Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Satellite, shine on me tonight
I'll feel your gravity, I'll stay and never leave
My satellite, I'm here tonight
Shine your light and set me free
Take the darkness out of me
Shine on me

Shine on me

“Satellite” - Starset

-0-

He has no idea what brought him to this room. Perhaps it was a sheer accident that he ended up here in his escape attempt. Maybe it's a pure coincidence he came into this room with the communications array setup. Or maybe it's fate.

It’s a somewhat cramped room, especially once the airlock door slams shut due to his clawed hand slamming the button down hard in panic. He looks around hurriedly, eyes hoping to catch a glimpse of a door or another passageway that he can squeeze through and continue his escape attempt. He needs to get to the hangar. There's an air vent he can see, high above a bulky panel that's implanted within the metallic walls. There's a glimmer of hope, but the hope fades out fast when he doesn't see any screws poking out from the front of the slit panel. His heart sinks into his stomach. The vent is sealed from the other end.

He swallows hard and turns his attention to the bulky panel head, glowing with the bright green light coming from above. It seems like a strange choice to illuminate a room with instead of a typical white light. But it's not for casting the shadows away.

This is no ordinary light.

The glow comes from a strange glass cradle that isn't attached to the ceiling but it is positioned high enough that one may believe it is at first glance. Multiple tubes and wires wrap around the cradle’s legs, presumably from the back of the panel, and into the black metal frame that grasps the glass like a bug in a fly trap. It pulsates in an oddly beautiful way, looking so elegant and yet so powerful.

And this energy is definitely one with a great amount of power. The green glow gives it away.

That gives him an idea.

He isn't escaping. Not this time. There's no real way to get out. He is going to die here by the hands of these… creatures. All because he did not follow his instinct, because he kept the oddities to himself instead of sharing them with the others.

But this green glow… he knows of its origin. He knows where it comes from. He's faced it head on, and he knows he must be able to use it to his advantage one way or another.

He knows that his doom is approaching at a rapid pace. There's not much time. He can either die trying to save the galaxy or die having not tried at all.

And he'd much rather die for the galaxy than die without having made an attempt to save it.

He hurries to the panel head, and his assumptions about what this technology is capable of are correct. Two knobs are labeled “DATE” and “TIME”, while the screens display a set of numbers. On another screen blinks “FREQUENCY COORDINATES”, with a number panel sitting idly by. And in the left is the panel.

These schematics… they're exactly as he recalls reading about before.

He can definitely work with this with the little time he has left.

He remembers where he received his message. That's where he’ll send it again. He twists the time knob backwards so it reads 9:08 AM in Terran time. The date? A week prior. The coordinates are long and complicated, but he manages to remember. That's what a genius memory bank of a brain is capable of, after all. He hesitates for a moment before pressing down on a button he assumes will begin recording and transmitting his voice. There's no point in not taking a chance now.

They already did that.

And now they're all dead.

He places his hand slowly onto the black panel with the grid pattern. The second his palm makes contact, he feels a cool energy slide through his arm, up his shoulder, to his vetebre, and to his brain. It's like some electrical current bit without the pain that usually comes from such a sensation.

“SYNCED,” a robotic voice announces loudly into the green-lit room.

A red light blinks up a moment indicating it is recording. He can feel a pulsing in his fingertips, going all the way back up to his brain once again. And at the sight of the light coming to life, he speaks loud and clear. No inflection, no slurred speech or slang.

This has to be done fast.

“Listen, they must live! There can be no attack! There can be no Nova!”

There's a banging sound in the door that hurts his ears, followed by the sound of sharp claws digging deep into the doors heavy metal frame.

“I-I repeat! There can be no attack or we all will die!”

The door is off its hinges, thrown behind the creature that is about to murder him. This is it

They're going to need a name.

“The Vi'Latronum will-”

There's a sudden sound of tearing that he registers before he realizes the awful raw pain that pushed through his back and into his stomach. He chokes in his words, going stiff as blood rushes out of his lips.

He glances down shakily, seeing some sort of appendage with sharp fingers where his stomach should be.

He gives a quiet, snarky scoff. “Bound to happen… anyways.”

His hands slide off of the controls slowly, blood oozing all upon the floor as his body is carried away by his killer.

The Satellite dies.

But the transmission...

Chapter Text

Or is it only in my head?

I was scanning through the skies
And missed the static in your eyes
Something blocking your reception
It's distorting our connection
With the distance amplified
Was it all just synthesized?
And now the silence screams that you are gone
You've tuned me out
I've lost your frequency

“Frequency” - Starset

-0-

Fox on the run, you scream and everybody comes a runnin’!

The oh-so familiar tune echoes through the strangely quiet and nearly empty vessel that is called the Milano, playing at a volume that could go much louder if they wanted. But turning the volume up even a few more units just mighth shake the plant that Mantis likes to keep alive (no, it's not Groot) off the table and onto the floor. It might have them miss out on a potential call from Gamora or someone else important. Or, most importantly, it could blow out the speakers. And Rocket, the technical engineer, weapons specialist raccoon, would not appreciate having to help reinstall a new set of speakers since these are brand new enough to not even be on the market yet.

They aren't stolen, no. Peter Jason Quill is just a real smooth talker when he wants something from someone. And he just wanted an advanced purchase and discount from the pin-skinned Optoid who already was head over heels for the “leader” of the Guardians of the Galaxy.

Rocket respects Quill like a leader even if he doesn't really see the half-Terran, half… planet-man-thing as the ultimate goody-two-shoes. Sure, he's got the cool helmet, a pair of trademark elemental blasters, and a personality anyone can fall for. But he's also… well, he's also Peter Jason Quill before he is Star-Lord.

In all honesty, Rocket secretly thinks of himself as co-leader.

Speaking of the raccoon, he's having a field day today. Landing out in a Xandarian ship repair site and fixing up what he could of the ship was always a tough time for the raccoon when he got the opportunity. No, it's not because it's time consuming or he hates it. Hell, Rocket can tinker with spare parts for hours, so to have an entire ship to his disposal is a wet dream to him.

It’s because of the sheer number of people going in and out of the ship as he attempts to concentrate. They can be loud, shake the ship as they all go up and down the landing pad, forcing Rocket to tell out in return, “Hey! Some of us are workin’ here!” Last time he yelled out, Drax gave him such a good scare when he popped in with a rather loud apology that caused the raccoon to burn his hand with a blowtorch.

And with that, he was “banned" from any jobs by Quill until his hand healed completely. That took nearly a month. A month full of bandages, ointments, and doing absolutely nothing.

But today, they're in the shipyard and it's just him and Quill, his best friend aside from the flora colossus he calls Groot. And it's a good thing Quill came along. When he’d entered the nearest shop with the presumed parts he would need, the procyon only planned on purchasing things for the radio and frequency radar. At first Rocket simply intended to replace the antenna and rework some grooves within the actual system itself.

But Quill managed to snag an entire new system, state of the art and again not available to the public, all because the owner thought he was cute.

And hell, Quill may not be into guys, but he will throw a hundred compliments and silly sayings to get something for free, no matter the gender or race. Like that Oskovarian he supposedly came into “close contact” with.

Rocket appreciates that about Pete, though, as cheesy as the Terran can be sometimes. He always has a way with words. Well, he's had his fair share of getting into a bit of deep shit with his sly wit, but that rarely happens. Pete can talk his way in or out of anything, whether it be to steal something for a sweet price, make up an over exaggerated excuse for why he didn't want to go somewhere, or do something while remaining as cool as he appears to be in the media. And of courses he can get someone in bed for the night if he tries hard enough.

Well, that last one hasn't happened in quite a bit since he and Gamora are sort of in a… well, a “relationship” is too serious a word for it. But “talking” is too casual.

They're basically working it out but the Zehoberei beauty and the American moron sort of on their way to becoming the galaxy's ultimate power couple. It's just difficult to attempt a relationship when you're both constantly busy. The attraction is there, but…

It's complicated.

Take a run and hide yourself away

The song keeps playing loud and clear. To Rocket it's white noise, like the Earth tunes tend to become when he's working, buzzing in his brain like a dreary, fuzzy dream. But to Quill…?

The Terran busts into the cockpit fake microphone in his hand as he screams out in dramatic falsetto “Fox on the ruuuuun!”

Rocket cracks a grin from under the control panel. “Havin’ fun listening to this song for the six hundredth time, Star-Boy?” he muses.

“You damn well know it,” Peter replies, looking down at what is visible of the raccoon from under the cockpit's main control, which would just be his legs and feet. “You nearly done?”

“Literally this last thing and then-” There's a blue spark from underneath  that makes Peter’s heart jump. A second later, Rocket slides out casually, relief flooding over him although the look of concern in his eyes stays unwavering.

“Why ya lookin’ at me all worr-you idiot.” Rocket rolls his eyes. “I'm not gonna burn my hand again. And that was just a spark. Wires connecting.” He pushes roughly past Quill’s leg, tossing the screwdriver in his plan in the human’s direction, mostly toward his face. “It's done.”

Quill manages to catch the tool in his hand after some fumbling with it. “Uh, throwing screwdrivers can poke someone’s eye out, dude. Why'd you give me this?”

Rocket turns and gestures toward the panel he just slid out from with a finger. “So ya can replace the panel. I'm gonna go change the song.”

Peter scoffs and gets on his knees, grabbing up the screws and beginning to reassemble the panel back to its original form. “Why, though? This is a great song, Rock.”

“It's a great song I've heard a fuck ton of, Pete,” the raccoon chides in a very matter-of-fact manner, heading over to the touchscreen streaming device and swiping around until he finds Earth. “Plus you humies got some good shit playin’ on Earth right now.”

The top ten hits in Quill’s home country pop up and Rocket cringes at the sight of familiar artists names, especially at one Justin Bieber. “Blegh. I meant you had some good shit playin’ like ten years ago.” He chooses a station he and Groot often listen to that Quill aptly titled “Good Shit.” Immediately after making his selection, a guitar riddled song about an American idiot starts up. Rocket likes this one quite a bit. “Much better, in my head.”

Quill rolls his eyes as he enters the room, the dashboard completely fixed up and looking good as new. “I'm glad Thanos bringing us to Earth helped you find some music you actually like.”

Rocket laughs. “Ha! Fuck that guy. But yeah, you idiots have it goin’ for ya in terms of music, I’d say. Glad Stark hooked us up with this. It's nice to look at and works smooth as hell.”

Peter runs a hand through his fluffy hair, grinning at Rocket's odd infatuation with tech not modified by his grubby raccoon hands. “Maybe we should stop by again sometime.” Rocket’s ear raises slightly at that statement. “Like for some time off. Nothing has happened to the galaxy that the Nova Corps hasn't been able to handle. Plus Tony will let us stay at the  Avengers tower. And I'm sure Shellhead'll let you toy around with his spare parts again.”

Rocket grins. “And we can throw eggs at the spider kid!”

Peter laughs at that. “Nah, he's a nice kid. Plus he’ll kick your ass faster than you can say his name. He has fists of concrete, dude.”

“Spider-Man is three syllables, Pete.” Rocket grins like the snarky little shit he is. “Unless you're talkin’ his full name. That's just four.

And Quill returns the look. “Either way, raccoon, you'd be knocked out half a syllable in.”

-0-

Half an hour later, after checking to see that the frequency radar and radio are both alive and kicking, Rocket and Quill have set off of Xandar and are making a sweet getaway back to Knowhere, their newfound homebase where the other Guardians of the Galaxy are stationed and awaiting the return if A-Holes 1 and 2.

But apparently, someone is impatient. Over the sound of a track playing in the stream called “No Shows” by a mister Gerard Way, there is a familiar voice.

“Milano? Come in, Milano.”

It takes them off guard at first since she isn’t in this vessel, but they soon realize it was only a transmission, although much more clear than usual. The voice on the other end is that of Gamora.

“Dude, this thing is killer,” Quill says. “Sounded like she was right in my ear.”

Rocket snickers lowly as he quips, “Just the way ya like it, right?” This remark gives puts the Procyon in the receiving end if a playful jab on his arm.

Quill answers and the screen displaying Gamora comes to life. She looks as staggering as usual, but with a gentle look on her face when she meets Quill’s gaze. “Peter,” she greets.

“That'd be me.”

“I'm here, too,” Rocket raises his hand from the pilot seat and waves, indicating he is in the room despite being invisible to the camera view due to his height.

“Of course. Who could forget you, Rocket?” Rocket can't tell if Gamora is being sarcastic or not, so he just remains tight-lipped. He assumes she wants to talk to Peter anyways.

“Dude, even the image is crystal clear,” Peter commends, leaning in closer to the screen the assassin is plastered on. “Nice work, Rocket.” He holds out a balled fist.

“I never settle for less than the best, bud,” the raccoon replies proudly, bumping his tiny knuckles against Quill’s. “And any transmissions we receive, visual or audio, is automatically gonna be saved into an archive by date. Could come in handy sometime. Like if we need it to prove someone wrong or if it comes in handy during a lawsuit.”

“Peter?” Gamora’s voice rings from the comms.

“Yeah?”

“All I can see of you is your nostrils. And they are anything but clean. Please back up.”

Bashful, Quill backs away from the monitor and sits in the co-pilot seat.

“Thank you. Rocket?”

“Yep, Gams?”

“Where are you two?”

Rocket squints and looks to another screen. “Ah… Kevlar system. Coordinates read 89304717. Gonna make a jump to Knowhere soon. Why?”

Gamora turns off screen. “Cosmo, they are in the Kelvar system, ready to make a light jump. Did you need their coordinates?”

Ew.

Cosmo .

The name of the enigmatic space dog just makes Rocket want to gag himself with a spoon. Rocket had properly encountered Cosmo one time prior to meeting him again in Knowhere when the Guardians arranged a meeting with the Head of Security on Knowhere to arrange conditions that allowed them to establish a base of operations there.

So imagine walking in and a golden retriever in a white uniform in a fucking space helmet tells you, “Da, I am Cosmo! Head of Knowhere Security!” in a strange accent without opening his mouth.

Yep. A telepathic Earth creature known for shitting in grass and inventing the term “doggy style” that walks on all fours is the Head of Knowhere's Security. Rocket sees him as a rival in an odd way, and Cosmo sees the raccoon in a similar light. Neither of them knows why. They just rub one another the wrong way.

“Tell that fleabag I'm not picking up his shit when we get back,” Rocket mutters.

Seemingly from nowhere, but really from Knowhere, a voice rings in Rocket’s head.

“Da, and I won't be feelink bad when you are angry that Cosmo pooped in your laundry.”

Rocket grits his teeth. “Ya better not do that again, ya-”

“Okay, truce! Truce!” Peter raises his voice above the chaos, and the two animals shut their snouts quickly. “The point is we’ll be there soon. Is it urgent, Gamora?”

Gamora shakes her head. “It's definitely no emergency, but it would be preferred you don't make any other stop on your way here. Cosmo has a job for us.”

Rocket remarks, “What is it? A flea bath?”

Rocket swears he sees Gamora give the slightest hint of a smirk at his smartass comment. “Hardly. It’s-”

And suddenly there's a slight jerking of the ship, and everything goes straight to black.

The engines shut off, leaving them drifting like a car without its gas speeding it up as it slows dramatically. The lights in the cabin go out, the screen displaying Gamora goes out, and the sound fizzes to a static riddled halt.

“Ah shit.” The raccoon leans forward and begins to enter the commands for a master reset of the Milano’s power.

“What'd we hit? An electromagnetic field?” Quill offers.

“It's possible,” Rocket says as the lights rise, the booster starts back up, and the music begins streaming again a moment later.. “Not too bad, though.” The communication monitor however, remains blank, but there is a fuzzy sound coming from the screen. Rocket groans. “Flark. Did this thing seriously just get fucked by an EM field?!”

The screen stays black.

“Sonuva-”

The speakers suddenly start up loudly, sounding almost like a horrified scream. A sharp pain enters Rocket’s head the minute the sound starts. It’s an intense mind-splitting headache that feels like an axe is buried deep in his forehead. He can't understand them, but within the garbles and static and high pitches, he can make out what sounds like words. But the pounding on his brain is just too much.

The raccoon yells out, “Turn that shit off!”

A moment later, the microphone is disrupted by Peter pushing the off switch. He heaves a breath. “Damn. That was loud.” Rocket, still covering his ears, grimaces at the pain in his skull. “You alright?” The concern in Peter’s voice is undeniable. Usually when the ship hits a bit of turbulence and the raccoon gets some sort of headache or cramp, it means his robotic skeleton is acting up on part of electromagnetic fields. And that's never a good thing for Rocket.

But the raccoon seems mostly okay as he rubs his temple with his palm. “Doesnt feel like the way an EMP does, either…”

Quill huffs a quiet sigh of relief to himself. “Well, it's already a better migraine than I thought,” he offers jokingly.

The space raccoon doesn't smile.  Not because the joke is unfunny, but because the pain is spreading down his face now. “Yeah… I think the frequency had a high pitch that only I could hear coz’a my hearing or something. Gave me a damn good migraine.”

“Oh shit,” Pete says worriedly. “Sounds intense. What even was that? A distress call?”

“No clue,” Rocket grumbles. “Maybe a glitch? Could be picking up another signal from Knowhere instead of Gamora’s. Our new system is hella powerful in comparison to the old trash heap sittin’ in the back. I couldn't understand it, though.”

“Huh.” Peter crosses his arms, a stern look of thought in his face. “It sounded like words… but I couldn't make them out if there were any. Did you hear anything specific in there, Rock?”

The raccoon shakes his head, semi-annoyed with Quill's overanalyzing of a random space frequency. They pick these up all the time. The only strange thing about this one was the supposed pitch that put a knife between Rocket’s eyes. “N-No. But…” He removes he hands from his head to enter a few commands to navigate the frequency archive. “It should be archived and ya can come back to it later.” Rocket doesn't even have to scroll through the list since there's only two archived transmissions saved.

Just looking at the text for the mysterious message makes Rocket’s head pound even further. He slides off the edge if the pilot’s seat. “Look, don't play it yet. We’ll listen later when I can get some ear muffs or something to null the noise. J-Just call Gamora back and figure out what Cosmo wants. I need a pill for this head shit.”

Peter complies without another word, giving the raccoon a little pat on the head as he pushes by toward the med-locker near the back of the ship.

And with that migraine, it has begun.

-0-

“So, quick run down once again-”

Rocket is only half listening as the Guardians of the Galaxy, reunited (and it feels so good) sit on the main floor of the Milano around the table. Peter stands at the end, hands on his hips as his gaze rotates around the room as he explains their mission once more.

“Cosmo wants us to make contact with Balko. Mantis, what is-”

The telepath answers Quill’s question before he finishes. “Balko is the Head of the Government on Velgar. Cosmo wants to form an alliance with the planet for protection and resource sharing.”

“Can I ask why our canine friend is interested in forming a friendship with such a weak, unimportant planet?” This question comes from none other than Drax, the blunt man sitting with his hands folded into each other stop the tables sleek finish.

“I think it's more of a precaution,” Gamora suggests. “Velgar’s inhabitants aren't necessarily weak. The Reiko species is far ahead in terms of technology. They're on par with Xandar. They've just managed to remain civil in every intergalactic conflict that's risen in the past 300 years.”

Rocket, still nursing a migraine that is just now only starting to fade, brings in a typical snarky comment. “Not hard to be a group’a pussies, sugar.”

“I am Groot.” Groot, the giant tree man, who sits at Rocket's side, Mantis on his opposite side, suggests. It isn't an uncommon practice to remain civil in a war, Rocket. On Planet X, we did it all the time. And we are a highly noted species in that sector .

“Yeah, but that's just where you come from, Groot,” Rocket retorts. “S'not like you're Nova Corps or Spartax royalty. I think if you guys disappeared no one else would notice. No offense.”

“I am Groot,” the colossus replies. None taken, friend. I left X for good reason. Even I wouldn't mind everyone left on that planet disappearing.

“Anyways,” Peter begins to set the course of conversation back on track. “Cosmo hasn't spoken with Balko in two weeks and they were supposed to have a meeting two days ago. He's just sending us out here to see if there was some sort of emergency.” Quill glances at Gamora. “Did he try to radio contact them at all?”

The assassin nods. “He's been trying over the past two days and has had no luck. He thinks it is possible that Balko may have had an accident.”

Drax squints. “Could this possible be a betrayal on part of the Reiko people?” The man is surprisingly deductive today, uncharacteristically so. But it's helpful, to say the least. “I've had my fair share of betrayals by slimy lizard people. They are all the same, and they all deserve to be PUNISHED!” The Destroyer slams his fists into the table, the plant in the center that Mantis cares for shaking from the force.

Rocket chuckles. “First off, super racist, Drax.”

“Secondly,” Peter adds, “no. Balko has no recorded history of anything inherently “bad” going on. And Cosmo had been in contact with the guy for two years and now is the best time for the two to form a partnership.”

“Coz’a the Infinity Stone shit?”

“Exactly,” Peter replies. “Most other planets and empires are forming alliances for galactic security. And I for one trust the Balko guy. We’re taking Cosmo’s word. We've only been stationed on Knowhere for a few months now and I'd rather not get in Cosmo's bad side. I really like our big base. Having my own room is fucking great.”

The raccoon raises a finger and nearly comments on how the dog only has a bad side in his opinion, but Mantis’ future-seeing intuition comes into play first. She pulls Rocket's arm down gently, saying “No, Cosmo does not have only a single bad side, raccoon.”

Rocket gives her a glare before returning his gaze to Peter. “Whatever. Anyways, we’ll be inbound in five.” Rocket tugs on Groot, motioning for him to follow, as he rises from his seat and takes a spot at Pete's side. “Grab any shit ya need. Won't be surprised if it is a betrayal. Balko knows we work with Cosmo even though we don't know him.” With that, Rocket twists in his heel and heads toward the back of the Milano, rubbing at the back of his head.

“I am Groot?” The tree follows close behind, raising a brow at the action. Is your headache spreading?

The raccoon opens a locker slowly and pulls out his new favorite toys: dual pistols he modifies almost on a daily basis called Rack 'n’ Ruin, aptly named after he and Groot’s old vessel that was destroyed by the Dark Aster’s glorious crashing a few years back. “Yeah, it was earlier,” he admits, holstering them into his belt, shielding his eyes from the bright light as he looks up at the tall tree. “Light hurts too bad to look at even though it’s startin’ to go away.”

The tree frowns. “I am… I am Groot?” How strange is it that a radio frequency caused you such pain… Has this happened before?

“Not from a radio transmission, no. But maybe it was the electromagnetic field we hit, assuming that's what caused our turbulence. Didn't tense up my bones at all, though…” The raccoon shrugs, before he gives Groot a sheepish look. “Look, when we got off’a this ship and hit Velgar on foot, can I just… Y’know…?” He taps up on his shoulder, his fingernail clanking on the shoulder armament lightly.

Groot grunts and gives a grin. “I am Groot.” Yes, you can ride my shoulder. I understand your condition is wearing you down. Don't be embarrassed of it.

Rocket smiles. “Thanks bud. Now, let's get up there and try to contact these slimeballs before we waste fuel landing on this junk world.”

-0-

“Velgar Communications Array, this is Star-Lord with the Guardians of the Galaxy. Do you copy?” Quill removes his hand from the button as the all sit in wait for about ten seconds.

They sit in silence for those ten seconds.

Again, Peter presses down on the button to have the mic go live. “I repeat, this is Peter Jason Quill, with the Guardians of the Galaxy? Do you copy, Velgar?”

And again, nothing.

“Huh.” Mantis rubs her chin quizzically, antennae rising and glowing slightly. “I wonder…”

“It doesn't make any sense,” Gamora says, crossing her arms as she leans back in the copilot's seat. “It's not like all of their communications could go off at once and for days on end. They'd have sent someone, right? They're fairly advanced, like I said earlier.”

Gamora was right. Velgar isn't some backwater planet. It's almost like a discount version of Xandar. Nice, sleek structures with a variety of people, although 85% of the planet is inhabited by the lizard-like Reiko race. But there isn't a big-shot space police force established here, nor has it ever been part of any extremely politically active events. No wars, no debates, no interplanetary drama. They are thriving all by themselves, which is what prompted Cosmo to take interest in the planet.

He figures that with their resources and Knowhere's stature as a once-black-market-Celestiel-head turned into a well-known base of operations for the Guardians would serve both planets well. Knowhere could continue to advance itself through new buildings and vehicles in trade for the ancient spinal fluid of the Celestial skeleton that could be traded in for money.

But what is going on, exactly? Why aren't they replying at all?

“Alright, I’m callin’ it,” Peter says. “Rocket?”

The raccoon is perched up on Groot’s shoulder, looking alert. “Yeah?”

“You're gonna take Groot and Drax down there while we monitor from up here to provide cover if need be. We’ll continue to make attempts at contact through radio. We’ll keep you posted.”

“Right.” Rocket nods and then gives his two companions a grin. “Ready, boys?”

-0-

“It's… quiet.”

Drax is damn well right. Aside from the humming from the Milano that stays high above them at around 330 feet from the ground, intersecting between the buildings that raise high into the sky, it is definitely far too quiet for a city of this size.

And it's huge. The city blocks are oddly shaped instead of having some sort of continuity between their placing and shape. Some are smaller than others, and others are many times larger than others. And they've walked down five or six blocks, all with the Milano above them like a black crow.

And they haven't seen a single person.

No lizards, no humans, not been the sharp-eyed, many-toothed Oskovarians. Nope. No ugly bastards whatsoever.

Rocket puts his hand up to his ear as Groot trudges forward. “Quill, any movement in the buildings up there?”

“Uh, no,” Star-Lord answers a minute later. “And nope. We’ve programmed to send a signal out to 43 different radio frequencies in this are and not one of them has sent back a response.”

“Shit…”

The trio continues forward, weapons drawn and ready to go in for the kill. This goes in for some time until the three come to a stop, eventually finding themselves trudging into the heart of the city. It's similar to Times Square in New York, but more alien and chrome. Billboards show off ads, many stores and vendors are around, and there's a series of chairs and tables with umbrellas where people would eat their lunches with their families.

And it's chilling to look at because everything is empty.

The stores have the open signs shining brightly, some with doors wide open as if an invisible force is holding it wide open for the next person to walk in through. But no one is in the shops.

The vendors selling clothes and food are abandoned. Some are tipped over while others remain perfect looking. They look neat and ready to begin a day of being grabbed at by kids and adults alike. It's as if no one even touched them for a millennia. The stands should be vandalized, right? The stores, too? It's such an easy opportunity…

The scariest part that Rocket notices is the tables with the umbrellas. Bags and cellular devices are left out on almost every table. Children's toys sit under them, scattered messily and seemingly forgotten. That gives Rocket a glimmer of hope. Children are scatter brained brats, so this would seem normal. But the raccoon can feel it, no matter how much he wants his feeling to be different. They weren't left here by a child intentionally. A kid might leave a toy for a moment, but there's quite a few out here in a public place like this just sitting abandoned.

Rocket presses the earpiece again, swallowing hard. “Q-Quill?”

“What? You see something?”

Rocket remains silent for a moment. “Uh… No.”

“Then what is it?”

Again, there's a few beats of silence before Rocket says exactly what his gut is feeling.

“I think the entire planet of people were abducted.”

Chapter Text

As we walk in a straight line
Down in the dirt with a landslide approaching
But nothing could ever stop us
From stealing our own place in the sun
We will face the odds against us
And run into the fear we run from
It has begun

“It Has Begun” - Starset

-0-

“THIS IS BEINK IMPOSSIBLE!”

Everyone jumps when this phrase comes loud and clear in their minds like a jumpscare out of a horror film as Cosmo enters the room with Mantis trailing not far behind, their isolated conversation clearly finished for the time being. Said conversation has been going on for a solid five minutes, albeit telepathically, and only between Cosmo and Mantis in a completely separate room within the massive base and home of the Guardians.

No, they all didn't rat Mantis out as the one to bear the bad news. Peter came right in through the door and gave it to Cosmo straightforward.

Mantis, upon seeing and hearing Cosmo’s distress very clearly, decided it would be best if two telepaths spoke in private as to not overexert Cosmo in his fury and confusion.

So she took it upon herself to calmly see Cosmo into the communications array room where they would speak together, knowing that the space dog feels fairly comfortable with her. He sees her as the nicest one in the bunch aside from Groot, who is just about as pure-hearted as she is. But he trusts the bug-like woman just a tiny bit more do to her telepathy and mind-reading capabilities. The two are just so alike.

But now Cosmo was sending out his telepathic messages to everyone, meaning it is time to get everyone mobilized and ready for action.

“Okay everyone! Time for action!” Cosmo stops abruptly, almost posing heroic. His chest is puffed out in confidence, legs straight and his stance unwavering. Give him a cape and he’d have the superhero look down.

He sets his keen eyes on the group of people he thought would be ready for some actual intergalactic mystery and...

Funny thing is, none of the Guardians look to be ready for any type of business, whether it be fun, dangerous, risky, or otherwise. Quill and Gamora are eating something that looks like stir fry, Drax is looking zoned out, presumably thinking of something else as he tends to do, Groot is sipping on a bubbly drink from Earth called “Pepsi” that Quill stockpiled on during their last trip there, and Rocket is perched on the tree’s shoulder taking another pill for his migraine.

“Excuse me, Guardians!”

“Cosmo, can you not yell?” Rocket asks in an oddly begging tone. “Tryin’ to cure a headache.”

“Cosmo must yell if none of you are concerned!”

“Believe me,” Peter says through a mouthful of food, a bit falling out because he is a slob. “We’re concerned. I'm just hungry.”

Under his breath, Drax mumbles, “But he refused my cooking for leftover takeout.” Rocket presumes only he hears it and decides to take the Destroyer up on the offer soon. He cooks pretty damn well.

Cosmo whines and Mantis scrunches her face up distastefully. “Please everyone, listen. This is very serious.”

“No shit,” Rocket pipes. “It's possible that an entire planet is just gone! Like, no people!”

Groot blinks. “I am Groot?” But is that even possible? There isn't any people on Velgar?

“Just because I assumed that it don't mean it's true,” the raccoon says. “Right, Cosmo?”

“Rocket, we traced through a few other cities on the other side of the planet after we went to the capital first,” Quill reminds him. “And they were empty too.”

He's right. After Rocket announced he thinks the place is deserted, the ragtag group decided to head to a few other cities across the globe and scope them out quickly. And the result?

Same thing. Abandoned buildings, vehicles left running, belongings scattered about.

“But that's still crazy impossible, right Cosmo?” Rocket waits for the canine to reply with “You're correct, Rocket.”

But there is a silence instead.

“ Right, Cos-”

Mantis raises a hand. “Rocket, let him speak.”

Cosmo nods at Mantis in thanks and gives a heavy hearted sigh. “Mantis and I initiated scan in the communications array to see if the possibility of no life inhabiting the planet was true. And…” Cosmo stops momentarily, his head hanging slightly as he continues to trail on. “And the planet…”

Oh no...

There's an eerie silence among everyone. Quill actually drops his fork and that's the only sound in the room. All attention is on Cosmo as he reveals the news they all know to be true due to his tone and body language, even though they all want to hear the opposite.

Gamora speaks, “Cosmo? Is it-”

“Velgar is 100% devoid of life.”

For some reason, the news hits like a bullet. An entire planet with a peaceful species is just… Empty. How in the hell could this have gotten past the Guardians? Sure, Velgar was a little off the charts due to their constant civility among the other planets of the galaxy. But this sort of thing is nearly as big as Thanos attempting to destroy the entire universe with the Infinity Gauntlet.

Traders get their shit stolen by space pirates every day. Cases of intergalactic fraud and stolen identities happen now and again. Interdimensional space monsters coming out of black holes of doom happen about yearly.

An entire planet's population is missing with no evidence of abduction, despite no destruction and no vehicles looking to have been taken?

This is once in a lifetime.

And it's disturbing.

“But…”

“There is no buts, Comrade Gamora,” the dog assures sadly. “Balko and his people are gone.”

Silence falls over them again, although there is a sense that the gears in everyone's brains are starting to turn slowly, hypothesizing on how such a thing is even possible under these conditions.

Suddenly, the team is back to reality. “How could we miss something like that?” Peter growls as he rises from his spot and paces about the floor to work out his pent up anger. “This doesn't make any damn sense. An entire population just poof!” He s waves his hands in a quick dramatic fashion to emphasize the “poof" sound. “Gone?”

Drax grunts lowly. “An entire race being eradicated is something the Kree are capable of. Ronan did try it once.”

Gamora looks in his direction, brushing her hair over her shoulder as she does so. “But that was with an Infinity Stone, Drax. All of those are being safeguarded on Earth and by the Nova Corps.”

The mountain of a man leans back further. “I still blame them. The Kree are, as Rocket has called them, the biggest assholes the galaxy knows of.”

“I am Groot.” Thanos takes that title, actually.

Rocket grins at the remark. “Well, it's the Kree now.” He scuttles down the tree man’s barky arm and grabs up Groot’s drink and takes a long sip. “That bitch is dead,” he adds, in reference to the Mad Titan.

“It’s not possible that this is the Kree’s doing, in my opinion,” Gamora further presses on. “They have been unbelievably peaceful since we sent Ronan packing, even though they had little affiliation with his actions. Not that they wanted to be involved with anyone to begin with…” She is about to let someone else speak but adds,  “Plus if they did want to make a move against Xandar, it would break the peace treaty and they wouldn't last long after that.”

Mantis cocks an eyebrow. “What does Xandar have to do with Velgar, Gamora?”

“It’s just an example. It just… it doesn't seem right. The Kree are definitely pricks, but I don't see this being their doing. They're messier and ready to destroy. They would've left Velgar in ruins.”

It's definitely a valid argument, as they've all had their fair share of experience with Kree. Peter, still strutting around the floor, huffs and looks in the assassin’s direction. “Maybe. Or like we said earlier…” Peter's pacing comes to a sudden halt as he and Gamora share a knowing, worried look. And the Quill finishes in a somewhat melodramatic fashion with one word.

“Betrayal.”

The word hangs in the air.

Drax suddenly yells out, “The slimy traitors! I told you that all of the lizards are evil!”

Cosmo, taken aback and baffled, cries out, “You believe his friends are traitors?!”

Mantis kneels onto the dog’s level. “We… well, Drax only said this during some side banter. But it does seem possible with them suddenly disappearing without speaking to you again. I'm sorry, but…”

Gamora rises from her seat as she finishes Mantis’ thought. “The Reiko stabbing you in the back doesn't seem one hundred percent implausible, as tough as it is to hear.”

“No…” Cosmo says, eyes wide and looking somber.

Peter purses his lips. “Cosmo, I hate to break it to ya but… I mean, it is possible.”

Cosmo shakes his head in firm denial. “Nyet! No good! Impossible! Balko called Cosmo a good dog and gave him good food at last meeting!”

Rocket rolls his eyes. “Always stuck on the food…”

Groot flicks him behind the ear and teases, “I am Groot.” If you see good food, you are in your glory, Rocket. Don't judge.

“Cosmo, there's more to this than mere friendship,” Mantis says, holding his face in her palms in an attempt to comfort his pain, trying to sound as sincere as possible given the situation. “Perhaps they aren't betraying you. Perhaps something bad happened to them. But for now, we need to take some form of action before we begin to really investigate such a case.”

“Agreed,” Drax chimes in.

In record breaking time, a plan bug bites Peter right in the neck. He gives a grin as he explains,  “We could go to Xandar and ask Nova to broadcast a message across the galaxy about the disappearance. It would get the word out. Plus the Nova Corps could offer Knowhere some temporary added security and army disposal if the Reiko hear that the entire galaxy is aware of their vanishing and they do plan to attack.”

Cosmo thinks for a moment before he finally relaxes a bit, sitting like a dog typically does. “Da. Good idea, Star-Lord. That seems to be our best course of action as of right now.”

“I usually have the best course of action in mind,” Quill remarks in admiration of himself. “Say we head out tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Gamora repeats, surprised by the sudden change to a casual attitude. “Why not now?”

“Xandar is a five hour journey from here, Gams. And it's nearly nighttime there. Nova offices are closed. It's best we stay here for the night and head out early tomorrow. Besides…” The human strides over and takes a seat next to her. “Didn’t we have a plan? Just you 'n’ me?”

Gamora rolls her eyes. “Knowhere isn't known for its cuisine, Peter.”

“Gamora, we practically live off space rations. Any food other than that shit is good food.” That actually makes her smile slightly. “So… please? We are kinda a… Y’know…”

“Oh, stop, you idiot,” she says, not wanting to hear him call them a couple or any other derivative form of the word. “I guess a date couldn't hurt. Just give me some time to get myself prepared.”

From across the table, Rocket can't help but give a little smirk as he watches the two go back and forth. Quill’s been after this woman for so long and now his opportunity is finally coming along like a steady stream. And Gamora seems happier despite being a little awkward. She's never been this close to a group of people, let alone one person who is a potential love interest. But she definitely smiles more, the raccoon had noticed.

Out of the corner of his eye, the raccoon catches a glimpse of the widowed Drax, who has an actual full grin on his face. He's a sucker for romance, Rocket thinks, seeing as he is the only one who ever was married on the team.

“It is nice to see the two of you beginning to fall in love with one another.”

Rocket has to cover his snout to stop the rest of his laugh from breaking out from the snort that managed to escape.

Gamora hides her face in embarassment of Drax’s statement, muttering, “The idiot,” as she turns away. The goofy grin that crosses Quill's face is almost trademark, but he's slightly red in the face. “Drax, I wouldn't say we’re even that close to the L word. We’re just going on a date. But first…” Peter points to Rocket. “You wanna try to listen to that archived frequency again?”

Rocket blinks, momentarily confused about the sudden change of subject from Drax embarrassment the couple of the year to the mysterious message. “Oh, yeah. I mean, I guess. Hopefully it don't fuck me up in some sorta way again.” He trots around the table and toward the Milano’s “hangar”, which is just a big enough space for the ship to park comfortably.

The others follow after the raccoon except for Cosmo, who sits in his same spot looking sad. He's definitely wallowing in his despair and very stressed. Groot takes note and stops his course of following right at Rocket’s tail, letting the others pass by him as he gets on a knee and pats Cosmo on the head.

“I am Groot!” he exclaims happily when the dog looks up at him. Do not worry, friend. I am sure it is all a misunderstanding! A moment later, the colossus’s other hand comes around with a flower sticking straight out of his palm

Cosmo gives his equivalent of a smile: he opens his mouth slightly, tongue showing as he gives a little happy pant at the feeling of Groot’s fingers running through his fur in a coarse motion. “Groot, you are a better friend than that evil little raccoon deserves.”

The tree grins from widely. “I am Groot.” I know .

-0-

“It's cramped in here,” comes Rocket’s complaint from the pilot’s seat. And it sure as hell is. Drax, Peter, and Mantis are all crammed close around, looking at the mostly empty archive. It's a good thing Gamora went off to get ready for her and Quill’s night out. “Give a raccoon some breathing room, yeah?”

“Just play the damn thing,” Peter insists. “No reason to stall.”

“I ain't stallin’.”

“Rocket, we’ve all been sitting her in silence for a minute straight in anticipation for this and you just typed in random commands.” Rocket gives him a flat, defeated look. “I get it but I’m almost a hundred percent convinced you're migraine was coz of the magnetic field. Right?”

Rocket huffs and just shakes his head. “Yeah,  maybe. Whatever.” He hovers over the selection and then gives Quill the stinkeye. “If I get another migraine from hell coz’a this, you owe me sixty units and a round’a Timothies.”

The raccoons fingertip presses down and makes the selection, and the buzz and garbled sounds come alive immediately. He expects the worst, flinching away when he hears the recording begin to play again. But after a few seconds of fear, instead of feeling a headache pressing onto his head, he feels… nothing.

Guess it was the EMP field after all.

Sitting back up straight, Rocket grins. “Nothing’s happening this time.”

A moment later, a static rises among the buzz, and it's loud. And a moment later the static rises even further and…

The voice become clear.

“-hey must live! Th-zzz-an be no attack! Th-zzz-” The words are falling in and out of static, but the words are audible. And the message, just like the appearance of the frequency when Rocket and Peter received it, is vague and offsetting. What's this… voice saying? No, not as in what words are being said, but what's the context?

The voice continues uninterrupted by static, “THERE CAN BE NO NOVA!”

This sentence forces the group to exchange glances. No Nova? Why? If this person's in danger, wouldn't they want the galaxy’s police force to be on their side?

And how strange… they're heading out to Nova tomorrow and this is what's playing back on the message.

There's a pounding sound in the message, and then a scratching, like metal nails on a chalkboard.

And Rocket can feel it coming in an odd heat on the front of his skull again.

“Sh-Shit…” he whispers quietly. He shakes his head quickly, blinking himself back to life as he tries to ignore it.

“I-I repeat!” the frequency continues. The static seems to be fading for the most part, although it is still rearing its ugly head in between words. “There can be no-zzz-ttack or we wi-zzz-die!”

Suddenly, the pains becomes more prominent. It presses harder against Rocket’s skull, hard enough that Rocket has to shut his eyes tightly, his hands pressing up against his temples again. The pain feels like it is leaking down his head like blood from an open wound, the trickling carrying the feeling of a screaming pain as it slowly creeps down to the base of his neck.

And then the voice starts screaming, “THE VI’LATRONUM-”

And when the recording cuts out with a loud banging sound, an intense flare comes so hard that Rocket can't take it anymore. The raccoon cries out, “Ah! Sonuva-fuckin’-bitch!”

Mantis jumps back at the outburst, looking at the screen where the line showing the buzz is flat, seemingly disturbed.

“Rocket? Hey, bud?” Peter kneels over and looks at the raccoon as he hides his face. “Is it-”

“It’s back, Quill. Hurts worse. It’s-It’s the message. Has t’ be. Unless that stupid dog fucked something up with the-” Rocket grunts and doubles over, grabbing at the back of his head and digging his nails in deep. The pain is so intense that there's a loud, deafening ringing in his ears, making it hard to hear the others as they try to ask if he needs anything.

He thinks he hears Drax offer more pain medication, but the ringing is louder than his voice.

He thinks Quill suggests sleep, but the aches are killing him more than the most obvious of suggestions on the human’s part.

He hears Drax say… something. But he can't pay enough attention to what he'd said.

His senses are overloading.

“Just lemme get to bed!” Rocket lashes out, teeth bare and ready to snap on the first person who looks at him the wrong way. He pushes roughly out of the cramped cockpit, giving a quick glance back. For a quick moment, he and Mantis make eye contact.

Her antennae glow lightly, and she has an alert look on her face.

With that, Rocket flies down the stairs, and out the exit hatch.

He marches past Groot and Cosmo without a word and heads straight into his room and closes the door, zipping down and pulling off his blue flight suit as fast as he can. He can feel that he is overheating now too, and his stomach is churning rapidly and feeling queasy.

What in the world is going on? First a migraine and now nausea? Rocket’s definitely been sick before but never has it felt like this. And for the symptoms to really get bad around the transmission is… strange, almost like the sickness only takes hold when the message is played aloud.

Of course that's impossible, though. Maybe he just caught a bug when he went shopping for the parts with Pete. That seems the most logical thing.

“Fucking dammit,” the miserable animal grumbles, shutting off the light by throwing an old disarmed bomb that was sitting idly on his pillow at the switch. He would normally celebrate the silly victory with a hollar but there's no way he's going to be loud. Just talking sends ripples of pain across his head like waves on an ocean's surface.

The raccoon checks the time, squinting at the lit letters before his eyes adjust accordingly. He sees it reads 7:09 on the clock before he slams his head into the pillow, into a tight ball. He doesn't bother grabbing a blanket. He is not needing any cover despite the only clothes he's wearing being his spandex boxer briefs. If raccoons could sweat, he'd be drenched and the liquid would be enough to fill an empty ditch to the brims with liquid.

Five minutes later, despite the migraine returning with a bitter, fiery vengeance and bringing friends such as hot flashes and nausea, the raccoon finds himself asleep.

But it's far from a peaceful sleep...

Chapter Text

Can you tell me what is real?
'Cause I've lost my way again
Can you tell me how to feel?
'Cause I don't feel anything
Now that I'm down here again
I'm down with the fallen again “

Down With The Fallen” - Starset

-0-

It's all so confusing, so quick paced, and so scary.

There's a hot light before suddenly he sees a white haired woman. She's older, wearing a traditional navy blue military-esque uniform with accents of red along the seams. And she's familiar…

Nova Prime?

She points to holo-screen toward some sort of shape on the corner of what is presumably a map. Her mouth moves, but no sound comes out.

Suddenly, she's gone, and now he's in… the Milano cockpit? What? A dashboard full of stars is visible. Stars and… a massive ship. It is mainly a deep brown color, adorned in other shades of brown and orange mostly for aesthetic purposes. The Milano is heading toward it fast, the whining sound of the engines reaching higher pitches as the ship speeds up even faster.

Just as they're about to collide with the massive hull of the unknown vessel, the scene changes.

He's in a room and he is face to face with the scariest creature he's ever seen. It stands like a man, wearing a dark robe that covers it from head to toe with a hood. But the face…

It's static.

He turns and runs and suddenly…

There's a bright green light.

And then a series of screams that all sound like they are coming from victims of cruel, inhumane mutilation.

Danger.

Danger

Danger.

DANGER.

Rocket jerks awake with a grunt, still curled up tightly into himself and still feeling as hot as one of Xandar’s suns. And his head? Well, of course it's still feeling like Groot whacked him upside the head with a log-shaped fist. No shock there.

But… his stomach. The nausea is the worst part since it's such a new symptom in his “sickness". It just..  so disgusting to the ringtail. He's always hated the feeling of emptying ones stomach out through their mouth. Then again who doesn't hate that?

He curls in tighter, as if the nausea won't get the better of him if he just stays still.

But it doesn't work.

“Sh-Shit” the raccoon sits up groggily but fast, dashing toward the door and out of his quarters as fast as he possibly can. He zooms past the open door to Mantis’ quarters, not caring if the woman noticed him in his underwear speeding by. He's about to blow chunks.

When he reaches the bathroom, Rocket slips on the neat tiles, clutching his stomach with one hand and covering his mouth the other tightly.

When Rocket reaches the toilet, the vomit begins to spew the second he opens his mouth. It's mostly liquid, definitely containing some of Groot’s Pepsi, although a few bits of food from the previous day come up with the bile. Rocket heaves for breath, holding himself up on the toilet seat with one hand. He presses on his stomach gently with his free arm, trying to ease the ache that is now settling in as he blinks the tears in his eyes away.

With that action comes another round of puke. It's messier this time around, because Rocket hadn't expected it. And this round makes his entire body shake, the vomit coming out at such a velocity that Rocket can't even see anymore even though his eyes are wide open.

The intensity finally stops a few moments later, leaving him with a messy snout and a burning throat. The raccoon slides himself away from the porcelain throne slowly, laying in the cold tiles on his back, hands pressed into his stomach.

What in the fuck is going on with him? Why is he so sick? The shaky raccoon huffs for breath, stomach inflating fast with each inhale he makes. “I-I gotta s-see someone 'bout this…” he decides to himself. “Never felt… like this.”

After another few moments of basking in the glory of how cold the black tiled floor is, Rocket slowly sits up and rises into his shaky knees, using the toilet seat for support. He still holds his middle tightly with one arm, trying to mush the pain away, as he exits the bathroom and heads back to bed. As he passes by Mantis’ room, he looks in to see if she is asleep, hoping she didn't hear him puking his guts out since her door is open for whatever reason. There's no movement that he can see, and his raccoon hearing is picking up on a light snoring.

Relieved, he heads back into his room. He shivers slightly. Now that he's puked he's going to trade the headache, which has literally vanished like a ghost in the night, for chills and an aching body. Just perfect.

Rocket grabs up a water bottle that is just calling his name, and just a little over half full. He takes a mouthful as he sits on his bed and swishes it around, trying to rid his tongue of the taste of bile. He spits it onto the floor and then chugs the rest of it. He's a helluva lot more thirsty now, too.

Rocket doesn't bother putting on clothes to sleep in despite the coldness. He just pulls the massive comforter over his body, curling up tightly once again, his tail’s fluff brushing up against his as it also pulls into this chest. He shuts his eyes tightly, easing into the mattress.

Luckily for him, the rest of his night goes undisturbed. But… what was that?

What in the galaxy just played in his brain?

What exactly did he just… see ?

And why did it feel so real?

-0-

Your sugar

Yes please

Won't you come and put it down on me?

The Maroon 5 bop is mostly muffled, but Rocket, who sits below the main deck taking apart one of his two pistols, still hums it to himself lightly. It's mostly white noise in his head, even though the melody is catchy enough. And the song before that, an older track about some girl named Stacy’s mother, had the same effect. It's keeping the raccoon in a bubble away from the other five on the ship as they venture toward Xandar with the intention of bringing the strangest event in years to light.

And that's how he wants it to be. The raccoon would rather be preoccupied adding additional parts to his guns in a place of mostly peace, even if the hum of the thrusters can grow a little louder than normal. But dealing with the ship’s humming growing slightly is better than trying to hold a conversation with anyone right now. He's still not feeling one hundred percent well. He's still unnaturally cold, even going as far as to put on a tailor-made brown jacket over a newer rendition of his old orange outfit, also custom made for his size.

The queasiness in his gut is still present, too, although nowhere near the danger mark yet. It's just uncomfortable for the raccoon, as he fears he might vomit up anything if he eats it. Most of the what he's consumed today has been water. And also a few grapes from the bag upstairs.

And so far, no nastiness.

Rocket flicks the gun upward, the barrel flicking up and clicking into place as he does so. He gives a sharp grin, aiming down the sight at the bare metal wall about ten feet away. It’s nice to be able to work like this on his own personal projects, given the amount of travel time between Knowhere and Xandar.

They've been on the ship for only half an hour and the journey to Xandar is going to be over more than four hours long. Rocket’s dreading getting off the ship, even though he has a long while to try and feel better. Of course, he thinks no one would blame him for wanting to stay back. But it's a pride thing for the raccoon.

There's not much for him to be proud of, if he's being honest.

I’m right here coz I need

Little love, a little sympathy

But hell, Rocket can't blame himself for wanting to either, especially after a night like the one he just had.

And it's not so much the sickness that's disturbing him today. It's the dream.

Everything that happened was so fast, with very little or any chronological order. And it all felt so… real. Not in the way where you dream about something tragic happening, either, like losing a loved one or getting buried alive. It felt like a strong sense of deja vu had wrapped itself around his neck and squeezed as tight as it could. It was very similar to Rockets Knowhere flashbacks that would come in the night, leaving him in a similar state. Terrified and scared.

But the dreams never happened. Well, the dreams did. But the events that occurred within?

Never.

Among his vomiting on the previous night he couldn't even acknowledge how he was feeling on an emotional level. There was no time. But Rocket woke up actually scared. It's exactly how he felt with the Halfworld dreams. And it wasn't because he himself was actually terrified of the strange, hooded man that he had seen for a few moments.

It was just…

He doesn't know why he’s still so scared, even today. When he'd woken up this morning, all he could feel looming over his shoulder was a sense of dread and misery.

And even among the songs playing that are meant to be a pleasant distraction and the feeling of satisfaction he gets as each addition to his hand cannons makes them heavier and more deadly, the raccoon can feel it looming over him like the monster with the static face.

But right now, he can hear something else among the muffled music and the feeling of dread cascading over him like a tall tower. Rocket can hear the soft steps of someone coming down the stairs and into the lower deck. He bares his teeth slightly, annoyed. What do they want, whoever they may be?

The person turns the corner once they reach the bottom, their form a silhouette in the light for a moment. Rocket feels a twinge of panic as if the creature from his dream as if it is real. But the raccoon sees that it is Mantis a second later.

She’s dressed a bit differently today, still sticking with the green and black aesthetic, although in the form of a more casual long-sleeved shirt and dark pants. No strange gloves that go halfway up her arms either. Her antennae are slightly drooped as she approaches the raccoon with her hands intertwined at her front, looking as innocent as one can be.

Rocket cocks an eyebrow at her. “Didn't expect you off all us losers, Mantis,” he admits.

“I didn't think you would, but I hope that's not a bad thing.” She gives a little smile at him. “Has your migraine subsided?”

He gives a little nod, although he is somewhat put off by the exact that she's asking. Mantis isn't necessarily rude to Rocket at all, but he does have a habit of making comments that she brings to a halt with her mind-reading capabilities. Like just yesterday with Cosmo, the telepath brought his well-planned insult to a grinding stop before he could even breathe one syllable of it.

And Mantis is just such a sweet girl. She’ll kick your ass if she is obligated to, but to the Guardians? She's just another addition into the stone cold pack of weirdos. Rocket just tends to think that maybe he's a little too much for Mantis’ taste, even though she does seem to enjoy his rowdy company and loud mouth.

“I mean, I still don't feel a hundred percent,” the raccoon admits, twisting the gun's barrel tighter with his shaky hands. “I’m-”

“You threw up last night. And you're having cold shakes.”

Rocket gives her a flat look, dropping his weapon onto the ground with a defeated huff. “How you know that?”

She kneels down in front of him, folding her arms in top of her knees, her antennae fading a little blue glow that she thought she was sly enough to hide.

The glow gives Rocket the answer be needs. “Really? Ya had to rest get into my brain of all days today?”

Mantis shrugs. “I'm sorry. I just wanted to check on you is-”

Rocket interrupts her a little too rudely with an outstretched palm. “I'm fine. Just need to get through it like any other disease. Might just be some weird kind of cold.”

Mantis frowns slightly, giving him a knowing look. “Rocket? I need to talk to you. There is something else going on.”

The raccoon looks at her sternly, picking up one of his pistols and tossing it around his hands as if he's inspecting it in various angle. “Can it wait for a bit? I'm in the middle of some calibrations.”

“No.”

Mantis makes a bold move, grabbing the beloved weapon from the raccoon in one quick motion.

“Hey!” He makes a grab at the gun, but misses when Mantis raises her arm higher.

“No. You're not getting this back until you tell me what is distressing you so.”

Rocket blinks, nearly questioning how she knows something is wrong with him before he just gives in. There really is no way to win an argument like this with a telepathic woman, especially one as powerful as Mantis is.

Rocket slumps over slightly, rubbing at the back of his head nervously. “L-Look,” he starts off slowly, worried about sounding like a crazy person. “I don't know what's going on with me. Ever since me 'n’ Quill hit that EM field, I've just been… off. Does that make sense?”

His friend gives a little nod. “I understand what you mean.”

“Good. And-And last night I… Well, I had another sort of… episode.”

Mantis frowns at that news. She's been made well aware of the “episodes” Rocket suffers from, though nowadays they are very rare and far between. “If you don't mind me asking, it wasn't about Halfword, was it?”

Rocket hesitates before shaking his head. “No. It wasn't. Like I said, only sort of.” A chill runs down his spine, forcing him to hunch over and pull his jacket around his chest a little tighter. “It was a dream, I think. But… the weird thing is I can remember it vividly.”

Mantis tilts her head slightly. “Whats strange about that? I remember my dreams well.”

“Well… as sad as it is, I can't really remember any dream I may have that ain't about Halfword. All I know from my dreams is pain and blood. Nothing’s good. Like I couldn't tell ya if I've had weird sex dreams about any movie stars or-”

The telepath rolls her eyes. “Rocket, must you-”

The raccoon looks sheepish, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “Bad example. I’m sorry, but I'm trying to make a point.” He sighs. “I know I come off as crass now and then but I'm bein’ serious. This shit I saw last night…” The raccoon swallows before he gazes down at his crossed legs. “It felt real. It felt like I'd seen it before. But I don't understand…”

“Rocket… if I told you that I felt something was off about the frequency, would you be surprised?”

The raccoon looks back up with wide eye, ears standing on end in excitement. “Wait… ya… really?”

She nods slowly. “I have a hunch that it may be of some importance.”

“Huh. So its something we should… like, look into more? As in where the frequency came from?”

Mantis nods slowly. “Maybe. But Rocket, I have a request to make of you. Would you allow me to… um…”

Rocket leans forward, his tail tensing up when the nervousness immediately settles into his body. “What?”

“I want to see what it was you saw last night. But it would require your complete cooperation. I would have to put my hands on you and I know that you're sometimes uncomfortable with such a thing. The way you describe these… visions is intriguing.”

Rocket can't believe what he's hearing. It's a little bewildering. He hadn't expected Mantis to want to help him solve whatever this may be. And he vocalizes it. “Mantis, why wouldja wanna help me with this? It don't sound crazy to you at all?”

Mantis smiles and even chuckles lightly at him. “Rocket, you doubt yourself so much. And remember, we fought Thanos with the Avengers and won. Ego was a living planet. On Earth there is a boy named Peter Parker who was given superhuman abilities through a spider bite.And you're a talking raccoon.” Her smile widens slightly as she places her hand on one his that sit in his lap. “We’ve all seen and been through weirder than what you're describing. And we’re all pretty weird, ourselves, especially that flora colossus you call your best friend.”

Rocket actually laughs at her remark. “Yeah… I guess you're right.”

“And in a way, this team has come to be family to me. And they take care of their own. So…”

Rocket gives a shaky breath, nodding vigorously up and down. If she wants to help and this is her way of trying, he'll take it. “Yeah, okay. Okay, let's do it.”

“Wonderful.” Mantis arranges her sitting position so she can be more comfortable, sitting in a similar way to Rocket with her logs crossed over one another. “Come closer,” she says, sliding Rockets second pistol aside gently before placing it's confiscated twin close by. Rocket scoots himself forward, zipping his jacket up to try and get himself a little warmer as he does so.

“Now, close your eyes. Take a breath. Relax.”

The raccoon does as she commands, his breathing coming out shaky and nervous. He slumps his shoulders and let's his head hang, taking in slower, deeper breaths.

He can feel Mantis’ palms hovering over his head. “Okay,” she whispers as quietly as she can, “I'm going to put my hands on your head now. This won't hurt. I promise.”

Rocket nods lightly in understanding as she calmly puts cradles Rocket’s fuzzy face in her hands. When she touches his cold skin beneath with her fingertips, she feels heartbroken immediately at the feeling that she knows he is wallowing in right now.

Rocket’s scared. She may have caught a hint of that when he mentioned his dream being reminiscent of the Halfworld flashbacks, but she didn't expect it to be like this. He feels genuine fear.

Fear of the unknown.

Mantis shakes her head as if to rid herself of feeling what he's feeling. It's time to concentrate on what is deep within his mind.

It seems unusual to be trying this with what could very well just be a dream. But the way Rocket describes these dreams makes it seem like some sort of vision more so than a random dream pulled from his brain.

And this is the only way to be sure. By locking into whatever emotion is most prominent, she plans to pull out whatever he saw last night.

And maybe she can get some answers.

Mantis gives one last glance at Rocket. He's shaking slightly, but that's out of sickness. He's feeling calmer now, less nervous. But the deeply rooted fear is still festering. She closes her eyes, grips his head the tiniest bit tighter, and begins to concentrate as hard as possible.

The first thing she sees is Nova Prime. She's wearing her trademark uniform, navy blue and cuffed at the sleeves, complete with dark gloves. Her hair is put up in the fantastic style that she somehow manages to maintain. And she's standing in front of a map with a large, blinking red dot. She points to it, looking away and she's speaking.

Mantis manages to make out, “We need to hit them here and now. This is where the anomaly opened.” She can feel the vision wanting to slip away but she doesn't let it do so quite yet. She pulls harder, and it stays for just a little longer.

Long enough for Nova Prime to say, “The Vi’Latronum must not make it through the time jump again. This ends-”

Like a sudden scream from a sleeping baby, the voice comes loud and clear in the telepath’s head. “NO NOVA!” screams the voice, making her brain feel like it's being pressed on by two rocks.

But she doesn't let go of Rocket yet.

Suddenly, she's thrust away from Nova and is in the cockpit on the Milano, heading straight toward an oblong vessel. It's deep brown color reminds her of what Ego would wear in his human guise, although the orange accents on the hull are unlike the planet-man’s style.

And the ship is going fast. She can feel the fear among the inhabitants in the cockpit. Quill’s in the pilot's seat. And strangely enough, Mantis can see herself in the seat next to him.

Isn't that Rocket’s spot?

“NO ATTACK!” the voice screams out again. Mantis gives a grunt. She can feel Rocket move his head slightly in her palms, almost as if to check on her.

“I-I’m fine, Rocket,” she assures, her concentration unbroken. “Just breathe.”

“Th-The pain is back.” It's not a question. He must be feeling it too as he breathes heavily, voice cracking slightly.

“Just a moment longer. Breathe. Trust in me.”

The suffering raccoon does so, relaxing into Mantis’ touch.

And then comes the next one.

The worst one.

Mantis sees that she is now in a well lit, circular space with a chair in the center. It's a massive room with light panels along the entire ceiling, golden floors, and…

There's the thing.

The monster.

Mantis feels a lump rise in her throat, the sight of the creature making her vision distort slightly.

Within the real world, Rocket’s tiny hands suddenly grip around the telepath’s wrist and squeeze tightly.

The pain… is unbearable.

As she stares on at the creature, Mantis is in both awe and terror and she doesn't even know why. It is of average height, dressed head to toe in a black hood and similar pants with a long, draping loincloth.

And the face?

The face is plain in a human-esque structure. A basic nose, medium sized eyes, and a slit for a mouth. But where there should be a colored pigment in this creature's face, there is static.  It moves like a TV on a screen that the antenna can't pick up. It is a headache to look at.

And the colors in his deeo eyes are chilling, a deep purple pupil looking right into Mantis’ soul.

This times another voice speaks loud and clear.

“We are Vi’Latronum.”

And this one sentence causes so much pain that Mantis yelps out, pushing Rocket away, who also yells out in pain. She nearly falls onto her back, but Mantis saves herself with one hand as she rubs her head with her free hand, keeping her eyes shut tightly.

Just… what is this? She feels queasy, just as Rocket describes, and she's a little warmer than before she tried to scan through the raccoon’s brain.

There's the scurrying of bare feet across the metal floor before Mantis feels cold hands on her shoulder giving her a light shake. “Mantis?” Rockets voice sounds panicked, something that surprises even her.

Slowly, Mantis blinks her eyelids open, shielding her face from the light. She comes face to face with Rocket, his eyes watery and glazed over. She sits up slowly, taking in every detail of pain on his face from the teary eyes to the tiniest hint if a pout in his lower lip.

“Rocket…”

“I-I’m sorry I-I made ya-”

There's not even another word he can get out before Mantis grabs the raccoon vy the shoulders and pulls him close into her chest. He doesn't even try to wrestle out of her grasp. Rocket can't find the energy to do so.

And Mantis is just floored. She cannot believe that this is what he's going through right now. The flare of pain she felt that is now fading away was unbelievable. And he's having this happen for long periods of time?

Mantis can hardly imagine what that must be like.

She begins to speak after a moment of comfortable silence. “Rocket. Listen to me closely. What I just saw… that was no dream. And the only way I know is because of the way it felt.”

Rocket looks up at her. “H-Huh? Wait, ya never did this before and had that kinda reaction?”

“When I have premonitions if the future, I feel flares of various types. Sometimes it's a slight ache, a lightheadedness, or a tingly feeling in my neck.” She strokes the top of the ringtail’s head in light brushes with her fingertips, trying to calm down the heart that she can literally feel beating against her body. “These… these are similar visions because they gave me similar flsres. But the flares are just far more intense.”

Rocket blinks, swallows hard, and tries to find the words. Is Mantis saying… is this possible? Is Rocket a vessel for something that seems completely impossible?

“I believe that… what you're seeing is having such an affect on you because you are not built for this. You are not adept as I am.”

These visions…

The frequency…

They're from the future?

Eyes wide and brow furrowed, Rocket slumps over. “The… The futu-”

No Nova.

The phrase sparks slightly in Rocket’s brain.

No Nova.

“No…”

No Nova.

And the spark, upon hearing the phrase echo inside his head again, turns into a flame.

NO NOVA.

Suddenly, Mantis feels Rocket burst out of her arms so fast that the force of him kicking out of her grip forces her to nearly fall flat on her back. He flies up the stairs on all fours, doing the same to reach the cockpit.

Luckily nobody is on this upper deck to argue with him. Rocket jumps onto the pilot's seat, pulls the brakes on the ship, and hears at least one complaint from everyone on the ship down below.

The sound of Mantis’ potted plant smashing into the floor is prominent.

Ignoring the commotion, Rocket smashes his hand in the emergency airlock button. Behind him, he hears the entry hatch that leads up onto the cockpit deck of the ship slam shut. No one is getting in here to stop him. The only way out is through the inside. The sly yet stressed raccoon smashes in the coordinates for Knowhere at lightning speed.

He twists the ship around, pushes forward the thruster lever, and they're off.

To their destination.

Back home.

Going away from Xandar.

No Nova after all, right?

Chapter Text

There's something inside you that isn't right
There's something that haunts your dreams at night
There's something that you have lost
And you're bringing it down
You're bringing it down
On top of us

Bringing It Down - Starset

-0-

There's a wet-sounding pitter patter across the sleek floor of Cosmo’s private security office, high above and looking down upon the rest of the civilization that is the once blackmarket planet. It has everything the Head of Security could need, from a massive computer with files on any criminals out and about to minor things like who is on Knowhere's newly implemented parole plan. It's all working rather smoothly too for Cosmo, and his job couldn't be made easier.

Speaking of which, said space dog is sitting calmly, gazing out one of the grime covered windows keenly.

He really should get someone to scrape that sludge off…

He sees the Guardians’ massive homebase out through the smudge. The idea of having Groot clean them off comes to mind. But Cosmo gives his closest attempt at a grin when he thinks of Rocket struggling to crawl about with a rag in hand as he complains of the nastiness.

“Cosmo?”

The dog’s ears ring at the sound of his voice. He hadn't heard his companion enter the room, despite the loud smacking of his webbed feet across the floor, but he's pleasantly surprised nonetheless.

“Ah! Hello, Mister Duck!” Cosmo twists around and comes snout to bill with the duck in question.

Squinting in annoyance at the title of “Mister”, the anthropomorphic creature straightens his brown suit jacket and tie. “We’ve been over it, mutt. It's just Howard.”

Howard the Duck is an odd one in this vast universe, even if he's not as strange as a living planet, the Sovereign race, or Groot. The fact that he comes from a planet that is the literal shape and color of an egg is odd. His outlook on the world he has is strange, as he finds himself trapped in a world he didn't create… even though he isn't particularly bound to any one world.

Howard the Duck is just a strange little man (or duck, or whatever) stuck in a strange massive universe.

“Right. Mister Howard !” the dog corrects himself.

The duck grimaces at Cosmo’s naivety and decides to just settle on it as much as he wants to interject. “Cosmo presumes you are in need of another job, right?”

“Cosmo would assume right,” the duck confirms snobbishly. “I'm due on rent and I'm already behind. I haven't had any big cases in two months.”

Cosmo trots away from the view of Knowhere and over toward his personal database. He places a paw on the sensor, moving his appendage slightly to the right to scroll through the reports. “Da, I understand. But Knowhere has been on good behavior! Most major incident was spaceship accident last week.”

Howard’s heart skips a beat at that. Spacecraft accidents are always a chance at some hot cash. His eyes are practically forming into dollar signs at the idea of having his tiny firm get off the ground, even if it's only momentarily…

As it usually is.

“Waugh! Really?! Any chance at foul play?! Ravaged brake pads?! Grav-motors undone?! Do they have an attorney?!”

“No,” Cosmo says plainly, swiping over to another file. “They both died.”

Howard blinks. “Oh.”

“Da. Oh,” Cosmo repeats in similar inflection. “Besides, you are detective, not lawyer.” Cosmo looks to him and huffs a hot breath out of his nose. “You are cheap bastard if you were to hypothetically lie to someone in your line of work.”

Howard grumbles some nonsense under his breath, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Don’got’beadick’boutit.”

“I am not dick, I am dog.” Cosmo skims through a couple more of his reports, trying to find something light. “It is shame you cannot be with Guardians. Mostly because you are stubborn bird. Could use someone like you!”

“I am not stubborn! I am chill all the time!” Howard cries out nasally, smacking himself against the chest several times. “And besides, I work best alone! I don't need that pretty boy Star-Lord bossin’ me around.

“Comrade Peter is good man.”

Howard rolls his eyes. Cosmo doesn't appreciate that. He gives the duck a piercing glare. “Be grateful I am helping you, Howard. No reason to be rude. You are lucky I am helping at all.”

At that the duck cracks a grin. “Finally. Just Howard …”

A few minutes pass as the two stand in silence while the commander in chief keeps swiping through. Cosmo gives a little gasp and his tail begins to wag. “Here you go! Cosmo forgot about this fellow. He motions upward to the screen with his head. “Case of mistaken identity with a Recorder.”

There's a slight glimmer of hope until Howard hears the word 'Recorder’. “First of all, a damn cyborg? Secondly, so much for being a chief of security. You just “forgot” about his case?”

“Cosmo only forgot because Recorder left in middle of filing his report to me. Only left his whereabouts on where I could find him. Only told Cosmo part of his story. Recorder was-” Suddenly, a ship flies right past the window at an alarmingly fast velocity. The room shaking, windows rattling violently so fast they just might crack.

On the plus side, Cosmo wouldn't have to clean the grime off if the window shattered.

Cosmo cries out, “ Blyad!” loudly.

“Waugh! What in the-”

Cosmo speeds back to his space where he'd been gazing, watching as the ship flies closer and closer...

And then pulls right into the massive Guardians compound not too far from here.

“The Milano?”

Howard, who had quite the dramatic reaction to the vibration, having squatted down underneath of the massive console pulling his hat down in his head tightly, slowly eases out. “Not an earthquake?!”

“Nyet.” Cosmo trots away and huffs. “Earthquakes never happen on Celestial head. The Guardians are home early. Too early. I must go and see them. We are working on extremely personal case.” The dog stands on his hind legs and presses a button on the door panel, waiting for the elevator to reach the top floor. “Cosmo left Recorder file open on data screen. You may-”

Howard grits his teeth together tightly. “Whaugh! The idiots! Who flies past that fast?! I'm coming with you and givin’ that little raccoon dude a piece of my mind!”

Cosmo nods as the elevator dings and the door opens. “Right. You do that, Mister Duck.”

Howard follows after the dog. “I already told you, it is Howard .”

A moment of silence as the door begins to shut before…

“Okay. Will keep that in mind, Mister Howard.”

The signature “waugh!” on Howard's end that followed was audible three floors down.

-0-

Meanwhile inside of the hangar where the Milano was very hastily placed by a certain smart mouthed ringtail, Peter, Drax, Gamora, Mantis, and Groot all stand outside of the stairway that leads up to the top deck. All eyes are set on the immovable silver door that is blocking them from actually having a face to face conversation with Rocket.

“I could tear it off with my bare hands.”

“Drax, no ,” Peter interjects before the tattooed mountain can actually make an attempt at ripping the door off its hinges. “What in the hell is he even doing up there? Why'd he bring us back here?”

Mantis shuffles uncomfortably, ringing her hands together. “I believe Rocket-”

“I am Groooooot?” the procyon's best friend calls out. Rockeeeeet? Are you too ill to accompany us?

Mantis clears her throat nervously, continuing on with her wary explanation. “I-I can't confirm his exact reasoning, but-”

Apparently Peter isn't listening, too hot-headed to even think straight. “Oh, this little shit. If he's pulling that thing where he “forgot something hella important” and it's just a bag of grapes again, I swear to god…”

Mantis gives an irritated sigh, clearly being unheard. “It's not grapes.”

“Indeed.” Drax suddenly pulls up from seemingly nowhere (although they were just sat on the nearby table) the bag of the fruit in question. “There are plenty.”

Gamora, who has remained silent the entire time, grabs one of the juicy little orbs and bites into it with comedic timing. “In all honesty, this is ridiculous. Nova is expecting us to show up soon,” she comments through sweet grape juice.

Grimacing and feeling a sense of anger toward the uncharacteristically quiet raccoon, Groot pounds in a group of threes on the hatch for the seventeenth time. Boom boom boom .

“I am Groot!” Rocket! You've docked us very lazily on Knowhere and none of us are happy!

There's only silence in response.

Peter, disgruntled, throws his hands in the air dramatically, crying out, “ Anyways, if it's not grapes, than what-”

Suddenly the hatch flies open and with that, there's a flash of brown and blue that doesn't even bother taking the stairs.

“Nope! No time, no time to explain!” Rocket’s voice cries from the tiny tornado of fur as he flies through the exit hatch on the side.

Everyone stands silently at the raccoons urgency before Peter looks around at the group standing in a circle. He's never seen Rocket's so panicked, although he heard that the little dude was pretty damn freaked out when he thought Peter bit the dust during the final confrontation with Thanos.

It’s a weird thing to see.

Quill opens his mouth to speak, but Drax stops him, holding out the bag in offering to the Terran.

“Grape?”

-0-

Tap tap tap tap.

Two pairs of hands fly across the holographic keyboard connected to the base mainframe of the Guardians’ homebase. The 'monitor’ lights up, alive and glowing brightly.

Again, the tapping starts again.

“V-I-L-”

The keys are pressed in unison as Rocket says the letters aloud.

“-A-T-R-O-N-”

Behind him from the hangar, the raccoon can hear the heavy footsteps of his friends approaching.

And there's still that lurking static sound.

And the dream.

“-U-M.”

A moment later, the Knowhere database scans across the net in mere moments as the screen soon reads “Results for: VILATRONUM.” Many different articles and documents appear, all of which are at his disposal to-

“Rocket, what in the fuck are we doing back home?”

The raccoon swivels around and is greeted by the stern eye of Star-Lord, with the other Guardians in tow.

“Pete, ya gotta listen to me and not think I'm going off my rocker,” the raccoon immediately spouts, hands wringing nervously. “I-I have had-”

“Rocket, I don't care that you've had a hellish past few days,” Quill interrupts. “I don't understand this.”

Gamora, not looking to the two that are in a tense conversation, slides past the rest of the group looking at the screen with her mouth slightly agape.

“Pete, please. It's complicated.”

“What's so complicated about it?! I asked a question!”

“Quill, It’s-It’s"

“Rock, I need to know why the hell we’re back here.”

Rocket’s voice raises several levels, fists clenching as he stomps forward. “Then lemme say more than two whole syllables, you prick!”

Peter’s teeth grind together like tectonic plates. “Idiot!”

Rocket lets out a wild string of spit when he yells back, “Fleshbody!”

Mantis quickly intervenes, pushing herself between the two with her hands outstretched. “Both of you need to stop. Rocket, relax. Peter, there is an explanation for this.”

Rocket noticeably eases, but Peter gets just a bit more worked up.

“Wait, you're in on it too, Mantis?”

Drax pushes himself into view, making his oddly stoic presence a weapon. “Do not accuse Mantis of anything, Quill. It is clearly Rocket’s wrongdoing.”

Mantis sighs. “Drax, I appreciate your help, but Rocket did nothing wrong. I-”

“Everyone shut up.” Gamora turns away from the computer screen that she's been gazing into for a good while. She looks to Rocket and asks in a very serious tone of voice, “Why are you searching for information on the Vi'Latronum, Rocket?”

All eyes in the room turn to her, the silence deafening.

“Why, Rocket? What do you know about them? Why is this so important right now?”

Rocket blinks, acknowledging the familiarity and urgency in Gamora's tone when she speaks the long, foreign name. “Ya… Gams, you know about 'em?”

“What the hell is Vi’Latronum?” Quill questions, looking to the green-skinned woman with a raised eyebrow. “Never heard of it.”

Rocket growls low in his throat. Of course the second Gamora, his fucking girlfriend, mentions the elaborate word on screen he's interested. But he refrains from spitting the bitter thought in Peter's direction… for now.

“It's…” Rocket can't bring an answer because he doesn't have one. He's just confused. He doesn't know what it is. But the strange phrase keeps ringing in his head, like a catchy song on the radio that he can't place a name on.

But than there's Gamora. And somehow she knows what this… thing is. Or who it is. And so she begins to explain.

“The Vi’Latronum are… ancient, Quill. They haven't been seen or heard from in actual centuries.” Ancient is a word that rings across the crowd of six. They've seen ancient, and that came in the form of Ego the Living Planet.

And boy, that was a fiasco.

“How ancient?” Mantis breaks the silence, worry clearly painted on her face.

“Ancient enough to be an enemy of Thanos before he took me and Nebula in,” the Zehoberei replies, shuddering slightly. “He often told me of them. He said that they were a challenge.”

Rocket doesn't like this. They're dealing with something ancient that has been in the shadows for many years, which is scary enough. But it's something that can challenge Thanos himself now?

“W-What did they do?” the raccoon asks, voice hitching slightly. Groot, seeing his friend's nerves going off the chart, makes his way to the raccoon and begins to scratch at the back of his head lightly.

It barely helps. Rocket’s tail still twitches nervously.

“The Vi’Latronum would… well, steal planets, I guess, planets that Thanos thought to be valuable to his cause, whatever it may have been at the time.”

Planet stealing.

“And the Reiko are missing now,” Gamora adds exasperated. “This was definitely a possibility in my head, but it didn't seem that likely.”

“Where did they go?” Drax asks.

“They were pushed back in a joint effort by the Kree and Xandarian forces, believe it or not. Many lives were lost that day. Whatever weapon they had aboard their vessel was… powerful. With a green glow that would deconstruct ships as if it were being taken apart by an engineer. As if time itself were…”

Time freezes.

“An Infinity Stone. The Time Stone.”

If there were a proper moment for dramatic music to play, this would be it. The terrified looks across the faces of every single person in the room, the tense feeling that could be felt so thick in the air that it could be cut with a knife.

Rocket sees the green glow in his head again.

It all makes sense.

“The Eye of Agamatto…” Quill trails off. “Whoa whoa. Hang on. Are we sure?”

“What else has time-keeping capabilities, Peter?” Gamora replies shortly. The human grimaces slightly at her harsh tone, but she rebounds, adding, “I understand, it's unbelievable, but…”

“I am Groot…” the houseplant grumbles irritably. More Infinity Stone drama…

Mantis frowns and pats the tree’s barky shoulder. “It's unfortunate, I know, Groot.”

Quill, unconvinced, scratches his chin before questioning Gamora's theory. “But are we really sure that they have Infinity Stone levels of power? Even without the stupid rock? That sorcerer guy, Strange. He's got it on Earth

“Has to be that, Quill.” Rocket finally speaks. “Saw a green glow in the dreams. It looked just like the Time Stone's glow. I-”

All eyes fall to Rocket with inquisitive looks all around. Except Mantis, who is looking extremely wary.

Bad move.

“I am Groot?” The dreams?

Rockets ears spike up, his body tense. Shit. He looks to Mantis, slightly panicked, looking into the big black pools she has for eyes. The intensity is palpable between them, but the raccoon looks away before the telepath can speak. “I-I-” The raccoon can't pick up the proper words. “I-I… look. Everyone sit down. I gotta-”

“Guardians of the Galaxy!” Suddenly, the voice of Cosmo the Space Dog plows into their brains rudely. “I-”

“Shaddup, dog!” Rocket yells out, before giving a half-assed salute to Howard (they know each other, and that's a story for another day) tailing behind slowly. “Anyways, please, hear me out, even though I'm gonna sound like a total fuckin’ wacko.”

And so, after everyone has braced themselves (save for Howard, who Peter asked to get him a cup of coffee), Rocket recounts the week's events…

-0-

“And so here we are. Back home.” Rocket finally finished his long, complex narrative, a little weight lifting off his shoulders. Feels nice to get that off of his chest. “I dunno why, but they, whoever they were, said Nova can't be involved. And Mantis has been a big help in all’s this, so…” The raccoon pulls into himself. He's staring into his lap but he can feel all eyes on him, making him feel small.

So he clears his throat and looks up from his lap and scans across the room

The looks he's receiving on all ends are mixed; polarizing and understanding. The raised eyebrows, unwavering glares, and creaking lips are the only reactions that are present immediately. Everyone is silent.

But then Peter rises to his feet, and opens his mouth

At first when Rocket heard the human's voice, he felt relief flooding over him. But soon the words turned sour, and the raccoon was actually surprised by what Peter had said.

And what was it?

“Okay, so you're telling me that because of some dream you had, you're going to risk our partnership with the Nova Corps and keep us all in the dark about it?”

The raccoon freezes, the stern, hardened voice from Peter taking him by surprise. And by the furrowed brow and grimacing look, the human isn't happy.

“Peter, come on, now,” Gamora advances, holding out a hand to the human. “I don't think we fully understand the situation at hand. The Vi’Latronum are powerf-”

“The situation at hand is that our lovely pilot and weapons expert turned us back to Knowhere and didn't even give a really valid reason why.”

The walking thesaurus by the name of Drax enters the fray a moment later. With heavy, bounding steps he comes to Quill’s side, looking between Gamora and Rocket with squinted eyes.

He says, “I agree. Although it is a theory that can hold its own, there are no facts that this… Filter-Scrotum did you call it?”

The raccoon would laugh, but he can't find it in himself.

Gamora rolls her eyes and points to the screen behind her. “In gigantic letters, imbecile. And the facts are right here.” She motions in Rocket's direction swiftly. “He is having episodes. He doesn't know what this is. The Vi’Latronum are capable of otherworldly things, and maybe this is just an adverse effect.”

Peter begins to speak, only getting out, “I don't-” before Mantis pipes up shyly.

“I don't… I don't think we should just throw Rocket's reasoning out of the window here.” When Quill gives her a raised eyebrow, she nearly backs off. But the sight of Rocket sitting miserably watching this all unfold sets a spark in her. “It's unfair. He is in pain. And I've seen what he is speaking of, and it's all very real.”

“You agree with him?” Drax is genuinely surprised, sounding almost like a father taking to his teenage daughter after she's done something particularly terrible.

And that's almost exactly what it's like for Mantis.

“Drax, yes. Why do you ask me like that?”

Drax opens his mouth but Star-Lord’s voice comes first. “Coz Rocket isn't the best decision maker in the universe. Remember the Sovereign? The batteries?” All eyes look to the raccoon as they remember that incident.

“We're past that, Quill,” Rocket spits.

“Called an example. And this thing you did?

It’s shit. And i don't believe it for a second.” After a brief break in the argument, Quill takes a breath, trying to relax himself. And, more calmly than before, he looks at Rocket and asks, “Is there a reason you don't wanna go to Nova? You got charges or something? If so, just tell me, dude. At least if it's something believable I won't be ticked at you.”

Rocket speaks for the first time in a while. “Quill, s'not that simple, man. Didn't ya just listen to me? I don't do shit like this outta quick judgement just coz I wanna. I don't wanna do shit like this. I'm doing what I think is the best.”

Peter guffaws, almost immediately angry once again. “Oh, I listened. And what do I think of it?” For a moment, Rocket considers answering, but he holds his tongue when Star-Lord bends over and comes nose-to-nose with him. And then, the angry man mutters one word.

“ Bullshit .”

And for the first time in a long time, Rocket is angry. And it's been even longer since Rocket was actually genuinely angry at Peter. He can feel fury running through his veins like a septic infection, taking over his entire form with no way to fight it.

In a second the procyon jumps up onto his seat and sneers at Quill, teeth showing and hot breath brushing a few stray hairs off the human's forehead. “That whatcha think, pretty boy? Ya think I'm makin’ up my fucking migraines? Ya think I'm scared shitless coz I'm good at acting like it? Ya think I wanna sit here feeling and looking miserable all damn day?”

“I don't think your reasoning is a hundred percent viable, Rocket. And yeah, I think you're pretty good at feeling miserable. You complain a lot,” Peter sasses back, giving a quick glance in the direction of Gamora and the team’s telepath. “And Mantis, you condone this shit he's throwing at us?”

Mantis frowns, brushing her hair out of her face. She swallows over the lump forming in her throat, twiddling with her hands nervously as her gaze shifts to the floor shamefully. “I didn't exactly-”

“Didn't exactly what?!” Peter interrupts with a roaring voice.

Growling, Rocket grabs Peter by the lining if his red jacket and tugs. Pete hadn't expected that, and he nearly falls on top of the raccoon before steadying himself and glaring hard into Rocket’s eye.

“Hey Quill, get off her fucking back or I'll make ya get off her fucking back.”

It's scary how serious Rocket sounds.

“Oooh, scary. Tiny raccoon is gonna kick my-”

And then Rocket spits in Peter’s eye .

A loud quack fills the room. “Waugh! They're gonna fight!” Howard the Duck cries out wildly, pulling his hat down atop his head tightly and taking shelter beneath a nearby console.

And that's exactly what happens. ..