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dirty-bear-rick-sanchez · 2 months

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Squanchy's Terrible Stand-up Phase

Finally, finally, i'm posting this fic that I've had in my WIPs for almost 2 years now 😅 thank you to everyone who submitted an ask for a snippet/commented on them, it helped me get some confidence and motivation to finally finish and post this!

I'm sure the title gives away the time period this is set in 😅 it's some messy unrequited(?) Birdrick with a bit of everything - we've got pining, we've got smut, we've got angst, we've got mating season, we've got a very specific James Acaster reference.

Summary: A mishap during one of Squanchy's stand-up performances gives Rick and Birdperson the chance to act on some feelings. ~6k words.

“Hey everybody, I’m Squanchy! I just flew in from the Andromeda system and, boy, are my arms tired!”

The short feline’s voice rings out across the room, met with silence from all but two members of the audience, who give awkward, forced laughs. If Squanchy is aware of his friends’ insincerity, he shows no signs of caring, grinning happily and carrying on.

“Haha, nah, I’m just squanchin’ with you guys. How ‘bout that space-line food, huh? Anyway, I was on my way over here, and I was squanchin’ next to this guy, right, this Zofleepian dude…”

As he launches into a squanch-heavy spiel, Rick and Birdperson both glance away from the stage and meet each other’s gaze with twin grimaces. Somehow, Squanchy has landed a gig as the warm-up guy for what is apparently a fairly popular act, meaning that the venue is significantly bigger and busier than any he’s performed at before, either doing stand-up or as part of The Flesh Curtains. As such, the two other band members have found themselves seated mostly out of sight and earshot of the stage. Small mercies.

Birdperson turns to Rick and speaks quietly.

“Rick, I realise I am not a comedy expert, but I must admit that Squanchy is… not good at this.”

Rick snorts. “That’s putting it lightly! And how are you just now realising? D-do you not remember any of his other shows?”

“It is true that Squanchy’s stand-up has not been particularly up to standard in the past, but I thought that he would have made some improvement by now.”

Rick makes a show of looking around the room, then turns to Birdperson with a devilish grin and leans in to whisper surreptitiously.

“Well, you know, it is a pretty big crowd. I don’t think he’d miss us if we snuck out.”

Birdperson's face shifts, subtly, but Rick knows him well enough to recognise it as an expression of disapproval, and feels a flicker of panic and defensiveness start to rise in his chest.

“Rick, Squanchy is our friend. We must support him, even in his flaws, just as we support you in yours.”

Birdperson’s words sting, and Rick’s guard comes up even more.

“W-whatever.” he grumbles. “Geez, I was just joking, Pers. D-d-don’t get your feathers in a bunch.”

Rick shifts in his seat so that he’s facing away from Birdperson, crossing his arms over his chest. He feels a gentle touch on his hand, making his breath catch in his throat. Although he’s loath to admit it, even to himself, Rick is developing a serious crush on his ex-bandmate slash roommate slash best friend, and he can’t help but turn back to Birdperson. The other man is looking at him with concern in his serious deep brown eyes.

“Rick, it was not my intention to offend you. However, I do not wish to upset Squanchy by leaving.”

Birdperson speaks matter-of-factly as ever, but he doesn’t remove his hand from Rick’s. Rick tries to breathe normally, to act as if nothing is out of the ordinary. Despite many, many hookups, he hasn’t felt this way about anyone since Diane, giddy and sappy and in love. He knows how delicate love is, how easily it can break or be taken away, and is acutely aware of the consequences. He’s still angry and bitter and hurting, and he doesn’t know if he could take any more of those feelings that would inevitably come with another relationship. However, he’s been starting to notice small, almost imperceptible changes in Birdperson’s behaviour recently, and it’s becoming increasingly harder to convince himself to ignore them, tell himself he’s reading too much into things, and that anyway it’s not worth the risk of letting himself be vulnerable and getting his heart broken all over again.

Unfortunately, despite what Rick might like to think about himself, however logical and intelligent and detached he might like to believe himself to be, he knows that he’s a slave to his own emotions. No amount of reasoning or experience can stop the butterflies from swirling furiously in his stomach when he sees Birdperson smile at him, or beat his powerful wings in flight, or emerge glistening from the shower with only a towel concealing his dick from Rick’s longing gaze.

He hates the fact that Birdperson always manages to sneak past his defences, hates knowing that Birdperson can get away with almost anything because the part of Rick’s brain that’s meant to be in charge of his emotions suddenly forgets all negativity when it comes to BP. There are only two other people Rick has ever known who he could never stay angry with, and both of them are dead.

He can’t afford to let that happen again, but he’s helpless at the hands of his crush.

Rick snaps back to the present with a blink. He’s speechless, half because he doesn’t know how to respond without fucking things up, and half because the light touch of his friend’s hand on his is taking up all of the processing power in his brain. Instead of saying anything, he flashes a helpless, almost sheepish smile at Birdperson, who mirrors the expression and moves his hand ever so slightly so that he can squeeze Rick’s hand in his. The feeling is so intense that Rick has to avert his eyes, and he hopes the dimmed lighting above the audience is enough to hide the heat he can feel in his cheeks.

Luckily for him, it’s not long before a distraction arrives. An audience member, apparently dissatisfied with the stand-up and clearly very inebriated by some sort of illicit substance, stumbles up onto the stage, much to the jeers and cheers of the rest of the audience.

“I can do better than this shit!” he declares. “So, I was at Birding Man last year, and in the tent next to mine, I could hear this couple going at it, you know what I mean? Yeah you do! And the guy goes ‘I’m gonna cum in your pussy’!”

Squanchy stares on in disbelief, and the noise of the crowd drops instantly into stunned silence, the atmosphere palpably different from moments before. The interrupter seems to panic, and repeats, even louder, “I’m gonna cum in your pussy!”

Still receiving no response, the man suddenly takes drastic action in the form of dropping his pants and starting to masturbate furiously. Almost immediately, the audience roars to life, booing and jeering and shouting. As the room around him devolves into chaos, Rick feels a tug on his hand. He looks to see Birdperson standing up and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. Birdperson makes a hasty retreat amid the pandemonium and Rick follows, neither of them dropping the other’s hand.

They exit into a foyer, where Rick expects Birdperson to stop. However, he heads for a door, which he opens to reveal a supply closet.

“Let us wait it out in here.” he says simply, and Rick shrugs.

“Eh, sure.”

They both enter, pulling the door shut behind them. Rick perches on a small table, while Birdperson leans against a wall opposite him. The room is small enough to force them into each other’s personal space, and Rick has to try hard to keep his composure.

“So, uh, what happened to not leaving?” Rick asks, trying to seem casual.

“My main concern was that Squanchy would see us leaving, or otherwise notice our absence. However, I think he should be sufficiently distracted for a while.”

Birdperson is close enough that Rick can feel the air brush against his face when he speaks. Rick has to stop himself from shivering at the feeling. He focuses so hard on not reacting that he doesn’t notice another, much more visible, sign of his arousal until Birdperson addresses it.

“Is that a gun in your pocket, Rick Sanchez, or are you just happy to see me?”

His tone is almost exactly the same as always, but Rick can detect the note of cheekiness in it. He quickly crosses his legs and looks away, knowing this time that his blush is definitely visible. His mind and mouth both scramble for an excuse, but before either can form anything even remotely coherent, Birdperson speaks again.

“Rick, if I may be frank, I think that we might be able to help each other out. The truth is, it is approaching mating season for my people, and I am starting to feel the effects of it.”

Rick can’t quite believe his ears. He wants this so badly, and if it was anyone but BP, he wouldn’t hesitate. However, fucking things up with a stranger in a bar is very different to fucking things up with your best friend and roommate, and Rick doesn’t trust himself to read the situation correctly.

“W-w-what’re you sayin’, Pers?”

“If you wish, we should have sex.” Rick stiffens, but Birdperson continues. “During mating season, my people experience greatly heightened libido, and you are clearly in a similar state of arousal, so I believe it would be mutually beneficial.”

Something about hearing Birdperson state things so simply really turns Rick on. He’s no stranger to directness or dirty talk, yet something about Birdperson’s factual candour sends a jolt of passion through him.

“Rick, if I have misread the situation or overstepped my boundaries, I apologise. I-” Birdperson’s deep voice snaps Rick out of his reverie and Rick realises how long he must have paused.

“N-n-n-n-no it’s fine! I would love to have sex with you!” he blurts, the words pouring out before he even realises what they are. As soon as he processes what he’s just said, he panics immensely. Goddammit, what is it about this man that turns his brain to mush? Rick’s wildly out of his depth, used to being smooth and suave and confident around his romantic interests. The flustered nervousness is unfamiliar to him, and he has no idea how to act. Without a script, more words hurry out of his mouth.

“Fuck! I mean, I, uh, I would be happy to help you out! I mean-”

“Rick.” Birdperson interrupts, calmly, quietly, yet assertively enough that Rick instantly falls silent. A brief flicker of arousal passes through his body as his brain readily supplies a fantasy of Birdperson using this exact tone in the bedroom and - no! Not fucking now!

“It seems you are uncomfortable. If I have done anything to cause this, I offer my apologies.”

“No, no, Pers, it’s OK! It’s just, um…” Rick pauses, trying to work out how much he can afford to give away. He takes a deep breath and lets his guard down, just a little. “I-I just… didn’t think you would be interested in me like that.”

“You mean sexually?”

Rick nods, unable to meet Birdperson’s gaze. How is it that he can normally say and hear the most explicit, filthy things without so much as batting an eye, but even the tamest comment from Birdperson has him acting like a schoolboy with his first crush?

“So you feel insecure? Is that the only reason?”

Birdperson’s statement, combined with his unexpectedly gentle voice, catches Rick off guard. Part of him fights against the vulnerability, coiling defensively in his stomach like a snake, while another longs to relax into the safety of Birdperson’s soothing tone. The maelstrom of thoughts and emotions trick Rick’s brain into allowing the truth to slip out of his mouth before he can even process what the truth is.

“I feel like I’d be… betraying Diane, or, or cheating on her.”

“Forgive me, Rick, but I do not understand. You have ‘hooked up’ with many people since I have known you. Why is this different?”

Rick panics, not sure how to get out of this situation. His frantic brain can’t cook up any lies, so he settles for a half-truth, omitting as much as he can.

“All those hookups are people I didn’t know or care about. None of them meant anything… it was just sex. We’re… friends.”

“So it is different to have sex with friends?” Birdperson asks. Rick nods, not sure how to elaborate without giving away his feelings. They’re still fresh and raw, and he’s not ready to reveal them yet. Thankfully, Birdperson continues.

“Is this a human concept?”

“Y-yeah, I guess so. I never really thought about it. Humans usually only have casual sex or sex within relationships.”

Even as he’s saying the words, he knows they’re not strictly true. Plenty of people were friends with benefits - he and Diane with Nimbus, for instance - but he’s found an excuse and he’s too much of a pussy to offer any information that might raise questions.

Birdperson’s brow furrows as he mulls the concept over.

“This is interesting. Although I never had any friends on my home planet, I know that it is very common for my people to help relieve their friends during mating season. We have two terms, messoo yabah and messoo sorah - ‘flesh mate’ and ‘spirit mate’. ‘Flesh mate’ is for someone you have sex with - a friend or stranger - and ‘spirit mate’ is for a life partner, with whom you would have children and a soul bond. I had assumed that ‘hook up’ was equivalent to mesoo yabah.”

Rick raises one side of his brow. Birdperson looks so similar to him, it’s easy to forget that he’s not just a human with bird features, but a member of an entirely different species, with different customs and views around things such as sex and relationships.

“Huh. I guess that makes sense.”

“Forgive me, Rick, I did not realise that my offer would be out of the ordinary for your species. It seems that we have encountered another cultural difference.”

Rick coughs out a nervous laugh. “Y-yeah.”

They stand in awkward silence for a few moments, the small distance between them only adding to the tension, thickening it so that Rick struggles to breathe.

Eventually, Birdperson breaks the silence.

“I did not understand the gravity of what I was asking. If you wish, we can simply move on and not mention this ever again.”

A tiny, cowardly part of Rick wants to seize the opportunity to run away from his problems, but the rest of his being is crying out for Birdperson so thoroughly that he knows he’ll never forgive himself if he doesn’t take this chance.

“N-no! Let’s, let’s do it!” Rick cringes at how enthusiastic and awkward he sounds.

“Are you certain? I do not wish to pressure you into anything. I would not have asked had I realised the implications for you.”

“No, Pers, i-it’s OK. I’m not exactly like most humans anyway. Besides, what else are we supposed to do while we’re waiting for this to blow over?” Rick gestures vaguely in the direction of the performance room, where the sounds of struggle are still audible.

“If this is truly something you want, I need to hear you say it.” Birdperson stares intensely into Rick’s eyes. Rick swallows but finds he can’t look away.

“I want this. I want you. Now.”

Almost before Rick can process what’s happening, Birdperson has closed the tiny space between them, one hand squarely in the small of his back, the other arm wrapped around his shoulders, their lips meeting more gently than Rick would have expected. Rick feels his body melt into Birdperson’s touch, the tension leaving his muscles and instead pooling into his growing erection. He kisses back hungrily, fuelled by the months of pining and suppressing his attraction, reaching to wrap his own arms around Birdperson, burying his fingers deep into his friend’s feathers. Birdperson seems to take this as a cue, pulling Rick even closer to him and allowing his lips to fall apart to make way for Rick’s eager tongue.

Rick feels Birdperson’s hand trail down to rest on his hip and squeeze his ass. The touch coaxes a gasp from his mouth and Birdperson pulls back. Rick’s brain protests the loss of sensation, a low whine spilling out.

“Is this acceptable?” Birdperson murmurs, his eyes inquisitive and caring.

“Yes, God, yes, Pers, please.”

That’s all the confirmation Birdperson needs to swallow Rick’s mouth up with his own once again. Rick digs his fingers deeper into Birdperson’s plumage and is rewarded with a shaky exhale directly into his own mouth. Feeling the consequences of his own actions sends yet more blood coursing downwards and he can’t help but push his crotch against Birdperson’s hip at the sensation. As he does, he feels Birdperson’s boner pressing into his thigh and his own cock throbs in response.

Birdperson lets his hand drift even further down, claws brushing tantalisingly against Rick’s inner thigh. He’s careful not to cause any actual damage, but Rick is so desperate for more that it feels like torture anyway.

Rick has to pull his mouth away to breathe, panting as though he were the one in heat, but keeps their bodies as close to each other as possible.

“Pers, please, I need you to take me.” he moans.

“You want me to fuck you?” Birdperson is so straightforward it’s almost unbearable.

“Yes, God, yes!”

“Do you have lube?”

“In my-in my wallet.” Rick moans, fighting to get the words out as Birdperson’s claws still caress his delicate skin.

Birdperson removes the stimulating hand to retrieve the lube from Rick’s jean pocket, letting his mouth suck Rick’s neck with such primal abandon he could just as well be devouring the flesh instead of kissing it. The sensation only heightens the burning ache that Birdperson’s hand is no longer satisfying and Rick could almost cry with need. In desperation, he reaches his own hand down to stroke his dick.

Birdperson places his hand firmly on Rick’s shoulder and turns him around, bending him forward over the desk. His clawed hands come forward to rest on Rick’s belt buckle.

“Is this what you want?” he whispers, the words tickling their way down Rick’s neck.

“Yes!”

Birdperson’s hands undo the buckle agonisingly slowly before finally pulling Rick’s jeans down to expose his bare ass. Rick hears the sounds of Birdperson tearing open the packet of lube and applying it to his own dick. As he does so, he keeps his lips next to Rick’s ear, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and mutters,

“Do you know how often I have fantasised about doing this? Whenever I am behind you during a performance, or in the kitchen, and I see these jeans clinging to you, all I can think about is pulling them down and bending you over the table.”

A distant part of Rick’s brain is surprised by this information, but horniness takes over as Birdperson’s comment riles him up so much that he writhes with impatience.

All of a sudden, strong hands, one still slippery with lube, grab his hips, stilling their motion. A breath stutters its way from Rick’s lungs and his brain short-circuits and he thinks for a second he might come from that alone. Just when he thinks he’s reached the peak of pleasure, a finger probes its way into his entrance, the claw retracted.

“Oh god, please, more.” He’s not sure if the words are even comprehensible, pulled from his mouth by Birdperson’s stroking finger. More sounds that could be words or could just as easily be mindless gasps of pleasure spill out, begging for more.

Rick’s moans become a whine as he feels the finger retreat, only to change back to a cry as he finally feels Birdperson’s cock inside him. He gasps until he feels like his lungs will burst, letting the air out in a series of moans as Birdperson begins to thrust. Rick’s fingers curl around the edge of the desk until his knuckles go white. Birdperson’s hands are on his hips again, his claws pricking against Rick’s skin in a way that feels so good, the pain mixing with the pleasure like the delicious contrast of salt against sweetness.

All Rick’s aware of is hands on his hips, dick inside him, both of them belonging to Birdperson. The sensations build and build until they breach the barrier, overwhelming his brain and body in a flood of endorphins. Rick’s legs shake so violently that he collapses into the table, warmth shooting from the end of his cock. He cries out, held aloft by a cloud of pleasure, his orgasm tingling throughout his body. Distantly, he’s aware of Birdperson coming inside him with an animalistic cry, and he wants to commit the experience to memory forever, but the thought quickly slips from his grasp, lost to the haze of his climax.

After what could be a second or a decade, Birdperson withdraws, leaving Rick with a vague feeling of emptiness.

“Are you alright?” he asks, still breathless. Rick nods, his own breathing heavy and rapid. Birdperson turns Rick over with incredible gentleness and brushes his hair from his sweaty forehead, his hand coming to rest in Rick’s hair. Rick feels his heart evaporate in his chest.

Birdperson rests his forehead against Rick’s, their hot breath coasting over each other’s skin. Despite what they’ve just done, Rick can’t help but feel shy at this level of intimacy. At the same time, he never wants it to end.

Regrettably, it does.

“We should clean up.” Birdperson states, his tone so businesslike that Rick gets a sinking feeling that this didn’t mean as much to Birdperson as it did to him.

Rick gestures vaguely, his overloaded brain taking a few seconds to find the words. “Wipes… in my wallet.”

Birdperson retrieves them, a small smile gracing his face. “You really are prepared for every situation.”

Rick wants to retort with his signature snark and perhaps just a touch of flirtatiousness, but he can’t conjure up anything, instead letting his mouth curve into what he’s sure is a ridiculous lovestruck grin.

He’s almost disappointed when Birdperson hands him a wipe instead of cleaning Rick up himself, but he tries to bring his mind back to reality. It’s probably a good thing for him to do this himself, instead of allowing himself to become dependent on someone else. They clean themselves - and the desk - up in silence.

Birdperson clears his throat. “We should hydrate. I will locate water.”

He adjusts his clothing so that he’s decent - much easier when your only garment is a skirt - and exits the room, presumably in search of the aforementioned water. Rick realises that he should do the same, and wrangles his orgasm-weakened body back into his jeans before lowering himself to the floor and leaning against the wall.

After a few minutes, Birdperson returns with bottled water, a tray of fancy-looking hors d'oeuvres, and a mischievous smirk.

Rick raises one side of his brow. “Where exactly did you find this?”

Birdperson rests the tray on the desk and removes the lid from the bottle.

“I may have liberated them from a nearby Witi Fri.” he raises the bottle to his lips and takes a swig before offering it to Rick.

Rick takes the bottle with a grin, revelling in the moments Birdperson’s rebellious side shines through, contrasting with his apparently straight-laced persona. Witi Fris - disgustingly extravagant displays of wealth - are held by Tt’orees, just the sort of people who deserve to be relieved of some of their fancy party snacks. Rick drinks eagerly, the water blessing his parched throat, trying not to think too hard about his lips resting where Birdperson’s had only moments earlier.

Birdperson picks up the tray once again and sits down next to Rick, the enclosed space forcing them close together. Birdperson swings an arm around Rick, making him almost choke on the water he’s swallowing. He rests the tray across both their laps and picks up one of the snacks, popping it into his mouth in a way that Rick swears is flirtatious. He stares dumbly for a few seconds until Birdperson nudges him.

“While I have no objection to eating this entire platter myself, social norms dictate that I am obliged to share.”

Rick smiles shakily before handing the bottle back to Birdperson and taking one of the hors d’oeuvres, some sort of tart filled with veiny purple leaves and a bitty grey substance. It wouldn’t seem appetising to most humans, but Rick is familiar enough with alien foods that it doesn’t bother him. He places it into his mouth and finds it to be wonderfully umami with just a hint of sweetness. The taste breaks his appetite and he finds himself shovelling down more, not stopping until he hears a faint chuckle next to him.

Rick’s eyes flicker across guiltily to Birdperson, realising he’s eaten most of the tray already.

“Whoops.” he mumbles flatly, dropping his gaze to his lap. Birdperson’s hand squeezes his shoulder reassuringly.

After a few moments, Rick feels Birdperson’s gaze burning into him in a way he can’t ignore. When he turns to face Birdperson, his friend is wearing a concerned expression and Rick knows exactly what’s coming.

“Rick.” Birdperson begins in his serious manner. “Now that our physical needs have been taken care of, are you alright… emotionally?”

Rick stares into Birdperson’s eyes, the eyes of someone who can penetrate through any walls or facades he puts up, eyes full of care. Even though he’d been steeling himself for the question, something about the tenderness in Birdperson’s expression breaks him. A strangled sob chokes its way from his throat before he can stop it. His hand flies up to cover his mouth, too late to hide the outburst of emotion. Rick frantically tries to pull himself together but the floodgates have been opened and there’s no way he can push them shut again until the raging tide has calmed. He feels Birdperson wrap his other arm around him and buries his head in his friend’s shoulder to spare himself at least the embarrassment of Birdperson seeing his face as he breaks down.

Birdperson holds Rick tightly, one hand reaching up to stroke his hair gently. Rick feels his body spasm with sobs that wrench themselves from his lungs, hyper-aware of the tears and snot making a humiliating mess of his face. Birdperson makes a strange, melodic cooing sound, something from his native language that Rick doesn’t have a hope of understanding but can assume is meant to be reassuring.

Eventually, his body begins to tire itself out, and Birdperson’s repetition soothes his brain. Rick sniffles and takes a deep breath.

“I just… I miss her so much, Pers.” his voice is thick with emotion, and he cringes at its sound. “I’m meant to be out here finding her killer, finding Beth’s killer, but I can’t do it. I know I can’t do it, so I try to numb myself, with alcohol, and drugs, and sex, but it doesn’t work, a-and other times it works too well and all I can think is what a monster I am for having a good time when my daughter is dead.” Rick’s breath hitches dangerously on the final word and he has to fight to keep from collapsing back into sobs again.

Birdperson’s repetitive coo changes into another phrase from his language, before he switches back to common.

“Rick, I am sorry. I could tell you that you do not need to feel guilty, that it is not your fault, that your revenge will not bring them back, but I know that this is not what you want to hear. I know that it is not what I would want to hear. I can only offer my comfort and solidarity in having something taken from you that you can never get back. Even if our rebellion against the Gromflomites succeeds, it will not bring back all the people and culture lost to their invasion. It will not bring back my parents. But I still intend to, as you say, ’kick their insect asses’.”

A harsh, tearful laugh breaks through Rick’s sadness for a moment. Rick clutches onto Birdperson, the pain still stabbing through his chest, puncturing his lungs and snagging his breathing, feeling the slightest relief and appreciation for his friend knowing him well enough not to offer meaningless platitudes. He takes some small solace in their shared pain.

Birdperson continues to hold Rick, his digits stroking gentle, comforting patterns into Rick’s back and scalp, until Rick pulls back, scrubbing furiously at his streaming eyes and nose.

“Fuck.” he whispers, pulling his hands down his face and flicking away tears. He clears his throat roughly. “OK. I’m good.”

Birdperson squeezes Rick’s shoulder. “We do not have to return if you do not wish to.”

The offer is tempting, but Rick knows that he can’t hide here forever.

“No, i-it’s OK. We’d better get back before Squanchy notices we’re missing.” he pauses, then adds, “But maybe I should find a bathroom first.”

Luckily, there’s a bathroom just around the corner. Birdperson waits while Rick blows his nose and splashes water on his face before they make their way back to the performance hall. Rick feels exhausted, but Birdperson’s reassuring touches and smiles give him just enough energy to force himself to carry on.

Thankfully, they manage to slip back into their seats without being noticed. Somehow, the crisis has resolved itself and Squanchy is now back to performing his terrible routine. Rick’s hazy brain manages to clock the jokes as being near the end of the routine and he sends a silent prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in that he doesn’t have to deal with more standup on top of everything else.

Mercifully soon, Squanchy’s routine ends, and the host comes onstage to announce the main act. Squanchy leaves the stage and joins them, a huge grin on his face.

“I think that went pretty well!” he whispers to them.

Rick and Birdperson exchange a brief incredulous look, but offer encouraging smiles anyway.

Neither of them are particularly interested in seeing the main act, and Squanchy’s lashing tail betrays his burning need to talk about his performance, so they get up and leave. Rick remains mostly quiet for the walk back, allowing Squanchy to fill the air with excited ramblings about the evening.

When they make it back home, Squanchy decides to celebrate by - to no one’s surprise - getting high. Rick retires to bed but, despite the exhaustion plaguing his mind and body, fails to sleep, his mind preoccupied with trying to process the evening’s events. At one point, he hears Birdperson’s footsteps approaching and his heart soars at the thought of Birdperson coming to his room. Before he can smother the feeling, he hears Birdperson’s door open and shut, the sound reverberating through his abdomen like a punch.

Idiot.

He should’ve known not to get his hopes up, but he had anyway. He rolls out of bed and sits at his desk, pulling out his latest project. He stares blankly for a few minutes before trying to tinker with it, but quickly pushes it away in frustration. Another few minutes pass before he hauls himself out of the chair and wanders into the living room to find Squanchy draped across the top of the couch.

Squanchy slurs something that Rick assumes is a greeting and holds out a zazzle worm in offering. Rick accepts and collapses into the sofa before taking a hit. He glances to the TV, which is playing some sort of documentary in a language that neither of them speak. Squanchy is entranced anyway, giggling and lazily batting a paw in its direction. Rick takes another hit, closing his eyes and letting the waves of inebriation wash over him. When he next opens them, he notices the swirling colours of the TV. The alien sounds of the narration vibrate his ears and tickle his brain. The couch cushions, notoriously uncomfortable and hard, soften like clouds as they allow his body to sink into them.

When he comes to, it’s with a pounding in his head and a weight on his chest. He hears a groan that sounds just like he feels, and forces his eyes open to see Squanchy curled up on top of him, Rick’s own body sprawled across the couch.

Rick tries to sit up and Squanchy falls to the floor with a yelp.

“S-sorry, man.” Rick groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. Squanchy blinks, his eyelids drooping.

Gradually, the two of them haul themselves to their feet, fumbling through cupboards in search of painkillers. Eventually, Squanchy finds some while Rick identifies the glass that looks least like a biohazard from the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and fills it with water. They take turns swallowing the much needed pills.

Rick begins to stumble in the direction of his room. After only a few steps, he gives up and collapses back onto the sofa. He feels Squanchy clamber up to join him, settling across the back of the couch. Thankfully, the grogginess doesn’t take long to pull him back into blissful unconsciousness.

The front door slams and Rick shoots awake.

He hears a voice in the hallway, unfamiliar but distinctly feminine. He glances up to see Squanchy still passed out, drooling and twitching, and feels his heart begin to sink. Laughter rings out, a high-pitched giggle and a deep rumbling.

Birdperson’s door opens and shuts. Rick squeezes his eyes shut and flinches as the sound seems to reverberate through his entire body.

All of a sudden, he’s upright and marching towards the front door, his vision still swinging slightly from the hangover. His heart pounds and burns in his chest. The door slams shut behind him.

Rick thunders his way down the stairs, the sound echoing in his head. From the countless times he’s been disturbed by others doing just that, he’s sure that everyone else in the building can hear it too. Good. Serves them right for doing the same to him.

He exits the apartment building and heads for the bar on the corner. Barely halfway there, he’s stopped by an alien.

“Excuse me, sir. Have you heard the message of G’gxzhgar?”

Rick whips round to face the insectoid, their exoskeleton covered in the telltale grey fur of criscipiticae gxzhgaris, so named for the god its hosts inevitably begin to worship. He’s always thought of religion like this, an infection that spreads from person to person and takes over their brain, but this is that concept in its most literal form. Its victims have no control over its effect once the root takes hold, no way to see that they are being brainwashed by a fungus. They’re helpless, innocent. It isn’t their fault.

“I don’t give a fuck!” Rick snaps. “Your god is a-is a fucking disease! It just wants you to spread it to as many people as possible so it can eat you from the inside and you fucking deserve it for being so fucking stupid!”

The alien steps back in shock. Rick’s suddenly aware of his rapid breathing, of all the eyes judging him for shouting at the alien equivalent of a leper.

“Y-y-you think you’re better than me? If you don’t say anything, you’re just as sick as this guy!”

He storms off before any member of the crowd can recover enough to retaliate and barges into the bar. As soon as he sits down, a drink is placed in front of him; the bartender knows him well enough. Rick downs the glass and slides it back to be refilled, perhaps with more force than necessary.

The alcohol burns his dry mouth and empty stomach, but he chokes it down anyway. He needs something to drown out the thoughts beginning to swirl inside his head.

It’s not until he’s downing his fourth drink that he finally begins to feel the blessed, dizzy pull of inebriation. His head throbs in protest as he continues to drink, fighting the urge to close his eyes.

Eventually, when his thoughts reach the desired incoherency and his head becomes too heavy to hold up any longer, he allows it to rest on the bar. A puddle of spilled alcohol sticks his cheek to the wood. He’s too drunk to care.

His eyes scan the rest of the bar for the first time since arriving. In every direction he looks, he sees couples flirting, kissing, interlocking tentacles.

He’s too drunk to care.

#rick and morty #rnm #rick sanchez #birdperson #birdrick #squanchy #rick and morty fanfic #rick and morty fic #rnm fanfic #rnm fic #my fic #my writing

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