face was curled in an awkward smile, and he had two little red horns that complemented his dark eyes.

Rocket narrowed his gaze.

He knew those eyes.

Rocket didn’t recognize him at first, and it seemed the other boy didn’t have a clue as to who he was either.

Then it clicked, and a fuse blew in Rocket’s brain.

Holy shit.

Sword, seemingly timid in the moment, stood up completely still and straight. Then, like a robot, he began to recite something.

“Well, hey.. You really took a good fall there! Um, hey, would you be interested in attending the Church of Illumina weekly youth group? We offer services including charity work, community service hours, homework help, and, um, Book of Illumina study. We run every Tuesday between 3:30 to 5:00.. And we offer teenagers a chance to meet new friends in a safe, faith-based environment! You also get to learn more about Illumina, and we do things like group prayer.. As well as relaxing activities such as games.. Yeah!”

Rocket completely froze up. Nothing Sword had said had registered, and all he could think of was one simple name as it ran its course through his mind.

Venomshank. Venomshank. Venomshank.

The scar around his neck stung with violent pain. Rocket winced and clutched at it as the memory of his death flashed in broken pieces.

“Sorry.” Sword awkwardly scratched at the back of his neck. “I should mention that we’re running low on people, and I kind of have to say that. The community hours always seem to grab people like you, though!”

Rocket stared back at him, wordlessly dizzy. Bullets of sweat trailed down his neck and dampened his t-shirt.

“Hey.. Are you okay?”

Rocket took in a deep breath and took a few weary steps back.

“No. No.”

Sword raised a brow in confusion.

“No?”

With another inhale, Rocket, wide-eyed, turned tail to run– and darted out of sight as fast as his legs could carry him.

Chapter Text

Every week was the same week, even the one Rocket currently found himself in. The only difference? Occasionally, his anxiety spiked, and as he lay in bed that evening– hours after he’d seen Sword– it was higher than it had ever been. Rocket was curled up on his bed, with each of his limbs tucked under his stretched hoodie. His stomach pooled with nausea as he attempted to wrap his head around the existence of Sword in Crossroads.

Venomshank’s apprentice.

Rocket didn’t want to remember any of it.

Why is he here? Where does he go to school? Is Venomshank with him? Does Firebrand know?

Since they’d come home from Lost Temple (and never returned,) no other gods had approached Zuka or his son.

It was over. 

Darkheart and Venomshank had no business with the family anymore.

So why is Sword here ?

For a moment, Rocket contemplated telling his father.

What would he say? What would he even do to protect me?

Rocket instead began to run the routes of his neighbourhood around his head in an attempt to pick out an alternative way home. They were longer, and they were sketchier, but no– he couldn’t let himself see Sword again.

But what if Sword went looking for him? Would he find where he lived? Would he report back to his mentor and have Rocket killed?

No. He sounded too nice for that.

No.. He was faking it to earn my trust.

Rocket groaned and rolled over onto his side. As he did, his heart leapt from his chest as he was startled into oblivion by the appearance of Icedagger seated politely at his desk chair.

Icedagger let out a cackle and pressed his hand to his mouth.

“Holy shit, ‘you good?”

Rocket pinned his fingers down on his chest and felt his heart as it accelerated itself– then took one shaky breath before responding.

“Fuck you.” He breathed, eyes narrowed and face tacked in a glare.

“Fuck you too.” Icedagger kicked his legs up onto the bed and pinched his fingers together. “What’s wrong with you, kid?”

“Don’t call me kid.” Rocket heaved himself up with balled fists. “I’m older than you.”

“False.” Icedagger chirped, pinching his tongue between his teeth. “You’re older than my, um, stage age.”

“Your mental age?”

“Mentally I am very mature.”

“Sure.”

“You’re no more mature than me, Rocket!”

Rocket rolled his eyes and set himself down on his stomach.

“What do you want?”

Icedagger’s icy gaze filled with amusement, and he smiled.

“I wanted to watch you writhe around in mental pain on your bed, but now that you’ve finally noticed me, I wanted to ask which force of evil has been plaguing your dark and twisted mind.”

“It’s actually nothing.” Rocket bit his tongue.

“You’re shaking.”

Rocket held his leg still as it twitched against his self-restraining hand.

“Leave me alone.” He groaned.

“Are you gonna walk the dog before dinner?”

Shit. No.

“Yeah.”

“You always forget.”

“No I don’t.”

Icedagger scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Bet.”

“Okay, fine, bet.” Rocket shot back as he turned to slip off his bed. He was about ready to beg his father not to make him leave the house, even if Icedagger was about ready to bully him for it. 

Rocket got up onto his feet, and as he dipped out the door, Icedagger followed him closely.

“Where were you yesterday?” Rocket asked as they walked down the stairs.

“None of your business.” Icedagger slyly replied. Rocket could feel the smirk on his brother’s face burn through his back.

“‘You have a job?” He asked Icedagger sarcastically.

“Mmm, no..” Icedagger smiled as they hopped off the bottom step.

“‘You have a girlfriend?”

“You can’t ask me any more questions.” Icedagger grated as he turned to his brother and pointed a thumb back over his shoulder. “‘Cause he’ll hear.”

Firebrand was sat on the sofa, dressed in ruggedly stretched pyjamas and wrapped in a massive cocoon of a blanket.

Rocket gently studied his step-father.

Does he ever get bored? Of staying home and pretending like he doesn’t live in Crossroads?

Ever since Firebrand had moved in with Rocket and Zuka, he’d been living a horribly lackluster life. He never went out, as he didn’t want it known publicly that he’d been living normally and had married to a regular citizen.

But unlike Icedagger, he never escaped the house. And yes, it was weird to live with a god, but Rocket simply thought of him as just another annoying person in his life who wouldn’t make the effort to understand him. That was unlike his sister and the rest of the gods, who had never appeared again after the Spawn had been reverted.

Rocket kind of missed Windforce. He didn’t really know why, and Zuka was definitely relieved that he wouldn’t have to see her for the rest of his life. Unlike him, though, Rocket had always thought of the wind deity as someone superior– and much more mature than the two gods he was currently stuck with.

“Hey kids.” Firebrand looked over at his sons. “What’s popping over there? Are you gonna be walking the dog together? That’s so cute!”

Rocket began to sizzle with anxiety at the sudden mention of walking the dog.

“Icedagger.” He snapped. “Icedagger is going by himself.”

“Hey!” Icedagger brought his arm up and whipped Rocket over the head with a flat hand. “That’s your job, not mine.”

Rocket’s head bowled over as he was hit, and Firebrand’s eyes widened.

“Icedagger!”

As Rocket scratched his throbbing head, the god scolded his son.

“Now you might as well go by yourself, young man!”

“No I’m not.” Icedagger’s mouth twisted upwards in a selfish smile.

“Do you plan to disobey me?” Firebrand squeaked.

Rocket sighed watched as in the sudden In the span of a second, Icedagger’s body began to melt, and he dropped into a pile of snow on the floor.

Firebrand clasped his hands in fists and clenched his teeth in anger. He looked about ready to let out a scream, but lowered his anger to a grunt.

“I told him to stop doing that. He’s gonna ruin the damn floor.”

Rocket watched in sad silence as the snow melted to a puddle of water and gently seeped deeper into the floor.

Then the front door rattled, and caught both his and Firebrand’s attention.

FIrebrand jumped up off the sofa and raced to the door where he met Rocket’s father. As soon as Zuka stepped inside, the god scooped him up into a massive, unexpected hug and squeezed the daylights out of him.

“Hey.” Zuka slowly greeted him with a slow stroke through Firebrand’s hair.

Rocket watched as the god held himself against his husband.

He looks so pathetic.

Rocket crossed his arms and looked away in embarrassment.

“Hi hon, I’m so sorry.” Firebrand moaned. “Icedagger is really stressing me out. Ever since.. Ever since his first teleport, he’s been doing this to avoid me.”

Rocket twitched at the mention of the incident that led to Icedagger’s first use of his power.

Your only problem is Icedagger? He cleared his mind and shot Firebrand an invisible retort. You live a lucky life, sir.

Zuka nodded and pulled back another strand of the deity’s hair.

“Mmmkay, it’s okay.. I’ll clean that up for you. What do you want for dinner?”

Rocket rolled his eyes. He stood in front of them, but it was as if he wasn’t even there.

“We should have pizza.” He suddenly deadpanned, splitting the awkward silence as Firebrand hugged Zuka.

“No.” Zuka shot back in an equally gritty voice. “We’re not getting pizza. How about you go walk the dog?”

“But daaaaaad–”

“Now.”

“Icedagger should do it.” He objected.

“And is Icedagger in the room with us right now?”

Rocket narrowed his eyes.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Uuuuuungh.”

“Go.”

Rocket, unable to bring himself to explain his dilemma, gave a massive groan and complied.

It’s fine. I’ll be fine.

Rocket stood out on the porch in frozen silence, gazing out into the window of the house across the street from him. They always seemed to have the television on– but now, it was static-filled and desolate.

Flame pulled on her leash in an attempt to drag Rocket off the porch. With a sigh, Rocket tightened his grip around it and slowly stepped down the wooden stairs onto the driveway.

Flame wagged her tail as quiet droplets of rain began to sprinkle and weave themselves into her curled fur. Rocket closed his eyes as water ran its course down his sleek horns and made rivulets against the side of his head. Droplets caught in his eyelashes and in result– he let out a dismayed groan as the bay’s tears ran down his cheeks.

Then, the flashing of muted light caught Rocket’s attention enough to have him open his eyes. 

A streetlamp on the other side of the road flickered gently in the evening. Its pale yellow light flashed for brief moments as it buzzed with soft electricity.

They’d been doing that a lot recently.

Then, in slow waves, each light down the street began to flicker one after another.

The hairs on Rocket’s arms stood up straight, and he watched with eyes wide open.

The streetlamps danced with light– as if they beckoned him along. Rocket felt obliged to follow.

He looked down at Flame, who looked back up at him with a whine. He should’ve taken her fear as a sign not to follow the light– but he did. With sudden determination, Rocket, sure he’d find the source of the flickering, hurried down the road with arms crossed.

As he strode fast down the block and took a sharp turn down the corner, he was met with one of the main roads as it sloped down a steep hill. At its end, was the south beach, in all its sewage-filled glory.

Rocket narrowed his eyes and dragged Flame along his side as he took careful steps down. The evening was again still– lately, it always seemed to be.

And it seemed he’d found the flickering’s root cause

The sharp crackle of sparks suddenly caught Rocket’s attention. One of the streetlamps began to fizzle with voltage, and as Rocket stopped to look at it, it blew and shattered into darkness. Rocket watched as one by one, they all shattered and plummeted the street into a black void.

His eyes widened and he turned his back to leave– but Flame, with a sharp jerk, pulled him back and down the street into the shadows.

“Woah, woah! Flame, no!” 

Rocket called to her, but quickly slapped his hand over his mouth as the lights stopped their flickering.

Fuck. No.

Rocket caught up to his dog and jogged to her side as she bounded up against the concrete barriers that blocked off the west section of the sand. Rocket placed his free hand against them, and peered down into a ditch in the sand.

There were thick ropes of wire strewn across the ground. They connected like tubes to a large box in the centre– propped up against the abandoned lifeguard’s post. It looked to be a large generator, but it was stacked with buttons that flickered wildly about. There were a few colours they flashed– red, blue, yellow– then back to red.

Rocket stared at the mass of strange machinery for a confusing moment.

What the..

A sudden scamper in the dead silence severed his train of thought. Behind him, the tall grass rustled, and the sound of footsteps hitting the concrete caused him to turn around hastily.

The figure in the middle of its quick escape turned to make eye contact with Rocket. In that small moment, Rocket identified a large box held under his arm.

Then the figure darted away.

So Rocket gave chase– all the while thinking about how this figure was too similar to those he saw the previous evening.

Tugging against Flame’s leash and sending her into an anxious scuttle, Rocket ran after the figure with his thin legs. As soon as the unidentified man noticed he was under siege, he ran too, and Rocket pushed himself to run faster.

“HEY!” He yelled at the man with the full force of his lungs. Maybe a neighbour would overhear and come out to stop the obvious criminal.

No one heard him, and no response came from the other man.

“YO, WHAT THE FUCK DUDE?” He continued to yell. “GET BACK HERE! YOU DON’T WANNA FUCKIN’ MESS WITH ME!”

And then, as expected, Rocket tripped.

Another chunk of pavement caught on the tip of his shoe, and he was sent hurtling down onto the road. Flame released herself from Rocket’s grasp in the moment, and charged at the man.

Rocket, with a heave and a groan, quickly pulled himself up to continue his sprint– ignoring his wound and alarmed by his loss of control over the dog.

In the middle of the dark street, only faintly illuminated by the light from another house, the figure stood with a gun drawn on Flame as she circled his legs and sniffed at his feet.

“Don’t. Move.” He commanded Rocket.

Rocket’s breath hitched in his throat. Beads of cold sweat formed on his hot skin, and his eyes widened in fear as he moved to scream.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING SHOOT!”

Maybe that would draw someone’s attention.

The man’s grip on his gun tightened.

“Leave me be. Or I will.”

Rocket paused. His voice– it was familiar.

“Who are you?!” He called over at the man, hands raised in retreat. 

But by then, the man had disappeared into thin air.

Rocket looked around and slowly let his hands fall to his side as he processed the man’s disappearance.

“What the fuck? Where are you?!”

Rocked quickly darted towards Flame and towed her back onto her leash. With a gasp of fear, he didn’t pause a single moment to think about the mystery man’s possible whereabouts.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Flame. Let's go, c’mon.”

Chapter Text

“Rocket.”

Rocket’s head snapped up as his math teacher slammed her metre stick down against his desk. It splintered and split his ears with a rough crackle of wood.

“Don’t be sleeping on me now, boy.”

A murmur of laughter rippled across the classroom as Rocket lifted his head and sunk deeper into the blue, baggy hoodie he’d let himself fall asleep in. His narrowed eyes still drooped, and he was about ready to collapse back into a doze right in front of his teacher.

“Yup.” Rocket sleepily nodded as a few more giggles were passed.

“Are you looking for a detention?”

“No, ma’am.”

“ Are you?”

Rocket shook his head, and his teacher removed the metre stick from his view.

“Then you should be able to pass these back for me.” She hissed before slamming a thick pile of paper down on his desk. With a sigh, Rocket slowly reached to collect them in his hands.

As soon as he took one look at the math printed onto them, he began to feel faint.

As soon as the school bell rang in the afternoon, Rocket was immediately out the doors. His fists were balled tight around the straps of his backpack, and he determinedly ran the route of his detour home around in his mind.

That was when his father’s truck pulled up behind him and startled him with a sharp honk.

Rocket jumped out of his shoes and turned to face the dirty grey truck in all its broken glory. Zuka was sat patiently at the wheel, and he gave a gentle smile when Rocket made eye-contact with him.

Oh, right. Fuck. Hockey game tonight.

Rocket backpedalled towards the car and got inside. 

Zuka smiled as he settled into his seat with his bag on his lap. He waited for Rocket to begin talking as he waited in the long lines of cars at the school’s exit.

“I forgot about hockey.” Rocket sighed as he steadied himself inside the truck and placed his hands on the side of the seat. “I don’t feel like going, dad.”

“You have to.” Zuka rolled his eyes. “I have to go back to work after this. At the shop.”

Rocket groaned.

“You should take me to the shop. I haven’t been there in a while.”

“Nope.”

“Well.. Can’t Firebrand pick me up?”

“No. He’s taking Icedagger to see Windforce.”

Oh.

Rocket shuddered at the thought. Firebrand always took Icedagger to see his aunt when he misbehaved. It’d been a while since the last time they’d gone– but Icedagger always returned with a newfound fear instilled inside him.

“What’s at the shop?” Rocket offered. “I could help out.”

“A few hundred broken gears, now.” Zuka sighed. “But no, Rocket, you’re in hockey for a reason.”

“What reason?” Rocket hissed.

“Don’t try to argue with me, son.”

Rocket crossed his arms and slouched back in his seat.

“I’m just so tired.”

“You’ll live.”

“Uuuuuugh.”

“You won’t be able to help out at the shop anyway. Some stuff is broken beyond repair, I think.”

“Yeah?”

“Because of the power situation.”

Rocket looked curiously over at his father.

“You mean the Blackrock tech that’s been destroying everything?”

“Not the Blackrock tech, Rocket, I think it was because of the storm.”

“No way you believe that.”

“The theories about Blackrock are hysteria.”

“They have merit!”

“No they don’t. I don’t want you getting caught up in anything that’ll make you anxious.”

Rocket grit his teeth.

“I’m not!”

“Mhmm.”

“Besides, I just.. They have to be true.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

“They have to be.”

“Then be thankful you don’t have your first cell phone yet.”

Rocket sighed.

“Can you at least let me wait at the arena to get picked up?”

“Would you like to be picked up at seven?”

“Yes.”

“Not happening, Rocket.”

“But, daaaaad..”

“I understand that you’re tired, Rocket, but some things you have to do.”

“It’s not just that.”

“What is it then?”

Rocket paused and contemplated telling his dad about the man he’d seen the night before.

“I think I saw one of the people who’ve been messing with the tech. He had a Blackrock accent, I think.”

“Rocket, that’s nonsense.”

“Last night, while I was walking the dog, dad! He pointed a fucking gun at her!”

“HEY.” Zuka barked. “Language.”

Rocket fell silent with embarrassment and turned his head towards the window.

“And that’s all you care about right now.” He muttered.

“I don’t care where you swear, Rocket, but not under my roof and not in my truck.”

“ You swear.” Rocket bit back.

“When?”

“Last week.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“When that man hit your bumper?”

“Oh. Whatever.”

“Okay, but you don’t care that a man pointed a gun at me and Flame.”

Zuka fell silent and rubbed his hand over his stubbly chin.

“I do care.” He concluded.

“You act really not care-ful.”

Zuka sighed.

“Hasn’t that happened before?”

Rocket shot him a glare.

“I kinda miss when you cared about me, y’know? Back when I was little. Back when you were the only person in my life. When it was just us.”

Rocket waited for a response. 

Zuka’s mouth fell open, but no words were spoken.

Rocket gave a small sigh.

“Back when–”

“Be quiet. You’re going to hockey.”

“So you really don’t care–”

“I will find that man, Rocket, and I will kill him if he comes near you again.”

Rocket’s mouth snapped shut.

“But you never say anything like that to me ever again.”

Rocket was busy overthinking his dad’s words when he walked into the arena’s lobby. It was to the point where he almost missed the charity booth set up in front of a few of the display cases.

Sword and a few other kids sat behind a plastic table, where a banner was strewn across it. They had a bin full of donations, but Rocket didn’t see what they were collecting for.

Rocket froze as he walked past the front doors. A few confused people turned to look at him as he stared, but he was quickly able to move past his fears when he realised that Sword had no idea he was there. Terrified, Rocket moved with the crowd, and slipped into the locker room without detection.

“You’re back.” Hockeystick shot Rocket a comment from the bench as he stepped inside. “After last time? Don’t get yourself kicked out, dumbass.”

Rocket narrowed his eyes and sat down across the room from his teammate.

Today they had a real match, and Rocket had to focus himself– despite Hockeystick’s taunting.

Or do I?

Rocket pondered for a moment whether or not he could get himself kicked off the team if he messed up too many times. He’d sure take the chance to beat Hockeystick’s face in every time he saw him, but he was also sure it’d earn him his own fair share of beatings.

Rocket was one of the smallest kids on the team. He wasn’t short– but by the gods, he was skinny. And for the amount of spark he had inside him, there wasn’t enough muscle to compete.

“Seriously, Rocket.” Hockeystick’s gold eyes flashed with hostility and warning as he glowered. His gaze was pinned on Rocket, and he looked like a leopard– one ready to murder its prey.

“You don’t fuck this up.”

They’d lost the game. Rocket’s team had been doing that lately.

The entire time he was on the ice, Rocket’s mind had been cooped up with worried thoughts about Sword. He hadn’t seen the boy in the crowd, but it was scary to think that’d he’d been right there the entire time.

His anxiety made Rocket back off during the game, but he knew he was in trouble after Hockeystick had given him the death-stare of a lifetime.

Now, Rocket quickly stalked out of the arena with his gaze pinned to his torn sneakers and his hands balled into fists.

Go. Leave. Get out of here.

He’d avoid Hockeystick, he’d avoid Sword, and he’d detour home to avoid the man with the gun. He’d already wasted away more time than he’d like to when attempting to remove his gear in the locker room. His skates’ laces had been knotted horribly, as they usually were.

Rocket grumbled as he hoisted his massive bag up over his shoulder. It weighed on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He pushed past the front doors once he’d found the arena’s lobby empty, and sped into the parking lot.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed him by the sleeve of his hoodie and pulled him back. 

Rocket gasped as he was thrown against the brick wall around the side of the arena. Hockeystick came into view, and slapped his hand over the centre of Rocket’s throat– where he then held against the wall beneath his palm.

“You’re so done.” He spat. A whizz of saliva landed on Rocket’s face, and as he moved his hand to wipe it away, Hockeystick grabbed his skinny wrist and bent his hand back.

Rocket let out a tight squeal of pain. His eyes began to water as the other boy attempted to snap his wrist.

“Please, please, please.” Rocket struggled against him, but in turn, Hockeystick lifted him higher and pressed his hand harder into his windpipe.

“Please what?” Hockeystick grit his teeth. “I’m not letting go. This is a lesson, you dumb son of a bitch. If you’re gonna be on the team, you’re gonna play the game.”

Rocket, without a response, kicked his legs in an attempt to fend off his attacker. It was no use– Hockeystick only thrust his hand harder against his throat, and Rocket dropped his legs.

“HEY!”

A familiar voice in the distance caught both Rocket and Hockeystick off guard. Rapidly, Sword began to approach– anger stretched across his face and fists balled in a rage.

“HEY!” He called again. “What’re you doing to him?!”

Instead of retreating, Hockeystick dropped Rocket and puffed out his chest, standing his ground against Sword. All the while, Rocket clutched fearfully at the brick wall behind him– chest heaving and heart about to leap out from beneath his skin.

“Fuckin’ around.” Hockeystick grit his teeth as he squared up to Sword. “He’s my teammate, we were just playing at the arena. I was just messing with him.”

“Yeah?”

Rocket watched as Sword narrowed his eyes and crossed his massive arms. Then– he turned to face him.

Rocket felt his heart skip a beat. The swordsman looked furious, that was for sure, and his dark, imposing eyes lit a spark of fear inside him.

“He ‘just messing with you?” Sword asked. In those words, his tone had softened.

Rocket, confused, looked around wildly for an escape rather than answer his question. He opened his mouth to make up a lackluster reply– and proceeded to let out an unexpected wheeze as the air he’d been lacking rushed back into his lungs.

Hockeystick turned around and raised his fist, and with that, Sword grabbed the boy by his shirt and swung him around.

“Don’t you dare go after him again.” The swordsman glowered. He tugged harder against Hockeystick’s shirt and violently shook his body.

Hockeystick turned back to give Rocket a glare, as if saying next time I see you you’re getting your shit beat.

Rocket swallowed nervously. He knew it was true.

“Piss off.” Rocket’s teammate ignored the larger boy’s previous remark as he was let go. Quickly, he flipped Rocket and Sword off, and turned to leave with his bags.

As his attacker scampered off and Sword approached him, that was when the humiliation of having been beaten in public crept up on Rocket. His face flushed, and he felt all the heat in his body rise to the tips of his ears.

“Hey.” Sword smiled, his eyebrows relaxing and his lips curving gently. He placed a hand on Rocket’s shoulder, and Rocket began to sweat.

“I remember you.” Sword began again. “You ran away from me the other day, ya little spaz. ‘You good?”

Rocket choked on air for a moment before he brought himself to respond.

“Y-Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.”

As he spoke, his voice shook and cracked at arbitrary points. Rocket looked down at his feet in shame.

Sword smiled again and pulled himself away, crossing his arms.

“That’s good. Sorry that happened to you! You shouldn’t let your teammates bully you, ya know.”

With the immediate need to defend himself, Rocket gave a weak scoff.

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“It’s whatever.”

“Whatever?”

“I have to go.” Rocket blurted. Without thought, he then let another remark slip his mouth. “I don’t need to be around people like you.”

Sword raised his eyebrows and backed off.

“Oh– I– people like me?”

“Sorry.” Rocket slapped a hand over his mouth and went cold. A small voice wept inside his mind.

Ohh my gods, he’s gonna kill me. He’s gonna call his dad to kill me. He’s gonna kill me so bad right now and use my head as a trophy and mount me on the wall like a deer. Oh my gods.

“It’s okay.” Sword let out a polite chuckle. “I don’t get easily offended. How’d you know I’m not from around here?”

Oh my gods he’s trying to make conversation with me so he can gain my trust and kill me and mount me on his wall.

“I– I didn’t.” Rocket stammered.

Sword lowered a single brow, and Rocket managed a smirk as he watched the other’s goofy facial expression.

Sword grinned back and bent his arms behind his back in a stretch. His massive arms were much more visible now in the warm evening light, and Rocket’s eyes widened with even more anxiety.

Oh my gods he could kill me whenever he wanted, too.

“Are you getting a ride home?” Sword suddenly asked. “I’m assuming you walk. If you’re a little scared after that, I don’t blame you. I’m supposed to be here for another hour or two, before I get picked up, so if you want me to walk you home I totally can!”

Rocket’s jaw dropped.

“Who’s picking you up?” His voice crackled.

Sword gave Rocket a confused smile and tilted his head like Flame would’ve.

“My friend, why? You wouldn’t know him.”

“Your friend?”

“Okay, man, you’re acting super weird.” Sword smirked.  “Although.. You might just be a little weirdo, anyways. At least you’re not terrified of me anymore. Hey, speaking of which– do you like the charity work we’re doing?”

Sword backed up and beckoned Rocket to follow him over. Afraid of the consequences if he didn’t, Rocket complied, and Sword led him around the arena.

Set up against the back wall, there were a few tray tables folded out with banners displaying the Church of Illumina emblem. A few kids sat at them, either lost in space or chatting with each other. There was one single truck parked as well– and a few people sat in the back of it.

“No.” Rocket’s eyes widened as he stepped back behind the sidewall. “Not a people person.”

“Really?” Sword asked innocently. “They’re just the other kids from the youth group. They don’t bite.”

“No thanks, please.” Rocket shook his head. “I really should go.”

“Do you need me to walk you home?” Sword perked up.

Rocket shook his head as he turned away.

“You’re sure? I really don’t mind.”
Rocket took in a breath. Hockeystick had followed him home before. Once. But was he really any safer next to this kid? The apprentice of a god who wanted Rocket dead?

Okay, but Hockeystick.

Okay, but Hockeystick is less likely to kill me, I think.

Okay but he’s definitely more likely to accidentally kill me.

After a pause and careful consideration, Rocket nodded.

“Have I told you my name yet?” Sword asked as they walked side-by-side down the neighbourhood. With a sigh, Rocket shook his head, and allowed Sword to tell him something he already knew.

“I’m Sword, haha.” Sword chuckled. “Pretty common name, I’d suggest. Either common or rare– depends on how you look at it.”

Rocket was off-put by his words. 

How can a moment so.. Pivotal.. To my life be just another few minutes of his? He doesn’t remember the day we met at all?

All of a sudden, Rocket wanted to tell Sword who he truly was badly.

But his gut told him it’d get him killed.

“And you are?” Sword asked, interrupting Rocket’s thoughts.

“Oh.” Rocket snapped out of his mind and flushed with embarrassment. “R.. Rocket.” He hesitated. “It’s actually also a pretty basic name. I’m sure there’s a lotta other people you might know with it.”

“I like it!” Sword exclaimed in response. He seemed awfully enthusiastic about having learned the other’s name. “And yeah, sure, I’ve heard.. Variations, before, but it’s cool! Anyone ever call you Rocky?”

Rocket forced a tiny smile.

“My dad used to, sometimes.”

Fuck. Too much info?

Sword simply smiled and nodded, and Rocket gave a quick sigh of relief.

“I’ve actually never heard the name Sword before.” He then changed the focus of the conversation. And it was true– a purely plain sword was known as a rare gear to be born with.

“Oh, okay.” Sword nodded again. “I would’ve thought you had.”

“I mean, a ton of people abbreviate their names to Sword.”

“Probably.”

“Is yours an abbreviation?”

“No.” Sword gave a proud smile and shook his head. “My gear is a sword. That’s all there is to it.”

Somehow, Rocket began to feel intrigued by this boy.

“I totally wanna see your gear.”

“Don’t have it on me. Guess you’re gonna have to tag along on a youth group day.”

Rocket cringed back into his hoodie.

“No thanks, man, I’m not religious.”

“You don’t have to be. Illumina welcomes everyone. Besides, I’m sure you need some sort of help we can provide. There’s homework club, community hours–”

“No, please, no segway.”

Sword silenced his advertiser voice with a cup of his hand.

“Sorry.” He whispered.

Rocket gave a genuine, amused smile.

“It’s not that big of a deal. I’m just not interested in your stuff. I’m.. I’m not that interested in you. This walking thing is just a favour, okay?”

Sword’s face fell with disappointment.

“I’m sorry, you’re right.”

He’s just upset he can’t sell me his faith.

Tsk.

“Yeah.” Rocket looked away in an attempt to ignore his creeping guilt.

“That’s okay.” Sword sighed. “I understand.”

Rocket nodded slowly, eyes pinned to his feet.

“So how do you feel about all the weird flickery local tech shit not working?” He quickly changed the topic of conversation to the thing that currently piqued his interest.

“Oh, I assumed that stuff wasn’t normal.” Sword playfully remarked. “I just got here, but yeah, ever since I moved into town, a lotta weird freaky stuff’s been going on.”

The taller boy chuckled at his own words, and to Rocket’s surprise, he found himself laughing along with him.

He’s changed.. Hasn’t he? He’s so much nicer than how I remembered him.

“I think I have a few leads.” Rocket spread his hands out in front of himself as he began to explain. “Wait.. You said you just moved here? Where do you go to school? Not Central, right?”

“It’s a lot to explain.” Sword sighed. “I’ve never gone to school, and I still don’t– my mentor– kind of like a father– oh, don’t tell him I said that– teaches me, but right now I’m technically on a mission.”

Sword made air quotations with his fingers around ‘mission.’

“My mentor allowed me to come live in Crossroads to do some people-training. Honestly, it’s been way better than being alone in Lost Temple. I’m living with my friend under my mentor’s approval, but.. I’m pretty sure I’ve got another pair of eyes on me.”

“Another pair of eyes?” Rocket tilted his head.

Sword nodded.

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

A ripple of unease shot through Rocket’s body.

Another pair of eyes.. Right now?

“Well, you’re um, certainly an interesting person.” Rocket awkwardly told Sword as they rounded the corner onto the street where he lived.

Sword let out another slight laugh and turned his head towards Rocket. He stared for a moment, with narrowed eyes.

Rocket stared awkwardly back, eyes widened and eyebrows raised. Sword had a puzzled look on his face– and Rocket was puzzled back.

“Wh.. Whatcha lookin’ at?” Rocket gave an embarrassed grin.

“Nothing.” Sword straightened his posture and turned forward as they reached Rocket’s small bayside home.

Rocket stared at it for a moment.

Great. Fuck. Now he knows where I live..

“Nice house!” Sword exclaimed. “I wish I was living here for the time being. My friend’s place is a dump, actually, but I’ll get around to cleaning it sooner rather than later.”

“Oh.” Was all Rocket had to say as he stepped up onto the porch and turned back to face Sword.

“Yeah, well, um. Yeah. Thanks for walking me, man.. Bye.”

“Hey.” Sword narrowed his eyes and pointed to Rocket just as he was about to shut the front door. “Y’know, it feels like I know you from somewhere. Like, I feel like I recognize your horns or something.”

Rocket’s gut dropped as Sword’s eyes widened and his face fell.

He knows.

“Um.”

“What’s your father’s name?” Sword asked.

With a hand shakily placed around the doorknob, Rocket took a deep inhale and allowed him the truth.

“B. Zuka. You know who he is. He’ll kill you if you try to hurt me.”

Sword stood speechless.

Rocket gave him a look of anger. 

“Yeah, man. I know who you are.” He continued, his voice weak. “Seven years ago you were a witness to my murder. Your mentor, Venomshank, murdered me.”

Sword’s jaw dropped, and he was about to speak– when Rocket rushed inside and slammed the front door. Without another thought, Rocket locked it as fast as he could, and ran into his bedroom to hide until his parents got home.

And somehow, he regretted it.

Chapter Text

What was he going to say?

Rocket couldn’t peel the thought from his mind.

What would he have said?

As he lay back in bed, Rocket pulled his sheets and covers right over his head and buried himself in his blankets.

I can’t do this. I can’t fuckin’ do this. He knows where I live, he has my identity. He remembers. He remembers how Venomshank hated me. How he’d kill me at the chance– like I’m vermin to him.

Rocket guessed that Sword wouldn’t pay the threat he’d made about his father any mind. Zuka could defeat a teenager, sure, but could he defeat that same teenager’s mentor? 

More thoughts and memories flooded back into Rocket’s mind.

Dad killed a god once.

Kind of.

Rocket was still terrified of that disheveled, collapsed warehouse.

Darkheart’s memory still haunted him.

Rocket, with a shaky sigh and an anxious whine, buried himself further into his mattress and let his head sink into his pillow.

Then– tap, tap, tap at his window.

Rocket threw his quilt up and flung himself out of bed.

I’m gonna fucking kill this kid.

Before he could reach the window, however, another knock at his bedroom door startled him into turning around.

“Rocket.” Zuka called– a second time. “Rocket, are you in there?”

Rocket took a deep, shaky breath and let his chest settle. 

He’d just imagined that his father’s knocking was at the window.

What?

“Y-Yeah, I’m in here.” Rocket stuttered, breath still shaky. “You can come in.”

With a long, droning squeak, the door to Rocket’s bedroom slowly slid open, brushing against the carpeted floor as it came. Zuka stepped inside, and shut it behind him with a soft click.

“Hey, buddy.” His father’s voice was a slow rasp. “I brought home some late dinner. It’s just the two of us.”

Rocket slowly and silently nodded. His heart was still racing.

“I got your favourite pizza.”

Rocket felt his face soften into a short smile. Hot peppers and pepperoni.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Zuka beckoned Rocket over, and his son softly followed him into the kitchen where they sat at opposite ends of the dinner table. Plates and utensils had already been placed– but Rocket was unnerved that he hadn’t heard his father enter the house– or set the table.

“What’s wrong?” Zuka started. His tone was low and calm.

“I don’t know.” Rocket bit back. A lot.

“You know I care about you. That’s why I’m asking.”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I don’t want you worrying.”

“ I don’t want you worrying, Rocket.”

Rocket sighed in defeat and reached over to offload a pile of pizza onto his plate. He then began to eat– so he wouldn’t have to talk.

“I’m here for you. I’ll listen.” Zuka repeated his message.

Rocket eyed his father.

“It doesn’t even have to be me.” Zuka raised his hands. “Even though I’d like it to be. I don’t mind getting you a–”

“Therapist.” Rocket finished his sentence before raising his voice. “Dad, I don’t want a therapist, gods-dammit!”

Zuka’s mouth snapped shut, and Rocket shoved another slice of pizza half-way down his throat.

“I just wanna talk to you.” Zuka looked down at his lap and muttered.

“Well I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Is it school?”

“Partially.”

“Is it hockey?”

“Partially.”

“Is it your anxiety?”

“Partially, but I don’t think it has anything to do wi–”

Zuka let out a massive exhale and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

“Does it have to do with anyone here at home?”

Rocket hesitated.

“..No.”

“Then is it still about making friends?”

Rocket shot up and slammed his hands against the table.

“No, dad! You just don’t understand!”

Zuka stood up too, and both their tempers began to wage war against each other.

“You don’t yell at me, young man!”

“Oh, see, all of a sudden, you’re yelling because you can’t keep up that stupid, quiet, calm, fake bullshit that you were trying to pull on me.” Rocket accused him.

Zuka’s eyes narrowed and with a deep breath, his mouth slowly shut.

“Go to your room.”

“See. You don’t even actually want to talk.”

“I WOULD TALK TO YOU ROCKET, IF YOU LET ME. WHAT IS GOING ON WITH YOU?”

Rocket scowled and snatched his plate of pizza away from the table.

“SEE WHAT I MEAN, DAD?!”

As Rocket hurried back off to his bedroom, Zuka slammed a fist down on the table, and as his son took a step up the stairs, he heard his father mutter:

“Fucking kid.”

Then his father took a pause and a stressed breath of air.

“Fucking kid’s gonna be the death of me.”

Rocket ran off into his room and slammed the door– after Flame slipped inside.

With a few wobbly steps, both him and his dog sat down on his bed.

Flame nuzzled Rocket’s hands in an attempt to snatch away the plate of pizza that now sat on his lap. Rocket gave a teary-eyed scoff and raised it above his head.

“Stop, Flame. Stop.”

Flame gave a whine and laid down on Rocket’s lap. She tucked her paws under her chest, and laid her snout across Rocket’s bony knees.

Rocket looked down at her and scratched her head behind her ear.

“What do you think I should do, girl?” He asked her, lowering his voice to a broken whisper. He was about to cry, but he wouldn’t let himself.

“I don’t know if telling Zuka about Sword is right. Our lives can’t interfere with Venomshank’s, right? Or he’ll kill me and my dad.”

Rocket gave a defeated moan and set his hands flat on his bed.

“But I can’t seem to get awaaayyy from that stupid kid .”

Flame simply whined in response.

Rocket sighed.

Then.

Tap, tap, tap.

“LEAVE ME ALONE, DAD!” Rocket yelled as Flame looked up at him with pleading eyes.

No response came from his bedroom door, so Rocket gave a growl and lay down on his back.

As he faced upside-down towards the window, he noticed a vague shape perched on the other side of the windowsill.

Rocket immediately pushed himself up off his back, and Flame excitedly got to her feet with him.

Eyes narrowed in deep suspicion, Rocket approached the window on the other side of his bedroom, and unlocked it.

An old, raggedy leather box was perched there on the outside. It had a little yellow sticky-note attached to it, and it blew inelegantly the gentle breeze.

“What the fuck..” Rocket muttered to himself as he reached out and scooped the box up in his thin hands. It was smooth and warm, with only a few ridges in its material here and there.

Rocket ran his fingers down and across the lock as he pulled it into his room. It was of rusted gold, and it was open.

The sticky-note, placed carelessly on the center of the box’s lid, read just two words:

OPEN ME!

Its exclamation point was dotted with a heart, and encircling the short sentence, there were numerous other symbols– from stars to smiling faces.

Is this a fucking joke?

From Sword?

He didn’t want to for his pride, but he’d open it anyway. Rocket got up on his bed and crossed his legs as he placed the already unlocked box in his lap. Flame eagerly sat down beside him and placed her muzzle atop his thigh.

“Hi..” Rocket scratched the tip of her nose as he continued to stare at the box. Then with a deep breath, he opened it. 

Rocket carefully raised the leather lid, letting it slide excruciatingly off the box.

Then he let out a yelp as a dark paper eye sprung out at him. Like a bullet of cardstock, it slapped Rocket in the face and made him flinch with all his reflexes.

Rocket threw the box out onto his floor in shock. Flame whimpered.

They sat in silence for a moment, as Rocket’s chest heaved in panic. It took a moment before the boy was able to calm himself.

“What the genuine fuck?” He breathed aloud. Then with a tired groan, he stood up and crouched back down on the floor.

He hovered above the leather box, and stared down into it as he flipped it back onto his front. When he saw that the eye inside was just a popout, he lowered himself onto his knees to sit.

The paper was attached to a tiny spring. Rocket was easily able to rip it out.

He flipped the paper onto its side. In clean, cursive handwriting, it read:

BOO! DID WE SCARE YOU?

Rocket threw it to the ground.

That eye.

He recognized it.

But Rocket pushed away the thought in order to focus on the other contents of the box.

I’ll shred it later.

Rocket reached into the box to handle the other contents.

Inside, sat a clean, silver flip phone.

There was another sticky-note attached to the inside of the box.

CALL ME!

Rocket grit his teeth.

What a prank.

Rocket laid his hands on the little folded phone inside. He lifted it out, and examined it.

It was new– that was for sure. Was it someone’s gear? No. Rocket ran his index finger across its sleek coat of plastic, and then flipped it open.

The screen lit up. The time read 7:51. The background was a bright green field– with a little silhouette far, far away. Rocket squinted, but he couldn’t make out what it was.

Then, for a second, the screen flashed with loud static. After, it went back to normal– but that’d been happening with every phone in the area.

Rocket looked back at the second sticky-note. Inscribed in smaller letters, it read him a phone number.

That’s local, right?

With a shaky hand, Rocket took the sticky-note and slowly found his way to the dial on the phone. With trembling fingers, he entered the only cell phone number he now knew.

It hummed with a raspy chime for a few long seconds. Rocket placed it against his ear and waited.

“Fucking pick up, bastard.” Rocket hissed into the phone.

Then it went to voicemail, and a loud, stoic, female voice rang out.

“YOUR CALL HAS BEEN ARCHIVED.” She robotically chimed. “PLEASE DON’T CALL THIS NUMBER AGAIN.”

Rocket didn’t get a chance to leave a message before the phone shut off.

“Shut the fuck up.” He hissed into it. “This is a tracker or some bullshit. I’m throwing it off the dock.”

But it's a phone. His mind protested. It’s like, a free phone.

Then he got an idea. A dumb one– but he was curious.

What if he called again?

There was no reason he wanted to, really. Other than a pooling feeling in his gut– that there was more on the other line that awaited him.

Rocket turned the phone back on and quickly dialed the number back in. Flame watched him in silent curiosity.

The phone hummed for a while, and then went to voicemail. The same woman’s voice came again, lifeless and static– but this time, it spoke directly to him .

“DON’T BE AN IDIOT, ROCKET. THERE’S NOTHING MORE FOR YOU TO FIND HERE. THE PHONE IS YOURS.”

Rocket, startled by his own name, threw the phone down onto the floor.

“Flame, Flame.” He spoke in panic to his dog. “What.. The fuck.”

Tap, tap, tap.

Rocket quickly kicked the leather box under his bed and shoved the phone into his hoodie pocket.

“Rocket, are you in there?” Zuka asked from the other side of his bedroom door.

“Y-Yeah,” Rocket stuttered, as he tried to bring himself to be angry again. “What is it?”

“Can I come in?”

Rocket’s chest heaved as he gave a sigh of annoyance.

“Why?”

“I wanted to apologize.”

Rocket’s chest lightened.

“You can apologize by taking me to the shop tomorrow.”

He heard his dad take in a deep breath.

“No, I really wanted to talk to you.”

“Fine.”

Rocket climbed back onto his bed as Zuka entered the room.

“What were you doing?” His father softly asked.

“Petting Flame.” Rocket easily lied back.

Zuka gave a nod and sat down next to Rocket. He set a strong hand against his son’s back, and dipped his head in what seemed to be shame.

“I’m sorry.”

Rocket was silent.

“For yelling.” His father continued.

“Are you?” 

Zuka sealed his lips and gave a brisk nod towards the floor.

“I don’t like arguing with you. I just have trouble understanding you.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Rocket sneered as he averted his eyes.

“And I’m not trying to right now.” Zuka swallowed. “I’m just saying sorry.”

“‘Kay.”

Zuka was silent for a long moment.

“You sure you don’t wanna talk?” He then asked.

“I’m sure, dad.”

Zuka gave another sigh and nodded. Then he rose from the bed and left Rocket’s bedroom. As the door softly clicked shut, Rocket rolled his eyes and pulled the phone from his pocket.

He stared at it for a long moment.

Just don’t let dad find it.

Chapter Text

Friday.

After school.

It was the weekend.

Fuck yes.

Atop one of the many work tables in his father’s shop, lay a decommissioned rocket gear. Rocket laid his chin atop it and crossed his skinny arms over the sleek metal.

“So is this seriously for me to look at?” He asked his father as he eyed the man with excitable glint in his gaze.

“All yours.” Zuka gave a wink back.

“Cooooool.”

Rocket immediately got down to work on the launcher. He wanted to know everything about it– how it functioned, how it biologically worked . He clasped his hand around his wrench, and began to rip the bolts on the outer shell of the gear.

The shop was quiet. It had a cool air to it– and the only thing Rocket could hear, aside from Zuka working in the back, was the sound of the waves as they crashed against one of the massive concrete walls that propped the city up against the water.

Rocket sighed and thought to himself as he worked away.

Did he like the water?

Thursday night he’d had a nightmare again. Ghoulish dreams of dark waves had been plaguing Rocket– and he wasn’t exactly sure why. The lake consumed him, in its deep, dark waters, and seaweed wrapped around his limbs and pulled him to the bottom of the abyss. 

But usually, his nightmares came in waves– they had an order to them.

Bubbling lava. His father being choked.

Tall cliffs. A gash being ripped through his throat.

The warehouse. It was flooded with liquid mold.

The Spawn.

Rocket’s back twinged as cold sweat began to pour across his skin.

Stop. Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop. He pleaded against his own mind. Don’t start thinking about that again– please, please.

The golden dunes washed across Rocket’s tiny feet. His sneakers were torn and ragged– but he didn’t mind. It made him feel free, like he was an adventurer, lost in the desert.

He looked up at his father. The old man’s skin was ripped with dark scars.

Rocket loved Zuka– he did.

But he was scared.

Very, very scared.

The wrench slammed against the table as it slid from Rocket’s grip. The sound echoed against the wooden work table as it did, and it startled Rocket back into the present.

The boy gave a sigh of frustration as he quickly picked his tool back up into his sweaty palms. He continued to remove the panels on the shell of the gear, quickly unscrewing each and every one at a pace most people weren’t able to. Rocket was good at disassembling gears, and both he and his father knew it.

What stopped him again, mid-work, however, was the sharp sound as the back door slammed shut.

“Dad?” Rocket called over his shoulder.

“Ro-o-o-cket!”

Fuck. Nooooo..

The Broker’s long, morbidly-cheery voice arose from the back. Rocket cringed as his sickly, sharp tone infiltrated his ears, and he bit back the insult he’d wanted to hurl at him.

The Broker turned the corner and peered into the workroom. Rocket looked back at him from where he sat, but couldn’t make eye-contact with the shabby businessman.

Businessman. Rocket scoffed to himself. Businessman. He’s a professional criminal.. Barely. He isn’t professional if we have to bail him from jail once a month.

And that was the only purpose they used Firebrand’s money for– though they usually didn’t. The god was rich, yes, but Zuka preferred to work for a living and spend his own money on just about everything. And so, they were stuck in their tiny lakeside house, while Rocket’s father worked himself dry every day each week.

At least he owned his own business. Rocket looked up to him for that.

“I didn’t know you were gonna be here, kiddooo!” The Broker continued to rasp as Rocket attempted to ignore him. He dragged the last word of his sentence with a high drone, and Rocket watched as his dead eye dilated in and out.

What a fucking freak.

“Don’t bother the kid.” Zuka spoke gratingly from the back room.

The Broker gave a quick smile directed at Rocket, but the boy couldn’t make eye contact in order to return any glances.

“Right.” The Broker purred. “Right. I’ll be right there, Zukes..”

Rocket shrunk into his hoodie. The Broker then began to approach him. The man– despite being a long while younger than his father, was awfully aged. He was skinny– bony, even. Rocket guessed he hardly ate, but he had no idea what the Broker’s living situation was. He smelled of death, and occasionally the tang of blood ebbed off his rubbery skin. 

The man was mysterious, suspiciously so, despite his.. ‘Friendly’ demeanor. 

Rocket hated him.

“Whatcha got there, little guy?” The Broker set his hands down on the table and leaned over the launcher. “Did Zuka put you to work?”

Rocket grumbled and tightened his sweater. He tugged on its strings, and his hood clasped down hard around his head.

“Broker!” Zuka hissed again. “Get back here!”

“On it, Zukes..”

With a spindly turn, the Broker shifted away and slowly trudged off into the backrooms. Rocket watched him as he limped.

Yeah, that’s right. Fuck off.

Rocket continued to work away into the late afternoon as his father discussed quiet matters with the Broker. By the time he’d finished pulling the gear laid out in front of him apart, the Broker was gone, and he had a full, dissected diagram of its innards outlined over a page of his sketchbook. With a sigh, he leaned back on the silver stool he sat on, and brushed the eraser dust from his rough page. He turned his gaze from his sketch to the real thing, and watched proudly when he realised how alike they were.

“Son.” Zuka barked as he finally emerged from the backroom where he’d been sorting purchased parts and borrowed gears. His associate had long since left, and as soon as the Broker was out the door, Rocket had been able to work in peace.

“Hi.” He leaned over on his back to look at Zuka as he walked in. He eyed the back room for a moment– a small space behind a dark brick wall. It was barred with broken metal fences and chains, and it was where Zuka had been storing gears and parts since the warehouse had collapsed. Lately it’d been getting full.

“Beautiful drawing.” Zuka commented as he set an outstretched hand across Rocket’s sketchbook page. “Thank you for taking this apart for me.”

“‘Course!” Rocket chirped happily. “I’m actually so happy you found another rocket for me to look at. Where does Broker even get all those parts he sells you?”

“I’ve never cared to ask.” His father sniffed. “It’s.. I doubt it’s any of my business.”

Rocket gave a slow nod and leaned over to set his chin against his balled knuckles. He loved taking apart gears similar to his. He wanted to know how to be able to repair his own gear for when it was finally returned to him. He also really wanted to be able to mod it. One way or another, he was going to get into gear fighting, whether that be professional or in a ring on the street. He secretly hoped it would be in a ring– the violence was awfully appealing.

I just wanna destroy people ‘n’ shit, he told himself.

His father had been a Phighter, Rocket knew the story. As a child, Zuka had lied to him, telling Rocket that he’d lost his arm in a Phight to keep him away from the industry. The truth was that Zuka’s arm had been ripped off by Darkheart when the god had found out about Zuka’s sponsor change to Firebrand. In the old games– and in some, currently, gods, not factions, sponsored groups of chosen Phighters. It'd been becoming region based as of late, as most gods had chosen to step away from celebrity status. All but Darkheart– who continued to gamble mortals away in his game.

Despite now knowing the truth, Rocket didn’t want to be a Phighter. He liked to fight dirty– and celebrity games had rules when they were broadcast to the entire world.

“I’m gonna continue working for a few more hours.” Zuka mentioned as he wiped sweat from his brow. “You gonna go home?”

“Yeah.” Rocket nodded as he slid away from the table and stood up from his stool. “Yeah, now that I think about it, I’m pretty hungry.”

“I think Firebrand is cooking dinner.” Zuka scratched his ruffled chin. “Are you okay to walk home?”

“Yeah.” Rocket said as he began to slide his things into his backpack. Their house was nearby– the shop was located at the end of the same street the warehouse was located. Rocket was fine to walk.

Zuka gave a silent nod as Rocket walked to the front room where they took calls and customers. As he pushed past the front door and strode onto the street, the boy slipped his hand into the pocket of his much-too-big pair of pants. 

His new phone bounced around inside with every step he took. Rocket wrapped his hand around it securely.

Damn. What am I even gonna do with this? Who am I gonna call? Icedagger? No thanks.

Rocket pushed onto the sidewalk beside the water and looked out into the sea.

The wall on the shop’s end of the street was tall and gargantuan, but the sea was bigger. Rocket stopped to stare out into its vastness. The water was a deep blue in the cloudy afternoon, and the waves seemed to take on a shade of sickly purple against the subtle sunlight. It was entrancing. Rocket knew the water was infinite, able to sweep anything away and keep it buried beneath the darkness forever.

Yet something inside him pulled him towards it. An urge. A calling.

Rocket. It whispered as it sprayed a fine mist across the sand beneath the seawall. Rocket.

Rocket opened his mouth, and a sharp breeze swept through to his lungs. At that moment he was winded and unable to speak back.

“Rocket..”

A voice startled him back onto the sidewalk. A real voice. Rocket whipped himself around, and found the Broker– hidden in the ridge of concrete between the shop and the seawall. He was propped to the side, and his body contorted around itself unnaturally. It felt as though just like Zuka, he was a walking corpse, but one much less alive and much less joined together by real muscle and bone.

The Broker narrowed his dilated eyes at the kid, and a long smirk spread itself across his face through cracked lips.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Rocket pinched his tongue and let a sharp hiss escape him.

“Go away.” He snapped in response.

The Broker only continued to smile.

“I was only curious to see you. How about this, Rocket, how is Flame?”

“She’s good.” Rocket relented. He couldn’t resist talking about his dog. “But leave me alone.”

The Broker chuckled and let his hand slide to his hip. Like a bug of sorts, he began to crawl his way out of the hole he’d made for himself– long, thin arms scaling the walls as he went.

Rocket stood his ground as the strange man began to approach him.

“I’ll tell my dad you were bothering me.” He threatened.

“Yeah?” The Broker echoed as he began to slowly trail around Rocket. Like a small, starved coyote, he encircled his prey.

“Yeah.” Rocket stood his ground and sturdied his memo. “So go away.”

At once, the Broker struck, and came up behind Rocket– tearing into his shoulder. His long fingernails gripped him by the hoodie and sent the kid flying backwards into the pavement.

As Rocket lay on his back, the Broker pinned him down between the sides of his leather shoes. Rocket’s heart rate increased, and in fear, he scrambled to get up.

“My, my.” The Broker clicked his teeth. “You’re a fighter, but you’re really not ready for much, are you?”

“Get off me.” Rocket growled. His voice was gruff, but it crackled at the last word he said.

The Broker simply chuckled, and embarrassment crept up on the kid.

“Oh, Rocket.” The Broker stared down. His milky white eye gave a jerk as it twitched and rolled loosely in its socket. Rocket held back a gag, and with another laugh, the Broker stepped off of him and gently padded off to the side.

Rocket immediately sprung up onto his feet. He brushed dust off his hoodie and backed up on his heels, ready to either run or fight the older man.

“I was just curious.” The Broker paused.

“Curious about what?” Rocket eyed him. “You seem to be curious about my life like every fuckin’ time you see me. There’s nothing new. There’s nothing special. And there’s nothing you can do to convince me to, what, start helping you launder random fuckin’ gear shit? I know you’re not all you say you are, and my dad knows it too. So leave me alone, or I’ll fuckin’ turn you in to the cops.”

The Broker laughed again, and his frail chest bobbed roughly up and down against his ribs.

“Oh, you’re funny, son.”

Rocket gave a hiss of his breath and slammed his fist up against the Broker’s lanky chest.

“Don’t call me son!” He practically yelled. Then his voice lowered.

“You will never be a part of my family.”

The Broker cooled off and gave a small smile. He placed his hand against Rocket’s, and Rocket felt his stomach sink as a painful chill was sent down through his heart.

Rocket ripped his hand away.

“Don’t even touch me. I’ll murder you.”

“Alright.” The Broker raised his arms and backed off. “Your wish is my command. But may I ask you one thing?”

Rocket narrowed his eyes and gave a slow nod.

“Hurry up. Fag.”

“Ooh, easy on the language, your dad wouldn’t–”

“I said hurry up.”

The Broker clutched at his heart in mock-fear.

“Oh-kay, Rocket.”

Rocket waited for the question.

And when it came, he hadn’t expected it in the least.

“Not every animal freezes in the headlights. You know that?”

Rocket’s face dropped, and he was about ready to grab the man by the throat and squeeze the lights out of him.

“What?” He instead sputtered. Irritation swept through his voice. 

“What the fuck are you saying to me right now?!”

The Broker simply gave a smug smile. Nothing more came past his lips.

With a groan, Rocket turned to step away.

“Fuck off. You’re in a lot of trouble when my dad hears about this, you know that?”

“Mm.. Sure.”

Rocket was in a hurry to get home. He almost found comfort in the fact that Firebrand would be there.

Anyone but the Broker. Please.

Rocket reached for the railing that lined the porch steps as he approached his house.

Get me in get me in get me in.

Then a voice– pleasant and kind– startled him out of his hurry.

“Rocket?”

Oh go fuck yourself.

Rocket whipped himself around. He was sure he’d heard Sword’s voice, and there the boy stood, clear in the evening light. The warmth of the sun bounced off his pale skin, and his red-tinted hair gave a sharp glow.

Rocket gave him a quick stare down before he opened his mouth to snap.

“Get the fuck away from me. Now.”

“Hi– Rocket, wait. I just wanted to say–”

“JUST WANTED TO SAY WHAT?!” Rocket screamed at him. He hoped the shrill cry would drive Sword away, or at the very least summon someone’s attention.

“YOU JUST WANTED TO SAY SORRY FOR MY DEATH?!”

Sword’s lips slowly thinned and pressed back together. As his eyes filled with deep regret, Rocket felt a pang of sorrow in his chest.

Sword averted his eyes to the road, and Rocket took in a deep inhale.

“I’m sorry.” Both boys spilled at the same time.

Rocket, embarrassed, immediately recalled his words.

“I’m not sorry.”

Sword’s chest heaved as he gave a sigh.

“Well, I am.”

Rocket gave him a hard stare, and Sword stared back.

Something was soft in his eyes. Apologetic. Rocket forced himself to look away.

“I just don’t want you to be scared of me.” Sword breathed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“ Why?!” Rocket looked back at him with hard eyes. “Am I supposed to just trust that?!”

Sword looked hurt, and Rocket pushed himself further to attach a scowl to his face.

“No.” Sword swallowed. “You’re not. I just thought..”

“Thought what?!”

“Thought you could use a friend.”

Rocket’s eyes washed over blankly, and he stared.

“So you think I have no friends.”

Sword was silent.

He looked so sad. So remorseful. Rocket didn’t understand– there was no reason for Sword to be this upset. And now..

He wants to be my fucking friend. ‘Cause he thinks I’m lonely.

I’m not lonely. I have Flame.

Rocket stared at Sword. The gentle giant stood sadly in the middle of a muddied, half-paved driveway in the rainy outskirts.

Holy Illumina. What is he doing?

“Fine.” Rocket hissed through his teeth. Something about that offer– the offer of a friend– he couldn’t admit it, not even to himself, but he longed to accept it.

“Fine. Fine! Be my fucking friend. Convert me to your religion. I don’t care. Just leave me alone, would you?”

Sword’s gaze seemed to soften, and he tilted his head.

“I knew you’d accept.”

With a look away, Rocket rolled his eyes.

“Sure you did.”

“Seriously.”

Sword began to approach, and Rocket took a tiny step back. His heel slid against the concrete stairs that led up to the porch, and Sword stepped in front of him to lean against its railings.

“As a follower of Illumina, it's of my duty to befriend your community and help the sick and poor.”

“I’m not sick or poor.” Rocket grimaced.

“And the sad.”

Rocket gave a snarl.

“Oh, so you think I’m like the depressed, emo, friendless kid. What, you wanna check my wrists next?”

“What?” Sword’s voice heightened. “What? No. I’m just trying to make some friends here. That’s all. You look cool. Too cool to just not befriend.”

“Whatever.” Rocket glowered, darkening his gaze. “I’m gonna head inside. Bye.”

Sword looked up, and almost not to Rocket’s surprise, he opened his arms up and gestured a hug.

“I’m not fuckin’ hugging you, man.” Rocket gave him a sharp glare. “Just leave me alone.”

Sword frowned and lowered his arms– and Rocket's face dropped further as he turned to escape into the confines of his own home.

“Byee..” Sword gave a curt wave. “We should hang out sometime.”

“Whatever.” Rocket grumbled as he fiddled with the lock. “Bye.”

As the smaller boy stepped inside and left Sword by himself, a little feeling wormed its way up into Rocket’s gut.

Sword didn’t actually want to murder his guts. That was obvious.

A warm feeling swept across Rocket’s body, and his chest gave an anxious flutter.

Holy shit. This kid actually wants to be my friend?

Chapter Text

Rocket kicked off his sandals and let his feet hang off the dock. Morning air swept across his skin, and today, the sky was clear– a pale, pretty blue.

To his pleasure, he’d awoken late, and with the day clear and the sky open, he felt comfortable enough to stroll down towards the western docks.
On the opposite end of the street from the shop, Rocket sat. Carefully, he lowered his toes into the water, until the familiar pang of ice cold pain shot through his feet and up his ankles. He shivered.

In his hand was a mug. His small, scrawny fingers wrapped around its smooth handle with force, and in contrast to the seawater, the coffee inside warmed the tips of his hand.

Rocket let out a breath. His smoky morning breath released itself and caught in the wind as it took the form of a relaxed sigh.

Morning trip down to the water to ease my mind.

It was almost trance-like, the spell the waves put him under as they gently swept over each other. Rocket watched as the sea glimmered and sparkled under the dim sun.

Today was nice. Nicer than any other day in months. Rocket blinked in sleepy appreciation towards the entire scene in front of him. Then– a small tug pressed against the tip of Rocket’s foot. The water began to swirl around his skin, and Rocket, oblivious to the pull of the water, took his foot away and set it crossed-legged beneath his knee.

Rocket stared out into the horizon. Nothing looked back.

“Hello, brother of another mother.”

Icedagger startled Rocket out of his wide-eyed stare out into the sea as he sat down next to him. The tiny god gave a smile as he crossed his skinny legs over each other, and smoothly set a round can beside Rocket.

Rocket looked up at his brother. Icedagger’s hair was styled almost identically to Firebrand’s, and as his pale locks were swept away in the breeze, Rocket couldn’t help but wonder whether or not it was an intentional cut.

The god’s rounded, antler-like horns were chipped and scraped. Icedagger hadn’t been around as long as any of the other gods, even Firebrand and Windforce, but his horns were already worn with age.

Rocket’s eyes slipped down. He noticed how Icedagger’s baggy shirt dipped down off his shoulder, revealing the stitch-like scars that ran across his deathly pale shoulders and around his torso.

Rocket gave a small shudder as a gust of wind swept through and attacked his bare arms– but it was enough to distract him from the sight of his brother’s scars.

“Hello.” Rocket gave a small nod, then reached over to twist the can Icedagger had brought him between the folds of his palm. “Wassup? What’s this?”

“Beer.” Icedagger gave a simple reply and a bleak cough. “I dunno what it is. I stole it from your dad’s fridge– Firebrand and ‘em have stacks of that shit sitting at the bottom.”

Icedagger grinned and chuckled– and Rocket gave a simple nod.

“Oh.” He grinned in response. “Yeah. Yeah, they do.”

Slowly, Rocket snatched the can of beer away and let it timidly slip through his cupped hand. He lifted it towards his face, carefully examined the label, and determined he was a bit too shy to open it and take a sip.

While he stared, Icedagger pulled a small blue lighter and a box of cigarettes from his pocket. Rocket recognized them– they were the ones the older always smoked.

Icedagger didn’t offer Rocket one, he knew better than that, but instead quickly flicked his lighter open for himself and lit his stick ablaze.

Rocket watched in silence with sleepy eyes.

“So.. Beer at ten in the morning, huh?”

“If you want it.” Icedagger gave a nod. “I don’t care.”

Then he removed another can from beside him and cracked it open.

Rocket looked back at his and quickly cracked the tab open. Icedagger took a massive swig of his drink, and Rocket slowly sipped his.

A hard, citrusy wash slipped down his tongue. Rocket recoiled at the taste– beer wasn’t yet his thing.

As Icedagger pulled his cigarette to and from his lips, he settled against the dock quietly. Rocket watched him as he smoked, and wondered whether or not it could kill him.

When he was finished, Icedagger blew a final puff of smoke out across the sea. Then he took the cigar– and tossed it into the water.

Rocket sighed.

“So..” He trailed as he wiped droplets of beer from his lips. He wasn’t sure how to formulate the question he wanted to ask.

“Yeah?” Icedagger looked over at him.

Rocket wanted to ask Icedagger if he remembered Sword. If they still knew each other to this day. He wanted someone’s opinion– someone to help him decide whether or not he could trust the boy.

“Do– do you remember Sword?” Rocket simply asked.

Icedagger looked back out at the sea and gave a brisk nod.

“I.. Do. I’m surprised you do too.”

“Have you seen him lately?”

Icedagger gave a look of confusion.

“No, why?”

“I..”

“I barely really know him.” Icedagger interrupted. “He’s grown a lot since.. Since you met him, though.”

“Is he nice?”

“He’s nicer. I think.”

“Does he remember me?”

“No idea.”

Rocket gave an awkward nod, and Icedagger, deep in thought, slowly bit down on his lip.

“Why?” He asked again.

“I just remembered him.” Rocket easily lied.

“Oh.”

Icedagger wrapped his arm over Rocket’s shoulder and patted him on the back.

“Don’t think about that stuff.” He breathed in reassurance. “Don’t think about Sword. You won’t have to see him again. That’s all passed now.”

Rocket sighed. The way Icedagger treated his

experience at the Heights struck a nerve of annoyance, but he understood that his brother only wanted to help him.

Rocket thought for a second.

Should I tell Icedagger we’ve met?

No. Nobody needs to know.

Rocket grit his teeth. The boy in red wanted to be his friend, and he didn’t exactly want to give that up too soon. 

But who knows what would happen if dad found out he was here in Crossroads?  

Rocket’s anxiety eased out.

Sword isn’t a threat, I think. I’m fine if nobody knows.

“Um, so how was.. How’s Windforce?” Rocket awkwardly asked in an attempt to let go of the previous conversation and to tease Icedagger.

“Oh..” Icedagger grit his teeth playfully and rolled his eyes. “Ahahah, well, I assume she’s alright. But she was, uh.. Pretty angry with me.”

“So what went on over at the palace?” Rocket brought his knees to his chest and grinned as he set his head atop them.

Icedagger sucked in a breath through his teeth.

“Um. The typical ‘the only way I can drill this message into your head is by lecturing you for an hour and doing it the entire time while screaming’ type of thing.”

“Uh-huh.” Rocket nodded. “Like it always is.”

“It might’ve worked this time.” Icedagger admitted.

“Noo.” Rocket punched his shoulder. “Don’t let them win. It’s kinda sorta funny when you teleport but you should maybe stop doing that when it comes to getting out of chores. Dad makes me do your stuff instead.”

“Tell your annoying dad that it’s not any fair.”

“Okay, well, your dad makes me do it too.”

“Mmmhm.”

Rocket rolled his eyes.

They both sat in silence for a moment. Icedagger took a sip from the beer he held in his palm, and Rocket took another careful sip from his.

“But you miss her, don’t you?” Rocket suddenly asked.

“Hm?”

“Windforce. She’s like your aunt.”

“Yeah, I miss her.” Icedagger gave a sad smile and looked out towards the water. “I miss her a lot.”

“Would it be weird to say I miss her too?” Rocket asked. “I’ve only seen her, like, once in the past years since dad married Firebrand.”

“No.” Icedagger raised his brows. “No, just kinda surprising.”

“I know she’s not my biggest fan.” Rocket chuckled. “But she’s never yelled at me like she’s yelled at you.”

“Mhm. True.” Icedagger dipped his head. Then immediately after, he perked right back up and gave his brother a massive grin. “Actually, guess what?”

“Hm?” Rocket mumbled in response.

“We’re gonna be having a family gather for the first time in like, what, twenty years? Like you weren’t even born that long ago, but like, basically it used to be where all the gods kinda met up– but now, ‘cause most of us are kinda not associated with each other anymore, it's just Firebrand, Windforce, me– Firebrand’s kids used to come, but they don’t anymore. Uh, and Windforce’s son.”

“Waitwaitwaitwait–” Rocket spread his hands out in front of his chest. “Wait, wait. Are dad and I invited to this?”

“Yeah!” Icedagger’s arm swept around Rocket’s neck, and he pulled his brother into a nasty mix between a headlock and a hug. “Yeah, you’re invited. It’s gonna be so fun.”

Rocket’s eyes widened and he ripped himself from Icedagger’s prison of arms.

“Windforce’s son tried to kill my dad!” He sputtered out at once. “What the fuck, dude? And you guys are just okay with seeing that fucker again?!”

Rocket’s voice was high and panicked. His heart began to race inside his chest, and Icedagger grabbed him by the wrist and strained his hand against the damp surface of the dock.

“Hey, yo, what’s wrong with you?” Icedagger shot him a glare. His icy pale eyes glazed over coldly, and Rocket snapped his mouth shut as Icedagger restrained him by the arm.

“You’re not gonna die.” His brother tilted his head. “No one’s gonna kill you. That dumbass Banhammer barely remembers your dad’s face, let alone yours. Cool it.”

Rocket snatched his hand away and pressed it to his chest.

“How do you know?”

“‘Cause.”

“Cause?”

“‘Cause if he hurt you Windforce would murder him.”

Rocket heaved a sigh.

“I’m not really interested in going anywhere near ‘em. You know he tried to kill me when I was a kid, right dude?”

Icedagger gave a shrug.

“You probably don’t have to go. But wouldn’t you like to?”

Rocket shuddered at the sudden thought of being anywhere in town by himself– even inside his own home. If everyone but him went to Lost Temple to visit family, he’d be alone.

“Maybe.” He bit the nail off his thumb. “So it doesn’t bother you that your, like, cousin is an attempted murderer?”

“He’s not an attempted murderer.” Icedagger rolled his eyes and awkwardly set his chin down in his palm. “He’s a cop.”

“So he’s an attempted murderer.”

“Ugh. He wouldn’t have killed you if he had caught–”

“You weren’t there !” Rocket suddenly raised his voice. “You weren’t even there! How the fuck would you know?!”

“I– he’s–”

“You’re a dumbass.” Rocket sneered.

“Yeah, ‘n’ you’re an ugly shithead.”
“You’re a son of a bitch.”

Icedagger glowered at him.

“I never had a mother, you fuckwad. But if I did, mine wouldn’t have given me up.”

Rocket raised his fist and immediately sucker-punched Icedagger off his place on the dock. Icedagger rolled back and let out a yelp of pain– before turning over and tackling Rocket.

Rocket fought back as Icedagger continuously smashed his fist over his face. He clawed at Icedagger’s wrists in a feeble attempt to roll him off balance– but failed as he was grabbed by the hair and rammed into the dock.

Beneath Rocket’s back, the wood crunched, and the entire surface rocked shiftily atop the now violent sweeps of water. He grit his teeth and grabbed the collar of Icedagger’s shirt, throwing him back and landing a single punch against his soft jaw.

They continued to tussle in a ball of arms and legs as the dock continued to splinter. Icedagger’s can of beer rolled meekly over into the sea, and as it hit the surface of the water– the dock collapsed.

Rocket’s body rolled over and plunged into ice-cold water. A plank of loose wood slammed into his chin, and Rocket scrambled to latch onto it as it batted him away.

Thick water infiltrated his nostrils and slipped past his mouth. It engulfed him wholly, and Rocket sputtered beneath the waves. In an attempt to find the ground beneath him, he kicked his legs out in search of the sandy sea floor. He didn’t like to– but he opened his eyes when he realised there was none. 

This was not the same water he’d fallen into. 

It was dark. Pure black liquid, like the ink from a spilled pen. No sunlight penetrated its surface, and it was colder than a frozen corpse.

Rocket immediately began to panic. He thrashed his arms out and began to attempt a swim to the surface, but with each stroke his arms made, he was pushed back further by heavy waves.

Rocket’s eyes began to sting, and as he began to silently cry, a voice called to him from the darkest part of the sea: deep and raspy as it spoke.

Rocket.

Rocket turned onto his side and looked around desperately for the source of the voice.

Rocket.

He continued– but he couldn’t see anything.

Rocket.

Rocket shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut. What do you want from me?

Then the air all came rushing back.

Rocket gave a gasp, and his eyes shot open as oxygen swept coarsely through his nostrils and back into his lungs. As his senses and mobility came back to him, he let his hands fall at his side, and felt the ground beneath him.

He was atop solid, grey sand. Behind his back was the cold, hard seawall.

Icedagger leaned over him with shaky, wet hands pressed to his chest. His eyes were wild and his hair was frizzled and matted.

“ROCKET!” His brother gasped, then placing his hands against the side of his head and exhaustedly collapsing onto his back. 

“Holy shit.” He then said as he looked back up at Rocket. “Holy shit. Can you not swim? Are you that stupid?”

Rocket opened his mouth, but he was too tired to shoot anything back. Immediately, he clamped his lips shut and let his head roll over onto his shoulder.

“Holy shit.” Icedagger repeated a third time as his chest heaved. “.. Good.. Good thing you weigh lighter than.. Like, I dunno, a pebble.”

“You’re lighter.” Rocket exhaustedly gasped back.

“I had to drag you onto the surface, man.” Icedagger collapsed onto his side and closed his eyes. Then his tone turned. 

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

“I was caught off guard!” Rocket heaved. “I wasn’t planning on breaking a whole fucking dock. And plus, I swear to the gods, the water was different water.”

Icedagger gave a raspy cough and an annoyed roll of his eyes.

“Different, Rocket? How the fuck is it different? Haven’t you swam in the sea before?”

“I used to swim all the time!” Rocket whined.

“In this polluted shit? Seriously?”

“Yeah, I mean, yeah.. Yeah, my dad sometimes let me.”

“Eeew, what the fuck?” Icedagger scorned him. “You were such a gross-ass kid.”

“It wasn’t my fault!”

As Icedagger facepalmed to himself, Rocket looked up at the sky. It had clouded over, now a pale grey, and a chilly breeze swept through. Seagulls above flew high, and chirped with crackling calls.

Rocket took a shaky breath, and a salty drop of seawater slipped down his lip.

“Let's just go home. I’m fucking cold.”

The dinner table that night was silent and awkward. Zuka and Firebrand sat at opposite ends, and looked silently from each other back to their children.

Rocket and Icedagger sat both wrapped in heavy blankets. Rocket was still shivering, but Icedagger’s symptoms had long since worn off.

Rocket looked down at his bowl of spaghetti. He twirled his fork through his bare noodles, and occasionally, his utensils slipped past a tiny dab of butter.

“Don’t play with your food.” Zuka barked.

Rocket stopped and dropped his fork. It immediately bashed against his bowl, and Icedagger gave him a wide-eyed glare.

They continued to eat in silence for a while. The air was thick with musty irritation, and Rocket wanted desperately to escape to his room.

“So.” Firebrand suddenly began, quietly and politely clearing his throat.

Rocket listened in with a scowl.

“We’ve decided to attend a family gathering.” Firebrand placed his hands together and cradled his own cheek atop them. “Windforce will be there, my–”

“Icedagger told me already.” Rocket snapped, interrupting him.

Firebrand looked to his son, startled.

“..Oh!”

Icedagger gave a snarky smile and continued to eat.

Rocket rolled his eyes and turned to the floor beside him. Flame lay with her front paws tucked beneath her scruffy golden chin.

In front of everyone, Rocket hastily took a noodle and tossed it to the dog, who snapped it up in her black-lipped jaws.

“Rocket.” His father boomed at him.

Rocket scratched Flame’s head and sat back up in his seat.

“Yeah?”

Zuka narrowed his gaze and gave a hard stare. His dim, cold grey eyes pierced Rocket’s skin and gave a needed jolt to his nervous system.

“No.” Zuka glowered.

Rocket nodded and kept himself from pushing his father further.

After another period of awkward silence, Zuka finished his food and set his elbows on the table. He placed his chin atop his linked fingers, and let his eyes drift slowly from Icedagger to his brother.

“So..” He began, his voice low and rough.

Rocket looked over at Firebrand, who looked over at his husband confusedly.

“Hm?” The fire god squeaked.

Zuka gave a gritty sigh in return.

“How come you two boys told me that you’d fallen into the lake, when you’d actually collapsed an entire dock?”

Rocket’s throat tightened, and Icedagger looked timidly over at his brother.

“I– we–” Icedagger hesitated.

Zuka looked at the young god, who spoke slowly and carefully.

“You what?”

“He attacked me.” Rocket finished, in the hopes that he would get his brother in trouble.

“WHAT?!” Icedagger got to his feet, voice squeaky. “You attacked me, you dumbass liar!”

“Language!” Firebrand gasped.

“You verbally attacked me.” Rocket solidified.

“Oh, okay..” Zuka narrowed his eyes.

Icedagger scowled at Rocket and set his balled fists against the table.

“He punched me out.”

“You called me adopted!”

“I didn’t call you adopted, I said that if I had a mom she wouldn't’a given me up!”

“Icedagger!” Firebrand gasped again.

Zuka shook his head.

“The both of you are in trouble.”

“Why?!” Rocket whined.

“Because you both broke a privately owned dock!”

The room fell silent, and Firebrand cupped a hand over his open mouth.

Oh, what a fucking drama queen. Rocket thought.

Zuka exhaled deeply.

“So, you’re both going to pay them back.”

Rocket bristled with anger.

“I don’t have enough money!” He spat.

Icedagger rolled his eyes.

“I can just pay with my sta–”

“You are not paying with Firebrand’s money.” Zuka cut him off.

“It’s my money!”

“You can make your own .”

“And now you’re trying to make me a slave to capitalism.” Icedagger crossed his arms.

“‘You got a mouth full of shit.” Zuka glowered.

Icedagger looked at Firebrand in an attempt to garner sympathy.

Firebrand gave in.

“Zuka, dear..”

“Firebrand!” Zuka hissed.

“What?!”

“He’s working for that money. I don’t care if he turns grey and disintegrates to dust while he’s at it.”

Firebrand scoffed and looked away, holding back a tiny murmur of laughter.

“Dad..” Rocket moaned. “I can’t do a job. I’m exhausted alllll the time..”

“The dock’s only a few hundred to build.” Zuka bit away at a nail. “Seven?”

“Please, dad..”

“No.”

A sudden burst of anger bubbled up inside Rocket. He slammed his palms down against the dinner table and threw his blanket over the chair.

“ Rocket –”

Rocket ignored his now furious father and stood up to leave the room.

“ROCKET!” Zuka yelled again.

“LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!” His son screamed back. “NONE OF THIS IS EVEN MY FAULT!”

That was a lie Rocket carelessly threw at his father.

And there were more to come.

Chapter Text

Tuesday after school, Rocket stood outside the arena. His hockey bag hung loosely from his shoulder, and as soon as he heard his dad’s truck drive away– he narrowed his eyes and turned away from the building.

I’m not doing this shit. I don’t wanna get fucked in the ass again by that stupid fuckin’ dumbass kid.

He took in a deep breath.

Better if I leave.

Rocket took a few steps and slipped out of sight. He had a location for himself in mind, and too curious not to, he thought it was better if he quietly stopped participating for his hockey team.

Dragging his bag, Rocket easily slinked through a massive hole– one carved through the choppy wires of the long metal fence built around the arena. Muddying his boots, he slipped down a small hill, and stumbled into a grassy ditch filled with drowned weeds and brown water.

The smell of the afternoon was musty and bleak. The sky had just quit raining, and it was washed with a grey as dark as the deepest depths of the ocean. Rocket inhaled– he liked the petrichor, even if otherwise, his fingers were numb and toes were frozen inside his untied sneakers.

He continued to trail after the stream of sewage-like water that ran down the ditch. The wind bit at the tips of his ears, and he closed his eyes when the breeze battled against his pale face.

Eventually, he left the ditch, grabbing a loose branch off a young tree and pulling himself over the hill. There, he was met with the sight of a street. It was saturated with potholes, wet and bleak, and occasionally, it carried a car or two. There were a couple buildings across it, and as Rocket pushed through the long brush, he eyed them.

There were mostly dead and old– sad, square excuses for shops in the form of brown brick. But beside them, although not so different from the rest, sat the local Church of Illumina.

Rocket took another shaky breath and watched it form in a milky white cloud before his lips.

I’m just curious.

As soon as the road was clear and empty, Rocket pushed his way across it. The church was of a lighter stone, with a flat black roof and two simple glass doors at its front. Rocket, when he made it onto the soft grass on the other side of the street, placed a shaky hand to the long metal door handle.

He paused for a moment, adjusting the hood of his blue sweater that now pressed against the lump in his throat.

Why am I doing this? There’s not gonna be anyone here.

Rocket removed his hand and bit his lip nervously.

Fuck, I’m stupid.

But it was cold, and Rocket wasn’t sure of where else to go. With nothing in mind, he took another deep breath and pushed on the church doors.

They didn’t budge.

A thought flashed through Rocket’s mind for a moment– it’s locked– but then he came to his senses and pulled the door instead.

It swung open.

Rocket’s frostbitten ears were met with the quiet song of a soft choir.

Oh.

Rocket paused again.

Oh no, no, no. I can’t be doing this shit.

He looked back at the street behind him.

Oh my fucking gods, someone’s gonna see me standing here weirdly with my giant ass bag. I look like a terrorist.

With another breath, Rocket made the decision to shakily slip through the entrance.

Warmth immediately descended down upon his skin. He rubbed his hands together in reassurance as he slowly stepped through the back hall of the church, looking around in awe as he gazed upon numerous paintings and sculptures depicting Illumina and his accomplice, Ghostwalker, dressed in flowy robes with dead men splayed across their laps.

“Seems accurate..” Rocket muttered to himself, a quiet whisper beneath his breath. 

As he continued to walk, the singing became louder, and eventually the room opened up. It wasn’t a grand scene– it was a small church, and churches were rarer in Crossroads– especially ones built in worship of the two first gods.

There were many wooden pews slipped together in straight rows, and the wooden floor opened up a tight aisle. It led all the way down to the pulpit, where a choir sang in front.

Rocket relaxed as he plopped down onto a pew at the very back of the room. He set his bag down on his lap in relief, and put his hands against the back of his head. Rather than letting his mind drift to the singing, however, he looked around wildly for any sight of Sword. 

The ceiling was tall, but the church was rather compact. There was barely anyone seated. A few elderly folks sat at the front, but there was hardly anyone in behind, and Rocket felt somewhat relaxed when he realised the boy he’d been searching for wasn’t even in the room.

It was a feeling of relief and disappointment. He was nervous to meet Sword again, but he wanted to see the curious boy– wherever he was. Rocket wasn’t sure if he could trust the gladiator, and that feeling seemed to cement itself as he hadn’t yet appeared.

Then the pew he sat on lurched and dipped down as Sword sat right next to him.

Rocket almost jumped out of his seat.

“Hey.” The taller boy greeted him. Then, with a quick nod, he looked from the choir back to Rocket.

Rocket went wide-eyed and whipped himself around to face Sword.

The taller’s one eyebrow was slit down the right, Rocket noticed, and a thin scar lined his eye. His face was littered with rough lines and blemishes, and as he smiled, Rocket took note of the giant gap where one one of his front teeth was missing.

“Let's get outta here.” Sword whispered when Rocket was too slow to respond.

Confusion swept across the other boy’s face.

“Huh? Why?” He whispered back with hostility and pointed rudely over to the quoir. “I thought– I thought this was your kinda thing.”

“Nah, I don’t needa be here.” Sword quietly chuckled.

Rocket looked away with a frown.

“Well. I dunno if I trust you.”

Sword fell silent for a moment, and Rocket looked back up at him. His head was tilted curiously.

“Weeell.. I dunno if I trust you either. You kinda just showed up here. For no reason. With a giant bag.”

Rocket forced down a small smile. 

“Well.. I mean, it’s not very nice out.” He lazily protested back.

“Yeah?” Sword tilted his head. “‘Chilly out?”

“Yeah.”

“So why’d you come here again?”

Rocket shifted his gaze away.

“I don’t wanna do hockey.”

“Ah.”

Rocket gave in– he softened his gaze to Sword, who promptly patted his shoulder.

Sword tilted his head and smiled at him.

“You look warm enough. Let’s go.”

“But–”

“But?”

“Ugh.”

I came here to find Sword, didn’t I?

Fuck if I’m stupid.

Rocket had his hands in his pockets as they walked. Sword carried his hockey bag, and the smaller boy hadn’t wasted the opportunity to dump the hard work of carrying his sports luggage on someone else.

“So.. You came from Lost Temple, right?” He asked. “You look too comfy in the cold with that t-shirt to be from there.”

“Yup!” The other exclaimed. “Yeah, uh, I’m used to a lot of shifty weather, actually. Y’know, me ‘n’ Venomshank are living by the Heights right now.. Kind of a funny little house he’s got.. But he wanted me to get out into the world when I came here, y’know?

Um, I think he was actually a little tired of me, too.”

Rocket gave a brisk nod and fumbled with his fingers. 

“Yeah. I guess my dad is probably tired of me too. Not that I’d ever be able to go out into the world on my own. Not yet.”

“I think I’m just different.” Sword mumbled as he gazed out into the distance in front of him. “And also Venomshank is.. A different type of.. Dad?”

“Yeah, you guys are different.” Rocket sniffed in agreement. As he spoke, there was an air of impassiveness in his tone, and awkwardly, he fell silent.

As a consequence of his unresponsiveness, the two boys walked quietly for a while. Rocket thought it was awkward, but Sword seemed awfully content. The gladiator looked around at every building and every corner with awe, and he strode with excitement, leading Rocket as if he were the one who knew the place better.

“Where are we going?” Rocket felt inclined to ask. His voice was sour with suspicion.

“I dunno.” Sword simply said as he cupped his hands together. “Um, there’s a park nearby, wanna sit?”

“That’s fine.” Rocket shrugged. 

Churchgarten Park was the one Sword was talking about. Rocket had never played there much as a child. It was small, with a few bleakly coloured slides and a barren crop of empty concrete benches. 

“You know, it’s a horrible park, but I’m not really gonna complain.” Rocket muttered seriously.

Sword gave a deep laugh, and Rocket’s stomach knotted at the sound.

“I’m telling the truth!” He continued to profess. “It’s like, a stupid fucking park.”

Sword simply smiled.

Fuck off. Rocket attempted to shun Sword in silence. You think everything is funny, don’t you?

There was another tense moment of silence (for Rocket ) before the quiet walk was broken again by curious chatter.

“Alright. You’re a tough egg to crack, Rocket. I’ll start simple.” 

Rocket eyed Sword with scorn.

“You talk like a fucking video game character.”

Sword laughed again.

“Seriouslyyyy.”

“Whatever.”

Sword scratched his head and smiled.

“So, like, what’s your favourite colour?”

Rocket’s face flushed with embarrassment as he popped his knuckles against each other.

Oh, don’t treat me like I’m a fucking baby. My favourite colour? Be for real.

“Blue.” Rocket simply said as he averted his eyes. “You know, if you couldn’t tell already.”

Sword giggled.

“Oh yeah, totally couldn’t.”

Rocket looked up at him.

“My– my second favourite colour is red.”

Sword raised a brow.

“Is it?”

Rocket nodded in quiet response.

“Cool.” Sword nodded. “Um, for me, since you’re prolly not gonna ask, I wanna say green or pink.”

“Not red?” Rocket raised his brows.

“Nah.”

Sword smiled and looked down at Rocket.

“But I really like blue, too.”

Rocket shrunk into his hoodie.

“Okay?”

Sword smirked.

“What, are you the only guy allowed to like blue?”

“No?”

Sword’s grin grew wider.

“Nothing to smile about.” Rocket hissed at his toothy simper.

“Nothing to smile about.” Sword repeated. “That’s sad.”

“I meant in this conversation–”

“I know whatcha meant!” Sword gave Rocket’s back a hard, friendly slap. Dramatically, Rocket bounded forward at the action, and caught himself before he tripped over his own feet.

Sword barked with laughter. Rocket grit his teeth.

“Fuck off!” He stepped towards the taller boy, pushing his hands against Sword’s chest.

“Woah, easy!” Sword calmed his laughter as he took Rocket’s push. “I’m sorry.”

Rocket narrowed his eyes defensively when Sword didn’t fight back.

“Tryna fuckin’ kill me.” He scoffed beneath his breath.

“I’m being playful.” Sword moped. “You don’t like?”

“No?”

“O-kay.” Sword rolled his eyes as he hopped back at Rocket’s side. “I will be mindful of that.”

Rocket sighed without another word, shuffling his hands back into the wide, safe front pocket of his hoodie. Sword gave him a soft glance.

“You better be.” Rocket grunted.

When they arrived at the park, it had gotten colder and later. Rocket was a little worried that his parents would wonder where he was, but he assumed they hadn’t planned on picking him up once his hockey practice ended.

Nobody knows we’re here.

Fuck, oh my gods, I’m gonna get myself murdered and dumped in an alleyway.

As they sat on the bench, Rocket tucked his legs to his chest and watched as the breath that left his parted lips began to freeze. He looked out at the dead park occasionally, silently hoping that there may be someone else to watch over him and Sword. If said person wasn’t also a murderer.

But nobody else was there, and the sad little playground was empty of children. There was no one to fill the benches, and the vast, foggy soccer field in behind stretched for hundreds of barren feet, longing for people to fill it.

“So like..” Sword slowly began to speak again. He leaned back and set his arms around the back of the bench. “You have a job?”

Rocket recoiled into his sweater.

“Um. No, but I need one.”

“Oh..” Sword slowly nodded. “Having trouble finding anything?”

“I’ve never looked before.” Rocket sniffed.

“Oh, okay.”

Rocket didn’t mention anything else, and Sword didn’t ask, so he remained quiet.

“Well.” He sighed and caved in.

“Mmm?”

“My brother.. and me, kinda– we broke an old dock that wasn’t exactly.. ours. We have to pay for a new one.”

“Ohh-oh.” Sword nudged Rocket’s shoulder. “Ohh, I see.”

Rocket shook his head and scooted further from him on the bench.

“Just work at the church.” Sword simply told him. “We need a custodian.”

“A janitor?” Rocket growled. “I’m not being a church janitor.”

“ You could be a janitor for the arcade.”

“That place is a fucking dump.” Rocket gagged as he glowered. “Also, the power shit fuckin’ took it out. It’s like a hot-spot for blown fuses and half of their games have shut down from the inside.”

“That’s strange.” Sword bit his thumb, tearing at a bloody hangnail. “I thought, like, only cable and phones and radio stuff is getting affected.”

“It’s everything.” Rocket sighed. “You moved here at the wrong time, man.”

Sword chuckled.

“I actually prefer to be outside or in the church, you know, enjoying the natural wonders of life.”

“Oh, right, you’re a fucking hippie.” Rocket deadpanned.

Sword shook his head.

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Wait a minute.”

“What now?

“ You have a BROTHER?!”

“Is that a surprise?” Rocket raised his brows.

“Well, I never knew!”

“Were you supposed to?”

Sword shrugged.

“What’s his name?”

Rocket froze.

Ughh. No. I’m not dealing with this.

“Well, we’re not actually brothers.” Rocket squirmed in his seat while he lied. “We don’t see each other much.”

“OH, I see, okay. Why didn’t you say so?”

“Well, um.”

Sword waited patiently for Rocket to formulate his words.

“He’s um. He’s Icedagger.”

Sword’s mouth flexed open and shut.

“Oh.”

“You remember that we know each other, right?”

“Right..” Sword trailed. “Right. Okay. Huh. So you still see each other? I don’t.. I don’t really get all the details about the gods’ relationship.. Stuff. ‘Cause..”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Rocket quickly shut him down.

Sword’s face fell, and slowly, he fell back on the bench and relaxed.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Rocket hissed through grit teeth.

After another quick pocket of silence, Sword spoke again.

“So you don’t have a job.. What kinda stuff do you do? Like, what’re your hobbies?”

Rocket thought for a moment. He decided to tell Sword about the hobbies that made him sound particularly straighter than he actually was.

“I.. I like engineering, ‘n’ shit. Gear manufacturing.”

“Oh! Oh my gosh!” Sword practically jumped from his seat.

Rocket flinched back hard at the sudden burst of movement. 

“Really!?” Sword exclaimed again.

“Um, yeah?” Rocket narrowed his eyes. “Why the fuck is that so exciting?”

“My friend does that kind of thing, actually. He resells gears, but he’s got a side-job workin’ cash at the arcade. That’s why I brought that place up.”

“Oh.” Rocket nodded. “The guy you live with?”

“Mhm.”

“‘Kay..”

Sword sighed as Rocket turned to look at him. His quiet breath parted against the breeze, and Rocket eyed it as it froze– as if even the other boy’s breath was suspicious enough to warrant a glare.

“What?” Sword raised a thick brow and arched his neck. “You look kinda peeesed right now.”

“Whatever.” Rocket spat.

Sword smiled gently.

“Whatever..” He trailed after him. “Alright”

“Shut up.” Rocket shut him down.

“Hm?”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not.”

“Just piss off.”

“C’mon..”

Rocket groaned.

“What’s on your mind, man?” Sword asked him.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“My mind is empty ‘n’ dumb.” Rocket said as he slouched hard.

“Sounds like you could make something interesting out of that.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

“Mm, I dunno. If your brain’s empty, start filling it with things. Nice things.”

“Shut up.”

Sword laughed light-heartedly.

“I’m just saying.” He winked.

“I’m literally like the most thoughtless, worthless person you’ll ever meet.” Rocket rolled his eyes.

“Oh, please don’t say that.” Sword shook his head.

“It’s true.”

“I know it’s not.” Sword softly poked the tip of his nose, his voice lowering to a gentle mutter.

Rocket flinched at the touch.

“Have it your way then.”

The boys talked for another hour. The chill of the wind bit hard at Rocket’s face and fingers, but he was too wrapped up in his conversation with Sword to care. They went on for a while, going back and forth about trivial topics and poking fun at each other, but as the sky began to darken and the moon popped out of the grey sky, the loud honk of a furious car horn startled Rocket right off the park bench. 

Whipping himself around, he spotted a brown, streaked sedan, rusted and wobbly on its wheels. It pulled up on the street next to the bench where the boys sat, awkwardly situated in a squeeze right next to the curb. It honked again, as if making sure that they’d heard it, and furious, Rocket sprung to his feet.

“The fuck do you want, motherfucker?!” He howled.

“Rocket–” Sword began.

Ignoring him, Rocket stormed towards the vehicle and pounded on the window.

“YOU GOT A PROBLEM, MAN? YOU GOT A PROBLEM?!” He continued to raise his voice.

“Rocket!”

Just as Rocket was about to swing his fist at the window, it rolled down.

As Rocket backed up, his eyes widened.

The man who sat in the front seat was thin and lanky. He had greying antler-like horns that spindled wildly from his temples, and beneath them, a head shaven of all its hair sat depressingly thin.

Oh my gods.

Rocket studied Medkit in horror.

The man did look different. 

He wore a baggy t-shirt that hung off his body like the loose leaves of a tree. His clothes were tucked awkwardly about, disheveled in all their glory– like always– but his once tiny body had seemingly gained spurts of muscle. He still looked tired, however, with massive eyebags of purple, and sharp stings of red poked at the corners of his scleras.

Rocket managed to push nothing but a confused sputter of breaths past his lips.

“Bwuh– Muh–”

“Sword.” Medkit hissed. His eyes didn’t spare Rocket a single glance. He simply looked past the boy and gave the other a sharp glare.

Rocket whipped himself backwards. Sword was now up on his feet, and he gave the other two a sorry frown.

“ He’s the guy you’re staying with?!” Rocket cried and pointed a rude finger back towards Medkit.

“Y-Yeah?” Sword looked confused. “Um. Do you guys know each other?”

“Sword.” Medkit’s dreary voice lowered to a growl as he continued to ignore Rocket. “You weren’t at the church when I came to pick you up.”

“I’m sorry..” Sword sighed. “I got bored, and I wanted to take this guy here to the park. He’s that little friend I was talking about.”

Rocket’s eyes widened.

He was talking about me?

Medkit gave a loud, audible sigh of pure exasperation.

“So you weren’t mistaken. B. Zuka’s son.” He mumbled.

Rocket turned back around to look at his former babysitter. Medkit looked back at him with sunken eyes.

“Long time no see.” The healer offered, his voice a rasp.

Rocket stared for a moment as his hands curled into tight fists.

“I didn’t know you guys were friends. You know, seems kinda like a.. Weird friendship.”

“We met a long time ago.” Medkit raised a brow.

“What, before–”

“Before I saw you last? No.”

Rocket looked back at Sword.

“He was my babysitter.” He muttered through grit teeth.

Sword’s mouth curved a hard ‘ O.’

“ That’s the kid you used to babysit?!” He blurted.

Rocket looked confusedly back at Medkit, who rolled his eyes.

“Mm, yes.”

“Oh my gosh!” Sword exclaimed. “Oh my gosh, HA. Rocket, Rocket, I’ve heard a toooon of stories about you when you were little.”

Rocket’s eyes widened as Sword playfully poked his back. Ignoring the irritating touch, he gave a hard glare of pure fury– not into Medkit’s eyes– but right below his chin where he didn’t have to make eye contact with the man.

“SERIOUSLY?!” He hollered.

“You were funny!” Sword put his arm around Rocket and squeezed his shoulder.

Medkit gave a bleak smile, his tired eyes softening.

“Hey, remember that time I found you making out with your–”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP RIGHT NOW!” Rocket screamed desperately.

Medkit was silenced, and the air went still for a good moment. Then both the healer and his accomplice burst into fits of giggles and laughter.

“You better not have told that full story to Sword.” Rocket snapped. He was unamused.

“Don’t worry.” Medkit’s laughter died down as he rubbed the creases in his forehead, combing through his shaved hair with shaky fingers. “I didn’t.”

“Promise?”

“Mhm.”

“Say you promise right now.” Rocket was frantic.

“I promise.”

Rocket crossed his arms and stepped back, bouncing on his heels.

“Yeah, wow, alright, rockies.” He paused, taking a breather. He clapped his hands together sarcastically, looking from Sword and back to Medkit as his face flushed with embarrassment. 

“This was a greeeat reunion guys, um, how about you both go home now? Maybe get out of my town, I dunno, you fuckin’ illegals, whatever you people are..”

“WOAH, woah, woah, woah.” Sword hooted as he held back a snort. “Woah, let's not.”

Medkit’s smile died, and he looked unimpressed.

“Alright, Sword.” He sighed as he placed his hands on the wheel.

“Wait–”

“Sword. We have to go. I’ve got a shift at six and I wanna get you home. I picked up your dinner for you.”

“Okay, thanks, but wait.”

“ Sword!”

Ignoring his friend, Sword unexpectedly grabbed Rocket’s wrist and pulled the smaller boy close to him. Rocket immediately froze up, a million thoughts of danger running through his head.

“You have a phone, right?” Sword simply asked as Rocket blanked.

“Wuh?” He blubbered back.

“Lemme get your number. We needa hang out for real some time.”

“O-Oh.”

“You have a phone, right?”

Medkit gave an irritated groan louder than his car engine.

“SWORD!”

“WAAAAIT!”

“You add your number to mine!” Rocket raised his hands, flinging his phone out of his pocket and into the hands of Sword.

With a chuckle, Sword nodded and obeyed, his broad hands cupping the phone and punching its buttons.

“I dunno my own number.” Rocket grit his teeth and gave an awkward laugh.

“Haha.” Sword smiled.

When he was finished, Sword turned in Rocket’s phone and backed off.

No fuckin’ way he’s allowed a phone and I’m still not.

“Okay, nice.” Sword tilted his head and smiled. “See ya later, Rocky.”

Rocket bristled at the nickname and stepped back, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“Whatever.” He sneered as his mood gave another swing.

“Call me.” Sword gave a wave as he hopped backwards towards Medkit’s old sedan. “Maybe we can talk later tonight.”

“Fine.” Rocket sighed back.

Sword smiled once more as he hopped into Medkit’s car. He closed the door to the shotgun, and with the window still rolled down, Rocket watched them bicker in awkward silence.

“My backpack’s still at the church.”

“Seriously?!”

“Can we go back and get it?”

“You better grab it fast.”

“You better drive fast.”

Medkit pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Sword. I’m exhausted and I don’t wanna die today.”

“I thought you wanted to die every day.”

Before Rocket could hear Medkit’s retort, they sped off, leaving the boy in another wave of eerie quiet.

He paused for a moment, balling his fists together and watching the breath leave his lips.

Holy shit that was weird. Holy fucking shit that was weird. What the fuck? Genuinely what the fuck. Why is Medkit in town again? With Sword? Why not Subspace? What the fuck, dude?

And then something clicked.

Oh, I bet that the shit that that’s been going on in town is Medkit. A hundred bux on it. 

Blackrock scum. He quickly added to his thoughts afterwards as stared across the road. 

And then something else clicked.

Just a few blocks down the road was the arcade.

Rocket replayed Medkit’s words in his mind.

Sword. We have to go. I’ve got a shift at six.

Rocket took a shaky breath.

Dad won’t mind if I come home late.

Chapter Text

Rocket shuffled down the sidewalk as the evening began to chill. His hockey bag was hauled hard over his shoulder, like a protective shield over his frozen skin. His other hand was stuffed into his hoodie pocket, and he walked with a depressing hunch.

The arcade was a few blocks over, at the top of a long stretch of road going uphill. 

As the city neared the center, it was built to continuously raise as the streets went on. Crossroads was in the middle of an architectural dilemma. Desperately, it tried to escape the encroaching waves that threatened the shoreline once every few years.

Climate change isn’t real. One of Rocket’s teachers had once said.

As Rocket continued on, he eventually began his trek uphill. 

The seawall, despite its purpose of keeping the ocean water out, crept through the city like a thick, pale white vein. It shot through the occasional street, entangling itself along metal fences and interrupting the infrastructure of other buildings. Bad design, but it was the thing keeping the city afloat atop itself.

Rocket stood before the dip in the street. The seawall was sliced to a corner. At its peak, the Southernview Street Arcade sat alone.

The small building was encircled by fences, and like the other nearby shops, was built of sad, cloudy stone and brick. Rocket, dripping with sweat, huffed and made it to the top of the road where it sat.

There were bright purple letters situated at its front. They glowed neon, but not well enough. A few of the letters were dead, and a few were so musty with dust and grime that they shone brown and green rather than violet.

Rocket slipped slyly onto the sidewalk in front of it as he wiped his damp forehead. He hadn’t seen Medkit drive by, but paranoid, he looked around for him.

Peeking through the front windows of the arcade, Rocket came to the conclusion that it was open– but empty. The arcade was one of two in the city, and at this location, it was dead. Rocket was surprised they hadn’t closed yet. He wondered why Medkit bothered to even work there, but the man most likely couldn’t find a job anywhere else.

Wonder why. One look at his background and I’d turn ‘em down too.

There was a small bit of faction influence that crept into the city of Crossroads. The vast majority of people living there came from most factions but Blackrock.

Rocket didn’t like the fact, but considering how pale he was, he assumed that his birth parents had been from the northern faction.

Scoffing, Rocket rolled his eyes at himself and continued his search.

What was he searching for? He had no idea. Something at Medkit’s workplace– anything– that could lead to evidence that the Blackrock man’s hands were dirty in this.

In what? Fuck if I know.

Not that he really did expect to find anything at the arcade.

Deciding not to enter inside, Rocket hauled his bag up and exhaustedly shuffled around the back of the building. There was a metal gate attached to the seawall next to it, and curved around the building was more damaged old fencing– rusted with age.

To Rocket’s luck, the gate was open. Its gold lock, milky with suspicious stains, hung lazily from its hook. Rocket took it up in his sweaty palm and unattached it.

Wildly, the gate swung open towards him. He caught it by the beam with his fingers and gingerly held it open as he slipped through.

What’s Medkit again? A cashier? A janitor? He won’t come back here, right? Rocket thought as he nervously sniffed back a wad of snot and stepped around back. As he did, however, he was stopped in his tracks as slowly and surely, the city began to illuminate itself.

Each and every street light across the space Rocket could see activated and flickered to life. Dim, yellow light spilled across the paved roads and down across rugged sidewalks, and in the distance, various apartments and condos brightened– as if each person living inside them had moved in unison to turn their lights on.

For a moment, Rocket’s breath caught in his throat. The sudden instance of each light going off at once had stopped him where he stood– but it wasn’t all too bright to handle. Crossroads, at least in the surrounding area, was still dim in the cloudy evening. Perhaps it was still a bit too dark.

Shaking his head, Rocket sighed and looked around. There were two massive dumpsters dressed in green. They were filled to the top with half-knotted bags of trash, and the stench they emitted was enough for Rocket to skip over searching them. Walking aside, he turned further around back, lowering himself not-so-well in order to evade detection. The tangy smell of smoky steel began to wade its way into Rocket’s nose, and he sniffed in disapprovement at the factory scent.

There was a small generator to the left, sat on the concrete ground. Rocket got down on his knees to inspect it, dirtying his grey sweatpants.

The brand was familiar to him, it was a GenesiPlus motor, but a thought struck him as he ran his hands over its busted metal surface.

The mass of machinery at the abandoned beach.

The man who threatened him away from it.

With sudden determination, Rocket jumped to his feet and continued to storm around, illegally rummaging through the arcade’s back dump.

He swept the small area, kicking over pillars of scrap wood and a bag of trash. Continuing to prowl, Rocket noticed one of the arcade’s old machines, decommissioned and turned over on its side. It was propped up against the wall, forming a small crevice where it lay between it and the concrete. Rocket crept over to inspect it.

He ran his fingers over its once-sleek surface. Now, it was dented, and its face was bashed in hard. Someone had taken it out with a bat– or something . The pocket where it held its quarters was pulled out, and it hung like a broken jaw, empty and disheveled. For a quick moment, Rocket ran his hand around inside, hoping for a dime or two. To his surprise, there was one coin– a tiny round piece of zinc and copper. It was old, and it read one. Rocket pocketed the penny in disappointment.

Turning back to the machine that towered above him, Rocket looked up to read the title of the beaten in game. 

Winged Symbiosis.

Rocket studied the name with suspicious eyes. He’d never played.

Then footsteps that weren’t his came around the side of the building.

Rocket’s heart skipped a beat. Immediately, he shoved himself into the hole between the arcade machine and the wall of its previous abode. 

Rocket awaited Medkit’s arrival in shaky silence. Soon he began to feel nauseous with anxiety.

But Medkit didn’t come. Another man did. He wore the blue uniform the Arcade employees always had, but he was clearly not the man Rocket had expected to see. He was old and scraggly, with a wrinkled face and darker, freckled skin. His greasy hair fell lopsidedly over his face, and to the young boy’s dismay, he reeked of sweat. 

Rocket poked a sliver of his face out from behind the machine to get a clearer look. The employee held a broom in his one hand, and a bag of trash he dragged in his other.

Dead body. Rocket thought to himself in alarm. Dead body.

He watched as the man slowly trailed around the back. He let his feet drag as if they were anchors of stone, and his heavy boots slapped against the tar ground with lazy force.

Throwing Star. Rocket read off his nametag as he stepped closer. Janitor.

Oh. Not a dead body.

The green dumpster next to Rocket rattled and shook as Throwing Star tossed his bag of garbage inside. Rocket inched backwards at the sound– a loud metal shudder that blared against his ear.

Silent and undetected, Rocket waited for the janitor to leave. Eventually he did, hauling himself without a word, gaze pinned to the ground with a certain sadness in his eyes Rocket couldn’t dissect.

As soon as the janitor was gone Rocket stumbled out of his hiding spot onto his knees. Brushing the dirt off his pants, he grabbed his bag and wobbled to his feet, arms and legs still shaky with nervousness. He decided there was nothing more to find, no evidence to stick his suspicions to Medkit, so he turned quickly for the gate. Fast on his feet, he sped, but before he could leave, something new caught his eye.

A long, thick tube of rubber was latched onto a broken, scrapped piece of the fence atop the seawall. It glistened, unnaturally wet, and as it glimmered, Rocket stopped to eye it in disgust. 

He dropped to a crouch and set his bag aside. Reaching out to touch the tube, he stopped. The air around it was thick and warm.

Rocket pulled his hand away and stared. It looked like a ventilation tube, the way its surface rippled, but it was washed over with what looked like grease. The air around it was musty, like the breath of a man who’d never touched a mint. Rocket recoiled as it wormed its way up his nose.

Then suddenly, the tube began to hum, and it burst to life with a quiet shudder. Rocket’s eyes widened, and getting back up, he pushed fast out of the gate and left the premises of the arcade.

Rocket saw it now. Down the seawall the rubber tube crept. He ran through the street hill alongside it, sneakers rubbing dryly against the humid ground as he slipped down the steep road.

At the bottom was a tiny shop. Rocket didn’t bother to read its name. He shoved himself and his massive bag through the miniscule opening between it and the white wall, hands against the chilling surface as he pushed himself through the claustrophobic crack. Rocket heaved as he escaped out onto the other side. 

There was a massive dip behind the arcade that ended where the other shop’s back area began. As he’d expected, there was the sweaty grey tube– but there was much more he hadn’t expected.

Loads of generators sat in the dying grass. They were stacked atop each other, and they were different. Rocket recognized them immediately. 

Each and every one was an identical copy of the one the mysterious man nights ago had been toying with. All but one were shut off, and the generator that beamed with life was clear. It was equipped with wild lights of many colours, flickering about.

Consumed with sudden anxiety, Rocket froze and began the search for a quick way out. The longer he stood at the strange site, the more the feeling of being watched quickly manifested and became stronger.

Choking down his fear, Rocket took a step back. Behind him was the tight squeeze he’d come through upon entering the area, and he didn’t want to shuffle back through it.

Cautiously, Rocket scooted across the quiet, paved area. He made quick work not to let his shoes brush the ground too hard as he walked, and held his bag like a shield against his thin chest.

The generators each softly whirred as he stepped around them. The one with flickering lights was louder as it buzzed and rattled. It vibrated hard, and Rocket pinned his narrowed eyes against it as he walked. 

The veiny ventilation tube swung behind it where it was connected, brushing the seawall with a soft swish . Rocket rang his teeth across his tongue at the rather irritating noise, and as he rounded the small shop from the other side where the alley was wider, it got louder.

The single activated generator lurched and slid across the ground with a hard metal scratch.

Rocket jumped off his feet, skidding backwards away from it. As he did, the streetlights above flickered wildly and squeaked a harsh song as they began to shake and jangle.

Rocket let out a cry as the city-lights twisted in their place. They had begun to spin .

Rocket. A slow voice then called for him. He knew this sound.

“Nope.” Rocket’s voice heightened in terror. “No, no, fuck, no.”

Rocket.

As the machines called for him, Rocket turned his back and ran. As fast as his feet could carry him, he sped down the grassy alley and shot out onto the empty southern street.

All the way down the road, the street lamps flickered. Rocket swallowed hard and quickly wiped a river of sweat from across his face as he continued to run.

Despite the pure fear instilled in his body, his cheeks flushed as he sprinted. Rocket hated running in public. There had to be someone watching his pathetic little street performance.

Rocket turned off the street and slid down a quiet, paved hill. Sighing harshly, he huffed and aired out his musty hoodie.

Slowly, the lights dimmed again, and their bright flickering came to a halt. Rocket watched from below with a runny nose and watery eyes, fanning his forehead with a trembling hand.

“Fuck.” He spat. Saliva slapped the wet ground beneath his feet. 

“Fuck.”

Upon his return home, Rocket swung the front door open fast. He tossed his bag hard across the foyer, and it hit the wall with a sharp bang as its zipper smacked against the wooden rail leading upstairs.

“Why the fuck are you being angry again?” He heard a nasally voice interrupt his panicked scurry.

“I’m not angry.” Rocket swallowed back at Icedagger as his hands waded through his tangled hair and ripped at his scalp. “I’m not angry, I’m terrified, because this city’s fucked up and we’re all gonna die!”

As Rocket rounded the corner, he was met with Icedagger’s confused face as it writhed and cringed. His brother was sat on the sofa, posture down to a single bony bend of the midpoint crevice in his back. The television remote was in his hand as he popped back and forth between staticy channels.

“Shut the fuck up, you’re so fucking delusional.” The ice fairy simply said.

“Bitch.” Rocket bit. Saliva still flooded his throat.

“Excuse you?” Another voice stopped him in his place.

Rocket whipped himself around to face the kitchen. Zuka stood in a grey pair of jeans and jacket, his one fist propped against the counter with a firm grip on 

Rocket’s hockey bag.

“I’m sorry.” Rocket quickly softened. His gaze dropped to his ragged sneakers and his voice heightened to a squeak.

“Where were you?” His father immediately started. Rocket’s cussing was no concern.

“I-” The boy stammered.

“You weren’t at hockey practice.” Zuka glowered as he interrupted his son. His voice was low and gritty– plagued with subtle anger.

“How did you know?” Rocket gently admitted defeat.

“I came to pick you up.” Zuka sighed and crossed his arm over his chest. “But when I realised you weren’t there, I actually wasn’t all too concerned. I know you get up to things out there.”

Rocket let his head fall.

“Dad, I..”

“Son.” Zuka placed his hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

Rocket squeezed his hands into fists and grit his teeth. 

“I don’t wanna do hockey anymore. I like it, but the people are sh- stupid- and also they fuckin’ hate me, so..”

“Easy on the language.”

“Sorry.”

Zuka fell silent.

“Please let me quit.” Rocket begged him.

“That’s not what I’m concerned about right now.” Zuka narrowed his eyes. “I wanna know where you were.”

Rocket sealed his mouth shut and tightened his thin white lips.

“Not hockey.” He muttered.

“Rocket.”

“Okay, okay!” Rocket raised his arms defensively as the words stumbled off his tongue. “Okay, okay, but don’t like, laugh, okay?”

“Wasn’t the plan.”

Rocket dripped with nervous embarrassment.

“I was uh.. Looking for a job.” He lied, partially. “At the church.”

“The church?” Zuka crossed his arm back again and raised a single brow. “That’s unlike you.”

Rocket swallowed hard and quickly rolled his thoughts back to earlier that evening.

“They’re offering a little job, um, cleaning. Janitor job.”

“Ah.” Zuka slowly nodded, falling silent.

“Mhm.”

“Alright, Rocket, sure. Fine. You know what? If you get the job, you can quit hockey.”

“Thank you!” Rocket exclaimed as he slid back on the floor, hopping excitedly where he stood.

Zuka narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t as pleased.

“Only if you get the job.”

Rocket nodded fast. A weak grumble then erupted from the living room.

“He’s lyyyying to you, Zukaaaa..” Icedagger sang.

“Shut up.” Rocket turned and shot towards his brother, pointing a finger at his face. “You dunno shit.”

“Mmm, maybe, but in that case, neither does your dad. He knows you’re lying too.”

Rocket turned back to his father, who stood silently shaking his head.

“Don’t listen to him.” Zuka murmured, his voice low and gruff. “I trust you.”

Then he simply walked away and slid out back.

Rocket smiled and skittishly turned to Icedagger, who, still slumped over, gave the other boy the hardest side-eye.

“That’s an insult.” Icedagger called in a deadpan. “He only trusts you because you’re too ugly and skinny and short and gay to be out doing drugs and fucking girls.”

“Then what the fuck do you think I’m doing?” Rocket sneered.

Icedagger shrugged without another word and turned his head, gruesomely slow, back towards the television.

“Not like you’re any different.” Rocket huffed beneath his breath.

Scooping his bag back up off the floor where his father had left it, Rocket forgot almost completely about his terrifying walk home. He rolled his eyes at his brother, and hurried upstairs before dinner was served.

Chapter Text

It was a rather depressing night, the night that Throwing Star walked the once again empty arcade halls. He longed to return home, to his shabby apartment flat, where he could be by himself. Alone yet again, for another evening, without anybody else there next to him.

Throwing Star sighed and scoffed to himself as he stalked the arcade halls. He popped his knuckles against the handle of his broom, and gave a gruff cough as the tickle of smoke in his lungs ravaged him from the inside.

The arcade floors were not dirty that evening. They never were. Throwing Star cleaned them each day, as his broom lazily swept the aisles, and they rarely dirtied. Up and down, he slipped that broom back and forth, its wooden handle enclosed tight between the folds of his heavy palm.

It was painstaking, the wait Throwing Star endured for the arcade to close for good. Any day now, he would show up to a closed arcade, and his job would end. 

But it just never seemed to come. He was perpetually stuck in this place, every night, every day of the week, sweeping anxiously and returning trash to the back while the looming threat of being laid off sat just around the corner.

The wait was probably the scariest thing in his boring, pathetic life. Maybe. The divorce was sad, not frightening. So was lung disease. So was cancer.

Throwing Star took a sharp breath for himself and sighed. In and out. The arcade smelled beautifully clean, but to him, it was just another unpleasant odor there to remind him of his woes.

Fire me. Throwing Star begged no one but himself. Put me out of my misery. But throughout his time working as a janitor, he had mastered the art of cleanliness. Now, thanks to his rather enlightening job, his apartment was just as beautiful– on occasion.

Throwing Star sighed and wiped his forehead as he stopped at the front counter. He still had another hour left of work, and Gods, he sure could admit to himself that he was jealous of the skinny kid who came in later than him and left earlier.

Medkit, he mused to himself as he scratched his stubbly chin. Where had he heard that name before? It must be common. 

I swear, though, was he not on the news recently? Somewhere?

Throwing Star scratched his head and immediately forgot about the thought. He was just about finished everything he’d sought out to do, so he set his broom aside. Propping it up against the wall, he left it to lay, and began to make his way through the dimly lit rows of games. 

Just in case one or two needed to be touched up.

The boxy arcade machines sat in cold, metallic lines. Their black screens, each and every one shut off, stared like iris-less eyes– cold and unmoving. Their pupils were pinned to him as he walked– but it was like this most nights.

Throwing Star swam through the aisles. Here and there, he wiped dust from a few screens by the palm of his hand. He swept the small game room casually, but a pang of nausea suddenly hit him. Cold sickness, deep and abyssal, pooled in his gut, and he began to feel as if the room was narrowing in on him. Once he turned onto the last row the path he strode seemed to tighten, and he stopped.

Am I seeing things?

His eyes slowly trailed up the carpeted path and pinned a small machine that sat towards the back wall. 

It was silent and still, for a moment, as if it were waiting. 

Patiently. 

Throwing Star, not paying it much mind, shuffled closer. 

To his own confusion, as he neared, his breathing became louder and his heart thumped hard up against his chest. The rush of blood pounded just behind his eardrums, and he swore his hands began to thin out as they trembled.

Gods. My mind’s playing tricks on me again. Another strange machine. 

Days ago, Throwing star had tossed a broken copy of Winged Symbiosis out back. He’d complained to the manager before that it should’ve already been decommissioned, but in the end brought it up to himself to discard it once it began to malfunction. At night, it wouldn’t shut off, but when the occasional customer attempted a play, it refused to start. He thought it was a strange offhand machine, despite the fact that the make of the game was a popular one. He’d shrugged it off, though. Nothing too weird had happened with it.

But now there was another. The machine was different from the last.

Firebrand’s Quest: The Vault of The Wicked. Throwing Star had played before– he’d played all of the games before. He didn’t like any of the Firebrand’s Quest lineage games. They were cheesy, and they were eyesores. 

In this particular sequel, you fought as King Firebrand against Darkheart inside a vault filled with the dead. It was stupid. The King shot fireballs from his hands, and each time the character jumped, he grunted quite loudly and quite awkwardly.

Throwing Star narrowed his eyes and approached the cabinet. He stood a good amount of feet away from it, and he wasn’t close enough at all to have been breathing against the machine’s dark screen.

So why, as he watched it, did it slowly begin to fog up?

Throwing Star’s heavy breathing hitched in his throat, and his skin was shot with goosebumps. The hair on his arms rose, and despite the desperate need to turn away and leave, he approached the machine to inspect it.

It was definitely different. 

Throwing Star ran a fast hand over his stubbly chin, contemplating all the possibilities.

How? Why?

With a nervous swallow, the janitor crept closer. He put his hands down on the cold surface of the console, and seemed to shift hard under his weight. It gave a lurch, and Throwing Star’s heart skipped a beat. Then the machine fell still.

Cautiously, the janitor inspected the now foggy screen. He threw his lanyard against it, and began to toy with the buttons as his keys slipped down its face. The machine never illuminated, not once, and as he mashed his stubby finger against flips and switches, nothing happened.

With a grunt, Throwing Star placed a few wide fingers over the machine’s joystick. To his surprise, his hand bounced against it. He pulled back for a brief moment, but then quietly slipped his hand back around the switch.

A soft beat, like the flow of rapidly approaching ocean waves, washed over the palm of his hands and into the tips of his fingers. As he looked closer, Throwing Star noticed that with each thrum, it gave a slight bounce.

A heartbeat. He realised as he inspected the feel of the joystick. 

The drum of a heartbeat.

Confused, Throwing Star let his fingers slide down the rod. Then, quietly, something else caught his ear.

A soft, muffled breath.

It was hoarse as it crept across the lobe of his ear, and it was warm. Awfully warm. Throwing Star cringed as the breathing danced, hot and humid, against the side of his face. Disgusted, he pulled away, and with an ache, he stood right up, nervously deciding that his pointless inspection had served no purpose.

It must’ve been another man on his heels, breathing down his neck. An intruder? A burglar? Most likely not.

Throwing Star, with a hard sigh, stepped back and cupped his hands together. 

Turning around to face what his anxiety told him was going to be a thief, he found simply nothing.

Throwing Star stared down the dark path of confetti-coloured carpeted floor and caught his breath.

Right. Okay.

“Nothing to worry about.” He breathed aloud to himself, his gruff voice having been used for the very first time that day. “Nothing.. To worry about.”

With an exhausted sigh, Throwing Star turned around to face the machine once more.

A chill swept through his body. The feeling of being watched. 

Very uncomfortable at that point, the janitor grabbed his lanyard and made an attempt to stalk his way off in the opposite direction. Hurriedly, he turned away, clumsily shoving his keys down his pockets and huffing off.

Then something shot out from the game’s quarter machine. Dark and covered in bodily ooze, it grabbed him by the ankle. 

Throwing Star had no time to inspect his attacker as he fell to the ground. His leg gave way, and his back slammed down hard . He felt a pop in his spine as he hit the floor, and he cried out, helplessly.

The limb that had grabbed his ankle was long and thin. Throwing Star had just about collected himself by the time it had begun to search his pockets, but he couldn’t stop the machine monster as it snagged his lanyard from his pocket and snatched his ID.

Throwing Star sat up fast. He got a good look at the thief before it disappeared back into the coin slot. A long tentacle arm, black and skinny.

Throwing Star yelled for help. He attempted to push himself back up on his feet, but he hadn’t the stamina left inside him. He yelled again, but he was already awfully aware of how alone he was in the building at night.

Looking back at the machine, Throwing Star turned on his hip. 

The monster cabinet lay still.

For a moment.

Suddenly, the cabinet’s top shot open . A metal plate Throwing Star hadn’t even realised was there threw itself up and bounced against squeaky hinges. Throwing Star gasped at the sight, but nothing came of the machine, not for a good moment.

Throwing Star used the quiet opportunity to race back up onto his feet. With a hard grunt, he threw himself up on his knuckled hands, but all of a sudden, he saw something. Another arm. Longer, and black against the dim arcade wall.

The massive, monstrous limb escaped the machine and dipped down the screen like a river of black water. Throwing Star opened his mouth again, but nothing escaped his shot throat.

The black tentacle came forward as it dripped off the machine. It took the texture of sludge as it slowly crept, until it found its way over to Throwing Star’s struggling body where it solidified.

The snake-like limb reared up as it came forward. Almost as if it had eyes itself, it inspected the man before him.

The janitor raised his hands, a silent plea for mercy, but the arm shot forward. The pointed tip of the monster seemed to instantaneously freeze to the texture of ice, and it plunged directly into Throwing Star’s beating heart.

The janitor’s throat tightened and he stopped his struggles. Immense pain came over his body, as repeatedly, the black limb expanded itself in width and shot into his chest.

It burned like acid rippling through his flesh. The creature tore at him, and it was violent and animalistic. The man’s uniform began to swim in red gore, and the creature mashed the heart inside his chest to a pulp of stringy, sticky organic soup.

Throwing Star’s body spasmed, and his eyes glazed over hard. His vision began to swirl and fade, and his head began to pump a horrible pounding in the back of his skull.

The monstrous arm swam curiously back, as if observing again, its prey. Then it tugged, red with warm blood, at Throwing Star’s limp ankle as it hung off his foot.

The rest of the metal plating that lined the arcade cabinet groaned and ground against itself with metal shrieks and whines. The air was hot with the metallic stench of iron and steel as the tentacle limb dragged the dead janitor’s body. 

Then as if he were never there, he was pulled into the creature’s maw– the body of the machine.

END OF PART I

Chapter Text

Rocket awoke on the floor. 

His head was planted hard against the carpet. He lay on his back, his face flushed a bright pink. Sweat dripped down his neck and soaked his tank top, and his sweatpants were rolled up past his sticky, knobby knees.

His heart pounded hard, and his chest rose and fell as he took long, raspy gasps and breaths. The sudden, panicky sensation of the inability to breathe caught on hard, and with wide eyes, he rolled onto his side and let out a pathetically hoarse cry of fear.

Before he could call for his father, however, his lungs seemed to open back up, and quietly, he began to slow his breathing. Rocket swallowed back gurgles of saliva as he gave an exhausted sigh, and pushed himself up onto his shaky legs, kneeling before his night table. He let his head hang as he panted for air, but suddenly, through his chest shot a pang of lightning-fast prickling. It throbbed and panged inside his heart, and tears stung at the corners of Rocket’s squinting eyes. Opening his mouth, the boy let out a hard whimper of pain, and he sat up to stare at the ceiling in somewhat of a prayer.

This wasn’t a new occurrence. It hadn’t happened in a while, but months ago, Rocket experienced it almost every night. He would wake up on his floor, and his body, for a good few minutes, would be rocked with pain so agonizing he thought he would die.

Rocket sighed as the pain began to slow. He clutched his chest through his top and squeezed the dull white fabric in pain. After he finally composed himself, he rolled back over onto his hip and stared into the darkness beneath his bed.

He lay like that for a while, exhausted and defeated by mere chest pain. The black nothingness under his bed sat with him too, motionless. Awfully still.

With a tiny bolt of anxiety, Rocket rolled away from his bed and hauled himself to his feet. He teetered and swayed as he stood, only regaining balance once he clutched at the knob on his door and leaned back against the wooden surface. 

Rocket closed his eyes as another bead of sweat swam down his rosy cheek and onto his throat, which bobbed and fluctuated as he swallowed. For a moment, he stood. Then he let out a horrible, scratchy groan.

Rocket’s mouth was dry and his throat suffered as he grunted. Overcome with a sudden, painful thirst, he scooped the rough doorknob into his palm and quietly slipped from his bedroom.

Travelling the rather tranquil night, Rocket, with light steps, hurried down the creaky, narrow hallway steps and stepped out into the foyer. A chill immediately bit at his skin, and the thin, white hair on his arms stood up on end.

Rocket rubbed his arms together as he continued past the island and towards the refrigerator. His eyes were still softly narrowed, and his lips curved hard into a nasty frown.

There was a glass on the counter next to the fridge. It was his from the evening, and it was dusted with fat, greasy fingerprints. Rocket scooped it up in his palm and it slid against his skin. Cringing, Rocket opened the fridge and removed the water dispenser from its place on the cold shelf.

He stood silently as he poured his drink. His hands were shaky against the dispenser, and he tried his best to keep still. Sleepiness plagued his vision, and he yawned as he gave a quick stretch.

As he finished pouring his drink, he slipped the dispenser back inside the fridge and closed it before it could begin to beep at him. Rubbing his eyes, he began to carry his water off, but stopped to stare out the window as he gave a turn back towards the stairs.

There was nothing there. The street outside was pitch black, and Rocket couldn’t see anything. Yet, a sharp chill shot through his spine, and his glass began to wobble in his hand.

Rocket tightened his fingers around the water he held and crept silently forward. His hand gilded against the island counter as he walked, softly feeling the smooth tile.

Normally it wasn’t so cold.

Had it gotten chillier in the house?

Rocket quickly turned to dart up the stairs, but as he placed his first foot against the step, he stopped again and looked back at the front door.

It beckoned him. It beckoned him out. 

Rocket was overcome with a strange feeling– the feeling of warmth as it pooled under his skin and pumped inside his veins alongside his blood.

Something was wrong out there. Rocket knew exactly what.

Oh my gods no. No.

A sudden realization hit him. He wasn’t sure from where, but it did.

I have to go back to the arcade.

He tried to convince himself.  

There’s some fuckin’ bullshit there– there’s some fuckin’ bullshit, I know it.

Rocket, in silence, ran his hands across each other and paced back and forth from the kitchen to the living room. Sweat continued to trickle down and off his neck, and with an exhausted sigh, he rubbed his nape beneath two fingers.

I.. I’ll call Sword.

Rocket didn’t know if that was the right decision, but he felt compelled to do something . Swallowing back another bout of fear, he turned down his glass of water and slipped back up the stairs.

He had to be quiet. Icedagger was probably awake, and Firebrand seemed to stir awfully easily. 

Rocket was light on his feet as he crept, baggy socks hanging off his sweat-washed feet uncomfortably. Preparing for what was mostly likely a deadly endeavor, he gave a light jog into his room.

The lamp Rocket slept with gave a warm orange glow and cast soft, friendly shadows across his room. As he snatched his hoodie up off one of the posts of his bed, he paused for a moment to contemplate staying. Rocket sighed. He’d never snuck out before. He was going to get caught, and it was going to be ugly.

Turning to eye his bedside table, he stepped towards it and rang the drawer open. The little silver cell sat inside, crammed next to thick piles of dusty papers, grey with graphite. Rocket quickly grabbed it, but was careful not to shut the drawer too fast. With a small frown, he turned the little folded phone between his fingers and ran his nails across its thin, dark lines of plastic.

Okay. Okay. Holy fuck, I’m really doing this.

As Rocket hurried back down the stairs, he slipped his pungent blue hoodie up over his head and slipped on his little black sandals. He snatched the key from the little bowl on the foyer counter, but as reached for the door handle, he stopped.

There was rustling outside. 

Soft. Barely audible against the other side of the door.

Rocket froze in his footsteps and his eyes widened. In a matter of seconds, the handle on the front door began to slowly turn. It was silent as it twisted, and the only thing Rocket could hear in that moment was his own breathing.

Then the door clicked and softly swung open.

Rocket let out an exhausted breath of relief as he was met with Icedagger’s terrified face.

“What the fuck are you doing?” His brother gave a hushed whisper.

Rocket’s face turned and he scowled as he observed his brother. Icedagger’s snow-white skin was pierced and littered with dotty red bruises, and one of his sharp blue eyes hung a big black bag beneath its lid.

“Where the fuck were you?” Rocket shot back.

“None of your business.”

Rocket narrowed his eyes at his disheveled brother.

“You look like shit.”

“Yeah, I know.” Icedagger bit back.

“So where were you?”

“I said it’s none ‘ya business.” Icedagger gave a hiss as he shoved past Rocket.

Rocket turned around, hand balanced against the down-turned door handle as he let the cold air rush inside.

“I’m telling Firebrand.” He scoffed.

“Whatever.”

“And my dad.”

Icedagger turned his icy gaze towards Rocket and briskly flipped him off. Rocket shot one back, both their fingers shaky and thin.

“I’ll Zuka about you.” Icedagger gave a hesitant retort. “Because clearly you’re tryna go somewhere. Never thought you had the balls to sneak out.”

“Shut up.” Rocket glowered. “Like, actually, shut the fuck up. How about– How about, I’ll let you go if you let me go.”

“I literally never threatened to tell your dad until you threatened me.” Icedagger rasped.

“Whatever.”

Icedagger scoffed out an exhale.

“Alright, little bitch.” He said as he leaned back against the wall. “But you have to tell me where you’re going and who you’re seeing.”

“No!”

“Shhh.”

Rocket’s mouth snapped shut.

“Well?” Icedagger raised his brows.

“Uptown.” Rocket spat. “Uptown, arcade. Alone.”

“Arcade? You’re so fucking bad at lying. Ugly little shit.”

“Trust.” Rocket attempted to convince his brother of the truth. “Seriously, I’mma be there if you go looking.”

“Seriously?”

“I said seriously, asshole.”

“Fine.” Icedagger gave a fleet nod and tapped his foot. “Go. Not like I care.”

“Sure.” Rocket narrowed his eyes. “Sure.”
“I said go.”

As soon as his brother said that, the anxiety hit Rocket again.

“Fine.”

“Why’re you so fucking reluctant now?”

“Shut up.” Rocket took a few steps back and slipped down the concrete porch stairs. “Bye.”

“Bye, bitch.”

Icedagger quietly swung the door shut. Once the lock clicked from inside, Rocket hurried away and down the street. 

Then the realisation hit him that he was alone.

Doing crazy sixth sense bullshit in the middle of the night.

The air was deathly cold at that hour. Rocket could see his breath appear fast and thick before his lips, and even inside his sweaty hoodie, his body was racked with rough shivers.

Sniffling back developing snot, Rocket removed a hand from his pocket and cracked open his phone. It was the only light in the inky black night, and it illuminated his face in rough white light. Rocket blinked sleepily against the brilliant screen and fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut. He pressed a finger hard against the button to dial, and Sword’s number shot up in green. Rocket pressed the lime ‘ OK,’ and the phone quietly began to chime.

Rocket slowly slipped the phone up against his ear and waited. As he did, he looked around the dark street. It was almost nightmarish, the shade and shadows that loomed and loitered the streets at night. The waves were quiet and eerie, but almost strangely, there were no lampposts that flickered.

Suddenly, the soft rings of the phone came to a muffled halt. Rocket paused nervously, before Sword’s sleepy voice came over the other end.

“Hell-oo?”

Rocket bit back a small smile of relief and shuffled to get a better grip on his cell.

“Hey, it’s me.”

A stifled chuckle came from over the line, and Rocket felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

“Hey, Rocket!” 

Sword’s voice was gravelly, but ridden with intrigue. Rocket felt himself tense up.

“Hi.” He repeated shyly. “Sorry for calling so late.”

Sword laughed at that.

“Yeah, what’s up? ‘You need something?”

“Yeah, kinda.” Rocket shuffled back and forth on the sidewalk and stuffed his cold arm into his torso. “Are you busy?”

Sword took a pause, before his voice returned.

“It’s like 11pm.”

“Are you?” Rocket grit his teeth.

“Yeah.”

“Can you come out?”

“Uh.” Sword began to stammer. “Uh- I- I dunno, why?”

Rocket heard an awkward shamble over the line as Sword presumably stood up.

“This is gonna sound weird as fuck.” Rocket placed a hand to his forehead and rolled his eyes at himself.

“I’m interested.” Sword began as his voice lowered to a whisper. “I like… Weird as frick stuff.”

Rocket cracked an amused smile at Sword’s self-censoring.

“Um, so, you’re just gonna have to trust me real quick.”

“How the tables have turned.” Sword gave a hushed giggle. “‘You sure this isn’t a ploy to murder me?”

“Uh-huh.” Rocket deadpanned back.

“Okay, what, do you want me to come over, or..”

“The arcade.” Rocket interrupted him. “The one.. Medkit works at. Behind that there’s a little street that goes down. Can you meet me there?”

“Um. That’s a little ways away.”

“Can you or can you not?”

“I’ll have to steal Medkit’s car.”

Rocket paused for a moment as his mind blanked.

“You drive?”

Sword let out an awkward laugh.

“You don’t?”

“Oh.”

“I’m– sixteen– Rocket.”

“I forgot.” Rocket quickly bit back.

Sword snickered.

“Okay, I’ll be there in like twenty minutes. But you’re gonna have to explain yourself.”

“Okay.” Rocket immediately hopped back into action and began to jog up the sidewalk. “Okay, thanks so much, I guess.”

“It’s no problem?”

Both boys fell silent. Rocket, unsure whether or not Sword would be the one to hang up, stared at the phone in uncomfortable silence. Sword’s combrous breath was loud and audible, and after a few seconds of suspiring, he laughed and hung up.

Rocket’s pale face shot pink.

Oh my gods I’m so fucking stupid. Literally what the fuck is wrong with me? Holy shit dude. Hang up you stupid bitch!

As self-deprecating thoughts ran his mind, Rocket’s pace slowed, and he trudged across the dark streets less in fear and more caught up in his own shame and humiliation.

Rocket was too afraid to look into the ditch where the generators sat by himself. Rather than paying what he knew was behind him any attention, he leaned back against the wall of the rundown shop that blanketed the scene. He shivered and sniffled as the wind slapped his face and bit at the tips of his bare fingers. His breath pooled past his lips in milky clouds of white, and in an attempt to gather warmth, he turned on his cellphone and shoved the screen hard into his palm. It didn’t help.

After a few long minutes of waiting, the soft swishing of tires hissed against the road as Medkit’s sudan rounded the street. Rocket perked up, as sharp headlights infiltrated his line of sight and blinded him.

Squinting and placing a hand before his gaze, Rocket ran up to the side of the car. The windows were tinted dark, and the sedan gave a bit of a lurch as he stared inside.

After a good moment, the car shuffled again, and Sword stepped out onto the road.

Rocket stepped back against the building and took in Sword’s appearance. The taller boy was equipped with a flashlight, already activated in his hand. He flashed it towards the other, and Rocket squinted as his eyes stung with sudden, sharp pain.

“Dude, dude, point that away from me.” Rocket said as he waved away the light with a frantic hand.

“Sorry, sorry.” Sword smiled as he pointed his flashlight towards the sidewalk. His rugged leather boots illuminated under the yellow wash, and Rocket found his eyes pinned to them when he had nowhere else to look.

“So, uh, what’s up?” Sword gave an awkward chuckle. “This is kinda strange after we just met.”

Rocket looked up. Sword sported a thick red jacket, striped black, blue and yellow. His hair was tucked back into it, and Rocket found his eyes drawn around the curve of his mane as he examined his much taller and broader appearance.

In a quick moment, their eyes snapped together, and Rocket turned his entire body away from Sword in panic. Before Sword could mention it, Rocket began to speak of his predicament, eyes still torn off Sword and down the street.

“So there’s actually some weird shit that I discovered around here late yesterday.” He stared as he turned his body around towards the slip in the seawall. “I, um, I went through there. You’d have to see it for yourself.”

“Huh?”

“It’s like, weird. Also, I woke up like, not too long ago, like.. Totally out of it, y’know? Like I felt like I had to come back here and look some more, but.. You know, night time. Nighttime is scary.”

After Rocket shut himself up and ceased his rambling, he turned back towards Sword whose thick eyebrows were poised upwards in confusion.

“Sorry.” Rocket grit his teeth and clapped his shaky hands together. “I’m really sorry. This is so weird.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Sword stated simply. “You’re being a weirdo.”

“You trust me though, right?” Rocket tilted his head.

“Yeah, I’m not scared of you.” Sword shrugged back.

“Okay.” Rocket turned away as a shiver racked his body. “Okay, just follow me real quick.”
“Wait.”

Rocket, a little panicked by Sword’s sudden command, shyly turned back towards him.

The taller was stood with his jacket sleeves halfway down his arms. He shuffled out of his coat slowly, as Rocket stared in silence.

“You look cold.” Sword offered. In a swift movement, he tossed his thick jacket into Rocket’s arms, and smiled.

Rocket looked down at the jacket. As it sat in his hands, he squeezed it, and its warmth pooled into his palms.

“I don’t need this.”

Sword tilted his head.

“You’re freezing.”

Rocket battled the coat away and sent it flying back into Sword’s arms.

“How do you know?” He retorted as frustration began to swell inside him.

“You’re shivering. Your cheeks are pink. Your hands are pink, dude.”

Rocket slid his admittedly numb hands back into his hoodie pockets.

“No. Whatever. Just follow me.”

Sword stared blankly at him for a moment before he gave a nod.

“Fine.”

Rocket turned sharply away, balancing all his weight on a single sassy heel as he spun towards the seawall. 

It was horribly dark in the streets as it neared midnight. Each building and wall plastered into the city cast a lanky shadow, and against the sidewalk lay a wall of pure black darkness where the seawall sat. 

Rocket pushed his fear into the back of his mind and proceeded forward. He brought his hands out against his side as he slowly scaled the wall. The tips of his fingers briefly brushed the cold concrete, and when they did, a sharp jolt of frozen pain seared his skin.

“Behind there?” Sword’s voice echoed. 

Rocket looked over his shoulder to look at the other boy.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Shut up and follow me.”

Sword did as Rocket said, and soon, quiet footsteps trudged along behind him. The boys slipped through the crack between the building and the thick wall of concrete, and soon, found themselves enveloped in shadowy darkness.

Rocket was very aware of Sword’s rugged breathing behind him and his boots on the heels of his sneakers. Anxiety welled inside him as he felt the taller walk right against him, and quickly, he broke into a frenzied run and slipped out the other side into the tar clearing.

“Woah there.” Sword muttered as Rocket staggered on his toes. “Calm down.”

“I am calm.” Rocket sniffed.

Sword gave a suspicious glance as his gaze tore from Rocket’s.

“O-kay. Whatever you say.”

With a sour frown, Rocket shuffled away from Sword and turned towards the back.

The seawall was massive on the other end of the clearing, and it loomed over the place where the generators sat. It cast a wide shadow, tall and long, and the harder Rocket stared into it, the more faint he began to feel.

“So what did you want to show me?” Sword asked as he stepped to Rocket’s side.

Rocket looked up at him, hesitant.

“Uh. Come.”

Awkwardly, Rocket beckoned Sword over and began to trudge begrudgingly over towards the shadows. The tang and scent of metal hung in the air like a blanket, muffling Rocket’s other senses and flooding his nose like water.

“That’s a crazy nasty smell.” Sword mentioned, confirming that Rocket wasn’t the only one to smell it. Rocket nodded and fell back next to the taller boy, who shone his flashlight carefully towards the generators.

The yellow light pierced the shadows like a knife, and there they were. Through its beam, Rocket could see the faint outline of the metal boxes.

Suddenly– as if the luster from the flashlight were a hot ray of sunshine– the first generator began to smoke up and shake violently.

“What–”

Before Sword could finish, Rocket snatched his flashlight right from his hand and stalked fast towards the generators.

“Rocket!?” Sword called after him.

Rocket slid down on his knees in front of the generator. The light was cast wide across the box now, and it began to rattle and toss itself violently.

Sword quickly sat down at Rocket’s side and placed his hand on his shoulder. Rocket quickly shrugged it away and searched the box with a determined scowl.

“Rocket–” Sword’s voice was filled with panic. “Rocket. What–”

“Shut up.” Rocket hissed. After another moment, a pang of guilt shot him in the chest, and quickly, he changed his words. “Be quiet.”

The generator quickly grew even more hostile, and began to sizzle with heat. Rocket yelped and pulled his hands back as the tips of his fingers were shot with fiery heat. In a quick, muddled moment, the box began to tip, and Sword grabbed Rocket by his sides. He ripped the boy back, folding Rocket’s ankle over in the process, and Rocket gave a dramatic screech.

Sword dropped Rocket down onto the pavement as the generator smashed into the ground. A sharp metal ringing echoed across the clearing like an electrical cry of pain as it buried itself face-first into the hard pavement. It gave a few sad metallic buzzes, and its once bright lights began to fade as it died.

Rocket and Sword stared wordlessly at the metal box. The first to speak was Rocket, who let out a frustrated squall.

“FUCK!” He yelled. “NO!”

“Dude, what–”

A metal crashing interrupted Sword again. Rocket looked up to see the ventilation tube that connected the generator and the arcade, as it swung about wildly. A wide lump was caught in its middle, and it travelled upwards inside the conduit towards the building.

Rocket jumped to his feet, forgetting the flashlight he’d meant to grab. His feet carried him out of the clearing, with Sword soon fast behind, and he ran all the way up the curved road as adrenaline pumped through him. 

“Rocket, wait!” Sword desperately called for him.

“I can’t!” Rocket shot back without a single glance towards the other boy. “No time!”

When they reached the arcade, Rocket slammed into the tall fence gate. It was locked shut. He desperately looped his fingers through its wide holes, and shook the metal violently.

“Rocket!” Sword cried. “What are you doing?!”

“There was something in there!” Rocket spat through the gate.

“You can’t break in!”

“Yes I can!”

Rocket slammed a weak fist into the fence. It did nothing, and eventually, he ceased the fight. He slumped down on his knees, ridden with sweat and slowed by his impaired ankle.

“Rocket.” Sword panted as he finally caught up to him. He leaned over face-first into the gate, hands against its metal poles as he looked down at Rocket in concern.

“Dude.”

Rocket was too afraid to look up at Sword. He let his gaze linger in defeat for a moment as he mindlessly examined his torn sneakers, before his staring shot back into the back dump of the arcade.

“Help me climb the fence.” He demanded.

“No!”

“Help me!” Rocket jumped to his feet and pushed Sword away.

“No! You’re being crazy!”

Rocket’s mouth snapped shut and he glowered at Sword.

“Pussy.”

“Okay, so just because I don’t want to do illegal stuff, I’m..”

“Yes.”

Rocket furiously pushed past Sword and trudged back down the road in defeat.

“Hey, wait.” Sword protested. “You can’t climb the fence yourself?”

“No.”

“Damn.. Okay.”

Rocket spun fast on his feet and charged back at Sword. With all his force, he slammed his flat hands into the boy’s chest.

Sword staggered backwards only slightly. When Rocket realised he couldn’t push the boy over, he turned away again and let out a scream.

“Dude.” Sword hissed. “Dude.”

“WHAT?!”

“Calm down! Where are you freakin’ going?!”

“Home.”

“You can’t!”

“WHY NOT?!”

Sword, out of breath, ran down the road and slowed at Rocket’s side. He looked at the boy, concerned, and wiped sweat off his dusty brow.

“You’re acting, like, bipolar.”

“Shut up.”

“Can you not explain to me what any of that just was?”

Rocket took a deep breath and sighed, looking back.

Sword looked hurt. His lips were curved in a deep frown, and his eyes were glossed over in sadness.

Rocket swallowed and searched for the right words to say to him.

“I-”

Before he could muster anything up, however, he was interrupted by a buzzing in the pocket of his sweatpants and the ringing of his phone.

Rocket froze, and so did Sword.

“That- that’s not you.” He stammered out.

Sword shook his head.

Reluctantly, Rocket let his fingers slip down into his pocket. He pulled his cellphone out of his pants, and cracked it open swiftly.

Unknown Number.

“Who is it?” Sword meekly asked.

Rocket shrugged in return.

“Answer real quick.” Sword tried him.

“No!” Rocket hissed as panic began to boil inside of him. “You- you answer!”

“Why won’t you?!” Sword cried.

“I don’t know!”

In one swift motion, Sword swiped the phone from Rocket’s hand and answered its ringing. Clearing his throat, he set it up against his ear, and greeted the caller.

“Hello?”

Rocket crept close to Sword and listened in. The phone was silent.

“See, Rocket, it’s no one.” Sword offered.

Then a lady’s voice came over the other end. The voice he’d heard before.

This time, however, she seemed to be really talking. It wasn’t a pre-recorded message, no, Rocket could tell by the way she hesitated and her breath seemed to pick up in a sort of panic.

“L-Leave.” She stuttered out. “Now.”

Despite her own hesitancy, her voice still triggered a spike of anxiety inside Rocket. His eyes widened, and he grabbed the sleeve of Sword’s jacket in a panic.

Sword rolled his hand over his chin in quick thought and gave the lady over the phone a brief answer.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Immediately, the caller hung up.

Sword looked down at Rocket and slid his hand over the hand Rocket hung onto him with.

“Do you know who that was?”

Rocket shook his head.

“She’s called me before. It was weird I-I dunno. I told you weird shit’s been going on. I told you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I agree.” Sword’s tone changed. Then he began to lead Rocket down the street, with a simple “c’mon” as he beckoned him softly.

Rocket followed Sword easily back down the street. They swiftly turned the corner back towards the clearing, and Sword invited Rocket into the sedan. 

Once he’d unlocked the car, Rocket sat himself down in the shotgun, tucking his legs up to his chest. Sword seated himself down in the driver's seat, hands against the wheel as he stared out the front window.

“Get moving.” Rocket voice gave a hoarse crack as he buckled the seatbelt over his chest.

Sword gave a nod and started the car. Quickly, Medkit’s sedan gave a rough shudder, and they soon rolled adversely down the street.

As Sword drove, Rocket kept himself tucked into a ball. He shivered inside the metallic, cold car, despite the cushiony leather seats keeping him cozy. He let his head slide down the window, the damp chilling his already pink cheeks, and groaned.

“Are you okay?” Sword politely asked.

Rocket didn’t respond. He instead huffed a breath out and watched it cloud the window.

“Are.. Are you gonna tell me what any of that was about?”

Rocket ignored the question.

“Hello?” Sword prodded him.

“It’s kinda weird ‘cause I’ve been in this car before.” Rocket started, shutting down the topic at hand.

Sword side-eyed Rocket perplexedly.

“..Yeah?”

“‘Cause he was ma babysitter.”

Sword cracked a warm smile that Rocket felt drawn to. He looked over at the other boy and gave a weak smile back.

“Right, right.” Sword nodded. “Right. He was.”

Then a massive grin spread across his face, and Rocker inched back slowly.

“Soo hey,” Sword winked. “What were you caught kissin’ with that one time?”

Rocket’s warmth faded at the sudden, unexpected question.

“Fuck.” He spat as he leaned back in his seat. “Medkit seriously didn’t tell you?”

“Medkit wasn’t lying.” Sword shrugged. “He doesn’t really lie.”

“Bet.”

“Sure.”

Sword gave Rocket a simple smile. It was awful– and it compelled him.

“I was like, eleven.” Rocket shrugged. “It was..”

Sword’s gaze was sprinkled with sudden intrigue. Rocket shied away from it.

“It was nothing.” He stopped himself.

“Come onnn.” Sword urged him.

“No, seriously, I was a weird-as-fuck kid, please.”

“I was weird too.” Sword turned his attention back towards the road. “I’m still weird. Imagine being raised alone by a god for half your life, you’re gonna be crazy.”

“But I was crazy in, like, a weird-gross way.”

“I’ll tell you something embarrassing I did if you tell me your story.” Sword offered him.

Rocket hesitated for a moment.

“You go first.”

Sword cracked a wide smile and nodded.

“You better not bail.”

“Yeah. I won’t.” Rocket snapped.

Sword nodded.

“O-kay, so when I was about.. Seven. Seven, yeah. I met.. Darkheart for the first time.”

Rocket’s quiet breathing hitched in his throat, but he listened with intrigue.

“I, like, really really wanted to impress ‘em, ‘cause I’d heard a crazy-ton of stuff about him. Guess what I did?”

“Hm?”

“Venomshank let me use his radio soo.. I turned on, like, a super inappropriate song and started, like, doing ballet? Or something?”

Rocket giggled.

“What song?”

“Oh, I dunno, but like, we were in the living room and everything, I think Darkheart was a bit confused, and Venomshank was telling me to stop. And then I started moonwalking and I fell and I broke my arm on the table.”

Rocket gave a quaint little laugh and looked up at Sword amusedly.

“That’s not that bad.”

Sword scratched the back of his head and sighed.

“It was. Trust me. It still haunts me.”

Rocket settled back against the window.

“Man, okay, but that really wasn’t that embarrassing. I don’t really wanna tell mine.”

“Do itttt.”

Rocket gave Sword a pleading look, and Sword tapped the side of his arm.

“I will not think any less of you.”

Rocket sighed.

“It was a drawing.”

“A drawing?”

“One I made.”

“Of what?”

Rocket gave Sword a harsh glare.

“No more questions.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Was it a girl?”

Rocket fell silent. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, and he hid his face in contemplation.

He wouldn’t.. think any less of me. Would he?

“Yeah.” Rocket quickly avoided the truth. “Yeah.”

Sword gave a tiny giggle and looked over at Rocket. There was pity in his dark eyes, and Rocket’s face hardened into a defensive glare.

“What?” He hissed.

“One sec. You’re still cold.”

In one swift motion, Sword let his coat slide off his body. Without a word, he leaned over and draped the jacket over Rocket’s back, and patted it down over his shoulders.

Defeated by the cold, Rocket let his arms slip through the sleeves. He let the warmth of Sword’s coat embellish his body, as its soft, cushiony fabric hugged his chest. It was a nice jacket, kept warm by Sword’s body heat. Rocket, exhausted, snuggled into it.

“There.” Sword murmured, low and gentle. “You look really tired.” 

“Yeah.” Rocket softly nodded up at Sword. “I am.”

“Okay.” Sword nodded. “I’ll take you home.”

“Thank you. So much.”

“But we gotta meet up again sometime soon.” Sword looked over to him. “Like, I’m still super confused.”

Rocket slumped over.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” Sword smiled as he turned to head south towards the sea. Rocket’s gaze drifted forward towards the grey road as the sedan’s headlights lit it up, and he closed his eyes.

“I told you you moved here at the wrong time.” He whispered.

“Yeah.” Sword murmured. “Maybe.”

“Maybe.”

Chapter Text

When Rocket awoke the next morning, he lay atop his blankets, fully tucked in inside Sword’s jacket. He lay in a fetal position, hands clasped together tight, with his knees plastered to his chest. His head was placed uncomfortably over his pillow, and his neck arched hard.

Rocket groaned hoarsely as he soon began to lift his head. Horrible pain ran down the curve of his neck, and he clasped his palm against it in a botched attempt in soothing his soreness.

Slowly, however, Rocket sat up, letting the jacket slide off his bare shoulders. His room was outlandishly cold, and he shivered briefly before coming to his full senses. As much as he wanted to keep the jacket tucked around his body, he reluctantly removed it from himself. 

He was almost disgusted by the fact that he’d worn it, and criticized himself worse for sleeping inside it. The truth was, however, that as soon as he slipped inside his room the previous night, he immediately passed out– not exactly by choice.

He didn’t want anyone to discover the jacket. He didn’t want Icedagger, who knew he’d gone out late at night, to see him wearing a coat that wasn’t his. With an exhausted sigh and his eyes half-closed, Rocket rolled spiritlessly off his bed and eyed his options.

He could slip the jacket beneath his bed, but it felt obvious. He could stuff it inside his closet, but in each spot it still might be found. With another exhausted sniff, Rocket stood up with the jacket looped around his arms. He climbed back into bed and lifted his pillow, stretching the case between his fingers. Horribly, he shoved the jacket down into the pillowcase, trying and failing to shove it beneath him. At long last, he gave up, and slumped over onto his side. Weakly, he rested his head atop the half-pillow half-jacket amalgamation he’d created, and tucked a loose sleeve under his blanket.

After a few long moments of silence, he heard his bedroom door begin to softly click open. Rocket panicked for a split second, and promptly shoved his pillow down hard beneath him. He fought to keep his body over the jacket, and in another brief moment, he quickly sat back down as his father entered the room with quiet footsteps.

“Hi dad.” He straightened himself, hair raggedly sprawled over his head as he fought to keep Sword’s jacket under.

“Hey.” Rocket’s father gave a soft smile as he approached, rounding the bed and placing a light fist down next to Rocket.

“You gonna get ready to go?” He gently asked.

“Go?” Rocket tilted his head up to face his father.

Zuka’s face softened again, and he brushed a strand of Rocket’s hair away.

Rocket, on the other hand, frowned, struck with the sudden realisation of what was going on.

“We’re visiting Firebrand’s family.” Zuka hummed. “It’s gonna be a long day, so get up and start getting ready.”

The trip to Lost Desert really got under Rocket’s skin.

The highway was practically empty as they drove out of Crossroads. The early afternoon sky was a sickening grey, and it swirled with dark vertigo-inducing clouds.

The gods are angry.

That’s what storms were said to mean.

The truck was silent as they travelled down the long, never ending road that stretched towards Lost Temple. Firebrand typically prodded Zuka with an abundance of talking points and trivial inquiries when they travelled, but today the god was silent.

Rocket peeked over the seat to get a look at his parents. Firebrand’s hand was strewn across Zuka’s leg, and he fiddled anxiously with the ridges and folds of his husband’s trousers. Zuka didn’t look any more amused.

Rocket turned his head towards Icedagger, who sat silently next to him in the back. The tiny god’s elbow was propped against the window, and he laid his head inside his palm depressively. Before Rocket could turn his gaze, Icedagger gave him a sharp glare and sent him off.

Then in a sudden moment, the truck plunged into darkness.

Rocket’s heart skipped a beat as they shot through the dark exit tunnel and turned north. The entire truck was flooded and overrun by menacing shadow, and Rocket felt himself flinch at the blackness that surrounded his skin.

Then everything lightened up again.

There was a lot of harsh, dense redwood forest that surrounded Lost Temple, and it got thicker the further north of the region you went. The tall, rugged trees were thousands of years old, and were a marker of god territory.

Rocket shrunk into his hoodie when he felt dapples of light on him. It was still early, as they traversed, but the sky through the trees was a dark, bloody sunset red where the sun pierced it.

Rocket swallowed nervously. As soon as the ground turned to sand dunes, he had to keep his own sickness in check. The tall, bloated, winding waves of golden sand– hot and blistering– seemed to swirl in unnatural ways. Each time Rocket let his gaze slip and he stared into them, he found himself imagining black, vine-like limbs beneath the sand, crawling into gaping wounds that weren’t even there.

Rocket focused on his legs as he tucked them to his chest. He followed the folds and curves in his sweatpants with eyes trained not to, and felt himself break a sweat as he fought the desert.

“‘You good?”

Rocket’s attention suddenly snapped towards Icedagger. His brother stared at him awkwardly, a concerned frown draped across his lips.

Rocket gave a quick nod and looked back down at his legs.

“Mhm.”

Icedagger opened his mouth and hesitated.

“Did you.. Bring like, something to do?”

Rocket shook his head as he heard his father’s voice.

“Calm down, Rocket.”

“I am calm.” Rocket painfully bit back.

“Do as your father says.” Firebrand hummed.

“Shut up.” Rocket hissed at him.

The truck fell silent.

“Rocket–” Zuka began again.

“It’s okay.” Firebrand attempted to reassure his husband.

“No, it’s not.”

“Zuka.”

“Firebrand.”

The two stared at each other. Rocket watched them. Then– Firebrand arched his way around the seat and bent himself awkwardly over the console. He held a gloved hand out towards Rocket, and gave him a timid eye.

“It’s okay.” He murmured. “Focus on the sound of the car. Nothing’s gonna hurt you. You can hold my hand.”

Rocket pulled himself back into his carseat.

“I don’t need you. I’m fine.”

Firebrand blinked and stared for a solemn moment, and then slinked back into the front of the truck without a word.

Everyone else was silent. Icedagger glared at Rocket.

“Why do you–”

“Be quiet, Icedagger.” Zuka stopped him.

Those were the words that comforted Rocket and promised him silence.

Rocket’s memory of Firebrand’s desert palace was foggy. After Windforce had claimed ownership of it, Rocket had only been there once after the Spawn. 

He was still young back then, but he remembered the way it felt. The place was warm, wide and open. There was a large room with many windows, he knew, and Firebrand had a rather grand bedroom inside. It was his castle, after all. His castle, inhabited solely by his sister– and Icedagger’s former pet cats.

The desert sun beat down hot on Rocket’s skin as soon as he stepped out of his father’s rickety truck. He placed his feet down into the solid earth– fields of sun dried grass upon lifeless, waterless soil. They were surrounded by the vast emptiness of the desert, and so was the residence before them.  

It was a dreamlike effect that the palace had on Rocket. The white stone pillars and thick walls mounted atop immensely wide stone were pale and hazy in the heat. He stared up at the clusters of towers and glass windows. It was an anomaly, still and alone in the middle of Lost Temple’s vast desert. You couldn’t pinpoint a date built– it wasn’t anything modern, it was a palace, but it didn’t seem all that old.

Rocket continued to stare as he began to sweat bullets through his clothes. By the time he was finished staring with nauseous, half-lidded eyes, his family had already trudged through the sand and mounted the massive marble stairs.

In a hurry, Rocket rushed to catch up to Icedagger, who gradually lugged himself up the steps. He eyed the railings that were pinned to either edge of the staircase. They were awfully beautiful for such thin beams of glass. Rocket studied them as he walked along and let his hand slide over the top of their smooth, slick surface. The railing was clear, but he couldn’t see through it, instead met with the sight of tiny star-like dots of light, illuminated in the many colours of the galaxy.

Soon enough, everyone was at the top of the steps, Firebrand gracefully in the lead. Politely, the god approached the massive wooden front doors of the palace, built about twice his height and adorned with massive golden rings for handles. There were two simple locks in its centre, but Firebrand did not use them. He simply pressed his fist to the wood, cast in the warm light of the sun, and gave a few quiet knocks.

For a moment, the air was tense, and Rocket leaned over to speak to his brother.

“This is weird.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Does this not feel weird to you?”

“No–”

Just as Icedagger responded, a loud wooden creak silenced him. The front door gave a sharp click, and slowly began to push open.

There was a taut silence where all Rocket could hear was his own breath and the roaring of the heat in his ears.

Then Windforce stepped out.

The goddess was mighty. Rocket hadn’t seen her in years, and the memory of her had begun to go fuzzy. She was all the same, however, and as Rocket looked up to examine her, Firebrand let out a squeal and engulfed her in a massive hug.

Rocket heard her sigh as Firebrand caught her in his embrace, and slowly, she let her massive hands wrap around his back. She patted him a quick two times, before she hurriedly let go of her brother, and turned to shake hands with Zuka.

Despite her godhood, she Rocket noted how she actually seemed to have aged. But hair was thicker rather than thin, and it whirled wildly behind her like a storm, with all the life and energy it once held. She wasn’t dressed up for the gathering, not at all, and her massive, ripped body was encased in a thick layer of metal armor. She was grander than both Firebrand and Zuka together, where she stood, despite being just as tall as the fire god. Then she turned towards Icedagger, who hugged her too, and then, she turned to Rocket.

Her four spidery eyes were hidden, encased behind knightly armour, but they pierced right through and stared him down. Rocket was nervous. For a long moment, she examined him, and Rocket swallowed back the rising nausea in his throat. 

Then, finally:

“You’ve grown.”

Rocket cracked a smile at her gravelly words.

“Y-Yeah, I, um. It’s been a while.”

Windforce didn’t smile back, but her deep voice was kind.

“You demons grow too fast.”

Windforce shook her head before she turned back towards the palace. She stepped past her brother, feathery hair whirling behind her, and slipped back into the home she lived her solitary life inside.

Slowly, everyone followed behind. Firebrand was awfully eager to get inside, and he pushed forward to walk at his sister’s side. Zuka caught up with him, and Rocket strolled along next to Icedagger as they slipped past the doorway.

The palace immediately shrouded Rocket in new warmth and light. They stepped into the massive throne room, set alongside the dining hall, where lit, gas-fueled torches adorned the walls and lit up the room. The high ceiling supported a massive, jeweled chandelier, and Rocket found himself looking up at it in awe. Soon enough, however, he spotted a little makeshift lounging area set up by the east windows of the dining hall. A few velvet sofas and a warm coffee table were placed around a massive limestone fireplace, and two boys were slouched over on a loveseat. One was tiny, smaller than Rocket, with short hair and little yellow horns. He had earbuds shoved up in his head, and what looked like a little bit of makeup plastered onto his face. Rocket stared for a second, suddenly unsure of what to make of the boy. Then he turned to face the other, whose face was obscured and tucked up beneath a little grey hoodie and massive purple horns. Half of his head was wrapped up in thick white bandages, and it suddenly became apparent that though the smaller demon had two little yellow wings, the other had only one.

Suddenly, Rocket’s attention was snapped away as a woman who was previously seated on her lonesome got to her feet and presented herself to the group. She was dressed in a rather tight white dress that hung at her ankles, and she clutched a tiny matching purse over her abdomen. Bright red and orange pearls hung from around her neck and pierced through her ears. She had large, angelic wings, peach coloured and awfully reminiscent of a dove with soft, bristled feathers. In her heels, she rushed towards Firebrand, her feathered hat bobbing as she walked. Firebrand gasped as she approached, and called out, “Crim!”

They hugged each other tight, Firebrand arching himself to be able to wrap his arms around her. The woman was shorter than Zuka, and Rocket looked at her, wondering who she was.

“That’s his daughter. Crimson.” Icedagger murmured as he came to Rocket’s side. “Microphone and Megaphone’s mum.”

“Microphone and Megaphone?”

“Those two over there.” Icedagger leaned over to point over at the two boys on the little sofa. “I’mma go say hi, I haven’t seen them in so long.”

Rocket watched as Icedagger hurried over towards the lounge, struck with sudden fear. He hadn’t expected to see other people his age, not while he was dressed in food-stained pyjama pants and the hoodie he’d reused for a week straight. His eyes went wide as he eyed Firebrand’s grandchildren, and soon, they took notice of him and eyed him back.

“Hey! Guys!” Icedagger called, rushing towards the sofa and diving between the two kids. Rocket watched as he sat up quickly and wrapped his arms around both of their heads, pulling them both into half of a headlock and half of a hug. He eyed the smaller, the one with a sharp gaze,, and ruffled his little head of hair.

“Hey there, Mic! Hey nugget!” He teased, tugging on the short boy’s shoulder. Mic scoffed at the use of the nickname.

“Dude, don’t call me nugget.” He growled. “I’m literally gonna fucking punch you.”

“What?” Icedagger grinned. “You like nugget.”

“Ice, oh my god, it’s been years since you called me that.” Mic complained as he broke free of Icedagger’s grasp and pulled himself away.

Rocket watched as the boys reunited with Icedagger so easily. He was uncomfortable, having never met them before, and the way the smaller one stared at him with hard, unmoving eyes made him feel awfully embarrassed with himself.

Icedagger smiled, then turned to the other boy, but when they made eye contact– his smile faltered and he gasped.

“Hey, woah, are you okay?” He suddenly stopped.

The other boy, Megaphone, immediately recoiled at the notice of the bandages around his face. Hesitantly, he backed away from Icedagger, his once bright smile beginning to fade. Icedagger immediately honed in on him, concern blanketing his face. The room then went silent as the adults continued to talk, a still air penetrating the area.

“He doesn’t want to talk about it.” Mic muttered. “Nobody does.”

“Hey, what?” Icedagger tilted his head. Even Rocket began to well with confusion.

Mic glowered, and his voice soured further.

“He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Well–”

“He was attacked.”

Rocket turned to look at Mega, who had begun to pale. Icedagger looked at him too, with a softening face, and hugged him.

“I– I’m so sorry. I didn’t even realise that happened. I’m sorry.”

Rocket watched as Icedagger ran over an apology. Nobody was told that Megaphone had been attacked? By who? Where? When ?

“He’s fine now.” Mic interrupted, grabbing Mega by the shoulders and shaking him. “You’re fine.”

Mega gave a timid look, unsure of what to say, before nodding bleakly. 

Rocket narrowed his eyes and drew his tongue.

“‘Doesn’t look fine.” He scoffed, perching up against the arm of the loveseat.

Mega’s dismal lour deepened, and Mic picked up a bitter frown.

“And who are you?” The shorter hissed, hostility filling the room.

“Rocket.” He swallowed back as vexation filled his voice.

“And who do you think you are to speak for a demigod?”

Rocket wanted to punch himself in the face.

Shit. Should’ve known.

“I’m sorry.” He began to backtrack.

Mic curled his lip in a nasty scowl.

“Yeah, I bet someone like you’s sorry.” He scorned him. “You’re Zuka’s kid, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve heard about your dad.” He taunted. “Not many people like him around here.”

“Your grandpa does.” Rocket blurted, adding to the remark once he realised he’d said it. “Bitch.”

“Rocket.” Icedagger growled a warning.

“Mic.” Mega quietly ushered to his brother.

“How ‘bout you take your hood down and talk to me!” Mic hissed as he spun back towards the other two, hurling himself towards Mega. “You don’t even realise how stupid you look with that shit on, you dumbass. Lost a whole-ass eyeball, dumb bitch, that’s why.”

Icedagger instinctively wrapped his arms around Mega in a protective hug.

“Mic, stop.”

Mic snapped his mouth shut and let a harsh breath slip past his grit teeth. Silently, he slumped back over on the sofa, crossing his frail arms.

“You know.” Mic said in an accusatory tone. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he spoke to Rocket. 

“You’re technically, like, my step-uncle.”

“Oh.” Rocket swallowed, before letting off a snicker. 

“Yeah, no, kind of makes me want to punch the shit out of you.” He muttered.

“Oh.”

“Why’re you being so mean?” Mega nudged his brother. “Calm down, please.”

“Bitch, I AM calm!” Mic hissed, before laughing directly in Rocket’s face.

“‘Cause like, genuinely, who does this stupid-ass think he is? He’s literally, like, barging into the family and all our personal business.”

He then turned to Rocket.

“Bitch, nobody asked for your opinion. Literally back the fuck off.”

“Cool it.” Rocket hissed. “I literally barely said shit.”

“Hey, easy.” Icedagger grabbed Mic by the arm and jabbed his fingers into the side of it. “I know he’s a bit of a weird little bitchass nobody to the both of you, but he’s got half of a life, and you’re gonna be chill with him, mkay? Your brother’s been in shit, he doesn’t need you failing to stand up for him. Now, I’m actually gonna go find the cats and–”

Just as Icedagger was about to finish his sentence, a slim grey tabby cat crawled into his lap and began a deep purr.

“NILAK!” The boy exclaimed, immediately wrapping his frail hands around her flanks and lifting her to his face. He nuzzled the grey cat with his nose, and she nuzzled him back.

Wow.

Last time Rocket had seen the cat, she’d been a kitten. Now she was fully grown– fairly old, even.

“Eugh.” Mic gave a shudder and backed away from Nilak. “Please. No. Cats are scary as fuck.”

“I like dogs.” Rocket mentioned as the conversation began to settle. “I’ve got a dog at home, she’s totally my best friend.”

Mic turned towards Rocket and grimaced.

“Your best friend is a dog ?”

Rocket's smile immediately dropped. Embarrassed, he scratched the back of his head and began to inch away.

“I– I mean, obviously, no–”

Mic didn’t say anything more, simply glaring at Rocket in disgust.

“I’m– I’m actually gonna go explore.” Rocket said, sheepishly chickening out. Nothing about the way Mic had been acting made him want to stick around any longer. 

“I haven’t been here for a long time.” He made himself an excuse. “I’m interested in seeing the place as a whole.”

“Then get lost.” Mic spat as Rocket backed away towards a hallway he’d never seen before. “Dumbass.”

Rocket scoffed to himself and began to trudge down a marble hallway. He kicked up dust with a loppy sneaker sole, and muttered his grievances to himself.

The rest of the palace was dark and shady, dappled with the odd fleck of hot sunlight. Where the halls were illuminated, crystal clear tiles of beige could be seen carefully placed along the floor, crested with pristine white edges.

Predominantly, each hall of the massive lower level inside the palace was empty, aside from the typical routes that were taken in order to find bedrooms, bathrooms and other places like the kitchen. Most other rooms in the castle were unused, settled in silence to collect dust until someone thought to take one up for themselves. 

The days of parties in the place were long gone. Rocket knew that, in the past, Zuka had attended those hosted by Firebrand. They often mentioned to each other little memories they shared– and reconciled with the dingy, restless nights they secretly spent next to each other under the watchful eye of the moon all those years ago.

Rocket didn’t know much about their relationship in the past. He knew that it used to be solely between them, an act of disobedience that betrayed the will of a certain few angry gods. 

Ultimately, Windforce had forgiven Zuka. So had Icedagger, of course, but no other gods involved in the ordeal had come forward for a very long time.

Rocket looked around at the empty, lonesome halls of the palace. He knew that Windforce too had felt the longing Firebrand always had. The longing to have somebody– anybody– but the goddess would have to be the one to accept the consequences of not being able to find an adequate partner. Rocket thought he could relate to her.

He took a deep breath as he continued down the hall, the encroaching, barren walls closing off more and more sunlight. The palace darkened as Rocket strolled, head down and hands pocketed. He continued to think to himself, about the gods and the two boys he’d just met. 

He wondered why exactly any of this was happening.

Suddenly, with a hit to the head, Rocket’s face collided with the soft fabric of someone’s black t-shirt. Rocket immediately jumped from his skin as he stumbled back, utterly startled by the sudden appearance of another man in the dark hall. He looked up, heart pounding in his chest, to get a look at whomever he’d crossed paths with.

That was when everything slowed, and Rocket stopped.

“Watch where you’re going, kid.” Banhammer spat. A dribble of wretched saliva flew from between his cracked lips, and landed on the floor next to Rocket’s ragged sneaker. He didn’t even flinch as the tall man, gigantic and several times more imposing than Windforce, pushed past Rocket with a shove from the rim of his arm.

Rocket could only stand still, frozen with shock and horror. For a few lengthy seconds, he let his mind fuzz over, as he blinked away any coherent thoughts he’d had before. All the sirens in his head were blaring. Warning signs flashed in his mind, urging him to get as far as possible from Banhammer– and as closest as possible to his father.

Skittering down the opposite end of the hall, Rocket quickly darted away, slipping momentarily on the sleek tile beneath his shoes. Forgetting his initial goal of exploring hallways once unexplored, he looped back around into the dining hall– where he was met with a scene he couldn’t have begun to unpack in the moment.

In the little lounging room by the sun, 

Banhammer’s arms unfurled from where he crossed them to his chest, and he enveloped the tiny Icedagger in a massive bear-hug. Rocket’s eyes widened as he watched the scene. Yes, Icedagger and Banhammer were like cousins, and all things considered, Banhammer was now Rocket’s cousin, too. But that didn’t make it any less wrong– and all of this was very wrong.

Icedagger smiled up at Banhammer as the massive man turned towards Zuka, and to Rocket’s dismay, both men shook hands.

A pit formed in Rocket’s stomach as he watched their hands meet and part. A feeling of betrayal hit him right in his face, and his mouth fell open in shock.

Don’t they know– don’t they remember?!

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say. The memory of Banhammer he’d always kept with him was still bright and vivid. It burned through his mind in an instant– like a wildfire caught ablaze within the tangle of his thoughts.

Banhammer, surrounded by lava as it bubbled and oozed around his thick metal armour. 

Huge hands wrapped around Zuka’s neck. 

Hot red blood, everywhere.

The warden never reformed himself. He’d never apologized, or even faced punishment for the actions he’d taken against Rocket and Zuka in his mother’s name.

Windforce loved Firebrand and his new family. Rocket felt the same towards her.

Banhammer did not.

For a good moment, Rocket choked in silence. He watched his father eye him suspiciously, as he sat back down to lay with his husband on the red velvet sofa. Unable to regain his focus and keep his spiraling thoughts in check, Rocket turned on his heel and sped out towards the balcony. He grabbed the glass door that guarded the mounted patio and swung it open, storming out onto the marble floor as heat hit his skin. Rocket flung himself onto the thick stone rail that kept him from falling, and placed his sweaty hands against his rosy cheeks, red with fury. In one deep breath he screamed into the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Dude.”

Rocket instantly perked up when he heard Mic’s voice, sharp and acute. Immediately hot with embarrassment, he looked up, coming eye-to-eye with the other boy, whose face was contorted in disgust.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Rocket flinched at the raw comment. He slicked back his hair in humiliation, trying to make himself look decent, and swallowed back his emotions.

“I’m sorry.” He began, his voice flush with ignominy. “I didn’t realise you were out here.”

Mic let out a hiss under the guise of a sigh. He turned back towards his MP3 player, slamming his wired earbuds back into his ears. Rocket watched him for a moment as he clawed with his own anxious fingers at the marble of the balcony rails. He watched as Mic also gazed out into the vast desert– his rather small yellow wings drooping sadly down his back.

“Why’re you staring?” The boy suddenly began again. His voice was strained, a lot like Rocket’s.

“I don’t even know why you’re still out here.”

Rocket stood silent for another moment, before he came to speak again.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged as he tried to hold himself back from screaming again and throwing a punch into the marble of the balcony. “I just– I don’t understand why Banhammer’s even here. Why my father’s just okay with.. this. Last time I saw that guy he tried to kill me.”

Mic let out a crude laugh.

“That’s something I never had the pleasure of hearing before. Serves you right.”

Rocket fell silent and thinned his lips. There was no refuge, not even away from the rest of the family.

“You know, Rocket..” Mic hesitated. The way he said Rocket’s name made it sound dirty.

“Banhammer’s not here to see his mother or his uncle or Mega or.. Me. Which is sad because when I was little he would take us golfing, and he would let us play his guitar, and.. He didn’t look at me the way he does now.”

Rocket narrowed his eyes, a sad curiosity overcoming his own emotions.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, accusatory.

Mic laughed again, the sound raw and rough.

“He looks at me like I’m a monster. Like I’m someone new.. Someone who hatched from the skin of a young boy who wasn’t me.”

Rocket narrowed his eyes, struck with deep confusion.

Don’t be poetic with me, son of a bitch.

Mic simply shook his head once more. In the silence, Rocket scanned him, and noticed a long, pink vape stick that hung out of the pocket of his pants.

“Something happened to my brother.” He rasped as he trailed a slow finger across the balcony rail. Still puzzled by his words, Rocket silently nodded along.

“This isn’t a family gathering the way you think it is.” The other boy continued. “But I don’t get it, why all this is kept so.. Secret.”

Rocket continued to nod, thinking back about Mega, and Icedagger’s face when he saw the boy’s single eye and wing.

Something happened to my brother.

Mic opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by the tall balcony door as it swung open again. 

Rocket looked back over his shoulder to see Icedagger came bounding through. Mega trailed at his side, footsteps slow and dull.

“Hey Rocket, hey Miiiic!” The eldest smirked, coming forward to wrap one arm around each boy stood at the end of the balcony.

“What’re you guys, uh, chattin’ about? You look like you’re getting along.”

Mic immediately turned as soon as he heard the comment. He scoured, a harsh glower replacing the distant look he’d been speaking with before.

“We’re not.” He hissed at Icedagger.

Icedagger blinked a few seconds away and sighed, shaking Mic by the shoulder. 

“We should all go inside, you know.”

Mic stared at him, eyes narrowed and face dry of amusement.

“I’m good.” He deadpanned.

“No, no, no.” Icedagger protested. “No, I think.. I think this is something we’re all curious to hear.”

Both Mic and Rocket narrowed their eyes at the same time.

“Yeah?” Mic groaned.

“Come on.” Icedagger smirked as he adjusted his camo fishing cap. “Seriously.”

The kitchen was massive. Rocket wasn’t surprised. He’d seen it before, now so long ago, and its image had been erased from his mind. Seeing it again was neat, but that was the highest Rocket could think of it as his vision was cut and his head was squished between those of three other boys.

All four of them were crowded around the door where there was a slight slit in its opening. They each watched intently, eyeing the inside of the kitchen, trying to remain as quiet as possible.

There was a dark marble island in the middle of the room. Rocket peered through the crack in the door, holding his breath. It seemed impossible not to be caught by the omnipotent deities inside, but for now, they seemed not to sense the ragged breathing of the children.

Dim orange light seeped across the kitchen and slugged across the faces of the adults, bathing them in a hot shade of tangerine. It was so dark– it was dramatic.

Zuka and Banhammer leaned over on one side of the counter. The demigod towered fiercely over Rocket’s father, to Rocket’s dismay, and next to them was Firebrand who held his daughter’s hand tight.

Windforce, however, pinned herself to the other side of the island. Her metallic-gloved hands pressed down on it like statues of stone, hard fingernails pressing into the counter like tiny speartips. A horrible scowl was strewn across her face, but she didn’t look angry. She looked disturbed.

“You’ve all seen Megaphone.” She began, deep voice low and raspy. It filled the silent room, and Rocket watched as the rest of the people inside tensed. From the corner of his eye, he even saw his brother clench his jaw. Nobody dared speak. They all simply waited for Windforce to continue.

“I’m sorry.” At long last she admitted. It was a simple, quiet apology, the weight of it all dense and heavy.

Rocket was struck by sudden confusion. He looked over at Mega and the bare rip in the side of his hoodie where no wing came fluttering through. He imagined the horror of losing a limb like that– and the horror of losing an eye.

How?

Rocket sensed the question might be receiving an answer. Crimson suddenly opened her mouth to speak, but Firebrand interrupted her.

“Something weird’s going on in Crossroads, and, um.. Blackrock.” He nervously mentioned.

“I suspected you’d bring that up.” Windforce nodded. “I assume you believe they’re connected.”

What? To Mega? How?

“Don’t we all?” Firebrand nervously clicked his tongue.

“Do we?” Banhammer gave a gruff hiss as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“I would need to be able to understand how.” Zuka growled.

“I believe it if you believe it.” Crimson said as she eyed her father.

Windforce gave a slow, statue-esque blink.

“It’s a feeling in my gut that tells me Firebrand may be correct.”

“I trust your gut feeling.” Zuka muttered to her.

“So this is Blackrock related?” Banhammer relayed as he raised his voice.

“Isn’t that what’s been speculated?” Firebrand cautiously suggested. “If it is, we can't just involve ourselves, not as gods. Banhammer can.”

“And if it isn’t Blackrock related?”

The room fell silent.

“What would this be, if not government related?” Firebrand hesitated back.

At those words, Rocket felt a sickening pool of nausea coil tight in his gut. For a moment, he wanted to reach over and squeeze Icedagger by the sleeve, holding onto him tight– but he didn’t.

“I’m.. Well-versed in Blackrock politics.” Banhammer rasped. “Trust me, please, I don’t think this is them.”

“Then do you have any idea who’s doing this? Or what?” Firebrand looked over at his nephew.

“I might.” Banhammer croaked.

“Then who?”

Windforce suddenly shook her head, re-capturing the room’s attention.

“We can’t be sure right now. That’s why I want to propose something I’ve had in mind for a while now.”

Everyone listened intently. Rocket felt his breath hitch.

“Banhammer is going to take on a fully fleshed out investigation covering the entirety of your city.” She stated towards Firebrand and Zuka.

“I’m making it my personal duty on our family’s behalf.” Banhammer then took a turn. “We’ve got.. A warrant for catching this attacker, nothing more.”

“I believe it's for the greater good if this truly ends up being related to Crossroads’.. More technical difficulties.” Windforce nodded.

“But there may be multiple forces at play.” Banhammer concluded. Rocket saw him mutter something to himself, but it was too quiet to hear.

“Don’t you all worry.”

At those last words, Banhammer flashed his teeth in a wicked smile Rocket couldn’t discern from a gnarly grimace. He pointed his grin towards Crimson and her father, the thick scar that ran down his lip now visible in the deep light.

“You’ll be safe from now on.” He gave a nasty croon as Rocket sucked in a terrified breath of air. Mic must’ve felt the same fear– as he let out a tiny breath– sharp, and loud.

Banhammer’s vile lips curled into a scowl as his head snapped towards the doorway. Close after, every other face spun to get a look at Mic. Attention had been drawn to all them, and no longer was their eavesdropping a secret.

Confronted with the realisation that they’d been caught, Mic jumped to his feet and pointed an accusatory finger towards his mother.

“Secrets!” He yelled as he stormed into the kitchen. He pressed himself right up to Crimson, shoving his finger into her face.

“I KNEW you were keeping your secrets. All of you!”

Rocket stared in shocked silence, as did Icedagger, while Mega slowly backed up and began to slip away.

“I KNEW YOU ALL KNEW WHAT HAPPENED TO MEGA! YOU LIARS! YOU KNOW EVERYTHING, AND YOU LIE TO ME!”

By the time Mic had begun screaming, Firebrand was already in an attempt to usher him out of the kitchen. However, it was to no avail, and Mic ended up dragging his shocked mother out the other end of the room.

“YOU THINK YOUR BULLSHIT MAKES ME FEEL ANY BETTER!? LESS SCARED!? MEGA WAS ALMOST KILLED, AND YOU LIE TO ME! YOU LIE TO HIM!”

With an almost appalled look, Zuka turned away from Mic and his mother and approached the door.

“How much did you hear?” He hissed.

“We just got here.” Rocket quickly lied.

Zuka grit his teeth and took his kids by the sleeves of their shirts.

“Come on. Get out.”

Dinner came as the afternoon fell. It was a small feast– a massive tray of Thieves’ Den takeout food. Rocket was loving it as he stuffed his face full, and everyone but the kids had their glasses full of wine as they attempted to chat previous events away.

There was an uneasy tension in the air, however. Microphone and Crimson weren’t at the table. They hadn’t come out of the hall since the incident in the kitchen. Megaphone was curled up with Icedagger over by the lounge– neither of them had eaten either, but as Zuka, Firebrand, Banhammer and even Windforce began to drink themselves away, they didn’t pay any notice to the predicament the rest of the family was in.

Rocket sighed to himself as he picked at his cabbage rolls. They were great– he loved them– but there was a tension stressing at the back of his head, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that again, something was horribly wrong. The new knowledge that Banhammer would be regularly patrolling his city severely unnerved him. Much like everything else he’d learned– and everything he hadn’t in the kitchen.

Rocket sighed, scratching at his head again, until one simple urge began to overcome him. Silently, he pulled out of his seat at one of the long dining tables and hopped to his feet.

He left the tense room once again to haul himself to the washroom where maybe, he could relieve himself and catch a break. This was not at all the family gathering he’d expected to attend, and he now knew for sure that it wouldn’t have been conducted at all if not for Mega’s brutal mauling.

As he began to stroll again, he turned down a different hallway– the one he remembered sleeping in as a child. It held a multitude of bedrooms, a small bathroom, and a kitchenette at the end of the hall supplied with a quaint plate of fresh bread and butter. Rocket was on his way to the end where the cute little bathroom sat, when he heard sobs coming from the room adjacent to it. Slightly startled, he stopped to face the open door, and let his gaze slip through the crack.

Inside, Mic was sat on a bed. A child’s bed. It was small and low to the floor, with a heavy quilt dotted with patches of thick, woven fabric and sewn together with tiny depictions of fiery flowers.

Crimson sat next to the boy, rubbing his back with a shaky hand. Mic’s chest heaved mercilessly, and he was- at the moment- unable to speak, caught between sobs that muffled each breath of a word he took. He choked on his cries, pain-filled and sick as they were. Rocket could tell he was congested, and it didn't help his case once he finally pushed away his tears and raised his voice at his mother.

“I hate you.” The boy suddenly bit, words sharp as his teeth crushed together. Crimson looked dumbfounded for a moment. Her face seemed to go pale, and her hand ceased to touch her son's spiny back.

“You don’t even care.” Her son continued to choke through saliva, mucus and a hiccup of tears. “You don’t even care! We’re all gonna die! We’re in FUCKING DANGER ! You don’t- you don’t even give a shit, though. You came here to drink, and tell your stupid secrets, and drink, and drink and breathe in my face with your nasty-ass breath. WHY CAN’T YOU JUST BACK OFF, WOMAN?!”

Rocket’s eyes widened as Crimson’s did. He contemplated leaving the scene, but something about it, seeing Mic so panicked as he began to scream– it drew Rocket in.

“And- and- you’re so evil sometimes.” Mic continued to hiss as he berated his own mother. “You’re just sorry ‘cause Mega got fucked up instead of me. He’s the son you should hate , because he looks like our stupid, fucked up dad! But you can’t get over that man, can you? And you hate me, you hate me because you always look at me like I’m a mirror, or maybe you see Firebrand, like a pathetic boy who isn’t as strong as he should be or– or–”

Crimson was solely in shock. Her hands awkwardly rubbed around at her wine glass, leaving foggy trails of fingerprints wherever her sore fingertips pressed anxiously into the cup.

“You look at Mega,” Mic heaved. “And you wish I was missing an eye because it’s not fair that the straight son doesn’t have what I have. But he always has more than me, you know that he has your love and Firebrand’s love and all the love because I’m just not worth it. And you hate looking at me and seeing yourself, or Firebrand, and sometimes I hate Firebrand but at least he isn’t my dad, and at least he doesn’t want me dead, and at least he can actually marry a guy who loves him.”

Mic continued to sniffle and cry, ready to start again, when his mother’s lips tightened together and she began to speak.

“I.. I’m very disgusted with your language tonight, Microphone.”

“OF COURSE THAT’S ALL THE FUCK YOU HAVE TO SAY!”

“I-”

“I HATE YOU!”

Crimson’s face softened, then broke. She began to sob alongside her son. Fat tears sprung from the corners of her eyes and softly raced down her cheeks.

“Mic, please–” She tried.

“I DON’T GIVE A SHIT!”

“Well- WELL I GIVE A SHIT!” Crimson suddenly shrieked. YOU DO NOTHING BUT INSULT ME, YOU HORRIBLE, DRUG-ADDICTED LITTLE SHIT! YOU BELITTLE ME, YOU TREAT ME LIKE YOUR SLAVE EVERY DAY, YOU TELL ME YOU HATE ME AND THAT I   WOULD SERIOUSLY WANT MY OWN SON DEAD!”

“THEN WHY DO YOU ACT LIKE YOU WANT ME DEAD?”

“THAT IS NOT FUCKING TRUE, YOUNG MAN!”

The screaming and yelling began to drown out as Zuka suddenly placed his hand on Rocket’s shoulder. Spooked, Rocket turned around and looked up at his father, who stared down at him with a sad glower.

“We’re leaving.” He murmured as he softly patted down his son's shoulder. “It’s late, we don’t..”

Zuka’s mouth snapped shut as more screaming erupted out of the room.

“Rocket. Let's go.”

Chapter Text

When Rocket awoke the next day, it wasn’t quite yet morning.

His eyes immediately shot open, and his breath slammed out of his nose. The air around him was stale and rotten as he lay in his bed, and with a swallow down his parched throat, he turned over and eyed his clock.

3:39AM.

“Oh.” Rocket spoke aloud, an exhausted haze running over his vision. “Guess I better.. Go back to sleep..”

With a long, drawn out yawn, Rocket stretched himself over onto his back and tucked himself back into his bed. He sighed as he pushed his sore spine into the fluffy comforter he lay with, and let out a deep breath as he cuddled into his pillow. After moments of waiting, however, he found that he couldn’t bring himself to go back to sleep.

Rocket swallowed again and let his eyes flicker open. He tasted hot bile in his throat.

Then– knock, knock, knock.

Rocket heard the sound of tight knuckles against wood. A low tapping had come from beneath his bed. 

Rocket’s body froze and went stiff. In an instant, he felt an uncomfortable warmth begin to seep into his skin. The mottled hairs on his arms began to rise, and then he heard it again.

Knock, knock, knock.

Rocket was terrified, but just about ready to throw himself from the bed and confront the noise head-on. Quietly, he attempted to wriggle free of the confines of his bed beneath his blankets and pillows. Soon enough, he found that he was trapped beneath their weight.

Rocket stopped his struggle for a moment. Narrowing his eyes, he felt struck with immense confusion.

“What–” He muttered a quick word under his breath. “Hey, hello? What–”

Knock, knock, knock.

Rocket’s breath caught just before it escaped his lips. He remained silent for a moment, trying to deduct the exact source of the tapping, before he was caught off-guard again by the slow, sudden melodical ring of the phone downstairs.

Rocket’s head snapped to the side where his door opened towards the staircase. Outside his lit room, the phone continued to ring from the kitchen. It echoed up the stairs, its chime dark and ominous. Rocket squinted in its direction, but couldn’t see anything past his door. The hallway was pitch black.

Now terrified, Rocket squeezed his eyes shut. The phone only grew louder as he did, and after seconds it began to pain his ears. Rocket let out a whine and reopened his sore eyes. His gaze shot right back to the dark staircase, and between phone rings, he began to see two bony hands as they clawed hungrily at the top step of the stairs.

Rocket’s mouth fell open in a silent scream as the pale, ragged sets of fingers began to climb. Nothing escaped his tongue, not a single cry for help, so he began to wriggle in his bed again. Desperately, Rocket wanted to jump out of his bed and throw himself out the window, but he was stuck, glued to his mattress, and he could do nothing but watch in horror as the long, bony figure revealed itself to him.

The creature crawled on all fours, but it was definitely demon-oid. It had huge bones that jutted out of its body at awkward angles. Dead folds of white skin, and flesh the colour of spoiled milk hung loosely from its bulky skeleton. It looked weak, Rocket noted, but as the corpse turned the corner and began to crawl into his room, he couldn’t move a muscle to stop it.

Long, greying hairs hung off the thing’s bald head like threads of a dead cable cord. They were greasy and matted, thick with the must of salt. Its face held sunken eyes that had been pushed to the back of its head. They were pale and glassy, no emotion but hunger behind them. As it neared Rocket’s bed, he began to hear a strange sound– like choking– emit past the thing’s lips. Soon, Rocket realised that it was the sound of its breath.

“Wait, no, no, no, please.” Rocket begged. He continued to swallow back puke as he pleaded with the thing, but simply, it ignored his mottled cries.

Very slowly, the monster began to attach its fingers to the sheets of Rocket’s bed.

It hauled itself up, as if the blankets were rope, and soon, Rocket felt its disturbingly light weight on top of him. 

He couldn’t bear to look at the creature’s face, so Rocket quickly closed his eyes. Silently, he began to pray to himself– hoping that either of his dads would come to his rescue. After a few long seconds, however, nobody came.

After a minute of nothing but the sound of the monster’s breath, Rocket slowly began to feel as one lengthy fingernail lowered over his face and prodded the rim around his one eye.

“No, no, no..” Rocket began to choke up as he mewled for mercy. “Please, please.”

The creature didn’t spare a second to listen to him. Two fingernails descended into the socket of Rocket’s eye, and in a flash, he was wracked with horribly vivid pain. Rocket’s mouth shot open, and his arms jutted out and flailed wildly. The nails inside the socket of his eye continued, as they wrapped around the ball of his eye and encircled it with slimy, blood-covered fingers.

Rocket continued to thrash, convulsing against his bed for what felt like forever. The creature pulled tirelessly at the string of his eye, its fingers now buried deep in the muddied pits of gore atop Rocket’s face. It went on for a while, the weak corpse trying desperately to retrieve its prize, while Rocket could do nothing to save himself from it.

Suddenly, Rocket’s body jerked up in one, sudden movement, and the boy awoke in his real bed.

Rocket breathed in a massive gasp of air as his chest relentlessly heaved out panicked breaths. He lashed out again, his arm now able to move, and slapped his hand over his eye. He was surprised to find both of them, solid and in tact, and when he regained his senses– he was even more surprised to find himself in his bed and not sprawled out over his bedroom floor.

Relieved, Rocket took in another breath of air and slumped over into his pillow. Behind him, he felt the now familiar touch of Sword’s jacket as it lay, crammed beneath his body. Rocket heaved again and took in a deep breath, the stale scent of the jacket failing to make him cringe.

Rocket lay in silence for a long while as he settled into his real bed. His breathing began to sooth, and his limbs slowly stopped shaking, when the familiar tapping of knuckles against the front door awoke him from his exhausted trance. 

Delirious, Rocket shot right back up in his bed. Panic flared up in his chest, and for a few long seconds, he sat up in frozen panic. 

Then when the knocking came again, he realised he’d have to fling himself out of bed to catch whoever was at his front door.

Do I really?

Rocket contemplated it for a second, but as the knocking came a third time, he found himself clumsily racing downstairs to answer it.

Who Rocket didn’t expect, as he groggily flipped open the lock on the front door, was Sword.

The tall boy was stood on his porch, leaned up against the doorway. His massive, lofty frame was propped up on a single arm, and he flashed his teeth in a smirk as he came to face his friend.

“Hey, Rocket.” He happily greeted him.

Rocket immediately straightened up and composed himself, feeling his face flush with embarrassment once he became aware of his tangled hair and the rancid stench that emmenated out of his armpits.

“Hey, woah, no, no, no.” He swallowed, quickly snapping up at Sword and pushing him out of his home’s front porch. Sword stumbled back as Rocket pushed him, letting the smaller propel him backwards down the steps and around the wood until they both stood at the side of Rocket’s house.

“What?” Sword let a single, confused word escape his lips. “What was that for?”

The morning grass, soaked with dew, seeped against Rocket’s bare feet. Rocket looked down at his dirtied toes and grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he looked back up at Sword as he stood under the grey sky.

“Hello?” Sword came again. “Did you– just wake up?”

His voice had a snarky undertone, and it made Rocket bite his tongue.

“Um, yeah, um, why the fuck are you here?” He snapped.

Sword fell silent for a moment. 

“I, uh, I’m here to grab my jacket? I tried yesterday morning but nobody was home.”

“Oh.” Rocket’s accusatory tone dropped as he remembered the jacket he’d slept with two nights in a row. He paused in contemplation for a moment, flushing, as he wondered whether or not evidence of said nights would be evident in the folds of Sword’s coat.

“Right.” He finished. “Right. Sorry. Thanks again for letting me have that.”

“It’s no problem, man.” Sword gave a proud grin.

Rocket swallowed.

“Okay, stay right here. Be quiet.”

“Why?” Sword asked.

“Because.” Rocket bit back. “Because I said so.”

Sword didn’t get a chance to protest as Rocket spun around, racing around the wet grass of the lawn, and back up into the house. He rushed upstairs, tracking his mud-soaked feet against the carpeted floors, before hitting the top of the steps and stopping once he saw a fatigued Firebrand exiting Zuka’s bedroom.

“Rocket.” The god smiled as he rubbed his amber eye awake. “Did you answer the door? Who was it?”

“Nobody.” Rocket quickly lied, worried his voice was frantic enough to give him away. “I heard the knock. When I opened the door there was nobody there.”

“Really?” Firebrand asked, his soft voice wracked with suspicion.

“Must’ve waited too long.” Rocket nodded, doubling down on his lie.

“Mmm, okay..” Firebrand trailed off as he rubbed his face yet again. The tall, slender god gave a quick stretch, revealing the terrible t-shirt he wore. Firebrand had bought matching pyjamas for Zuka and himself, though Zuka never wore his, and Rocket hated them.

“Yup.” Rocket clapped his hands together. “Yup.”

“Is that all?”

“Yup.”

Firebrand gave him a puzzled look and craned his head to see past the boy’s shoulder.

“The front door is still open.”

Rocket grit his teeth and forced back a frustrated growl.

“Yeah– I– yeah, I lost my fuckin’.. Hat. It blew into the neighbour’s yard and.. I’mma go get it.”

“You wear hats?” Firebrand asked as Rocket pushed past him into his bedroom.

“Yes. I wear hats.” Rocket spat.

“Oh, okay.” The god softly murmured. “Okay then. Be safe. I’m gonna go back to bed for a bit. Your father’s still asleep.”

“Okay.” Rocket nodded as he pulled Sword’s jacket from its place in his bed. As soon as Firebrand was gone, he raced back down the stairs and shot out the front door.

To his right, Sword stood with his head poking about around the corner. He smiled when he saw Rocket approach, and acknowledged him sincerely when they met around the side of the house.

“Thanks so much.” Sword smiled as Rocket handed over the jacket. In a sudden, unexpected motion, he swiftly leaned in towards Rocket and enveloped him in a massive bear-hug.

Rocket felt himself heat up with embarrassment as Sword wrapped his massive arms around his body and squeezed the life out of him. Before he could protest and shove the taller boy away, however, it was over, and Rocket stood back in the grass.

Dumbfounded, he stood still in shock for a good few seconds.

“Y-Yeah.” He stammered out, rubbing his forehead that was now flush with humiliation. “Yeah. No problem, uh.. Yeah.”

Sword continued to smile down at him, refusing to move an inch of a muscle. Rocket flashed an awkward smile back, too consumed with whirling thoughts over Sword’s hug.

He hadn’t been hugged like that in a while. It almost made him want another.

“So, um, actually.” Sword began, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck once he’d realised how awkward the encounter had gotten. “I actually have a few hours before mass. I thought.. Y’know, I really wanted to hang out with you.”

I really wanted to hang out with you.

Rocket felt his heart flutter in his chest, but forced his emotions down.

“I have homework.” He scoffed in return.

“Homework?” Sword’s eyes lit up.

Rocket swallowed.

“Yeah, um, so.. I don’t have time right now.”

“I can help you with it.” Sword offered, a big, goofy smile stretched across his face.

“No.” Rocket shook his head. “I don’t want you in the house.”

“Why not?”

Rocket hesitated, his mouth snapping shut.

“It’s a hassle.”

“Hassle?”

“My dad. I don’t think he’d approve of you. He’d be scared for me.”

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” Sword frowned as his face hardened into a protective scowl. “I would never.”

“I know.. But it’s your dad..”

“He’s not even here.”

“If my dad sees you we might not be able to hang out anymore. How about we just hang around somewhere else?”

“Hm?”

Rocket scoffed.

“There’s tiny little beach a few blocks away. It’s basically mine. Our old one.. We stopped using it after.. The warehouse collapsed. The city people came and said it was too unsafe and the water down on our end of the street was all polluted, and yeah, we agreed, so.”

“Oh, okay.” Sword smiled.

Rocket looked up at him.

“The sea is seriously awesome, and we’ll probably have it all to ourselves over there, so. Yeah.”

“Did you wanna bring your homework?” Sword asked cheekily.

Rocket hesitated, rolling his eyes at the mention of the little math homework he had.

“Sure. Fine. Whatever. I’m gonna go get dressed, I’ll be out in a sec.”

Rocket led Sword down the neighbourhood dressed in his hoodie and a pair of unwashed sweatpants. He had his school bag strapped to his back, and he clung to it like his life depended on it. Inside, sat papers of homework, which he didn’t really plan on doing, but next to them was his sketchbook. It was something hard he could print on, but he also thought about showing Sword some of his art. He was proud of the work he did with his pencil, and maybe Sword would be, too. The thought of Sword reverring at his art made him a little giddy with excitement.

“So why’d you wanna hang out with me so bad?” Rocket asked in accusation.

“I thought we were friends now.” Sword shrugged, his smile still pinned to his face.

“Still don’t know what’s so interesting about me.” Rocket grumbled back.

“A lot.” Sword raised his brows. “Especially after the night at the arcade. Seriously.”

“I swear something’s actually up with that place.” Rocket scoffed.

“I know!” Sword raised his hands defensively. “I believe you.”

“And you don’t think it’s weird that your babysitter just so happens to work there?”

“No.”

“Seriously?!”

“I don’t know what your deal is with Medkit.”

“I don’t know what your deal is either.” Rocket sneered. “Medkit’s always been a weirdo, now he’s babysitting Venomshank’s apprentice? How’s that just happen?”

“We’ve been friends for years.” Sword sighed. “Trust me.”

“I’m trying.” Rocket rolled his eyes. “But you seem so gullible.”

“Excuse me?!”

Rocket continued to bicker with Sword as they turned the corner of the street and onto the shore of the quiet beach. Down below the seawall, mounted atop a makeshift concrete den, lay a tiny shore, crammed between two buildings. The sand was a light cream, and it glowed with the sun-painted waves of water that splashed against the shore.

“Pretty.” Sword mentioned as they crossed the street towards the little beach. Rocket quietly nodded his head in agreement, still riled up by the miniature argument they’d started between each other.

“Yeah, I guess.” He sighed, an etch of sarcasm lining the tone of his voice. “I guess its pretty.”

Sword continued on with his giddy smile still stuck on his face. Rocket watched him, his gaze twisted into a sour scowl as they trudged down into the sand.

As soon as they hit the beach, Sword kicked off his sneakers and socks. He pressed forward into the water, laughing as the waves washed over his feet. Rocket wasn’t as impressed with the sea that day, and instead opted to sit down in the sand. He let his bag slip off his back, and he pulled it into his lap, removing its contents with careful hands.

It was a breezy day. The wind carried the scent of the salty sea with it, as it whipped at Rocket’s face and brushed past his hair. The sand was soft beneath the skin of his legs, and he pushed his fingers through it, clawing heaps into his hands and letting it seep through the thin crevices of his fists.

“C’mere.” Rocket called to Sword, placing his sketchbook into the chasm of his lap. He let his math papers sit gently upon its cover, not the slightest bit worried over what would happen if they blew away.

Sword looked back, the calves of his legs now dripping with water. With a smile, he ran back onto the little beach, letting blankets of soft sand coat his feet as he slid down next to Rocket.

“Alright, what do we got here?” He asked enthusiastically.

“Uh, algebra.” Rocket responded, tapping the page. “I dunno, I don’t really understand it in the first place.

“Oh, okay.” Sword nodded. Softly, he took the pencil from between Rocket’s fingers, and began to examine the sheet.

“What’re you writing on?” Sword curiously asked after a bout of silence.

“Oh.” Rocket swallowed, folding his papers towards himself to allow Sword a look. “It’s a sketchbook. Mine.”

“Sketchbook?” Sword said as he craned his head. There was a new sparkle in his eye, and his soft voice was piqued with amused curiosity.

“Yeah..” Rocket narrowed his eyes, rubbing the rough cover of his book. In a quick move, Sword was on him, lashing out to grab the spine of the sketchpad. 

Rocket let out a yelp as his friend pulled it back and cracked it open. In a swift motion, he attempted to grab back onto it and yank it back, but Sword was too quick for him. The much taller boy lifted the sketchbook high into the air as Rocket struggled between retrieving it and keeping his homework safe in his lap. Eventually, he found himself unable to care about the papers he held, so he let go of them and dove to tackle Sword.

“Give it back!” He yelled as he clawed at the other boy with outstretched hands.

“Nuh-uh.” Sword teased. His face was plastered with a nasty smirk.

“Seriously!” Rocket cried. As much as he tried to reach for it, he couldn’t get it back. “Don’t!”

Sword simply shook his head and smiled. He tilted the sketchbook over above his head, letting the pages fall open, and examined it.

“I just wanna take a little look.” He grinned.

Fear and panic immediately instilled itself inside Rocket. He threw himself over top of Sword, knocking him into the sand.

“Give it!” He hissed as he grit his teeth sharply together. “You can’t just take that!”

“But I wanna seeee!” Sword asserted.

Rocket let a growl slip past his teeth,

and reared back up on his knees. He pounced on Sword in another attempt to retrieve his sketchpad, but Sword grabbed him by the arm, and Rocket found himself caught off guard by how much stronger the other boy was against him. Sword easily threw him into the sand, and Rocket had to gather all of the strength inside him to push himself back up onto his knees.

“I’ll show you stuff!” He cried, grabbing Sword by the ankle and wrestling him into the painfully hot sand. “Just let go!”

“Okay, fine.” Sword accepted the offer. He sighed, letting go of the book and sending Rocket flying into the sand. Rocket gave a huff as he sat back up, crawling. back towards Sword where he lay.

“Um, okay.” Rocket started as he sat down next to Sword. Carefully, he slipped his fingers underneath the thick cover of the book and opened up the first page. 

The paper was predominantly blank, aside from a few smiling faces and clusters of poorly sketched stars. Tentatively, he skipped the page and turned to the next, which had poorly drawn sketches of his own gear etched out at different angles.

“Oh, this is mine.” Rocket said, letting his finger trail down the page. “I haven’t really been able to get a good look at it yet, and uh..”

Rocket turned the page again, and flipped the book onto its side.

“This is my dad’s. He let me look at it. Like, really look at it for this one. It’s a bit busted up but it’s still pretty sleek. And the mods are great. They’re not his own, but they’re good.”

“Neat.” Sword smiled. “I guess your dad’s gear and stuff’s pretty famous.”

“Yeah.” Rocket smirked, a bit too proud of his dad’s fame.

“I’m not allowed to watch Phighting.” Sword hummed.

“No?”

“Nah. Venomshank hates it.”

“But it’s awesome.”

Sword sighed, laying back in the sand as tangles of his hair got wrapped around his face. Rocket watched him as he tucked it back around his ears, and for a split second, wondered what it would be like to feel the strands around his fingers.

“He doesn’t want me getting into it. Gear fighting, that is.” Sword yawned as he looked up into the sky, breaking the momentary silence Rocket took to admire the way his hair was draped over his neck. “He says that it isn’t a real sport, all the usual, and that the people who compete in it are unworthy, y’know.. The usual. He wants me to focus on sword fighting. And I am. But that’s, like, it. He doesn’t like it when I do church, or friends. But church and friends and stuff is what actually matters to me. Like truly. And I guess in some way, he understands that, because he’s let me come here and I think that he’s come a long way from where he was even just a few years ago.”

Rocket narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah, I dunno about that.”

“What?”

“He’s a good, what, dad? Because he lets you have friends? He doesn’t even let you watch T.V.”

“That’s not really what I said.” Sword frowned.

Rocket rolled his eyes.

“It’s pretty much what you said.”

“No.” Sword huffed. “I know you don’t like him, but he comes from a different way of life–”

Rocket glared at him defensively.

“Yeah, you should know I don’t like him.”

Sword stared at Rocket for a moment.

“We can have different perspectives, Rocket, that’s fine.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Sword shook his head.

“Forget this. Please. I don’t want to fight you.”

Rocket hesitated. He didn’t want to fight either.

“Come on. Show me some more art.” Sword pushed him, rubbing the edge of the page with his thumb. Rocket watched his hand for a moment, scanning the ridges and crooks of his fingers with silent eyes.

“Fine.” He sighed, skipping over a few pages. The drawings he’d chosen to show were thick-penciled sketches detailing the innards of a random gear Rocket’s father had picked up from work.

“Someone’s guts.” He joked, turning his head to gage a reaction from Sword. The other boy smiled at the remark, letting his hand fall over the page to inspect it.

“You’re really good.” He mumbled, eyeing Rocket with an emotion he couldn’t discern. “Like, seriously. You know, I can’t even draw a stick figure, and you’re like, the master of art over here.”

“Not the master.” Rocket shook his head. “It’s just like, a side hobby thing. I don’t take lessons or anything. I’m better at other stuff.”

“Like what?” Sword inquired.

“Hockey.” Rocket shrugged. “Not lately, but I mean..”

“Sure.” Sword shrugged. “But I can see you being like, a professional artist someday.”

“Nah.”

“Yeah! You’re great. Seriously, I’m jealous.”

Rocket sighed.

“I can show you some not-so great stuff if you want proof that I suck dick.”

Sword chuckled.

“Suuure.”

Rocket gave him a teasing smile and pulled his sketchbook back into his lap, hiding it from the boy as he searched for some anatomy sketches that were appropriate enough not to dissern a laugh from Sword. Eventually, he found a page where he’d drawn his father at work in the shop. There were multiple sketches of his top half, seated at his desk where he unscrambled tangled bits of machinery. Rocket always did his best when he could incorperate his love for manufacturing into his art.

“Here.” Rocket smiled, flipping the book wide open. “These are of my dad.”

“Woah.” Sword breathed as he grabbed ahold of the page, bringing it closer to his face. 

“Okay, wow. You’re serious? These suck? No way you think so.”

“They’re not that good.” Rocket shook his head, hands firm around the edges of the sketchpad. He was ready to snatch it right away if Sword dared turn the page. 

“They’re meh.”

“I love them.” Sword looked up, letting the book fall back into Rocket’s arms. “Can you draw me too?”

Rocket laughed, not exactly in the mood to draw anyone.

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Another time.”

Sword smiled and nodded his head, closing his eyes and laying back down in the sand.

“Sounds good.” He sighed as the sun beamed down against his face.

Rocket paused, letting his sketchbook fall shut. As Sword lay in the sand, he took note of the dapples of sunlight. They seemed to glow against Sword’s tanned skin.

Rocket swallowed again and took the silence to examine the boy.

Sword’s wide, ruffled eyebrows were narrowed against his face, skin freckled with spots of grey. His face was affixed in concentration as he watched the sea, as the waves glimmered in the light and gently rolled over each other with soft strokes. There was a thick scar that stretched around Sword’s cheek, causing a dip in his skin all the way across the bridge of his nose. As Rocket’s eyes trailed across it, his gaze darted back up to make brief eye contact with his friend. There was a deep facination in his dark brown eyes, and as they flickered over across Rocket’s face, they softened in kindness.

Rocket looked away as soon as their eyes met. There was another moment of silence between them, but it wasn’t all too uncomfortable. For another moment, Rocket felt Sword’s eyes on him, embarrassed by their shared gaze, until the other boy spoke up.

“You were right.” Sword said.

“Hm?” Rocket hummed back, letting his head rest upon his shoulder. He observed Sword with curious eyes, and the boy smiled.

“It’s really beautiful here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Sword gave him a nod. “Next time we’re going swimming.”

Rocket nodded as Sword continued to study his face, but after another moment, he couldn’t help but let his eyes flicker away. There was something about the look on Sword’s face that made him feel shy, and slowly, he felt heat invade his cheeks.

“I was thinking something.” Sword suddenly mentioned, breaking the tension between them.

“Yeah?” Rocket looked back at him, now suddenly aware of the heat they shared between their bodies.

“I wanted to tell you I’m actually participating in a little pageant at the church tomorrow. You should come see.”

“Pageant?” Rocket echoed, confused by the idea that Sword would willingly participate in one.

“Yeeeeah.. Not a fashion show or anything.” Sword narrowed his eyes. “But I get to play as Illumina. It’s kinda silly, but we can hang out after.”

“Oh.”

“Come to the church tomorrow after school. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”

“Maybe.” Rocket shrugged. He wanted to– desperately, he did, but the thought of actually attending church again just to see Sword made him feel shy.

“Maybe?”

“Probably.”

“Be there.” Sword pressed him. “Please?”

The boy gave a pout, and Rocket felt himself drawn to his puppy-eyes.

“Okay.” He gave in. “Fine.”

“Yessss!” Sword gave a tiny cry of victory. “I’ll see you there, man.”

Rocket cracked a small smile and shook his head. They both paused for a moment, looking out into the blue sky, before a thought popped into Rocket’s head.

“Do you know Banhammer?” He suddenly asked.

Sword paused.

“Windforce’s son?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Eugh.. Yeah.” Sword nodded, hesitation in his voice. “I met him when I was little. I never saw him again after Venomshank took me in. Why?”

“Just curious.” Rocket lied.

“Funny you mention him.” Sword huffed. “I saw some of his officers patrolling downtown really early before I came over. Y’know, the guys with the purple diamonds in the armour and everything..”

Rocket felt himself go pale.

“His officers? Downtown?”

“Yeah. Investigative officers.. Why?”

Rocket swallowed as anxiety settled in his guts. He was terrified for himself, knowing his own history with the warden, but there was a subtle fear for Sword. He didn’t know what it was, maybe it was something Banhammer had said, but it made Rocket begin to worry over his friend. 

He knew for sure that Sword wouldn’t have had a reason to commit a crime as gruesome as taking Dom’s eye and wing– nor any other. But there was something suspicious about his situation stewed the anxious thoughts in Rocket’s mind.

“No.. No reason. It just seems strange.” He stammered out.

“Yeah.” Sword nodded. “Yeah. I wouldn’t worry about it, though, Rocket.”

“No?”

“You’re safe. Right here with me. Just forget about it and lemme help you with your homework. For real this time.”

Rocket smiled.

“How long do we have?”

“Two hours.” Sword smiled back. “Plenty of time.”

On his trudge home, Rocket’s mind raced with thoughts of Banhammer and his army of officers. Sword’s reassurances, despite how kind and sincere they were, hadn’t soothed his thoughts. The idea of coming across one of those men made Rocket’s hands violently tremble, and his legs seemed to shake as they walked.

Everything was so hard to wrap his head around. Had Banhammer and his father made up, just like that? It seemed strange. It was strange, and Rocket hated it. He felt powerless, and he felt scared.

Fuck.

Rocket looked up.

He’d walked to the arcade.

He’d travelled there on purpose, of course, detouring around the church so that Sword wouldn’t see him pass. He just wanted one look at the place, one more time, only out of sheer curiosity.

Rocket’s hands thrashed in his pockets. He was terrified now, horribly so, and the sight of the arcade only fueled the anxiety. He stared up at it, where it sat on the hilltop, desolate and grey. As he peered closer, however, he began to see the flash of something bright and yellow as it reflected off the sun. It was long and thin, strewn around the building like a spider’s web– violently coloured a deep shade of butterscotch.

That’s caution tape. That’s caution tape! Fuck, that’s caution tape!

Rocket recognized the black letters against that shade of yellow. Quickly, he decided he wanted nothing to do with the scene, and turned to speed down the road. Before he could make a move, however, he was stopped by a shadowy figure stood at the end of the street.

It was Medkit. 

Definitely Medkit. 

Rocket recognized the back of his shaved head. The man’s back was turned the other way, but Rocket knew by the turtleneck sweater he wore that it was him.

Rocket sucked in a breath and shot up against the building nearest to him. He pressed his back to its cold, hard brick wall, and tried his hardest to stalk the man closely from his place on the sidewalk.

After a tense moment of silence, Medkit turned down the street and began to walk towards him. Rocket’s entire body went stiff as his suspicions were confirmed.

Yes. I knew it. I knew it, I knew it, I fucking knew it. He’s behind all of this shit, I knew it.

Rocket continued to watch Medkit as he turned to cross the street. The man was looking around wildly, turning his head to watch behind his back and over his shoulders. Rocket held his breath as he began to walk closer, and just as Medkit was about past him, he felt the buzz in his pocket before his conviently pocketed phone began to screech.

Rocket gasped and reached for his phone, its ringtone impossibly loud. With a trembling cry, he snatched it from his pocket, catching a glimpse of the unknown number screen before he shut it off.

Swallowing, Rocket and looked up at Medkit, who now stood completely still across the street from him. The man’s face was downturned in Rocket’s direction. His eyes were dark beneath heavy black bags, one covered beneath a simple black eyepatch hung loosely over his face. The one eye Rocket could see clearly was pinned on him, sharp and unmoving. 

Rocket felt his heart spike in his chest as they made cold eye contact. He didn’t dare move, or make a single sound.

After another moment of silence, Medkit’s stare broke. He blinked, slowly, and let a hiss escape his mouth.

“Do not come back here.”

His words were cold and hard. There wasn’t a single emotion behind them, and Rocket was unnerved.

“I won’t.” The boy muttered back.

Medkit stared for a while longer, Rocket locked onto his presence like a deer in the headlights of a car. Then slowly, Medkit’s silhouette began to falter, and the man’s body began to flicker. Rocket’s eyes widened in shock as Medkit began to fade away into thin air. It took a few seconds of staring, Medkit’s cold-blooded eyes locked onto his, before he had completely vanished.

Rocket took a hesitant step back. The sole of his shoe scraped against the concrete, startling his already frenzied mind. Without a second thought, he ripped his gaze from the spot where Medkit had disappeared, and didn’t stop a single second to look back as he ran his way home.

Chapter Text

“Zuka, Zuka.”

Rocket looked over at Firebrand from where he sat at the kitchen island. The god was slumped over on the couch, with his favourite woven blanket wrapped around his tall body. His head was arched down below the arm of the sofa, neck curved and posture deadly. His horn hooked around it carefully enough not to burn the fabric, and his gloved hand flailed limply about in a beckoning motion.

“What is it?” Zuka softly called from where he stood as he wiped dirty dishes he’d fished from the sink.

“The news.” Firebrand called back, the anxiety in his voice obvious. “Somebody’s died.”

Rocket stopped tying his shoe from where he was crouched on the floor, and began to listen in on his parents’ conversation.

“I’m not surprised.” Zuka muttered.

“I– Zuka, it was near here.” Firebrand pressed on. “There’s an arcade a few blocks away. They found a body.”

Rocket’s eyes went wide.

“It was, um..” Firebrand hesitated. His eyes darted towards Rocket for a second, before he lowered his voice to a murmur.

“It was.. A very gruesome sight, supposedly. Zuka–”

Firebrand’s voice broke, and Zuka, with a sigh, shuffled over to stand next to the sofa arm the god hung from. He caught the man’s hair in his hand, slowly running his fingers through it as he turned to face the television.

“Do– do you think I should involve myself..?” Firebrand asked.

“No.” Zuka grumbled. “Why should you?”

Firebrand was silent for a moment.

Rocket interrupted.

“I’m leaving!” He announced, backpack suddenly slung over his shoulder and sweaty hand wrapped around the front door’s handle.

Startled, both his parents looked back at him with two jerks of their necks.

“Oh- okay, Rocket.” Zuka swallowed. “Have a good day, son.”

“Mhm.” Rocket mumbled, pushing the door open and stepping out onto the porch. He turned to shut the door behind him, but stopped once Firebrand began to speak again. The last thing he heard before slamming it shut was Firebrand’s timid voice.

“I just– I just have a bad feeling about this, Zuka. Something’s not right.”

After school, Rocket was in a rush to make his way down to the arcade. He was tight on time– he’d have to make it to Sword’s pageant right after– but the church was close, and Rocket was determined to make one last tiny investigation at the scene of the crime. However, as he pushed through the streets, sleek with rain and accompanied by the musty smell of polluted petrichor, Rocket’s mind reeled with thoughts of the church– specifically the boy who frequented it.

Don’t be late. Don’t be late.

Rocket was out of breath long before he got to the slope of the street the arcade was situated upon, but his lungs were just about sucked dry once he spied the bright yellow caution tape strewn about just metres away.

Still there.

As fast as he could, Rocket spun off the sidewalk and raced to find his way into the concrete complex of empty backyards. Pushing down his anxiety, he hauled his backpack up off his shoulders and carried it in his arms as he slipped behind the abandoned storehouse through the crack in the seawall.

As soon as he got through, however, Rocket froze.

The concrete clearing was empty.

He stepped back, feet shuffling against the cold stone ground. His hands tightened around the straps of his bag, as he held it against his chest, and he continued to stand still in silence for a long moment.

There were no generators lodged into the earth. There were no metallic tubes slumping their way up the concrete wall.

Rocket stared, confusion racking his brain.

Then suddenly, a heavy burst of  weight slammed into his side. Before he could catch himself, Rocket was knocked to the ground, concrete striking his side.

“I told you not to come back here.”

Medkit’s voice was harsh, the words escaping his mouth through gritted teeth. Quickly, he grabbed Rocket’s shoulders and rolled him onto his back, forcing him down and keeping his body in place.

Rocket thrashed, arms flailing as he attempted to grab Medkit’s wrists. The man above him simply stared, his gaze much more frantic than before.

“I-I’m sorry!” Rocket stuttered out, his voice much louder and higher than he would’ve liked it to be. However, rather than accepting the startled apology, Medkit grabbed him by the neck of his hoodie and hauled him up, attempting to cover the boy’s mouth with a quivering hand.

Rocket felt his adrenaline kick in. He knocked his foot back into Medkit’s shin, but his grip only tightened– and his arms swerved to wrap around Rocket, encasing him in a headlock.

Rocket froze, his back turned to Medkit and his hands still gripping his arms. He managed to catch his breath, panic rising fast in his chest, before Medkit shook him violently and leaned over to speak.

“ Don’t fight.”

“Why not?!” Rocket hollered back at him.

“You’re not safe.”

Rocket paused, swallowing back sour strands of saliva.

“What?”

“You told them, didn’t you?” Medkit spat.

“What?!” Rocket hissed. “I didn’t tell anybody anything.”

Medkit let a growl escape his lips.

“Listen, kid. I know what you know. You better leave it alone, or you’re gonna end up involved in something you don’t wanna be involved in.. Or you’re gonna end up dead.”

Rocket looked up, attempting to get a look at Medkit from where he stood.

“You don’t know shit.” He spat.

“Rocket.” Medkit growled again. “This is for your own good. Leave it alone.”

“How about you just fucking explain to me what’s going on?!”

Medkit grabbed Rocket’s face again, roughly covering his mouth with a sweaty palm.

“I don’t want to have to kill you.” He swallowed, voice low and filled with guilt.

Rocket felt himself go pale.

“Huh?” He whined.

“Please. Go.”

At that, Medkit released Rocket from his grip. Rocket stumbled forward, panting and heaving, and looked back at Medkit.

“Go.” The healer repeated. “Now.”

Without another word, Rocket grabbed his bag from its place on the ground and ran from the clearing, tripping over his toes and staggering out onto the street. Quickly, he crossed the road and looked back over his shoulder. 

Medkit hadn’t left the clearing.

Kill me?! Seriously?!

Rocket stared for a few more moments, dumbfounded by the encounter. He ran each of Medkit’s words over, trying to decode the mess he’d gotten himself into. He thought of his father for a moment, contemplating whether or not it was a good idea to tell him.

Of course it’s a good fucking idea.

Then he thought of Sword– and the potential relationship it might cost him.

This is for your own good. Leave it alone.

Leave what alone?! He hissed back at the imaginary Medkit, turning down the street towards the church.

I have to tell Sword about this bullshit.

A soft song ebbed across the cavernous walls of the church. The voices of many, in a quiet harmony as they sang the song of Illumina.

A long while after the pageant had started, Rocket couldn’t help himself from quietly interrupting. His foot tapped relentlessly against the church’s hard, wood floor, and he fumbled nervously with the pencil between his fingers as he sat alone in the pews. His gaze darted back and forth between his pencil, chewed and ridden with dents from his teeth, and Sword– where he stood up on the makeshift stage.

He wanted to draw the boy– this was the perfect place to do it– but Rocket’s anxiety had worsened since his encounter with Medkit. Sword didn’t know he was being pictured, as Rocket traced along the paper of his sketchbook, therefore Rocket would have to hide his art from his muse.

At the forefront of the church, Sword was posed with the rest of the teenage actors. The scene was set, and he was dressed as Illumina, like he said he’d be. White robes, a cheap silk, appropriately covered the majority of his body. Where his legs and arms were exposed by the gown, he wore a long, pale undershirt and leggings that didn’t adhere to the shape of his legs. His horns were painted a dollar-store purple, and he wore a paper halo that fell gracelessly over his forehead. Despite the cheap costume, Rocket thought he looked alright.

“O Illumina!” A boy shyly called from the stage, his body slumped across the wooden ground as he begged his god. “What must I do without my son? He is of your people, righteous and young, but his soul has no place to go.”

“Lend me your son.” Sword boomed in return, his voice confident and cool. “Let his soul be of my army, the fingers of his spirit intertwined with mine, and I shall bring him to a new heaven, in which the pure and true shall receive eternal life beneath my wings.”

Rocket felt his cheeks flush with guilt. He hadn’t listened much to Sword’s words, but he knew he wasn’t ‘pure and true.’ 

Is that a thing? Are we supposed to be pure and true around here? Sword doesn’t care about that bullshit, does he?

No, he wouldn’t..

Rocket swallowed down his thoughts, suddenly a little too self-conscious over what Sword thought of him. Tentatively, he resumed his work inside his sketchbook, watching the tip of his pencil as it traced the ridges of Sword’s massive arms.

Why do you fucking care, anyway? He berated himself, gritting his teeth and continuing to work at his sketchbook. Sword’s words were eventually drowned out by the ambience of his pencil as it hit the paper, and it was only less than an hour later when he found himself sitting alone in a barren church with a barely shaded graphite sculpt of Sword’s body. Rocket ceased his scribbling for a moment, gazing at the drawing with a faint, giddy smile.

“Fuck that looks good.” He cursed beneath the hollow vaults of the church’s ceiling.

“Huh?”

Rocket gasped as he was startled out of his reverie over Sword’s anatomy. His hand darted out to slam the sketchbook closed, and looked up in terror– only to meet Sword’s confused gaze.

“Hey.” The boy awkwardly grinned, sitting himself down on the pew next to Rocket. Casually, he strung his arm over the back behind Rocket and curiously peered over the side of the sketchbook.

Rocket pulled it back towards himself, face pulled down by a tiny grimace.

“Hiiii..” Rocket dragged the word out of his mouth. “I came.”

“Yeah, you did.” Sword continued to smile as he shuffled closer. “How are ya, man? Did you like it?”

“Um.” Rocket hesitated, thinking back towards what he witnessed from the performance.

“It was good. You’re a good actor.”

“Yeah?” Sword gave a smug grin, leaning back into the pew with his legs and arms further outstretched.

“Yeah.” Rocket murmured back.

“I’m glad it's over.” Sword chuckled, further leaning back in his seat. “That performance is a big deal to some people.”

Rocket gave a silent nod, and Sword’s eyes darted to his lap.

“So what’s in the sketchbook?” He asked with a grin.

Rocket bit his lip and pulled himself into a ball.

“It’s nothing.” He lied.

“I saw you drawing.” Sword nudged him.

“Shut up.” Rocket hissed. “I didn’t.. Get the chance to start anything.”
“No?”
“Your performance was just that exciting.”

Sword chuckled.

“Seriously, Rocket.”

“I’m being serious, man!”

“Uh-huh.”
Rocket scoffed and looked away.

“Listen, man.” Sword giggled. “You don’t have to show me, I’m just interested in what I could be seein’.”
Rocket looked back at him as he playfully slipped a finger between the pages.

“Don’t.” Rocket snapped.

“Okay, okay.” Sword lightheartedly raised his hands above his head. “I’m sorry that I like your art.”

Rocket shook his head.

“Sure, whatever.”

Rocket looked up to meet his eyes, and Sword smiled, cupping Rocket’s knee beneath his hand.

“Uh, I got somethin’ for you, by the way.” He mentioned, gently shaking his leg beneath the palm of his hand and beckoning him onto his feet. 

Confused, Rocket followed as Sword shuffled awkwardly past through the row of seats and down the aisle.

“Uh.. What is it?” He asked.

“C’mon.”

Rocket scrambled to shove his sketchbook back inside his bag and wrap it around his back he raced to meet Sword at his side. His contusion continued to grow as they turned the corner, and found himself walking into a small underhang beneath a tiny row of grey stairs. Sitting solemnly in the middle of the hall, was a pale bucket, filled with cloudy water.

“Wha?”

Sword turned to look at Rocket.

“You’re hired.”

Rocket’s face fell.

“I’m sorry?”

Sword narrowed his eyes and gave Rocket a goofy smile.

“You asked for the job, dummy. As custodian? What were you expecting, an interview?”

Rocket’s mouth hung open for a moment.

“Kind of.”

Sword chuckled and slicked a hand through his long hair.

“Look, you don’t have to stay for long, this isn’t exactly a business– but you’re being paid. You need the money, right?”

Shit. Rocket nervously thought. I don’t actually need that stupid job, do I?

“Yeeeah..”

“You know how to use a mop, right?”

Rocket nodded and fell back against the wall– where, conveniently, the handle of a mop stood beside him. 

He scoffed, pushing a tense breath past his lips, and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, obviously, man, I know how to use a fuckin’ mop .”

His hand tightened around the wooden handle, and hoisting it up into his hands, Rocket turned towards the bucket and stabbed the head of the mop into the dubiously grey water. Awkwardly, he swished it around for a few moments, as the realization slowly dawned on him that he didn’t know what he was doing.

“‘You good?”

Rocket’s gaze snapped up towards Sword, who looked plenty amused.

“Yeah?” He hissed, the edge in his voice raising.

Sword gave a loud snort, his face dropping the concerned facade.

“Dude, you look like you’re in pain.”

Rocket gave a red-faced scowl and scoffed, continuing to slowly swirl the mop around the foamy water before quickly hauling it up– sprinkling Sword with a tiny splash of water.

“Hey!” Sword giggled, seemingly unfazed. Instead, he gave a menacing grin, and scooped the bucket up in his hands. As Rocket slowly realised what he was about to do, Sword hauled it forward, and a massive burst of water flew towards Rocket, and he threw himself out of the way– slipping on the wet floor and stumbling forward into a row of seats.

Sword raced to catch him, bucket in hand, and Rocket hastily grabbed the mop that lay beside him. He threw himself up onto his sore feet and ran, screaming with laughter when Sword splashed him some more.

“Stop it!” Rocket giggled, running backwards onto the small set of stairs and fending Sword off– using the tip of his mop like a spearhead.

Sword cackled maniacally and continued his attempt to drown Rocket in cold tap water. Rocket booked it up the steps, rushing onto the platform that jutted out of the empty ceiling. There was nothing much around but a set of speakers and a fairly tall statue propped into the wall, so Rocket slipped behind it and pressed himself to the wall. His disguise, however, did not fare him well, and Sword quickly caught him and dumped as much water as he could over Rocket’s head.

Rocket, startled, screeched and pushed Sword away. The front of his hoodie was soaked, and the bottoms of his shoes were surrounded by thick puddles of water.

“Oh my gods!” Rocket exclaimed, flicking droplets of the soapy grey liquid off his fingers. Despite his predicament, his voice was tinged with amusement. “Dude, what the fuck?”

Sword gave a low laugh and backed up into the statue next to Rocket.

“I’m sorry.” He grinned, a chuckle escaping him as he turned to face his friend. “I shouldn’t have made a mess– I– I shouldn’t even be leaning on this thing.”

Rocket watched as Sword gave a wheeze and backed up against the wall right next to him. He swallowed nervously, tucking his hands into his hoodie when he felt the boy’s warmth on his skin.

“Yeah..” Rocket snorted, keeping his eyes away from Sword’s tall figure. “Yeah, no, uh– you’re being sinful right now, dude.”

Sword smiled and stepped off the wall, backing into the railings behind him. Directly across the church, was a statue of Illumina, mounted on the wall behind Sword. The stone body lined up with the boy’s shoulders as Rocket’s eyes traced the line of his collarbone, and for a moment– the very mortal Sword was given feathery wings of rock.

Wow, he’s cute like that.

Startled by his own thoughts, Rocket recoiled into himself as soon as he heard the voice inside his head speak.

Godsdammit, what the FUCK, Rocket?!

For Illumina’s sake you’re so gross.

Rocket looked away as soon as he felt his face go hot. Sword looked away too, and awkwardly opened his mouth to deliver another blow to Rocket’s psyche.

“Oh, Medkit’s picking us up, by the way.”

Startled, Rocket jerked his head back towards Sword and gave him a wide-eyed stare.

“What?!”

Sword blinked in confusion.

“Medkit’s picking us up.”

Rocket took a moment to compose himself and ran a skinny hand back through his ratty hair. His eyes sheepishly wandered over Sword’s body, swallowing as he realised he was right.

“Okay.” He squeaked.

Sword tilted his head.

“I um– I’m going to help clean.. This..”
Rocket looked down at the puddle of water.

“Okay.. I’ll help you.”

Rocket was partially relieved to sit alone in the backseat of the car, despite the fact that Medkit’s eye was pinned on him through the rear-view window at every chance.

The man had a new eyepatch. It was a simple black patch, one that hid the hole in his face well, and it made it somewhat easier for Rocket to ignore his infuriated gaze. The look in his eye in that moment was something Rocket had never seen before on the man– it shattered his calm demeanor like glass.

Sword, on the other hand, was sitting in the front seat next to Medkit, unaware of the silent war between the other two in the car.

“I’m hungry.” He said with a teasing smile, trying to get a rise out of Medkit.

“There’s food at home.” Medkit rasped.

“Yeah?” Sword’s eye gave a twinkle. “Like what?”

Medkit shrugged.

“Bread.”

Sword sighed and dramatically let his face fall to the dashboard.

“Okayy..”

Rocket forced an amused smile onto his face, but he wasn’t really listening. He couldn’t help himself but obsessively rave over his earlier thoughts– ones that made him flush with embarrassment.

Sword’s not cute.

Is he?

“Hey, Rocket.” Sword suddenly turned to face him.

Startled, Rocket tried to compose himself.

“Hi.” He muttered in response.

Sword gave an uncomfortably awkward smile.

“You live.. Near here. Right?”

Rocket looked out the window and swallowed. They’d just about turned onto his street.

“Yeah, yeah. Here.”

Sword smiled– a genuine smile– and paused to keep his body turned around the seat.

“Are you okay?” He asked as the car came to a slow. “You look a little flushed.”

Medkit’s eye narrowed from the mirror.

“I’m fine.” Rocket quickly coughed out in return.

“Okay.” Sword confirmed, stroking hair back behind his ear with a gentle hand. “Just checking.”

Rocket nodded and unstrapped his seatbelt, letting the rough nylon slowly slide up over his chest. Pulling himself together, he gave Sword thanks– and Medkit a quick look of apprehension. Medkit’s hardened gaze, in return, bore into him with harsh, unrelenting vexation.

Okay. Rocket let out a breath. He’s serious.

Of course he’s serious.

“Bye, Rocket!” Sword smiled and patted Rocket’s shoulder as he moved to get out of the car. Rocket found himself curling up into his hoodie at the touch, and nodded a rather curt goodbye.

“Stay longer next time.” Sword chirped.

Rocket ducked out of the car and waved at Sword. The boy waved back, before Medkit rushed to pull off, and the car sped mercilessly down the road.

Rocket stood before his lawn and watched the street for a minute, shuffling his hands into his pockets before turning to head inside.

“Rocket.”

Rocket immediately spun around at the sound of his father’s voice. Zuka was stood in the shade of the porch, his arm resting against the rail. His eyes were sharply narrowed, brows furrowed against dark eyes.

“H-Hi dad.” Rocket stuttered out. His voice had suddenly gone sheepish and quiet, and his words formed to mutters.

Zuka was silent for a good few seconds before roughly, he cleared his throat.

“Do you.. Care to explain who that was?”

Chapter Text

The roar of distant cars and the wailing of sirens pierced what would have been a deafening silence. Rocket’s mouth hung open in soundless shock as he ran his options through his head. He had no time to contemplate his answer, however, before Zuka’s dark eyebrows narrowed over his eyes, and he spoke.

“Rocket.”

“Dad, I–”

Rocket was at a loss for words. He couldn’t tell his father the truth.

Could he?

“Rocket–”

“They’re friends from school.” He blurted, rigid hesitation awfully discernible in his voice. “They’re–”

Zuka sighed, and Rocket cut himself off.

“Rocket, I just need you to be honest with me.”

Rocket opened his mouth. Nothing but a breath escaped past his lips.

What am I supposed to tell him?

“I am!” He squeaked pitifully. “Honest– I’m being honest.”

Zuka rolled his eyes, and Rocket’s heart sank.

“I’m not–”

“Zuka?”

Before long, Firebrand emerged from their home. He crept up behind Zuka, wrapping his long arms around the man’s waist, and settled his chin atop his shoulder– long hair draped over his skin.

“Firebrand..” Zuka sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Gods, Firebrand, uh..”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve.. You know anyone with a.. A brown sudan?”

Firebrand paused to think, but quickly shook his head.

“You know I don’t..”

“Guys–” Rocket protested, his voice shaky. “I’m serious, it was school friends. I’m– they’re uh– they’re in my math class. And..”

“Rocket.” Zuka interrupted him.

Rocket’s mouth snapped shut.

“Shouldn’t Medkit be in Blackrock?”

Rocket’s heart skipped a beat.

“Wh– What?”

“That car..” His father began to trail off. His eyes scoured the distance down the paved road, and his voice lowered to a quiet mutter.

“No–” Rocket started again. “No, no– uh, he’s in town, he’s.. He offered me a.. Ride.”

Zuka’s narrowed eyes snapped towards Rocket.

“Don’t lie to me, Rocket.” .

“Zuka–” Firebrand mumbled the man’s name. “Don’t be so harsh..”

Rocket cringed.

Zuka groaned in frustration.

“But I don’t want him to end up like.. Icedagger.”

Rocket swallowed back a bout of anger.

Shit, he thinks I’m a fucking druggie, okay.. Shit.

“Rocket..” Zuka sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Just– just leave it. We’ll talk after school tomorrow, alright? I’ll– I’ll pick you up. Okay?”

Rocket looked up at his father with cold austerity.

“Sure, fine. Whatever.”

The next afternoon after another long, trawling day of school, Rocket was doomed to once again walk alone down the street. He sighed, jamming the side of his sneaker into a small rock as he sulked down the sidewalk.

I don’t wanna talk to daaad.. He moped to himself. I’m in so much fuckin’ trouble.

What if I’m not allowed to go out anymore?

Gods, I’m so fucking stupid. What if I lose Sword?

My only friend?

Rocket balled his fists as he continued to trot, kicking his stone with more and more ferocity each step. He was about to turn down the dip at the corner of the street, his shoe ever so close to meeting the stone where it lay in the crack of the sidewalk– when suddenly– he felt two hands on his back, and he was pushed into the cold metal fence.

Rocket let out a cry, his fingers hooking around loops of metal as he fell against the concrete sidewalk. For a moment he stopped and sputtered, taking a moment to catch his breath, when a foot came flying into his face and smashed into his nose.

Searing hot pain washed over Rocket. He fell back, skin colliding with the chill of the fence behind him, and looked up to see Hockeystick stood over his battered body.

Rocket wiped his cheaply mangled nose, wet mud coating his fingers. There wasn’t much he could do as prickling pain continued to well in his face, so he stared for a second– long enough to toss his attacker a lazy remark.

“What the fuck?”

Hockeystick stared down at Rocket, his gaze dark. He taunted Rocket, standing over his slumped body and swinging from the fence wires by the strength of four fingers.

“What a fuck-ing fag.” He jeered, the malice in his voice strong and unmediated. “Can’t even fight back. You’re so fucking stupid it’s embarrassing.”

Rocket opened his mouth to snap back, but was silenced by another jibe.

“I saw you with your boyfriend.” He derided, indifferent as he placed the toe of his shoe against Rocket’s throat. Rocket twitched in response to the physical threat, but was far more concerned with Hockeystick’s words.

“He’s not my fucking boyfriend!” Rocket snapped.

Hockeystick laughed– a grim, joyless laugh.

“Yeah, of course you know who I’m fuckin’ talking about. We all know you’re gay, Rocket, fuckin’ idiot.”

Rocket grunted, and Hockeystick pursed his lips to spit on Rocket’s face.

Rocket winced and reached up to wipe his face. His hand was violently shaky, and his anxiety was obvious as he covered his face behind his palm.

“Dumb bitch.” Hockeystick sneered, scooping the neck of Rocket’s hoodie up in his hand. Rocket reluctantly obeyed the boy’s actions, coming to his feet as his attacker pulled him up.

“You look like shit.” He curled his lip.

“Yeah,” Rocket choked in return. “Guess who’s fucking fault that is?”

Hockeystick threw back his fist and launched a massive punch into Rocket’s face. His knuckles scorned his already maimed nose, and Rocket let out a gasp of fear and pain.

As Hockeystick continued to beat Rocket into the fence, Rocket attempted to fight back. He tussled with his assailant, throwing weak punches back into his chest and clawing at the hems of Hockeystick’s shirt.

Suddenly, Hockeystick tugged on Rocket’s matted head of hair and sent him hurtling into the ground. He kicked his foot into Rocket’s chest, winding him and sending him spiraling into panic.

Rocket gasped as his chest endlessly heaved, tears welling in the corners of his eyes as he tried to let himself breathe. His head fell back against the metal fence, and his gaze met the other boy’s mud-covered shoe. Just as Hockeystick was about to send his shoe into Rocket’s throat, a horrified– yet familiar– cry of shock interrupted the scene.

“D-Don’t touch him!”

Both Rocket and Hockeystick’s heads snapped up to face the intervention. Sword hopped up onto the sidewalk, a glare so unnervingly angry plastered on his face that it made Rocket halt his muddled breathing.

“Get off of him!” Sword spat, racing towards Hockeystick. Swiftly, picked Hockeystick up by the collar and tore him away from Rocket. Then, in an unexpected motion, Sword socked a hard punch down the middle of Hockeystick’s face and threw him onto the pavement.

Rocket watched, a mix of relief and panic rising in his chest. Sword slipped between the two boys, shielding Rocket with his body, and glared down at Hockeystick.

Rocket’s attacker huffed and scrambled to his feet, seemingly ready to strike the next boy, but stopped when Sword raised his brawny arms in defense.

“Faggots.” Hockeystick spat beneath his breath once more.

“Go.” Sword lowered.

Hockeystick huffed and threw a few locks of greasy hair behind his ear before turning to scamper off. In just about no time, the boy was halfway down the street, and before long– he’d run off in whatever direction he came from.

Sword stared down the street for a few moments, fists still balled and shoulders still raised. After a few moments, however, he untucked his fingers from his palms and raced to help Rocket where he lied– slumped over next to the fence.

Rocket stared down at his lap. Quickly, he felt tears begin to well up in his eyes, and he held his breath– as if it would make his crying stop.

“Hey,” Sword leaned in closer, his warmth invading the broken shield of Rocket’s personal space.

“Rocket?”

Rocket jerked away, bringing his knees to his chest and burying his face inside the fabric of his pants. Salty tears began to run down his face, and embarrassed, he tilted his head further away to try and escape Sword’s concern.

“Rocket,” Sword softly cooed, his voice much lower and much more soothing than it was just a minute ago.

Rocket cringed, feeling his face flush. He wanted to disappear– to be alone. He couldn’t stand the idea of somebody else there to watch him cry.

Especially Sword.

Then suddenly, a soft finger gently glided across Rocket’s face. Tender warmth spread across his cheek as Sword pushed one of his tears away, and Rocket’s skin tingled at the feel of his velvety touch.

Rocket swallowed.

He wanted more.

He wanted Sword to wrap his arms around his body and fill him with warmth. He wanted to feel more of Sword’s skin on his. He wanted to cry.

So he sucked up his tears and lurched to push Sword away from him.

“Rocket–”

“No.”

“I–”

“I’m fine.”

Sword stared.

“I’m sorry.”

Rocket felt another hot tear run down his cheek and spill onto his neck.

“Can I help you up?” Sword offered.

Rocket cringed and slapped at the water on his neck.

“Don’t touch me.”

“..I’m sorry.”

Rocket winced, curling into a ball and letting his eyes softly shut.

“Rocket,” Sword murmured. “Your nose..”

For a moment, he reached out to brush Rocket’s mangled nose, but was interrupted by the sound of a deep, booming voice.

“Get away from my son.”

Rocket looked up to see Zuka rushing towards the sidewalk. His truck was parked down the street that jutted out from across the sidewalk, and he was in the middle of a furious scramble towards Rocket and his lion-hearted friend.

“Dad..!” Rocket cried out for him, his tearful voice broken as he spoke. “Dad, wait no, please.. It wasn’t him.”

“Get away from my son.” Zuka repeated, fists balled.

Sword let his hands fall away from Rocket, and terror on his face, he backed away from the boy.

Briskly, Rocket wiped the rest of the tears from his eyes and looked up at his father.

“Dad.. It was Hockey–”
“Speak up, Rocket.”

“It was the kid from my hockey team.”

Zuka stared in silence, his eyes narrowing in confused frustration.

“Who is–”
“His name’s Sword.” Rocket muttered, slowly getting to his feet with the loops of the metal wires bound between his fingers as support. “He’s uh..”
“Venomshank’s apprentice.” Sword eagerly filled in Rocket’s sentence.

Oh, you fucking dumbass.

Zuka’s jaw dropped, and Rocket rushed to stop him from saying whatever he was about to say next.

“Dad, please.”

“Rocket–”

“Dad.” He choked, “I want to go home.”

Zuka’s gaze darted from Rocket to Sword, his eyes ready to pop from his head.

“Godsdammit, no.. No.”

“I’m.. Sorry.” Sword awkwardly apologized. “I.. I’m not with Venomshank. He’s not here.”

“Yeah, no.” Zuka composed himself, face seeming to soften as he wiped sweat from his forehead. “I..”

Rocket watched his father pace back and forth for a long minute. He repeatedly brushed his hand back over his grey hairs, fingers tangling between the strands.

“Ugh, what the fuck is happening around here..”

Zuka hesitantly pulled his phone from his pocket, staring at its screen before putting it back where he found it. Then he turned to Sword, and grimaced deeply.

“Son, are you around this evening?”

“Me?” Sword asked.

“Yeah. You.” Zuka growled back.

“Sure am.”

Rocket’s father’s eyes darted from him to his son.

“Then get in the car. Both of you. We need to talk at home.”

Rocket squirmed at the feeling of Sword’s hands around his tiny arms, but allowed him to help him out of the truck anyway. Lazily, he unstrapped himself from the seatbelt and climbed out of the front seat with his friend’s assistance. He cringed when he saw his bloodied face in the reflection of the truck window, and forced himself to look away. 

The small walk inside was fairly silent, until Zuka gave a deep sigh and scratched his scruffy chin in contemplation.

“So.. Um.” He started, gruff voice hesitant.

“You’re.. Friends, right?”

“Yeah.” Sword quickly answered, not sparring Rocket a single moment to speak.

“Yeah, we're friends.” Rocket raspily confirmed, eyes narrowing in skepticism. His face was still red, and his eyes stung with tears.

“And you’re Venomshank’s son..” Zuka trailed off as a long sigh escaped his mouth. “Oh, boy..”

“He’s good–” Rocket continued to profess.

“I know Rocket, I know.” Zuka bit back. “I know.”

Rocket bit his lip.

“We’re–”

“How long have you been friends, then?”

Rocket blinked.

“A few weeks?” He said, looking back at Sword for confirmation.

“Yeah, ‘hasn’t been too long.” Sword smiled. “Maybe a month.”

Zuka sighed.

“And you know, then, that I’m married to Firebrand.. Right?”

Sword’s face brightened, and his mouth fell open in surprise.

“No– I don’t think I.. I don’t think I did!”

Rocket watched as Zuka’s face curled into an amused smile. His father’s eyes darted to the chain that hung from the wooden beams of the porch– a pair of feathers and fire opals that Firebrand had hung for decoration. They were bright orange beads of light, and in the dim afternoon sun, they glowed with every colour.

Rocket watched as Zuka smiled.

“I am.” He softly returned. “I am.”

Rocket’s gut churned with innominate emotion.

Is Sword really okay with that?

Like..

Rocket looked up at his reflection in the window as they approached the front door and unlocked it. He blushed.

This is so weird.

Very slowly, Zuka wrapped his fingers around the door handle and pushed it open. Rocket took an anxious breath, unsure of what exactly he felt inside of him as they squeezed inside the home. Sword waited for Rocket’s father to help the injured boy before stepping inside himself, and almost as soon as everyone was inside, the sound of soft steps came from the staircase. All three of them turned their heads to look at the source of the noise.

Firebrand strode down the stairs, a long rose-coloured bathrobe falling from his body. His hair was wet, and his eyes were droopy, as if he’d just emerged from a very long, very boiling nap inside the tub.

Firebrand stopped as his slipper-tucked feet hit the floor and rubbed his eyes. He looked awfully confused for a moment, and he leaned forward– straining to get a look at the tiny crowd inside his home.

Sword gave a quaint wave.

“Long.. Long time no see.”

Firebrand suddenly gasped and clamped his palm down on his gaping mouth.

“Sword.” He whispered in shock.

Sword smiled and shyly brushed a strand of hair from his face.

“Hi.”
Firebrand clutched the hem of his robe and rushed towards the boy. In one swift movement, he scooped Sword up into his arms and squeezed him tight.

“Sword!” He cried, flattening the boy in his grasp. His hand moved up to caress his head, and he made a sound as if he were beginning to cry.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t.. I haven’t seen you since you were so little, and I was.. Oh, you poor thing. Where have you been?”

Sword gave a bittersweet chuckle and pulled himself from Firebrand’s arms.

“I’m sorry..” He apologized, dipping his head. “It really has been too long.”

“I thought I would never see you again.” The god’s voice cracked, and he gently cupped Sword’s cheeks in his hands. “And you’ve grown so much, look at you! You’re so big and strong now– look at youuuuuu–”

Sword gave a gawky grin as Firebrand aggressively squeezed the skin of his cheek.

“I’m sorry.” Firebrand apologized in return, fanning his teary-eyed face with his lanky hand.

“It’s okay.” Sword beamed back.

As Firebrand continued to coddle Sword, Zuka gave a great sigh and took Rocket by the shoulder. Rocket obeyed as he was led into the kitchen, where as the conversation continued, he began to clean Rocket’s face and examine his mangled nose.

“Oh– Rocket..” Firebrand murmured as he looked over Sword’s shoulders. “What happened?”

Rocket narrowed his eyes and flinched in pain as fingers struck the broken bridge of his nose.

“I got..”

Beat up.

“In a fight.”

Firebrand’s eyebrow raised in surprise.

“With who?”

Rocket cringed.

“A kid..” He hesitated back. “He’s uh.. On my hockey team.”

“Oh.” Firebrand softly frowned. “Ugh, Zuka-”

“Don’t.” Zuka deadpanned at his husband. “I’ll pull him out of hockey for the time being.”

Rocket rolled his eyes.

“About time.”

Zuka’s gaze shot up and bore through Rocket’s face. Rocket deferently looked away, somewhat regretting the snappy comment.

Suddenly, the front door began to rattle. Everyone’s attention was grabbed away, and they watched as Icedagger stumbled through the door– his steps frantic and the whites of his eyes mildly pink.

“Icedagger!” Firebrand exclaimed.

Icedagger stopped, adjusting his bag further up his back, and blinked in confusion.

“H-Hi.” He stuttered out, eyes scanning the room. “What.. What’s uh..”

“Icedagger, man!” Sword suddenly called out, darting across the room to scoop the startled god up into a hug. He squeezed the boy tight, further disconcerting him, and smiled widely as he set him back down on the carpet floor.

Icedagger gawked.

“Sword..” He said as his thin eyebrows narrowed over his eyes. “Sword?!”

“Hey, man!” Sword smiled. “I heard about you! Nobody told me you were living here now. I’m happy for you, man.”

As Icedagger attempted to reciprocate Sword’s small talk, Rocket turned to his father.

“Why’d you come?” He muttered, his voice bitter.

“Speak up.”

Rocket cleared his throat.

“I said why’d you come? Down the street?”

“I was gonna pick you up.” Zuka grumbled as he wiped down Rocket’s face with a mildly damp cloth. “You weren’t.. At the school.”

“Oh.” Rocket swallowed, remembering the previous evening he’d spent spouting pointless lies.

“Mhm.”

Rocket’s eyes trailed away towards the rest of the group, and he caught Icedagger’s gaze. His brother narrowed his eyes at Rocket, gaze darting to his nose and the dirt smeared around it.

“So,” He rolled his eyes, stepping away from Sword. “What happened to you?”

Rocket scoffed.

“I got in a fight.”

Icedagger rolled his hazy eyes.

“Deserved.”

“Fuck you.” Rocket snapped back, gaze pinned on Icedagger’s obviously intoxicated jeering.

“Rocket.” Zuka warned.

Icedagger gave a goofy grin and turned around to where Firebrand and Sword continued their reunion. Rocket watched on as his father bandaged up his nose.

Firebrand, in the middle of another hug, sighed and turned his head towards Zuka.

“So.. is he staying?” He asked, hands still on Sword’s shoulders.

“Yeeeah..” Zuka hesitantly narrowed his eyes. “If that’s alright.”

Sword gave a brisk nod, and Firebrand grinned at the confirmation.

“Then it’s settled!”

Dinner was awkward.

It wasn’t always that the table was full, but with Zuka and Firebrand on opposite ends and their sons across from each other, they had to pull a chair up next to Rocket for Sword to sit upon.

For a few minutes, they ate quietly. Rocket scanned the table, easily noting that Firebrand was itching to open his mouth. Icedagger appeared half asleep, his eyelids lolling over his eyes and his shoulders slumping as he picked at his food.

Rocket was startled out of his examination as Zuka cleared his throat and began to speak.

“So explain to me,” He rasped, eyes pinned on Sword as he scarfed down Firebrand’s cooking. “Why are you here, Sword.. What business do you have with my son?”

Rocket could tell his father had chosen his words carefully.

Right to the point.

“Oh,” Sword’s face paled at the accusatory question. “So, I’m uh, I’m actually in town on like a mission-slash-vacation thing, uh, with the church.” He began through a mouthful of broccoli. Firebrand looked pleased.

“I didn’t know you were a follower!” He exclaimed. “I assume– Illumina? No– Venomshank. No, no..”

“Illumina.” Sword grinned.

“Ohh.” Firebrand clasped his hands together. “Oh, I’m proud.”

Sword nodded.

“So yeah, Venomshank’s not here– in case you were wooorried and all that. I’m staying with Rocket’s babysitter actually, it’s really funny. He’s kind of a family friend.”

“Ah.” Zuka set his hand down on the table. “I knew I recognized that car.”

“So..” Icedagger interrupted, his eyes narrowed and the food from his fork held distastefully by the tips of his fingers.

“Yeah?” Sword tilted his head.

“Venomshank isn’t gonna come and.. Pop in to check on you?”

“He trusts me.” Sword smiled.

“Mkay..” Icedagger gave a hesitant nod. His eyes darted to Rocket’s for a moment, and a sense of unease seemed to wash over both brothers.

Rocket swallowed, feeling a lump form in his throat, and lightly touched the long scar that wrapped around his neck.

“So Medkit..” Firebrand began to inquire. “He was Rocket’s babysitter.”

“A life-saver.” Zuka rolled his eyes.

Rocket groaned at the memory of Medkit. Everyone seemed to remember him so fondly– and yet Rocket knew for sure there was something dark he was hiding.

Firebrand continued.

“Such a coincidence that he knows you now! How did that come about?”

“Chance.” Sword grinned, continuing to devour his meal. “He saved me after an injury.. I was around the woods. Lucky he was there, but it's kind of a long story, so..”

Medkit had a habit of lurking up north.

“Venomshank appreciates Medkit.”

Rocket raised a brow at Sword’s final statement.

It can’t be that simple.

The conversation continued for a while longer, Rocket drowning out Firebrand’s many interjectory questions and muting the voices of his family. He only often tuned in when Sword spoke of his background– Rocket couldn’t place why, but he felt compelled to listen when the other boy spoke.

As the evening darkened and their dinner began its conclusion, Sword awkwardly scraped off what was left on his plate as Rocket continued to pick at his. Eventually, everyone had left the table, and Rocket shoved himself to his feet, leaving his food where it sat– cold and mutilated.

“We can head up to my room for a bit.” He suggested, awkwardly scratching the hairs on the back of his neck. “Y’know, if you want.”

“Sure.” Sword smiled, slowly coming to his feet. “I wanna see your room.”

Rocket gave a timid smile, an odd sense of giddiness rising in his chest.

“Alright then, sure.” He mumbled, turning up towards the stairs and mounting them into the hall.

Sword followed close behind as he turned to open the door of his bedroom. He kept it closed most of the time, for fear of either Icedagger or Firebrand wandering inside.

Rocket swallowed back a bit of nervousness as he turned the handle of the door. Pushing it open, it revealed a tiny, cluttered chamber, draped in dim lamp light. The stench of body odor was more than overwhelming, and Rocket’s gut dropped as he realised that there was nothing appealing about being in his own space, well, except. for the fact that it was his.

“Soooo,” He muttered, awkwardly clapping his hands together as he slid into his tiny bedroom. He eyed his messy bed, its sheets ripped from the mattress, and the clutter that littered the floor. “This is mah room.”

“Yeeeah..” Sword awkwardly trailed off after him, avoiding a pile of scrap paper as he entered the room. Rocket watched as he awkwardly made his way around– dodging pieces from old toys and eyeing the shredded wood of a pencil that Rocket had chewed at.

“It’s messy.” Rocket itched the back of his head and sat down on his tiny mattress, kicking his legs up and gawking at the tips of his feet. “Sorry.” He finished with a careless mutter.

“That’s alright.” Sword seemed to have almost forced the smile onto his face, coming to sit next to Rocket on the bed. It rocked as he set his heavy frame down on the boy’s mattress, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes be drawn to the crease in his sheets where Sword sat. For a while, he stared down, awkward anxiety taking ahold of him for a long moment, until Sword lifted his head and spoke up.

“Almost as bad as Medkit.” He smiled, making a playful jab at his housemate.

Rocket scoffed at the mention of the man.

“Right. Medkit.” He rolled his eyes.

Sword’s grin softened at Rocket’s words. His deep, brown eyes slowly trailed up towards the popcorn ceiling of the bedroom, and he sighed.

“I guess you’re still not a fan.”

Rocket grit his teeth, a sense of defensiveness washing over him.

“Why should I be?” He tried not to snap. “You know how I feel. You saw-”

Before Rocket could finish, his accusatory tone was interrupted by the soft creaking of his bedroom door. 

Rocket recoiled back into his place on the bed as Firebrand let out a soft chuckle and slipped his way inside.

“I’m so happy you two are friends.” The man sighed, stepping forward to place a hand on each of their shoulders. “You’re both so cute together.”

Sword simply smiled– but Rocket felt his face heat up and his mouth snap shut.

We are?

“I- o-oh.” He stammered out, pushing Firebrand’s uncomfortably hot hand away from his skin. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s true!” Firebrand chimed, coming closer to Sword to squeeze his cheek. “I never thought both of you–” He hesitated, eyes softening. “Both of you boys would come together like this. It’s sweet.. You take care of each other, okay?”

Rocket continued to inch away from Firebrand as he spoke.

“Yeah. Right.” He muttered.

Firebrand smiled and combed back Sword’s long hair.

“You are just so handsome.” He cooed.

“Yeah, whatever, Firebrand.” Rocket shot at him, voice cold as ice. “Can’t you just– leave us alone? For a bit?”

Sword frowned and turned to him.

“Rocket?”

Rocket grit his teeth and moved to defend himself.

“Like– can’t we just have some alone time?” he snapped, the single sentence carrying the weight of his emotions.

“Oh.” Firebrand stepped back, releasing his hand from Sword.

“Rocket–” Sword began to protest.

“No, no, it- it’s okay.” Firebrand stumbled over his words. “I understand. I’ll leave you to it.”

Sword’s mouth was left agape as Firebrand quickly strode out of the room. He turned to Rocket once the door had been shut, and narrowed his eyes.

“Dude–”

“I just don’t get why he’s so obsessed with you all of a sudden.” Rocket quickly leapt in to defend himself.

Sword snorted.

“He hasn’t seen me in like half a decade! What’re you on about?”

Rocket’s glare faltered for a moment.

“I just–” he hesitated, reluctant to explain his reasonings.

“It’s nothing. Really.”

Rocket watched as Sword turned his head to look at the setting sun and frowned when he realised it was getting dark.

“I should go.” He said, tussling with his hair. Rocket’s eyes followed the curve of his mohawk and how it glowed with the setting sun.

“Yeah..” He sighed back. “You probably should, but..”

Sword raised a brow.

“But?”

Rocket looked down, breaking their heavy eye contact.

“Stay longer next time.” He murmured, skin tingling where it neared Sword’s warmth.

“Yeah.” Sword smiled, shifting where he sat on the bed so that his knee lightly brushed the tip of Rocket’s finger. “Don’t worry, I will.”

Rocket sucked in a breath.

“Alright.. I’ll see you out the door, then.”

Chapter Text

The sand beneath Rocket’s bare feet was cold and black. His toes curled around the thin, dehydrated grains as he stood still and complacent at the edge of the water.

Looking up, at the vast, grey sky, another figure peered down at him. It was tall, looming, and ever so still. Its entire face was shrouded in murky shadow. Tendrils of black, wispy ooze climbed its silhouette and prodded around its skin.

Atop its head were four horns. Four long, thick, fleshy horns, glimmering as moonlight illuminated the dark blood that coated the tendrils’ skin. They trailed down the figure’s unintelligible back, and slumped beneath the waves where they reached far below the surface.

Rocket’s focus then darted to the silhouette’s stomach. A thin, stringy cord protruded from what seemed to be the centre of the figure’s hipline.

Rocket followed it with his eyes. It led right back to him. Swallowing with confusion, he raised his head back up, ready to probe the figure for an answer, but was met with the bleak beige of the school counselor’s office wall.

Ms. Sarsaparilla rolled back in her chair and turned to face Rocket.

“Sorry for the wait there. I think I’ve finally got it working.”

Rocket swallowed and blinked the sleepiness from his eyes. Almost as soon as he’d woken up, chin perched on the surface of the woman’s desk, an overpowering nausea had struck him in the gut. He forced himself to hold back on a shaky breath of air as the counselor narrowed her eyes.

“It took you ten minutes to pass out on my desk.”

Rocket winced.

“I’d say five.”

“Five minutes.” Ms. Sarsaparilla clicked her pen against the arm of her seat. “Rocket..”

A pause.

“Do you get enough sleep at home?”

“Sure.” Rocket yawned, nestling into his crossed arms where they lay on the desk.

“Sure?”

“I try.”

“You.. try.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Rocket, are you sure?”
Rocket’s gaze flickered up towards Ms. Sarsaparilla. He narrowed his eyes.

“I’m sure.”

“Rocket,” The counselor began to hesitate, clicking her pen once more. “Why– why is it that you never want to be helped?”

Rocket looked down at his lap. His scrawny legs shook in his chair. He placed a cold, pale hand against his dry skin, not so convinced it would do anything to stop the trembling, and swallowed as the nausea in his gut began to worsen. All of a sudden, the familiar taste of vomit had begun to work its way up his tight throat, and he pushed himself up from his chair and sprang to his feet. A cold sweat dripped down the back of his neck as he looked Sarsaparilla in her misty, disconsolate eyes, and spewed an anxious string of words in her direction.

“I- I have to go, um, I have to go to the bathroom.” He choked. “Vomit. I.. I have to throw up.”

Ms. Sarsaparilla rolled her chair back and placed a wrinkly hand on the phone.

“Really, Rocket?”

Rocket gave a shaky nod, too sick to snap back.

Sarsaparilla dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

As discreetly as he could, Rocket shot out of the counselor’s office and into the cold school halls. Rushing to the washroom, he pushed the heavy steel door open. As soon as he swerved into the washroom, sneakers squeaking against the tile floor, Rocket threw himself into one of the pale-coloured stalls and dropped onto his knees before the toilet. His face practically plunged into the cold water, neck lurching and the tip of his nose just barely ready to dip below the water.

Rocket paused for a moment, sitting, staring into the depths of the rank toilet, the smell of feces infiltrating his flaring nostrils. For a minute, the nausea seemed to have left, the sickness in his gut replaced with a deep anxiety. Rocket pulled his head up just a bit, swallowing back inside his sore throat– but as soon as he discerned the sour, rancid taste of vomit at the back of his mouth, he fell back into the toilet and hurled.

Rocket choked as thick strands of sickly yellow something, slick with blood and half-digested food, poured into the toilet. He let out a hoarse cry of pain as more of the rough, plastic-like strands of whatever substance erupted from the depths of his throat. Whatever it was– it wasn’t right.

After another minute of vomiting, Rocket let out another half-sob and slumped over against the toilet. For a moment he sat, panting and involuntarily drinking in the taste on his tongue. He placed a fist to his sweaty forehead, absorbing the moisture with the sleeve of his hoodie. Then he looked up, eyes flickering beyond the rim of the toilet seat, and stared into the depths of the putrid, brown water.

Amidst the pile of vomit, strings of something else, the colour of spoiled buttercup, wrapped itself around the bowl. Rocket turned his head to get a closer look at the strange ribbon, when he noticed it had what looked to be thick, black letters printed across its entire length.

Caution.

Caution..?

Then it clicked.

Caution tape?

Rocket keeled over and peered down at it.

What..?

For a good minute, Rocket spent his time rubbing his eyes and blinking any ounce of exhaustion away.

This doesn’t.. I’m.. I’m still dreaming. I’m seeing things. I’m..

Rocket grabbed a pouch of skin from his wrist and pinched it between two fingers.

I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming.

Two more pinches, and Rocket hadn’t woken up.

Another, and it clicked.

Rocket ripped his fingers from his skin and shoved his hand into his pocket.

I need to call Sword. I.. Fuck. Fuck.

Rocket grabbed his tiny phone from his pocket and dialed his friend's number. As he waited for Sword’s voice to come through, he reached over across the stall and flushed the toilet, sniffling at the scent of rot. He sat on his knees as he waited, eyes wide, watching the pile of regurgitated food easily slip from the toilet and down the drain. The tape took a while to flush, thrashing and fighting on its way down as the murky water swirled around it.

Before Rocket could form another thought, a familiar voice echoed across the line.

“..Hello?”

“Sword?” Rocket hastily croaked into the phone. The taste of vomit was still strong on his tongue.

“Hey– Rocket?” Sword responded, concern heavy in his voice.

“Yeah, um, hi..” Rocket murmured back. “Do you.. Do you wanna get a bite to eat?”

A bite to eat wasn’t the best decision Rocket had ever made after vomiting up an entire meal, though there he sat, curled up in the booth of a burger joint. His backpack was still strapped onto him, twisted around his shaky arms, while Sword stood at the counter, ordering his food and Rocket’s single soda.

Rocket curled up in his seat, slowly letting his bag slip from his back as he planted his head in his hands. The booth was hardly comfortable, but he paid it no mind. He felt lucky that he was able to skip class so easily, and even luckier that he didn’t have to be home to do it.

Away from Firebrand. Icedagger. Dad..

Away from them. 

With.. Sword.

Just Sword.

Rocket gave a scowl and tried to rearrange his scattered thoughts.

And why do you care that it’s just Sword?

I don’t. I’m just lucky to have a friend.

And he really likes me.

“Hey.” Sword smiled, plopping down in his seat across the table– suddenly interrupting Rocket’s messy internal monologue. He slid the other boy’s soda towards him, but Rocket stared at his drink in conflicted silence.

“You good?” Sword asked, pressing his lips to the straw of his personal cherry pop.

Rocket looked down at his hands, tucking his shaky fingers into the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Yeah, I just..”

“Hm?”

“I just wanted to talk to you about something.” Rocket mumbled.

Sword’s eyes softened and he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Yeah?” He chirped. “And what’s that?”

Rocket’s eyes flickered towards his lap.

“Something’s wrong with me.” He murmured back.

Sword cleared his throat and softened his voice.

“Wrong?” He pressed Rocket further.

“Yeah.” Rocket quietly shot back. “I.. Do.. Do you remember the arcade?”

Sword slowly nodded, face contorting skeptically.

“Rocket–”

“Sword, I threw up.”

Sword stared in silence for a moment, a look of confusion wracking his face.

“You threw up.”
“Tape.” Rocket hastily clarified. “Caution tape. Caution tape, like, the shit at the arcade. And, like, I was right about that place.. And now something’s– I..”

Sword slid his hand across the table, reaching out towards Rocket.

“Rocket. Slow down, buddy.”

“Caution tape!” Rocket blurted back. “Caution tape. I threw up caution tape. It came out of my body. I’m serious.”
Sword blinked.

“Rocket.”

“Like just now! At school!”

“Then we should be at the hospital instead–”
“No!” Rocket barked through grit teeth.

Sword sat up in silence, before cautiously proceeding.

“..You sound sick to me.”
“But I’m not sick sick!” Rocket continued to protest. “What kind of sick person throws up caution tape?”

Sword sighed.

“I don’t know, Rocket. I think you saw something in your– barf– that you thought was tape and now you’re convinced it's caution tape. When maybe, I dunno, you.. Ate some plastic in your sleep.”
Rocket stared at Sword.

“You think I ate some plastic in my sleep.”

Sword looked sheepishly at Rocket.

“You never know. With you.”

Rocket sighed and slumped over, taking a sip of his drink.

“Sword. Something’s wrong with me and I don’t want it to be.”

“I’m sure there’s an explanation–”
“And I’m not just talking about the fucking tape.”

Sword gave a thoughtful nod.

“..Yeah?”

“I keep having.. Shitty dreams.”

“Nightmares?”

“No. Shitty dreams. Its every time I fucking close my eyes. Every time, there’s always something new. Something vivid. And I.. I’m..”

Rocket swallowed.

“I’ve just had enough.”

Sword gave a soft, pensive grunt, his gaze lost in thought.

Rocket watched him for a while.

“What?”

“I’m just thinking.”

Rocket decided not to press further. His attention instead wandered over to Sword’s scarred hands and the way he fidgeted with them while he spoke. Rocket found himself fully engrossed in his own mind– simply staring, analyzing each crease in Sword’s skin. He imagined putting the image of those hands on paper– and for a split second– imagined the image of them on his own skin.

Then the sudden taste of bile once again arose in his throat.

Shit, shit, shit.

Shit. Stop.

Rocket could feel the slick of sweat behind his neck, and inside the suffocating warmth of his hoodie, his body began to tense and his hands began to violently shake.

“Rocket?” Sword urged him, the concern in his voice quickly rising.

Rocket gave a whine and pressed the palms of his hands to his now aching temples. After a moment had passed, another voice, low and deep, arose from the depths of his mind.

Scared. It hissed.

A thousand images flashed through Rocket’s head. A thousand pictures he’d wished to never see again.

“Rocket, it’s okay.” Sword attempted to reassure him.

“No.” Rocket stood up, a sudden frenzy of panic rippling through him. His body began to move as if it were beyond his control, and he forced himself out of the booth and through the crowd of people that were lined up waiting for food. He eyed the single washroom at the back of the restaurant, a confused Sword in tow, and before he flung open the door.

“Rocket–” Sword hesitated as Rocket fled to the toilet. “Are you– good? Is this something I don’t want to see–”

Ignoring the other boy’s words, Rocket bent over the toilet bowl, the taste of sickness rising in his throat. After a moment’s pause, he threw up.

It was easier that time. As Rocket hurled his guts into the even mustier public toilet, Sword quickly came to crouch down behind him– placing a firm hand on the boy’s back. Rocket didn’t have the energy to push it away, and nor did he have the energy to refuse Sword’s aid when he moved to pull Rocket’s loose strands of hair behind his ears.

When he finished, Rocket shuddered, head still drooping into the toilet as he let out a choked gasp for air. Sword moved back to allow him room, and they both sat back, staring into the toilet.

Rocket looked into the bowl, wincing at the sight of his vomit.

But there was no tape.

No.. Tape.

“No tape.” Sword echoed his thoughts
“..No tape.” Rocket winced. He stared for another moment, losing the focus of his vision as he leered into the bowl. A single tear slipped down his cheek, and he slapped it away.

“Fucking hell.” He sniffled after another momentary pause. “I’m losing it.”

“Rocket, it’s okay.” Sword grimaced.

“I– Sword, I’m, I’m..”

“Rocket.”

Sword’s words were harsher that time. Harsh, but not cold. Rocket turned his head to look back at his friend, and saw nothing but concern in Sword’s eyes.

“Rocket..” Sword trailed off, opening his arms ever so slightly. “Can I?”
Rocket stared, but didn’t object, so Sword leaned into him and wrapped his wide arms around Rocket’s body.

Rocket froze.

He wanted to fight it. He wanted to escape.

But something inside him needed Sword’s warmth in that moment. 

Just so he didn’t freeze.

Rocket let his head rest against Sword’s chest and let out a choked groan. Sword rubbed his back thoughtfully. There was a pause as the air went stale, before Sword raised his head, and Rocket’s eyes flickered back down– gaze pinned to the creases in Sword’s jeans.

Sword tilted his head, running his hand down one of Rocket’s shaky arms. 

“‘You okay now? ‘You need a drink?”

Rocket gave a brief nod as Sword pulled away, cringing as he spied a wet spot on Sword’s shirt.

Shit. Must’ve been me, he thought, as Sword slid his soda over. Rocket snatched it up and rushed to chug it down.

“Uh, I brought your backpack.” Sword then moved to ask. “Do you have a water bottle in here?”

Pulling the bag towards him, Sword began to unzip its pockets. “That’d be better for you.”

“Yeah.” Rocket croaked back as his lips parted from his straw.

Sword began to dig inside the knapsack as Rocket ineptly guzzled down Sword’s drink.

“Easy.” His friend warned him as he handed over Rocket’s bottle of water. “You’re gonna make yourself sick again.”

“Shut up.” Rocket shot back.

Sword sighed and turned to toss Rocket’s water to him. Setting down the soda, Rocket caught it in his shaky hands, and slid back against the washroom’s cold wall as he flipped it open and took a sip.

Sword slumped over parallel to Rocket. His soft eyes were trained on the other boy.

“What?” Rocket snapped between gulps of water.

Sword gave a melancholy chuckle.

“Y’know.. Your hair’s soft.” He mentioned.

“Huh?” Rocket gave a surprised glare.

“Kinda wish I had your hair.” The other continued. “Looks a lot easier to take care of.”

Rocket blinked and slumped over against the wall of the washroom. His butt was planted on the rough, dirty tile floor, and fluorescent teal lights up above blinked down at him as he closed his eyes and soaked it in.

“Sure.” He eventually croaked back.

Sword gave another, deeper sigh.

“Rocket..” He mumbled.

“What now?”

“You.. You know you’re not okay. One way or another.”

Rocket flashed Sword a dirty side-eye.

“Yeah. I’m aware.”

“You really, really should really talk to your dad about this.” Sword murmured, his eyes pinned to the mass inside the toilet.

Rocket stared for a good moment, eyes dead set on the pale hair that curled around Sword’s sharp ear, and the way that the blue and purple of the lights overhead coloured his skin like a cold night’s rainbow.

“No.” Rocket croaked back, the anger he’d stored inside of him all day beginning to arise from his aching chest. He clenched his fists, cold fingers curling around his bottle, and shot a fragile glare Sword’s way.

“No, Sword, no.. I wanna talk to Medkit.”

Chapter Text

“The place is still kind of a.. Dump.” Sword hesitantly mentioned as he drove down the street towards his temporary home. Rocket was slumped over in the passenger seat as he always was, cheek against the window as he gazed exhaustedly out the at the grim scenery passing by him.

“It’s cool.” He groaned back despondently. “I don’t really care. Not like I’m there to hang out.”

Sword gave a tiny grimace.

“I don’t even know if Medkit’s home, man.”
Rocket sighed. He didn’t exactly need to see the doctor, and slowly, as he conjured up ideas of what Medkit’s home held, he decided it was preferable not to have to visit the older man.

“Nothing to say?” Sword inquired amidst Rocket’s thoughts.

“Just thinking.” Rocket grumbled back.

“About?”
Rocket shot his friend a quick glare. Sword looked back at him befuddled.

“What?”
“It's nothing.” Rocket sniffed.

“Sure.”

After a moment of silence, Sword shot him another remark.

“You’re weird.”

Rocket turned his head away from the window and gave Sword another aggressive look.

“I know .”

Medkit and Sword’s tiny rental home was bleak. Rough, grey and tan stone bricks lined its exterior walls, and a roof of dark shingles paved the way for a decomposing chimney. It was a flat complex, surrounded by about a foot of a dead lawn. Its grass was littered with weeds and puddles of thick mud. On its left side, it was boxed in by a row of other sad-looking homes, and on its right, lay a road scattered with potholes.

It’s.. Average. Rocket blinked at it as Sword pulled up against the curb. Way more average than I expected.

“It’s not much.” Sword shrugged as he turned the key to halt the car’s engine. “But it’s home. For now.”
“Not much worse than mine.” Rocket grumbled.

“No..” Sword trailed off, longing in his voice. “Your place is nice. Nice garden– and it's a gorgeous colour, that house.”

Rocket rolled his eyes and ignored Sword’s comments, pulling himself out of the car and getting to his feet. He watched and waited as Sword easily approached the house, following hesitantly behind the boy.

The stone path that led up to the front door was overgrown with long grass. Its rocky foundation was cracked, and in some places where Rocket stepped, it crumbled beneath his feet.

Sword stepped up onto the tiny concrete porch, looking over his shoulder to give Rocket a comforting smile as he stuck his house key into the raggedy plywood door. Rocket narrowed his eyes and leaned back against the wrought iron railing behind him, but when Sword turned back and cracked open the door, he quickly hopped up from his slouch and began to follow him inside. They shuffled in together, the floor creaking as they stepped, and Rocket looked around at the scene before him.

The house was small. A dark hallway wormed its way down the lot, and to their left was a small living room and kitchen. Behind a crinkly sofa was a vinyl patio door, its small square window shielded by a thin, hanging curtain. All the lights in the home were off. In front of Rocket, illuminated by what small amount of sunlight there was, were particles of dust flying about the hall.

“Yeah.. I don’t think he’s here.”

Rocket turned to Sword, pausing for a moment at the sound of his words.

“That’s fine.”

Sword turned to him with a “hm?”

“That’s fine .” Rocket repeated, louder, voice tinged with a hint of annoyance. “That’s even better, actually.”

Rocket began to trudge down the little corridor that stretched towards the back of the home. He clenched his fists as he walked, tensing up as he felt Sword’s hesitant presence following him from behind.

“You know– you could at least take your shoes off, man.” The other boy cringed.

Rocket paused, then quietly slipped his sneakers off his feet, letting them sit in the middle of the hallway. Sword did the same as Rocket cautiously crept down towards the end of the hall where a small square window sat between two white doors.

“The one on the left’s mine.” Sword told Rocket as he turned to lean against the wall, muscular arms crossed in skepticism.

“So the right’s..”

“Medkits, yeah.”

Rocket turned towards Medkit’s bedroom.

“It’s normally locked.” Sword mentioned as Rocket curled his hand around the rusty gold doorknob.

Rocket grumbled in response as he turned the knob and pulled. To his surprise, the door clicked open and slowly swung inwards.

“Oh wow.” Sword raised his brows, placing the palm of his hand against the back of his head and awkwardly scratching at his scalp. “Uh, alright.”

Rocket looked back at Sword. He gave him a stern look, in spite of his inner anxiety, and gave a beckoning nod towards the bedroom.

“So?”

“I still don’t understand what you want from him.” Sword frowned in return.

Rocket rolled his eyes.

“I’m just snooping.”

“I thought you wanted to talk to him.”

“Well, he’s not here.”

“Then what do you really want from him?”

Rocket paused, turning to stare back into the room.

“Evidence.”

Sword gave a harsh sigh.

“Rocket..”

“ Don’t bother me with all that.. ‘he’s not involved’ bullshit. I’m not gonna turn him in to, what, the authorities? This is.. This is for my own closure.”

“Closure, Rocket?”

Rocket took a pause.

“..Yeah.”

Sword ran his hand along his face and clutched at the bridge of his nose.

“There’s so much I don’t understand about you.”

Rocket gave Sword an uncertain look and pushed into the bedroom.

“There’s a lot you don’t know.”

The room was just as dark as it was outside. Small, square windows on the other side of the dwelling were shielded by more raggedy curtains. Beneath it was a scrappy carpeted floor, stained by what looked like dark shoeprints in its soft material. A wide, low to the ground bed sat in the middle of the space, and scattered around it were a few small pieces of wooden furniture. Trash and dirty clothing were scattered around the place. An overflowing garbage can sat on its side behind a chipped wardrobe, and on top of the wooden feature was a pile of brown-stained shirts and trousers. Rocket examined the clothing for a moment, eyeing a dark, reddish brown patch against one of the white, collared button-downs.

Rocket uneasily passed the pile of suspiciously soiled work clothes, approaching the windows on the other side of the room. 

“Then tell me.” Sword spoke.

Rocket looked back.

“Huh?”

“Tell me what I don’t know.”

Rocket pulled back the thin beige curtain hiding Medkit’s bedroom from the rest of the world. Outside, his tiny lawn stretched out towards the street behind the home where beneath the slow setting sun, a little tan car trudged down the road.

“There’s a lot I don’t know either, Sword.” He sighed. “And there’s a lot I don’t remember.”

“Oh.” Was all Sword had to say for a good moment.

“Yeah, oh.” Rocket shot back bitterly.

“..When I was in the woods..” Sword hesitantly continued. “I was out there for multiple days. As a young kid.”

Rocket eyed Sword skeptically.

“I’m just saying, Rocket, I’ve been through some stuff too. Even if, y’know, it’s not exactly the most relatable–”

“Where’re you going with this?” Rocket shot back.

Sword gave a melancholy smile.

“Nevermind.. Don’t know where I was going.”

Rocket haughtily raised his brows and pulled the curtain back over the dirty window, unresponsive. Turning back towards the bed, he eyed a rickety, dark wooden frame holding up a yellowing mattress. It was adorned with case-less pillows and a dirty quilt, and Rocket cringed at the sight– though he knew his own bed wasn’t too far off. Turning to approach Medkit’s night table, just as he was about to place his hands against the splinter-ridden surface, his shoe suddenly brushed against a solid object sticking out from underneath Medkit’s bed.

Rocket’s gaze snapped towards what lay beside his foot. 

A small brown box. 

Its corner had been shuffled forward by Rocket’s foot, and its side was pressed against the tip of his sneaker.

Without another thought, Rocket bent over to snatch up the box. It fit neatly in his hands, and was warm with heat.

“You can’t just–” Sword hesitated as Rocket crouched down beside the bed. “You can’t just go through his stuff like that.”
“I have to.” Rocket absent-mindedly responded.
Despite his protests, Sword stood unmoving behind Rocket. The air around him was filled with reluctant curiosity.

Rocket’s fingers traced over the surface of the box. It was of a soft cardboard material. Running his hand over the lid of the box, an easily removable top, Rocket noticed that it was decorated with one strip of thin yellow masking tape. It had been scribbled on with permanent marker, the jumble of handwriting embellishing it reading three simple words.

WAREHOUSE FREEZER KEY.

As soon as he could discern what it said, Rocket’s eyes widened and he threw open the lid of the box and rummaged inside.

“Rocket–” Sword tried him again.

“No.” Rocket shut him down. “Look.”

Snatching up the lid in his hand, he extended his arm backwards to hand it to Sword. Sword gently took it from him, taking only a second to read the label attached.

“Warehouse.. Warehouse freezer key.” He hesitantly repeated. “Must’ve.. Been from back in Blackrock. Yeah?”
Rocket narrowed his eyes at the mention of the mountainous faction. Sure, it was possible, but replaying that one word over in his mind– warehouse– Rocket couldn’t help but remember the evening he’d stumbled across the two men at his father’s abandoned warehouse, the collapsed building groaning in the wind as the taller man stared him down like a hawk.

That man. Rocket let out an audible gasp.

“What?” Sword questioned.

“Not Blackrock.” Rocket swallowed, snatching the key up into his sweaty hand. “When does Medkit get home?”

“Today?” Sword nervously asked. “Not– not until later, why?”

Rocket clasped the key between the shaky folds of his palm. “This key is for my father’s warehouse.”

“Your father’s?” Sword echoed. “Hasn’t it been destroyed?”

“Yes.” Rocket nodded, quickly biting a nail off between his teeth. “Yes, but.. There has to be something else there. I just.. I know it.”

“Really?”

“I haven’t been wrong yet, Sword.”

Rocket stood up and kicked the box back under the bed, turning to face his friend.

“I only need it for a bit.”

Sword grimaced.

“At least make it obvious that it hasn’t been taken. You know Medkit’ll blame me when he finds that thing missing.”

Rocket examined the key for another moment, the little golden clavis just barely glimmering in what light there was.

“And Rocket–” Sword made one last remark. “Medkit’s my savior. So if you really wanna do this, go ahead, but I need you to understand that.. No matter what you find.. He’s good. He’s a good man.”

Rocket gave Sword a solemn look. It was difficult to find sympathy within himself for Medkit, but gazing into Sword’s eyes, he found himself yearning to understand the other boy.

Rocket sighed, breaking the silence.

“Do you have time?” He asked.

“Time?” Sword tilted his head.

“I wanna check out the warehouse. Tonight.”

Sword went pale.

“Man, I thought you’d stay over and we could play some video games– or have pizza. I didn’t think we were going right back to weird stuff.”

Rocket’s grip around the freezer key tightened, and he looked down at his feet. Sword’s idea was awfully appetizing, and something about staying over with Sword, alone, made his cheeks flush with heat.

“Later.” Rocket nodded. “When I return the key.”

“Really?” Sword’s face lit up.

“‘Course.” Rocket shrugged.

“Cool, cool.” Sword nodded. “Alright then, let's go.”

The warehouse lay like it always had. Seven years later, most of it remained untouched. The air around it was still pungent. The sea that encircled its wreckage still roared.

Sword turned to Rocket as they both stared out the car window, towards the waves. Rocket shuddered as he felt a solid hand being placed on his shoulder. Sword softly ran his fingers over Rocket’s muscle in a comforting squeeze.

“You good?” His gentle voice spoke.

Rocket gave a slow nod, moving to push Sword’s hand away from his shoulder. The other boy’s skin was warm.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He muttered, wishing to feel the creases in Sword’s hand just a second longer.

“Alright.” Sword smiled, opening the car door and slipping out of the vehicle.

Rocket did the same, stepping out onto the tar of the road beneath the sole of his shoe.

The parking lot, ridden with potholes and cracks in its surface, carried weight like no other. The glass of the windows, shattered and blown from their places in the building, still lay in front of the collapsed warehouse. It came as no surprise that nobody had ever come to clean the area of its pointed spears of glass, some of its pieces laying ever so slightly crumbled, ready to poke and prod unwitting pedestrians walking by.

Sword approached the building much easier than Rocket did, quick steps comfortably easing around the wreckage. Approaching the broken metal beams and collapsed wooden joists, Sword put a hand around one of the bent supports and swung around to peer inside.

“What even happened to this place?” He called back towards Rocket.

Rocket swallowed, stepping around a large pothole– large enough to drown a grown man in its pool of grey-brown water.

A bead of sweat trickled down the back of Rocket’s neck. For a moment, he saw red in the beads of rain that clung to the pavement below.

“Your old man’s friend.” Rocket hollered back at Sword, slightly timid at the prospect of being heard. “He.. uh. He did this.”

Sword gave a wide-eyed look around the disheveled building.

“Why?”

Rocket narrowed his eyes and muttered, “Don’t ask me.”

Sword gave Rocket an uneasy look.

“C’mon then.”

Rocket quickly nodded and proceeded through the parking lot and up to the empty inlet where the front doors used to be. Sword smiled and continued on, stepping around each collapsed chunk of timber and steel.

Much of the warehouse’s content had been looted over the years. Zuka’s old supplies, supplies he hadn’t bothered to move, were gone. The crates, the old bulletin board, even some of the building’s broken support had been taken away.

“It’s real empty in here.” Sword commented, his gaze darting around the wide room. “Empty and dark. Besides the garbage all over the floor.”
“Mhm.” Rocket muttered back, looking up towards the other end of the building. There was a ledge where Rocket used to sit and stare out through the windows, towards the sea. Now, there weren’t windows, but empty sockets, wide and gaping, with the sea behind them ready to pour inside. 

A gust of wind began to blow throughout the empty building. Rocket’s hair was ruffled by the breeze. Staring out into the distant sea, the water was once again an inky black, surface illuminated by the dying light of the sun. The waves, smashing against each other and swirling about, were like arms of water, their highlights like fingers reaching out towards the sky. Rocket had always been mesmerized by the late evening display the sea had always put on. Rocket was drawn to the desperation of the waves as they tried to achieve greater and greater heights, their most minute droplets attempting to reach the surface of the moon. It was like they were calling to him– and he would go with them if he could.

“It is beautiful, isn’t it.” Sword said as he came to stand next to Rocket. His warmth flooded the air around Rocket’s body, and the shorter boy had to resist the urge to move closer.

“Yeah.” He simply said in return. “It is.”
“You really do remind me of it.” Sword softly continued, his words quiet against the billowing breeze. Rocket looked up at him, watching as strands of his silky white hair fluttered around his face. Sword’s eyes turned to look back at Rocket, and both boys smiled at each other.

“It's like you were born a part of it.” Sword continued on. “Your eyes, your horns. Something about you just reminds me of every current I’ve come across since we met.”

“That’s.. Sweet.” Rocket averted his eyes, a tinge of surprise lacing his voice.

“It's true.” Sword grinned back at him, placing a solid hand on Rocket’s shoulder. For a moment they stood next to each other, staring out as far as they could, until Rocket’s gaze darted down towards the broken wall near the cliff. Sand leaked in through the building’s cracks, littering the floor in pale grey. A few shattered tiles to the left, a wet pile of rotted plywood sat in the corner.

“Hey,” Rocket lifted his arm, pushing Sword away from him. “Down there’s the cellar door.”
“Cellar?” Sword looked at Rocket.

“My dad never finished it.” Rocket began to explain. “It was gonna be renovated for storage. Long time ago.”
“I guess that never happened.” Sword grimaced.

“No.” Rocket scratched the back of his head. “No.. It didn’t.”

“Do you think something’s down there?” Sword asked.

“Possibly.” Rocket swallowed, anxiety rising in his stomach.

“Let's check then.” Sword patted Rocket’s back. “I’ll go with you.”

Rocket nodded and hopped down the concrete stairs, carefully avoiding some of its holes and taking Sword’s hand when he needed help balancing. Eventually they made their way onto the lower floor, the wind much stronger there, as Rocket bent down to take a closer look at the plywood door. 

The lock that held it glued to the floor was noticeably shattered.

“Lock’s broken.” Rocket commented. “Don’t remember that being the case.”

“Intriguing.” Sword smirked.

Rocket gave a groan and slipped his fingers beneath the crack in the floor, lifting the wooden slab and raising it up above his head.

The wood was connected to the floor by two loose metal chains. Below them was a dull set of carpeted stairs.

“My dad had the staircase and the floor done.” Rocket explained, setting a foot down below. “But it looks like.. They need to be redone .”
Rocket wiped his shoe across the step beneath him. A thick layer of dust and grime were swept away by his sole.

“Gross.” Sword commented, reluctant captivation riddling his voice.

“Don’t get too excited.” Rocket grunted.

“Too late.” Sword chuckled.

Godsdammit I hope there’s nothing down here. Rocket thought to himself. As soon as the thought appeared in his head, Sword pushed past him, stepping down into the cellar. Hesitantly, Rocket followed behind.

The cellar was black. Little light infiltrated its elongated halls. The walls were unpolished, painted with nothing but dirt, and down the outstretched tunnel that made up its corridors, the floor was invisible beneath thick, green, ankle-deep water.

“Oh fuck no.” Rocket whined, but Sword had already begun to roll up his pants.

Rocket’s gaze darted towards the other boy.

“You can’t be serious.” He bit.

“I thought coming here was your idea.” Sword shrugged back. “Remember? Closure?”

Rocket shot him a furious glare.

“There’s no reason for anything to be down here, actually. You see that water? What if it’s dangerous?”
“No.” Sword chuckled, his foot now parked beneath the water. “I think we’re good.”

“You’re stupid.” Rocket hissed.

“Possibly.”
Rocket watched as Sword waded into the water with a small splash. The water wasn’t too strong, and after a moment, the larger boy was easily able to trudge down the hall. In just a few seconds, Sword was invisible amidst the darkness, undetectable if it wasn’t for his soft splashing.

“Hey– wait.” Rocket hesitantly called out, slipping off his sneakers and shoving his socks inside them.

“Hurry up!” Sword yelled back, his voice echoing back through the cellar like an otherworldly spiral of sound.

“Okay, okay!” Rocket snapped, pulling his soft sweatpants up over his knees. Without another second of thought, he plunged into the dark water, droplets of the thick liquid splashing at his knees.

The water was cold. Rocket’s pale, white feet immediately disappeared into the frigid liquid. A massive shiver shot up his legs, and he let out a tiny groan of displeasure.

“You good?” Sword asked.

“You’re still there?” Rocket tilted his head.

“Well, how far does this cellar go?”

“Not too far back.” Rocket answered as he began to slog down the hall. In just a minute, he reached Sword’s side, and together they both waded side-by-side, Rocket leaning up against the wall as they walked. Each time the freezing water splashed up against Rocket’s legs, he shuddered and tried not to think about the source of the water.

“It’s cold down here.” Sword commented.

“Yeah.” Rocket grunted back. “I know.”
Sword began to hum as they both continued along. Rocket was about to open his mouth to make a sour comment– when he rammed into something solid against the wall and doubled over into the water.

“Shit!” He cried as he tumbled into the water– not waiting a single moment to jump back up onto his feet.

“What happened?!” Sword gasped.

Rocket shook some of the water out of his hair.

“I hit something.” He hissed.

“Do you know what it was?”
“No.”

Rocket turned back to the wall, using his arm as support for himself. Sword was awfully close to him now, a little too excited at the idea of finding something. Rocket put his bare hand up against the area he’d hit, and noticeably, it was of a different material. A way, way colder material.

For a moment, Rocket felt around the cold metal surface he’d hit. On its left side, there was a thicker block of steel. Rocket slipped his fingers down its middle. They dipped into a little crack, and a tiny light above began to glow a dim red, illuminating what was now obviously a door.

Rocket took a step back, water sloshing around his ankles.

“Oh.” Sword gasped.

Before the two boys was a massive hatch of concrete and steel. It was held to the walls by four metal bars, and attached to it, was a large yellow slab of aluminum, printed with bold black letters.

CAUTION. BIOLOGICAL HAZARDS THROUGH THIS DOOR. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

And below it:

TRESPASSERS WILL BE PERSECUTED. WE SEE YOU!

Two ecstatic-looking eyes were printed below the text.

Rocket took another step back.

Then forward.

“So..” Sword swallowed. “Is this normally here?”

“Nope.” Rocket narrowed his eyes. “My dad did nooot fucking put this here.”

“Seriously?” Sword doubled down.

“Seriously.”

“Oh wow.”

Rocket dragged his hand along the door until it slid up against the steel block.

“Key card reader.” He observed the object he’d hit.

“Are we just gonna ignore that sign?” Sword asked.

“For now.” Rocket grunted.

Sword took a moment to observe the sight before him.

“We don’t have a key for that.”

Rocket ignored him and shoved Medkit’s freezer key into the slip of the reader. Sword slipped in another comment.

“You know that’s not gonna work.”

“Shut up.” Rocket sniffed as he uselessly shoved the freezer key into the socket, rattling it around as loud and frustratedly as he could.

“Rocket.” Sword sighed again.

Rocket let out a snarl and threw the key towards Sword. It hit the boy’s chest, and he timidly caught it in his hands.

“Rocket–”
“I was so close!” Rocket hissed. “We were so close. This can’t be the only key Medkit has.”

“You don’t even know if this door is.. Related to Medkit.” Sword sighed. “What if you’re misremembering stuff?”

“No..” Rocket whined, slumping over with his forehead pressed to the cold metal door.

Sword placed a hand on his back.

“This was never here.” Rocket continued to protest. “I’m fucking serious.”

“Rocket..” Sword sighed.

Rocket slammed a fist into the door.

“ Rocket !”