Chapter Text
After the Battle of Blood Ridge, Birdperson’s last words to Rick had been “If you need me, use the beacon,” and Rick had instinctively responded cruelly and sarcastically. He was embarrassed about the rejection, humiliated from being vulnerable and getting shot down, and mortified for even having these feelings in the first place. BP had said no, the war wasn’t over, and to Rick, that was all there was left to say. The only fragments of their friendship would be their shared conquests… and limited-edition prints from The Flesh Curtain’s first show. Besides that, it was like nothing had even happened.
Rick thinks maybe letting BP leave was one of the few mercies he’s given- most people don’t get out of friendships with Rick Sanchez alive. He’s buried too many allies, and BP was just too important to ever be one of them. Rick rationalizes that it’s better to let the regret fester inside of him than to have it be grief. Who is he to condemn BP as selfish for wanting to stay his own person? Rick knows how toxic he is; he absorbs unique characters, uses them as long as they’re entertaining and assets in a battle, and then throws them away. So Rick decides that, for Birdperson’s own good, he’s never going to use the beacon, even if it seals his fate.
Granted, Rick’s never been one to stick to his word. To his credit, he does resist calling on BP for years, letting time numb the wound of his friend’s rejection, and learning to accept that their paths were no longer intertwined. But one day he’s caught, trapped in something he should have seen coming. The intergalactic version of a Nigerian prince scam, Rick had fallen for a “bounty hunter’s” claims of capturing Rick Prime.
He had known going into it that there was only a slim chance the bounty hunter had caught the right Rick. Ricks are notorious liars, and Rick Prime is infamously elusive - what proof was there that he wasn’t walking right into a trap? Now, sitting in a tight glass cell, starving, drugged up, and bound, Rick acknowledges that there was no proof. His desperate, hopeless quest for revenge has culminated in him dying in a box. Or…
It’s the only implant his captors didn’t forcibly remove, too small and foreign to detect. A tiny, flat disk embedded in his wrist. The last resort. He musters his strength and shoves his side repeatedly into the wall until he hears a slight pop, and can feel the sharp pain of a dislocated shoulder. “Good enough,” he mumbles, pulling his arm out of the straightjacket with some struggle and wincing. He then gently but firmly presses his left wrist to a magnet deep in the marrow of his collarbone. The disk emits a quiet whistling noise, then stops abruptly. He’s never had to use it before, he’s never even wanted to use it before, and it occurs to Rick that it may not even work… or possibly worse, BP had the remote beacon removed after years without contact.
Whatever the state of the device, Rick is in no condition to worry about it. The pain from his shoulder, combined with his drug-addled, malnourished state, sends him into the bliss of unconsciousness. He doesn’t think Birdperson is coming… why would he?
When Rick wakes up, staring up into the clouded constellations, he thinks he’s dead. Dead or dying, at least. He’s never died before -most people haven’t- and it occurs to him that if he were wrong about the existence of a higher power, he’s certainly not going to the good place. Rick decides the night skyscape quickly passing over him and the intense soreness of his entire body marks his descent into hell.
“I sense you are awake, that is good,” says a monotone voice from below.
Never mind, Rick’s brain backtracks. God is a lie and death isn’t real! He cheers in his mind. But still, where is he? It hurts to move even a muscle, but Rick manages to crane his neck to the side. He sees a strange, brown and white speckled shape… a wing, almost unrecognizable from this angle. He tries the other side and (understandably) sees another wing.
“You had me worried,” states the voice from below blankly. “I have never seen you in that bad shape.”
Rick’s mind finally puts the pieces together, and he recognizes the steady frame holding him up. He’s securely strapped to Birdperson’s back, and they’re flying… somewhere. “You- you came, Pers,” Rick croaks out. His throat is so dry from days without water, and words feel unfamiliar on his tongue.
“Yes.”
Rick smiles, he hadn’t realized how much he missed BP’s simple responses. “Thank you,” he says quietly, unsure why it feels like a confession.
“You should rest. We will be home soon.”
Being carried inside Birdperson’s home is a new experience for Rick, but oddly comforting. He isn’t awake when they land and he’s unstrapped from BP’s back, like a schoolbag being discarded from the back of a child, only much more gentle, but he does wake when he’s picked up again. There’s something extraordinary about the delicate way BP lifts Rick in his arms, his wings cradling the fallen comrade protectively. BP’s never been the kind of person to overstep boundaries -consent is a crucial value in his culture- and Rick’s never been the kind of person to request physical affection, so the fleeting touches as BP shifts Rick to a more comfortable position are unfamiliar but welcome. Rick feels bashful at this vulnerability, depending on BP so heavily, but he knows he’s too weak to protest, and he allows his friend to bring him inside to the bed. There’s an unspoken tenderness neither of them has felt before, the soft embrace, strong arms so subtly expert as Birdperson transfers Rick into the downy nest. Rick drowses off immediately, feeling the safest he has in a long time, but wakes up alone.
It’s not the first time Rick’s woken up alone on a strange planet with a pounding headache and pain like he’s lost a few ribs, but it’s the first time he’s been this surprised at his circumstances. A mere day before he’d been sure he was dead meat, and now he’s sandwiched between fluffy white pillows, with an IV connected to his arm and a plate of cold food on the nightstand.
He knows where he is, the foggy memories of the night before slowly coming back to him. But where’s BP now? He wouldn’t have left Rick, would he? Saved his life and then abandoned him? Rick slumps over in the nest, pulling his blanket up past his chest so it covers him from toe to chin, but he feels something hard prodding his side. He reaches down and instantly recognizes the shape of the portal gun.
Sighing, Rick removes the IV line, shovels in as much food as his stomach can handle, and shoots a portal underneath him.
Birdperson, who had just been returning from a hunt during the night, sees the green flash from the window and shakes his head sadly. There’s no way of knowing the next time their paths will cross, but it’s not in BP’s nature to chase after Rick.
Not yet.