The portal's edge rippled as they stepped through, one after another—Kid Beth clutching Diane's hand, Diane glancing over her shoulder as if the River might still be chasing them.
The world on the other side snapped into focus: familiar sky, familiar yard, familiar driveway… but a house with a different weight in the air.
This was still C-137.
One of its branches. One where Diane and Beth were long gone.
And whereas their Rick and Rod had never made it far enough to change anything.
The grass was overgrown.
The fence leaned just slightly.
The air was quiet in that heavy, suburban way that made you think of dinners gone cold and rooms left untouched.
Beth broke free from Diane's hand and bolted for the front door, her voice ringing with an urgency that didn't come from fear.
"Hurry up! C'mon, you guys!"
Diane smiled faintly, calling after her as she jogged forward.
"I'm right here, Beth."
Rick lingered for half a second, then reached over and clapped a hand on Rod's shoulder.
"Thank you, kid. Good job. You're truly the only one who could save Diane. Hah!"
The laugh wasn't just relief—it was raw, almost shaky, like something deep in him had finally unclenched after years of grinding shut.
Without waiting for an answer, Rick followed Diane up the path and into the house.
Rod stood there alone for a moment, the cool evening air brushing past him.
He let out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"Fuh… all of that just happened, huh?"
He glanced around—same cracked stepping stones, same doorframe he remembered from other versions of this reality, but different.
This house had ghosts, even if they couldn't be seen.
"So… what now…" he murmured.
Then he shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his mouth.
"Never mind. Let's just… enjoy the moment for now."
He stepped toward the house, the portal behind him shrinking into a thin ribbon of light before snapping shut with a whisper.
Inside, he could already hear Beth's small, rapid footsteps running up the stairs, Diane's voice chasing her in gentle reprimand, and Rick's lower chuckle as he pretended not to hear either of them.
For the first time in a long while, the sounds felt almost… safe.
The house still smelled faintly of dust and old wood, like a place that had been shut up for too long.
Even with the lights on now, the shadows clung stubbornly to the corners, as if they'd gotten comfortable here.
Rod stepped into the living room, boots sinking slightly into carpet that hadn't felt a footstep in years.
The furniture was all here—the couch, the coffee table, and the TV with a stack of old DVDs beside it—but everything was coated in a thin film of neglect.
Through the open doorway, he could see Beth darting up the stairs two at a time, her laughter echoing off the walls.
Diane followed at a slower pace, smiling faintly, brushing her hand over the banister as if she was reacquainting herself with an old friend.
Rick wandered toward the kitchen, running a hand along the counter.
"Man… this place feels… wrong.
Like somebody pressed pause on life here and forgot to hit play again."
Rod smirked faintly.
"Yeah. Dead branch reality. Nobody's been around to water it."
Rick shrugged.
"Well, we're here now. That's gotta count for something, right?"
A light breeze came through a cracked window, stirring the dust motes in the air.
For a brief moment, Rod thought he saw them swirl in patterns—almost shapes—before they broke apart again. He blinked, chalking it up to exhaustion.
Upstairs, Beth's voice rang out, calling for Diane to "come look!"
The sound was bright, alive, and almost out of place in the stillness of the house.
Rod leaned back against the wall, listening.
The echoes filled the empty spaces, layering new memories over the old.
And yet, in the quiet between voices, the house seemed to remember exactly how it had been: silent, still, and waiting.
Rick returned from the kitchen with two beers, tossing one to Rod.
"Don't get too comfortable, kid. These moments… they never stay."
Rod caught the can, eyes narrowing slightly.
"You think the river will come after us here?"
Rick popped his tab and took a long drink before answering.
"If it wants them bad enough? Yeah. And it's got nothing but time."
Rod glanced toward the stairwell, where Diane's voice drifted down, warm and real.
He didn't say it out loud, but he already knew—this branch felt like it could snap at any second.
Night fell quicker than Rod expected.
The sky outside the windows turned a deep indigo, and the soft hum of suburban streetlights filled the quiet between Beth's yawns and Diane's gentle nudges toward bedtime.
Beth finally crashed upstairs, the door shutting with the kind of sleepy thud only a kid could make.
Diane lingered in the hallway, looking over the railing toward the living room, her eyes soft. "You two staying up?"
Rick nodded from the couch, beer in hand. "Yeah. Just… catching up."
Diane smiled faintly before disappearing upstairs. The sound of her footsteps faded until the house felt still again.
Rod sat on the other end of the couch, a small device in his hand.
It didn't look like much—just a smooth, flat disc with faint blue lines crawling across its surface—but it was quietly mapping every fluctuation in the local time-space fabric.
Rick leaned back, pretending to be watching an old sci-fi flick on the dusty TV.
"So… you gonna tell me if anything's off, or am I supposed to guess?"
Rod didn't look up.
"Nothing concrete yet. Little ripples. Could be residual from the portal. Could be nothing."
Rick took a slow sip.
"In my experience, 'nothing' usually turns into 'something trying to eat your face' if you ignore it long enough."
Rod smirked. "That's why I'm not ignoring it."
The device gave a soft chime.
A faint blip appeared on the display—a spike just outside the property line.
Too faint to be the River itself… but not faint enough to dismiss.
Rod tilted it slightly, watching the readings.
The blip flickered, moved, then vanished.
"Lost it," he muttered.
Rick's eyes narrowed, but his tone stayed light.
"Could be a temporal echo. Could be the neighbor's cat. Guess we'll find out which one first."
Rod slid the device into his jacket pocket.
"We'll know before it knows we're watching. That's the plan."
The movie on the TV played on—some scene about a spaceship crew making a last stand—but Rod barely heard it.
His gaze kept drifting to the dark window, where the reflection of the living room sat overlaid on the quiet street outside.
For just a second, he thought he saw a shape in that reflection—standing at the edge of the yard, perfectly still.
When he blinked, it was gone.
- - - - - - - - - -
BLACK SCREEN — A cheerful banjo riff kicks in.
MR. POOPYBUTTHOLE pops into frame, grinning wide, wearing a slightly wrinkled suit jacket over his usual skinny frame.
"Oooh-wee! Well hey there, reader! Or… viewer? Listener?
Time traveler secretly reading this through a wormhole?
I dunno!
But you've been watchin'—er, readin'—one heck of a little adventure here, huh?"
He claps his little yellow hands together, eyes darting around like he's making sure no one's listening.
"So, lemme catch you up in the most responsible, totally accurate, not-made-up way possible! Rod and Rick?
Went swimmin' in the River of Time.
Not the fun lazy kind with beer and floaties, no sir!
More like… uh… the kind where the river tries to eat your soul, show you all your bad breakups, and then slap you with some existential waterboarding!"
He starts pacing, still talking fast.
"They punched time in the face, stole Diane right outta her loop, slapped some fake Diane-Beth clones in place, and took a worm-taxi home.
You know, just a normal day!"
He stops, tilting his head at the "camera."
"But oh boy… hoo-boy… lemme tell ya, things are gettin' spicy.
'Cause ol' Rick Sanchez? That man's got a history.
And yeah, yeah, we've seen him grow from Season One to Season Eight — little flashes of caring, bits of vulnerability, some of that good ol' 'maybe I'm not a total monster' energy—but here's the thing!
Nobody's askin' the real questions anymore!"
He starts ticking them off on his fingers:
"Like… now that Diane's here, huh?
Is he gonna, y'know… change?
Be a better husband-slash-father?
Or is he gonna self-sabotage 'cause he's Rick and that's his favorite hobby?"
Finger two.
"What about Unity? Remember Unity? Big gooey hivemind?
And BugAnne!
We're just… gonna ignore those plotlines?
What happens if they show up to the family BBQ?"
Finger three.
"And hey! What about Prime Morty, huh?
Or Beth and Space Beth from C-131?
You think he's just gonna leave 'em out there in cosmic limbo forever?
Is he gonna go back? Hug it out? Punch himself in the face?"
He leans closer, lowering his voice.
BLACK SCREEN — A cheerful banjo riff kicks in.
MR. POOPYBUTTHOLE pops into frame, grinning wide, wearing a slightly wrinkled suit jacket over his usual skinny frame.
"Oooh-wee! Well hey there, reader! Or… viewer? Listener?
Time traveler secretly reading this through a wormhole?
I dunno! But you've been watchin'—er, readin'—one heck of a little adventure here, huh?"
He claps his little yellow hands together, eyes darting around like he's making sure no one's listening.
"So, lemme catch you up in the most responsible, totally accurate, not-made-up way possible!
Rod and Rick?
Went swimmin' in the River of Time.
Not the fun lazy kind with beer and floaties, no sir!
More like… uh… the kind where the river tries to eat your soul, show you all your bad breakups, and then slap you with some existential waterboarding!"
He starts pacing, still talking fast.
"They punched time in the face, stole Diane right outta her loop, slapped some fake Diane-Beth clones in place, and took a worm-taxi home.
You know, just a normal day!"
He stops, tilting his head at the "camera."
"But oh boy… hoo-boy… lemme tell ya, things are gettin' spicy.
'Cause ol' Rick Sanchez? That man's got a history.
And yeah, yeah, we've seen him grow from Season One to Season Eight — little flashes of caring, bits of vulnerability, some of that good ol' 'maybe I'm not a total monster' energy — but here's the thing!
Nobody's askin' the real questions anymore!"
He starts ticking them off on his fingers:
"Like… now that Diane's here, huh?
Is he gonna, y'know… change?
Be a better husband-slash-father?
Or is he gonna self-sabotage 'cause he's Rick and that's his favorite hobby?"
Finger two.
"What about Unity? Remember Unity? Big gooey hivemind?
And BugAnne! We're just… gonna ignore those plotlines? What happens if they show up to the family BBQ?"
Finger three.
"And hey! What about Prime Morty, huh?
Or Beth and Space Beth from C-131?
You think he's just gonna leave 'em out there in cosmic limbo forever? Is he gonna go back?
Hug it out? Punch himself in the face?"
He leans closer, lowering his voice.
"And Rod… oh, Rod. That kid's a black box. Did he go to the true multiverse Evil Morty talked about?
Is he immortal now?
Does he… does he have a girlfriend? Or, uh… a wife?
Oh-wee, imagine that wedding reception.
Does he have kids we don't know about?
A secret army hidden in some pocket dimension?
Maybe a version of himself that runs a taco stand across every timeline?
What's he building in that off-grid lab?
Why does his body has the ability to absorb bullets from laser gun?
Has he met gods? Killed gods? Dated gods?
Is he, uh… secretly richer than the Galactic Federation? Or maybe poorer than Jerry?"
He suddenly shakes his head like he's catching himself.
"But… but we don't get those answers! Nope! Not today, not tomorrow, maybe never, maybe always, time's fake anyway!
So, uh… tune up, keep on readin', and hey — leave some reviews too.
Or not. I don't care. I'll be in the post-credits sequence of your heart either way!"
He gives an awkward little wave, then zips sideways off-screen as the banjo strum cuts out mid-note.
- - - - - - - - - -
Morty let out a long, weary sigh that carried across the classroom like a deflating balloon.
His math teacher, Mr. Hopkins, paused mid-equation and glanced over his glasses.
"Everything okay back there, Smith?"
Morty blinked, realizing the whole row had turned to look at him.
"Uh… yeah. Just… tired," he mumbled, slouching lower in his seat.
Five minutes later, as the bell rang, he shuffled to his locker.
The metallic clang of the door opening was followed immediately by another sigh — heavier this time, like the weight of the universe was pressing down on his shoulders.
A couple of freshmen walking past exchanged looks.
One of them muttered, "Man, that guy's depressing," before they disappeared down the hall.
The sighing didn't stop.
He sighed walking home, dragging his shoes against the cracked sidewalk, backpack hanging by one strap.
The late afternoon sun made the houses on his block glow gold, but Morty barely noticed.
He was too busy thinking about how empty things felt without Rick's voice somewhere in the background, filling the air with snark and the smell of whatever unholy experiment he'd been cooking up.
At home, he sighed in the bathroom, the sound echoing off the tile.
Then, after closing the door to his bedroom, he pulled out his phone, scrolled through Jessica's latest Instagram post, and handled some private business.
Even that ended with a sigh — the kind that didn't come from satisfaction so much as resignation.
By the time dinner rolled around, the Smith household had collectively had enough.
Summer dropped into her chair, already scrolling on her phone, but after only a few bites of salad, she slammed her fork down and shot him a look.
"Jesus, Morty, what's your deal?
You've been doing that mopey, sad-puppy thing all day.
It's like eating dinner with an abandoned dog commercial in the background.
You're killing my appetite."
Morty looked up mid-bite, cheeks stuffed with mashed potatoes.
"Huh? I dunno what you're talking about."
Beth, sitting across from him, arched an eyebrow.
"She's right. You've been sighing all week.
You gonna talk about it or do we need to get you a therapist?"
Jerry, halfway through pouring himself more gravy, opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it when Beth gave him the look.
Morty stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork, hesitating.
His eyes flicked between Summer, Beth, and the empty space at the head of the table where Rick usually sat.
"I just…" He trailed off, shoulders slumping.
"I feel like Rick's been gone forever this time. And… I dunno… is it 'cause… grandma's back?"
The table went still.
Summer leaned back in her chair, Jerry kept his head down, and Beth's expression softened just slightly.
From the kitchen, Diane's voice floated in, warm but a little strained.
"Beth! Can you give me a hand with the roast?"
Beth stood, circling the table to rest a hand on Morty's shoulder.
"Relax, Morty. Rick'll come back."
She gave a small shrug, her voice dropping quieter. "…Maybe."
She left before he could say anything else, her footsteps fading into the kitchen.
Morty stared down at his plate, pushing his food around.
He knew Beth meant well, but the uncertainty in her tone clung to him like a shadow.
Slowly, inevitably, that same sigh began building in his chest again.
- - - - - - - - - -
The night outside was calm, the kind of suburb silence that felt almost staged.
Crickets chirped lazily, a faint breeze moved through the half-wilted trees.
Inside the house, Rick sat at the kitchen table — no portal gun on his belt, no flask in his hand, no scowl creasing his forehead.
Just a mug of coffee steaming in front of him.
He watched Diane move about the kitchen with that familiar rhythm, plating leftovers for herself and humming softly under her breath.
For once, his mouth wasn't twisted into a smirk or grimace.
He just… smiled.
Not the cocky, "I-just-won-again" grin, but something quieter.
More dangerous in its rarity. He looked, impossibly, content.
From the living room came the muffled sound of laughter — a lighter voice mixing with Beth's smaller giggle.
Rick tilted his head toward it, his smile deepening.
Rod sat cross-legged on the floor, a holographic schematic flickering between them.
It was the rough model of a microorganism, blown up a hundredfold, its cellular structures pulsing in simulated time.
Beth, perched on her knees beside him, tilted her head.
"Wait… so you're saying if you twist the protein fold like that, it makes it harmless?"
Rod nodded, fingers dancing across the hologram controls.
"Not just harmless — useful. You can make it carry medicine through the bloodstream, or even fix damaged tissue if you program it right."
Beth's eyes widened. "That's… actually kinda cool."
Rod chuckled. "Bioengineering is always cool. People just get freaked out 'cause they don't understand it.
But you? You can learn this easy."
Beth leaned closer, peering at the shifting model.
"Could you, like… fix diseases?"
Rod's voice softened.
"Yeah. Or cause them. That's why you've gotta know the difference."
She looked at him seriously, nodding. "I get it."
Rod smiled faintly — the genuine kind, not the one he used when bluffing enemies.
"Good. Then you're already ahead of most people I've met."
Back in the kitchen, Rick took a sip of his coffee, watching Diane wipe her hands and glance back at him.
"What?" she asked, smiling faintly.
Rick shook his head. "Nothing. Just… haven't had a night like this in a long time."
And for the moment, neither of them mentioned that the night wouldn't last forever.
- - - - - - - - - -
Do you get any of that?
This chapter shows some depth for our Rick and some questions of our Rod :3
We'll dive down to Rod storyline deeper and deeper, I will try to make Rod an interesting character.
Because as of now, we know that Rod's kinda chaotic like Rick too but his love for his family overcome that.
So, what about when he's not around them?
Stay tune and eat some popcorns, because this will be a movie.
That's all guys, peace!