Chapter Text
For the record, Peter was NOT a fan of this plan. Like, at all. Put it on the bottom of his list, actually.
Peter didn’t even want to trust the man that approached them on a random planet, offering a payday they couldn’t resist. Rocket had gone still when he saw the amount of zeroes, and taken roughly two seconds before agreeing to the deal. The buyer wanted a map that was currently in the hands of an “eccentric collector” - a man who traveled the universe, buying any weird creature, artifact, or unethical ANYTHING he could get his hands on to throw in a glass case in his house. Apparently, the man who hired them was willing to pay a lot for that ancient map.
The way Rocket shifted from one foot to the other was not lost on Peter, and he moved a little closer to his fiancé during the negotiations. If they were alone, he would have placed a hand on his head, scratched a little behind his ear, and hopefully felt him relax a bit. But Rocket doesn’t like public displays of affection - like, at all - so Peter settles on giving his back three simple, gentle pats. It seems to do the trick, because Rocket sinks a little closer to him, and lets out a long, near silent breath through his nose. If Peter wasn’t directly next to him, he doubts he would have heard it. But he does, and it comforts him.
The job seemed relatively easy. Get into the man’s house, grab the map, and leave. The problems arose when it came to the topic of the Collector they were stealing from. Rocket still had the jeebies from Taneleer Tivan, and he doubted many of them were much different from one another. This collector, a man named Mr. Lundgrab, was well-known for being particularly closed-off. It was infamously hard to get close to him - unless, of course, you have something that he wants. Something like, say, a talking raccoon that would look good in his collection.
There were also darker myths about the man. Things he would do to his poor captives, the way he was more than just innocently interested in many of the animals he locks in cages. The beings that have escaped have stories that bring both Rocket, and by association, Peter, back to a dark place.
But Rocket is going to a decoy for this dude, and Peter is NOT happy. “No.” He says, voice strong and steady in a way that makes Rocket side-eye him from the corner of the table, “I don’t like it. It’s not happening.”
“I am Groot.” Peter wasn’t nearly as good at understanding Groot as Rocket was, but he could tell the other was probably agreeing with him. He thanks him, hoping he’s right. The small tree looked unhappy, anyways.
“It’s our only shot here, Peter.” Gamora has her arms crossed, looking at him in the ‘mildly annoyed mother’ way she usually does. It’s a talent of hers. “You approach him in the bar, while Rocket hides in a cage outside. You bring him outside, make a transaction, and Rocket goes with the dude back to his house. We’ll be two steps behind them the whole time. We grab the map, grab Rocket, and get out.” She makes eye contact with Peter, and she softens her voice, just a bit. “He’ll be fine. You’ll have your eyes on him ninety percent of the time, we’ll be right behind him. Besides, he’s handled much worse.”
“No need to throw a fit, Quill.” Rocket spoke up from across the table, standing on top of it with his arms folded. Below him sits a layout of the Collectors mansion, with markers marking potential escape paths. “I’m me - I can handle myself.”
“I know that, but I still don’t like it!” Peter whines, looking from Rocket, to Gamora, to Groot. Drax is there, but he’s zoned out, entirely uninterested. Typical.
“Fine.” Peter relents, raising his hands in defeat, although there’s still an uneasy look in his eyes. “But I’m not a fan! I will be two steps - no, a step and a half - behind you at all times. Anything happens, you SCREECH.”
“It’s not like I haven’t been a decoy before.” Rockets tail swishes in slight defense. Peter bites himself at how cute it is.
“Yeah, but not to psychopaths who get off, like - sexually, maybe - on collecting beings like you! Dude has a horrible reputation. That scares me.”
“Things like me?” Rocket raises an eyebrow, and revels slightly in the way Peter seems to flounder for a moment, turning to Mantis for help. She’s sitting in the corner, with Drax, and only gives a shrug of her shoulders in response. “Gee, thanks.” Peter mumbles, unimpressed.
For a moment, Rocket’s ears flatten against his head. He sighs, and walks across the table, wrapping his paws slowly and gently around the others neck. Then, he gave Peter a tight hug, pressing his head against his own uniformed chest.
“I’ll be fine, ya’ d’ast idiot.” He mumbles, trying to ignore how slightly embarrassing this was with everyone else there. He loves Peter - they were set to get married after they weren’t, like, constantly running from death - and they went through a lot to get to where they are now. Before they dated, Rocket's self confidence was, to be frank, atrocious, and he could never imagine Peter being able to get over the whole “small animal” thing. It was insanely unlikely, so he decided to not hold out any hope.
Until it wasn’t, and Rocket was reminded that life isn’t ALWAYS bad. Not always.
Peter did have to adjust to the animal thing, honestly. At first, he had a hard time with it - before he even had romantic feelings for Rocket. But as he watched his teammate, a realization hit him; all of Rockets problems were so human. He was self conscious, worried he wasn’t good enough. Had a traumatic past. Had panic attacks - very rarely, but occasionally. Wanted desperately to survive, with everyone else, even if he wouldn’t say it out loud.
Peter never saw him as an animal after that occurred to him. He was a man - just a man, like Peter. It made the transition easier.
Rocket unwraps his arms from around Peter's neck and takes a step back, hands on his hips, a pointed look - ‘you okay now?’. Peter takes a deep breath, then nods.
“I’ll be there. And I trust myself. Well, I mean - mostly. Seventy-five percent. Maybe seventy.”
Rocket groans a little and Peter smiles, despite the worry still plaguing him.
——
Peter watches as Rocket climbs into the cage in the back alley, and his heart squeezes a little bit at the way he looks so…uncomfortable. Familiar yet unhappy. He immediately pushes the feeling away, because he knows Rocky hates it when people are sympathetic towards him. Makes him feel uncomfortable.
Peter puts a hand on the cage and sits on the front of his feet, kneeling down as he talks to Rocket. “Okay. I’m going inside. Remember - holler, scratch, scream, I don’t care. The dudes a creep.”
“I hear ya, big guy.” Rocket leans forward, and probably only because no one else is around and watching them, leaves a small kiss on the top of Peter's forehead. “Now go grab this freak-show. Let me get this shit over with so we can be rich. Finally upgrade the Milano, like you wanted.”
Peter smiles, only slightly. “Yeah, we’ll do that.” He lingers, keeping a hand on the cage and just staring at Rocket. Finally, with a whistle from Gamora, he turns, and enters the building.
——
It smells like shit inside the bar, and Mr. Lundgrab’s breath smells even worse. It’s the smell of thick cigarette smoke mixed with whiskey and the thickest layer of cologne Peter has ever smelled, and he feels a bit bad that Rocket will have to smell it too.
Mr. Lundgrab is covered in gold, with large rocks decorating his fingers and chains framing the downturn of his neck. He has a sleazy grin, eyes shifting around the room like a snake. He reminds Peter distinctly of a pimp, back on Earth, but the man is green and certainly not human. Maybe he was a big “Godfather” fan.
Talking to him is even worse, barking laughter bringing him periodically closer and further from Peter’s face. He drips with general ‘skeeze’, but Star-lord focuses hard on pushing through and getting the job done. He’ll be happiest when this is all over.
Mr. Lundgrab isn’t hard to approach, but he does watch Peter very closely once they begin interacting. Peter asks if he can have a tour of his collection - worth a shot, right? “I’ve heard of you, and you have some pieces I’d LOVE to see.” He grins and hopes it looks convincing, “I know it’s a big ask, but can I-”
“I don’t do tours.” The millionaire responds without missing a beat, placing his glass of fine whiskey down on the bar. He eyes Peter with a blank expression, and Star-Lord knows it’s time to sweeten the deal. He mentions an ‘exotic pet’ that they stored behind the bar, and tries to ignore the twist in his stomach when Mr. Lungdrab perks up at the mention. That sleazy smile is back and Peter doesn’t like that it’s specifically directed towards his fiance. What kind of lover is he, handing Rocket over to this guy? God, he had some soul searching to do. And some apologies to make, when this was all over, even if Rocket WAS the one who wanted to do it.
“Why outside?” He asks, ever suspicious, and Peter allows himself to lean against the bar with his elbow. He swishes his drink around the glass, eying the liquid. Back straight, smile a little scummy - he has to fit in with this guy to earn his trust.
“Assets as beautiful as this animal - we had to keep him a bit discreet.”
“Him?”
“Ah - it.” Peter’s smile is forced. The man doesn’t notice, and by some grace of absolute God, allows himself to be lead outside. He seems reluctant, but Peter’s temptations seem to do the trick as he follows, eyes darting everywhere and looking for an ambush. Well, there wasn’t one coming - that part of the plan comes later.
Peter’s unease certainly doesn’t decrease as he watches Rocket play a sickening good helpless animal. The second the Collector lays eyes on the cage, he whistles, getting down to eye level and peering in. Rocket sits on his butt, tail tucked behind him, and peers up at the two, ears perked straight towards the sky. A hovering ship rushes behind them on the street as Rocket peers up at them with large, round eyes. “Hello.” He says, short and sweet - enough so that Mr. Lundgrab knows he’s getting a talking animal, but doesn’t know he’s actually intelligent. The word and disposition feel so unlike Rocket. Peter misses his yelling. Seeing him like this turns his stomach a bit, even if the raccoon looked comfortable.
Peter knows Rocket, though, better than anyone. He knows the way he will sometimes curl upin his sleep, tucking his tail in between his legs and hugging it while laying on Peter's chest. He knows the other will often wake up, heaving and disoriented from a nightmare. He knows the other is scared, and running from his past, and gets sick whenever he’s reminded what he is. How he was made.
To anyone else, Rocket looks normal. But Peter sees the way the other tucks his tail in between his legs, the way his whiskers tremble ever slightly when Mr. Lundgrab wraps his fingers around the cage door for a closer look. Rocket hates this. Acting like an animal makes him look defenseless, and Rocket is so far from defenseless that it’s unsettling. Peter prays this is over as soon as possible - he hates it, he hates all of it.
The man is quick to buy, thankfully. The 10,000 units they get for Rocket is not a bad bonus at all, but the price still isn’t worth it for the way Rocket looks at Peter as the man walks away with his cage. He tries to wink and blow a kiss at the other, but accidentally shows the way his hands are shaking.
God, Peter hates this.
——
Peter retreats back to be with the rest of the team. They’re hovering down the street, keeping an eye on and following the vehicle as it sped away, back to the man’s mansion.
“For the record,” Gamora speaks, directed towards Peter, and softly enough so that the others behind them couldn’t hear. “Rocket can certainly handle himself. He’s, like, basically indestructible at this point.”
“That’s kinda just what he wants you to think.” Peter mumbles, motioning for all of them to move. He’s fast on his feet right now, anxious to take the next step forward the very second they could. He can’t afford to trail behind. A bad feeling churns in his gut and he, for some reason, thinks back to the very brief period of time, right after he had met his father. The small stretch of time in which he was both immortal, and knew it.
At the time, he could only think about how the others would die and leave him, while he lived.
He moves a little closer to the Lundgrab van they’re trailing. Gamora, at times, grabs his arm to keep him from moving too fast and compromising the mission. Before long, they’ve arrived at a set of tall, pearly gates, twisting up far into the sky and framing a beautiful golden archway. They watch as the car pulls into the driveway, and Mr. Lundgrab - the collector - summons some of his servants to bring his new toy inside. Gamora, Drex and Mantis all move to find a way into the mansion. Peter follows, although he spares one last look over his shoulder at the cage being brought through the large double doors. A feeling of uncertainty weighs him down.
——
The house is the absolute definition of creepy to Rocket. A small, rather shameful part of him wishes he wasn’t here, that he had let Peter convince the others it was a bad idea. But that’s unlike him, and he’s better than that, so he pushes the thoughts away.
The massive front door opened into an even bigger foyer, white with marble and fur rugs serving as splashes of color. Large paintings of various animals, all genetically modified in some way, hang from the walls. Below the paintings are cases, each containing an exotic and noticeably modified bird. Some had six legs. Some were the products of the same torture and experimentation Rocket came from. Some looked like death would be kinder than existing.
Rocket has to look away, down at his paws, studying them. In order for this mission to work, Rocket needed to be dressed like a true weak, defenseless creature. Sadly, his guns didn’t really suit that look. If this whackjob knew Rocket was of high intelligence, that might be bad. Or good. The dudes’ still a freak. Point is, Rocket is without his weapons. He feels a bit naked, but he knows he can hold his own if need be.
Too many eyes feel like they’re watching him. It’s like the lab all over again. He continues to look down at his hands.
He’s brought through the foyer, into another room, and another, and another. In the largest room yet, his cage is placed on the rugged floor, not-so-gently. Jesus, he’s gonna be bruised after this. Great.
“Be gentle.” Mr. Lundgrab snaps at his mover, who only grunts in response. “This cargo is worth more than your life, idiot. Be gentle!”
There’s shifting and movement that Rocket can’t see from outside the cage. What he can see, however, is the fireplace. And, more specifically, the large head of a creature Rocket’s never seen before hung directly above it. He would be scared, but he’s himself, so he’s not.
“Open the door.” Mr. Lundgrab barks from somewhere above, and the metal door in front of Rocket swings open. He hates himself as he walks out on four paws, staring at the man in mock confusion. He swishes his tail for extra effect. He hadn’t seen the map while they were walking through the rooms, and he needed to keep the man distracted so the others could sneak in and find it. Gamora was probably inside already, running through the rooms. He hopes none of them see this - it’s humiliating.
He wonders where Peter is in relation to him right now. If his fiance is close.
Mr. Lundgrab rakes his eyes over Rocket, taking a deep, heavy breath. He leans down and tucks his hands underneath Rocket's armpits, who fights the overwhelming need to bite him as he’s lifted into the air. The collector brings him close, sticks his nose in the fur of his belly, and takes a deep, audible inhale. When he places Rocket back down, he shudders in pleasure.
Rocket feels tingly all over - and not the good kind, the ‘have I just been violated?’ kind. The ‘if this happened at a bar, and not when I was undercover, I would have literally removed your face from your skull’ kind. The ‘I wish Peter were here right now because that was super krutacking weird!’ kind.
One of the assistants leans over him, getting way too close way too quickly while he’s still recovering from what just happened, and he can’t fight the need to bare his teeth at her. She almost grins at his snarl, and concern floods Rocket’s mind. Somethings wrong here. Something’s -
He moves just quickly enough to smack the needle out of her hand. She had been distracting him to the left by leaning in close there, and was about to jab a syringe into his neck on the right - thank goodness he’s Rocket, and was much faster. He tries to maintain his animal-like stature, raising the fur on his back and snarling towards her. All she does is smile, although he’s not sure she can do much else. Maybe she’s genetically modified, too.
“Time to drop the act, 89P13. I know what you are.”
Fuck, fuck. Rocket had no weapons, but he wasn’t defenseless, like this man wanted him to be. The assistant woman was to his left, Mr. Lundgrab was in front of him, and the guy who carried his cage in was to his right. Okay. He was only MARGINALLY trapped.
“You see, I would LOVE to keep you, but you have a reputation around the galaxy. And, besides…” Mr. Lundgrab grins, “Your creator offered me quite a pretty penny for you! Enough to buy several more experiments; if I turn you in, of course.” He raises his hands and shrugs. “My hands are tied! I simply must-”
Rocket finds himself incredibly bored with the monologing - and, more than that, incredibly ready to leave after that Kree man was mentioned. He has just about zero - no, less than zero - interest in sticking around to see that dickbag again. The amount of time he gave the others better have been enough, because he doesn’t care to stick around. The man to his right is standing with his legs wide open, so Rocket moves, throwing himself underneath them and sliding right by all three of his captors. Mr. Lundgrab yelps, snapping at his employees and reaching out a hand to try and catch the raccoon by the tail. With a twist of his body, Rocket moves his head and bites him, feeling some sick satisfaction at the way his mouth fills with a metallic taste. He plants his legs on the Collectors’ arm and uses the momentum to push himself away, spitting the blood onto the floor as Mr. Lundgrab continues to yell obscenities behind him. Landing perfectly atop the fireplaces’ mantel, he snatches the stoker in one fluid movement and holds it out in front of him like a sword. The cage-goon tries to grab him, big, fat hands flying wildly, but Rocket is significantly quicker and significantly crazier. He slashes down the hot end of the Stoker, still covered in fireplace ash, right into the man’s left eye, and grins when he screams out in pain. There’s a dull thump as the helper falls to his knees, hand desperately holding his left eye. Rocket turns towards the Collector and his female assistant.
“So,” he looks down at them from the mantel, a sick sort of smile spreading across his face. “We ready to die? Because I’m about to kill you, so-”
“89P13.”
Against Rocket’s will, his grip on the weapon slackens, and it goes clattering to the ground. He’s frozen in place, and the part of him that’s still conscious - still aware of what’s going on - screams at him to move, to find Peter. But he knows that voice, and it has such a strong grip on him that he finds himself entirely incapable of moving. Boots clack against the floor, and images of the exact shine spreads through Rocket’s mind. He remembers being on the ground, bleeding out, weak and exhausted as those boots had swam into his vision. He remembers the low laughter he hears, even now, as he slowly turns his head to look at his Creator in the eyes.
The man grins. “Hello, pet.” he coos, and fuck, fuck, fuck-
Rocket takes off running. He practically throws himself through the door, heart beating out of his chest, nausea overwhelming him, palms sticky and trembling and-
Bullets pierce the door, all aimed above his head. There’s some swearing and yelling - “Don’t hurt him, you buffoon!” - but Rocket’s feet are carrying him as fast as they could, as far as they could, from the whole situation.
Peter. He has to find Peter.
—-
Peter’s starting to regret taking this job; not like he wasn’t already, but still. This mansion is gigantic and damn near impossible to navigate, even with the map they had. He holds the paper close to his face, scrunching his nose up in confusion - “Uh, Mantis? Should we have taken a left back there?”
There’s a low groan up ahead from his half-sister. “Drax, you messed it up!” She whisper-hissed, her antenna bending. If Peter twisted his head, it almost looked like they were frowning. Hah.
“I have done no such thing,” Drax defends, looking entirely insulted by the entire situation. If Groot were here, he would probably be better at calming everyone down, but he was still just a bit too young to come on missions with them yet. And, while Rocket and Peter wouldn’t say it to him, his teenage years have been…grating.
“We must turn around.” Gamora states behind them, but Drax and Mantis are simply glaring at each other. Their whole ‘sibling fights’ thing usually amuses Peter, but he doesn’t want any distractions right now, anything slowing them down.
“Guys, please.” Peter hissed. “Let’s get this thing and get out. Who knows what’s going on with Rocket right n-”
A loud gunshot echoes through the mansion, effectively stopping Peter where he stood. His head whips around, towards the staircase they just came from, and it’s about two more total seconds before he’s moving. “Something’s going wrong down there,” He bites out, shoving the map and everything else into Gamora’s hands. There are no more gunshots, and Peter has to very pointedly shove away the worry that fact fills him with. Don’t have to shoot anymore if you hit your target, right? “I’m going down there. You guys get the map and meet us outside. FAST, got it?”
Gamora nods and it’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s moving, taking the steps downstairs two at a time. His guns are already out of his holsters, fingers above instead of on the trigger - he learned that the hard way, when he almost shot Groot for scaring him and also almost gave Rocket a heart attack by association.
On the first floor, he makes a left turn, then a right, then a left. God, this was a horrible idea. How was he supposed to find Rocket in this maze where he had no idea where to look? God, he better-
“Peter!!”
Oh, thank fuck.
Peter turned around and smiled when he saw Rocket - but the grin immediately dropped at the look on his fiance’s face. Rocket is, as some may call, emotionally constipated. He shows emotions in front of Peter now, but that took a long time, and he’s still reluctant in front of his team members. He cried when Groot died, and when he lost everybody - well, he cried for a long, long time then. But he usually makes a point to hide things that are bothering him until he’s alone with either Peter or Groot. Then, he’ll let a little slip. Still not much, but something.
Right now, though, he looks terrified. With large pupils, wide eyes, and ears laid flat against the top of his head, he scurries down the hallway, nails slipping on the marble finish. He throws himself onto Peter’s leg, then zips up his body to his shoulder. Spare gun - Peter always carries a spare gun on him. Says it’s not for Rocket, but almost always hands it to him anyways. He grapples to find it, and his fiance is quick to give it. Peter places a hand on Rocket’s stomach to steady him, concern in his tone as he inquires, “Rocket? What’s wrong babe, what hap-”
“The man who- who made me is here.” If Rocket’s voice has a hint of shakiness in it, neither of them comment. “We need to get out of here. Right krucktaking now!”