Hi all a little angsty one-shot post Endgame fanfic I wrote for Grootiez over on AO3. The prompt was: a fic on how Rocket deals with Groot not being the same after the events of Infinity War/Endgame. Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes

How Things Change

Rocket shook his head, flicking his ears as he fiddled with his most recent bomb prototype. The Thanos killing kind he thought savagely as he yanked the pieces together and connected the wires.

The thing sparked and he dropped it, cursing loudly as he waved his singed paws frantically. The bomb hit the floor with a clank and sputtered out. Rocket kicked it, hard. The metal flew across the room clattering into the rest of the scraps.

"Damned piece of crap! Nothing ever works anymore. What's the point?"

He slumped low, expecting to see Quill, always jovial Quill stomping down the hall to chew him out for mistreating the ship or some shit like that. Instead, he was met with silence. He slumped lower when realized Quill wouldn't be coming. Quill barely left his room nowadays. He had his earbuds in constantly. Rocket was worried. He was really worried about him, but he didn't know what to do.

It was Gamora, always Gamora that had handled his moods and coaxed him back out and when that didn't work she'd pound his door in and drag him out. But Gamora, Gamora was dead. She was dead and the team was broken.

He thought it would be the same.

He thought everything could go back to the way it was.

He felt so stupid, like such a flarkin' idiot when it was all over there was no going back. There couldn't be. Not now, not ever, not even with the time stone.

Quill, Mantis, Groot and him were all that were left of the Guardians of the Galaxy. He barked out a bitter laugh. Yeah, they were some Guardians, real fuckin' good at their jobs, that's why that purple monster succeeded in killing half the universe. That's why Drax and Gamora were dead and the rest of them were barely holding it together.

He'd spent years with Thor trying to find his team, and then when they'd found Tony Stark and Nebula trying to reverse what Thanos did.

He wished Thor was here. In their time together they'd grown close, close in a way Rocket had never felt with anyone besides Groot and Lylla. Thor might be a depressed thousand-year-old god but even at his lowest, the man exuded a kind of compassion that was unfathomable and Rocket had clung to that. But, Thor was gone now. He'd left with the survivors and those that returned from the snap. He was off to rebuild Asgard and put his fractured life back together again. Rocket wished he could do the same.

It had been simple fighting with the Avengers. It had been numbing, covered in rage and thoughts of revenge, but he'd felt hope. First, hope that the rest of the Guardian's were alive. That was crushed when Nebula and the Iron hummie floated to Terra with the news of what had happened on Titan. Then he'd felt hope when the magic shrinking man had pounded on the Avengers front door with some theory and no idea what was going on. Then when the Avengers managed to get the Gauntlet back and jaunt through time to outwit Thanos he'd thought for sure they'd win.

Good was supposed to win, right?

Rocket ran a paw over his face, rubbing his eyes. He wouldn't flarkin' cry. He wouldn't.

It'd all gone to shit the moment Thanos had shown up. The Captain and Iron Man had both died in reversing the snap, sacrificing their lives for the universe. He'd attended their funerals they were somber. When he was back in the Benetar he'd lit some fireworks for them, giving them the space send-off they deserved.

He'd thought it would be okay then, Quill, Mantis, Groot, and Drax had all reappeared, their forms building up from nothing at all. Gamora wasn't with them. He'd known, Nebula had told him, but some part, some small and traitorous part, denied it. Denied it right up until the universe shoved his nose in it. Gamora was dead and that was wrong.

Quill standing there looked more dead than alive. But he'd hustled the team and off they'd gone for one final showdown against the Titan. That was the last time he saw Drax alive.

They'd found his body days later under ten outrider carcasses he'd fought them to the death, alone without a weapon. He found out later from Mantis that Drax had shoved her and the Spiderboy away just in the nick of time, taking a hit for them before he rushed back into the field.

Stupid lovable Drax, always a man of honor even in death.

The sizzling from the floor brought him back to the ship. It grounded him as he searched around the scrap box for his mutilated bomb. They'd been back on the repaired Benatar for a month. Well a month and two weeks if you counted the stopover and bar fights in Contraxia, but he didn't. Not when Quill and Mantis had come back looking half beat to death and so shitfaced they couldn't even feel it.

The next morning Rocket confronted him, said something about him setting a bad example for Mantis and Quill had turned around laughed at him.

"Yeah Rocket I'm the bad example here! At least I'm here when my team needs me! Where were you? Where were you on Knowhere? On Titan? That's right you weren't there!"

Quill was practically spitting venom. Rocket felt like someone had punched him in the gut. His ears drooped.

"You aren't ever there when we need you!"

"Yeah, well at least I'm not stupid enough to fuck everyone else over just because my girlfriend died! There wasn't no reason to get everyone else dead on the way. That was one you Starlord!"

Quill's fist flew toward Rocket. He closed his eyes expecting the hit. It didn't come. There was a crunch next to his ear. He blinked his eyes open.

Quill had punched the side of the Benetar. His face was read and patch. He was seething.

"Don't talk about Gamora." With that, he'd turned on his heel and marched back to his cabin.

Rocket hadn't talked to him since. He'd wanted to apologize for letting his mouth fly off, but he didn't know how.

Occasionally, someone knocked on the workshop door and left something outside. It was a golden broth with these noodles on it. He knew it was Quill, he was the only one that could cook on the ship. Quill probably wanted to say something too.

God was this team emotionally constipated.

Rocket sighed, he really was the worst person to play therapist.

Mantis wasn't fairing much better. She was quieter now with dark circles under her eyes. She spoke softly and jumped at everything. She'd taken to carrying Gamora's God Slayer sword around with her everywhere. It reminded him of the first months after Ego.

Groot though, Groot was simultaneously the best and the worst.

Before all this, before even the Guardians back on Half-World Groot knew him best. Now though, he had Groot back but he'd never felt more alone.

The first week back Groot slept in his bed, curled around him like Rocket could keep the nightmares away. That was the best thing that'd happened to him in recent memory. Then one night Groot just stopped. He'd locked himself in his room just like Quill and no amount of coaxing or lockpicking could get him out.

He was lucky to get an I am Groot out of him on the best days.

And believe him, he'd tried. Rocket cracked the door open on the second day only to be met with a wall of vines. He'd brought out his flamesaw but Groot fixed the vines as fast as he burned them. Rocket was too scared of hurting Groot to use anything more powerful. The only thing that stopped him from pounding on Quill's door and dragging their captain out to talk to Groot was Mantis.

Mantis assured him Groot was eating, drinking and bathing. She said he was talking to her too.

To her, not to Rocket.

Rocket felt his heart bruise. He told himself it was fine. At least Groot was talking to someone. He couldn't brush off the sharply cutting jealously that panged in his heart. He'd never felt so alone before. After Half-World it was him, him and Groot and later the Guardians against the world. Now it was just him, just Rocket on a ship of depressed broken people who wouldn't even talk to him. No, not people, his family, his broken shattered family.

Rocket carefully reattached the wires to his bomb, trying to get back into the flow of work. At least then he could be useful. He didn't know what he was going to do. He was the mechanic, the inventor, the fixer. He was going to fix this. He had to. He just wasn't sure how yet.