Archive of Our Own ^beta

    Clothes shuffle and scrape along the side of the bag as Rick shoves them in without order. He rubs at his eyes again, sniffling softly and looking over at his sleeping boyfriend. It's already late in the day, the sun rising to a peak above the small town in Europe. Rick leans over to press a kiss to the sleeping man's temple, running his fingers through the messy hair. The man shifts and mumbles, the corners of his mouth lifting up in a smile. The shifting caused the blanket to fall away from his shoulders and Rick had to look away. Dark patches of purple and blue ran along his arms and sides, a few held the impression of hands, too rough and unkind. Rick quickly left the building, gulping the salty air, needing to get out before he changes his mind. Sounds of the not too far beach remind him of the times Stan would cover up to go with him to the ocean's edge.

    Ghost hands drifted along his arms as he thought about what Stan might say if he knew Rick was leaving. Stay, You won't leave me, we belong with each other, right here. It doesn't matter what everyone else says, it mean's nothing to me. Stay, I know you're afraid that you're changing, who told you that you were one in a million anyway? His face would hold an expression of pain, tears slipping from his eyes. Rick would then proceed to try to tell Stan why. You can't see the lies we're living, you're sleeping through the worst parts. You're living in a dream world and I don't think you can get out of it, I'm scared you're going to fall and be all alone. Now you're hiding who are, you're hiding my mistakes too. We have to find something better, but I don't think it can be together.

He hates himself so much right now, but he has to do this.

Looking over his shoulder he can see the humble little home they have, he doesn’t deserve this, none of it. Rick needs to get back to America, he needs to remove himself from Stan’s life and not look back. All ties they have now, need to be severed before it’s too late. Maybe, after everything is fixed, after he doesn’t have to run anymore, he’ll come back. He’ll come back for Stan, the man will forgive him, and then they can be together without any pain or falseness.

Upon returning, he finds Stan still asleep, content to slumber through Rick’s internal war. Rick doesn’t blame him, he wants to sleep too, but he needs to go before stan wakes up. Zipping up his bag, Rick slings it over his shoulder. Pulling out a wad of cash, he places it on the pillow next to Stan, a carefully written and vague note secured in the bundle, easy to see as it sticks out from the other bills.

Sunlight permeates the room, the blackout curtain pulled back slightly, but the light doesn’t hit Stan, and it gives Rick no comfort. He heads for the door, looking back once. He can almost hear the distress Stan would have if he was awake. Please don’t go, stay with me, we can go anywhere in the world, you can do anything if only we can just stay together. You belong with me, you said we were made for each other, don’t take it back now. He would plead, eyes watering, but he would refuse to let them fall, not yet. Why does it matter to them? They mean nothing, not a thing, not to me. I don’t care if I get hurt, you’re all that matters. You’re different from all the others, believe me, I can see it, you’ve changed. You’re not one in a million, Rick, you’re so, so much better than that. You’re better than all of them.

Even in his mind, Stan is standing tall and confident, tears finally dripping down his face, falling from his trembling chin. Even now, Rick knows how badly this is going to affect the younger man. He forcefully pushes those thoughts from his mind. He has to do this, they’ll never stop hunting him, and they’ll hurt Stan. They’ll hurt him if it means that they can hurt Rick. He has to leave, for both of them.

Walking out the door is like shifting weights, one is gone, and another takes its place.

*~*~/*/*\*\~*~*

It was months later, painstaking and horrendous months, but Rick's heart soars at the news. Stan had never stopped trying to contact him, Rick had left non traceable ways to communicate, not able to let go of Stan. It was a simple message. I'm in America. Rick's hands trembled, his heart beating resoundingly in his ears, every part of him longing to see this man. He resisted for nearly a month.

When he finally cracked, he found Stan in a rotten deal with heavy bags under his eyes and rocking a mullet. Stan never saw him, Rick only watched, wondering when the council would finally let up. He left with great difficulty, swearing mentally that he would come back for Stan, he swore to make up for everything.

Rick visited once every other month, checking up before fleeing away again. He'd had a daughter, more of a necessity than actual affection for her mother, but he still cared for Beth, even if he couldn't always be there for her. She was, after all, going to be the mother of his Morty, the one thing that would enable Rick's return to Stan. He coddled her, whispering stories about the man from Jersey, so much so she developed a second hand love for him. She would often ask when “papa” would visit, he would always say, one day. One day.

Rick hates himself, but he hates the council more. The newspaper is crumpled in his hands as he takes out his anger on the council, he leaves the buildings with permanent scars.

Stan Pines Killed in Car Wreck . He has no reason to keep going. It was done under heinous means, the brake lines cut, and Rick was rendered alone in a world that would never accept him. This world would never love him, Stan was everything, his drive, his reason, his companion. Stan was gone.

Even now, alone and left behind, Rick can imagine Stan. Stan, in all his jokes and unbridled confidence, his courage, even his insecurities. Stay, you're not gonna leave me, together, we're right where you need to be, why should your words mean so much to them? Your fancy words and ways of thinking mean nothing to me. Just stay, you're not who you think you are, not what they say you are. You're different, you've changed, you're not one in a million Rick. You're so much better than that.

Rick doesn't cry. Rick Sanchez is a stone hearted man who's never let anything get to him. He'd like to think he wouldn't be able to cry.

He cries for Stan, it's futile, Stan is gone, but he cries. He cries until his head hurts. He cries until there is no liquid in his system left to spare. He cries until his throat is destroyed from his wails. He drowns himself in sorrow. He wishes he could have said goodbye, wishes he could have held Stan one last time. Rick swears to himself never to get attached again, to save himself from ever feeling pain again. He metaphorically locks away his heart as best he can, and he thrives, he lives, if only to preserve Stan in his mind.