Author's note: So like everyone else in the US, I've seen Guardians of the Galaxy. And like everyone else in the US, I love Groot. Drax is actually my favorite, but Groot is just adorable and needed to be written about.

I'm almost finished with "Order Up," which has gotten a bit dark, so I took a quick vacation in happy Grootland. This is light and simple, no pairings. Mentions of death, but Groot's not the angsty type.

Please note that this is not comic-compliant. I know a little about Groot et al in the comics, but this is purely based on my ideas about plant communication and how Groot came to be the Groot we see in the film. Feedback and crit welcome. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Guardians of the Galaxy and associated characters and concepts are the property of Marvel. I derive no profit from this. Please accept this in the spirit with which it is offered—as a work of respect and love, not an attempt to claim ownership or earn money from this intellectual property.

Bark Doesn't Bite

by Totenkinder Madchen

I am not surprised that Quill cannot understand me. Nor Drax, nor Gamora, nor the Nova Corps. Ever since I came into this world of sentient animal creatures, I have seen that they do not speak Groot. This does not displease me, for I will survive without making so many noises.

Except for Rocket. Rocket is my friend. Rocket and I found each other long ago, and it was my happiness to find someone who knew there is more to speaking Groot than speaking. My friend Rocket's nose is very sensitive, and he can smell the pollens and saps of me and my language. I think Drax is beginning to learn, for he is not human and sneezes many times when I speak in pollen. He does not know my words yet, though, and I will wait.

I do not know where the Groots live. It has been a long time since I was a Groot among Groots. I was a cutting, transplanted and seeded among other cuttings for reasons I do not know. My memories of my parent are faint. There was a grove, and there were many other Groots speaking in their roots and in the soil and the air and the rustle of leaves, but where? I am not sure. But alone among the cuttings grew me—I—Groot, the Groot of self. I took root well and when I moved the first time, the ones who put me in the ground were alarmed and made noises at me. I did not understand their noises, but I knew as all Groots know, that creatures digging in your soil will seek to bite you and burrow in you. I stopped them moving so they would not burrow in me.

I had much growth before I met my friend Rocket, and in that time I learned things. I learned about mouths and mouth noises, and I learned that I was not like the Groots who stayed unrooted and died as cuttings. I could move. When water dried up, I could go to find new water. I tasted many new things, some of which were not good for me. I learned that the sentients who walk on two legs will not always burrow or bite, but they do not like it when I talk to them or stop them from coming near me.

Trees do not trust. Trees are quiet. Groots have the gift of going to water, but Groots must learn about trust and fire and smiling if Groots are not to be chopped like trees. I learned, but I could not speak to sentients until I met my friend Rocket.

One night I rooted myself in an empty lot on the edge of a sentients' den. They built themselves dens of metal and stone and dead tree, which I did not like, but Groots must adapt and I, Groot, am good at adapting. In places where sentients kill each other, their iron-tasting inside water falls into the soil much and it is good food. I have said this to them many times, but they did not understand my speech, and later I learned it was best that way. They do not like thinking of others drinking their iron waters.

The place I rooted near was a place where sentient walkers went for more waters that would make them happy, then sick. They fought a lot there, and the iron water was good. I settled down to eat. All was quiet. Then something tried to climb me.

Groots do not like being climbed, because we do not like being gnawed on and built in. The small thing was not a sentient, only a small furry animal. I seized the climbing thing with a vine and prepared to strangle it.

"Hey, hey, hey!" the animal hissed! "Put me down! What the flark is wrong with you?"

I do not like being climbed on, I said to it. It would hear only "I am Groot."

"Okay! Okay! I'm sorry! I'm not gonna climb on you any more! Put me down!"

I do not believe you, I told it. Talking or not, furry things always climb on a Groot.

"I swear! Look, this job is really, really time-sensitive, and if I don't get it done real soon my ass won't be worth a unit in this system!" The furry thing swung back and forth in front of my eyes, scrabbling for a hold. I did not give it one. "Just put me down and I'll go find some other tree to climb, I swear!"

I frowned. I am not a tree.

"I can see that. You're some kind of … alien … moss … wood … thing, right? Not a tree. At all. Definitely see that now."

Groots do not think as fast as animal sentients, and I do not always do things that my core says Groots must do. I was not certain of what I was hearing. Communication by sound was not Grootish. Can you understand me? I said, lowering the furry thing a little.

"Uh, yeah." The thing wrinkled its nose. "I'm smellin' ya loud and clear, man. Woman. What are you?"

I am Groot.

The thing made an expression I could not identify. "I think something went wrong with the communication there, buddy. Did your pheromones get tongue-tied too?"

I am what I say. Gently I lowered the thing a little further. My sap quickened its flow, hurrying life to every root and branch and leaf. This was a new thing, and new things could hurt Groots. But it was a new thing like an old thing—to speak and to be heard—and so I could not be sure if there was danger. I wanted to know more. How is it you understand me? There is no one like me to speak to me.

"One of a kind, huh." The thing's eyes narrowed. "Well, I'd be hugely sympathetic and all, but it's hard to do when you're still holding me upside-down and all the blood's going to my head in a big way. If my eyeballs explode, I'm gonna kill you."

Underneath the thing's words, though, came a scent. It did not speak like Groots did, but I had known many sentients since my cutting days and there was something in it that I could understand. I am afraid, said the thing's scent.

What are you afraid of?

"What? Hey! I'm not afraid of any-flarkin'-thing! Now hurry up and put me down or I'll use you to make me a new workbench!" I do not want to die.

I did not want to die either. The other Groot cuttings, unrooted, had died and I had smelled and felt them through the soil as they did. This animal sentient could understand me, and I could tell it that I did not want to die. But I knew it would not care, because sentients do not see things as Groots do.

I do not want you to die, I said instead. This thing had given me hope. If there was one sentient that could speak Groot, there might be others. I need not be alone. For this hope, I would help the thing. How can I help you with your job?

The thing squirmed, but I gently set it down on the ground. "Good joke," it muttered. "Why would you help me?"

I tried to explain, but it could not understand what I said: roots and shoots and leaves and shared soil and the hope of a copse of friends. It just sighed and crossed its arms. "Great," it said. "You're some kind of idealistic tree mutant. Well, if you're gonna be a dope I'm not above takin' advantage. Can you boost me up to those power lines? I need to get across to that maintenance box on the roof of the bar."

Yes, I said, and made a little weaving of branches for the thing to stand on. I am surprised, its smell replied, but it did not make any noises this time. It climbed onto my branches and I lifted it up to the lines. When it scurried across the lines towards the box on the roof of the sentients' grove, I followed it.

Then many things happened very quickly. The thing cried out and fell off the roof, and I caught it just before it struck the earth. There were more sentients, these with guns, and they were shouting at the thing and telling it that they would kill it and sell its body back to other sentients whose names filled the thing with fear.

I do not like being afraid. I do not like it when other Groots are afraid. This thing was not Groot, but it spoke to me. This is Grootlike.

I swept the sentients away with my branches, and their iron water made the soil good for others. Then I took the thing away from them and made it safe deep in the forest, where sentients did not go.

Many other things I learned later. I learned that sentients would call me a "Flora Colossus," and that I was never again to meet another Groot for I had been planted far away from the planet of my parent. I learned that the furry thing would never burrow in me or gnaw my branches unless I had some reason to ask it to. I learned that it was a male, and that it was called Rocket, and that it would be my friend in its scent if not in its words. And I learned that its words were not to be a concern for me, because it was more afraid than me and would use its words as the bark it did not have.

I learned that I would find more, who were not Groots either but would be part of my grove. I learned about Hooked on a Feeling and Cherry Bomb. I learned that young sentients like flowers simply because they are pleasing to them. I learned to save the galaxy.

This is why I am not sad that my grove cannot speak Groot to me. My friend Rocket will help me speak with them, and they will laugh with me and call me their friend and they will be Groots, the best Groots in the whole flarkin' universe. And I am the happiest Groot of all.