Stanley Pines was definitely not a nerd. He wasn't some sort of genius, or mathematician, he hadn't even graduated High School! Any other time, Stan Pines would have taken a left hook to whatever machine was getting on his nerves, and then stealthily snuck away before the proper owner could see who'd destroyed their damned hoosit-what-sies. Needless to say, that couldn't happen this time. The man idly scratched at his chin scruff, squinting his eyes as he flipped through yet another physics textbook. "Agh…I need to get some glasses." He'd stopped wearing them as a kid, figured he didn't need them and he didn't want to look like a huge dorkus. His brother could do that for the both of them! A brief smile tugged on his lips, before Stan glanced back up at the machine in front of himself and the smile fell fast.
Stan heaved a heavy sigh, resting both of his palms on his knees as he looked up at the machine helplessly. The last place he'd seen his brother…hard to believe it had already been a few months…maybe a year? Year and a half? Stan didn't like keeping count. He looked back down at the textbook, trying as hard as he could to concentrate. Force all of this…gibberish into something more like pure and simple English. And since when did math get LETTERS in it? Several minutes ticked by, though they might as well have been hours to him, before the man grabbed the textbook and hurled it across the room, clattering onto the floor. "NYAUGH!" If he couldn't hit that stupid machine, he'd just take his fury out on this stupid book! Stan pulled himself to his feet, completely intent on ripping every piece of paper out of the book before his knees buckled beneath himself. "Whoa, whoa…!" His arms pin wheeled around, attempting to find his balance. He stumbled onto one knee and winced, wrapping an arm around his stomach as a shooting pang shot through it. He'd gone hungry enough times to know what this was…how long had he been down here, anyway?
Stan reached over and scooped up a lantern, ascending up the elevator and the stairs to leave the room alone. All it ever did was make him upset and angry anyway. Shutting the door behind himself, Stan stepped over to one of the windows and squinted out of it. Already, he could hear the sound of chirping birds. The sun was gonna come up soon, which meant it was time for another day of mystery. Money or no money, Stan Pines felt like absolute shit. He was tempted to call in a personal day, but a quick glance in the pantry told him he needed more food. Stay open, it was. "Ugh…" He needed some help…someone smart. Someone who could be trusted! "…" Yeah, no, there wasn't really anyone Stan knew that could be trusted to watch over an ant farm, let alone rebuild a giant portal machine to bring his brother back! All of the people in this town were a bunch of idiots, and anybody he knew from his time on his own thought he was dead. There was no one who could be trusted with sensitive information about his brother, magic technology stuff, and faking one's death!
…A grin grew on Stan Pine's face. Perhaps there was one guy…one man who had been through enough shit to not ask any questions! And smart enough to help him rebuild the machine! A new vigor in him now, Stan opened the fridge and grabbed out a carton of milk, taking a deep swig. "Ah!" That finished that jug off. Stan wiped his mouth with his wrist before chucking the carton behind himself, peeking into the fridge for some actual food. "Hm…" If he was going to track down Rick, he'd need to buy more booze.
"And over here, ladies and gentlemen, you'll find the elusive Antel-abbit! A freak of nature, it was born from an unholy union between a rabbit and some…antelope thing!" Stan Pines, man of Mystery, was in the 'groove'. The fancy shirt and tie bit seemed to be enough to make people overlook how disheveled his hair was, and how bushy his facial scruff was becoming. For a moment, Stan was able to lose himself in his own little scam. Right now he was Stanford Pines, a simple man with a simple Hut, weaving tales to losers for cash! The group he was entertaining was a modest bunch, the usual dopey kids with their stupid grandparents. People taking pictures of everything but the exhibit he was hawking…it was a usual day at the shack.
"Uh…don't you mean a J-Jack-a-lope?" A voice stuttered out. It sounded familiar... Stan turned to face the heckler. At the back of the group was a slim and tall man, close to Stan's own age, with a wild head of hair. He had on a long sleeved blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of jeans. Any insults Stan was concocting died on his tongue, staring back at the man in shock. He couldn't believe how fast he had come... Or, that he had come after all! Usually Rick was as reliable as a lawyer. Rick didn't react at all in kind, taking a swig of a flask and burping under his breath before continuing. "And Jack-A-Lopes aren't even made by hybrid breeding, they come here through a p-portal near L-L-Las Vegas from the dimension XY67FCG. Sheesh Stan, if you're going to have a shi-shittier version of 'Ripley's Believe It Or Not', you need to step it up. Or at least get your facts straight." Rick kept a neutral, almost bored look upon his face as he took yet another swig.
Stan blinked several times before scowling, eyes roaming over his customers as they began to mumble to themselves. "Don't mind him, folks! This guy's just some drunken looooser." Obnoxiously elongating the word, he grinned at the other man, waiting to see if he'd take the bait. From the sight of that narrowed, bushy unibrow, it looks like he had. Sucker.
"Yeah, you'd know all about being a drunken loser, wouldn't you." Even though the other man had turned away, attempting to look aloof, Stan could tell he was pissed off. Easy as pie, even after all these years!
All grins, Stan pulled out a bag and waved it at his customers. "Closing time for the Murder Hut! If you want to leave alive, you have to pay five dollars!" Successfully distracted, the customers chuckled at what they assumed was a joke and threw their money in like they always did. As if receiving some silent message, Rick didn't move to leave with everybody else. While Stan took his day's work to the register to stash away the cash, Rick stepped closer to inspect the 'Antel-abbit' that was mounted on a simple wooden block.
"Did you just…just take horns and glue them onto a stuffed animal? This thing is-is-is-is blue, Stan. BLUE." He sounded incredulous, prodding at the antlers. "This is just shoddy craftsmen work." Rick sighed, as if honestly disappointed. "If you needed stupid shit for this place, you could have just asked me, I could have engineered some r-r-reeeeeal hybrids for you."
SNAP.
The glue cracked, antler falling onto the ground with a noisy clatter. Both men jolted at the sound, before Stan fixed the other man with a flat gaze. "I was actually kinda proud of that one." Both men stared at each other again, the slimmer one taking another, deeper swig of his flask this time before he suddenly whipped out a futuristic gun. In two steps, Rick was right in front of Stan, the butt of his weird gun aimed for Stan's throat. "WHOA, HEY!" Stan winced as the gun whirred, heat wafting from the thing dangerously. "Rick, what are yo-"
"WHO THE F-FUUUCK ARE YOU!" Rick roared into his face, glaring at him.
"Hey hey, it's me! Stan Pines!"
"BULLSHIT!" Rick pressed the butt of the gun closer, Stan flinching as it singed some of his five o'clock shadow. "STAN PINES IS DEAD! A-and-and there's no WAY you're that brother of his! You have five fingers! So you're either-!" The man paused to belch, Stan's nose crinkling at the stench. "E-e-either some sort of-of CLONE or you're a SHAPESHIFTER! So WHICH IS IT?!"
"Hey Rick, come on, you can tru-LEFT HOOK!" Stan's fist swung out, clocking Rick in the face. He dropped to the ground, the gun flying across the room from the force of the punch. Stan positioned himself between it and Rick, who was glaring at him and seemed to be ignoring the trail of blood coming from his nose. "I didn't want to have to hit ya, Rick, but…well actually, you deserve it." Stan smirked, but Rick didn't return it.
"You punch j-just like him…" Rick sounded shocked, even a little horrified. It was unsettling, to say the least. The slimmer man seemed to shrink on the ground, frowning deeply.
The stockier man frowned. "I am him, I…I'm sorry, Rick. I had to fake my death. Something…happened, and it's why I brought you here-"
"You mean tracked down my ex-wife-that was r-reeeeally creepy by the way-and pretended like you were some sort of bounty hunter out for my skin." The shock had left his voice, dull look returning to his eyes as his hands expertly found the same flask he'd been drinking from. He didn't take another swig just yet, merely curling his hands around the container as he stared back at Stan, waiting for an answer.
Stan chuckled, almost sheepish as he gave the man a shrug. "Well, would she have sent you over to me if she thought I was your friend?"
That actually earned a chuckle. "Of course not! Don't be rick-diculous." Rick brought his hand up to his nose, staring down at the blood on his palm and narrowing his eyes at Stan. "You d-dick."
Stan reached a hand out for Rick to grab. "Just like old times, huh?"
Rick sneered, wiping his palm on his jeans to get rid of the blood. "Yeah, except for this shit-show you call a house." Despite the man's salty tone, he grabbed Stan's hand and pulled himself up. The two of them stared at each other awkwardly, both taking in how they had changed over the years. "…You l-look like shit." Rick stepped forward and took a sniff. His nose crinkled instantly. "You smell like shit, too."
"Yeah, well, at least I don't have any gray hairs." Stan's eyes landed squarely on the hair atop Rick's head. What had once been a very dark shade of black was now speckled and streaked with a weird bluish gray. "I don't remember you having some sort of blaster gun thing either. What the hell have you been getting into since I left, Rick?"
A somber look fell over the slim man's face, and for a moment Stan realized that it was probably how he himself looked whenever he thought about what had happened in the basement. Rick sighed and pulled out his flask once more. "Y-you don't wanna know…" He took a greedy swig this time, gulping down seemingly every drop of alcohol.
Stan's eyes briefly glanced to the kitchen. "Hey, I hear ya buddy. You know…" Stan wrapped a burly arm around Rick's narrow shoulders, bringing him close and jostling his mouth free from the flask. That earned Stan a glare he ignored. "I've got some beers with our names written on them in the fridge!"
"O-oh yeah? I bet I can still drink your ass under the table!"
"Haha! I bet you're wrong!"
Author Notes: So I started on this ficlet back when 'A Tale Of Two Stans' aired! After seeing that episode, it became immediately clear to me that a crossover with Rick and Morty was VERY plausible. I've seen art of Rick and Stan being crime buds, even lovers, but I haven't seen much potential regarding Stan turning to his old friend for help with SCIENCE! Of course, Rick being Rick... This ain't gonna work out.
More to come, I hope you enjoyed reading this little thing!