Mantis landed in a cloud of emotional residue, weeping uncontrollably because she could feel the sorrow of a dying star three systems away. Nebula came silent, her mechanical arm replaced with a wooden prosthetic carved from Groot’s first branch.
But Rocket stayed. Because the ship still smelled like them.
Nebula carved a path through the security nodes. Groot grew into a forest inside the cathedral’s core, roots snapping bone and wire alike.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
But the engine was warm. Just in case.
Peter showed up with a terrible haircut and a bottle of Zarg Nut liqueur. “I was doing dishes on Missouri,” he muttered. “You owe me.”
Rocket, choking, laughed. “Yeah,” he rasped. “That’s exactly what family is.”
The Benatar drifted through the Andromeda galaxy like a forgotten toy. Inside, Rocket Raccoon sat alone in the pilot’s chair, his small paws resting on dead controls. The others had gone their separate ways: Peter Quill back to Earth to mourn Gamora’s ghost, Drax to become a hyper-intelligent nanny for a race of orphaned celestial children, Mantis to find her own voice among the stars, Nebula to rebuild the Cybertectural ruins of her father’s empire, and Groot… Groot had become a sapling star, planting himself on a moon where gravity sang lullabies.
