WHO: Rick Sanchez WHEN: As soon as his chamber was opened WHERE: Military base to home. WHAT: Rick says so long and heads home. WARNINGS: Oh god, foul language at least. Alcoholism.
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Forty eight hours, my ass. More like seventy-two. Shouldn't have fucked with a man's ability to use his portal gun properly, but more like he shouldn't have bum-rushed the door yesterday, shooting portals and pushing people into them. Rick only managed four before someone behind him shot him with a damn dart gun. Had to shoot him again. And another time. He'd spent decades building up his tolerance. He woke up with only his feet on the bed and a pool of vomit against his cheek.
Three days, and his clothes were well past "beginning to smell" and heading straight for standing up on their own. It didn't help that Rick often forgot to bathe when he was trying to work through a problem, and this was a big one. He'd never seen dampeners that could stop the portal gun from taking him somewhere, anywhere, until this place. He'd like to take it apart and figure out how it worked, but he could come back for it.
For now, he just wanted to get home and figure out where his portal gun had taken him. The readout on it was wrong.
"Mr. Rick Sanchez?"
A loud belch was the first sound. "You say that like you douchebags don't already know my name."
"If we open this door, are you going to cooperate today?"
"Does shit smear if you don't wipe?"
The latches clicked and whirred and the door opened. The smell that wafted out of the room was unholy, and several officers grabbed their noses. One made a noise before she stifled it down.
Rick moved to the door, looking defeated and exhausted. The bags under his eyes were ten-fold. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked from person to person before reaching inside his lab coat, grabbing his portal gun and aiming downward. He'd taken pains to make sure he'd checked the settings to send him back to his dimension in Beth's house. The green light spun up. He shot the floor, green light swirling and then yelled, "Fuck you, motherfuckeeeeeeeeeeeeers!" before jumping through the portal.
It closed behind him like a drain. He dropped from the ceiling in the Smith's garage just as he'd planned.
"Yesssssssssssss! D-bags thought you could keep me locked up. Sure showed you." There was the familiar scent of booze, batteries, and laundry detergent. The faint smell of puke still lingered. The best part, though, was that he remembered that Jerry was gone. All he'd find was his grandchildren and his daughter, probably sitting around the table, having dinner. He could really go for one of Beth's pork chops. His stomach almost growled.
"Morty!"
He began to tinker with the computer on his workstation, plugging the portal gun into it to check the settings.
"Morty!"
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. A series of programs began to pop up on the screen.
"Goddamnit, Morty!"
The kid was probably in his bedroom with a laptop and some hand lotion. Whatever. Rick didn't give a shit. He left the gun charging and the program on his computer running to head back into the house. Summer had to be sitting around on the couch with her phone. Morty. Summer. It didn't matter, they were interchangeable to him.
No Summer in the living room.
"Where the hell is everyone in this damn house?"
Beth's keys weren't on the kitchen counter. Summer's backpack wasn't left on the floor. Morty hadn't tracked in footprints. In fact, the whole house was empty. Well, not everything was empty. The fridge wasn't, and there was a six pack of beer and a couple of bottles of Beth's cheap ass wine in it. He grabbed the bottles, popping the top with his teeth and spitting it out on the ground. He downed half the bottle before he let out another loud burp, this one reverberating in the empty house.
"Cool. I don't have to waste any time with your losers anymore."
Then he grabbed the other bottle, the six pack, and headed back to the garage.