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Stan wouldn’t sit still and it was about to drive Rick insane.
Just about every five minutes he’d look at his watch. Grumble. Shift on his end of the couch and then settle back down. Every ten minutes he’d change the channel on the TV. Whenever he heard someone that was even remotely similar to the sound of a car pulling up he’d go so far as to get up and look out the window to see if the kids were back. It was goddamn infuriating.
“Y--You know they’re not going to be home until long after you’ve passed out, right,” Rick asked, snatching the remote up as soon as Stan got off the couch to investigate some noise or other. At least he could keep them tuned in to the Gravity Falls Bargain Movie Showcase out of everything it was probably the least annoying channel they had. He didn’t know why they wouldn’t just let him fix the cable.
“You don’t know that,” Stan snapped, grumbling as he came back and dropped down on the couch. His hands instantly went to the couch cushions, feeling around for the remote. Rick snorted and slipped it down between his arm of the couch and the cushion. Not this time, Stan.
“I absolutely know that. If y--you’ll remember I--I used to play at those types of gigs. Did y--you ever get home before 3 in the morning w--when we used to go out and party?” Stan’s answer was to grumble moodily. Rick grinned, triumphant. “Exactly. We used to stay up all night getting fucking wasted and fucking bitches!”
“Reminding me of how we used to party does not make me worry less Rick,” Stan pointed out, pinching the bridge of his nose. Beside him, his friend laughed and produced a flask seemingly from nowhere.
“Aaah th--they aren’t on our level yet,” Rick replied, taking a drink from the flask and then reaching out to tap the worry wart’s shoulder. For a moment, he didn’t move, sitting stiffly in his seat and trying to ignore the persistent man at his side. Nudge. Nudge. Nudge.Deflating a little, he snagged the metal container and took a long swig from it. “Th-there we go,” Rick crowed.
“They’re just kids Rick. Sweet kids. They aren’t assholes like us,” Stan huffed. Imagining Mabel and Dipper getting into even remotely the same trouble he and Rick used to stir up made his skin crawl.
“Y--yeah. So d-don’t worry so much. Th--they aren’t doing the same sh-shit we were. Even if Morty wasn’t confused as to wh--which of the twins he wants to fuck, he’d be too awkward to seal the deal anyway. And M--Mabel’s too sweet to start fights like y--you used to. Dipper’s a wild c--card but he’s got those two to watch his back. They’re fine,” the old blue-hair ranted, snatching his flask back so he could hit it again. He passed it back to Stan and scrubbed the back of his hand against his mouth. After the flask left his fingers he cut his eyes at his friend and tilted his head. “So is everything y--you remember about being with m--me horrible.”
His tone was half mocking, half hurt.
“Not everything,” Stan admitted, glancing over at the skinny man on the other end of the couch. Rick was staring at the TV shoulders hunched up around his ears and arms crossed over his chest. Defensive as always.
“Y--you remember if m--meeting me at one of my gigs was one of the horrible things,” he asked, not taking his eyes away from the screen.
“Woudln’t call it horrible,” Stan said with a small smile.
**************
Stan’s feet slapped loudly against the wet sidewalk as he ran, shooting panicked looks over his shoulders every few seconds. To make sure the cops weren’t catching up to him. Once again he’d pushed his luck. What had been a pretty sweet gig hustling pool had turned into a bar fight, which lead to the police being called. The police being called meant Stan took off running. Running and having people shouting about him attacking them drew attention and before he knew it he was running from the cops… again.
Hearing them drawing closer he ducked down an alley, springing through it as quickly as he could and then hurling himself down a more populated street. A woman yelped as he barreled past her, his shoulder catching her and sending her stumbling to the side. Ahead of him a door was propped open. Hardly enough to be noticeable. Anyone else would have passed it without a thought, but Stanley Pines (Or as his current ID said: Stuart Aberford) was a man on the run and the handy escape route stood out to him like a beacon, drawing him in.
He flung the door open carelessly when he reached it, ducking inside and slamming it behind him. Wherever he was the music was too loud for him to actually hear when the stampede of pigs passed and so he stayed pressed against the door, eyes staring up at the ceiling as he waited tensely for the doors to fly open. Thirty seconds passed. Nothing happened. Fifty seconds, still nothing. A full minute and then---
“Who the fuck are you?”
Stan couldn’t contain the startled yelp. Jerking his chin down, he found himself being glared at by an olive skinned young man with a unibrow and blue hair that looked like he’d recently stuck his dick in a light socket. A bit of metal glinted on the far left side of the man’s brow in the dim backstage lighting as it crawled up his forehead. Dark brown eyes narrowed when he didn’t respond right away. The lanky man stalked closer, snapping his fingers in front of Stan’s face.
“Hey! C-can you hear me? Wh--Who the fuck are you,” he barked making Stan jerk into gear and glare up at the blue-haired punk.
“Hey back off, man. I’m not lookin’ for trouble or nothin! I just needed a place to lay low for a second! Chill,” he grumbled, hunching his shoulders defensively. The punk didn’t say anything for a moment, eyes locked with Stan’s. The tension in the moment seemed to swell into something suffocating until suddenly he grinned, impish and sharp, and suddenly Stan could breathe again.
“Alright, big guy,” the punk said, lunging in and hooking his arm around Stan’s neck, leading him further into the building. “Y--you want a shot or somethin? And you know you--you--you still haven’t told me who you are,” he pointed out, guiding a confused Stanley around speakers and people as they passed. The more people they saw, the more he started to realize how out of place he looked. Jeans, white shirt, sheepskin coat. Everyone else was decked out in dark clothes and spikes. Both of which didn’t seem to have much purpose. Especially since most of the clothes were so torn apart or tight there didn’t seem to be much point in wearing them. The man in dragging him around was wearing a black tank that was ripped apart to show off his front from the belly button up and a collar. There had been some red lettering on what was left on the front but he didn’t bother reading it earlier. “Hey! Birdperson! W--when are we up?”
“Soon Rick,” A voice said as they came to a halt and wow… Maybe he wasn’t the oddest person out. Stan blinked a couple times and tilted his head. The person regarding him in a similar fashion was wearing a feathery cowl and had wings? “Who is this,” he asked, tilting his head toward Stan as if he wasn’t even there.
“Fuck if I--I know! Mystery Man showed up at the back d--door. Figuuuurp--oh god Figured why not keep ‘em around for a bit?. Besides cops are chasing him. C--can’t just toss him out on the street,” The blue haired man laughed, letting him go. To fish around in the front pocket of his tight leather pants, using two fingers to pull up a little baggie of white powder.
Stan frowned questioningly and wrinkled his nose as he looked at the punk, now named Rick, while he tapped out a line of powder onto the back of his hand. After carefully resealing the bag he snorted the line and let out an excited howl, throwing his head back. With a bit of coke ringing his left nostril the man started to sniffle, lifting a hand to pinch at his nose a couple times.
“FUCKING M--M--MOTHERFUCKER,” Rick shouted, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Y--you… you make yourself at home. Enjoy the the backstage experience. Hey where’s Squanchy? He has th--the liquor right? HEY SQUANCHY WH--WHERE YOU AT!?”
And with that the man was gone, bounding further off in search of whoever Squanchy was and leaving Stan with the Birdperson who was watching him intently. It was unnerving. The silence between them stretched, filled with the cacophony of music coming from behind the curtain. Music, being a term Stan was using loosely. To him it just sounded like a lot of screaming and instrumental noise. It certainly wasn’t something anyone could dance to in his opinion.
“You will have to either excuse or ignore Rick. He is,” A pause as if the man… bird?... Was looking for a word. “Purveyor of all things he finds attractive and, or, interesting.”
Just what was that supposed to mean?!
“Listen Birdman--”
“Birdperson,” the man interrupted.
“Er.. Right. Listen, I’m gonna get going. The cops gotta have lost me by now. I should really get goin’,” Stan started, thrusting a thumb over his shoulder as he spoke. He was wearing his welcome in this town anyway. It would be better if he went ahead and got moving before he got into any real trouble. “Sorry for crashing your shin-dig or whatever.”
“It is alright. I hope you leaving is not caused by feelings of intrusion. If not you then Rick would surely have found someone else to invite backstage. You are welcome to stay if you would like,” Birdperson said in his kind, but nearly monotone, voice.
He could stay, Stan thought to himself. Though it seemed the longer he hung around the weirder things were getting.
“Nah… Nah. Thanks but I’m just gonna--”
“Y--you’re just gonna sit the fu--urgh--ck down and have yourself a fucking shot is w-what you’re gonna do,” Rick said, stalking back onto the scene with an oddly shaped bottle full of lime green liquid. The bottle wasn’t terribly strange in appearance. It had the neck of a wine bottle but the body was folded in places, making it look like a star shaped prism that was twisted in middle. “I c--can’t believe you were going to leave. Y--you know how hard sh--she worked to get in this bitch,” Rick asked nodding to a girl as she walked past. Her cheeks were a startling shade of red and she was wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I--I invite you back and all I ask is that you drink with us and y---you---you wanna leave?! Seems kinda rude d--don’t you think?”
Stan ground his teeth. Worded like that it made him seem kinda like a douche for wanting to get away so quickly. It wasn’t his problem if Suzie Q or whoever she was, had sucked a cock or two to get back stage. Rick was grinning at him challengingly. Though whether the lanky man was daring him to leave or stay, he couldn’t say. One thing he was certain of was that it was infuriating. With a growl, Stan stomped forward, snatching the bottle from the other man’s hand.
Rick’s grin only widened so Stan supposed he’d only done exactly what the guy wanted. Still, there was nothing he could do but drink without looking like an idiot. Shooting a scowl in the string-bean’s direction, the brawny young man tilted the bottle back and took the biggest gulp of liquor he could manage. Which he instantly regretted. Without dropping the drink he hunched forward, bracing a hand on his knee as he started to cough.
It didn’t taste like anything he’d tasted before. Sour, spicy, and something… something completely out of this world. Stan’s mouth watered with the sour taste, almost like drinking orange juice after brushing his teeth. Only instead of there being an almost sweet after-taste lingering around his molars, there was nothing but spice. It made eyes eyes water and is nose start to run. A hand touched his shoulder and judging by the gentle weight on his back, almost like a blanket, he assumed it was Birdguy or whatever. There was also a loud cackling echoing in his ears that he assumed to be Rick.
“Oh my squanch! Did you just let him try to chug that,” a new high pitched voice asked. “You’re a squanching asshole, Rick” the screechy voice declared with a laugh. Stan was inclined to agree.
“What the fuck was that shit,” the man sputtered as his coughing died down. He straightened up, glad for the hand/wing on his shoulder because his head was spinning. Stumbling back, he did his best to focus on the punk’s face, watching as he kept on grinning that impish grin of his. Only when he snatched the bottle back there were colorful trails following his every movement. “Holy fuck.”
“Hahaha! Th--that’s right m--motherfucker. Bet y--you never tasted sh--shit like this before! Just don’t--don’t you worry about where it c--ca--aaame from,” Rick replied, smacking Stan on the back. It was probably meant to be friendly but all it did was make the somewhat shorter man pitch to the side. Birdperson kept him from stumbling too bad as he found his feet, though. “Woah there bu--buddy.”
As Rick lifted the bottle to take a drink, an orange, cat-like thing crawled up onto a battered case standing by the punk’s hip. Stan thought he was hallucinating until the man next to it passed him the bottle. On the other side of the curtain the music ground to a halt, though Stan only barely noticed with the blood rushing in his ears as it was.
“I’d like to thank all you assholes for coming out to see us but I know we aren’t why you showed up!” The voice held an air of playfulness despite how they were talking to the audience. Not that they seemed to care as they cheered even louder than they had been before. Probably because the main event was about to explode onto the stage.
“Rick,” Birdperson began, getting a dismissive wave from the man in question.
“I--I go-oouught it,” he belched, wrapping an arm around Stan’s shoulders. The dark haired young man blinked rapidly as he was led further back stage, trying to dispel the pulsing colors surrounding everything’s edges. Rick led him back to a couch sitting along the back wall. It wasn’t really in a separate room, but it was cut off from most of the back stage with cases used to transport speakers and instruments. There were already a small crowd of people gathered, other musicians and their groupies.
“Everybody get ready for the band you really came to see! THE FLESH CURTAINS!”
Stan was shoved onto the couch, landing roughly between two girls who giggled deliriously and latched onto him with goofy, drugged-out smiles. One’s eyes were staring fixedly into space and he could feel her jaw working as she rested her head on his shoulder and ground her teeth. From above him, Rick grinned, pressing a bottle into his free hand. At least he could recognize it as a plain old bottle of whiskey. Cheap whiskey.
“Y--You stay right there. I--I gotta get on stage,” he said, as the crowd out in front got even louder. “The--these guys will take c--care of you till I get back.” Rick grinned, patting stan roughly atop the head as he turned to leave.
“Not your dog, Punk,” Stan shouted after him, making the man cackle as he disappeared behind the speaker and instrument cases. He could’ve gotten up to leave… but the girl to his right, far more aware than the pink haired one taking up his left shoulder was unscrewing the cap on the bottle of whiskey.
“Chill oooout, dude,” she giggled. Her long hair was dyed green, the darkness of her roots showing close to her scalp. The audience roared, presumably as Rick stepped out on the stage. “Rick is totally awesome,” she continued taking the bottle from him. A trail of purple followed her arm. She drank from the bottle like a pro, even if she shuddered at the taste as she passed it back. “I mean he’s an asshole. But he throws these majorly cool parties after the show. You should really stick around.”
No… No he shouldn’t stick around. He should leave. He needed to clear out his motel room. Get his shit, get out of town. Besides, whatever Rick the Dick had given him was making him hallucinate.On the other hand, he was already pretty buzzed from whatever the hell that green stuff was. And, looking around, he seemed to be surrounded, mostly by pretty women and a few people he couldn’t quite tell about. Of course there were men in the group but they were outnumbered.
The green haired girl nudged him with the bottle, grinning widely. A little glimmer of metal peeked out from below her lower lip. “Come on. What’s the harm in a little fun.”
**************
“Can’t say I clearly remember quite all what happened while you were on stage. It’s one of the many moments of that night that are kinda hazy,” Stan admitted, snorting as he rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. Beside him, Rick’s face twitched into the same mischievous look he’d seen so often that night.
“Th--that’s because you went and got sh--shit faced while I was gone,” the man muttered, taking a swig from the flask they’d been passing back and forth. After Draining the last drops he shoved it down into the couch beside the TV remote. On the screen a pretty brunette was being chased through her house by an oddly dapper werewolf dressed in plaid. “I’m surprised you c--can remember any of the night at all.”
“You know something I remember very clearly is finding that stutter of yours cute,” Stan pointed out, smirking as Rick’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click and his ears went red. Saying something sweet always had been the best way to shut him up, even if only momentarily.
“I thought you said I pissed you off,” Rick grumbled, making his friend laugh on the other end of the couch.
“Oh you did. You still do! It’s one of the things I like about ya, I suppose,” Stan replied, delightedly watching the other man squirm and his blush spread to his cheeks. Even in the dim light it was hard to miss. “You’re kinda like one of those cats that hides under the couch and then jumps out to skin your ankles. Fucking adorable, little monsters.”
“If I--I-I’m such a little monster why’d you stick around,” Rick asked moodily, making Stan arch a brow. The former musician always had been the best at picking out the worst possible insinuations out of a sentence.
“What? Don’t you remember the rest of the night,” Stan prodded, ignoring the way Rick had twisted his words. All he got in return was a confused look.
“W--we went back to the hotel and partied till we puked, w-what else was there,” the skinny man asked, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. He didn’t like the look he was getting from his barrel chested buddy, like he knew something Rick didn’t.
“Allow me to enlighten you, Sanchez,” Stan insisted with a grin.
**************
After the concert had ended Rick had come backstage and started herding everyone out of the building like a coked out shepherd, bouncing off the walls and shouting about how they were going to party until they died. Everyone spilled out into the streets, the blue haired maniac leading the way. In the flock of punks, hidden in the depths of their dark clothes, wild hair, and piercings, Stan was letting himself get moved along, his arm wound around the green haired girl’s shoulders. Hers had crept around his waist and the two kept each other from falling over as the group migrated through the streets.
They stomped their way into a hotel, much to the dismay of the young man at the front desk. Whatever his concerns were seemed to be assauged by the stack of bills Rick slid in his direction as he hung back, letting people squish themselves into the elevator ahead of him. Stan caught himself staring at the back of the man’s head. Goosebumps dotted the exposed flesh of his back, having just been out in the autumn cooled night. At some point he’d lost his shirt or rather, the rag he passed off as one, and as he leaned over the counter the ridges of his spine stood up off his arched back before disappearing between the valley between his shoulderblades.
“Don’t let how skinny he is fool you. Dude can fuck like a beaaaast,” the girl he was holding onto giggled in his ear. He hadn’t even realized he came to a complete halt to stare at his kidnapper/host. At her words he could practically feel the blood rush to his face.
“What! I’m not-- I mean-- I wasn’t looking at him thinking of different ways to give him goosebumps,” Stan slurred, making the girl snicker. She patted him on the cheek with a cold, thin fingered hand
“Don’t wooooorry! Everyone here’s cool! No---ugh shit--- No judgement! Right Rick!?” The girl grinned as she leaned forward, grinning brightly.
Stan slowly turned his head, feeling the heat in his face intensify as he found himself being stared at by the blue haired man. He had tucked his face into his arm, watching them over the sharp point of his shoulder. Even with his mouth hidden from view it wasn’t hard to tell that his smiling. Probably the same infuriating grin that made Stan want to punch him in the mouth.
“Th--that’s right Babe. C--Completely judgement free zone,” Rick assured, prowling over to the duo. The rest of the herd had crowded around the elevators, waiting for one to come down so they could cram the rest of their party in like sardines. “Y--you have fun tonight Janet,” he asked, walking around in front of them and taking her pointed chin between his thumb and forefinger while he rested the other arm on Stan’s shoulder. Janet nodded, giggling up at the musician. “Y--ya wanna have a little m--more,” he asked, letting go of her face to reach into his back pocket. When his hand came back there was a little square tab of paper on his finger. Grinning, he held it over her nose, waiting until she leaned up, trying to lick it off his finger before popping it in his own mouth.
“Riiiick,” she whined, pouting as she looked up at the man through bloodshot, hazel eyes. As her bottom lip jutted out the man chuckled. It was nothing like his manic, taunting bursts of laughter from before. Instead dropping into a lower register and rumbling through his skinny chest.
“Awe I-I-I’m sorry,” he teased, hooking his finger under her chin and dragging his thumb over her lower lip.
Stan was just starting to hit the peak of discomfort, being stuck in such close proximity to flirting that seemed like it was bordering on foreplay. And then Rick dove in and captured Janet’s lips in a kiss that made her go limp against Stan’s side as she whimpered into the other man’s mouth, breaking the glass ceiling of his discomfort scale. For a moment he squirmed, wanting to disengage from whatever this was, when Rick opened his eyes and pinned him in place. His pupils were blown wide with nothing but a thin ring of honey-gold-brown pressed into the dark edges of his iriss. They made Stan think of a Solar Eclipse. It wasn’t until he detached his mouth from Janet’s that Rick broke their staring contest, refocusing on her and smirking as she stuck her tongue out at him to show the little square of paper resting just under the metal ball resting in the center of her tongue. Stan finally felt like he could breathe again.
“Thank yooou,” she sing-songed, stepping forward so that Rick had to fall to the side of her. Laughing, he slapped her ass and followed as they came up to the back end of the last group grabbing an elevator.
“Y--you’re welcome,” he snorted, elbowing his way into the elevator along with everyone else and slapping the button for whatever floor they were going to.
Thankfully the ride, crushed into a bunch of drunk and high party-goers, was short lived. When they reached their floor everyone piled out, following the noise to a door at the end of the hall. Well, everyone except for Stan. Rick had snagged him by the back of the coat, his bony fingers slipping under the collar of his shirt and curling into that as well. Janet was swept away form him as the crowd moved, leaving him alone with the young musician. The doors closed and then suddenly Stan was spun around and shoved up against them.
Rick caged him in against the reflective metal doors, with one hand against his head and the other resting on his hip. Every muscle in Stan’s body tensed and he pressed himself back against the doors wanting to phase through them. Drunkenly, he hoped that none of the girls he’d done the exact same thing to ever felt as panicked as he did in that moment.
“So, Mystery Man, y--you wanna tell me your name before w--we get started or what,” Rick asked, eager and teasing as his hand slid upward, rucking up Stan’s shirt so his hand could stroke over bare skin. It left a path of tingling sparks that bounced over his skin and burned right through him.
“What,” Stan spouted dumbly, eyes huge. At least the colors and trails had stopped because he didn’t think he could handle it if the moment was anymore surreal. Rick’s aquiline nose scrunched as he laughed and leaned in to steal a kiss so quick that Stan couldn’t have stopped him if he tried. It was just a quick press of lips, almost cute, especially in comparison to how he’d plundered Janet’s mouth in the lobby.
“Y--your name! You--you got one right,” he asked, arching his brow. When he still didn’t get an answer from the somewhat stunned man Rick simply shrugged. “Th--that’s fine. I don’t need a name,” he chuckled.
The next time Rick leaned in for a kiss, his hand came off the door and cupped the back of Stan’s neck, tugging him closer as he sealed their mouths together in a fierce, almost mean kiss. Teeth sank into his lower lip and when his jaw dropped for him to gasp at the sudden jolt of pain a tongue slipped into his mouth. The hard ball of a tongue ring scraped against Stan’s hard palate and he suddenly jerked, getting his hands on Rick’s chest and shoving him back.
“What the fuck,” he snapped, eyes huge. For his part, Rick looked confused.
“Wh--what do you mean what th--th--the fuck,” he asked, fingers curling into the back of Stan’s coat and dropping back down to his hip from where the one had climbed up to his waist. “Wh--why do you th--think I-I let you stay instead of kicking y--your ass out earlier,” he asked, tilting his head while he spoke. “And down in the lobby. Th--thought you were down to fuck,” Rick said bluntly, letting the hand on the man’s hip drift down over it and down to squeeze Stan’s ass through his jeans as he gave him an absolutely filthy grin.
And then Stan popped him in the nose.
Rick roared as he wheeled away from Stan who was snarling at the, fists raised, as he drunkenly swayed against the door. In a detached sort of way he realized there was blood on the knuckles of his right fist. Sure enough, there was blood dripping from Rick’s face as the man cupped his hand over the nose, when he turned to face his assailant.
“FUCKING JESUS CHRIST,” Rick shouted, eyes burning with anger. Letting out another frustrated cry he spun to the side and struck out at the wall with his foot. For as skinny as he was the kick landed with a surprising amount of force. “Y--YOU COULD’VE J-JUST TOLD ME TO BACK OFF! FUCKING SHIT!”
That… wasn’t what Stan expected. While crowded up against the wall, listening to Rick explain how the main reason he’d let him stay when he found him backstage was because he wanted to fuck him, he’d worked up some horrible scenario in his head. Instead of just jerking away and lashing out at the walls, he had envisioned Rick attacking him in return. In his mind’s eye, everything had gotten a lot more rapey.
“What,” Stan blinked, letting his fists fall to his side as Rick rounded on him, blood pouring from his nose and dripping off his chin.
“What,” the man repeated mockingly, before reaching out to shove Stan out of the way with his bloodied hand. “Fuck! Is that the--the only word you know?!” He slapped the button to open the doors and started to stomp off. “I--I’m a fucking douchebag not a rapist,” he barked over his shoulder. “All y--you needed to do w--was say no!”
He continued to mutter to himself as he stalked down the hall, heading in the opposite direction of everyone else. Stan slowly walked out of the elevator, watching the man leave. He didn’t look quite like the same guy that Stan had seen so far that night. Ricks’ shoulders were hunched up around his ears, arms held tight to his chest. One was probably clutching his nose while the other hand’s bloody fingers curled peeked out from under his elbow, curling around his ribs. Anger was rising off him like steam but there was also a little bit of something dejected about him too as he weaved his way down the hall.
Stan sighed. He felt bad. He wondered how many other people had reacted the same way; only because they took issue with Rick being gay, not because they were confused by themselves or misreading the situation.
It hadn’t even been that he hadn’t like it, exactly. He just didn’t like feeling like a cheap fuck. If he was being entirely honest he’d liked the feeling of those huge, long-fingered hands on his neck and his side. He even liked the kiss… he shouldn’t have. Grunting, Stan shook himself out of his thoughts. There was no way he was going to try and sort through all those tangled up emotions. He’d sat on them for the past eight or ten years, no reason he had to start picking at it now… yet. Sighing, the burly young man started off at a brisk walk that was more of a serpentine stumbling. Before he caught up to Rick, the man turned around, glaring at him.
“Do-don’t make me kick y--your fucking ass,” he snarled, squaring his narrow shoulders as he turned to face the other man, jaw set. With all the blood on his face he looked a little terrifying.
“My name is Stan,” Stan blurted out, making Rick blink in startled confusion. “Look… I just wanted to say I’m sorry for… ya know,” he motioned to his own face to indicate the punk’s nose. “Kinda freaked out there. I--uh… I don’t care that you’re ya know,” Stan shrugged, swaying slightly where he stood. “I’m just,” he wrinkled his nose and shrugged.
Rick looked at him for a little bit longer, mistrust clear on his face.
“Probably got whiskey dick anyway,” he finally said, wiping his nose on the back of his wrist. It really only managed to move the blood around his face. More just dripped down to take the place of what he’d swiped through. “Wh-why didn’t you just say y--you weren’t into m--men?”
Stan shrugged and looked around uncomfortably. No judgement, he’d been assured in the lobby.
“I’m not… not,” he tried awkwardly. Rick seemed to understand, though, because his shoulders untensed and he huffed.
“I--I get it,” Rick stuttered, looking Stan up and down before jerking his head in the direction he’d been going. “W--want to see something cool,” he asked. At stan’s unsure look he raised his hands in a placating gesture and grinned, showing off bloodstained teeth. “No funny business. Promise to leave room for Jesus and everything,” he joked before turning around and heading toward the end of the hall. No matter if Stan followed him or not he was going to go wherever it was he was going.
So Stan followed.
They ended up at a door labeled “Roof Access: Employees Only”. Rick gave the handle a testing push, not at all surprised by the fact that it was locked. Working his hand into his back pocket, not the same one he’d pulled the acid form before, he retrieved a little vile of shockingly yellow liquid. There was a soft black bulb on the top of the lid like the little droppers that would come with Stanford’s chemistry sets that he’d get when they were kids. Unscrewing the cap, Rick used the little dropper to deposit a few little drips of liquid onto the door’s lock and then stepped back.
Stan was surprised when a hole started to form where the lock had been, but not very. It seemed like something his brother would’ve done. Rick, on the other hand, seemed a little disappointed that Stan wasn’t more amazed. Humming, he leaned back, lifted a foot, and kicked against the door’s push-handle, making it bang open into the dimly lit stairwell.
“Either y--you’re a lot smarter than you look. Or you know someone who is. People are u--usually way more impressed by that sh--shit,” he said before heading up the stairs.
The walk wasn’t long, just a short stack of stairs, a landing, and then another that lead up to the roof. Rick shoved through that door as well and walked out onto the Hotel’s roof, head tilted back to look up at the star-splattered sky. They weren’t nearly as visible in the city as they were where the lights actually shut off at night.
“Look up at all those fucking stars, Stan. Do y--you have any idea how God damn huge the universe is,” he asked grinning stupidly at the sky. Laughing, he let himself tip backward until he fell flat on his back on the hard, cement floor. “I--I’m going to see every fucking inch of it! No star unturned, baby!”
**************
“Wh-what? That--That’s it?! You decided to take me up on my offer to be part of our road crew because I w-was drunkenly rambling about exploring space! Wh-what sort of cheesy shit is that,” Rick demanded, glaring at the side of Stan’s head.
“Eh. I needed to skip town anyway. Partying all the time and getting to know the punk-rock genius in love with the stars was just a perk,” Stan teased, making Rick roll his eyes. “Did you ever get to tear through all the corners of the universe?” The bespectacled man turned his head to look at Rick who suddenly couldn’t meet his eyes. “Wish I could’ve seen it with you. Bet they have great ice cream.”
The skinny old man flinched a little end clenched his jaw. He was wondering when that’d come up.
“Stan,” he said quietly, looking down at his lap. “I--I’m sorry. I c--couldn’t stay.”
“Why the hell not,” Stan asked, frustrated as he stared at the other man. After all the years since he’d last seen him, he thought that Rick owed him an answer.
Out of all the things they’d shared since he showed up that summer none of it touched on why he left. He had told Stan how he got married, had a little girl, lost them both because of how wrapped up he had gotten in his work. Rick had told him about his adventures with Morty and some of the ones he’d had on his own. He’d even told him about visiting a dimension where you he hadn’t left Stan to begin with! Never once did the topic of why he left come up.
“B--because I-I-I became a fugitive on a galactic scale, Stan,” Rick burst, squeezing his eyes shut. “Birdperson, Squanchy, and I were spreading Anti-Galactic Federation propaganda while we were touring as the Flesh Curtains,” he said, swallowing hard and lifting his gaze to fix it on the TV. “Th--then things j--just kept getting bigger. I--I kept getting m-more involved. I-I-I loved you,” he whispered the last three words and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, lifting his hands bury his face in their palms. “I d-didn’t want them to find y-you.”
“What about your wife, Beth? You didn’t want them to find me but you went and got married and had a kid? That doesn’t add up,” Stan said, shocked but still needing answers. He wasn’t entirely surprised by Rick’s criminal status but the fact that he’d gotten into something so serious he didn’t want Stan to join in. That was the kicker. Rick had never had any problem enlisting Stan in helping him do things like rob research facilities or really anything. There had been a time when anything Rick would plan involved Stan going with him.
“D--diidn’t happen till my mid thirties I didn’t th--think you’d take me back…It was a half-assed attempt at getting out. Didn’t work,” Rick said, curling his fingers to dig his nails into his hairline. “I--I wanted to make the universe a better place for m--my little girl to grow up in. But I--I j--just fucked up my marriage and gave m--my kid daddy issues. After all th--that I c-came to the conclusion th--that I fuck up the lives of everyone around me. But it do--doesn’t m--matter because th--there’s nearly infinite timelines and dimensions wh-wherein I-I’m not a complete asshole. It do--doesn’t m--ma-matter if I--- If I am, th--though because we--we’re all j--just going to die anyway!”
As Rick’s stuttering got worse and worse, Stan reached out to place a hand in the center of the man’s back, rubbing in circles between his shoulderblades. The man was just as filled to bursting with self hatred as ever, it seemed. Rick tried to stay more, but after getting stuck on the word ‘I’ a few too many times he just closed his mouth and let out a shuddering breath. Stan had long ago let go of his hatred over the fact that Rick had just up and left him without so much as a Dear-John letter. Even if he hadn’t he doubted he could hate the man more than Rick hated himself.
“Jesus Rick,” Stan said quietly, leaning over so he could hook his hand around the gangly scientist’s waist and drag him into his side. For a moment he just sat there, tense and agitated, until inch by inch, he relaxed and let his head rest against Stan’s shoulder. “You’re gonna have to tell me about this Galactic Federation bullshit and what all you did to piss them off sometime,” he said with a little smile, trying to lighten the mood a little.Rick snorted. Better than nothin’. “And I guess, yeah; in the big picture what we do doesn’t really matter but if you look at the smaller view it all does. You and the things you do might not matter to the universe. But it matters to me. It matters to your grandkids, your daughter, your idiot son-in-law. Hell, even Mabel would be upset if anything happened to you now. You matter, Rick. Even if it’s only to the people who love you.”
Rick was silent after that and Stan didn’t push.