Half and Half (I)

"-. 6 March, 1989 .-"

The light burned.

He remembered pain. It wasn't like his Loony didn't backhand or knock him off his lap every other week from sheer absent-mindedness. Sometimes he was even too asleep to react fast enough. This pain was nothing like it though. Nothing he could shrug off. Nothing he could forget. Nothing like everything he had grown soft to, in exchange for everything good that came from being a companion animal.

Nothing he could forgive.

It wasn't until after several intermittent lifetimes of self-destroying agony that the strangeness of being capable of forgiveness occurred to him. That the strangeness of being capable of conceiving of it struck him. Of being able to conceive of anything. Any notions. Any ideas.

Inception was his next trial, forced on him through more genetic-altering rays, vivisection, and robot bits and bobs driven through his skull base and his spine. Inception. The act, process, or instance of beginning. Beginning of understanding. Beginning of understanding many things. Complex feelings. Concepts. Notions. Suffering. Ideas.

The pain was with him and helplessness was with him and so was terror and confusion and resentment and rage, and the essential circuits of his torturers were just out of his reach and he still couldn't move because of the restraints but he was getting ideas.

Then the ceiling caved in and the robots surrounding him were blown away from his vivisection table.

"Let's make something clear!" boomed the voice of a Shrink come again, because he couldn't be anything less. Not when he loomed so tall and had a voice that could subdue the rowdiest of Good Humor Men. "This one here's my buddy. You want to get to him, you go through me. Or, more accurately, I go through you!"

Darkness took him on waves of soothing relief and a vague feeling of irony.

Then he had his first dreams, and they were short-lived indeed. They quickly gave way to knowledge, understanding and memory of many timelines already lived. Some had been fulfilling. Some had been boring. Some had sucked. And some had never even finished. But they were all his so what was Quill playing at, asking if he wanted to keep them!? Of course the answer was yes!

What kind of moron actually asks for permission before curing his buddy's amnesia, seriously.

Rocket Raccoon awoke in a familiar sickroom in a mental hospital on a planet he never expected or wished to see again. At least he wasn't in a box this time though.

Standing on two feet and feeling no pain – not even in his spine which had ached and burned during the entirety of his last life – he inspected himself for… whatever or other. Noticing that someone had propped a mirror against the far wall at some point, he walked over and studied his reflection more thoroughly. Nothing was new. And nothing seemed to be missing. Other than the old age he was always not thinking about due to his substandard lifespan, but good riddance to that!

Good riddance to the nervous meltdown he had the first time he saw himself in a mirror too. Shit, but it'd been so long since he was soft. He didn't miss it.

He turned away from the mirror and resolutely made for the door.

Then he detoured to the box next to the bed that he'd been too self-absorbed to notice before.

His laser pistol! Or a shiny new replica, but he'd take it. It even had his overcharge module! He'd definitely be taking his jumpsuit too. In fact, best he do that first. Pretending you weren't ashamed and humiliated while having to walk around naked was not fun or easy at all.

He found a few grenades under the clothing too, along with zip-ties, a multi-tool, and almost everything else he was used to carrying in his various pockets and pouches. Which, he was pleased to find, were already sewn into his coveralls just the way he remembered them. How thoughtful.

Disturbing too, because how did Quill know about every last knickknack in his drawers? Even the cup was there.

Trying to not think about it too much, he charged his pistol and moved towards the door.

It opened automatically.

Right. Not a prisoner. Not like the first time when he had to shoot his way out of the compound as part of his oh so sapience-affirming psychotic break.

The hallway was almost as familiar as the private berth he'd just left, but he didn't follow it out in search of freedom and friends just yet. He instead snuck from one door to the next of the curiously robot-free floor until he spotted someone who wasn't either insane or catatonic. Which, as it happened, turned out to be a woman bearing a clear resemblance to one Peter Quill even with her face mask covering most of her face. He could smell it. It was the only reason he didn't hold her at gunpoint when he saw what she was doing.

"Ahem."

The woman looked up from where she was force-feeding one of the more belligerent Loonies some sort of draught.

"What are you doing to'em?"

"Hopefully starting him on the path to sanity."

"Say what?"

The woman fluffed the now drowsy Loony's pillow and straightened up to face him. "I'm assuming you're Peter's friend?"

Identify confirmed. "Who's asking?"

"His mother." Identity not confirmed. Not a sister? But she didn't look all that old. "So?"

"Yeah, I know'im. Name's Rocket."

"Meredith," she walked over and bent over to hold out his hand. "Pleasure."

Rocket Racoon shook the hand of Star-Lord's no longer long-dead mother with a distinct feeling of surrealism. "Yeah, nice to meet ya. So, the Loonies?"

"The reason even the offspring of the people in this system go crazy isn't because there's something wrong with the Keystone Quadrant. More like something is missing. Specifically, an entire gamut of plants."

The woman explained while she worked, to Rocket's growing bemusement, about how the people who first turned the Keystone Quadrant into their mental asylum were too focused on studying the mind and not enough on the physical side of the equation. Which is why they never figured out the physical cause of the onset of insanity – there was an entire set of nutrients and chemicals people weren't getting from their food. The most important one, if you considered that some endo-whatsit system had more receivers than the nervous system of a human being. Which, the woman said, they'd found to be the case for more or less every other humanoid being they'd encountered so far. The stuff just didn't exist in the environment.

"The compounds are found in trace amounts in many plants on Earth and other planets, but many of them are picky about soil and climate. Fortunately, there's one plant that's easy enough to introduce into the environment here. Most environments." She told him after she finished force-feeding her last self-appointed patient under the attentive eye of a robot caretaker Rocket had been too distracted by painlessness-induced euphoria to notice coming in. "It should otherwise have a minimal impact on the food chain as well. Among other benefits."

Yeah, no kidding. If he heard her right, it could grow in 3-4 months and was majorly composed of edible protein including all essential amino acids, plus some numbered stuff called omega essential fatty acids. The plant could also easily and cheaply be used to produce over 50,000 commercial products including anything wood, paper cotton and plastic could be used for. The toy makers were going to save a fortune. Best of all, the plant was renewable and didn't need to be genetically modified because it was naturally pest resistant.

Rocket stared from a balcony down at the large park that had been turned into a crop field by disturbingly animated robots literally overnight. There were also a bunch of Loonies moving about the place, watching and praising and even helping out. He recognised some of them. There were a few that weren't supposed to have the mental coordination to walk. And wasn't that robot on the right one of the ones who was cutting him open the other day? Or however long it had taken him to remember everything before waking up? And how the hell was everyone so buddy-buddy all of a sudden? Sanity wasn't nearly entertaining enough from the outside! "Did you just derail the creation of Halfworld?"

"Who knows what will happen in the future?"

Nothing Rocket wouldn't mind seeing if he were inclined to stay, which he wasn't. It was kind of surprising to him really. Pretty much everyone he knew in past timelines was already alive and established. Rocket was among the very last genetically and cybernetically modified companion animals. It was why he had greater strength than his original species did – the robots had perfected their induced evolution process and were making one last run of sapient animals as a way to experiment with secondary genetic enhancements. A research field they'd gladly drop once they were done waiting for the last of their created replacements to mature and take their place as caretakers of the Loony bin.

Rocket found he wasn't interested in reliving that particular segment of his original life. Lives. Even if it would probably be hilarious to see Lylla go spastic over her toy empire crumbling once the people stopped being entertainment-dependent and demand imploded. Then again, she would probably just diversify her business into everything else the Loonies would need. Or whatever they'd be called once they were no longer Loonies. Why, they might even become productive members of society! That's give Wal Rus something new to complain about. Wouldn't that be a sight?

Whatever. It had nothing to do with him. "Where's Quill?"

"Entertaining the people in the outdoor area on the other side of the compound. I'm just about done here, I'll lead you there."

He didn't need the help but he didn't refuse her either. He wouldn't want 'I blew off your mom' to be the first thing he said to his old buddy. Not that there would have been such a risk if Quill had bothered being there when he woke up, but whatever.

Not like he was disappointed or anything.

By the time they reached the elevator, loud music could clearly be heard coming from outside the Cuckoo's Nest. By the time they made it to the ground floor, the music was even more clearly mixed up with the sounds of guns and blaster shots. What?

Rocket broke into a run and almost forgot to stop and check the situation from cover. Not that he could catch more than the barest glimpse of Peter Quill shooting flying saucers with his element guns before the guy's mother just sauntered out the doors as if nothing was happening! "Hey, what are ya doin'!" Rocket rushed out to stop her only to stagger to a bemused halt when Quill started to sing in the middle of a gunfight like a complete dumbass.

~For what I was

I'm doomed to be

The tempter and the secret foe

Cause I am hell and hell is me

Pure hate will grow~

Wait, what?

~Still I claim to be the chosen one and

Still I claim

This is rebellion rising~

Rocket stumbled to a gaping halt at the top of the stairs to the district clinic.

~First amongst equals

We're bound to no law

There's no one before us

Ethereal sons

Now disobey~

A Spartoi on the guitar. Self-animated floating drums. A very familiar friend doing vocals while using the flying cymbals as rhythm-consistent target practice. Both in the midst of a screaming crowd of Loonies bursting at the seams with good fun. All televised by a bunch of floating drones shooting about.

Rocket Racoon gaped in outrage at the sheer audacity of what he was seeing. His so-called 'friend' couldn't be bothered to wait at his bedside because he was too busy having a concert! And he didn't even have the courtesy to stay consistent when it came to his total lack of singing ability! He was suddenly a great singer now? And what the unholy hell was his good for nothing Dadperor doing here!?

~Awake and arise ~ You'll be free~

Allusions to his late braindeadedness weren't any better!

It was around the time Rocket was seriously considering a live action demo of 'shoot it where the sun don't shine' as an answer to the question of ~ How can we take it away ~ From someone who has no right? ~No right to control the divine ~ when his entirely legitimate outrage was derailed entirely.

He was picked up and snuggled. What the shit?! No, you know what? Screw this, screw all of this, faces are coming off-! "Little Rocket!" His trigger finger faltered. "You really are alright! Your friends promised you would, but I worried anyway! And what friends they are. You are lucky, little one."

… Loony? "…Khevix?"

"You do speak! They promised you would but I – and you know my name!" The man who had no business being out of his wheelchair hugged Rocket close and stroked his head in that way that never failed to make him stammer and wobble and curl in his arms. Just like that, he was back to being the comfort toy he'd been for the entirety of his early life. "I'm so glad. I was so afraid I'd never hold you again after the robots snatched you from me and carried you off!" His Loony sniffled and buried his face in his fur. "This is the happiest day of my life."

A black hole had replaced Rocket's brain. A gaping maw of dark emptiness where sane reactions to madness should be.

"Little Rocket. Little Rocket." Khevix kept muttering and sniffling and thankfully not rocking back and forth or using him like a kerchief this time. "Little Rocket. I know you won't want to stay here, much less waste your life on a decrepit old fossil like me." His Loony also hadn't gotten locked on muttering his name for hours like he usually did when he got emotional. "But I'd like at least one last day together. Even just what's left of today is fine! Think you can stand me for that long? One last time?"

… ~ Stay silent ~ Until the end of the world ~ Oh fuck you, Quill. "… Yeah, okay."

Rocket Racoon took the time out of his new lease on life to spend with Old Loon Khevix one last day. And it really was okay. Because he was young again and had lost and regained everything again and his Loony wasn't loony and was even walking unaided so this was literally the best day of Rocket's life too and fuck you, that's why! Okay?

Okay.

And so! After spending the evening reeling at Peter Quill's astonishing aim, incredible pitch and even more absurd lung capacity, Rocket Racoon finally climbed down from his clingy, tearfully reluctant Loony's lap. And any claims that he himself was in any way clingy or reluctant to conclude that form of companionship was a terrible, vicious lie!

"Quill!" he hollered, stomping forth when the man finally disentangled himself from his new adoring fans. "You… You… You. You-YOU!"

"Rocket!" The man swept forth, knelt and hugged him.

Rocket froze.

Quill – the happily laughing jackass – took that as permission to cuddle him and hold him and rub his cheek into the top of his head and declare his boundless happiness at being reunited and everything else that came with his first and worst Khevix impression and – NO! "Gerroff, get off me you lunatic!" Rocket shrieked.

Shrieked!

Quill was going to pay for this if it's the last thing he'll do!