Chapter 2
The junk moon had no name, just a set of dying coordinates and a reputation among outlaws that translated roughly to: "Enter and die." But to Rocket, it was a goldmine. To Bug?
It was a playground.
The ship creaked as it landed, skimming across rusted panels and broken hulls. Rocket yanked a lever, and the loading ramp groaned open. "Alright, Bug," he barked, "rules."
A tiny, red-headed form popped out from under the co-pilot's chair, goggles askew, hair wild from static. "Don't touch glowy stuff, don't lick wires, don't eat anythin' unless you check it, and no wand'rin' off." She said it like a mantra she'd repeated a hundred times—which she had.
Rocket grunted, grabbing his blaster and tool pack. "Good. Let's make this quick."
Bug hopped down from the ramp, her tiny boots clanking on the metal floor. The straps of her patchwork vest flapped behind her as she scampered after Rocket, a screwdriver clutched in one hand like a favorite toy.
"Baba?" she asked, tugging his fur. "What if I find somethin' super cool?"
Rocket glanced down at her. "You show me first. And if it's got teeth or starts smokin', drop it."
"'Kay."
⸻
They didn't get far before something changed.
The air grew still. The junk piles around them shifted—not from wind, but from something... large. Moving.
Rocket stopped. His ears twitched.
Bug stopped too, blinking her silver-bright eyes, the chipped baby tooth on her bottom row showing as she chewed her lip. "Baba...?"
"I hear it."
There was a creak, like ancient wood under strain. A soft rumble. Then—something stepped from behind a shattered frigate engine. Something tall.
Towering over the wreckage was a giant.
A tree-man, bark-covered and massive, with kind eyes that glowed golden through the fog. He stepped gently, as though careful not to crush the ground beneath him.
Bug gasped. "Whoa... Baba! It's a tree! A real, walkin' tree!"
Rocket stepped in front of her. "Stay behind me, Bug."
The creature tilted its head. Then, in a voice like distant thunder, it said:
"I am Groot."
Rocket's grip tightened on his blaster. "That supposed to mean somethin'? You friendly?"
Groot raised his hands slowly—peaceful, open—and lowered himself to one knee, making himself smaller.
Bug peeked out from behind Rocket's leg. "He's not scary, Baba. Look, he's makin' himself tiny like me!"
"Yeah, well," Rocket muttered, "trees catch fire, too."
But Groot didn't move. Just looked at Bug with quiet curiosity, then reached into the vines on his shoulder and pulled out a bright pink piece of metal—some strange, flower-shaped data shard—and held it out in offering.
Bug gasped. "Is that for me?"
Rocket raised a brow. "Don't take it—wait—Bug!"
Too late. She darted forward and snatched it from Groot's hand, holding it up like a treasure. "It's shiny!"
"Could be poisoned."
Bug shook her head. "It smells like bubblegum."
Rocket grumbled. "You don't know what bubblegum smells like."
"I do now."
Groot smiled faintly, then sat cross-legged among the scrap, a giant made of peace in a world made of ruin.
⸻
They spent the rest of the afternoon scavenging.
Groot cleared paths with massive, deliberate movements, never once disturbing Bug as she crawled through panels and broken conduits. At one point, she climbed onto his knee to reach a vent panel—and Groot didn't even flinch. He just steadied her with one branch-like hand, like holding a butterfly.
Rocket watched all of it with a frown that never quite reached his eyes.
By the time the ship was loaded, Bug was asleep in Groot's arm, curled up like a kitten against his wooden chest, clutching that flower-shaped shard in her tiny hand.
Rocket stood on the loading ramp, arms crossed.
Groot looked up at him.
"I am Groot."
Rocket sighed. "Yeah, yeah. She likes you. Don't get used to it."
"I am Groot."
Rocket squinted. "You wanna come with us? For real?"
"I am Groot."
Rocket looked at Bug—his little bug, all tangled hair and patched elbows and metal bones. So small. So trusting.
Then he looked back at Groot. The gentle giant. A walking wall of strength who hadn't let her fall once.
"...Fine. But you better be useful. And no growin' moss on my floors."
Groot smiled softly.
Rocket climbed the ramp, shut the hatch, and glanced back once more.
"Welcome to the crew, Big Guy."
Bug stirred in Groot's arm, smiled in her sleep, and mumbled, "Night-night, Baba..."
Rocket looked away quickly.
"...Night, Kid."
⸻
The ship wasn't much—more bolts than brains, more bark than bite—but it was home.
And tonight, it felt more alive than it had in years.
Bug had fallen asleep somewhere between the scrap piles and the ship's ramp, curled up in Groot's arm like she belonged there. She still clutched that shiny metal flower he'd given her, her tiny hand wrapped tight around it like a secret.
Rocket stood beside them, arms folded, watching.
"She's heavier than she looks," he grumbled.
Groot tilted his head. "I am Groot."
Rocket smirked. "Yeah, well. She's mostly titanium and stubborn."
⸻
As the ship leapt into hyperspace, the stars streaked like spilled paint across the cockpit, and Rocket led Groot through the narrow corridors of the vessel.
"Watch your head," Rocket said as they passed through a too-small hatch. "She was built for sneakin', not stretchin'."
Groot ducked—but paused as his golden eyes caught something on the walls.
Lining the narrow corridor were dozens of tiny drawings.
Done in strange, shimmering alien ink that glowed faintly in the dark, they danced across the metal surfaces in messy little bursts of color—childlike and wild and full of life.
There were stars with smiling faces. Lopsided rocket ships. A crooked drawing of Rocket with big goggles and a toothy grin, holding a wrench in one paw.
And there—stick figures. One short and fuzzy. One very tall and leafy, labeled in shaky handwriting:
"Me + Baba + Big Tree = New Crew!"
Groot touched the wall gently, barky fingers tracing the childlike lines.
"She calls 'em her 'hallway gallery,'" Rocket said from behind him, voice a little quieter. "Every planet, every weird place we land, she picks up junky markers and scratches somethin' on the walls. Keeps her from blowin' up the engines outta boredom."
"I am Groot."
"Yeah. I like 'em too."
⸻
They reached the small bunkroom next. Rocket gently lifted Bug from Groot's arms—she stirred but didn't wake—and nestled her into the lower bunk.
Her red curls fanned out across the pillow, catching the glow from a flickering string of dim lights she'd insisted on hanging weeks ago. One of her boots fell off with a soft thump.
"Mm... Baba?" she mumbled, still half asleep.
"I'm here, Bug," Rocket said softly, tucking her in with the careful hands of someone who had long ago sworn he'd never need to be careful again.
She sighed, thumb slipping into her mouth, her other hand still gripping the shard Groot had given her.
Rocket stood there for a second, just watching.
Then turned and gestured to Groot. "C'mon. Got a spot you can crash."
⸻
They passed more drawings—now glowing like constellations. One wall was covered in weird alien animals, some with three heads, others with antennae shaped like hearts. Another had a crude star map. At the very end of the hall, a large circle drawn in blue ink was labeled "Our Ship = Bug's Planet."
Groot followed Rocket into the engine room, where the air was warm and filled with the hum of familiar, faithful machinery.
Rocket tossed him a blanket, then pointed to a quiet corner beside a coolant pipe. "Ain't much, but it's warm, and she'll wanna see you first thing."
"I am Groot," Groot said gently, settling down, his massive frame folding gracefully.
Rocket nodded. "Yeah. She's a good kid."
"I am Groot."
"...Thanks."
⸻
Later, Rocket sat in the cockpit alone, legs kicked up on the console. Stars streaked past the windows. The silence was a rare kind of calm.
Groot stepped in quietly, the low thump of his steps softened by the hum of the ship.
Rocket didn't turn.
"She was the only one left," he said after a while. "All the other experiments—they didn't make it. But her? She was in a vent. Starin' at me like I was the last light in the dark."
Groot's eyes softened.
"I didn't plan to take her. Swear I didn't. But she grabbed onto my tail and wouldn't let go. Didn't cry. Didn't speak. Just looked. And I knew. She was mine now."
Groot placed a hand on Rocket's shoulder.
"I am Groot."
Rocket nodded, voice rough. "Yeah. I know. Me too."
⸻
Back in the bunk, Bug rolled over in her sleep, one tiny arm flopping out from under the blanket. Her silver-bright eyes stayed shut, but her lips curled around a quiet, sleepy word:
"...Baba..."
And just down the hall, her drawings glowed softly in the dark. Like memories. Like hope. Like a history still being written.
⸻
The ship hummed low and steady.
Rocket sat in the pilot's chair, eyes half-closed, the stars drifting like dust outside the glass. Behind him, the hallway was quiet—no tiny footsteps, no babbling about space rocks, no giggling over her latest "hallway masterpiece." Just stillness.
He sighed.
For once... maybe... it was safe to close his eyes.
⸻
He dreamed.
Not the sharp, hot dreams that left him waking with claws drawn—but a slow, quiet kind.
He was back in the old lab. The white lights humming. The scent of steel and sterilized sorrow.
Teefs laughed—big and clunky and bright. Floor spun in circles on her wheels, paint smudged from a rough fall. Lylla smiled, warm like home, her eyes saying what none of them dared to say out loud:
Someday, maybe.
And then the white light turned cold.
A glass pod. Small. Foggy.
Inside—something moved.
Something tiny.
He remembered staring at her for the first time. Red hair sticking up like wires. Too-small fists banging softly on the glass. No crying—just... watching. Her silver eyes practically glowed.
"New one," the master had said. "Human trial. Barely survived the synth-fusion, but she's stable."
He was only a teenager. Burned hands. Back still sore from the plating implants. But he'd walked up to the pod like something was pulling him.
"She eats bugs," the master chuckled. "Caught her chewing on one this morning."
He touched the glass.
The tiny creature inside pressed her hand against his.
"Maybe you'll make something useful out of her," the master said with a laugh. "You're good at fixing broken things, 89P13."
⸻
Rocket woke up with a start.
Something was burning.
"WHAT THE FLARK—"
⸻
He sprinted down the hall barefoot, ears twitching, blaster half-drawn—
"BABA I'M COOKIN'!"
The galley was on fire.
Well—not the whole galley, just the corner near the heating coil. Smoke poured from a pot that looked like it was boiling a mix of space marshmallows, dried noodles, and... was that a bolt?
Bug stood on a crate, waving a spatula like a sword, her goggles fogged up. "I WAS MAKIN' YOU BREAKFAST—"
"THAT AIN'T BREAKFAST, THAT'S A DEATH TRAP!"
"I FOLLOWED A RECIPE—"
"FROM WHERE?! A WAR CRIMINAL?!"
Groot, standing beside her, calmly extended a vine across the counter and dumped a cup of water into the smoking pot. It hissed loudly—then sparked—then exploded in a puff of blue smoke.
Bug shrieked with laughter. "THAT WAS AWESOME!"
Rocket wheezed. "You're gonna give me a heart attack before I hit middle age."
"I wanted to surprise you! Groot was helpin'!"
Groot looked vaguely apologetic. "I am Groot."
Rocket rubbed his temples. "Yeah, yeah. You didn't know she was tryin' to boil a bolt, but maybe next time ask."
Bug grinned, cheeks smudged with soot. "Happy breakfast, Baba!"
Rocket looked at her. At Groot. At the pot that had melted through half the burner.
He sighed.
"...I'm gonna go make somethin' edible. You and Groot—go draw a new fire hazard warning in the hall."
Bug squealed. "YES!"
⸻
Half an hour later, Rocket had cooked up something vaguely nutritious, Groot had finished drawing a tiny comic of "The Great Pot Fire of Today," and Bug was sitting in the corner, swinging her legs, chowing down while telling Groot an absolutely unhinged story about how she might have seen a space dragon once (she didn't).
Rocket leaned back against the counter, watching them. His chest ached a little—but not the bad kind.
The kind that came from finally... feeling full.
"I am Groot," Groot said as he accepted a burnt corner of toast from Bug.
"Right?!" Bug beamed. "I told Baba I can cook!"
Rocket muttered, "That was not cooking."
Bug stuck her tongue out. Her silver eyes sparkled.
And somewhere, deep in the mess of memory and metal, Rocket smiled.
⸻
The ship's hatch hissed as it opened, revealing the rusted plains of PX-409.
The wind hit them first—dry and sharp, sweeping red dust across their boots. The junkyard of the galaxy stretched ahead: splintered hulls, dead shuttles, cracked engines. Nothing but a graveyard of old tech and forgotten wars.
Bug was practically vibrating beside Rocket, her scav pack bouncing against her back. "Can I use the bolt cutter this time? Please?"
Rocket didn't even look at her. "Rules first."
"Baba—"
"What are the rules, Bug?"
She groaned, then recited in a monotone, "One: don't run ahead. Two: don't touch somethin' that's still sparkin'. Three: if a crate smells like eggs or buzzes like teeth, don't open it."
Rocket nodded, satisfied. "And?"
She sighed dramatically. "Stay where you can hear me, don't throw rocks at alien skulls, and don't take a nap in a cryo pod again."
"Good." Rocket tossed her the bolt cutters. "Now go find me somethin' useful."
"I am Groot," Groot added with a grunt as he lumbered down the ramp, vines lifting aside a chunk of collapsed starship plating.
"I will!" Bug shouted over her shoulder as she darted into the wreckage. "Small battery packs and charge cells, right?!"
"Not the explody kind!" Rocket called after her.
Bug's voice echoed faintly: "Define explody!"
⸻
For the next hour, they worked the scrapyard like a well-oiled crew.
Rocket cracked open a sealed shuttle with his plasma saw and grinned at the pile of intact processors inside. "Score."
A few meters away, Bug crawled through a collapsed maintenance shaft, her voice muffled. "Found a stash of old visors! One of 'em's still beepin'!"
"Check the power unit, not the lens," Rocket called back.
"I'm six, not dumb!"
He smirked. "Coulda fooled me."
"I heard that!"
Groot hummed beside him, hauling the shattered husk of a Kree drone and setting it down near the salvage pile. "I am Groot."
"Yeah, I know she's reckless," Rocket muttered. "But she's fast. And she remembers what counts."
A crash echoed from inside the shaft, followed by Bug shouting, "I meant to fall like that!"
Rocket groaned. "She's gonna be the death of me."
⸻
The sun—if you could call it that—started dipping behind the canyon edge, casting long shadows.
Bug climbed out of the wrecked shaft, hands covered in grime, holding two battery cells and a data stick.
"Goldmine," she grinned, cheeks smudged and silver eyes gleaming.
Rocket raised his brows. "That a dent in your helmet?"
"Battle scar," she replied proudly. "Also I might've headbutted a vent pipe. But—look at this stuff!"
He took the haul, scanning it. "Hey. Not bad."
"I know," she said smugly.
Groot was inspecting a piece of paneling when his body suddenly tensed.
Rocket noticed instantly. "What is it?"
"I am Groot."
"Movement. Flank."
The canyon went quiet.
Too quiet.
Rocket's paw went to his blaster. "Bug—behind me. Now."
Bug hesitated for half a second, then obeyed, sliding into place just behind his legs, her small hand gripping the edge of his pack.
Figures emerged from the haze of dust and smoke—mercenary scavvers, rough armor, worn weapons. Four of them, two with net launchers.
Rocket's fur bristled.
"Didn't expect competition today," one of them said, a sneer under her mask. "But this'll be easy."
Rocket's tone dropped low. "Back off. You ain't takin' a damn thing."
"We're takin' everything, rodent. Especially the kid."
Bug stiffened.
Rocket bared his teeth. "Try it."
⸻
The fight exploded.
Rocket fired first—clean, sharp, knocking one merc flat.
Groot surged forward, knocking another back with a crashing sweep of his arm. Bug ducked low, rolling between metal debris.
"Baba!" she shouted. "There's a breaker coil behind them!"
"Trip it!"
Bug scrambled behind a console, yanking a thick cable and ripping it free. Sparks flew—then the console overloaded and detonated, sending one of the mercs flying with a scream.
The shockwave knocked Rocket back.
A net launched, tangling his legs—he slashed through it mid-roll, snarling, "You messed with the wrong family, jackass!"
Groot was bleeding sap now, one of the mercs having jabbed him with a stun blade. He roared, vines bursting from the ground to whip the attacker into a rusted strut.
Bug lunged from cover, grabbing a dropped stunner rifle and firing wildly. "GO AWAY!"
The last merc turned tail, limping and cursing, vanishing into the wreckage.
Silence again.
Their first real silence.
⸻
Rocket's chest heaved. His blaster smoked in his hand.
Bug was crouched beside Groot, checking his arm. "You okay?"
"I am Groot."
"You look cool when you fight."
Rocket approached, wiping blood and soot from his cheek. "You okay, Bug?"
She looked up at him—eyes wide, still crackling with adrenaline—and nodded.
Then whispered, "I was scared."
Rocket dropped to one knee. "Me too."
Bug flung herself into his arms, greasy fingers and all.
He hugged her back, fiercely, muttering, "You're fast, Kid. But I need you to stay safe. You hear me?"
"I hear you, Baba," she whispered.
Groot placed a hand on both of them and murmured, "I am Groot."
Rocket smiled. "Yeah. Team Bug's first battle. Not too shabby."
⸻
They limped back to the ship with less salvage than they wanted—but more than enough for a lesson.
As they boarded, Bug tugged on Rocket's glove.
"Hey Baba?"
"Yeah?"
"...I remembered the rules."
Rocket glanced down at her, heart thudding a little slower now.
"Yeah," he said. "You did."