*Dies* Guys. I am so so sorry that it's taken me this long to update. Work and school was a tag-team I was not prepared to deal with, and as everyone knows...retail during the holidays sucks. Like you wouldn't believe. But... Here it is.

Merry Christmas :D Have tears, awesome, and then more tears. Because I love you all XD

...

It was warm when he opened his eyes again, warm and bright. His toes curled, fingers fisting, and immediately he flinched, but found no pain shooting up his arms. Rocket blinked, and looked down, lifting his hands slowly, taking in the whole fingers, the claws, the black flesh scarred with the typical electrical burns and small cuts from working on his guns and bombs…

But it was nothing like they had been. He could move. He could think.

Where was he?

He looked around, frowning slightly, only to realize there were trees all around him, trees and grass and flowers of all things. His nose wrinkled slightly as a small insectoid with large colorful wings flitted by his whiskers.

He hadn't…he hadn't been in a place like this since…

He looked up, and there was Groot, sitting with his back against one of the more immobile trees a respectable pace away from him.

He hadn't been in a place like this since X.

What the hell was going on?

"Groot?" Rocket whispered softly, looking over to him. He was confused. He didn't know how he had gotten here, didn't know what was going on… What was going on, something was wrong, something was wrong…

'We are not Groot…'

Rocket flinched back, his body tensing, and then…

"Hey, look who's up…" A voice from beside him said, startling him, his ears pressing flat against his head as his tail bushed, and Rocket looked over to regard Peter's smiling face, and a chill ran down his spine.

'Leave you with the other monsters,' his mind echoed, Peter's amused grin flashing through his head, and Rocket found himself on his feet before he could properly register what he was doing, stumbling backwards. His eyes flickered to Groot, his earlier words ringing in his ears, and Rocket started running. He didn't know what was going on, his mind was fuzzy and his nose was still numb. He couldn't smell anything.

What was going on? Where was he?

Peter's voice called after him, entwined with Groot's deeper rumble, tinged as they were with worry. He heard the both of them stand up to head after him, but kept running, scalpels and pain and fear blurring together in his mind until he could barely think… His body twinged with phantom pain with every step…

That was the moment a pair of legs stepped out in front of him and he found himself scooped up and pressed to a broad chest.

Rocket's claws immediately flashed, clawing and biting, anything to try and escape. It took him a while to notice that the arms around him were doing nothing but hold him, that a soft voice was continually whispering to him, telling him that it was alright, that he was safe… Then he realized he was being held by the Destroyer himself, who was currently looking down at him with narrowed eyes, a worried expression on his face. Rocket stopped clawing, stopped biting. He simply…stopped.

He barely even breathed.

Drax' hold loosened, before placing him at his feet, kneeling down to look at him. "Are you calm, small friend?" Drax asked him, and Rocket didn't even feel like snarling at him for the 'small' comment, heart beating too fast, lungs unable to get enough air, everything was wrong. Rocket slumped to the ground, head between his knees, breathing deeply, trying to calm his racing heart.

"Rocket, what is wrong?" Gamora asked. He hadn't even heard her come up, yet there she stood, looking down at him quietly, her head slightly tilted.

'I'm disappointed' rang in his ears, and he flinched… Yet she wasn't saying it. None of them were saying it. There were no scalpels, no pain…

"Was it a nightmare, buddy?" Peter asked, hovering beside him. Even Groot hovered, slowly moving to sit next to him, and the word 'nightmare' rang in Rocket's brain like a siren. He frowned, looking up at them, scrutinizing their looks of concern, and slowly found himself asking himself the same question. Groot reached out to him and slowly, hesitantly, Rocket returned the gesture, taking hold of his arm and skittering along to perch on his shoulder. His heart was still hammering in his chest, his body had yet to stop trembling, he needed something to ground himself to what was around him.

More than anything, though, he needed to prove that Groot still cared.

The bark underneath his feet had the same firmness, the same texture as the Flora Colossus he knew… His trembling slowly stilled.

He didn't pay any attention to the others looks of concern, knowing he was breaking form by seeking out Groot's presence when they could see it. At that point, however…Rocket didn't care.

"Where…where are we?" He asked, voice a dry rasp, fear still choking him.

"…X. You said it would be a good place for Groot to recover, remember?" Peter asked, frowning at him. "You had one hell of a nightmare, didn't you? Shit, I'm sorry…it didn't even look like one of your nightmares. I didn't think to wake you."

"How do you know what my nightmares look like?" Rocket immediately snapped, digging his claws into Groot's shoulder tighter. He never let them see his nightmares, never wanted to be seen as that vulnerable, that weak.

"There is no soundproofing on X." Gamora's voice was calm, steady, and she locked eyes with him carefully, eyebrows very lightly pinching. "We have seen them, just as you have seen ours. They are nothing to be ashamed of."

Rocket blinked, flinching slightly, frowning, her words ringing in his ears as both truth and somehow painful. He was so confused…why couldn't he remember anything? He tugged at his ears lightly, head bowing as he struggled to pull up the memories that they were referencing. "Was it…it felt like…" He was still so groggy… Groot nudged him gently with his other hand, humming softly to him.

"Can you remember the dream?" Gamora asked him.

Rocket bristled, finally biting out a quiet, "It doesn't matter." He rubbed at his head again, frowning.

"You about clawed Drax to death."

"He did not," Drax immediately countered. "I was holding him too tightly, he had no access to any of my vital areas."

Peter rolled his eyes. "You still scratched him up pretty good. Obviously this means that it's not 'nothing.' Also it does matter," Peter stated belatedly, blinking. "That's the worst reaction I've seen."

Rocket hesitated. Their expressions were lightly pinched with concern, watching him closely.

Rocket took a breath, and finally started to open his mouth. "It was a nightmare…" He said softly, tasting the words on his tongue, testing them. "It just…you remember those stupid stories? About those things that could take your worst fears, make them real?" There was impatience crawling into his tone. The phantom pain of knives in his flesh kept him talking, their words before echoing in his ears trickling through. "They just…cut me open. Mocked me, spat at me, ripped my mind open and… Everything I was afraid of…" He shuddered tensing, hunching over himself, words stuttering to a halt.

He hated it.

"Well that sucks." Peter frowned slightly. "You know we'd never let that happen to you, right?" He asked. "We'd kick all kinds of ass before we'd let that happen."

"You're one of us. They would not take you so easily," Gamora stated simply, frowning.

"Should they take you, we would put our fingers to their throats." Drax inclined his head once, frowning deeply.

"I am Groot!"

Rocket paused, staring at them, fighting back a slow bubbling of something warm in his chest that he didn't recognize, and finally gave a soft scoff, shoving the feeling to the back of his mind. "Yeah…yeah…"

He felt his lips turn up slightly into an expression he rarely used, before blinking, staring at Groot with a slight frown slowly tugging his mouth down.

The big dumb tree was smiling like normal, tilting his head to the side slightly as he regarded him, but something was wrong with his eyes. Rocket blinked, his frown deepening as he noticed the black slowly seeping from their corners. Black like ink, thick like sap, trailing down his face…what the hell…?

He blinked, frowning, reaching out slowly and touching the liquid carefully. He lifted it to eyelevel, sniffing it, and frowning. "Groot…what…?" He looked back up and met eyes with hollow sockets. Rocket fell backwards in shock, landing on his back on the ground, a flash of pain running down his spine.

"Rocket?" Peter's voice asked, and Rocket turned, seeing that Peter's eyes were the same. Hollow, empty, red seeping from them. "What's wrong?" He asked, and Rocket slowly stood, backing away, eyes flickering from one pair of empty sockets to another, heart beating in his throat.

"Are you well, small friend?" Drax stood, blood trickling from his mouth, from his ears, reaching for him, head tilting as red trickled down his face, and Rocket panicked. Leaping to his feet, he turned, running away from what was behind him. He didn't know much about what was happening, but he somehow knew that he couldn't let them touch him.

Their voices cried out after him, calling his name, asking him what was wrong, but he was starting to hear something else behind their cries, something cold, something hungry.

Rocket stumbled, and when he pushed his head up from where he'd fallen to the ground, he found that the woods around him were full of smoke. Fire was leaping from the trees, branch to branch, and he couldn't smell it. It was there, heat radiating out of it like hell itself, and his hand immediately came up, shielding his face.

Their cries were still behind him. He could hear them. Crying his name. And in that instant, for whatever reason, Rocket knew that between the two…he would rather take the fire.

Rocket stood, stumbling forward, fighting through the murk, the black that clung to his fur, fighting through the raging inferno that burned. The roots were reaching up to grab him, cling to him, and he tripped, barely catching himself to continue moving. He couldn't stop. He didn't know why, he just knew that if he stopped…

There was something behind him and he screamed out as it touched him, grabbing hold of his scruff, and lifting him up, his body curling reflexively, unavoidably. And then he was face to face with Groot, or what had been Groot. Burning, fire dancing in his branches, body sharper, twiggy, looking more like what he had been before he had been attempting to befriend Rocket. Before he had changed his appearance to be less threatening to someone so small.

There was sadness in his face, sadness and loss, and for one instant Rocket was confused. This was supposed to hurt, he knew it was, so why wasn't it… "We are Groot," he said, voice rumbling softly, empty sockets staring into his somehow, and then that mouth opened, wide, wider, jagged bark rising up like teeth, and then they closed down on him, and Rocket screamed as everything went black.

Rocket woke to the same room as before, metal table cool on his back through his sweat, a cry tearing from his lungs, even as pain shot through every limb, tears prickling in his eyes as he screamed and screamed. Finally, finally, as he relaxed, realizing where he was, seeing Peter before him, who shouldn't be there and yet was, a frown on his face.

"You were dreaming." His voice came softly, the same and yet different from the Peter he knew. That undertone he had heard was still there, and Rocket no longer knew what was happening. Was he still dreaming? "I have never dreamed before." He said softly. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are?" That rustling, brittle voice wasn't coming from Peter's mouth. "To dream, to know happiness…" It was ringing in his head, and there was that hunger in his eyes, that strange, frightening hunger.

"Why do you get to know happiness? Why can't I?" He finally made contact, running cold, bony fingers through his fur, making him flinch, twist away. "How is it that you, who has no real existence, who was created and broken can know happiness? How do you deserve to know these things when I do not? …to feel the kind of bond you had, that I felt in your mind?" Those claws dug deep, pulled, and Rocket whined. "You trusted them…you trusted them even with all this, when we are wearing their faces, when we cause you pain… What is it like? What is it like?"

Those fingers clawed at him, and Rocket thrashed away, tears running down his face, chittering cries leaving his throat, desperate, pained, afraid.

And all the while a small part of him screamed that this was the end.

This was the part where he died.

…

Groot lay still, letting himself play dead, his eyes closed, his gold suppressed as much as possible, until it barely glinted. He did not know how the Others reacted to it, if They could sense it as well as he could… He could not chance it. The plan was in shambles, knocked out of bounds by something he hadn't truly expected, but now he understood. Now he knew why. And he hated Them for it. He also knew why Peter had requested he bring what he had, nestled in the hollow place inside him, luckily not pierced by Gamora's sword.

He understood what they wanted to do. How they meant to challenge. He did not know if it would work, but he found himself hopeful. He merely had to wait until They got close.

Drax, Gamora, and Peter had not run off as he had feared, collapsing where they were, twitching, lost in their own personal hell, lost in whatever their minds envisioned, silent tears trickling down stone-faces. And in the middle lay Groot, refusing to move for fear They would realize… The trap had been baited. All that was left was for Them to walk into it. All that was left was for Them to just…get…close.

He heard Them. High-pitched, almost musical chattering filtered down to him, ringing in the hollows of his bark, the vibrations bringing forth sound. The sounds They made as They walked were strange, almost like skittering, the rustle of what sounded like dead leaves rubbing together like gnarled, old hands a harsh parody of excitement. And Groot still didn't move. Letting Them come closer…

Finally, he felt Them above him Their chattering rising in pitch, in something almost like melody that swooped and dived below and around him. He felt Their hands on him, cold, clawed, scratching at his bark as he was slowly rolled to face the ceiling, and more importantly, Them.

They were strange, almost insectoid, skin a white he had only seen on the dead, it's composition as scaly as the Chitauri's dark hide. Their mouths were divided into three segments, lower parts hinged, opening wide so long black tongues could just barely be seen as they continued their strange song. The most chilling part of Them was Their eyes, large, deep-set, and black as pitch, empty of all feeling, of all light.

He felt that he could drown in Their eyes. That They could suck down his gold, suck down his life, and feed the remaining husk to the darkness that rested in Them.

Groot had never been more afraid. This wouldn't be a death like the one back on Xandar, this would be complete non-existence, sucked down into a pit from which there was no regeneration. A small part of him felt pity for something that was so hollow.

Even so, he could not forgive what They had done to his friends, what They had done, were doing, to Rocket. He remained still, watching as They moved towards his friends, watching as they reached out gingerly, mouths splitting, that black bubbling, wretched aura getting thicker, squeezing his friends', killing their colors.

He could see Them all now, watch Their spindly, too-long, too-many-jointed fingers as They reached out, and he knew that if he wasn't going to act now he never would. He reached inwards with his vines, wrapping them around the box in his chest, and searching for the buttons on top.

It had been an accident, the initial discovery that Groot could actually be used as a makeshift-speaker. Rocket had told him to hide a communicator somewhere, which Groot had naturally interpreted as hiding it where he naturally hid everything, inside some hollow. He had been interrupted by gunfire, which happened more often than he liked, and unfortunately placed it in what passed for his voice-box, a hollow chamber that bent and morphed sound to his typical 'I am Groot.' As it was artificial, there mostly for the flesh-bound creatures he was around, it was also something he was not completely familiar with. Peter's voice coming out of Groot had been a moment of shock for most of them, but it had started something.

Peter had been happily using him as portable speaker since the initial discovery and now was the time when all that practice went to good use. The sound was a bit deeper, and a bit rougher, but it was recognizable, thrumming through the very same hollows that allowed Groot to speak, and as the hollow bent around it, morphing and changing it, the sounds deepened, the volume grew, and finally…

Music echoed down the hallway, the sounds of guitar, bass and drums, the female vocalist finally belting out:

"Can't stay at home, can't stay at school
Old folks say, ya poor little fool,
Down the street, I'm the girl next door,
I'm the fox you've been waiting for!"

Groot watched Them jump, black eyes immediately whirling towards him. He felt Their black flinch back, the sound so utterly foreign to Them that They immediately recoiled. As the black twitched, so did the colors of his friends, the music calling to a deeply engrained part of them, calling them home.

"Hello daddy, hello mom,
I'm your ch-ch-cherry bomb!
Hello world, I'm your wild girl,
I'm your ch-ch-cherry bomb!"

The singer screamed out as Groot's aura reached, taking the colors that were desperately reaching out for anything out of subconscious reflex, a deeply engrained part of them realizing they could, and took them, snatching them right out of the black. As they were released they slumped, but Groot had no time for them. As they were released, They immediately focused on Groot.

"Stone age love and strange sounds too,
Come on baby, let me get to you,
Bad nights cause'n teenage blues,
Get down ladies you've got nothing to lose!"

Groot stood, a lumbering* giant among ants, bark and branches rising up in sharp splinters, fingers sharpening, lengthening, and Groot let out a roar.

"Hello daddy, hello mom,
I'm your ch-ch-cherry bomb!
Hello world, I'm your wild girl,
I'm your ch-ch-cherry bomb!"

As the singer let out her first little moan, Groot lashed out, clawing through the first, and moving onto the second. Initially They flinched back, before he felt their black once again attempt to leach into him, and in his initial reflexive attempt to jerk back, fell upon his friends. But it was too late.

"Hello daddy, hello mom,
I'm your ch-ch-cherry bomb!
Hello world, I'm your wild girl,
I'm your ch-ch-cherry bomb!"

As the song reached the second refrain, the Guardians were waking up. And they were not happy. The blackness that attempted to penetrate their color was not enough to keep up with the absolute energy and brightness that was Rocket's favorite song. But Groot could not focus on them.

They were finally beginning to attack physically, and while Their size was nothing particularly devastating, They had power in numbers. They no longer had the use of Their auras, Their prey no longer something They could influence mentally. Groot had expected no less of Them than to react like cornered animals.

Groot thrashed, using his defensive spikes to dangerous effect, reaching out with arms that lengthened and speared, stomping heads underfoot, and still they kept coming… He roared, "I am Groot!" melding with one last moan, and swung, just as they finally toppled him over.

"Hey street boy what's your style?
Your dead end dreams don't make you smile.
I'll give ya something to live for,
Have ya, grab ya 'til your sore!"

They clawed at him, shrieked at him, pitches dancing up the octaves, and then…

Gunfire.

"Hello daddy, hello mom,
I'm your ch-ch-cherry bomb!"

Peter Quill was on his feet, using both pistols to devastating effect, snarl on his face, yellow aura the sharpest Groot had ever seen it. It was biting out on reflex, even as it pulled Groot's gold close, seeking the other two. The yellow had purpose.

"Hello world, I'm your wild girl,
I'm your ch-ch-cherry bomb!"

Drax gave a bellow, charging forward with his knives that he had recovered, slashing almost blindly, so enraged that they had used his family against him once again. Had used them to hurt his friends. His red burned like the sun, gold, yellow, and blue pulled deeply into it, fueling it until it was too intense to touch properly, anger blazing inside of him. The red had something to protect.

"Cherry bomb, cherry bomb
Cherry bomb, cherry bomb!"

Gamora attacked with hands and feet, the Galaxies Deadliest Woman not about to let the other two show her up, regardless of her lack of weapons. She snapped necks and broke bones, face expressionless, blue so cold it burned to the touch. The blue had found warmth.

They would pay.

"Cherry bomb!"

As it echoed into silence, They fell, Groot rewinding the player inside of him, and Gamora froze at the sight of her sword in his chest. Before anything could be said, Groot ripped it out, and held it out, hilt offered first. She took it, before as one they turned, and charged down the hall, faces set, expressions deadly, Groot taking the lead.

Cherry Bomb once again roared down the hall, a strange battle-song for an equally strange group. They wouldn't have it any other way. Yet even as they ran, Groot prayed they weren't too late. While the other colors had found each other, drawing strength from the purpose they had gained, the orange had stopped crying out.

It no longer believed they were coming.

…

Rocket could no longer muster up the will, muster up the voice to call out. There was no point to it anymore.

They weren't coming. They never had been.

He was alone.

Tears still leaked from his eyes, running down his muzzle, seemingly ignoring the internal voice that screamed at them. Useless, pathetic, wasteful little bastards. What did he expect? When did he ever get stupid enough to think he had a chance? To think that he was anything more than a useless, awful waste of space? When had he gotten it into his mind that he was actually worth anything to anyone?

To Rocket's frustration, the tears only seemed to fall faster, and a cackling, half-hysterical laugh bubbled out due to it. He was having trouble breathing, a wheezing crackle leaving his throat, choking on the sound. It hurt. It hurt so much.

It took him a while to realize that no more pain was introduced. That whatever was using Peter's voice, Peter's face had stopped… It took him a moment longer to realize that he could hear something. Something he didn't think he would ever hear again.

"Ch-ch cherry bomb!"

Rocket's eyes rolled towards the door, mouth pulling into the smallest of frowns, dried blood cracking as he turned his head, pulling fur. He flinched at the feeling, shame burning deep inside him at the fear that flashed through him at the idea that this was just some sort of trick, that as soon as he turned, he would be hurt again.

No pain came.

"Hold on, Rocket, we're coming! We're coming!"

Peter…Peter's voice? Was that Peter?

Hello world, I'm your wild girl,
I'm your ch-ch-cherry bomb!"

"Hold on small friend, we are here to rescue you!"

…Drax…

"Stone age love and strange sounds too,
Come on baby, let me get to you,"

"Rocket!"

Even Gamora? What…

"Bad nights cause'n teenage blues,
Get down ladies you've got nothing to lose!"

"WE ARE GROOT!" Rocket felt his heart leap, before reality set in.

This had happened before.

It was just another lie. Rocket was so tired of lies.

Rocket cried out as once again pain came back. His eyes had reflexively shut, so he did not see how the thing touching him no longer even remotely resembled Peter. But he could smell it.

…He could smell it.

Sharp, acrid, the stench somehow sweet, mixed with something fetid. Something rotten.

It was the scent of death.

It clung to his fur, to his nostrils, to everything around him, and with every breath the thing took it was blown into his face. He could also smell something underneath it. Something past all the death, past the bitter tang of his own blood, the reek of his own sweat, he recognized something. Something that called out to him.

Something that reminded him of a home he didn't have.

"Let him go, foul beast!" Drax' voice came and with it a smell that he knew.

A smell that belonged to a friend.

His eyes slowly opened, peeking out, staring at the four people that stood framed in the doorway, one of which he hadn't expected. One who was taller, leaner, and simply greener than he had been. Cherry Bomb resonated out of him, making Rocket's ears twitch, recognizing the song. It was his choice. First pick, all the time, not even caring for the lyrics, just the tempo, the energy, the screams of "ch-ch-cherry bomb!"

What more did a song need?

Rocket let out a pained cry at the sudden lance of pain that shot through him, centered around the claw that had suddenly dug into his side, coaxing out more blood, Groot's growl resonating through the room. Rocket watched their faces, watched their tension, their hatred an almost physical force, something he flinched back from, a small part of him screaming that it wasn't aimed at him. At that point, Rocket didn't care. Didn't believe it. Couldn't afford to believe it. If it was wrong…

Rocket would not be betrayed again. He could not be betrayed again.

He wouldn't be able to take it.

As it was, he closed his eyes, let his head fall to the side, and tried to shut everything out. He missed the look of pain Groot gave him, the way the others almost faltered in their standoff positions, expressions a mixture of grief and horror. They shortly turned to fury when they looked back at the Thing next to their friend.

"You have one chance. Let him go, or we will make you." Gamora's voice echoed out, strong, her sword pointed directly between It's eyes, her expression as hard and blank as marble.

In the one moment when It turned to look at her, Peter fired his pistols just as Groot's vines cracked out like a whip, Drax' knife thrown into his stomach. Groot's vines smashed into It and sent It back, crashing against the wall, broken.

Black blood bubbled up from It's mouth, black as pitch, thick as sap, and with a slow gurgling hiss, one last mental assault was made, even as Gamora walked forward, blade held ready, whispering into Rocket's mind with a vindictive little chuckle.

"They will see you for what you are in the end. They will see you for useless and remove you. What use do they have for a monster? Particularly one without the use of it's hands?"

Gamora's blade came down, piercing It's skull, the last of It's connection to Rocket broken with the feeling akin to a rubber band snapping. It did not remove what Rocket believed to be truth.

Rocket had barely realized that there were people around him before a hand touched his side, causing him to flinch, opening his eyes to see Peter's face above his.

Rocket thrashed back, crying out, panic bubbling up in him like a fountain. This had happened too many times, in too many ways. He knew better. He knew better.

Peter's face was a mask of shock, horror and pity rolling in equal measures, staring down at what Rocket knew had to be one pretty pathetic picture. Peter's face, Peter's voice, talking to him, saying what, Rocket didn't know. He had shut down. It was too much.

It was just…too…much…

That was the moment Peter stripped himself of his jacket. Rocket looked back, eyes foggy, most likely red-rimmed, and then that jacket was lowered down on top of him, and suddenly he was somewhere warm. He could smell Peter all around him, his scent seeped into the jacket, flooding his senses with something familiar. His words registered then, "It's okay, Rocket, it's alright, we've got you…we're going to get you out. It'll be okay… We'll get you to Xandar, they'll know how to fix your hands."

"I am Groot…" 'We are here. You are safe. I am sorry…' He felt Groot's vines wrap around the outside of the jacket, as they worked their way under his bonds, finally snapping them open, carefully avoiding his hands.

Rocket immediately took that time to burrow into Peter's jacket, hiding, his body slowly succumbing to exhaustion and stress, and the slow simple realization that he just didn't care.

He didn't care anymore. If it was a lie...Rocket wanted to enjoy it while it lasted. He wanted to pretend, if only for a little while, that this was real and they were taking him out.

He jolted as he was lifted, cradled to a large chest still wrapped in Peter's blanket, and a soft whine rose in his throat, much to his disgust. He was shushed, soothed, and then he was moving. They were taking him out.

He dared not think they were taking him home.

...

*because he's a tree...

Merry Christmas :D