Built for Destruction

Untitled Part 12

"And stay out!" Peter shouted, slamming the door after having shoved yet another doctor into the hallway and away from the sickeningly still Rocket who lay motionless on the bed.

He stood there for a moment, his hands pressed up against the cool surface, trying to calm himself again by slowing his breathing and staring at the door as though it had somehow offended him. It had been almost two weeks now and if anything, Rocket's conditioned had only worsened as an infection had wormed its way into the raccoon's skull.

The nurses had caught he illness early before it could spread, but the dosage of heavy medications had only increased, making it almost impossible to judge how close he was to recovery, if at all.

"Peter." Gamora said softly, almost hoarsely as she herself had not spoken more than what was necessary since having entering the hospital.

"I want a new doctor, she doesn't know what she's doing." He spat back, turning from the door and taking his spot next to the woman who was curled up in her own seat, a position the warrior would have never found herself in under any circumstances. Then again, the shock of their teammate's condition had sent all of the Guardians into a false sense of reality as the situation slowly began to sink in.

"She's only trying to help." She responded, not moving her eyes from the raccoon's chest, making sure it rose and fell as it was supposed to.

Peter frowned, clenching his fists at his sides. It was quick to discover that the four of them had different ways of coping with the possible death of their smallest teammate. Peter, however, found himself to be the only one to react with aggression, shouting at countless nurses as Rocket's heartbeat fell to unstable levels or gained a slight fever and even on one (or two, he was slightly drunk for the second) occasion, punching a hole straight through the wall.

The two assassins, ironically, reacted far differently. Gamora kept to herself, hardly opening her mouth to do anything but eat what was forced in front of her by Drax, the man who simply removed himself from the vicinity entirely, electing to sit in the courtyard where he would often times drag one of the others to get away from the hospital room.

His victim of the day being Groot at the moment, who took nearly an hour to convince that leaving Rocket would not result in the creature's death. Groot was much harder to read, not only due to the language barrier that infuriated Quill, but his mood was almost ever-changing. One moment the tree would be humming lowly to himself, smiling softly as he trailed a stray tendril across the fur of Rocket's neck, and the next, he would be shrieking at some god-awful pitch at one of the nurses who tried to pick him up, arms flailing wildly as though about to backhand the person into the next room over.

So Peter was glad that, after almost two weeks of being cooped up in a single room, Drax had managed to convince him to leave, hopefully giving Groot the sunlight he needed as his leaves had begun to pale.

"Oh and killing him is going to help?" Peter asked incredulously, gesturing back to the closed door. Gamora shifted in her seat uncomfortably, still refusing to let her eyes wander from Rocket's unconscious form.

"I'm not suggesting we kill him Quill, not yet. But he may not wake up, he may be in pain as we speak and euthanizing him would-"

"We're not putting him down like some sick dog, Gamora. This is Rocket we're talking about, he'll be fine. We just need to allow him to heal." He retorted, crossing his arms and string angrily at the IV drip, watching the liquid that trailed down to where Rocket's arm was hidden under the thin sheet of the bed.