The scoreboard still blared Beth's name in obnoxious gold letters, replaying her victory in a slow-motion loop over the asteroid's cracked horizon.
Morty was still nursing the bruises to his ego, sitting on the hover trike like a man who had just been mugged by a stuffed animal.
Rod stretched his arms overhead, joints cracking like firecrackers in the vacuum.
"Alright, lil' devil, victory speeches later. First, hydration."
Without explanation, he popped open a wormhole the size of a garage door and stepped through.
Beth and Morty followed—half because they wanted answers, half because the idea of being left alone on a race track next to a gravity well made them queasy.
They emerged inside Rod's personal lounge.
The air smelled faintly of citrus and ozone, the floor was soft enough to sink into, and a low table was already set with tall glasses of something cold and dangerous-looking.
Beth flopped into a wide recliner like she'd just conquered the multiverse.
"Okay, Round Two. Let's go. I'm ready to crush Morty again."
Morty grunted from his beanbag chair.
"Round Two? Dude, I just got turned into a bowling pin for a space Furby. Can we not?"
Rod dropped into his seat, sipping from a glass that refracted his rainbow aura in miniature storms.
"Oh, don't worry, Round Two's not about speed.
It's about brains. Psychological resilience. Subtlety.
You know—things neither of you excel at."
Beth sat forward, instantly suspicious.
"You're saying this is… mind games?"
Rod smirked.
"Yup. A little game I call 'Spot the Threat Before It Eats You.' I drop you both into a perfectly normal, boring world and—"
His sentence cut off.
Not because he lost his train of thought—Rod never lost his train of thought.
It was the soft, two-tone chime from the armrest console.
Incoming call.
The name flashing on the display wasn't just familiar—it was personal.
SENILE GEEZER
Rod's smile faltered for the first time since the race.
He stared at it for a long, uncomfortable beat before muting the lounge's ambient noise and accepting the connection.
The holographic feed opened, and there he was.
Rick looked… worse.
Not his usual hungover-wreck worse, but hollow-eyed, stubble unshaven, shirt rumpled like he'd slept in it for a week.
The half-empty flask in his hand wasn't even trying to hide itself.
"Rod," Rick rasped, voice carrying that sandpaper weariness only too much booze and too little sleep could make.
"Need you to meet me. Now."
Rod leaned back, eyes narrowing.
"Kinda in the middle of a thing here."
Rick's gaze flicked sideways for a moment, like he didn't want the feed to catch whatever—or whoever—was in the room with him.
When his eyes came back, they were sharper. Urgent.
"This isn't a request. Just… bring yourself. No kids. Coordinates incoming."
The feed blinked out before Rod could answer.
Beth sat up. "Was that—?"
"Yeah." Rod's tone was clipped, his usual lazy amusement gone.
Morty frowned.
"He looked… bad. Like… worse than usual bad."
Rod stood, tossing back the rest of his drink in one swallow.
"Change of plans. Trial's on hold."
Beth groaned. "What? You can't just—"
"I can," Rod cut in.
"Stay here. Both of you.
And don't touch anything that hums, glows, or whispers your name."
Beth crossed her arms.
"You're being cryptic again. Who's so important you pause a godhood trial?"
Rod's hand hesitated over the control panel, just long enough for his answer to mean something.
"Fuck."
The wormhole shimmered open behind him, its light bending oddly—like it wasn't entirely sure it wanted to be seen.
Without another word, Rod stepped through, leaving Beth and Morty in the hush of the lounge, the half-finished drinks sweating quietly on the table.
The portal snapped shut behind Rod, and the air hit him like a wall—thick with burnt ozone, stale booze, and the kind of cigarette smoke that'd make your lungs file a restraining order.
The place was a wreck.
Not fun wreck, not the usual "Rick's been experimenting on the furniture again" mess.
This was… quiet chaos.
Piles of parts stacked against the wall like he'd been trying to build something but forgot what halfway through.
Empty bottles lined the floor, some smashed, some just tipped over and leaking into the carpet.
And Rick.
Sitting in a chair that looked too big for him right now, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing.
Rod took two steps in and stopped, his smile already dead.
"…Jesus fuck, old man."
Rick's eyes flicked up—slow, like he was remembering how to focus.
"What? I call you, you come. That's how it works."
"Yeah, I come," Rod said, voice sharp.
"Doesn't mean I don't notice you look like you've been skull-fucked by a black hole.
What the hell happened to you?"
Rick waved a hand lazily, like he could shoo the question away.
"Doesn't matter. Just needed you here. I got… shit to discuss."
Rod stepped closer, eyes narrowing.
"Oh, I think it does matter.
Last time you looked like this, we had to incinerate a moon just to cover your tracks."
Rick snorted, reaching for his flask.
"Pfft, amateur hour. I'm fine."
"You're not fine," Rod snapped, kicking an empty bottle out of his way.
"You've got that face, old man.
The one you get right before you either blow something up or drink yourself into a coma.
Sometimes both."
Rick took a long pull from the flask, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"You here to nag me or hear what I fucking called you for?"
Rod's jaw flexed.
"If what you called me for is half as messy as you look, then yeah, I'm gonna fucking nag you first.
Because right now, you look like a cautionary tale for why godhood trials should have a sobriety clause."
Rick chuckled—dry, humorless.
"Cute. You think I've been drinking a lot."
Rod's eyes narrowed further.
"…You've been doing more than drinking, haven't you?"
Rick didn't answer right away.
His gaze drifted toward the far corner of the room—dark, cluttered.
Rod couldn't tell if he was avoiding the question or just refusing to let his eyes meet his.
"Old man," Rod said, voice low now.
"What the fuck did you do?"
Rick's lips twitched into a smirk, but it was the kind of smirk you wear to hide a bruise.
"You think you're ready to hear it?"
Rod stared him down.
"I've seen you gut entire timelines.
Don't play the mysterious fuck with me."
For a second, they just looked at each other—silent, tense.
The air felt heavier, like the room itself was leaning in to listen.
Then Rick leaned back, flask dangling between his fingers.
"You remember… after Diane and Beth?"
Rod's expression shifted, just slightly.
"…Yeah. I remember."
Rick exhaled, long and slow.
"Let's just say… I didn't stop moving after that.
You know it, right? Just hear me up, kid.
I plotted every second. Built every tool. Burned through every shortcut I could find.
And when I couldn't move anymore…" He swirled the flask, watching the liquid inside.
"I found other ways to keep from feeling it."
Rod's voice was quieter now, but still sharp.
"You've been doing this how long?"
Rick's smirk was thin, brittle.
"Long enough that even I'm starting to notice."
Rod's hands curled into fists at his sides.
"So? I always know, you're like this. Why you're saying all of this.
Nah... you didn't fail, right?
Because if it is... then, you're a fucking idiot, old man. And not the fun kind."
Rick's eyes flicked back up, and for the first time since Rod arrived, there was a spark of something behind them—not anger, not even defiance, but that old, sharp glint of calculation.
"That's why I called you," Rick said.
"Because something's about to break.
And I'm not sure if it's gonna be me… or everything else."
Rod's jaw tightened, and he took a step closer until the shadows from Rick's slouched form fell across his face.
"You're telling me," Rod said, voice low and shaking with restrained fury, "that while I've been running my own shit—while I've been trusting you to not fuck up—you've been sitting here, rotting yourself from the inside out?"
Rick's eyes narrowed just enough to register annoyance. "Careful, kid."
"Don't 'kid' me, old man," Rod snapped, pointing a finger at him like it was a weapon.
"You're not my wise mentor.
You're the walking embodiment of every reason not to trust a goddamn thing you say."
Rick took a lazy sip, unfazed.
"Trust? The fuck are you talking about?"
Rod's laugh was sharp, humorless.
"I trusted you to keep it together around my mom. Your Diane.
I thought—stupid me—that maybe, just maybe, you had enough of your shit sorted that you wouldn't drag her into whatever emotional black hole you call a coping mechanism."
Rick's smirk faltered, just a hair.
"You think I wanted that fight with her?"
Rod's voice rose.
"I think you couldn't stop it. Because you're you.
You only know how to pull people into your orbit until they burn, and I was dumb enough to believe you'd treat her different."
Rick's tone dropped, almost warning.
"Watch it."
"Oh, I'm watching," Rod shot back, taking another step closer.
"I'm watching the same fucking pattern you've been running since before I was born.
You screw things up, big deal!
You drown in booze and strangers, and then you call me when the fire's already halfway through the building, big deal!
But you can't fuck this up! How can you fuck this up!
Are you truly this fucking loser ass bitch that can't console his woman?
You're not fucking Morty!"
Rick's stare sharpened, voice losing its lazy drawl.
"You don't know the full story, kid."
Rod's voice cracked—not from weakness, but from the sheer effort of holding himself back.
"I know enough. I know I left her with you because I thought—even with all that fucking baggage, luggage that fucking burden you hold—you'd protect her from the part of this life that chews people up.
Instead, you let your own bullshit spill all over her with no fucking plan?
F-Fuck! Are you not the self-proclaim, the Rickiest Rick!?
The smartest in these fucking realities."
Rick finally set the flask down, the metal clink echoing in the quiet.
"You think I don't feel that?"
Rod barked a bitter laugh.
"Feel it? You're fucking marinating in it, Rick.
And the worst part?" He jabbed his chest with his thumb.
"I'm mad at me. Because I knew better.
I knew you can't keep anything good from turning to ash, but I still thought maybe… for her… you'd change... you'd become better."
Rick leaned forward now, elbows on his knees, gaze cutting into him.
"You done?"
Rod's hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles whitened.
"Not even close."
For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of whatever half-dead machine was still running in the corner.
The air between them felt heavy enough to crush bone.
Rick finally broke the silence, voice quieter but sharper.
"Then say it, kid. Get it all out before you pretend you're walking away."
Rod's stare was unflinching.
"I'm saying you don't get to fuck up my mom and then come crawling to me like we're partners in this.
You want my help? You're gonna tell me everything.
No games, no smug bullshit, no deflections.
Every. Single. Thing."
Rick's smirk was gone now.
So was the pretense.
He just looked at Rod for a long moment—like he was weighing whether the truth was worth speaking out loud.
Then he reached for the flask again, but didn't drink.
Rod's fists were already trembling at his sides, the veins in his neck standing out.
"What were you supposed to do that's so hard?" His voice rose with every word.
"You're fucking Rick Sanchez!
You've bent timelines, erased planets, cheated death so many times it's a hobby, and you're telling me you couldn't fix that?
You couldn't fix her?!"
Rick's eyes narrowed, his jaw working as he set the flask down harder than he needed to.
"Kid—"
Rod stepped forward, jabbing a finger in Rick's face.
"Don't fucking call me kid right now!
Not when you're admitting you sat there while my mom was falling apart in your arms!"
Rick shot to his feet, the chair skidding back with a metallic screech.
"What, you think I wanted that? You think I was enjoying watching her fall to pieces?!"
His voice cracked into a snarl.
"You're not the only one who gives a shit about her, you self-righteous little prick!"
Rod didn't back off, chest-to-chest now.
"Oh, I know you give a shit, old man.
But giving a shit without knowing what the fuck to do about it just makes you dangerous!
And I was a fucking idiot for trusting you not to drag her into your wreckage!"
Rick's nostrils flared, and the edge in his voice went razor-sharp.
"Yeah? And what the fuck were you doing, huh?
Off on your little vacation, letting me deal with the fallout like I'm your janitor?
You dump her in my lap, fuck off to play multiversal hotshot, and then come back pissed when I can't hold your perfect little fantasy together?"
Rod's teeth clenched so hard his jaw popped.
"I left her with you because I thought—even at your worst—you'd protect her from this shit!"
Rick's voice rose another octave, fueled by anger and something sharper underneath.
"And I did! You think I told her half the crap I was working on?
You think I let her anywhere near the real fight I've been planning?
No, I kept that from her because if she saw the whole picture, she'd be gone again in a week—physically or mentally!"
Rod shoved him—hard enough to make Rick stumble back a step.
"Then why the fuck I think she look more broken now than when I left her with you?!"
Rick caught himself on the edge of the table, his own hands curling into fists.
"Because maybe, kid, she's not a god, and maybe she can't handle everything we live through like you and I can!"
His eyes burned, spitting venom.
"And maybe—just maybe—you didn't think about what it would do to her to see your face every day, knowing she's not here when all this shit happened to both of us!
Knowing how we watched our Beth growing up in all realities but not a single one Beth out there are our Beth!
You lost your mind if you think she can handle that!"
Rod's breath came fast and sharp through his nose, his aura flickering at the edges.
"You're saying this is my fault?"
Rick stepped closer again, voice low and dangerous.
"I'm saying you don't get to walk in here acting like you're the only one bleeding over her.
I was there. I held her while she fell apart. You were off just like that, dumping all this shit to me."
The air between them crackled, that old unspoken tension turning into something volatile.
Neither of them moved, both daring the other to swing first.
Rick's glare twisted into something else—mockery, deflection, the same survival mechanism he'd been using on Rod since the day they met.
He started pacing, words spilling like a busted fuel line.
"You think you're better than me, huh?
You strut around with your rainbow aura and your godhood trials, acting like you've got some higher moral ground when you're just a walking science experiment with mommy issues and a god complex.
You want to talk about responsibility?
You've been chasing power since the moment you could walk.
You're not protecting people—you're building yourself a goddamn pedestal!"
Rod's teeth ground together.
"And you think leaving me with Diane was about trust?" Rick barked out a laugh that wasn't even close to real.
"No, kid—you left her with me because you didn't want to deal with her.
Because deep down, you knew she deserved more than you could give, so you passed her off to the guy who's already buried one version of her—"
"Shut. The fuck. Up."
Rod's voice was low, lethal. But Rick didn't stop.
"—and then you come back, chest puffed out, expecting me to thank you for dumping your emotional laundry on my doorstep like I don't have my own—"
That was it.
Rod's temper broke like a dam.
His aura exploded outward in a burst of multicolored light so bright it tore through the walls, the ceiling, the sky above.
It wasn't just the room—it was space.
Entire star systems tilted in its wake.
On a distant galaxy cluster, alien astronomers were already scrambling to document the sudden prismatic flare erupting from one lonely point in the void.
Inside, the air warped, objects rattled violently, and Rick's hair whipped around from the sheer force.
Rick's expression changed instantly—gone was the mocking smirk, gone was the calculated mask.
In its place was something Rod hadn't seen in years.
Worry. And beneath that, a flicker of fear.
"Rod—stop." Rick's voice was tight, almost sharp.
Rod stepped forward, the rainbow blaze around him roaring hotter.
"Why? Afraid I'll burn your shitty lab down?"
Rick's tone cut like a knife.
"I'm not fucking joking—shut it down."
Rod scoffed.
"Or what, old man?"
Rick's eyes darted toward the hallway, then back at him.
"Because Diane's sleeping in the bedroom, you dumbfuck! You'll wake her up!"
It hit like a brick. Rod's aura snapped out, the light dying in an instant like someone had ripped the plug from the socket.
He stood there, chest heaving, mind suddenly racing.
"…The fuck did you just say?"
Rick didn't flinch, but the silence between them was loaded.
Rod's voice was quieter now, but sharper than glass.
"She's here? In this house?"
Rick exhaled through his nose, then took a slow step closer.
"Yeah," he said finally.
"And that's what I called you for. Because you need to know what happened after she got here."
Rod's breathing was still heavy, his aura residue flickering faintly like embers in the air.
"Start talking, old man."
Rick's lips twitched, but this time it wasn't worry. It was… something else.
"Oh, I'll talk," he said, leaning casually against the wall like the last five minutes hadn't been a cosmic pissing match.
"You ready for it?"
Rod's eyes narrowed.
"Get to the point."
Rick's grin widened just enough to be dangerous.
"I've been thinking… me and Diane? We should have another kid."
Rod froze. "…What?"
Rick tilted his head, drawing out every syllable like he was savoring the taste.
"You know… a baby. Little squishy thing.
Crying, pooping, probably smarter than Morty by month three."
The silence between them went nuclear.
Then Rick's grin cracked into a laugh.
Not a chuckle—an unrestrained, wheezing, gut-punching laugh.
He doubled over, clutching his stomach.
"B-BHAHHAHAHAHAH—HAHAHHAHAAAA!
Ohhh, holy shit, kid—" Rick wiped at the corner of his eye, his voice breaking from the force of it.
"—you should've seen your face. You went from rainbow god to constipated volcano in two seconds flat!"
Rod's fists tightened.
"You're fucking with me."
"Ohhh yeah," Rick said without missing a beat, still laughing.
"And it's so easy. God, you make it too easy.
You think I'm sitting here brooding about cosmic revenge, and I just slip in the 'making a baby with your mom' thing and—BOOM—you're ready to nuke a galaxy."
Rod's jaw twitched.
"I should kill you."
Rick straightened, wagging a finger at him.
"Ah-ah-ah, careful, kid. You kill me, you lose the only person who can make that face happen again.
And trust me—" He burst into another round of snickering.
"—I'm gonna be living off that mental screenshot for decades."
Rod growled low in his throat. "You're a fucking child."
Rick smirked.
"Nah. Children can't troll gods this hard."
"I'm telling mom! MOOOOOOOM!"
- - - - - - - - - -
Do you get any of that?
Bhahhahaha, motherfuckers!
That's all guys, peace!