Don't be Rick-diculous! [Blue and Elephantom]

[BIue]

The dance of his last seven timezones were still fucking with his head. Portal-hopping did that to you; it was a bleak, unforgiving pastime, one which Rick still chose to engage in nonetheless. Since when were any of his pastimes healthy? With a stifled belch, his aged hand snatched at the silvered flask from within his lab coat- the contents already dwindling from how dutifully he had been tending to it. The drink was tending to him in an equally rough nature. Two months cold-turkey in high security prison had screwed him over in more ways than one, and now his body was paying the price.  


Cursing in an unintelligible drabble under his breath, Rick fumbled about, rummaging through drawers until his fingers awkwardly laced around their target- a plutonium-quartz battery. A sigh of relief drooled from the corners of Rick's slack jaw as he withdrew the fragmented gadget that he had forged into a new portal gun. He'd nearly lost an arm and a good portion of his hair slipping away from the federation's guard without it. The first rushed prototype of the tool contained a slither of charge - only enough for a few juddered hops across dimensions to buy himself a little time; enough time to find a new power source. He'd been lucky enough that his flask and lab coat had still been contained with the other prison contraband taken at admission. It wouldn't have been easy to find a drink now- not with half the galaxy on his tail.


'Aaaaalr-ight!' A belch interjected him, mid-word, as the rusted gears of his mind began to chug away, clumsily grasping for a solution to the intergalactic game of cat-and-mouse he had been reeled into. He could think of at least seven different ways to resolve the damage he had caused via his escape. Most of them required a little help. Just a little.


It hadn't taken long for the makeshift portal gun to recharge, greedily absorbing the new battery inserted into its core. In a blurred blink, Rick stumbled through the newly-formed portal and back into his own dimension. A grunt of exertion fell from the old man's frame as he pushed himself forward to enter his 'home', only to stagger and stumble forwards into the coffee table with an unceremonious crash as the room swayed in a sickening pirouette. Beth's house- normal as ever. It was gross, Rick remarked inwardly, that such a sight felt oddly soothing after all this time.


With movements lacking in grace and coordination, Rick set himself about the newest task at hand- the stairs. The goddamned stairs. That was, until something else caught his sight. A newspaper rolled up on the arm of the sofa. A newspaper with a slice of a photo that was unmistakably Jerry. In a move more akin to a slap than a grabbing motion, Rick scooped up the sheets to examine what- if anything- Jerry was being noticed for. 'EARTH INFORMANT JERRY SMITH - 'I LOVE LICKING DISGUSTING FURRY TESTICLE SACKS!' A dry chuckle slid from the old man's mouth. Ah Jerry, if that was the price his fame came at, Rick could settle for it. Dropping the paper to the floor and stumbling into the first of the steps with another crash that would have easily awakened the entire household, Rick began his ascent before swiftly bursting into Morty's room.


'M-MMMo-ORTY! W-wake up-- M-Morty! Www-we haven't g-got mu-UCH time!'

 

[Elephantom]

Morty plopped his dirty, grimy hands into the equally dirty, grimy bag of potato chips, which was one of the many that littered his untidy room, if at this point, there was any recognizable room. If there was one thing Morty missed, it was undoubtedly Rick; he was the most Rick-est grandfather anyone could ever have, and even bigger than that, he was also his long-time friend. In fact, he was his only friend, and the only one he regularly confided in. It was, indeed, difficult for him to consume the fact that Rick was, as of now, rotting in the close quarters that many called a jail. Though, there was still some silver lining, he was substantially glad that, at least, Jerry wasn't here to gloat about his triumph. With a sigh, Morty shoved a — more correctly, 'another' — handful of potato chips into his mouth, crunching it down to size. Crumbles fell down, from both his mouth and his hand, into the floor — which, by now, was covered with about two respective layers of junk, and jizz.


Ever since Rick left, Morty had turned into raving, delirious train wreck. He resorted to a hermetic lifestyle, only venturing out thrice every week for food, and hygiene, supplies. Although, the latter became less of a priority as his descent into madness started. Summer tried her best to convince him, to no avail.



Had Jerry been here, he'd have probably said, "Forget Rick."



As Morty's hermetic lifestyle began, so did his actual lifestyle change. His masturbating increased to preposterous amounts — evident by the jizz and chips that passed off as his room. Bags grew under his eyes from days of no sleep, and constant nudging from Summer. And his whining increased considerably, to the point where he turned too cynical, like Rick. To top that off, he was living on a diet of potato chips, and cookies.


 


On one of his trips to the kitchen, Summer commented that it was a 'miracle' that he was still thin. 


He sat there, steadily consuming his dwindling resources, and contemplating the previous life he had. Eventually, after winding his hand down into the potato chip to get a fistful of that good stuff, he discovered that it was all empty; it was the last packet. Groaning, he tossed it aside, before beginning to wallow in his misery and filth, yet again.


-


Essentially, it was all a month ago, twenty-five days to be exact. Being the naive, undetermined kid he was, he easily caved in to both Summer and Beth's tireless insisting. Since then, his longing for all the zany adventures, steadily died down; replaced by the desires of a normal teenager, precisely, living like a lobotomized zombie fixated on living like a human; it was a terrible sham. At least, to Morty it was. He gradually turned indifferent towards the pestering substance that was the aliens, and to his father's usual absence; who had been aptly drafted into the federation. Perhaps, it was all in his destiny, he began to think. Perhaps it was.


Morty looked at his room. It was clean, for the moment being. Gingerly rubbing his hand over his usual shirt, he put it on. With nothing else to do, Morty sat down on the side of his bed; staring into the wall that lay before him. It was a part of his daily routine. Wake up really early, stare at hollow objects, and then eat. That very particular day, he resolved to do something different: eat before staring. He went to the kitchen, getting the nearest food source — namely, the cookie jar — before retreating back to his room. Prudently brushing his hand around the piece of pottery, he started to open it when he heard noises. Crashes, sounds, emanated from the rooms beyond his own room. Perhaps, he was hallucinating again? 


Morty dug his hand into the cookie jar, when he was suddenly interrupted by RICK. He stared in surprise as he spoke; he was literally caught with his hands inside the cookie jar. He started to blabber, looking for the current word to speak.


"R-R-RRRRick? W-What a-ar-are y-you d-d-dddoing h-here?" Morty was reduced to a blabbering mess, as his simple brain tried to defuse the situation. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He was rendered almost speechless by Rick's sudden appearance.

 

[BIue]

Well that was something. Morty was awake. The sun hadn't fully risen...or sank...Rick hadn't really taken to time to check if it was day or night in his disorientated drunken haze. The fuck time of day even was it? Eh, who gave a crap? What was even more revealing than the expression on his grandson's face was the pigsty that he called his room. The stink of teen, sweat and numerous other things that Rick didn't particularly want to think about hung in the stagnant air- so much so that he could still smell it over the booze that clung to his every breath. This was worse than when Morty had been obsessed with the stupid sex robot. It was sadder too. With a grimace, Rick withdrew his hand from the bedpost he had been using to hold himself upright.


Morty's stammering was enough of a hint to show that he hadn't been expecting Rick- at least not anymore. Somewhere deep down, the surprise on his grandson's face twinged a little- but only a touch. Who could really blame him, though? What with Rick's track record and Beth's oozing insecurities it was understandable that the kid had a dwindling sense of faith in him. Even Rick was not fully certain of what had driven him to return to his family- he'd not given it much thought. It was, perhaps, a topic he'd rather not know the answer to. It would have been just as easy to hop to another planet or dimension, but hey, swinging by earth to laugh at the crumbling shit-heap seemed like an amusing option too. A deep-set frown had nestled upon Rick's brow, reflecting his overall lack of enthusiasm for the inevitable idiocy that was sure to follow the younger voice as it struggled for words.


"R-R-RRRRick? W-What a-ar-are y-you d-d-dddoing h-here?" 


 


Oh great. Yes. A top-class line of enquiry as always. 


 'J-JJJesus C-Christ Morty. Wh-Wh-WWhat am I doing he-eEERe? R-RReally?! N-N-ice to see you toOOo, you little dip-shit.'


In a callous movement his hand lurched forward to smack the cookie jar from his grandson's grasp. He didn't need to glance down to recognise them as Beth's own recipe. Was that what she'd started doing to fill the void he'd left in her life- ...baking? He mustered an inward sigh- better than some of the other Beths he'd stumbled across in similar timelines.


'C'mon Morty, we need to fix this--thiURRP--this shit before the federation gets up my ass again, Morty!-- aaAAnd that's not a euphemism, they-th- they're re-EEALLY thorough with those cavity checks Morty-- ReeAAlly thorough.'


Without giving the kid much-if any- chance to protest, his fingers latched onto the scruff of Morty's shirt. Back to the garage like old times again. His lips pulled downwards in a firm line at the thought of the time that had passed. Jerry had better not have touched anything. The sake of an easier existence was hinging on that. Had the galactic federation done a house-check after capturing him? It was possible, he supposed. The greedy muli-limbed bastards were always after his stuff. In a wobbly fashion, he marched down the steps, Morty in tow as his hold refused to loosen on the boy.


'O-okAY--....aalright. Y-yeah. So...we-...we-.....we just need to f-find--' His coordination failed him again, shattering the fragments of the sentence he had been stringing together as he collided with the storage shelving. Just like that, his trail of thought juddered upwards, evading his grasp. A somewhat vacant look flashed across his eyes for a moment as he scrambled to return to the line of thought he had been pursuing moments earlier. They'd been urgently on the hunt for something in his garage...but the component needed had now become a fuzzy blur. Goddammit. In a snap, he released his clueless grandson, pinching the bridge of his nose with a despairing grunt as he observed the sparse shelves that had once been home to a great deal of his work. 'W-we need....' A pause interjected him as he began to recognise the issue.


'...U-URP-uuhh....M-Morty-- t-th-the fuck is my shit?'