Okay everyone,

This is my first FanFiction ever, so I am really kind of nervous to hear what you think of it. Make sure you leave a comment to tell me how I did, and I should be posting the second chapter in the next day or so. This is sort of just the prolouge. Enjoy!

Peter hastily ran through the forest, his sixth sense alerting him that he was being closely followed by a raccoon. Rifle shots sailed through the air, their distinctive crack echoing around the forest as they would hit a stray tree or rock. Rocket caught up to Peter on all four of his furry legs.

"Whos fuckin' idea was it to try and steal a silly little gun," Rocket said as he panted, "An' why were we the only ones stupid enough come down here, seein' as these forest dwellers seemed to know our plan from the begginin.'" Peter just kept running, and grabbed Rocket's shoulder to direct him on a more westward path.

"Maybe we should use our remaining time to think of a plan to get out of this mess," he shouted, while dodging a bullet which had come close to charing his ear. Peter moved his legs as fast as possible, hardly noticing Rocket's sprint fumble slightly. He turned his head towards the raccoon and gestured towards a rather large rock. Rocket caught on to the idea, and they lunged behind the protruding shelter. They crouched next to each other, frantically searching for an easily throwable rock. Rocket found one, and upon picking it up, winced in excruciating pain.

"That one, Peter," he said as he leaned back against the rock. Peter looked over and picked it up, tossing it once in his hand and catching it with precision. He stood up, and upon seeing their attacker run past, clonked him on the head with the accuracy of a sniper.

"Well it's a good thing that's finally over," Peter commented as he turned back towards Rocket. They made eye contact, and Peter was wondering what Rocket had on his mind at this exact moment. He figured it was probably something to do with memories of torture or weapon engineering, but he refused to inquire.

He sat down next to his Raccoon friend, both of them catching their breath after their decently long sprint. "You okay pal?" Peter asked.

"I should be fine, you masochistic bastard," said Rocket, adjusting his legs.

"Who are you calling a masochist, you trigger happy idiot? If it wasn't you and your tendency to blow stuff up, we wouldn't be here in the first place," Peter grumbled back. They both knew that he was right, Rocket was the one who "accidently" blew up a supplies pile.

"How was I supposed to know there was a pile of explosive junk laying around," Rocket said, ears flat on his head. He had really fucked this one up. One mission after the other, it seemed, he was the reason that they weren't able to complete any contracts.

"Maybe at least a thank you would be sufficient," Peter added, knowing full well that Rocket would never admit to him saving his life.

"After you made me run that far! I think we ran past like, 5 fuckin' rocks before ya realized that we should take cover!" Peter gave him a look.

"It's not like you had any brilliant ideas." Rocket was about to reply when Peter cut him off. "We should move to the extraction point, I'm not sure the Milano could make it to us." Peter got up and took out a locater, and soon found the direction. Rocket stood up and gently put pressure on his leg. Concerned, Peter looked over and was about to ask if he was okay, but then Rocket tumbled to the ground like a rock.

"Stay the fuck back Quill!" Peter stepped back with his hands raised innocently. Rocket was determined to do this. He got up and was able to limp a few steps forward, before sitting back down.

"You got hit, didn't you," Peter asked in a mildly disappointed tone, regretting it instantly.

"And here we go again, I fucked this n' that up, Rocket this and Rocket that," he said while looking at Peter. "I just can't keep up with this 'Legendary Team'." Peter took out his communicator and attempted to relay with the ship. To his dismay, the battery was dead.

"Can I borrow your communicator?"

Rocket glared at him, "What, do ya need it to go and fuckin' whisper words to your lover?" Peter gave him a death stare back. Rocket's sarcastic mood was getting on his nerves. "Well you're outta luck, mine got shot." Rocket sighed. There he was, failing his missions again. Peter looked to the sky for answers, but realized that the Milano would have a hard time scanning a thick forest like this. They would probably be dead before they were found.

"Rocket, I'm going to have to carry-"

"No, I'm not just some stupid animal that can't care for itself." Rocket looked over at Peter in a sneer.

"Rocket, I know that want to try and do something right, and if I don't carry you back, we'll both die," Peter said while walking over to where Rocket was sitting.

He reached out his arms, but Rocket reached out with claws extended to defend himself.

"My gosh man just-"

"Fuck off, Quill! I don't want your help," he said as Peter jumped back from his extended claw. Peter swore that Rocket had a Vendetta against him. It wasn't either of their fault for the way that Rocket was acting. He had, after all, been an experiment. They both knew it, but neither would speak of it, partially since Peter wasn't into personal stuff, and partially since Rocket didn't like talking about it. Peter sat down next to Rocket, looking towards him. Rocket just looked down at his injured leg.

"If you're not gonna let me carry you, let me at least look at your leg." Peter heard him grumble something before moving his body over slightly for him to look at. Peter used the utmost care in his hands to slightly peel back Rocket's orange jumpsuit. The injury was not too bad, though there was a good chance of infection if he was not treated properly. Peter took off his shirt and ripped part of it off. He then wrapped it around Rocket's leg before tightly knotting it. Rocket looked at Peter while he was investigating the wound, and realized just how innocent Peter was in this situation. Rocket saw that he was being an absolute dick, and he understood it. He just didn't want to admit it to anyone. Few people besides Groot knew about his past life, and he didn't want to tell Peter about the gruesome things that had been done to him after his escape from the laboratory. It wasn't easy being him.

"There, you should live, for now." Peter stood up. "Its getting quite cold here as well, if we don't start a fire now we might not even survive the night." He looked over at Rocket. "Are you going to be okay while I get some firewood?" Rocket grumbled something to which Peter took as a yes. He wandered off into the forest, picking up medium sized pieces of dry firewood. He took in the air of this different world, and wondered what the Others were doing at this moment. A few thoughts ran through Peter's mind that they had abandoned him with Rocket. Or maybe they were scanning for them right now? Or maybe, they had found Rocket and left him out here alone. Peter frowned. He started his way back to the rock which he had left Rocket, and saw his body laying on the ground, unmoving. He dropped the wood in his hands and rushed over to Rocket, frantically shaking him.

"Rocket! Rocket wake u-"

"Peter! Calm the fuck down! Can't I just take a nap without ya tryin to shake me to death?" Peter let go of Rocket, who was now visibly shaken from being awoke so fast. Peter looked down and muttered sorry while Rocket curled up again while spewing profanity. Peter eventually was able to get a fire going by nightfall, and noticed Rocket awake on the other side of the fire.

"Rocket, I just want you to know-"

"I don't wan' ya sob story Quill," Rocket countered, "I know I've just been in the way of progress this whole mission." Peter once again knew this as true.

"But it doesn't mean we don't care about you Rocket."

"Your just sayin' that because you think of me as a pet!" A bit of emotion was beginning to take over his speech, as it was clearly evident he was fighting back tears. "Im just a furry fuckin' rodent that ya picked up along the way, when did I ever have a big part of this?" Rocket looked away from the fire, cold and disheartened. Peter got up and sat down next to him, feeling the warmth of his body radiating away. He thought about putting his arm around him, but recalled the fragile cybernetics implanted in his back.

"Rocket, you are an incredible person. Without you, we wouldn't have defeated Ronan, Xandar would be gone, and we'd all be dead. Hell, I owe you one for that. You've had my back all this time, and I just want to help you out for that." Rocket raised his head to look at Peter square in the eyes.

"Y-You think so?" A tear ran down Rocket's face, still looking mildly menacing as usual.

"Yes Rocket, I do. Companions until the end." Rocket buried his face in Peter's side, and Peter almost jumped back in fear.

"I'm so goddamn sorry. So fucking goddamn sorry Quill." Peter carefully navigated his arm around Rocket's back, and returned the embrace. Rocket was so built up, and so tense earlier that day, that his emotions exploded out of him. He felt stupid for acting like this, but he had no one besides Groot to ever fall on to. And Groot wasn't exactly in a state to be fell upon. Peter understood though, the fact that Rocket had a deep history that would take ages to explain. That didn't bother him though, Peter himself had an interesting past. Rocket continued to sob on Peter's now slightly destroyed shirt, while Peter was taking his chances to pet Rocket for the first time.

"It's okay Rocket, just let all out." Rocket slowly calmed down and leaned against Peter, who was still softly stroking his fur.

"Peter, did you ever know your parents?" Peter was taken aback by this question, expecting an awkward silence between the two of them for awhile.

"Only my mother, I never met my father." They both stared into the fire as they talked.

"What was she like?"

"She was nice. Took care of me, sang to me when I had nightmares, and I loved her for it."

"Where is she now," Rocket inquired, unbeknownst to him that she was dead. Peter wasn't sure if he should tell him the truth, considering the amount of the trust recently added to their relationship, or lie to him so he won't weep anymore.

Noting the silence, Rocket realized that Peter probably didn't want to talk about his personal life as much as he didn't want to talk about his.

"You dont have to talk about it if you don't-"

"She died the night I was abducted from Earth. She had a disease known as Cancer, which would slowly kill you over the course of a long while. I ran out of the hospital when she finally died, and that's when I was taken." They both sat as the night sky turned completely dark, and Peter occasionally got up to add wood to the fire. "Did you ever know your parents?"

Rocket kept his eyes focused on the fire and thought quietly for a few moments.

"No, they were being . . . killed . . . as I was bein' tortured. I don't like to think about much. Brings back bad memories."

"I agree entirely." The night continued to suck away any heat left from the day, persistently setting a chill on both of them.

"I think I'm gonna clock out for the night, Peter said, getting up. " I recommend you do the same, you could use some rest." With that, he put some more wood on the fire and layed down next to it. He easily drifted off while Rocket watched his breaths go in and out, and listened to the crackle of the fire.

At the dawn of the next morning, Peter couldn't exactly explain the warmth on his side. He moved his head over and realized that Rocket and slept next to him that night. His fur was slightly matted, and his increased breathing showed signs of a fever coming on. Just as he was determining if he should wake him, he felt Rocket move. He snapped his eyes closed and continued to breath as if he was sleeping. Rocket groggily stood up and stretched his extremities, noting the more serious pain in his leg. As he slowly lowered himself back to the ground, he wondered if Peter had noticed him next to him that night. He tentatively poked his side to see if he was awake, and sure enough, he didn't budge.

He leaned over him and whispered, "Peter, are you awake?" Peter didn't so much as flinch. "If you are awake, I just want you to know that I'm going to use your Walkman." Peter had a bad feeling in his gut. As much as he didn't want Rocket to know that he knew he had slept next to him, he didn't want his Walkman destroyed either. After awhile, he eventually drifted back to sleep. When he woke again, it was mildly brighter out, but not yet midday. He sat up and looked over at where Rocket was, noticing that he was wearing the headphones and had also dosed off. Peter smiled, before realizing that Rocket didn't look that well. His ears were considerably drooped, his fur sickly matted, and his breathing quite elevated. He walked over and lightly shook him.

"Morning, I see you were enjoying my Walkman." Rocket slid off the headphones and returned them to Peter's waiting hand. "So, how do you feel?" Rocket winced as he slid up on a rock.

"Not well, but well fuckin' better than I've been before." There was a slight pause, "This is the part where you ask to carry me again, isn't it," he smiled and raised his eyebrows.

"Under one condition Quill. I get to listen to the Walkman." Peter smiled at him and offered it back to him. Rocket muttered something along the lines of "Let's get this over with," as he put the headphones back on and started the tape. Peter carefully put his arms around Rocket's back before lifting him with a decent "uumph". He started his slow trek to the extraction point, occasionally stealing glances down at his sickly friend.

Fortunately for both of them, they reached the extraction point without any issues. They would just have to wait until the crew of his ship realized that they showed up where they were supposed to.

He carefully set Rocket down and replaced the makeshift bandage, now wondering if they were actually going to make it another night. Peter was all alone with Rocket by his side, concerned that whoever was chasing them might be out searching for them now. It wasn't a pleasant idea, but they might treat Rocket if he made a convincing enough story as to why they were there. Only moments later, a loud rumble made itself apparent, and the Milano lowered down into the clearing. He picked up Rocket once again, removing the Walkman from him, and headed towards the ship, where Gamora and Drax walked towards them.

"Drax, take Rocket to the Infirmary, and get his leg checked out," Peter said sternly. Drax took him and went back into the ship.

"What happened to him Peter?" Peter swallowed and swore to himself to not say a word about last night.

"The plan went off course, my fault, and Rocket ended up getting shot." Gamora gave him a look, though she seemed more concerned over the lack of the weapon that they originally came for.

"So you don't have the gun we came looking for?" Peter looked down and but his lip.

"No, we didn't get it. Though I would say that they had some advanced communication or radar system, seeing as they knew we were here. I'm not actually sure why they aren't-" Peter slowly stopped talking as a loud, menacing engine roar drowned out his voice.

"Get inside, NOW," Peter screamed as they both ran inside the ship. The attacking ship starting firing blasts on the landed Milano. Luckily, the shields were protecting them at the moment. Peter stumbled and collided into a shelf as the ship shook. Gamora followed him into the cockpit and Peter slid into the pilot seat.

"Look's like you're gonna have to be co-pilot!" Gamora sat down in the co-pilot seat and put on the headphones. The controller came up to her hands as Peter lifted the ship into the air. The attacking ship ceased fire as it hailed the Milano.

"This is captain Zerov of the Gerambon. We understand you are attempting to steal some of our cargo." Peter frowned as he knew all too well that this was a situation that would involve someone's death. He looked over at Gamora's stone face, looking for a sign that she knew what to do. If she did, Peter wasn't going to find it there.

"That's right captain, we've been offered a bounty for one of your . . . more intricate weapons."

"Is that why your rat blew up one of our explosive depots?" Gamora shot Peter a glance that she knew his stories weren't matching up. After all, he said that it was his fault. "Pay us 20,000 credits for the damages you made, or we will be forced to sell your ship for scrap metal." As much as he didn't want to get into a confrontation, he really didn't want to hand away 20,000 credits.

"Lock missiles 2 and 4 on their propulsion system. I will focus on keeping us from being blown apart." Gamora nodded and flipped a few switches.

"Ready." Peter silently looked into the cockpit of the other ship, wondering if they had families. Everyone lost something in war, didn't they? Well, it wasn't exactly war, but Peter considered the situation anyway. With a sigh, Peter announced "Fire at will!" Missiles shot out of the Milano's hull directly at the enemy cruiser. They exploded in a brilliant flash of light, crippling their ability to fly significantly. Enemy lasers bursts erupted into a spectacular dance of light as the Milano hovered away from their target. The Milano itself unleashed it's firepower upon the Gerambon, it's hull now more representing swiss cheese. After a good 30 seconds of maneuvering, it was clear who had won the battle. The Gerambon exploded into an array of flames, and banked severely to the left as it sailed into the forest. Peter sighed in relief as he assured his safety.

"Peter, what does this blinking light mean?" Peter ruffled his brow as he looked over to the co-pilot controls. Ever since Rocket had joined the ship, he usually expertly held the controls and was on any situation. The same could not be said from Gamora.

"Which light," he asked sullenly. Gamora pointed at a light. It was clearly flashing, just as she had said, but for some reason that light had never flashed before. Just as Peter opened his mouth, a barrage of anti aircraft fire rocked the ship.

"We're taking damage, evasive maneuvers!" Peter grabbed the controls and threw the ship to the side, the volley of lasers tracking their every move. "Use whatever we got left!" Gamora nodded and flipped some more switches. Spare parts on the ship crashed and tumbled about, leaving dents on the walls and destroying whatever objects Rocket had previously left on the floor. A few thoughts ran through Peter's mind about his furry friend flying throughout the medbay, and he hoped that Drax had at least remembered to secure him to the bed. Peter turned the ship towards the source of the laser barrages, and attempted to recall a memory of what it was.

"Gamora, aim at the enemy base! That's probably our only chance!" She grunted and held her hand over the missile launch button.

"Peter, are you sure we can't just get out of here?" He ran his hand through his stubble, and then responded, "No."

Gamora slammed her hand into the launch, and a few moments later four missiles shot out of their cannons. A distant shrieking sound was observed as they sped towards their target. The object which had been firing on them redirected its fire towards the encroaching missiles. It was able to hit one of the missiles, which exploded in a dazzling array of black and gray, but failed to hit its other marks. Three missiles sailed into the enemy camp and exploded simultaneously, sending charred debris hundreds of feet into the air. Peter and Gamora let out the breath which they did not know they had been holding, and steadied the craft.

"Should we go down and see if the weapon survived the explosion?" Peter asked, mindfully releasing his grip on the steering controls. Gamora disabled the ship's weapons and spun her chair to face him.

"Whatever you you think is best, Starlord." Peter smiled, and moved the ship forward to the smoking remains of the camp. Sure, they were going to find the gun in a pinch, but they had spent a fortune on missiles that almost outweighed the cost of finding the gun in the first place. Peter sat the craft down where the old landing pad had once occupied, minding the rather large craters. He walked down the corridor of the ship, deciding to not check on Rocket, and exited the craft. Gladly, they had only suffered from mild damages, not enough to need immediate repair, but enough to convince him to not get into anymore scuffles before he did. Then, he began his search for the case in the ruins of a village.

Peter ran his hand through his hair and let out a tired groan and he checked over the autopilot. It never hurt to make sure you weren't about to fly directly into a sun, especially after all they had been through. It would be another few hours until they reached Xandar to recover the credits from the gun. Peter twiddled his thumbs as he listened to his Walkman, knowing full well that he should be in the Medbay watching over Rocket's recovery. After all, it was a captain's responsibility to watch over his crew. He just couldn't quite come up with what to say to him when they saw each other, or what Rocket had already said to Drax and Gamora.

He closed his eyes and listened to each individual beat, tapping his foot and believing that everything was fine. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, shaking him from his mental state. He opened his eyes and looked around to see Drax looking at him. He hit pause on his Walkman, and slid his headphones down to his neck.

"Rocket says he would like to speak to you," said Drax in a monotone voice. Peter nodded to dismiss Drax from his way, not wanting to get into another fight about metaphorical phrases. It was hard enough that Gamora wouldn't show any emotions, and Groot's vocabulary was limited to three words. He chuckled a little as he realized that they were a band of misfits. None of them really could be defined as normal, but that's what he assumed made them special. Just as he was continuing to think about the ethics of being the leader of an emotionally unstable crew, he arrived at the electronic door to the medbay. He bit his lip as he realized he spent all his time not thinking about how he would confront his furry friend. Was he more than a friend to Peter? They were just friends. Close friends.

Peter realized that if he spent more time idling outside, someone was bound to notice him being nervous, or Rocket would catch onto him. With his confidence peaking, he opened the door and entered the room. His stomach lurched as he saw Rocket laying on a bed with an IV inserted into his paw. His eyes were closed, and his breathing steady. He looked better than when he brought him in, but still not in a state to be piloting a ship. Peter walked over to the dingy chair which stood next to the bed. The room itself was quite cramped, as a large crew was never intended to be aboard. A medkit hung on the wall next to the bed, to use in case you had to treat yourself of any injuries. Peter had used it a few times himself when he suffered from injuries.

"Are ya just going to stand there all day?" Rocket said, scaring Peter out of his observation. He walked over the chair and seated himself next to Rocket. "Drax said I'd be okay, just out for a few days to heal up." Peter smiled and leaned back on his chair.

"Well at least you weren't shot somewhere where we'd have to make you suffer back to Xandar." Rocket coughed and turned his head towards Peter.

"Today, everyone besides you has showed up today asking what happened to me." Peter looked away from Rocket and stared down at the floor in silence.

"What did you tell them?" Peter asked quietly.

"I told them I got shot. Then I told them to ask you about the rest." Peter sighed with relief once again and readjusted his coat to fit a bit better.

"I just want to know where you were the whole day. I've been sittin' here in pain and you've been runnin' around like a . . . like a raccoon." Peter opened his mouth to speak, before closing it and reiterating his thoughts.

"I was busy flying the ship and stuff." Peter mumbled slowly.

"So I assume you had something to do with the ship turning on its side today?" Peter attempted to respond to the comment when the raccoon broke out into a small chuckle. Peter stopped trying to talk and smiled at his friend. In his laughter, Rocket failed to notice him quickly moving something on to the back of the table sitting next to him.

"At least we were able to recover the cargo we were looking for." Rocket stopped his laughter and grew a more serious face.

"I assume they didn't just fuckin' hand it over and repaint the ship?" Peter cleared his throat.

"No, erm, we had to use . . . "

Rocket impatiently tapped his paw.

"Six missiles," Peter said as quickly as could.

"Six missiles!? Holy hell Quill! Those thing are almost 4,000 credits a piece!"

"Yeah, yeah, well its a small loss. Im sure your skills would've come in handy during that situation." Peter saw Rocket reach for a glass of water with a straw in it, and quickly grabbed it for him.

"You know, it's usually things like that which get on my nerves Quill." Peter did not relent in hold.

"Well sorry for being nice." Rocket shrugged it off after taking a sip of water.

"It's fine, though if ya decide to tell anyone, decide which side of your face ya prefer." Peter raised his eyebrows and told him that his point had come across clear. It was now strangely evident that the events of the past day had formed a new bond between them. Neither of them said a single word about the previous day, which was fine with Peter, but he couldn't help but shrug the feeling that there was something Rocket wasn't telling him. He wouldn't inquire further unless it was necessary for their survival, or Rocket was in that kind of mood. Instead, they talked about how they had evaded a land based AA system, about how they were clueless as to what the flashing tracking indicator meant, and how he had walked through the destroyed village to get the weapon.

After a while, Peter scratched Rocket's head and wished him a good night. They exchanged eye contact one final time before the electronic door closed, leaving Rocket alone in his dimly lit makeshift hospital. He rolled on to a more comfortable position on his side before catching a glance of something neatly hidden next to his bed. He hit himself in the nose to make sure he wasn't hallucinating before he sat up and picked up the object. Rocket smiled as he got back into bed and hit play on Peter's Walkman.

So tell me what you think! I understand that I might have made Rocket a bit too emotional, but I promise the next chapter will redeem itself with some Sci-Fi action! (And dinner)