Synesthesia
A/N: Because this is what happens when I procrastinate from life...
...and because Rick and Morty deserves more recognition than it currently has.
"This is bad, Rick. Real bad."
There were often days when Morty would say that knowing full well Rick could still manage to save the day. But this time he seriously doubted that would happen. At this rate he was going to be relieved just to make it to high school graduation with his limbs and sanity still intact.
"Don't be rid-did-CUUlous," Rick belched, his hands bound behind his back with magnetic handcuffs that snapped together and were near impossible to break apart. Morty knew. His own restraints had been snapped to a similar magnetic device built into the base of the wall, locking him in place so he couldn't stand or barely move, for that matter. Morty had been struggling against his own restraints for the past hour or so, anxiously waiting for their captors who currently guarded their cell to do...something.
Rick knelt beside him, confined in a similar manner. "Can't do anything about it right now obviously since my hands are tied and they confiscated my portal gun but you gotta trust on this one me, Morty," he said. "These Tyralians are as greedy as they come. They'd sell their own mother if it meant making some extra money. Not too bright either."
Morty pinned Rick with a hard glare. "And that's supposed to make me feel better?"
"You really are an idiot, Morty," Rick muttered. "I'm telling you this so you know your enemy. You know your enemy...you stay alive."
"Aww geeze," Morty sighed and banged his head against the wall behind him. "This is still your fault, you know."
"My fault?" Rick exclaimed. "You're the one who swallowed that stupid sedative and forced me to fetch you an antidote strong enough to counteract it before it did any real damage."
"Antidote? All it did was make me throw up!"
"What did you expect? I had no idea what she had swallowed! For all he knew you could've been having some deadly, allergic reaction to some alien compound. Had it get it out of your system fast. So yeah," Rick rolled his eyes. "You're welcome."
Their argument was going nowhere fast. This adventure was meant to be safe and simple. It was only supposed to be a quick visit to the black market — an impressively large one located on a planet that reeked of swamp water and sewage but brought in all sorts of illegal and banned merchandise. Rick was in need of some raw materials, which he assured Morty would be safer to attain here than on the toxic, home planets where those same materials originated.
What neither accounted for was to be ambushed by Tyralian pirates. Morty quickly learned there was a massive bounty on Rick's head and now that Morty was roped into the mess, he was being called Rick's "associate"...or whatever.
To Morty's left, a pair of Tyralian pirates guarded their jail cell. Their antennae darted haphazardly and systemically as they communicated with one another. One of them clutched a large weapon over its chest. An opaque visor shielded its yellow eyes and when it raised itself on its hind legs, it towered over the metal-barred cage where Rick and Morty were still imprisoned and suddenly opened the door and stepped inside.
Rick leveled a murderous stare at the alien when it invaded their cramped jail cell. The one Tyralian who was still guarding the hall outside their cell pointed its weapon at Rick while the other one suddenly deactivated Morty's restraints and forced him to his feet.
"Follow me," the Tyralian ordered in garbled words Morty could barely understand.
The last thing Morty expected was to be separated from Rick. Even Rick seemed taken aback by this realization and struggled to stand, which was an impossibility considering his wrists were still restrained to the base of the wall.
"Hey!" Rick shouted, stopping the Tyralians in their tracks. "My young associate there...total pansy. Thought you should know. Wouldn't kill a gazorpazorp even if his life depended of it. And a real idiot too. Couldn't tell you the difference between a Zigerion or a Cronenberg. Zero value to anybody. Only travels with me because he's sorta my charity case. Sad, really."
Morty understood Rick was only trying to help him out but he couldn't feel slightly offended regardless. He shot him a murderous stare, not for insulting him but for getting him into this situation. Then Morty was escorted forcibly down the hall, away from Rick. Morty did not fight his captors. Not when there was a weapon the size of a large bazooka jammed into his back.
The one Tyralian who walked beside him carried no weapons and therefore seemed the less-menacing of the two. If Morty was going to attempt negotiating a way out of this, he was going to get this one's attention first.
"So...uh…" Morty swallowed, clearing his throat suddenly. "You like money, right? I can get you some. Whatever you need. You name your price."
Well not the smoothest transition but it could still work.
There was no immediate answer until Morty was led into a new room. The room was large, flat and fairly empty. A large, gated door was placed against the far wall. Morty was still on board the same spaceship they had been dragged onto after being captured and detained from the black market. He had an eerie feeling that was about to change very fast.
When the Tyralian finally did answer his question, the words were rather concerning. "Bribery will not work. There is nothing you can offer us."
"Um. Okay. You're right. I don't have anything with me now but if you would take me back to my home, I could maybe—"
"The bounty on Rick's head is worth more than any amount of wealth you or anyone else on your pathetic, little planet could ever offer us."
Then Morty was prodded in the back with the bazooka-sized weapon, jabbing him as a warning to behave himself as the magnetic handcuffs unexpectedly came undone. The cuffs clattered uselessly to the ground.
"You're letting me go?" Morty asked, a little too hopeful and skeptical.
"No," he was told. "Get on your knees so that you can be properly sold."
"Um…" Morty was slow to react considering the word he had just heard. Sold?
This couldn't be good.
Suddenly the large, gated door parted open and Morty stared at the newcomer that now entered the room. She was humanoid in appearance but definitely alien. When the newcomer opened her mouth, her tongue was forked like a serpents. She sported a luxurious cloak which covered her shoulders but was split down her chest, revealing shimmery fabric and jewels strung on chains.
The newcomer stood in front of Morty. Her eyes drifted over his body.
"What's wrong with him?" she demanded, accented voice peculiar to Morty's ears.
One of the Tyralians suddenly lodge its weapon into Morty's kneecaps. His knees buckled. Morty was driven to the floor to kneel as had originally been ordered.
"Put your hands on your head, human," the Tyralian then instructed, tapping Morty's back with its weapon as a warning to do it fast.
Morty sat upright and raised his hands, placing them on the back of his head. He weaved his fingers together with his hair. His face felt warm from embarrassment.
"He needs a bit more...work," the newcomer said.
"Sometimes he doesn't understand what he is. Needs a reminder every now and then. But I'm sure you will get him to where you want him. Look. He's already starting to learn," the Tyralian in command of this negotiation fumbled to explain. It twisted its head down to look at Morty. "Now rise, human."
When Morty lowered his hands but kept them firmly planted on the ground, refusing to move this time the newcomer appeared far from impressed. The Tyralian's antennae stiffened. It then spoke to him in a low, guttural voice as to not be overheard by its newly-arrived guest. "Stand now or I will be forced to kill you for nothing."
Morty stumbled to his feet.
"Down on your knees."
Morty dropped down on his knees.
"See?" the Tyralian said and the way it spoke with such pride nearly made Morty sick. "He is learning."
Morty stared at a fixed spot on the floor. His hands were shaking. He dared to lift his head a fraction to see the newcomer smiling by what she saw.
This was definitely not good.
"You are a hard man to hunt, Rick Sanchez," a Tyralian Rick now mentally referred to as 'Dipshit' said as it currently guarded Rick from inside his cell. "It's actually a disappointment the hunt finally had to come to an end like this."
Dipshit then pressed the muzzle of his projectile weapon to Rick's head. Right at the temple, in the hollow between his eye and hairline. If the weapon fired, it would blow his brains out. Rick refused to acknowledge the threat — refused to show any reaction at all.
Rick had managed to evade the Tyralians countless times before this. The only difference this time was Morty had been with him. Normally that wouldn't affect his typical heightened awareness and reflexes, but Morty was busy being Morty and got some bottled drink unknowingly laced with sedatives. It all went all downhill from there.
Moron.
"It's a shame we had to take your associate and throw him out the airlock."
Rick noted the remark impassively. His expression was poker-flat. Not only were the Tyralians none-too-bright but they were horrible liars too. What Rick wanted to know was why he would be told that. Why was he trying to be led to believe Morty was no longer on board this ship?
Rick shifted to ease the pressure of the weapon digging against his temple. Dipshit then retaliated by cramming the weapon into Rick's skull till it gave him a serious headache.
He had about enough of this.
What were the chances a Tyralian would know anything about human physiology? The answer: improbable to none.
So Rick started spitting through his teeth to make his mouth foam, choking on his tongue. Twisting against the restraints. Shuddering as if a fake, horrendous pain was ripping through his torso. Enough to make it look convincing. Then he slumped to the floor. The cold touch of the cage pressed against his face.
Great. All he had to do now was play dead and let Dipshit do the rest of the work.
A stretch of time passed before anything was actually done. But when Rick heard what sounded like the scraping sound like something was being dragged, he held his breath. It sounded like a heavy weapon being dropped on the ground and kicked to the side, skidding out of reach. Rick held his breath as he overheard the muted rasp of Dipshit talking to itself now. It leaned toward Rick, poking his face with one of its grimy-feeling appendages.
Probably checking to see if he was even still alive.
Dipshit continued to hover over Rick's limp body, exhaling fumes that reeked of rotting meat until eventually Rick heard another Tyralion racing toward him. The two conversed in its native language for some time, frantically darting its antennae back-and-forth before both Tyralions sank to the ground, poking Rick's left side with of something cold and hard. Probably another projectile-weapon similar to what Dipshit had been using to poke his face before tossing it to the side.
When Rick finally got out of here, he was going to blast them all to pieces.
Suddenly his handcuffs were deactivated from the wall. Though they were still magnetically locked behind his back, Rick's arms fell completely to the floor. He had hoped the shackles would have been removed but it didn't look like that was going to happen. If he was going to have to do this one both hands cuffed behind his back, so be it.
Rick jolted to his feet and ran.
He had to find Morty.