Chapter Text
"Rocket. Don't make me call you again."
The inphernal rolls over in bed, making a soft grumbling noise. He buries himself further into the security of his blanket, into the darkness of his room. There is familiarity in limited space, especially when he has voluntarily kept himself inside for as long as possible. He's had ample time to memorize where everything is, from the shape of the knobs on the bedside drawer to the size of the empty space in his closet. Nothing will move if it is never touched, if he never brings himself to touch it. Here, he is safe. So why would he ever want to leave?
His caretaker seems to think otherwise. The sound of footsteps breaches through the fabric he's wrapped around him. There's the soft click of his door opening, before-
Light.
Blinding light pierces his vision, burning his retinas and causing him to screech as he is yanked out of the safety of his blanket by the hood of his sweatshirt.
"I warned you, did I not?" Zuka says, unapologetically.
The abrupt nature of it all forces Rocket's natural fight instinct to the forefront. Like a fish out of water, he kicks and screams as his caretaker drags him out of bed and sits him on a chair, fixing his clothes in an attempt to maybe make it seem like he wasn't curled up in bed all day.
Eventually, Zuka deems his appearance satisfactory. "Be downstairs within 5 minutes."
Lest he wished to get dragged downstairs by force, it seems. So Rocket goes.
There are sixteen steps from the upper floor of Zuka's house to the lower. He takes each step one by one. By the time he steps onto the fourth, the fog in his brain clears enough to register voices. Conversation between Zuka and another of which their voice he didn't seem to recognize. Zuka woke him up for this?
“This is just great.” Rocket thinks, rather sarcastically.
On the twelfth step, he is able to find the source of the new voice. Past the railing of the stairs, he sees an inphernal with a bird-like mask and hat. The figure wears a green coat and stands tall, proper. Taller than Zuka. Familiarity foreign, his hand itches for the comfort of his hammer—"Just in case."—but it's gone. Zuka had confiscated it after his last incident with a customer at the shop.
Zuka, seeing that his kid has finally hauled himself downstairs, turns to him. "There you are."
His guardian watches him reluctantly approach, trapping him with his line of sight. He couldn't bolt now.
"Venomshank. This is my kid, Rocket Launcher." Zuka introduces the tall inphernal, who towers over and peers down at Rocket. Rocket can feel Venomshank's sharp, observing gaze on his form like the spearheads of dull arrows poking and prodding at his skin. He averts his gaze to the floor, really wishing Zuka didn't take his hammer.
"Rocket, huh?" Venomshank remarks.
It makes Rocket bristle. "What's that supposed to mean?", he wants to say, but he's had enough of being scolded lately.
"He looks like you." The tall inphernal says evenly. "Must be the similar gear."
Zuka just shrugs, before he speaks to Rocket again. "Rocket, this is Venomshank's… Kid."
His guardian gestures to an inphernal with short red horns, hiding behind Venomshank's legs. The inphernal's eyes are bright, glistening even at the prospect of meeting Rocket. A smile so large it has to be fake. Frankly, it's hard for Rocket to even look at his face at all, so he instead eyes the red and yellow striped shirt.
"His name is Sword. He's around your age, so you'll keep him company. You can consider him our guest, so don't kill him, would you?" Zuka says.
Rocket frowns, knowing that he really didn't have a say in the matter. Not like he could really kill the guy. Venomshank looks like the type of inphernal who would and could crush him into pieces or toss him off the roof of Zuka's house if he said or did the wrong thing, and Rocket really didn't want to take that chance after everything. It would be a really sad and pathetic way to go out. A missile fizzling out without a brilliant explosion.
So, there he was in the living room, left with some other kid he didn't know.
Sword looked like an excited dog, quietly kicking his feet against the sofa as he pestered Rocket with his incessant talking. The repetitive noise was grating, to say the least, pounding on his head like he was a punching bag with no other purpose in life than to be beaten to a pulp.
"Hi!! I'm Sword!"
"I know."
"Your horns are nice!"
"Thanks."
"Is there anything you like to do, Rocket?"
"Sleep."
"What's your favourite colour?"
"Blue."
"That's awesome! Mine is red! It's nice and bright, and the heroes in books always wear red capes!"
"Mhm."
"How come your face is all bandaged up?"
Rocket seriously considered punching the guy, but decided on going back upstairs and curling back up in bed.
Unfortunately, Sword follows him up to his room. Acts like a lost puppy too, apparently.
"You have a nice room, Rocket!"
Sword prods and moves at the scraps on his desk. He pulls out some of the books on his shelf, and puts them back in the wrong order, all while asking Rocket about his things. Is this idiot stupid enough to think he can just weave uncertainty into the one place Rocket considered unchanging his and get away with it?
He tries to bury himself tightly underneath his covers, to create distance between the safe and the unfamiliar, but Sword lifts his blanket slightly, peeking underneath the covers. "Are you tired? It's still bright outside though!"
What a stupid question.
Of course he was tired. So, very.
The blue-horned inphernal knees Sword in the stomach, practically kicking the other off his bed. Rocket pounces in a heartbeat, grabbing Sword by the collar of his stupid striped shirt, really considering bashing the inphernal's skull against the floor until his room is bathed in the familiar metallic scent, the red smearing of blood that he knows so, so well.
Sword whimpers, his eyes widening and breathing growing unsteady. Yes, there it is.
Fear. An expression that Rocket is well-acquainted with. Sword wears it so pitifully that it brings the sweet, fulfilling rush of mania to Rocket's head. Beneath him like this, Sword was like a defenceless newspawn who didn't even know how to spawn their own gear.
A newspawn who knew no better, yet punished for their crimes still, banished from the only place they could call home.
Like the ledge of a cliff giving away beneath his feet, the high fades just as quickly as it came.
"…Just get out." Rocket hisses, and Sword does, seeing that he wasn't welcome.
Rocket didn't want to paint his room in Sword's favourite colour anyway.