Darkest Before Breaking Of The Dawn

Downpour

Later that afternoon......

For the rest of the day, they came and they went–they came and they went. But to his further perplexity, they did nothing else with him. They said things to him from afar, nothing truly coherent. He was at peace again. Something he hadn't been for the longest while. So he had nothing else to do but wait......

......Until finally two of them came–and they came towards him. Instantly he began to whine a bit, as it was his only instinct to plead for mercy despite how futile it was. He was expecting the peaceful wait having only been to make their newest blows to his well being that much painful. That much terrifying.

One was slightly shorter than the other one–voice high but not as high as the last high voice that came and went. The same could be said for the voice of the other slightly taller figure beside them, whose deeper voice wasn't as deep as the other two voices that came and went. Including the other one that had said–Groot–quite a number of times. So what did these figures want now?

The taller one stood over him–their murmured soft voice impossible to decode as usual, while the figure quietly walked past him, heading above his head. Knowing there was someone doing–something out of his line of sight frightened him. He had been caught by surprise before. And it was never fun.

".....Rocket....." And there was another word he couldn't recognize–Rocket. What did that mean? Why were these new strange apparitions repeating this word so much? And why did he get this strange sense of familiarity with it? Not only familiarity–but a strange sense of–loathing–disappointment–sadness.

Why? Why he hate the word–Rocket? ".....we're......bath.....clean....."

Whatever the figure above him was saying, he clearly wanted his attention. Obeying the only way he could, he focused on this figure's voice–anxiously awaiting when he would lose his temper. When he would snap at him and beat him for not understanding what was being asked of him. For not obeying.

Before he knew it, the second figure appeared, and both of them were now taking position at either side of his bed. Head flipping nervously between the both of them, his fear and anxiety growing, as they bend forward much closer.

He whimpered fearfully, his head drawing back in shock. Instinctively, he brought the sheets he had been sucking and chewing on up over his head.

".....Rocket...." This time he heard the higher voice say that same word. Stop–stop saying that word–NO! He cried out brokenly when the sheets were pulled away gently. Instantly his hand went over his face to shield himself. The touch he felt on his head made him jolt–but was once again gentle and soft.

Again–why? He whined as his hand was gently pulled away and he was exposed and vulnerable to them again. Actually he was always vulnerable–powerless around them. He didn't know why he bothered raising his only mildly useful paw–or made any other effort to resist. It was futile.

The figure seemed to tilt his head up to face them. The soft stroking motions they made on his chin and cheek confused him. Again, it was soft and gentle. And again, it made him feel a rare warm feeling of solace. Strangely enough–pleasure as well. But again, what purpose did it serve them to make him feel this way? To make him feel–anything other than pain and suffering?

He moved past the mildly pleasing distraction to refocus on what the other figure was doing. And unbeknownst to him, they had removed whatever wrapping they could take off from his hand. And now they move onto the other arm. He seized up, awaiting pain like last night, but thankfully it didn't happen.

The other figure released his face and moved onto removing whatever bindings were around his leg and foot. This was exactly what they did yesterday. He wondered of the purpose of the binds. They weren't for pain like he expected–they just kept him from using or moving certain parts of his body.