Chapter Text
Morty didn't mean for this to happen.
Well, Morty doesn't mean for a lot of things to happen, considering he doesn't know what is going on ninety percent of the time, so when things do happen it can't be fully his fault.
Whether its brain slugs or crystal trades or laser-gun warfare between aliens he doesn't know the species of or how his parent's marriage is going. Yeah, Morty's pretty clueless most of the time, and this includes right now in the sub-basement under his and his family's suburban home.
And really - really - it's not like it's entirely his fault to be honest.
Rick was down here with him, at least for the last bit. Which was when it all went wrong, so, if it's anyone's fault it's Rick's! And- and it's not like Morty's the smartest man in the universe, so how could he have known this was going to happen?
Morty's not sure that this argument is going to hold up very well when Rick wakes up.
If he wakes up.
"Aw jeez, aw jeez!" Morty mumbles to himself, dropping the gutted mind-blower gun on the metal floor like it burnt him and kneeling besides Rick.
His hands twitch as a hundred different movements rush through his head. He settles for pulling at his own hair in panic.
He only wanted to find a way to alter the mind-blower gun keep his memories he wanted to keep! He just wanted to stop his Grandpa from blasting things from his head he didn't want him to! Is that so wrong?
And if Morty had to be completely realistic with himself, he had next to no idea what he was even doing other than poking at the weapon's mechanical guts with tweezers. He wasn't even done before his Grandpa, holding some doohickie like he usually did, slammed the door open startling Morty and-
He only wanted to mess with Rick's stuff, not mess with Rick!
"Rick! Rick, wake up! And don't kill me when you do!" He shakes Rick's shoulders quickly, and blinks twice to make sure he's seeing things right.
Because his Grandpa Rick is called Grandpa for a reason. He's gross and wrinkly and he smells like motor oil, booze and vomit. He's balding and he cracks his knuckles so loud it sounds like he's breaking his fingers, and even with all of his cyber, sci-fi, bullshit body-enhancers he still complains about his back and/or joints at least once a day.
Because he's old. He's old as shit. Old enough that his wrinkles look like permanent gouges in his face even when he's not scowling at Morty.
This Grandpa Rick's skin is smooth.
Morty stops shaking him back and forth and gapes at him. Smooth skin means no deep angry wrinkles, but also apparently means no gross spittle on his face and with his mouth slightly open, Morty can see that even his teeth look better- clean and not stained with alcohol and smoke. He's still wearing his dirty lab coat and outfit, but his hair is shorter - cut neat behind his ears - and he's clean shaven while also lacking eye-bags.
He looks... young. Way younger than he should be.
Morty's seen dozens of Ricks at the citadel - young, old, aquatic, etc - but it's still weird to see his Grandpa look like this.
He's actually is hoping that this isn't his Rick, but a perfectly timed multi-dimensional prank, or some kind of de-aging serum, because otherwise this is looking an awful lot like time-travel. Localized time-travel focused entirely on the one person that hates time-travel more than literally anything in the entire multiverse.
Aw jeez, Rick is going to kill him.
"Rick!"
Morty gives his young adult Grandpa another shove on the shoulder, glancing up through the doorway he was currently blocking. He pulls at Rick's legs so he's not passed out on the uncomfortable lip of the doorway, and struggles to pull him up so his back leans against the wall. Morty looks out to the elevator, wiping at his forehead.
"Aw jeez." He starts to pace, "Aw man."
Maybe he should go get someone before Rick wakes up. Some kind of human buffer.
Summer? She was good at stuff like this: she constantly does Rick's chores! But she'd definitely make fun of him for making this happen in the first place, wouldn't she? He's sure his Mom is already drinking - it's late enough - and it's not like his Dad would be any help with this.
Maybe Space Mom would help him out with a less sarcastic mockery? If she's anywhere near this galaxy, that is.
"Mmgh..."
Well, so much for getting help before he wakes up.
Morty quickly glances down at his weirdly young Grandpa as he groans and pushes his fingers into his eyes. Rick massages his eyelids for a moment before wiping his hands down his face with a disgruntled hum.
"..You mad?" Morty mumbles, wringing his hands.
don't be mad, don't be time travel, don't be mad, don't be time travel
Rick's eyes blast open and he stares at Morty, bewildered.
Morty stares back, sweat building on his forehead.
"Rick?"
"How do you know my name?" Rick asks, wide eyes glancing around from his place on the floor.
well shit
Morty looks around the room full of colourful vials and humming electricity. He cringes looking at the seat in the middle of the room. Rick's hackles raise with his shoulders as he presses his hands against the cool blue metal floor.
Morty doesn't think he's ever seen Rick have this uneasy bordering scared look on his face before. It's weird and wrong because Rick is scared of nothing and nobody, and it makes Morty's skin itch.
"Um I- sorry- I'm y-"
"What is this place?" Rick questions, pushing himself to his feet, "Where am I?"
"Well- if you'd just calm dow-"
"Where's Beth? Where the hell is Diane?"
Morty blanches as he looks up at this unfamiliar familiar face, and any words he was even thinking of saying dry up in his throat.
Because Rick doesn't talk about Diane.
It's basically a part of natural law. The sky is blue, the grass is green, don't talk about Diane Sanchez. Don't bring her up, don't even think about her: because if you do Rick will get all depressed, sulky and will certainly drink himself silly alone in the garage.
This isn't a prank: this is happening. Right now.
"W- what?" Morty blurts out stupidly, bringing his hands up to his chest and fiddling with his fingers.
"My wife? Where the actual hell-?"
Rick's whole body tenses up and Morty braces himself for him to start yelling even louder, but instead Rick just breathes out slowly and looks over Morty again, carefully this time. He takes in his shaky hands and stiff posture and grimacing face and he frowns.
"I- I'm sorry." He says the word like it's easy; like it's natural for him to just go out and apologise to people without a second thought.
"What?" Morty repeats dumbly, freezing up.
"I said I was sorry." Rick repeats, louder this time like Morty hadn't heard him the first time.
"You're just a kid: you're probably just as lost as I am." He runs a hand threw his cropped hair in exasperation.
"I'm fourteen!"
"Exactly: a kid. I'm Rick, by the way." He stretches out his hand, before pulling it back, "But you already knew that. Somehow. Uh, what's your name?"
Morty's mouth is dry and once again all words leave his brain. Rick just said sorry. Twice. And when called out he doubled down and didn't hide behind cynicism, manipulation or self-deprecation.
This is so fucking weird.
"Hey? E- Earth to child?"
"U- um. Morty. I'm Morty."
"Well, Morty: was anyone else down here? Did you see a blonde women or any kids like you?"
"Uh, no. No one but us."
Rick frowns at the answer, clearly upset, and Morty scratches at his neck, debating biting the bullet on the phone call (and subsequent insults from calling for help), but decides against it for the time-being with this younger Rick being so freaked out.
Rick misunderstands Morty's tense frame, and his unibrow pinches in worry.
"Hey, no need to be scared, Morty." Rick grimaces, glancing around,
"I'm not." Morty shrugs.
"Uh-huh: whatever you say, kiddo." Rick nods, "My daughters hard as nails like you. But still: I'll keep you safe."
Mom, Morty thinks briefly. Rick's comment about Beth is casual, but he smiles with pride when he speaks. No grief.
Which means this Rick hasn't lost his Beth and Diane yet... Must be why he's so nice.
"Don't spend too much time in that big brain of yours now kiddo. I know what that's like, trust me."
Rick tilts his head at him. Whoops, he'd been lost in thought for a while now.
"S- sorry." Morty stutters, "Just thinking."
"It'll be okay Morty. Mooor-tea..." Rick says slowly, before making an exaggerated thinking face, "Can't say I've heard that name before, kid."
"Yeah, m- my parents wanted to be unique, I guess."
Morty shrugs, pointedly not mentioning the thousands of alternate Mortys he's met that make his special odd name 'obsolete', as Rick would say.
But he doesn't. Instead this young Rick gives him a small smile and crouches down a little, to get on Morty's level.
"They hit the nail on the head then, huh?" He grins warily and Morty stares and stares.
Turns out young Grandpa does have wrinkles, except they're faint smile lines, cupping his mouth when he grins with teeth that aren't stained with cigarette tar. This Rick is happy. Really, genuinely, actually, honest to God happy in a way Morty doesn't think he's ever seen his Grandpa.
"Honestly I'm jealous: there's nothing special about 'Rick Sanchez'." His Grandpa - the universally-feared, multiverse-hopping basically-a-god - shrugs, "Now: Morty? That's a name you'd remember."
"Y- yeah?" Morty can't help but smile back at the absurdity of the statement, which makes Rick perk up in relief.
"Yup."
Morty is sad to see Rick's teeth hide away as he frowns again. He puts one hand on his hip and looks around the room.
"Anyway: do you know what's going on? Why we're... here?"
"You're asking m- me?" Morty stutters, glancing around.
"Well, you seem to be the most knowledgeable person in this room." Rick shrugs and starts to wander a little, squinting at a few mind-blowers, "At least in glowy vials named... what...?"
Rick picks up a glimmering blue vial and tilts his head at the label, mouthing 'booger AIDs' looking firmly confused.
A little part of Morty preens at being called the most knowledgeable person, especially by Rick. Another, more emotional part of him, freaks out at the significantly reduced ego Rick was showing off. Was he really like this when he was younger, or had Morty messed up his brain? Aw jeez, he was so dead either way.
Rick puts the vial back with a grimace and turns back to Morty.
"Morty?"
Morty should tell him. He should. There's no reason why he shouldn't immediately tell him: this Rick isn't the experienced multidimensional threat that his Grandpa Rick is. He's younger and oddly... soft: at least right now. He'll at least hear Morty out, surely.
But then again, this Rick is nice and Morty likes it in a selfish sad kinda way.
"U- um. Well, um-" Morty taps all his fingers together, "You see, uh-"
"Y'know what? It doesn't m- matter." Young Rick shakes his head, "W- we just need to worry about breaking out of here, Morty. Who knows what that guy is doing to our families..."
"What g- guy...?" Morty mumbles, but his Grandpa doesn't respond as Rick collects Morty's forgotten tweezers and - after taken a bemused look at his clothing - fumbles in the pockets for something useful. His eyes light up when he pulls out a flathead screwdriver, before he twirls it around in his fingers.
This is something Morty recognises: Rick getting sucked into something so hard he practically blocks out the entire world. Morty holds back a sigh and wonders whether to sit on the chair in the middle of the room until he's done when Rick calls his name.
"Hey, Morty. If you can, could you check the place for any potential exits?" Young Rick asks while glancing over a collection of alien trinkets he'd discovered in his pocket, "Vents, hidden doors. That would help me out a bunch, Junebug."
Morty freezes up again at the nickname.
Rick calls him that sometimes when he's wasted. Says it with affection when he drunkenly messes with his hair in thanks for Morty doing some errand for him. Morty dimly wonders if he used to call a younger Beth it and that's why he's saying it now.
"Oh. O- okay, Rick." Morty gives the room a quick look around, pretending to scrutinise the place with his eyes.
Young Rick glances about and crouches by the mess of electronics that was the mind-blowing gun. He lifts up the casing with his screwdriver and whistles to himself when looking at the internals.
"Jeez, someone really messed this thing up. Maybe I can use this to..." Rick starts to mumble to himself and pulls gently and the wires and inspects the motherboard and chips, "No no, that wouldn't... Are those crystals...?"
"Oh, j- jeez, Rick; y- you shouldn't mess with that- uh."
Rick glances up at him and squints his eyes, "Why not, kid?"
Maybe Morty could become a shitty superhero. Iceboy: the anxiety-ridden statue that's amazing at fitting his whole foot in his mouth!
"W- well, the elevator out is just over there." Morty points sheepishly to the door before pushing it open a smidge, "It's unlocked. W- we can just leave."
"Nice work!" Rick blinks at him, "How the he- heck did you know that?"
"Because this is um. My basement, kind of?"
"What?" Rick tenses up a little.
Tell him. Tell him tell him tell him!
"Or, well. Your basement I guess."
Young Rick squints at him, his fingers tapping against the casing of the mind-blowing gun. His eyebrows scrunch up and he gnaws at his lip in thought.
"Considering you brought me down here, Rick." Morty taps his fingers together again, words sounding stupid even to him, "W- when you were old and a dick and stuff because um. Well, you don't remember obviously but, um. This is your garage. Basement. Garage basement under our house."
Rick's face makes an odd movement and his fingers fiddle with the smooth surface of the mind-blowing gun's casing.
"Morty: whoever you talked to: that wasn't me." Rick says slowly, running a hand through his hair, "He might have looked like me and sounded like me, but. God this is gunna be weird to explain... Morty?"
"Y- yeah, Rick?"
"There's more than one universe out there." Rick keeps eye contact with him as he speaks, sounding serious, "There's a whole multiverse, I'm pretty sure."
Morty fights the urge to burst into laughter at how seriously Rick is taking this confession. Like Morty's some lost kid and not Rick Sanchez's partner in crime, across all of time. Like he's unaware of multiverse travel.
"I- I know it sounds crazy," Rick defends, misreading Morty's expression, "but I've met another me: another Rick. Another me who figured out how to- to teleport between dimensions. He wanted me to do the same and I refused."
"Y- you did?" Morty sobers up almost immediately.
Morty already has a guess on what Rick that was.
Rick Prime. The Rick that kills this Rick's Diane and Beth, and lining up the dominoes for Morty's Grandpa to make the portal gun, try and hunt him down and eventually hang out in Morty's dimension. Morty doesn't know much else about Prime, and he didn't know about Rick C-137's refusal to join a merry band of himself exploring in the multiverse.
Morty dimly wonders why he didn't. Multiversal travel comes with many boons that not many could pass up, especially when they are practically spoon-fed to you like it sounds they could have been for his Grandpa. It doesn't sound very 'Rick' to refuse such power.
"Yeah. Guess he got butthurt." Rick scowled, "It's probably how I ended up here, in your basement."
"Your basement." Morty corrects nervously, "You're my Grandpa, R- Rick."
Rick's unibrow scrunches up and he looks at his hands, smooth, and feels his face, skin tight with youth, and pointedly looks like he doesn't believe a single word Morty says.
"The multiverse Morty." Rick repeats, "Your actual Grandpa might be around here somewhere. Out of the uh, vial dungeon we will hopefully leave soon, if this is your house."
"Our house, Rick. Oh and, uh, y- yeah." Morty hums, "Maybe Mom can help things get back to normal." Or Summer can get you back to normal, screw the insults.
"Thank you, Morty." Rick's smile is crooked, but he looks uneasy and a little lost.
Morty takes pity on him and leads his Grandpa out the door and into the elevator. Rick glances around at the smooth metal box and stands awkwardly as Morty picks the ground floor button. The elevator hums to life and they start heading up.
Rick's eyes widen as he watches the buttons light up as they soar past tens of floors. Morty notices his face and explains.
"This isn't even all the buttons: the panel flips around. There's, like, over two hundred floors." Morty mumbles, "Y- you have a sushi restaurant here somewhere."
"And all of this is under your house?"
"Our house, Rick." Morty corrects, "You built it."
"Another me."
Morty raises an eyebrow at him.
"You're a smart scientist, right? You- you were trying to figure out teleporting, right? Your wife's name is, um, D- Diane, and you're daughter is called Beth. Uhm, you- you hate time-travel, but that's basically what this is! You time travelled into your younger body or something."
Rick blinks at the information Morty shares.
"I'm sure parallel universes have similarities."
"W- we can scan you and your universe of origin in the garage, if you want." Morty shrugs, "You're Rick C-137."
"That means nothing to me." Rick frowns, "You could be lying."
"Oh." Morty frowns back, "I'm not, but yeah. I g- get that."
They stand in awkward silence for a moment.
"Did you say time-travel earlier?" Rick practically whines, like a toddler, "Please tell me your Grandpa stays away from that: it's the Long-"
"Long Island iced tea of science fiction." Morty nods in exasperation, "I know."
Rick glances to him in surprise, and a little awe.
"I must say that a lot, huh?"
"You don't know the half of it." Morty sighs, "I get to know all about how cheap and overplayed it is when your drunk."
"When I'm drunk?" Rick's face makes a frown that looks unnatural on his youthful face.
"Yeah, so always." Morty grins, "Trust me: I know all about the ins and outs of the scam that is time-travel."
Rick's frown doesn't leave his face, and he looks to the floor in thought.
"Well now I know for sure that I'm not your Grandpa." Rick grimaces, "I hardly ever drink. I practically quit when Beth was born."
Morty's throat works and he glances to Rick. Young, happy, unguarded in a way his Rick almost never is.
"Oh." He says, because he doesn't think he can trust himself to speak words that make any kind of sense without shoving his entire foot in his mouth.
"Yeah." Rick stays quiet for a beat before playfully giving Morty a gentle shove on the shoulder.
"Chin up, kid." He smiles playfully, and Morty traces his smile lines with his eyes, trying to commit them to memory, "We'll get your Grandpa back, and I'll go back to my family."
Morty makes a non-committal hum, staring firmly into the floor. Does the elevator usually take this long?
"I'm sure you can visit; and if you can't, I promise to name my grandkid after you." Rick jokes, "I'm sure Diane will help me sway Beth. They both seemed to have agreed in this dimension, huh?"
Morty can't muster up a laugh, but he shoves Rick back weakly with a smile that makes him feel kinda sick.
"Yeah, Rick. Sounds good."