The plunge through the temporal rift was less like falling and more like being poured.
The black water gave way to light — rippling, bleeding, blending into colors Rick couldn't name even with a decade's worth of alien color theory in his head.
At first, it looked… simple.
A river. Wide, winding, shimmering with rainbow reflections.
It stretched out in both directions so far it might as well have been infinite.
Rick's mouth opened, some cynical quip half-loaded, but the words caught before firing.
Because the longer you looked… the more it wasn't just water.
Beneath the shimmering surface ran images — some crisp, some blurry — each one moving.
An entire life played out in every ripple: wars starting and ending, people laughing, lovers dying, suns collapsing, civilizations rising from dirt only to be ground back into it.
A never-ending stream, each droplet carrying the whole story of something.
Rick leaned closer over the current, eyes narrowing. "...That's—"
"Every timeline," Rod said quietly, already walking the narrow bank of glass-like stone that ran alongside the river.
"From the first second of the first spark to the present."
As they moved, the river branched.
One wide channel split into two.
Two splits into dozens.
Dozens into hundreds.
Each fork carrying its own version of reality forward, some running parallel, others spiralling away in impossible arcs before merging again miles downstream.
Rick's brow furrowed.
"Looks a hell of a lot like the Central Finite Curve… except, uh, without the fence keeping the big bad scary infinite away from the precious self-contained playground."
Rod didn't look up. "That's because there's no wall here, old man.
This isn't the curated multiverse Prime Rick was so proud of.
This is all of it. No filters. No quarantine.
Every possibility, every version, every stupid idea a reality ever had about itself… laid bare."
Rick stared out over the sprawling braid of rivers, some glinting gold, others so dark they seemed to drink the light around them.
"...Holy shit."
Rod's expression didn't change.
He'd seen it before.
He'd walked it before.
"You're not impressed," Rick muttered, almost accusing.
Rod's lips curled into the faintest smirk. "I'm impressed. I'm just not surprised."
They paused at a bend where the main current twisted in on itself, showing an eddy of infinite Ricks — each living, dying, or blowing themselves up in a hundred thousand unique ways.
Rick's gaze was locked on it, jaw tight.
"You already knew about the Central Finite Curve," Rick said slowly, "but this… this is different. How?"
Rod turned to face him fully now, one hand sliding into his coat pocket.
"I didn't read it in some playbook.
Didn't get it handed down like Evil Morty did. I found my own way here."
Rick's eyes flicked down to Rod's hand. "That flick thing you do when you open a portal—"
Rod chuckled. "Not just for show. My 'portal gun' doesn't need portal fluid.
Doesn't even need a gun. I created it from scratch, tuned it to my physique.
I can tap straight into infinite realities without hitching a ride on Ricktech."
Rick's lips pressed into a line. "So, you're saying…"
"I'm saying I'm not just playing catch-up to you, old man."
Rod's grin widened, shark-sharp.
"I'm walking the same road you did, but I built my own damn car.
No blueprints. No hand-me-downs."
Rick exhaled slowly, gaze drifting back to the infinite river.
"So you're… what? A combo platter of me and Evil Morty?"
Rod shrugged. "Maybe. But unlike him, I didn't need to tear apart a thousand other Ricks to figure it out. I earned this."
They both stood there for a long moment, the River of Time whispering beneath them — a sound like every conversation in history happening all at once, too quiet to hear but too loud to ignore.
Rick finally smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"...Guess I'm starting to see why you think you can pull this off."
Rod glanced at him, then back at the current.
"Good. You're gonna need to believe it before we dive in."
The river ahead twisted, and the branches they'd been walking beside began to bend toward each other — converging into a single massive current that churned like it was waiting for them.
Rod stepped forward. "Come on, old man. Next stop… Mom."
The convergence point loomed ahead — a swirling heart of color and light, where every branch of the River of Time fed into one massive, rolling current.
From here, the sound wasn't a whisper anymore. It was a low, endless roar, like the hum of a supercollider spinning at the speed of thought.
Rod crouched at the edge, boots on smooth, translucent stone.
Beneath the "water," shapes darted past — not fish, but moments.
Birthdays. Wars. First kisses. Last breaths.
All flowing together, overlapping, bleeding into each other.
Rick's eyes narrowed. "So… we just jump in? No floaties? No instruction manual?"
Rod smirked. "This isn't a lazy river, old man. It's alive.
And it's gonna notice us the second we touch it."
"Great," Rick muttered.
"Because nothing says 'safe' like swimming in a sentient infinity stream."
Rod stepped forward, the faint gold threads in his chrono-synced aura flickering back to life.
"Stay close. If it locks onto you without me buffering it, you'll end up stuck in a loop where you marry Unity and raise a litter of psychic otters."
Rick blinked. "That's… oddly specific."
"Don't ask."
Without another word, Rod jumped.
The river didn't splash. It swallowed.
Colors erupted around them, curling into spirals, then fractals, then shapes Rick recognized far too well.
They weren't just inside the river — the river was inside them.
Every heartbeat, every neuron firing, pulled something up from the current and wove it into the air.
Figures began to walk alongside them on the surface — translucent, glowing, whispering in voices they almost remembered.
A little girl with blonde hair clutching a toy spaceship — Beth, maybe five years old.
A younger Rick in a grease-stained lab coat, grinning like he still believed in happy endings.
Rod, smaller, scrawnier, before the gauntlets and the scars, standing in a rainy alley beside someone Rick didn't recognize.
"...Okay," Rick said slowly, "that's creepy."
"The river mirrors you," Rod said, eyes scanning the horizon.
"It shows you where you've been… so you can figure out where you're going."
More figures joined the flow — hundreds now, each tied to them in some way.
Allies. Enemies. People they'd killed, people they'd saved.
Some looked exactly as they remembered.
Some… didn't.
Rick's voice dropped low. "If this is just the start, finding C-137 in this mess is gonna be a nightmare."
Rod's smirk returned, but his eyes stayed sharp. "Not if you know what you're looking for."
The current around them shifted, rippling with flashes of universes — Citadel corridors, Shoney's booths, council chambers, warzones.
Then one image stuck, burning against the flow:
A garage.
Two portal guns on a workbench.
Diane's laugh in the background, warm and alive.
Rod pointed. "There. Anchor point."
Rick's stomach knotted. "That's… home."
"C-137," Rod confirmed. "Both of ours."
They began moving with the current, but the closer they got, the more the river fought them.
Currents split off, throwing up decoys — false timelines where Diane survived, where Beth never existed, where Rick died before building the portal gun.
Rick swore under his breath. "It's trying to scatter us."
Rod's voice hardened. "Then we hold course. Lock on the real one and don't let go."
The anchor point shimmered ahead like a lighthouse in a storm — but the river was already shifting, pulling them toward darker, colder waters where familiar voices were calling their names.
The anchor point flickered, like a bad signal, each shimmer pulling it a little further away.
The current around them thickened, pushing against their chests like it didn't want them moving forward.
Rick growled. "Great. The river's got trust issues."
Rod side-eyed him. "It's not trust issues, old man. It's a defense mechanism.
You think you can just stroll into infinite possibility and grab one timeline like it's a—"
The current bucked under them, hard.
They were slammed sideways into a whirlpool of light, the C-137 garage vanishing in a blink.
When the spinning stopped, Rick was standing in his old kitchen — not a kitchen, his kitchen.
Diane was there, hair a little shorter, humming while stirring something on the stove.
Rod landed beside him, already looking annoyed. "Yup. Thought so. It's pulling the greatest hits."
Diane turned, smiling. "Rick… you're home early."
Rick's throat tightened. "You're not real."
She stepped closer, eyes wide and warm.
"Of course I am. Just… stay here. You don't have to keep running."
Rod's voice cut in, sharp. "Don't talk to her."
Rick's jaw flexed. "Easy for you to say, you—"
Before he could finish, the kitchen door swung open and a younger Rod stepped through — maybe fifteen, cocky smile, wearing a patched-up flight jacket.
The kid looked between them, smirking.
"C'mon, Dad. You know this is better than whatever's out there."
Rick's hands curled into fists. "Oh, fuck this."
The illusion rippled like a heat mirage, trying to hold them.
Rod reached into his coat, pulled out a jagged, silver shard that pulsed faintly.
He tossed it to Rick. "Break the scene."
Rick caught it, glancing down. "This some hippie crystal bullsh—"
Rod yelled, "Just jam it in the floor!"
Rick stabbed the shard into the linoleum. The world screamed, colors peeling off the walls like paint in reverse.
Diane's face twisted, not in malice, but in… sadness. Then she was gone. So was the kitchen.
They were back in the current — but not for long.
The river slammed them again, harder this time. Rick hit the surface like glass, bouncing into another fragment.
This time it was the Citadel. The Council chamber.
Every seat filled with Ricks, all staring down at him.
Council Head Rick leaned forward. "You've been judged, C-137. You've failed. The multiverse is better without you."
Rick sneered. "Wow, thanks, guys. Real original content here."
Rod landed beside him, cracking his knuckles. "You want me to clear the room?"
Rick smirked. "Nah. Let me."
He snapped his fingers and the entire chamber froze mid-breath, glitching like a bad simulation. The river shuddered in response.
Rod whistled. "Level four soul juice. Nice."
The Citadel fractured into glassy shards, each shard another fake — Ricks hanging in execution cells, Ricks lying dead in labs, Ricks never building the gun at all.
Rick growled, shoving through them. "Alright, you smug time-puddle, here's the thing — I don't do reruns!"
The current tried one last trick.
Rick blinked, and suddenly he was back at the Shoney's booth.
The menu was in front of him. Corn syrup coffee in his hand.
Across the booth sat Evil Morty.
Evil Morty leaned in. "You're wasting your time, Rick. You know how this ends. The wall comes down, you lose her anyway."
Rod appeared behind him, resting a hand on Rick's shoulder.
"Don't listen. Not him. Just another mask."
Rick's smirk was thin and tired. "Oh, I know. But I'm keeping the coffee."
He stood, kicked the booth clean off its hinges, and the Shoney's shattered into white light.
The anchor point reappeared — closer now, glowing steady.
Rod's voice was tight. "It's weakening. Push!"
They dove, cutting through the last stretch of current before the river could throw another illusion.
The colors thinned, the roar faded, and the garage of C-137 finally solidified ahead of them like a shoreline waiting to be reached.
The anchor point swelled in their vision until it was all there was — the garage, frozen mid-moment.
The hum of the portal gun on the bench.
The smell of solder and motor oil.
A faint echo of laughter from the kitchen beyond.
They broke the surface of the river in a gasp, boots hitting solid ground that wasn't really ground — more like a thin pane of glass suspended above the current, holding the C-137 scene in place.
Rick straightened, squinting. "...This is it. This is home."
Rod scanned the edges, where the scene blurred into liquid light.
"Careful. Even if it's real, the river can still… bleed in."
Rick stepped forward, slow.
Every sound felt amplified here — the click of tools shifting on the bench, the faint tick-tick-tick of the wall clock.
No illusions. No tricks. Just… the moment.
"Diane's in the kitchen," Rick muttered, more to himself than to Rod.
"She's making dinner. I've got, what, fifteen seconds before…"
He stopped.
Rod's brow furrowed. "Before what?"
Rick's eyes narrowed.
"Before I walk out there and she blows up. That's… the point we're in."
From the kitchen doorway, a shadow shifted. Diane stepped into view.
Her face was exactly as he remembered it — same easy smile, same steady eyes — but her gaze didn't go to the Rick at the workbench.
It went straight to them.
To this Rick.
And Rod.
Rod's jaw tightened. "She's looking right at us."
Rick's voice was low. "That… shouldn't be possible. We're not in her frame of reference."
Diane tilted her head, eyes sharp in a way that didn't belong to the moment frozen around her.
"You're late," she said.
The words didn't come from the garage. They came from everywhere.
From the air, from the floor, from the river beneath their feet.
Rod's fingers flexed, instinctively calling up a ripple of blue-gold aura.
"She knows we're here."
Diane stepped forward, the frozen light of the scene rippling as she moved.
"I've been waiting," she said softly. "But if you're here… it means you're running out of time."
Rick's throat worked, but no words came out.
Rod's eyes locked on her. "How do you—"
The moment snapped.
The garage, the kitchen, Diane's figure — all shattered into motes of light that spiraled upward, leaving only the current below them and the faint echo of her voice:
"Hurry, Roderick. Hurry, Rick."
The motes faded, and the river's pull shifted — no longer trying to push them away, but drawing them forward, deeper into C-137's timeline.
Rick finally found his voice. "...Okay, that was not creepy at all."
Rod's smirk was thin. "It means she's still in there. And she knows we're coming."
Rick glanced at him. "Yeah, but the question is… does she want us to get to her?"
Rod didn't answer. He just stepped toward the pull, the current's glow climbing up their boots as if the river itself wanted to carry them the rest of the way.
The current surged beneath them, pulling harder with each step.
The glassy surface they stood on began to crack in long, slow arcs, light spilling through the fractures like molten gold.
Rick kept glancing sideways. "You feel that? That's the loop — my loop — bleeding through the river.
The closer we get, the more the timelines start… folding in on themselves."
Rod's eyes stayed locked ahead. "Good. Means we're almost there."
The scenery around them began to shift in fragments, snapping through moments like a skipping record:
— Diane at the stove, humming.
— Beth's holding hand with Diane.
— The smell of burning electrons.
— The explosion's light just starting to flare.
Rick's jaw clenched. "We're seconds out."
Rod stopped, raising both hands.
His fingers twitched into complex patterns, knuckles bending at impossible angles — movements too deliberate to be random, too fluid to be purely mechanical.
Rick frowned. "Uh… what the hell are you doing, Naruto?"
"Pausing the timeline," Rod said without looking at him.
"Not the river — just this stream."
One last sign — a sharp twist of his index and middle fingers — and the world stopped.
The explosion froze mid-bloom.
Diane's hair hung in the air like it was caught in honey.
Even the shimmer of heat from the blast was locked in place.
Rick blinked, then waved a hand in front of the frozen Diane. "...Okay, not gonna lie, that's pretty badass."
Rod didn't answer.
He shifted into a new sequence of signs, this one faster, his fingertips leaving faint trails of blue-gold light in the air.
Each motion built on the last, weaving a sigil so complex it felt like it might collapse under its own meaning.
With a final snap of his fingers, the river beneath them thumped, like a heart starting to beat again — slow, deliberate.
The frozen scene shivered and then… looped.
The explosion pulled back into the bomb. Diane turned away from the stove. The garage door slid down.
Then it happened again.
And again.
And again.
Rick's eyes widened. "You just… made a time loop inside a time loop."
Rod smirked. "Temporary overlay. I'm syncing this loop to the river's flow instead of local time. C-137's already easier to work with — half the population's dead thanks to you, and the base loop's been running for decades."
Rick gave him a flat look. "Wow, thanks for making genocide sound like a convenience feature."
Rod's smirk didn't fade. "Just means less resistance.
Fewer minds in the loop means fewer variables trying to push back."
The river's pull settled into a steady rhythm now, feeding the loop like an IV drip of raw timeline.
Diane's figure flickered faintly — not degrading, but aware, her gaze drifting toward them between resets.
Rick's voice dropped. "She's noticing us more."
Rod's hands flexed. "That's the point. We need her conscious enough to anchor to us when we make the pull.
But not so aware she destabilizes the loop before we're ready."
Rick glanced at him. "And when we are ready?"
Rod's smirk sharpened. "Then we break both loops at once and steal her out from under time itself."
The river around them darkened, the light from the explosion casting longer and longer shadows each time it cycled.
Somewhere in the flow beneath their feet, the other branches of the multiverse shivered — like they knew what was about to happen.
The loop pulsed again.
Explosion. Reset.
Explosion. Reset.
Rod stood at the edge of the frozen moment, Diane caught in mid-step between the stove and the counter.
The heat of the blast haloed her hair, frozen in place like strands of amber glass.
- - - - - - - - - -
Do you get any of that?
So.....we're at this juncture, Diane's in front of them. Kid Beth too.
Q: Why Beth seems to be neglected?
A: Maybe because both of them had saw Beth grow up and doesn't miss her as much as Diane, dumdum \;/
That's all for now, peace!