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trashpandaorigins · 6 years

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Gideon’s Bible Track Nine Sticks and Stones

As a fanfic writer I cannot express how much comments mean to me! These fics do take an exorbitant amount of time to write with flash fics taking me anywhere from an hour to two hours and longer fics taking three hours to five or six. I write for free and all I ask is comments/feedback in return when you like and or reblog!

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Nursing a bad hangover from the late night in some Flannan bar, Rocket tinkered with his weapons lethargically. Five days, two quadrants, almost half way to Halfworld. Despite Baby Groot’s protests Rocket had drank himself listless each and every night since they had started off. Too many memories swarmed around him, too many imagined scenarios replayed in his mind. Was Gideon’s Bible even real? What if it told horrors beyond his imagination? What if his earliest, most precious memories of the warmth of his mother, the sunlight and sqeaks and sounds, what if all of it was fake? He drove the screw driver into the socket with far more force then necessary. At least Baby Groot’s sleep had improved a little. He only woke up six times last night and only four of those times was he crying. Rocket had hardly slept since they had decided to go to Halfworld but it wasn’t all bad. He fixed some repairs he’d been meaning to do on the Milano, he reprogrammed some of his weapons and now he was just finishing up. He glanced at Baby Groot who was now asleep himself, his own vines creating a little hammock for him beside Rocket’s own bed.

“Groot?” 89P13 whispered, crawling over to the bars of his cage and peered out. He could hear the heavy footfalls of the Flora Colossus.

“Get in there,” one of the guards snarled. The raccoon like creature watched as they shoved the large tree into his cell.

“Do you think it’ll survive?”

“Pshh, doubt it.” Rocket waited until their foot-falls shuffled off. Walking down the long hallway and shutting the door as they went. Only when they were out of range did Rocket dare move, shuffling over the right side of his cage and cocked his head trying to survey the damage. His stomach writhed with worry. Groot’s legs and right arm had been taken off. Not sliced or even snapped or blasted apart but…burned. It was easy enough for him to heal himself if he were splintered apart but the fire damaged his rejuvenating cells and cambium tissue. Over his torso were deep carvings of symbols, just doodles really. Inappropriate slurs and nonsense doodles. Groot moaned, shaking his head and Rocket watched in fearful hope as his breath rose and fell.

“C’mon buddy, it’s alright…”Groot coughed, sap flew from his mouth. The flora colossus gasped, rolling to his side to face Rocket, more sap fell from his wounds. Rocket reached through the bars of his cage, fumbling for the large tree’s remaining hand.

“Hey buddy, it’s alright,” he whispered, his deft finger’s finding Groot’s and closing around them. “it’s alright.” They sat in somber silence, the creature that would become Rocket tried not to look at his friend’s wounds. Yes he too had suffered, he too constantly ached. But at least he had some sort of job too. At least he was also put in charge of guarding the “patients” when he was not being tortured. That was not the case for Groot. All his tree friend had was pain and waiting to be in more pain. The carvings on his body moved with each rattled breath. Groot’s soulful eyes were pinched shut in pain. He moaned and Rocket could only tighten his grip on his hand.

“….You weren’t born here were you pal?” He asked in an attempt to distract him from the shivering agony.

“I…I am Groot…” the flora colossus whispered. Rocket lowered himself to the ground on his belly, watching that wooden face as it tried to smile.

“Planet X? I never heard of it,” he said. “What’s it like? Can you remember?” Groot nodded and told him, with as much strength has he could muster of the wonders of his glorious world before he had been captured. Planet X had been a lush place much like Rocket’s own earliest memories. A place full of growing things, of springs and rivers and flowers. A place with no humies, no laboratories or needles.

“I am Groot…I am Groot, I am Groot.” He continued telling Rocket of his homeworld. Rocket listened, stroking the wooden palm of Groot’s hand. He weaved a tapestry with his words, of endless trees and uninterrupted wilderness. In his mind subject 89P13 conjured images and smells of a world outside the asylum.

“I am Groot,” he said sleepily. The raccoon like creature nodded, watching as Groot’s face slowly relaxed into sleep.

“Sounds beautiful buddy. If we ever get off this dump, that’ll be the first place we go to.” He had promised and indeed they had made to go there but there was nothing left. It was exactly what Groot had feared and Rocket had watched as his best friend stood with wanton silence, mourning a life robbed from him.

“Rocket,” he jumped. Gamora stood behind him, her expression unreadable as usual. He turned to face her, gun in hands. “How are you?”

“Why’d you care? She signed, rolling her eyes and turned away. Rocket sighed, wishing his first instinct wasn’t to turn people away. Despite Yondu’s accurate assessment, the habit had continued.

“I know what it is like,” she said softly. “To have all bodily autonomy taken from you. To be torn apart…when Thanos modified me….” She stopped. “I know what it’s like and…you are willing to go back there, for Groot. It is brave and selfless.”

“Yeah whatever.”

“I don’t think I would have the courage to go back to where Thanos trained me. Not for anyone.” He sighed as her foot falls faded away.

“Gamora!” She turned in the doorway,

“Thanks.” Nodding with finality she made her way down the hall and off to her quarters. If only she were right. But he wasn’t doing it just for Groot, he was doing it for himself, for Lylla, even for the mental patients who were treated just as cruelly. He had searched for Gideon’s Bible after they left the remnants of Planet X, only to give up after there were no leads. But it was always in the back of his mind and whenever they had down time after bringing in a bounty he thought about it. Rocket, and thus Groot, had traveled to all quadrents of the galaxy to search for it when Rocket heard anything to do with Halfworld or saw anything that reminded him of it. The spark to search for it had ignited more then once after their initial give up, and he had killed for it. He’d killed for answers, had risked his life. Had risked Groot’s. But now he had a team.. he had, dare he say it, a family behind him. Letting Gamora’s words fill some of the emptiness, he abandoned his work and made his way to check on the Milano’s progress.

#gideonsbible #my writing

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paulypaulo · 7 years

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Inktober 2017. Rocky Raccoon, The Beatles

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notallfay · 7 years

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Oh, how careless someone left this #holybible here. Well Meng thought he'd check it out! #baddragon #baddragontoys #dragon #chinesedragon #Bible #religious #religion #Christianity #Christian #gideon #gideonsbible (at Premier Inn Rochdale)

#bible #religion #gideon #baddragon #religious #christian #gideonsbible #dragon #baddragontoys #christianity #chinesedragon #holybible

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toddsimmonsnyc · 7 years

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#GideonsBible by #JohnCale - 1970 #VintageViolence #VU

#music #spotify

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trashpandaorigins · 6 years

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Gideon’s Bible Track Four Liquid Dread

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Most of the time, Rocket says (or rather translates) that which Groot cannot say. But sometimes, three times exactly to be precise. Groot says the things that Rocket cannot say. The first time was when Rocket had accidentally killed an inmate on Halfworld where he was forced to patrol loonies even crazier then himself. He hadn’t meant to do it, but the stray bullet had hit her nonetheless. He’d been aiming for the other crazy who was beating on her. Well, he’d killed him later out of rage and spite but when he had knelt over her…Groot had been the one to speak. The second time was on Nowhere. When he Drax and Groot had been drinking and he in his drunken stooper had asked about the scars adorning the alien’s body. He knew that Thanos had killed his wife and daughter but the marks were fascinating. Rocket knew enough about scars to know that they told a lot about a person.

“What’s this crap?”

“Unhand me,” Drax yanked away. To his surprise, Drax answered a moment later.

“This is the story of my life,” he murmured, “This here, my soul union with Oved,” he said pointing to the marks on his forearm. He went on describing each scar in detail. “The day Kamarea was born.”

“I am Groot,”

“Groot!” Rocket scolded,

“What he’s trying to say, in a rather insensitive fashion, is didn’t you weep when your wife and daughter were murdered?” Drax’s eyes went hard but the alcohol coursing through Rocket’s veins made him even bolder than usual.

“You shall not speak of them,” Drax growled, dropping the glass of blue liquid. “Vermin!” Rocket bristled, the drinks that normally numbed him turned to rage.

“I’ll speak of whatever I want to speak of!”

“You know nothing of family tragedy!” Drax snarled, rising to his feet. Tragedy. Rocket knew all about that. Knew more then he liked to remember, and the liquor helped him not to remember. There had only been a handful of times when Groot had to take him to the nearest medical center for alcohol poisoning. Rocked HATED medical centers, so between loathing and loneliness he walked the tedious line, or rather, drank it. The third-time Groot had said something he could not say had been before Yondu died. When the ravager was making ready to sacrifice himself. Yondu, who had been the only person except perhaps to a certain extent, Groot, who was able to see right through him. He had gotten incredibly intoxicated after that. Groot didn’t like it when Rocket drank, and boy did Rocket know it. But it was better than the alternative. Rocket used booze as a buffer, between him and his nightmares, him and his memories, between his hurt and between others who would dare come too close. The unpredictability of emotions was something he could handle, it was fun actually. A spinning top of how the night of binge drinking would go. He could be ecstatic, brawling and cracking jokes that was when the buffer was good. But sometimes if he drank too much, which he usually did…that barrier would break and he would fly into an unholy rage against anything, (except Groot,) that moved. He was angry at them, angry at everyone for having someone like themselves, for knowing who, or at least what they were. He was angry at those strange people who created him, for torturing him. In bar rooms and back allies and beer-halls he replicated his rage. Fighting, scratching, biting, shooting. Recreating the fights, he would have with those doctors and scientists as he was dragged down the hallways, only this time he won. Sure, he and Groot would get thrown out or beat up but he would beat harder. The only thing he hated worse than those who experimented on him was himself for letting them do so.

Sometimes the liquor would make him sad and he had no fight within him. He’d leave wherever he’d been drinking in a funk hanging his head until he reached some quiet place and only where no one could see him would the alcohol pour out of his eyes in tears. He dreaded himself and his past and so he drank. Then sometimes, in the morning when he’d wake up in the warmth of Groot’s wooden chest, he’d regret drinking. The sentient tree would pet him gently until he fully woke and he’d see Groot’s large sad eyes. Then the dread of what he had done would hit him. But it never lasted long. Rocket drank too much but he convinced himself that it was healthier, better than remembering, then losing his mind more than he already had.

The intoxication sang to his demons, the intoxication kept them at bay. Tonight it was doing neither of these things. Tonight it only made images of Groot flash before his clouded eyes. They had stopped after delivering a bounty and Rocket had spent all of his share on booze. He took it to his hold and drank it all whilst watching the stick in its pot. It was only a matter of time until his body could take no more of the stuff and he was forced to crawl to the bathroom. Out of everything they did to me, they couldn’t have given me a stronger stomach? Or liver for that matter? His thoughts blotted in and out as he gripped the sides of the Milano’s hallways, finding his way step by step back to his quarters. Coming into his room he glanced at the stick again and sighed crawling into his bed. “I’m going to hungover tomorrow Groot, I’ll tell yah that much.” He rolled over, clutching his stomach and closed his eyes.

A sound. A shuffle, small cracks. Rocket’s eyes opened just barely.

Creek, there it was again and a breath of air like a yawn. He rolled over, focused his vision with some difficulty and then:

“Groot!?” The tiny tree had indeed yawned, stretching out its arms.

“I am Groot,” the smaller, more high-pitched voice said, blinking large black eyes at him.

“Yes!” Rocket gasped, sitting upright. His eyes pressed with tears, this time of joy.

“I am Groot?”

“I’m not crying,” he said gently taking the pot in his paws. The baby Groot reached out to him, exploring his nose and face. Rocket felt waves of joy and relief breaking against his callous heart. “I thought I’d lost you buddy!” the baby Groot stared up at him.

“It’s me! It’s Rocket!” He laughed through his tears as baby Groot continued playing with his fur.

“I am Groot?” It ended.

“…What do you mean…you don’t remember…?” Placing baby Groot back the stand Rocket reached for the last bottle of that liquor. Paws shaking as he opened it and guzzled it down but he was already drunk. It did nothing. Rocket drank until he could not drink anymore and when he was done he lifted baby Groot into his arms beside him on the bed.

“I am Groot.” It squeaked. Rocket nodded, half delirious now, curling around the tiny pot.

Yes, we are friends….

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Some of the dialogue for this chapter-the part with Drax talking about his tattoos and Rocket saying that he will speak of whatever he wants-was taken from a deleted scene in GoG 1. I do not own that dialogue and it belongs wholly to Marvel/the movie creators.

#gideonsbible #my writing

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trashpandaorigins · 6 years

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Gideon’s Bible Track Ten Sharing a Drink Called Loneliness Is Better Than Drinking Alone

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“Rocket!” Drax’s voice echoed down the halls of the Milano. The small mammal groaned and rubbed his eyes awake, beside him Baby Groot clung to his fur. He was old enough to be out of his pot now, but still young enough to crave closeness. Groot had only had two nightmares tonight, one of which resulted in a vine being wrapped dangerously tight around Rocket’s tail. Rocket had drifted in and out of cat-naps only to wake for good when the pain in his tail roused him. It had taken almost a half hour for him to soothe Baby Groot into releasing him.

“What the flark do you want?” He hissed. Drax’s tattooed head poked into their quarters.

“Peter wants to me tell you that we will be on Halfworld soon.”

“How soon?” Drax thought for a moment. “A few hours.” Allow me to rephrase that, he thought, how much time do I have to get as hammered as possible?

“I am Groot,” Baby Groot said sleepily.

“You woke the kid!” Rocket vehemently said through his teeth. Drax frowned.

“Groot is not is a kid. Groot is a small twig.” Rocket rolled his eyes.

“Whatever.” Drax shrugged and retreated. The enhanced creature goes back to his friend,

“We’ll be there soon buddy. You better get your rest.” His hands automatically begin stroking his friend’s bark.

“I am Groot,” he smiles.

“Nah’ I’ll be alright.” Baby Groot continues to stare at him and for a moment Rocket can see a glimpse of the old Groot’s light. His wisdom and care. Groot always worried about him. Eventually he settled the tiny flora colossus down enough that he lay down again, fingers curling into Rocket’s fur. His eyes were still open but it was better than nothing. He sighed, his belly doing flops. Anxiously he glanced at his guns. How many would he be able to bring with him? Rocket pushed the images of doctors and scientists away. He forced himself to think of nothing. It was nice, sitting here with Baby Groot as the rest of the ship went about its business. It was lonely, sure. But it was the kind of loneliness Rocket liked. Rocket had perfected the art of loneliness the way most people perfected saying ‘I’m fine,’ when everything was going wrong. Sure Groot was always with him, so most people assumed he wasn’t lonely and they were partially right. Groot’s constant presence was welcome but there was a deeper loneliness.

“Ain’t no thing like me, except me!” he proclaimed whenever people made remarks about his appearance or what he was, which was often. It was true. There was nothing like him. Nothing. Sure the same could be said for Groot, since he was the last of his kind, but at least there had been things like him. He had a home planet that had been destroyed but it was there, in memory and heart. He had an identity beyond Halfworld. Rocket did not. Rocket only had what he had made himself. That was one of the reasons why he and Groot had gravitated towards each other and had gotten even closer since joining the Guardians. They were the most different, the most removed. Drax, Peter, Gamora, they all resembled humies. Even Mantis with her antennae was humanoid to a certain degree, as was Nebula. But Rocket and Groot would always be starred at. Rocket had allowed this thought to consume him for many years even when he and Groot were searching for bounties together. No one knew what he was, including himself, not truly. He only knew he was alone. Gently rising from where Baby Groot lay he reached under his cabinet of weapons and pulled out a backup liquor bottle. Downing it in five easy gulps he allowed his mind to drift back to Halfworld. If there was the slightest possibility that he wasn’t in face the only thing of his kind, it would be found on Halfworld in Gideon’s Bible. Maybe. Just Maybe. He knealt down on the floor and began to fix one of his largest weapons. It needed to be in perfect shape for whatever they met on Halfworld.

“Rocket!” Peter’s voice cut through his reflection a little while later. Rocket made his way up to the pilot deck, Baby Groot on his shoulder. “We’re almost there,” he said with more concern then Rocket thought possible. “I’m sorry I was skeptical,” he continued.

“Whatever. I just want to get the thing and get out.” Peter nodded. Rocket stared out at the emptiness of space. Stars were scarce out here, there was a reason Halfworld Laboratory and Asylum had been located so far out.

“So I got to ask,” Peter said, “besides Groot and whoever Lylla is do you have anyone else on Halfworld? Friends, a family? Were there other animals…things…” Rocket listened to him stumble through the words with equal parts amusement and sadness. “…aliens like you?”

“….Not many. I mean, we were kept in our cages when we weren’t watching the patients. But Wal Rus was…another subject who went on patrol with me. Him and…” Rocket paused. “Blackjack O’Hare.” He heard Peter stifle a snicker but ignored it. It wasn’t worth it. But he knew that Blackjack was no joke. Once a fellow guard, Blackjack had a rather brutal means of handling the patients. Rocket had witnessed him abuse the mental patients the way the strange people in the strange coats abused him. The day Blackjack killed a patient was the day Rocket reported him and they had done terrible things to him in retribution, including removing the rabbit like creature’s eyes from his skull. From then on Blackjack had remained one of Rocket’s largest tormentors on Halfworld.

Many times Rocket wondered if he deserved it or not for what he did. He had betrayed the unspoken trust of all of the subjects. But the mental patient Blackjack repeatedly beat and humiliated was young, small and defenseless. Exactly how Rocket himself had been.

“We’ll be there soon,” Peter said, leaning down under his pilot’s seat and reemerging with a bottle of clear liquid. He wordlessly took a sip and handed it to Rocket who drank a few gulps. “I picked this song up back on Terra the last time I was there,” Peter said after a few more passes back and forth. Rocket listened to the gentle thrum of the instrument Peter called a piano. He hummed along, it was pleasant. He glanced at Baby Groot on his shoulder and handed the bottle back to Quill. On the horizon, the muddled green-brown sliver of Halfworld taunted him.

“Let’s do this then,” he whispered. More to himself than anyone else.

#gideonsbible #my writing

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trashpandaorigins · 6 years

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Gideon’s Bible Track Eight Unseen Cages

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“The book of Halfworld!” Rocket growled, exasperated. The stood into the bay of the Milano some ten days and nine nearly sleepless nights later. Baby Groot had awoken from night terrors almost every hour from 10:00pm-4:00am and despite Rocket’s best efforts, all the hugging and holding and unsure words of attempted reassurance there was no resolve.

“Halfworld?” Peter asked, his arms folded. Rocket saw the hesitation in his eyes. The last time they went to a planet, that planet turned out to be Peter’s psycho planet father. The time before that…Rocket stole batteries from the sovereign.

“Halfworld? Is that your and Groot’s home planet?” Rocket’s fur bristled. Home. No. Never. He had no home.

“No!” He snapped, “not home. Yeah I was born there, but it ain’t my home.” Drax’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“So this book…” Gamora thankfully returned to the topic at hand. “…the book of Halfworld?”

“Also called Gideon’s Bible.” At this Peter pushed his back off the wall and stepped closer, instinctively Rocket crossed his arms.

“I am Groot?” Baby Groot asked from his place on the table.

“Something humies care about I guess,” Rocket shrugged and turned back to face them. “It ain’t a bible. I don’t know exactly what it is…”

“You don’t even know what it is?” Peter accused. Flarking idiot! Rocket raged, feeling his frustration rise in his chest. The same rage he felt after stealing the batteries. He could still remember taking them too. Yondu spoke true when he said that Rocket stole batteries he didn’t need. He didn’t need them. He needed what they symbolized. He needed the feeling that they gave in the act of taking them. Rocket stole the batteries for the same reasons, (or so he suspected) that Yondu stole Peter as a child. Because he desperately needed to fill something inside of himself, because he needed to prove to himself and those around him that he could. Quelling his anger he looked at them and sighed. For Groot, he thought.

“The scientists on Halfworld—they wrote everything down in Gideon’s Bible. What they were working on I guess.”

“You guess?” Peter asked skeptically.

“Lylla saw it once, she told me she knew for a fact that…” he held his breath seeing all of them raise their brows. Manti’s antennae rose in interest.

“Who is this Lylla?” Drax asked.

“I am Groot!” “It’s not important!” Rocket snapped, his fists clenching. All that matters is we get that book. I ain’t asking for myself…I’m asking for Groot.” Even as he said it he knew it was a lie. How many years had he spent in that cage? How many straps had they gone through to hold him down? How many times had he lay passively helpless despite his best efforts as they tore him up. How many inmates had he guarded when he wasn’t being “enhanced?” Hundreds probably. Hundreds of crazies who had hurled their own share of abuse at him. They too were kept in cages.

“This Lylla, you have not spoken of her before. Is she your wife?”

“No you idiot! She…she was on Halfworld with me. Was captain of the guard responsible for keeping the crazies from getting out of hand. She was torn apart like me too.” His voice drifted off.

“I am Groot,” the small tree said, stepping off the table to take his familiar spot on Rocket’s shoulder.

“If we can get that book, find out why and exactly what they did to Groot, he…he’d appreciate it.” Silence surrounded them all with apprehension. He could see Gamora calculating the risk before she spoke.

“Very well.”

“What?” Peter unfolded his arms in disbelief,

“Enough Peter!” She silenced him with a look. “After all Groot has done for us, this is the least we can do.” She looked at the flora colossus for a minute. “Or do I have to remind you all of Groot’s…sacrifice?” Rocket flinched.

“I agree.” Drax put in. Nebula nodded.

“Its decided then,” Peter said, his tone since softening. “Rocket do you know how to get there?” Swallowing the lump in his stomach Rocket nodded, motioning for Peter to follow him to the flight deck. Walking through the Milano his mind raced. Back to Halfworld. The one place in the whole flarken galaxy he swore he would never return to. What if it was still in operation? What if they recaptured him? Images raced through his mind faster than he could comprehend. But if they did make it, if this book were actually real…he would finally know. He would have the answer, to all his pain, to his misery. Maybe it would contain information on others like him. If there was any hope in that, it was in Gideon’s Bible. Rocket plugged in the coordinates and looked out over the cockpit. The stars were beautiful; at least in this cage, he could still see the wide infinite space. In this cage he kept himself in, the one made of unseen bars of anger and fear he could pretend he was free. Rocket had broken out of 24 prisons in his lifetime but there was one he knew he would never be of. The one he created himself. Gideon’s Bible could either liberate him from that prison or, he feared most, it would lock him in for good.

#gideonsbible #my writing

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trashpandaorigins · 6 years

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Gideon’s Bible Track Seven Gideon's Bible

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Rocket knew he was not the only one with less-than pleasant memories. In the evening hours he could hear Drax weep in his sleep for his wife and daughter. He could hear Peter humming or singing in his sleep, could see Groot’s tremors and twitches beside him. He didn’t hear Gamora. Ever, and her silence was the loudest. She was the only one besides himself who knew the pain of getting torn apart and reassembled, created to be controlled. She knew what it was like to be at the mercy of others, to have all autonomy stripped of you. She held it in her silence at night for long hours. Rocket knew it because he did the same thing. Had he been the sentimental sort, able to make connections with others, he would have dared knock on her door. He would have tried to talk to her. He shook his head. He was not like that.

“I….am…Groot,” the high-pitched whine made Rocket’s ears perk up, gazing across the room. Baby Groot squirmed and clutched the small blanket Rocket had thrown over him earlier that evening. Rocket watched as the small tree whimpered and then settled. Shrugging he went back to work on his latest gun, an outfitted Xandarian rifle, with a few improvements of course.

“I AM GROOT!” Baby Groot wailed, this time vines jutted out from his arms on all sides, grasping onto the pipes that ran across the ceiling. Flark! Rocket sprang upward, leaning over the small hammock. Baby Groot’s brow furrowed in his sleep, tears of sap ran down his small cheeks. “I am Groot,” he whispered, thrashing. His vines continued to grow, father then Rocket had seen since his tree friend had regrown.

“Hey, hey buddy, it’s okay.” Rocket whispered, his whiskers bristled as he dodged another vine swooping over him. It attached to a beam on the ceiling and yanked downward sending the metal creaking. Tentatively he reached a hand outward, stroking Baby Groot awkwardly. He knew what was happening. Groot had these nightmares periodically, and Rocket had hoped that this new-ish Groot wouldn’t have to deal with them, wouldn’t have to remember. Rocket held his breath as he slowly picked him up as he squirmed.

“Everything okay down there?” Peter called, Baby Groot cried out once more, three vines smashing around. Rocket watched as two of his guns were smashed to pieces. A flaring rage alit in him but he swallowed it, watching Baby Groot struggle.

“I got it Quill!” Rocket hollard, he pulled the little Groot to his chest. He settled down on his bunk, sighing as he leaned against the wall. “Hey buddy, you’re alright. You ain’t on Halfworld anymore, we’re free.” Baby Groot sniffled, releasing some of his vines. Even now Rocket could kill them, all the scientists, the orderlies, everyone. The things they did to Groot. He could still hear the screams. Could still visualize the chains around his friend’s neck when they first brought him in. “That’s it,” Rocket said gently, concentrating on keeping his voice soft. Baby Groot curled up closer, tiny hands gripping at his blue jumpsuit. The vines slowly retracted.

“I am Groot,” he whispered shaking his head. A pained expression lashed across his face, pricking Rocket in the chest with rage.

“I know,” Rocket whispered. He wished he could stop the memories, wished he could make Groot forget the pain. Maybe he deserved it, but Groot didn’t. “…but you are safe here and I promise,” he took a deep breath, “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Baby Groot opened his eyes, big and brown and dark and full of innocence. Full of hurt and of ghosts. The vines fully retracted and Baby Groot blinked. Rocket nodded, his paws gently stroking his belly. It was wrong, it was all so wrong. The shocks and the starving, the experiments, the lashings. How many times had Rocket heard the groans of pain, seen the electric shocks, every time Groot tried to speak those same three words they shocked or beat him. The—

something tiny and warm clutched Rocket’s finger. His stomach churned as he saw Baby Groot, his best friend once so large and looming, even when he had nightmares, now so tiny and small, gripped his finger for dear life. Rocket could feel that love trace upward, filling him. He sighed, and gently hung his head to nuzzle his cheek against the top of Baby Groot’s head.

“I don’t know why they did it to us buddy,” he whispered. “I spent my entire life trying to figure it out.” Baby Groot opened his eyes once more, looking into Rocket like no one else could, seeing him. There was nothing in the galaxy that would heal him. Nothing that could make the pains in his back or his limbs less, nothing that would remove the horrors from his dreams, nothing to make him feel less lonely besides Groot. All his life he had fought and fought and hated and raged. Then he ran and ran and ran and was continuing to run. From the past, from himself and his loneliness, but there was one thing that could give him absolution, information.

“I am Groot, I am Groot.” The tiny tree asked. In the dark of their quarters surrounded by the low thrum of the Milano Rocket knew the answer, at least he knew what Lylla had once told him.

“I don’t have the answer to that buddy,” he whispered, gingerly curling his the rest of his fingers around Baby Groot’s hand.

“But I think I may know something that might….”

“I am Groot?”

“…Gideon’s Bible” Rocket whispered.

#gideonsbible #my writing

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trashpandaorigins · 6 years

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Gideon’s Bible Track Six The Echo of Fire

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The Kyln would be the 23 prison Rocket would break out of and the 18 that he and Groot had broken out of together. But now with Star-Boy and Gamora he was beginning to have his doubts that they could all make it out together. He and Groot would be fine, and Groot might be mad at him for a few days, but Rocket could handle that. Groot had been angry at him every time he promised to sober up, only to relapse a few weeks…forget it…days, later. Groot was kind and his torture had only made him more sympathetic. More compassionate. Rocket’s had the opposite effect and he had accepted that readily. No matter what happened he and Groot would get out and the rest of them well, best of luck.

“You idiot!” He cried, dodging as prisoners in yellow jumpsuits brawled with each other and the guards tried without effort to establish some sort of order. “How am I supposed to fight these guys without my stuff!” Firing bullets sounded off and with a curse he crouched low, belly brushing Groot’s shoulder. Thankfully the flora colossus sprouted an array of thorns and small twigs out of his arm, shielding Rocket from the blast. The raccoon like creature tried to ignore the sounds of splintered bark and the tense of Groot’s muscles, mentally adding it to the rolodex of “times Groot has taken a hit or otherwise endangered, jeopardized, otherwise suffered harm for my sake.” The list was far longer than Rocket would have liked.

“You! Creepy little beast!” He rolled his eyes, ears flattening. Looking up Rocket saw Drax standing over the bodies of several guards. Before he could conjure a snarky reply the destroyer tossed a gun. It arched through the air and Rocket sprung for it, keeping his hind paws…no…legs…on Groot’s shoulder. Stretching as far as he could his hands instantly caught it, bringing it to him. He clicked it back and felt the familiar sensation of adrenaline and power course through his arms. No one dared calling him vermin, or a rodent, scum when he was holding a class ten caliber Xandarian blaster to their heads. Rocket had been programmed to operate weapons of all sorts, but it was the fire power blast of the gun that he especially enjoyed. The first time he held a gun was during those tests in the labs. The first time he shot someone…that was different. No amount of programming or testing could prepare you for that. They had been testing him again, things stuck all over him while he paced around the room, the walls aligned with weapons. The strange people in the strange masks watched him from behind thick glass. He stared. Unsure of what to do until they shocked him. After the trembling and the pain, he ran over to the wall, his anger propelling him to pick up a large Kree made blaster He hefted it and shot, he jerked backward, ears awakening to the noise as it sent a rush through him. Instantly his mind knew what to do. He loaded the gun and aimed it at the glass. The bright kickback exhilarated him almost as much as the shocked cries from the scientists. Next he turned and blasted the door, running out and throwing the gun behind his back. Guards in armor swarmed him. He took aim down the hallway and fired. Everything bent into slow motion. There was a cry as one of the guards fell back. He watched them fall, saw the blood. For a millisecond, he hesitated and in that second they tore the weapon away from him, waves of electric pain vibrated through him as a heavy pressure slammed him to the ground. He was dragged away, but not before he saw her. Her helmet was, her hands trembled. There was dark red blood everywhere. He could see one eye, and the fear held within it, fear and despair. He gagged, and strained to see as they took him away. Put the helmet back on, he told himself. It was easier to think of the guards as guards. Not as actual living beings. Rocket could still see those eyes, could still smell the blood and sweat and fear.

Holding the gun that the strange alien threw to him, Rocket smiled. That rush running through him. He told himself it was worth it. “Oh yeah,” the rounds sounded off as Groot spun around. Rocket watched the Kyln guards fell with little ceremony. Deep down he wondered why all this was the way it was. Why he knew how to wield these weapons, was this all he was made for? There was a way to find out, or so he heard but first things first. It was time to get the flark out of here. With or without Star-Boy.

#gideonsbible #my writing

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trashpandaorigins · 6 years

Text

Gideon’s Bible Track Three: What's In a Name Part One

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I am Groot,”

“Yeah I heard yah’ the first thousand times yah’ said it yah’ idiot!” Rocket growled.

“I am Groot,” the strange bumbling creature would say, over and over to itself. But now, in silence Rocket waited, waited for anything. Movement, a twitch, anything. He waited, rarely sleeping. Anyone of the guardians could attest that the pyro raccoon like creature watered the small pot every day. He sat in his bunk, in the pilot seat, anywhere watching and waiting for the slightest movement. They left Xandar days ago, wandering through the galaxy but Rocket had no sense of where they were going. He didn’t care. As he walked around the Milano even the slightest shadow of movement again the tiny twig sent his heart skipping. But then he would run over to inspect the pot, to hope and time after time he was only met with silence. The rest of the crew kept their distance from him, he was glad. Peter tried to offer sympathies, a sad smile here or there. He even asked what planet Rocket would like to go to next, what sort of mission. But these things didn’t phase Rocket. He cared about one thing and one thing only: the possibility that the immobile, mute little stick would one day open it’s eyes and say those three little words.

“I am Groot.” The words has echoed through the cell walls. Rocket had many memories of Halfworld, all of which he’d rather not dwell one-except after a bender when the memories and the pain would come floating up from the depths of him, lured by the sweet, warm, fuzziness of liquor. The only memory he did want to remember was that of meeting Groot. He didn’t see him at first, only heard him, only heard I am Groot. Over and over until he scratched at the bars of his cage madly,

“I aamm Grooot,” the creature moaned. Rocket snarled, scraping against the metal of his prison to no effect.

“Shut your mouth! Can’t you say anything else you dumb tree?!” After that, his neighbor fell into a blessed silence. Though Rocket had little time to cherish it. The people in the strange coats came to get him. At least four times a day they would break into his cell and subdue him by any means necessary. Every time he clawed and fought, and every time he lost. They’d strap him down to the table and do things to him, with their scalpels and their needles and their strange vials with strange liquids that did even stranger things to him. Only when he had ceased fighting, for fear of death or worse, only when he gave in and let them torture him did he wait for it to end. And it always ended, ended only so that it could begin again the next session.

“I am Groot,” the creature wailed. Rocket, curled in his cell nursing the worst headache his skull had ever experienced, curled his claws into fists.

“Cut it out! No one cares!” He hissed. The unseen creature only repeated himself. Rising the blood in Rocket’s veins.

“I am Groot.”

“Aaaahhh!!!” Rocket screamed aggravated, running at the right side of his cell and slamming against it. He only succeeded in bruising himself. The next day it happened again. They came for him and experimented on him.

“This is a new formula,” he could hear them say through their masks. “Let’s hope it doesn’t kill him.”

Let’s hope it does, Rocket thought dully. He bared his teeth as the strange coated creature came near, holding the large, thick needle full of odd green liquid. But he already knew it was hopeless even when he tugged on his restraints. In a flash of agony, he felt the piercing of skin at his temple, the pressure of it going through bone and the oddest feeling of it penetrating deeper, into his scull…it was sharper than anything he’d felt. He told himself to breathe, just breathe for all long as he could…but he couldn’t anymore. Not after all they had done. His body was broken, his mind scrambled and shriveled. But he couldn’t let them know that. That would be giving them too much credit. So Rocket snarled and scraped until he felt the liquid swimming through him and his eyes closed in desperation.

“I am Groot…”

“W…what?” Rocket opened his eyes dully, his head swimming and every joint aching.

“I am Groot.” He staggered, trembling to his feet.

“No…I’m not okay!” He snapped then stopped. Looking at the wall. “What did you say?”

“I am Groot.” Rocket heard the same words yes…but now…he…understood them.

“I don’t know what they did to me!” He said coming closer to the wall and pressing his hear against it.

“I am Groot….” The strange thing next to him said sadly.

“Sorry?! What do you have to be sorry for? You didn’t do nothing! You wasn’t the one who did this.”

“I am Groot…” Rocket slid down the wall, crumpling into a ball, pressing himself as near to the slick clod rock as he could.

“Yeah…me too.”

Rocket tilted the water can even more, trying to get it exactly right. He couldn’t over water the plant. Nor underwater it. He sighed, tears pricking his red eyes. He glanced around the common area, making sure no one was there. Then he leaned closer to the little plant.

“It was worth it yah know?” He leaned back on his knees. “What they did to me….it was worth it. Yah know why?” The stick did not answer. “…Cuz it got me to hear you. Understand you. What you were really sayin’.” Rocket sighed, his voice cracking. “They did a lot of fucked up stuff to both of us. But…at least I got you out of it. That makes it worth it.” He let the tears fall, and pulled the small pot into his arms, hugging it closer to him, curling his tail around it.

“You are Groot,” he whispered. Still nothing.

#gideonsbible #my writing

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