AN:

Storage Rick is actually one of my all-time favorite Ricks and I've been wondering what his life must be like. So, this basically just a write down of my head cannons.

As always, I don't own RaM or Pocket Mortys, however Steampunk Rick and his Morty are mine (you can have them though. It's not like they're exclusive…)

Edit: This work has been edited now (nothing story relevant, just grammar and spelling errors). Many thanks to the wonderful Irymia for taking the time to correct this story.

It's greatly appreciated.

Ricking the Routine

Storage Rick groaned a little as he stretched his arms over his head and his joints made popping sounds.

He stood behind the counter of the Morty Day Care and was bored – like always. Everything was just so dull. His life. His job. There was never any real change.

However, he knew that he should appreciate what he had. Sure, he could just quit this job and then he would get reassigned a new one, but everyone on the Citadel knew that getting a job reassignment was always a step down, because each new job you would get would always be worse and more underpaid than your previous one. There was just no way to work your way up on the Citadel of Ricks. Either you started big or you remained in the slums.

In that way, the system was shit.

He shifted the toothpick from the right to the left corner of his mouth. Currently, he wasn't very busy and his eyes roamed over the near vicinity that was in his field of view.

In the distance, you could see a few Ricks with a bunch of Mortys trailing behind them. A green slimy alien walked an Exo-Omega Morty on a leash, as if he was no more than just a simple pet. There were also some Ricks bustling about without a Morty accompanying them. The sight of those had become gradually fewer on the Citadel ever since the Pocket Morty craze had started to break loose.

Storage Rick's eyes shifted over to the guard, who had currently shift and stood next to the electrical fence. Ever since the time someone broke into the Day Care and stole all the Mortys, the security measures had been stepped up drastically. Even up to this day, the culprit hadn't been found, but Storage Rick had a hunch as to who had done it. Yet he didn't have any proof and therefore wisely kept his mouth shut.

He sighed as his eyes wandered and his mind wandered even more. He'd been working here since the place had opened up and just thought about how much it had changed since then.

The work still always stayed the same though… always the same routine…

His sight zeroed in on a Rick that was coming directly towards him. He had three Mortys in tow – a normal one, one that looked like a pink blob, and one that had the head of a fish instead of a normal human head.

The Rick, who looked no different from your average Rick, came to a stop in front of the counter.

"Welcome to Morty Day Care! What do you want? Store, Withdraw, Bootcamp, or Combine?" Storage Rick droned monotonously.

He wasn't like Salesman Rick, who always put on a cheerful façade for the customers, greeting them happily and with a smile all the time. Which didn't mean that Storage Rick wasn't a nice guy or anything. He just didn't show his nice side openly to the outside world most of the time.

He was still a Rick after all. The only things that clearly distinguished him from your average Rick were his clothes, the little goat patch, the toothpick clamped between his lips, the fact that he preferred to scribble notes and formulae on his arm with a ball pen instead on a whiteboard, being less drunk because he didn't drink as much—though it was mostly because his job prohibited drinking during the working hours—being a smoker and the fact that he could talk mostly without stuttering.

Besides, you do eventually get tired of repeating the same sentence over and over again, a few hundred times a day. Each and every day.

The other Rick just slapped a ticket that he had just fished out of his lab coat on the counter as an answer.

"Withdraw." He then added finally but didn't look at Storage Rick.

The customer's attention was more focused on his flask now, from which he took one big gulp.

Storage Rick snatched the ticket and looked at the numbers. He put the combination into the search field of his computer and a picture and description showed up.

A V Neck Morty. Owner: Rick G-77.

"Your identification—"

"Godammit! I was here and stored him just yesterday! Dimension G-77!" the customer Rick was furious.

Everyone was pissed off with all this bureaucratic shit—and Storage Rick was so just as much as the next Rick—but it was part of his job. This also hadn't been handled as strictly before the 'great Morty stealing coup'.

Storage Rick went to the back, passing a few of his employed Mortys on the way. They weren't really his Mortys—Storage Rick had in fact never had a Morty of his own—nor were they really employed, but they still worked here. These were Mortys that had been stored but never picked up again, and whose owners hadn't showed up in months. They were clearly abandoned. Since they got a roof over their heads and food for free, Storage Rick figured that they could at least help out around the place. At least some of the most useful ones like the Business Mortys, who were sorting through the paperwork, or the Buff Mortys, who would unload and shift around supplies and other stuff.

Storage Rick came over to a device that looked like one of those electrical coat racks that you would find at the dry cleaner's.

Mortys were wrapped up in bubble wrapper or under foils, hanging on the rack and being in a sort of cryogenic sleep, while also hooked to life support. Rick pushed a button on the machine and the hanging Mortys were rotating on the rack, one after another passing him by till he found the one that he was looking for.

Just to make sure, he checked the numbers on the ticket with the tag that was attached to the V Neck Morty's ear. Seeing that it was indeed a match, he pressed another button which awakened the Morty from his sleep before he unhooked him from the life support and the rack and led the slightly disoriented Morty back to the counter to his waiting owner.

Storage Rick would probably never admit it aloud, but he liked things better the way they were before.

Back when catching and collecting Mortys had just started to become a thing, they didn't have that backroom or that machine. The Mortys that were stored here were awake and running around in the, by that time, smaller Day Care. They would chat with each other, read magazines or comic books, eat snacks, and they would distract and annoy him.

Sure, it was harder to take care of all the little bastards back then, but in a weird way, he missed it. They were keeping him company and even though there were still the working Mortys here, it just wasn't the same anymore.

"Here you go." He told the waiting Rick as he led the V Neck Morty through the hatch at the side of the counter.

His voice was still rather monotonous.

"Yeah. 'Kay. Thanks." The other Rick replied with equal lack of emotion in his voice.

He didn't bother with any farewells or even sparing one more glance at Storage Rick as he left with his little entourage of Mortys.

The Morty keeper didn't mind it though. He honestly didn't expect any pleasantries, nor could he say that he was used to anything different than this.

Always the same…

More time passed, but the business was running rather slow.

Not that you heard Rick complain about it. It was just a little boring when there wasn't much to do. That didn't mean that he preferred the days when he was so busy that he couldn't tell up from down anymore.

He nibbled on the spittle-dampened piece of wood in his mouth as he contemplated if he should waste his time doing something more useful than just standing at the counter and waiting for the next customer when another Rick steered in his direction.

This one was hard to overlook, since he was dressed kind of fancy.

It was Steampunk Rick and as far as Storage Rick knew, he was still fairly new to this Morty catching thing. As such, he only had his Original Steampunk Morty, as well as two other Mortys with him—the last one apparently just freshly caught.

"I want to combine these two." He got straight to the point while pointing at his two caught Mortys, which were of the same type.

He didn't even let Storage Rick say his introductory sentence—not that he'd complain about that. Instead, Storage Rick reached underneath the counter and produced a clipboard.

He placed the board, as well as his Morty-shaped pencil, in front of Steampunk Rick and told him to fill out the paper.

"Please, don't forget to pick a reason for combining." He added, seeing, as most Ricks liked to forget to check one of those boxes on the bottom of the document.

It was kind of stupid, but good ol' bureaucracy. The only thing that was probably more stupid were the possible reasons listed though.

'Just want a stronger Morty'

'Two of the same kind annoy me too much'

'Bored'

'Don't want to abandon one of them in the wild'

Storage Rick didn't even know why that last one was an option. No one ever picked that one.

After the steampunker passed the clipboard back to him, he briefly checked if everything was filled out properly, then threw the sheet of paper on a stack where similar papers already lay.

"This way." He ordered the two twin-like Mortys past the counter and into a small room to the side.

There was a console and a big tank in this room. The tank was filled with green liquid and stuff like skin, hair, and even eyes, as well as other random shit that was also floating inside.

Back in the old days, they didn't have a separate room for this thing, but the space got crowded quickly and they had added some extensions to the Day Care over the time. This room was one of them.

"Clothes off." He ordered without even looking at the Mortys.

The two boys looked like they didn't like the idea, but stripped anyways.

Storage Rick meanwhile was at the console and inputted the proper settings for the fusion. This whole thing was kind of bullshit though. The Rick who had invented this machine was truly a sick old bastard. Who would even come up with such a fucked up idea?

But yeah, whatever.

"The underwear, too." Rick said as he saw the boys standing around still wearing their tighty whiteys.

They looked at each other and then, with more reluctance then before, pulled off the last pieces of cloth that covered their bodies.

Rick only rolled his eyes at this behavior. By now, he had seen more naked grandsons than he had fucked people in his life and it wasn't such a big deal. It's not like he actually wanted to see them naked. He wasn't one of those Ricks, after all.

Mortyphiles, or whatever the proper term for those creeps was.

Whenever he thought about it, his mind would immediately move to the one prime example that frequented the Day Care – Rick C-777, also known as Mysterious Rick.

Storage Rick would bet everything he had that this old bastard was trying to get into his Mortys' pants—or probably was getting in there regularly already.

It was just so obvious—the way in which he talked to his Mortys and how handsy he was with them. Always ruffling through their hair, stroking their cheeks, and kissing their foreheads. It was bordering on completely misplaced affections. And who knows what he was doing with them when no one else was watching.

Generally, what a Rick did with his Morty was only that Rick's business, but raping Mortys was still considered a no go. And even though Storage Rick would always feel genuinely bad if he had one of those little bastards owned by that creeper, as long as those Mortys didn't speak up he couldn't really do anything.

So, he kept his mouth shut about it. It wasn't really his business anyways.

He watched the two naked Mortys climbing up the ladder and hopping into the tank.

Ignoring the grimacing faces that they made as they saw all the stuff that was floating in the tank from close up, he checked to make sure that the lid was sealed tight before he started the process via the control panel on the console.

The machine started to do its work and the fluid inside the tank began swirling around, getting gradually faster as the Mortys inside the tank got slowly torn into little pieces with a look of true horror on their faces as they realized what was happening to them. The tank looked like a giant blender right now. Yet, thankfully, there was no blood as the poor boys' bodies got shredded.

To any bystander the sight would look just horrific and gruesome. However, Rick just stood with a bored expression, leaning against the wall, legs crossed, and took the time to take a sip from his flask. He didn't look the least bit fazed at the sight, but how could he when he saw this shit at least several times a day?

It wasn't like the Mortys were getting killed or even hurt. The machine merely took their cells apart while the fluid still kept all of those loose parts alive and fine. Which meant that all that stuff that still floated inside the tank was very much alive biological matter still. That was the stuff that Mortys were made from.

It also explained the lack of blood, since nothing got really damaged throughout the process, just neatly separated.

Rick shifted his weight from one foot to the other as the motions inside the tank stopped and the machine proceeded to the next phase.

The fluid began to whirl again, but this time in the opposite direction. Slowly, the machine placed the Morty particles together, arranging them into a fitting order and creating an all new Morty. As the machine stopped gyrating again, the lid opened and the freshly made Morty crawled out of the tank.

Rick tossed him a clean, yellow towel that he had grabbed from one of the shelves. As the Morty was busy drying himself off, the older male also took a yellow t-shirt and blue jeans and passed them to the boy, too.

He didn't really mind the previously worn clothes that were still lying on the floor, nor the now used towel, as one of his employer Mortys was going to clean that up later. He also didn't pay any mind to the tank, which had now even more living mass floating in it than before.

It was only natural though. Two Mortys got in and only one Morty came out again, so obviously there would be "leftovers".

Naturally the tank also needed some cleaning every once in a while, but the whole process was something that was kept secret.

The truth was that when enough biological mass was gathered inside the tank, they would use it to create more new Mortys. Rick would be doing this in the morning, before opening the Day Care.

The Mortys they "produced" here were then usually shipped off and they ended up in small capsules that you could find in the Blips and Chitz machines. This got Morty Inc. some nice money on the side, Rick figured. Too bad he didn't get to see that on his paycheck though.

Not wasting any more grumbly thoughts on that, he brought the newly created Morty back to his waiting owner.

"Congratulations! It's a Three Eye Morty." Storage Rick didn't bother faking any enthusiasm that should have come with the sentence.

Not that it was worth it anyways, since Steampunk Rick didn't pay him any attention anymore after getting his newest addition and just up and left without a goodbye or anything.

Storage Rick again didn't try to mind. After all, this was same old routine.

The day continued slowly like this, Storage Rick taking some more deposits and dishing out withdrawals, before it was finally time to close up.

The artificial sunlight on the Citadel had already been turned off and now the streets were only illuminated by lampposts placed here and there, as well as by all the neon lights from clubs and bars that were starting to flare with life now. The circular lighting on the ceiling cast a yellow halo in the foyer of the Morty Day Care and stretched barely over the counter.

Storage Rick yawned openly and with a look at the clock, decided to call it a day.

"Okay, Squirts. That's it for today." He said to his Mortys.

Everyone stopped doing what they were doing and looked up at him before going on to make all the preparations for closing up shop. The Business Mortys sorted some of the last papers, the Buff Mortys placed the last boxes that they were carrying to their proper spot, and a Robot Morty stopped sorting through the supplies. The Guard Rick outside ended his evening shift as the other Guard Rick, who took over for the night shift, exchanged places with him.

Storage Rick locked the door and activated the night security system.

Having turned off the lights, he retreated like the rest of the Mortys to the living section, in the back of the Day Care. This part had also been added on later to the building, and it was also part of the new security measures that Storage Rick had his personal sleeping quarters here. It wasn't really a bad thing since he didn't have to pay rent for this place. The job had to come with some benefits after all. If board hadn't been free, he probably would have already left and gotten another job.

He called in the Mortys that were still playing outside, behind the safety of the electronic fence, and also watched the Mortys that returned exhausted from their Bootcamp Training to take a little break and have some dinner and a good night's rest. They were still wounded from their hard training, but Rick wouldn't bother bringing them to the Healing Center until after their training session was completed.

He had at least the manners to heal the Mortys before returning them to their owners, unlike other Ricks, who tended to drop off their wounded Mortys to store them at the Day Care, giving absolutely no fucks about the trouble that it caused him. Bloody floors don't clean themselves magically and even though he had Mortys who did that task, he'd rather not have to look after stored Mortys that were mortally wounded and close to death.

After Storage Rick and the free running Mortys finished eating dinner in what was practically a mess hall—the Chef Mortys did a good job making a decent meal—everyone was given a bit of free time before it would be time for bed. With the exception of the bootcamped Mortys, who still had to finish their last training unit before going they were allowed to sleep.

Storage Rick only bothered to watch TV in the small lounge in the meantime, have a smoke and—finally—have officially a drink: the small sips from his flasks in the backrooms didn't count, and the Mortys were wise enough to keep their traps shut about it.

Sometimes some of the Mortys would join him and also watch TV, but other times—like today—they would thankfully leave him alone. It wasn't really that Rick minded their company much. As long as they didn't stop him from his drink, his smoke, or annoy him with stupid commentary, he could really care less.

Eventually, he checked the clock and saw that it was already time for lights out, so he got up and made his last round.

He only stepped into the hallway to which all of the bedrooms were connected.

Thanks to a bunch of bunkbeds, several Mortys could be placed in one room, but the space grew sparse.

The number of abandoned Mortys was rising steadily and the higher ups—whether it was Morty Inc., the company that employed him, or the Council of Ricks—hadn't made a decision as to what to do with them yet. If it would be up to Rick, he would release them into the wild or just hand them over for the Blips and Chitz Capsule Machines, like the generated Mortys, but he didn't had any say in the matter. Though he thought that he should have a say in this, since he was the one who had to take care of them and had to think where to put them when they didn't have any more space left. Just let them go or add more extensions to the Day Care—the options were simple enough. Rick could bet that if any decisions about that were ever made, it would probably be the latter again.

The loud chatter that still penetrated the walls despite the late hour reminded Storage Rick again why he was standing here.

"Okay, you little shits! It's bedtime now! I don't give a fuck if you actually sleep or not, but keep it down!"

The noises immediately quieted down after he shouted through the hallway. Rick knew that the Mortys from the Bootcamp would be sleeping like stones—they always did—and the others would probably still quietly chat with each other or silently read comics or play video games on their Nintendo DS until they would finally fall asleep as well. Well, as Rick had said, he didn't really care about that as long as they didn't bother him and still do their jobs properly tomorrow.

Feeling quite tired himself now, he decided to also go to bed.

He went into the small room that he could call his very own bedroom and stripped out of his blue sleeveless button-up shirt, yellow t-shirt, gray-black sneakers, brown slacks, and pink socks. His spittle dampened and thoroughly gnawed toothpick was then flicked into a small wastebasket with such a practiced motion that Rick didn't even had to look where he threw it.

Now, clad only in just his white wife beater and green checked boxer shorts, Rick lay down in his bed. Drowsily, he looked at the ceiling of the darkened room and thought about how drab everything was.

Every day it was always the same boring routine with barely any change. There was no action he had done today that was any different from the things that he had done the day before.

Sure, Ricks hated surprises, but they also hated routine and while they liked to plan their day out ahead, they also loved to have some excitement and adventures in their lives, and Storage Rick felt no different about that. Yet he was stuck with this lame job at this dull Morty Day Care on the fucking Citadel of Ricks, free of any life-threatening danger from the Galactic Federation or any intergalactic government, but also freed from mind-blowing discoveries and the thrill of adventures. He longed for change, he really did, but unfortunately, he was trapped. Trapped like every Rick that came to live on the Citadel, whether they came by choice or were brought here against their will.

Just as Rick was about to doze off, the door to his room opened slowly. A small silhouette peeked inside his room and Rick immediately identified it as a Rabbit Morty.

"Rick? Are you still awake?" the lop-eared furry asked in a hushed voice.

"Yeah." Rick loudly whispered back. Even though it was dark, he could see how the Morty fidgeted.

With a roll of his eyes—which Morty couldn't see—and a sigh, he asked, "What's wrong?"

"W-well… I couldn't… sleep and I-I thought that—maybe…" the furry boy got quieter the more he spoke till the end of his sentence was nothing more than an indecipherable mumble.

"What do you want, Morty?" the elder asked, getting tired of the mumbling fast.

Rabbit Morty flinched a little since the tone came out a bit harsher than Rick had intended. "I-I just wanted to ask… if I could maybe… i-if you would let me sleep here?" he asked hopefully.

Storage Rick groaned in annoyance. The Morty took it as a sign of rejection and was about to leave the room again when Rick suddenly lifted his blanket and patted the mattress invitingly.

"C'mere." He added.

The furry didn't hesitate and crawled quickly in Rick's bed.

The man knew that Mortys were mentally frail little things that were prone to night terrors, whether they stemmed from the gruesome things that the boys encountered on their adventures with their Ricks, from the brutal battles where they were forced to fight against other Mortys, or just the abandonment issues that his charges suffered from. Therefore, he didn't mind the Morty snuggling against him as soon as he was safely settled beneath the covers. The boy's body felt warm—a bit warmer than that of human Mortys—and the fur was soft.

Rick absentmindedly stroked Rabbit Morty's head as the furry boy drifted into a blissful sleep.

One day, Rick told himself, one day he would try to make a change. For tonight, though, it would be fine to stick to the routine…

AN:

Okay, so there wasn't any change for Storage Rick, but I might write a sequel/second part, where we'll be breaking the habit.

Anyways, I hope you liked it.

Reviews are greatly appreciated, as always :)