Now that GOTG3 is available digitally I am reposting MY (mun's) version of Rocket's backstory that I wrote back in 2019, before we had a MCU canon-- not to be canon to my RPC but just because I wanted to share what I originally came up with. This is written as told by Rocket, and was from a RP where he finally opened up to Peter Quill about where he came from.
Warning: It is emotional and big thanks to the RPer who wrote this with me, @recklessxndrelentless for being so patient with emotionalistic issues boy, Rocket. Read more below (it's long!)
âWhoa!â Peter ducked as the beer can went flying past him, and he blinked confusedly at Rocket, an incredulous look on his face.
âHey, it ainât like I meant to! Itâs not nice to throw things at people, either.â He continued to move toward Rocket, stopping when he was next to him before sitting down.
âWhatâre you doinâ up here, anyway?â
âDrinkinâ,â Rocket said, grabbing at the plastic bound six pack at his footpaw, two already removed, one can that was nearly pelted at Peterâs face and the other one between Rocketâs bare feet. It seemed he was sharing.
He was in one of his moods, looking up to the stars at a particular quadrant, one he knew to well. His eyes were a little glossier than usual, and he swallowed hard trying to get his mind off what he was thinking about, maybe get away from thinking about the things that occurred on his home planet, and the special someone he lostÂ
At least he got a straight answer. Peter looked down at the six-pack, pulling one of the cans out of the plastic ring and cracking it open. He knew something was off with Rocketâ heâd seen him swallow, and normally heâd at least be chattering about something with him if he were okay.
A few moments of silence, and Peter spoke, softer than before. âWhatâcha lookinâ at?â
The silence was tense, but even if Rocket didnât want to be seen getting a surge of sadness from whatever mourning he was feeling, he was fixated on it. He had never really talked to any of the Guardians in depth about his homeworld or what happened. He really wasnât what youâd call âNostalgicâ but somehow it hit him, and he wanted to let people in⌠even just a little.
âOver there,â he said, pointing up at a cluster of stars that were barely visible.  âitâs the keystone quadrant, which is where Iâm fromâŚ. this is the closest I been to it since I ⌠left.â
The technical word was âescapeâ but he didnât want to make it sound so melodramatic. It WAS a traumatic story, which is why he typically chose to suppress those nightmarish memories.
As Rocket spoke, Peter began sipping his drink. Normally heâd be boisterous, asking what the hell was so interesting about a bunch of starsâ but Rocketâs attitude was enough to keep him from being rowdy.
He looked to where Rocket was pointing, squinting slightly at firstâ heâd looked in that direction numerous times, and never did he think anything was there. But hearing Rocket say that was where he was from, it made sense why he was staring there so intently.
âOhâŚâ Peter didnât know what else to say, reallyâ heâd never been good with words. He took a swig of his drink, sighing after he swallowed, and after a few minutes of silence, he spoke again.
âWould you, yâknow⌠ever go back?â
âNothinâ there for me,â Rocket answered. He then took a heavy drink from his second can, though he wasnât able to drink much more than that, keeping the half full can in his hand.
âNever wanted to go back. I decimated the facility I was made in⌠lost the only lady I cared about⌠not exactly a memory lane I wanna go down,â he said.
He was thinking about it, the deep seated loss that had always been a chip on his shoulder. Â
Shrugging, Peter moved his arm when Rocket leaned against him, switching the hand he was holding his drink in.
âI dunno, I thought when you said you were from that quadrant that maybe you were homesick. I didnâ realize you meant that⌠yâknow, what happened tâyou happened there.â
âNo⌠just missinâ someone,â he replied, taking a smaller sip from his drink. Â
He didnât look to that cluster of stars feeling anything but her memory. Heâd dealt with so much loss over his life and itâd be unfair to rank them, but losing her was what made him different.
âYou knowâŚâ he said, gently clearing his throat, âI was created to be something of a living weaponâ kinda like what Thanos did with Gamora but more bluntly. No halfway brainwashing with family-like affections, just straight up, rigid scientific engineering with no qualms of how I was treated, and if I didnât survive I was simply another failure to add to their death count. Gamora was enhanced but with no risk to her life. Not that Iâm jealous or nothinâ, it is just how different it would be. So many experiments never made it out of there alive.â âAh, okayâŚâ He couldnât blame Rocket, really. Once heâd found out how to tell what direction a certain quadrant was in, heâd often stared toward the direction of Earth, missing his mother. He still felt that pang of hurt in his chest sometimes, but it had gotten better after becoming closer to the rest of the Guardians.
Peter looked back down at Rocket once he started talking, a frown crossing his lips as he listened. âWish neither of you had tâgo through what yâdid⌠by comparison, my life was better. I mean, constantly being told Iâd be eaten sounds betterân anything you guys dealt with.â
âOh there was that too. When I was a bounty hunter my targets were always talkinâ about eatinâ me or skinninâ me or whatever. That or the prisoners, anyway. You were the first humie⌠to even treat me even half decent, same for Groot⌠but when I look up at them stars⌠I just feelâŚÂ broken?â
Rocket didnât know much about love or heartbreak, his heart was full of loss and grief but it all started there, in that quadrant. He took another drink from his can, he was feeling a little miserable talking about it. He though confiding might make him feel better but perhaps the years of suppression were amplified by it.
His body crumpled against Peter, legs curling inwards as he made himself smaller, his tail clinging to his own body, ears folded back, even his toes curled in more, and beer can in hand his arms wrapped over his head. He grit his teeth. Maybe it was just being drunk, but he sobbed dryly.Â
Out of everything Peter had seen from Rocket, this was the first time heâd seen him this upset. Yes, he remembered just how upset he was over Grootâ but it hadnât been like this.
He was startled when Rocket curled up against him and started sobbingâ but while he was terrible at comforting people, he wasnât just going to sit there. Setting his beer down, he wrapped his arms around Rocket, leaning down slightly so he could hug him properly.
âHey⌠hey, itâs okayâŚâ His voice was soft, gentle even. âYouâre not broken, Rocket. I know you might feel that way, but youâre not.â
Rocket wasnât just crying for himself, he cried for his mother, his siblings, the other experimentsâŚÂ LyllaâŚ.
It came pouring out of him, for the first time in years, he mourned. He felt so foolish, crying there. He wasnât going to dump it all on Peter, he couldnât. Peter wouldnât understand. Peter never knew any of them.
Rocket set his drink down, so he could at least wipe his eyes, even if it was a little pointless since the tears didnât stop. He was an emotional mess, it was so indignifying but he couldnât help it. Any sense of dignity melted away the drunker he wasâ and even if he was only slightly intoxicated, he felt vulnerable and oddly safe.
He wasnât going to gush on about it, he was just grateful Peter wasnât acting weirded out by it, or making him feel more self conscious about his little crisis. Reminiscing on the past wasnât something that did him any good. He was sensitive about it. Talking in depth was practically impossible, he usually brushed it off in any conversation as if it didnât bug himâ but it DID.Â
He let Peter comfort him, because he was in no state not to accept it. He felt so much shame for acting like that, but he was so frustrated having dug up those old wounds.
Peter would never be weirded out by Rocketâ grief was grief, heâd had his share. They all had. But keeping it in for as long as he had was probably damaging to Rocket, and that, along with him being his friend, was one of the reasons why he was trying his best to comfort him.
He decided to do something heâd done before, which was to gently place one hand on Rocketâs head and stroke him, down to the back of his neck, before moving his hand back to the top of his head. He didnât know if it was still comforting, but at least he was trying.
âYou donât gotta keep it in. If you wanna talk⌠well, I ainât gonna judge.â
âWhatâs there to tell?â Rocket asked between pathetic sniffles⌠although itâd be a good opportunity for Peter to ask questions. Rocket didnât even know where to begin. He didnât really consider that anyone would want to hear about Halfworld or the facility he was made in. No one probed about it before. Normally heâd probably be better talking about it, not so many tears, but he had done this to himself, thinking so hard about it and letting himself grieve, even before Peter came out, he was upset before he even showed up.
He didnât fuss about having the other stroking his fur. It had been a long time since he let someone do that.Â
Peter never really liked asking people about their pastsâ it wasnât just something you asked people, not normally anyway. Meeting people like Drax and Gamora who told him all about themselves not long after theyâd met made him more comfortable talking about his own past, but with someone like Rocket, he didnât want to shove his problems in the otherâs face.
Shrugging and continuing to pet Rocket, Peter tilted his head. âWhatever you wanna tell. Iâm not gonna judge.â
Rocket tried really hard to stop himself from crying, or at least to get his eyes to stop welling up. âSometimes I do worry that Iâm gonna die and no one is gonna really know anything about meâŚâ Rocket admitted.
âItâs not like I donât wanna talk about it, I just donât know how⌠I mean I aint the kinda person who wants to live in the past or nothinâ but itâs weird when no one knows about it⌠I just keep it in because I donât think anyone cares.â
Peter listened, nodding his head while Rocket spoke. He didnât comment on how Rocket was still cryingâ he figured he knew that already, and he wasnât going to make it worse.
âI used tâdo that, too. Yâknow⌠for all the shit I talked about Yondu, he coulda been worse. I kept my momâs death a secret from him for a while âtil he asked why I was so frantic after he snatched me⌠almost couldnât tell him âcause I was so upset.â
He sighed softly. âPoint is⌠someone cares. I care. No matter what it is, I care what happened.â
âWell⌠there was a lot of us in there, beinâ tested on. A lot of my memory is fuzzy about what they all did⌠it felt like it was never ending, and I donât even have any idea how long I was in there. I was on so many sedatives and drugs, reality just fazed in and out like some lucid dream. Iâd wake up for a moment, my insides just⌠hanging out as they modified me, Iâd wake up another time, my hands were being ripped apart⌠and even worse things⌠but never for long. Weâd get knocked out, fed through tubes to keep our bodies alive, when they stopped tinkering long enough to let us wake up⌠and of course it all hurt. Every bit they changed I remember vividly it channeling with pain. They threw us into observation chambers to let us âhealâ from the operations⌠and thatâs when I met her⌠Lylla⌠in the chamber next to mine. She was like me, but⌠you know⌠also different,â he started to describe his time on Half-World best he could.
âWe still didnât know what was goinâ on, but it was like they opened our âthird eyeâ as they call it. We understood what the people were saying when they talked, we could talk to each other, we could understand how all the mechanics worked around us. As our bodies were given a chance to recover we saw what was happening to the other experiments. There was a lot of talk about what the scientists did, the tests they ran, and of course the injections for the subjects that didnât pass.â
He shuddered a little, remembering how the other experiments would be put down.
Whatever Peter had been expecting to hear⌠well, it wasnât quite this. He remembered just how upset Rocket had been when he was drunk and yelled at Drax and Gamora before they saw the Collector, of course, but he didnât expect that it was worse than what heâd said before.
Having finished his first beer, he reached over and pulled another one out of the plastic, downing about a third of it before he spoke again. âJesusâŚâ
Somehow he knew that there was more. It was just something in the way that Rocket spoke that told him there was something else he had to say. So instead of saying anything else himself, he was silent again, putting his drink down and watching Rocket. He nodded to show he could keep going, and that he was still listening.
Rocket swallowed hard as he continued the taleâŚ
âWe saw what happened when they didnât like what they saw, so we knew we had tâget out, but the place was pretty air tight on security⌠so Lylla and I started to devise a plan. I was really hellbent on gettinâ my ma and siblings out too, they hadnât been altered, but theyâre family, so ⌠Durrinâ our tests, we had to fight drones and take âem down unarmed. Each test we took, we destroyed them and weâd start very carefully stealing parts. They always scrapped the drones we broke, and each one was supposed to both train and test a different skill⌠so its not like theyâd notice a little something was gone.
Lylla and I started working together to make a micro computer to disable the security and open the cages. It took us weeks but when we were close to done we talked about our plan. We used the computer we made to find the buildingâs blueprints, and figured out all the access codes and altered the hand scanners so theyâd activate from any touch. She suggested we open all the cages and used the chaos as a distraction, that way every test subject, altered or not would have a chance to escape. Her family had already been tested on and disposed, but mine were just in cages, and we were doing so well in the tests we were the only subjects that were still alive that had the alterations done.
I never told her about my family, I didnât wanna bring her down and remind her of what she already loss, and when we finally opened those cages, we opened the stock cages too⌠Lylla was about to run for the exit, if we both went, well⌠Iâm sure we would have made it, but I thought if I ran to get my family, sheâd go get my family free and we could meet outside somewhere. It caught her off guard, and she followed after me instead. She didnât even know what I was doing, she just followed⌠I told her to run, that I could meet her outside when we were free. She said, ânot without you, weâre in this together.ââ
Peter had a feelingâ a bad feelingâ that he knew where this was going. Somehow he knew that this plan wouldnât be as good as it seemed.
He continued to listen, and slowly his gaze turned toward Rocket again. Once Rocket said that Lylla was telling him they were in this together, that was when he really knewâŚ
âRocketâŚâ His voice was quiet, and his eyes showed pityâ pity for his friend, and what he went through. âShe⌠didnât make it, did she?â
âLong story short, no⌠she didnât⌠â Rocket said softly. He was having trouble telling all the details.
âIt was my fault,â he added even softer. âIf she wasnât following me, if I explained what I was up to, something mighta been differentâŚâ
He didnât want to go as far as expressing it was a waste to try and save his family because they saw him as a threat when they were united, but all the talk wore him out already. He just wanted to be done with it, maybe being willing to talk more later, but Peter got the jist of it, he told him more than he had ever discussed before. He could stop there and be alright knowing Peter might understand him a little better.
The End.
