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The bubbling sounds of a brewing coffee pot carries through ears, faint smoky aroma wafting through nostrils. Bitter, with faint hints of a nutty undertone; exactly how the doctor liked it. Nowhere else in the whole of Crossroads would ever get his preferences right, so this was the next best option – Zuka’s place. The warmth of the house always enveloped him in the right ways, providing a peaceful place for him to finally destress and unwind for a bit. That is to say, when Rocket isn’t practicing new tricks in his damn room.
The bubbles come to a stop, a soft click following behind. Two mugs lay flat on the counter, one a dull green and the other a pitch black. Lifting the coffee pot up, Zuka pours the steaming brown liquid into the cups, saving whatever is left for later.
“How do you take yours?” His voice broke the silence, gruff and husky.
“Black is fine.”
A smile tugs at Zuka’s lips, twisting his head around to peer over his shoulder at Medkit.
“Well, look at us. Maybe we ain’t so different after all.”
Hooking his fingers into the handle of one mug, he’d step towards the table the doctor resided in and placed the warm mug to sit in front of him. Going back, he’d repeat the process for his own, taking his spot at the opposite end of the table. Bringing the steaming cup up to his lips, he’d blow for a few seconds, vapor trailing through the air before letting that warm bitter goodness travel down his throat.
Medkit on the other hand, waited. That’s all he’d ever do – wait. Wait until the ends of the Inpherno, wait to see night turn to day; wait. Nothing better to do than to take his time, right?
His gaze shifted to stare at Zuka, eye trailing to soak up his structure. He’s been.. off, lately, and the doctor could tell clear as day. He’d notice the little things; how his shoulders had been stiff this entire time or when he’d look at him, his eyes would travel right through his body in a distant stare as if he weren’t even there. Wrinkles and eyebags caving deep into his skin. A husk.
Medkit pursed his lips together. He’d squint, attempting to study the older demon before allowing a soft sigh to escape his lips.
“Something’s eating away at you.”
Zuka pauses. Once again, he stiffens, eyebrows knitted together in slight surprise from the sudden observation.
“What? No, I –” He slowly lowers his mug, for he cannot find the words to leave his throat. He chokes on them.
“I know that look on your face. Stress, and don’t try to hide it from me.” Medkit spoke in an accusatory tone, finally lifting his own cup to sip on his coffee. Nutty, bitter – how he liked it.
Zuka falls silent. Silent as in the words ball up in his throat, silent that he cannot muster a single sound to be uttered. Instead, he stares down at the foamy abyss lying in his cup, pathetic reflection staring right back at him. He doesn’t want to look at himself – anything but himself, but he can’t bear to look at Medkit. Not right now.
He drums his fingers against his cup, refusing to say a word as his face twists in discomfort. Medkit takes note, earning a frown accompanied by a soft sigh.
“You can’t hide these things away from the trained eye. Tell me, what is it?” Another sip. “Is it the kid?”
A soft hitch is audible in Zuka’s breath. Seems he hit the nail right on the head for he shifts around in his seat, still silent as ever. Medkit has had enough of taking the lead, so he awaits the other’s reply with open ears and a comforting shoulder to lean on – if he accepts it. Finally, a heavy sigh leaves Zuka’s lips.
“..I know he can take care of himself, but there’s times I still worry, y’know?” He’s hesitant as if the words cut deep into his flesh. His fingers tighten against the black mug, knuckles threatening to turn white. “He’s got Sword – don’t get me wrong, I trust him. But..”
“..Last time Sword was there, he couldn’t even save him.”
A soft scowl aligns itself on Medkit’s face, gaze averting to the side at the other’s words.
“..Harsh,” He mumbled before shrugging. “But I understand. It’s different now, though.” Another sip. “Rocket knows when to stop before he gets hurt.”
“But does he really, though?” Zuka’s words catch Medkit off guard, eye snapping back to meet with the other’s hard gaze. Face scrunched up with the kind of worry only a father could have.
“I worry for my boy, Medkit. I worry every single day – worry about the tiniest little thing.” Zuka’s grip tightens on his mug. “Worry about what caused him to have a frown on his face, worry ‘bout where he’s going, just –”
He pauses. Lets his words linger in the air as he inhales a fresh breath into his lungs. Zuka sinks back into his chair, feeling like the smallest person in the entire world. Alone.
“..I don’t want to lose my boy again.” He struggles to hide how his voice shook, how his chest heaved with every breath he took like it was his final one. An empty, bottomless pit resided in his stomach; and all he could do was mourn.
Mourn over lost innocence, mourn over his son’s childhood. Mourn over the man he could’ve been, mourn for the paths he’s taken in life. And yet, he could never tell his son ‘no’. He could never tell him what he had to be or what he had to do, never yell at him for making the wrong choice – there was no wrong choice. Rocket seemed to always be drawn to them. Maybe his guidance wasn’t enough. Maybe he wasn’t too strict with his son, maybe he should’ve told him ‘no’ at least once in his lifetime, maybe..
Maybe it was his own fault the accident happened.
A gentle voice snapped Zuka out of his mulling, warm sting of tears in his eyes fading away. He snapped back to the doctor in front of him who was reaching out, a ginger hand lying against his forearm.
“And you won’t. He’s a strong kid, he knows what to do.” Medkit’s face softens, eyebrows strung together with sympathy laced beneath. “Have some faith in him.”
Giving Zuka’s arm a gentle squeeze, Medkit finally reels back to finish his own cup of coffee. Silence falls between the two once more, and Zuka struggles to pry his eyes off of the doctor. Blank, unsure of what to feel. He knows Rocket isn’t his old self anymore, but what he worries about is him becoming like Zuka’s old self. That pain is something he’d never wish upon anybody; to see your own child becoming a splitting image of the parts you hate about yourself.
It’s like he can see his reflection through his son’s eyes.
“And stop gripping your mug so damn hard,” Zuka blinks at the other, once again taken out of his clouded struggles. “You’ll break it.” Despite his scold, a tender smile aligns Medkit’s lips. He’s finished his coffee by now.
Finally breaking out of that stone cold persona, a soft laugh escapes Zuka’s throat. His hold becomes delicate, fingers ghosting above the handle as if the inanimate object could feel any sort of pain. His shoulders lower, a hushed sigh coming from his lips.
“..You’re right, you’re right. Thank you.” Lifting the mug to his lips once more, he notices that his coffee has gone cold. He’ll still drink it, he’s had worse.
The sound of a creaking door flows through his ears. Quiet, shuffling footsteps made their way across carpeted floors, soft click of the door closing behind. Zuka perks up immediately, feeling a shockwave go right through his gut before he pushes himself up from his chair. Rocket must be home.
“Rocket?” Zuka calls out while making his way towards the noise. “Kid, we need to talk. I –”
His words fall flat. He pauses, body locking in on itself as he stares at the sight ahead. Rocket, head hanging low as he leans his disheveled body up against Sword. Arm limply slung around his shoulder, an arm wrapped around the rocketeers waist. Sword was mumbling something beneath his breath to the other, but quickly shut himself up once he noticed Zuka’s distressed gaze boring holes into them.
“Z-Zuka, I –”
“What happened? ” Leaving no room for Sword to finish his sentence, he immediately rushes over towards the two demons. He stands by Rocket’s side, laying a palm against his upper arm in hopes for a response from his son. None. The dread he had all those years ago seeps right through his flesh once again.
“He’s – he’s fine! He’s fine,” Sword quickly stammers out, his hold on Rocket tightening. “We, um, just went a bit too rough with each other..” He draws his words out, his body shrinking slightly as he fears for a harsh scolding from the other. He knew not to say ‘blew himself up’ around Zuka.
Instead, Zuka’s breath hitches. His fingers twitch, lips pursed together tight in a small frown. He’s not angry, not upset. Just worried – the usual. Taking in a deep breath, he finally utters some words out of his dry mouth.
“Is he – is he hurt? ” Strained words leave his mouth, throat bobbing as if he forced them right out. He couldn’t. Couldn’t live knowing his son got hurt again due to his own reckless mistakes. He should’ve been there, should’ve watched them, should’ve –
“N-No, he’s –”
“His gear is fine, right? No – no smoke or faulty trigger?” Zuka’s hand trails around Rocket’s torso, inspecting each and every little thing. He’d squeeze his arm gently, place his hand against his chest for a chance of feeling a heartbeat, to feel his chest heave with each and every breath.
“Zuka –”
“I should get Medkit. I should get –” Zuka stops in his tracks. His words catch in his throat as he feels something shift against him; a tired hand slowly reaching up to clutch at the sleeve of his jacket. It’s Rocket, though his grip is evidently weak. With one final usage of his strength, his fingers tighten around the cloth, squeezing his dad’s arm in a final attempt to say, ‘I’m okay.’
Rocket doesn’t look up. He’s scared, unable to look into his dad’s eyes this time. He knows he’s okay, he knows Zuka wouldn’t be mad at him – but he just can’t look at him right now. He can’t bear to see the lingering sadness in his eyes, to have him look at him the same way when he was seventeen. He’s okay this time.
Zuka stills, staring down at his exhausted son. Silence hangs through the air, causing Sword to discreetly tighten his grip on his lover’s waist. Finally, Zuka lets out a deep sigh.
“..Okay.” He nods, stepping back. ‘Have some faith in him.’ And he would. He’d let Rocket make his own decisions, entrusting Sword to give him the proper guidance that Zuka did not give those many years ago.
A small smile creeps up on Sword’s face, eyes softening to gaze at Zuka with sympathy. He understood his struggles, his worry and concern. All he wanted was the best for Rocket, and so did Sword.
“He’s just.. really tired. We’ll be in his room if you need anything – if that’s fine.” Sword quickly adds on, which results in Zuka giving a soft chuckle.
“ ‘Course, kid.”
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Trudging their way along the halls, both demons shuffle their way towards the familiar sight of Rocket’s room. Sword gently pushed the door open, closing it behind the two and slowly guiding themselves towards the bed. Without a second thought, Rocket pulls himself away from Sword, not caring how much his muscles burned and ached at the action. He flopped himself down right onto his soft, cozy bed, sinking into the plush mattress below with an exhausted grumble.
Sword couldn’t help but snort, sitting himself down on the edge of the bed with whatever room he can squeeze himself on that Rocket didn’t occupy. He’d reach down, placing a ginger hand against the groove of the other’s back to rub soothing shapes into it.
“I know. C’mon.” His hand trailed towards the prosthetic arm Rocket always wore, fingers ghosting above where metal collides with cloth. Carefully, he’d slowly unhook the metal prosthetic off of his remaining arm, placing it to the side before unrolling the fabric that protected his skin beneath. He’d perk up, noticing the faint red rash that stood out against his pale skin. That’s why he was so lethargic today.
Stifling a sigh, Sword made his way down towards Rocket’s leg. He repeated the same process for the prosthetic, placing it to the side next to the other discarded one. Sore, raw nubs that ailed poor Rocket. His limp body would sink deeper into the bed if it was allowed, not once protesting Sword’s tender touch.
Sword leans down to match Rocket, lying down beside his tired lover. Face was buried into the blankets, though he didn’t mind not seeing Rocket’s face. Just to see him whole, to gaze at his body was enough for him. No matter how much Rocket hated it, Sword always found the beauty in whatever the other couldn’t see. He’d be the first flower he’d pick in a field full of roses and tulips, to be his light within the darkness. He’s not Sword without Rocket.
Another muffled grumble comes from the rocketeer. Sword tilts his head, eyebrows knitting together in worry.
“What’s up?” He’d mumble, hand reaching over to flutter against the cerulean horns. Fingertips would hover, soft as cotton as they traced each and every individual crack within the material, new or old. Rocket didn’t reply, simply leaning into his lover’s compassionate touch. Trailing down, Sword’s fingers met up with the familiar shallow groove from Rocket’s failed carving attempt years ago.
“That healed up nicely.” He’d dip his fingers in, enjoying the way Rocket didn’t flinch in pain anymore. Finally, Rocket lifts his head up, staring off into the endless void alone.
He pauses, mulling over what to say. He’s unsure if he even wants to say anything considering the way his throat tightens up at the mere thought. Feeling Sword’s gentle touch flutter against his horns; that singular touch that made him melt like putty in his hands. Maybe he wouldn’t bottle things up this time.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He finally speaks through choked words, which ends up with Sword replying, “There’s nothing wrong with you.” He doesn’t believe him.
“I don’t – I dunno,” Rocket sighs out, allowing his head to sink into the pillow this time. “Feel stupid thinkin’ about it.”
Sword slowly drags his knuckles against Rocket’s scarred horns, pushing past the ‘ugly’ ridges and bumps. They were beautiful – to him. They’d always be beautiful.
“You can be stupid around me anytime.” He breathes out, resulting in Rocket responding with a playful flick against his forehead. Sword reels back in mock pain, scrunching his face up at the slight sting.
“Two dumbasses don’t cancel each other out.” The faintest of smiles paints upon the rocketeer’s lips, though his mind still eats away at him. He’d shift, turning onto his side to finally face his partner, frowning.
“I just –” He starts, gaze shifting frantically to look at anything but Sword’s face. “..Just feel like a burden. To my dad.” Rocket pushes the words out of his throat, refusing to swallow those sharp glass pieces. Sword falls quiet, not wanting to interrupt his woes.
Rocket halts his voice for now, allowing silence to linger through the air. He lays there as he feels Sword’s fingers trail to his neck, ghosting over skin and sending soft shivers down Rocket’s spine. Eventually they beeline to his jawline, warm calloused palm cupping his cheek to allow him to melt right into the tender touch he always yearned for. If Sword’s touch could easily melt away his worries, he’d be the happiest demon in the entire Inpherno.
But, that’s not how it works. His chest hurts, his throat tightens and his stomach feels like it's on fire. Barbed wire pierces deep through his neck, canceling the words he wished to say, to silence him for eternity. He can’t swallow, he can’t hold back the flow of tears pricking at his eyes – he can’t.
A warm kiss was placed upon Rocket’s forehead. The tender feel of Sword’s lips lingered against his skin, not once moving away. He’d keep them there until the end of the world if he had to, he didn’t mind; as long as he’s with the love of his life. His hands remove that barbed wire around Rocket’s throat, fingers intertwining to carefully peel away blood soaked regrets that were never uttered.
And so, they spill out like a river.
“I feel like – like I’m still the same. Like I’m j-just, just a stupid kid again,” He chokes, feeling the blood bubble in his throat once more. “H-He still looks at me the same – I know he does.”
Warmth spills down Rocket’s face. It leaks and stains Sword’s hand, but it doesn’t move. For he is here to share Rocket’s pain; he’s here to let him know it's okay to cry. It’s okay to become a kid once more, to cry and flail your arms and to throw a tantrum; to cry over the things you never got. To cry over the kid you could’ve been.
“I-I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, Sword. I don’t, I really don’t .” Rocket hiccups, hand reaching up to clutch the other’s shirt. It gave him something to keep himself grounded.
Rocket’s shoulders shake with each sob that comes out of his mouth. He’s trembling, never once does Sword let go. A thumb would gloss over the hot tears against Rocket’s cheeks, wiping them away against his shiny rosy skin. The leakage doesn’t cease, resulting in Sword enveloping Rocket right into his arms.
He lets him cry. He lets his body shake, lets his head rest against his chest. He lets him listen to the soft drum of his heartbeat, beating in tempo to match as one. Fingertips glaze over the drip of Rocket’s back, running them against his clothed spine and to silently count each and every bone that protruded.
“.. I-I just want to make him proud.. ” Rocket’s voice cracks, feeble and weak. He’s shrunken in on himself, reverting to that sad excuse of a child he once was. He feels childish for crying like this, childish for complaining about things that wouldn’t matter to him within a day. Childish for staining Sword’s shirt with his tears, childish in a way that he cannot stop them. He’s broken.
“You did .” Sword picks back up the pieces one by one, no matter how many times they fall. “He’s proud of you. You’re the best son he could’ve ever asked for.”
Rocket sniffles.
“I-I dunno if that’s true–”
“It is. He gave me someone to love.”
Rocket’s breath catches in his throat. His bottom lip quivers, eyes squinted to drain out the remaining tears he had to shed. Instead, he rests the side of his head against Sword’s chest, letting the melodic song of his heartbeat traverse through his ears. He’d never get tired of that sound, never get tired of hearing his soft breath as a lullaby.
“..You’re too good to me.” He finally utters out between soft breaths, sniffling as their legs intertwine in a mangled mess of limbs. He’s responded to with another kiss upon the top of his head, arms acting like a cozy blanket to aid his troubles.
“ ‘Cause you deserve it.” Sword would rub Rocket’s upper arm, feeling him finally relax beneath his touch. The two lay there on the bed, simply drinking in this tranquil moment as they converge into one. For wings to cradle them both between each soft feather, for them to sit in silence within the palm of inner peace, to tenderly caress their scar ridden flesh. They’re okay.
Letting out a soft sigh, Rocket finally speaks up.
“..Let’s sleep. ‘M tired.”
“Okay.”
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Zuka paces around the living room, causing slight irritation to poke through Medkit’s face. His eyebrow twitches before he props himself up on the couch, a loud sigh escaping his lips. He’s had enough.
“Just go check up on them already. I’m sure they’re fine.” His voice snaps Zuka out of his daze, eyes snapping over to stare at the doctor. He’s visibly annoyed, though that doesn’t deter him.
“I don’t wanna just–”
Medkit immediately pushes himself up, stepping over towards the other to give him a quick shove in the right direction.
“Just go!”
Zuka lets himself be guided by Medkit, being pushed along towards the direction of his son’s room. A huff comes from his lips as Medkit finally backs off, stepping back to motion Zuka to continue on – and so he does. He quietly shuffles his way down the halls, making his way towards Rocket’s room before stopping in front of the door. He pauses, a hesitant hand raising to rest upon the wood.
A soft knock. Once, twice. Another pause before a third knock chimes against the door. No response. Anxiety grips at his heart, tangled within sharp claws to squeeze his gut. He’d swallow, hard , before finally grabbing the doorknob and twisting it open. Peering inside cautiously, he’d pause at the sight.
Two lovers intertwined onto the bed, bodies pressed up together to share the same warmth. Soft breathing fills the room in tranquil peace, undisturbed and unwilling to be. Zuka immediately relaxes, breathing out his previous worries. To see his son so peaceful is all he ever wanted.
His hand reaches over towards the lightswitch, resting a finger against it.
“G’night, you two.”
The light flickers off.