Chapter Text
It was cold out that day. Rocket wasn’t really all that surprised. It was what, November? Crossroads had seasons, sure, but nothing like the regions. It stayed within a good range for most of the year. So why did Rocket notice it today?
The wind slapped him in the face and he hunched his shoulders, trying to bury his face in his jacket collar to no avail. Whatever. Finish the delivery, go home, warm up. That was what Zuka said. And so Rocket continued, carrying a box with someone’s brand new gear that they were too lazy to pick up from the shop in his arms, braving the cold wind.
He was bored. Bored out of his mind. Sure, walking around is something to do, but it wasn’t interesting. On a day like this he would have invited Sword to come with him. Then the two of them could at least talk, which would give Rocket something to do to not feel like he would collapse and die from sheer boredom at any second.
Sword. Gods, it hurt just thinking about him. Rocket grit his teeth a bit and kept walking, trying to push her out of his mind, and failing. That was how it was most days, though.
To lay it out simply, Sword was missing. And not in the way he was about a year prior. No, it wasn’t “gone on an adventure and accidentally (or intentionally) forgot to say anything” missing, it was “disappeared off the face of the Inpherno” missing.
Rocket had known Sword long enough to know that he tended to go off on adventures for maybe one or two weeks at a time, but she always came back with stories and souvenirs, always apologizing for not saying anything and making him worry. And Rocket would forgive her, again and again, because, truthfully, he didn’t mind. Sword always made an effort to make sure Rocket felt cared for, and loved. And she did.
This time was different. Sword had been missing for 4 months, not one word, not one note, nothing. Just complete silence. And Rocket alone, for the most part anyway.
Rocket remembered the first day clearly; walking over to Sword’s apartment, knocking on the door, and getting no answer. It hadn’t felt out of the ordinary; sometimes Venomshank and Sword were training, or Sword was running errands, or Venomshank was off on deity business; so Rocket didn’t really mind. He went home and kept working.
Things were quiet after that. Rocket assumed that Sword was out exploring somewhere, so he didn’t pay it any mind. He was lonely, but he also didn’t really feel like it was anyone else’s problem. Only his. But after 3 weeks, worry had built up to a point where Rocket couldn’t contain it anymore, so he went back.
When he knocked on the door, it opened almost instantly. There stood Venomshank, looking, well, disheveled is an understatement. His normally neat, slicked back hair was standing practically on end. His mask had splotches on it, and his normally pristine clothing was wrinkled to all hell. By his reactions, it was pretty clear that Rocket was not the one he was hoping to see.
Rocket kept the conversation brief. Asked if Sword was there, if she had said anything to Venom about where she was. And the answer to all of those questions was no. Venom had sounded on the verge of tears throughout the entire conversation. Apparently Sword and him had a fight (which he didn’t tell Rocket what about), and Sword had been missing since.
It struck Rocket as odd. Sword barely ever fought with anyone, not seriously anyway, but a fight that was so bad he disappeared? That was extremely out of the ordinary.
Rocket thanked Venomshank and left, but not before promising to stop by if he heard anything.
And now, here Rocket was, 4 months later, still having heard nothing. He hated not knowing. He missed Sword, and he was angry at her too. But even Rocket knew that he wouldn’t stay mad. The moment he saw Sword again (he tried not to think of if he saw Sword again), it wouldn’t matter, as long as he was okay.
“Hey! Watch it!” Rocket was jolted from his thoughts by crashing right into an inphernal. Apparently he wasn’t paying attention well enough. “You got a screw loose or somethin’?”
“No, sorry.” Rocket looked down at the ground, stepped past the inphernal, and kept walking, secretly glad he hadn’t dropped the box. He heard them mutter something about “idiots who don’t pay attention,” and he rolled his eyes. At least he was almost there. Then he could go home and chill out. Rocket could almost hear a pot of hot coffee calling his name.
He straightened his posture and looked around him. There wasn’t really anything to see; Rocket had been in that part of town a million and one times before. As he turned his head, however, he caught sight of something, glinting from the rooftops.
He squinted his eyes to look at it, but saw only the swish of a long braid before whoever that was disappeared from view.
Wait.
A braid.
A familiar braid.
The same one Sword always tied her hair into to keep it out of his eyes.
Holy shit.
Rocket looked around the street before bolting, dropping the gear on the doorstep of the inphernal who ordered it and ringing the doorbell as he ran by. He didn’t even see the door open behind him as he summoned his gear, ran into an alleyway, and rocket-jumped onto the roof.
Across the rooftops, probably 3 away, stood Sword. It was unmistakably her. Braid reaching down his back, long cape, feathered helmet, it was him, no doubt about it.
“SWORD??” Rocket yelled, running across the rooftops. A grin cracked his face in two. Sword looked over his shoulder. Rocket reached her not too long after, wrapping him in a big hug.
“Holy shit dude! I’ve missed you so much! Where have you been? How have you been? Are-”
Rocket was interrupted by Sword shoving him off. He stumbled backwards, really hoping he wasn’t going to fall off the edge, but that wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. He felt as though he had just been slapped instead of pushed. His grin slipped off of his face as he regained his footing. Sword, or at least the Sword he knew, would never, ever reject a hug.
“Sword? Are you…” His voice trailed off. Something was wrong. Really, really, really wrong.
“My apologies, Rocket. I did not expect to see you.” Sword’s voice was… cold. Colder than the wind in Crossroads ever was. His voice sounded wrong, like it didn’t belong to her. Rocket continued anyway.
“Yeah… uh… haven’t seen you in a while, dude! Where’ve ya been?” Rocket tried smiling again. It was forced, but a tiny part of it was genuine, hopeful.
“I’ve been a lot of places. None of which concern you.” Sword was barely moving. He could have been mistaken for some kind of elaborate statue if not for the fact that she was talking.
“Oh. Right.” Rocket kicked his shoe against the roof. Sword blinked at him, and Rocket noticed how… different she looked.
Gone was his brown cape, red sleeveless shirt, unpolished leather boots with more scratches than one could reasonably count, replaced with cold, blue silver armor, covered in spikes and diamond shapes. His helmet covered her eyes, and what Rocket had thought was the feathery plume that decorated it was a mohawk of spikes. The bright red in his horns was now a muted violet, and adorned with glowing blue spikes.
But it was still her. There’s no way that it wasn’t. Same long braid blowing in the wind, same stance, same face… but different. A whole different person.
“I’ve uh… I’ve been really worried about you, Sword. Why didn’t you say anything?” Rocket scratched the back of his neck, all signs of a smile falling off of his face.
“Ah, my apologies. I’ve been busy. Something I needed to do by myself.” Sword’s face was blank. Unchanging. Rocket noticed glowing white patterns underneath where his helmet covered her eyes.
“Oh. Uh, Venomshank has been worried sick about you. Like, even more than me.” Rocket looked at Sword’s face. It stiffened at the mention of Venomshank.
“Oh, has he now?” Sword’s voice somehow got even colder. “Fascinating.”
A chill rolled down Rocket’s spine.
“He has. I heard from him that you two had a fight… uh… maybe at least let him know you’re doing ok. He really wasn’t looking great when I saw him.” Rocket tried not to hunch his shoulders.
“Noted.” Sword turned to face away from Rocket. They both stood there for a second before Rocket placed a hand on Sword’s shoulder.
“Sword, are you okay?” Sword yanked her shoulder away. Rocket pulled his hand back like it had been burned.
“I’m fine, Rocket. There’s no reason to worry about me.” Sword didn’t turn around.
“You sure? Because you aren’t exactly acting in a way that would make me think you are.” Rocket furrowed his eyebrows, then lowered his voice. “Hey, let’s just talk. I want to help you and-”
“I said I’m fine, Rocket.” The words fell out of his mouth like hailstones. The wind was the only sound. The air felt thick. When Sword spoke again, her voice was softer, warmer, even if just by a little bit. She turned around to face Rocket. “You should get going. Don’t you have work?”
“I do, but-” Sword cut him off again.
“Then you should get back to it. We both know how Zuka gets when you’re late. Goodbye, Rocket.”
“Hold on!” Rocket took a step forward, but Sword was already gone, as if into thin air. Rocket stood there dumbfounded for a solid two minutes before walking over to the edge of the building and carefully climbing down the ladder and jumping off the last step.
He walked through the city street, which was mercifully empty, reflecting. As he turned a corner, he froze. Venomshank. Rocket had promised to tell him if he heard anything from Sword, and, well, that was definitely something.
But there was something about the way Sword had looked when Rocket mentioned Venomshank that stopped him. She had looked angry, or at least he thought so. He couldn’t really see her eyes.
A voice in his head told him that talking to Venomshank would be a terrible idea. And there was another voice that told him to do it anyway. There was a third voice that wanted to blow something up. Rocket internally strangled the third voice and kept walking down the sidewalk.
He reached Da Shop pretty shortly after that, where Zuka was wiping down a display.
“Hey Dad. Need some help with that?” Rocket walked over and grabbed a cloth.
“You were gone for a while. What’s up?” Zuka asked, scrubbing at fingerprint smears on the display case. Rocket began wiping down the counter and cash register.
“I… I saw Sword.”
“That’s good. He doing alright?” Zuka asked absently. “You said that she went missing, so…”
“I don’t know. Something was really… off. He was different. Almost like a whole other person, but still him.”
“Weird. I take it you’re worried?”
“Yeah, I am. She wasn’t acting anything like herself. And I made that promise to Shanks that I would tell him if I saw Sword, but…” His voice trailed off. Zuka nodded.
“You don’t want him to freak out. Yeah, makes sense.” Zuka adjusted his hat. “Well, do whatever you think is best. Just remember who exactly you’re dealing with. Venomshank is… certainly an interesting character.” And then Zuka left, leaving Rocket to stand behind the counter, gripping the rag way too hard.
He sighed, finished scrubbing down the counter, and tossed the rag into the bin under the counter. He stomped up the stairs, the force jarring through his legs. He didn’t really care. It didn’t matter.
As he walked through his living room, he balled his hands into fists. He wanted to talk to Sword. Really talk to him. But he knew he couldn’t. And that hurt. It hurt really, really bad. What was he supposed to do? Be hopeful? Pray things worked out in the end? Keep trying? Thoughts swirled around in his head faster than a tornado.
And yet, a small, nagging voice in his head kept repeating one thing, one ugly phrase over it all. All of the loud thoughts, and that one was loudest. No matter how much Rocket tried shoving that voice out of his mind, it was all he could hear.
He’s gone.