A heap of junk of questionable origins may as well be a siren call for Rocket. Sure, most of it is liable to be trash and not useful for anything in particular, but you’d also be surprised what kinda use you can get out of random electronics and the like.

He’s already got his eye on it even before the youngster returns, and the human’s presence isn’t a deterrent whatsoever. He’s pretty sure he recognizes the kid anyway; they didn’t talk much that he can remember, but Rocket remembers him being among those at Stark’s funeral. One of the good guys, for sure.

“Sure thing, kid.” Rocket’s little hand reaches over to pass up the screwdriver, and uses that as an excuse to hop up on the table directly, scaling it with ease. “Makin’ anything exciting?”