Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Six months.

It had been six whole months since Rick died. ‘that’s half a year!’ Morty told himself, trying to push past the grief and just open the door already. He’d already gone through the garage; that was the easy part. That was their space. However, Rick’s room was a different deal entirely; it was much much more personal. It was his space. It had been for the past four-or-so years.

(Morty had to chuckle at himself for a moment. He and Rick finally had a life together. Morty was an adult, they bought a house with an extra big garage and basement together, Morty was training to become an engineer to help Rick and make an income... and it was all torn out of Morty’s weak palms. He digresses.)

Finally twisting the knob and pushing the door open, he entered. It was supremely messy —frankly, Morty was surprised it didn’t smell—nondescript bottles littered the floor, accompanied by pieces of paper and bits of tech. Closing the door behind himself, he sighed. "What the hell, Rick.." He mumbled as he trudged through the 'hoarder's paradise' of a room. Reaching Rick's twin bed--much too small for someone of Rick's height-- he sat down and mentally prepared himself for the hours of cleaning and sorting ahead of himself.

(He felt fifteen again. So small, so lonely. So overwhelmed.)

Hours later, and cleaning was going.. smoothly. He found a milk crate under Rick's bed with empty folders and he decided that was where he'd put all of the extra papers scattered around; he would read everything later. He found a plastic bin that he shoved all of the things Rick was tinkering with in his room. It was going great; Morty had only stopped to cry once! That was a personal record. Finishing up on the floor, he moved to the metal shelving (clearly ripped straight out of Beth and Jerry's garage while moving out) and clearing it out bottom to top. There was no real inventions on the shelf, all just little bits and pieces, mostly broken, that weren't in use. Well.. until the second shelf closest to the floor.

After Morty moved the big bin of old flip phones and tablets, he saw a circular device flashing red. Reaching out, he took it into his palms and it almost immediately started beeping. "Stupid thing.." Morty scoffed as he looked around for a button to stop the beeping. He flipped it over and saw, well, a lot of buttons. He sighed exhaustedly. (He noticed himself getting more irritable by the day since Rick's passing, but he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind.) It may have been sleep deprivation, stress or sheer stupidness, but Morty decided it would be best to press as many buttons as he could at once. So he did. The device went crazy. Beeping continuously and much much louder than previously. Morty finally slammed the thing on the floor and it... opened up. The circle expanded into a platform and walls extended from the left and right side. It was a quiet sequence, Morty was impressed. He reached out and grazing the cool metal with his fingertips and stepped onto the platform in between the two walls. There was a screen on the wall that displayed.. a year. Morty hummed to himself in confusion. Pressing the bottom button on the left side of the screen changed the year. A corresponding number would pop up next to the year provided. 1988, the default number, corresponded to 18. Flipping it up to 1989 set the corresponding number at 19. How queer. Logically, Morty knew he shouldn't be messing around with Rick's stuff, but he was intrigued. Going down the list, he pressed the buttons. There was four buttons on the left side of the screen and two on the right side of the screen. The Red button changed the number on the screen, the green button turned off the screen and so on and so fourth. Reaching the last button on the right side Morty couldn't help but wonder if this was just a glorified calculator he was wildly misusing.

He reached out and touched that last button.

Everything went blue and then black.

Chapter Text

Morty was not a ‘chill’ individual. He was a worrier, a procrastinator (which was made painstakingly clear through the events of these past hours) and a paranoid man-child. Thats why this was especially odd to him.

Morty felt peaceful, serene and composed-although logically he should not be feeling much of anything.

He was drifting and floating in an impossible bliss.

Until he woke.

Morty jerked up with a start; someone repeatedly slapping him on the cheek, stomach and pretty much all over the front of his body-save for his groin. He gasped up, jolting awake. Looking all around him it was.. a party, it seemed. Lights and music flooded his senses, already feeling a headache develop (the scent of alcohol and weed didn't do much to help.)

Looking directly in front of him, he spotted.. aliens. Like, a lot of them. Some sort of 'rave-mama' alien with six arms (he was pretty sure they were the one patting him everywhere) was holding his head up and offering him a water bottle to his lips. He politely declined by ushering himself backwards.

He took Rick's advice. Stop, assess- but not too much-, and re-evaluate. (He remembered often scoffing at that comment, growing very tired of it everytime Rick would state it when he made a mistake. Gosh, he even missed that part of Rick.)

Okay.. so he was at an alien party, most likely lightyears away from home without knowing how he even got here and he was being surrounded by a small group of aliens with none alike in looks what-so-ever (from each other and himself). Yeesh.

Gathering his composure, he rose and almost immediately was being pushed onto the nearest chair if he didn't have people bombarding him with concerned remarks he would've panicked; images of a particularly *nasty* blue-ish gray alien swam in the back of his mind.

Finally, the ringing in his ears ceased and he picked up on what the hexad-limbed alien was saying.

 "Oh dear, are you alright? We saw you fall on the ground, you were down for a good thirty seconds!" They fretted worriedly. The voice was inherintly feminine with an accent that Morty could only describe as Nigerian-adjacent.

"Oh, w-was I really?" Morty inquired, having no idea what they spoke about but deciding its best to go along with it before finding out where and perhaps when he was.

"Yes, dear. Here, would you like some water? It's unopened!"

He nodded, gently grabbing the water bottle. He felt the slightest bit of moisture from the condensation, it was pleasantly grounding. He opened the bottle with a click and took a sip, planning on throwing it up later just in case it was laced. Thanking them, he stood back up.

They waved him goodbye and told him to 'come find them again if needed' and he was on his way; where to? He had absolutely no idea.

He thought as he snaked near the back wall of the rectangular-shaped building, finally concluding that he would find the roof to look at his surroundings. Him and Rick had been to thousands of planets and he might be able to identify what planet he was on if he was lucky enough.

He found the stairwell easily and began to climb. Hitting the third floor, the stairwell ended. He pushed on the near panic-bars, opening the door to his right and was hit with an *overwhelming* smell of marujana. He scoffed quitely.

He walked down the hallway and was lead to a room with two very large conversation pits, paired with tables closer to the walls and a bar on the far-back-side of the room. (It was clear that no one got drinks, as the bartender was on his phone and nearly everyone was smoking, snorting or injecting themselves.)

He, again, clung to the walls trying to find an exit until he heard a familiarly monotone voice. Turning around to face the left-most conversation pit he saw a pair of brown, beige and white wings.

"BirdPerson?" He blurted; not loud enough to be a yell but loud enough to catch the avian's attention, causing him to turn around.

"Apologies, but do I know you?" He spoke in that overly-monotone voice. He looked.. different. Morty had just seen him a few months prior when him and BirdDaughter had came by to deliver a 'grieving basket'. The wrinkles on his face had completely dissapeared-save for eyebags-, his color pallet was brighter with pops of red feathers, and he looked much more relaxed.

"Oh! Yes-yeah of course! Remember? We met on Planet Squanch at an- at a party!" Morty sputtered, pulling everything right out of his ass and just praying BirdPerson would believe it.

Morty began walking over to the conversation pit as he spoke before coming to a stop.

A head with cerulean blue liberty spikes swiped across the surface of the table, sniffing so intensely he could hear it. A triumphant laugh came from the figure as he rose back to proper posture and raised his hand to, presumably, wipe his nose.

"Fuck, BP! Where the hell did you even get this shit?" The figure asked, turning to the side to face BirdPerson.

Stretched lobes, a large hooked nose, that barely-there overbite and patchy brown stubble paired with that gravally, deep voice struck Morty like a bullet.

"Glorfingr 7, Rick." The avian responded.

Morty was out of breath, gasping before covering his mouth in embarrasment.

"Holy shit! Another human! And an Earth one at that!" Rick celebrated. Morty didn't even notice how Rick scanned him with his watch (frankly, it was odd to see one of Rick's devices outside of his body rather than implanted into his skin. He didn't even have his garishly-orange robot arm.)

"Different demension though."
 Rick mumbled before making a 'hup!' noise, pushing himself out of the conversation pit by climbing out of the leather seat. Morty had completely forgotten he was from Prime Deminsion and not C-137 like Rick. Well, at least with that statement he could conclude this was before Rick had invented the Central Finite Curve. Patting-well, more like slapping- Morty on the back, Rick spoke.

"Wanna come sit with us? We've got Kalaxian Crystal~" He waved the bag of fuscia powder in front of Morty.

"S-Sure! Why not.. uhh?"

"Rick. How about you?"

“Morty. Morty Smith.”