Hey guys! Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favs! And after another break, I'm back.

Finished finals, but I started my summer jobs and now that I have senior positions, I have less time and I'm always dead tired. Gonna try to be more punctual with my writing schedules but can promise nothing. I'm not stopping this story anytime soon, though.

Please enjoy!

Going through a portal was always a tricky endeavor for a kid like Morty, who had the coordination of a newborn horse on roller-skates. The portals seemed to be made of some sort of substance that clung to him, never failing to trip up his legs as he stepped through unless he was careful and aware of it. Over the years, he'd grown accustomed to it and was able to prepare himself, but Morty found that he was a little out of practice when he entered through the portal and suddenly felt himself lurch forward. Knowing what was coming, he came out on the other side with a less than dignified stumble, careening right into another body in the haste to keep his feet.

"Hey," came the unmistakable bark of another Rick, "watch where y—urrp—ou're going, M-Morty."

Morty ducked his head and mumbled out a quick "sorry" as the Rick walked past, practically dragging his Morty along with him. A few more Ricks and Mortys milled around, a few giving him odd looks but most too engrossed in their daily tasks to pay him any mind. Morty was grateful for that, because his black pants and red parka stuck out like a sore thumb amongst his other yellow-shirted counterparts. The less attention he drew, the better.

The portal that C-132 Rick had made for him deposited him in a similar place to where he'd come from the first time. A place oddly decorated for his grandfather, complete with fountains and topiary and tall statues of himself (well, maybe not that odd. After all, Rick did enjoy a good stroking of his ego). There weren't any signs that would lead him to the council, so Morty figured that he would just head down the main road ahead of him and hope that the memory of his footsteps would kick in eventually. Squashing down his nervousness, he began to walk through the throng of his grandfather and himself and head for the council of Ricks.

Morty had almost forgotten what the citadel of Ricks looked like. Almost like a Times Square on steroids, with floating billboards and bright lights and roads that all seemed to lead to the same direction. Buildings towered over him, their tops nearly brushing the top of the dome that kept the entire citadel contained. There was room enough for a blimp of two to float by, however, flashing advertisements of things like Rick Locker and The Home Rick-pot. As Morty got on an escalator and ascended up a few hundred feet, he caught sight of parking lots and restaurants and apartment complexes that were obviously there for the Ricks that stayed at the citadel full-time.

The amount of Ricks and Mortys that populated the citadel startled Morty. There were versions of himself and his grandfather of every shade and shape, with some differences bouncing between confusingly small and frighteningly huge. Some changes were so large that Morty began to question what was the actual physical constant for himself across the dimensions. There was a Morty with huge muscles dressed up like a Mexican wrestler, trailing after a disappointingly mundane-looking Rick like an obedient pet. Another version of himself had a normal lower half and a fishlike upper half, complete with large eyes and fins that wiggled happily alongside his Rick. On the other hand, there were several Mortys that seemed to be virtually identical save for a few minor differences. One with shorts instead of jeans, another with a splash of freckles, and another that seemed to be left-handed rather than right.

It became interesting to look at, but something constantly nagged at the back of Morty's head and made him uneasy. The population ratio, perhaps? After all, there were plenty of Ricks without their Mortys, but there were no Mortys without their Ricks.

Poor Rick-less bastard.

Those words were almost taunting them, so simple and yet so cruel in their structure.

His plan to stay inconspicuous wasn't working as well as he hoped it would. Through each street, around every block, Morty could feel more and more eyes fall upon him. The place had a puzzling static to it, a prick in the air that no one could miss if they tried. The sensation of stolen glances from the alternate versions of his missing grandfather burned on the back of his neck like each of them were branding him with their gazes. A craned neck or two, nearly subtle enough to miss, danced in the corners of his vision. At least they had the courtesy to not come up to him and outright demand that he explained his clearly strange circumstances.

Still, he felt exposed in some way—thrown out to the lions.

The place was jam packed with Ricks and their Mortys, so, so many of them exact carbon copies of his own. Morty's heart ached with every step, but his determination hardened too. He could feel it tightening within his chest, each passing glance only fueling his resolve.

The further Morty went, the more that he feared that he was totally and utterly lost. Each direction he took only seemed to take him further into the citadel and there was an annoying lack of signage to help him along. Every twist and turn only seemed to serve a sole purpose—to make him completely adrift inside a massive city. No wonder his grandfather didn't bother with the council, because navigating this place was hard enough as it was. He stopped outside of a building and allowed himself to catch his breath before starting back up again. Just before he was about to continue, Morty caught a whiff of something delicious and turned to look at the place he'd stopped in front of.

It wasn't much, but it looked homely. A small, circular building with glass windows for sides and a revolving door. A billboard version of himself smiled on top of the place, a wide toothy grin baring down, mechanical arm waving in a friendly yet robotic manner. The smell of fresh burgers and fries slammed into him all at once, so much so that Morty was surprised that he wasn't knocked on his ass from the force of it. In bright yellow lights, the words The Morty Café blinked back down on him.

His stomach suddenly squawked, and Morty clutched it in embarrassment. Yhlari's meals were fine, but there was nothing that could compare to the decadence of fast food. It'd been weeks since he'd had something remotely Earthlike to eat.

Morty's resolve crumbled slightly, staring at the place that had appeared before him like heaven in a greasy spoon. The council could wait, couldn't they? His mind made up, Morty headed inside.

The place was packed up tight, almost wall to wall, with Mortys. About two or three dozen of them all crowded into the café together, a sea of yellow shirts and cracking voices. A bunch sat at tables or in booths, where they were waited upon by a wait staff consisting of three or four very inattentive Ricks. Several sat at the bar, where another Rick was passing out something that looked suspiciously like whiskey but also could very well have been apple juice. The place teemed with food: burgers and fries and wraps and hot dogs and omelets and cakes and pies and just about every other food Morty could have possibly liked. A few TVs lined the walls, hooked up with inter-dimensional cable channels. There was a Ball Fondlers episode on at the moment—when something happened, the patrons of the café cheered and laughed in one giant voice that swelled together, almost like they were being controlled under a hive mind.

Slightly self-conscious, Morty found himself inching alongside the wall towards the back corner. There was a table of Mortys in the corner with a few extra seats open, so he quickly shuffled over there to avoid the prying eyes of his own alternative selves. Three Mortys sat around a circular table, dealing cards over discarded meals, each more different than the last. The first one would have been another copy of him had 'he' not been a 'she', complete with waist length brown hair and a surprisingly large bust (Morty couldn't help it, silently cursing his hormones for basically ogling himself). Another next to him watched him through silted eyes, whittling down a toothpick and adjusting his leather jacket before throwing down his cards in a huff. Sweeping them all up was the strangest looking version of himself Morty had seen yet. Sickly orange skin with broken shackles on his wrists and fangs curling from under his bottom lips. One glassy eye bore into him, cutting like steel. Morty felt himself begin to sweat from underneath his jacket and started to fumble with the zipper in his haste.

"Hey," the female Morty greeted him, snapping Morty out of his movements. "Wanna play?"

Blinking and nodding, Morty pulled the seat over and sat down.

As the orange Morty collected the remainder of the cards and the jacketed Morty looked away in disgust, the female Morty drummed her fingers on the table. "You okay?" she asked Morty, eyebrows furrowed in concern, "you looked kinda spooked for a moment."

Morty's eyes involuntarily fell back on the orange Morty and he let out a bewildered "uh…." In response. The female Morty only chuckled.

"Oh, him? That's just Cyclops Morty," she leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "Dimension N-023. Rumor has it that he and his Rick were deported from their dimension after they basically caused a worldwide nuclear holocaust. Now his Rick works in the Morty identification department or something."

Cyclops Morty grunted, lone eye hard as stone.

"And that's G-737 Morty, but we all call him Greaser Morty," at the mention of his name, Greaser Morty perked up, chewing thoughtfully on the end of his toothpick. "The others say that he gets to ride an actual motorcycle to school. And he says he gets to sleep with Jessica on the weekends, but I don't buy it."

"You should," Greaser Morty spoke with such an exaggerated Italian accent that Morty was positive that it could only have been faked. He wondered what alternate version of The Sopranos they got in his dimension.

The female Morty passed him a pile of cards. "And I'm from dimension F-838, but you can call me Morticia. It's easier." she finished, "where are you from?"

Morty accepted the pile of playing cards and looked through them. "C-137," he told her while thumbing through the jacks and kings.

It was like someone had dropped a bomb in the middle of the café. One by one, the Mortys in the place grew silent. Mortica and Greaser Morty both placed their cards down on the table and gawked at him openly, the former with her mouth agape and the latter giving him a hard stare around his toothpick. Even Cyclops Morty looked up, his face morphing into something resembling interest. Morty felt himself grow anxious as more and more versions of himself turned to stare at him to find out what had caused the commotion.

"You're C-137?" Morticia echoed in disbelief. "I…I mean, but you're a legend!"

Ever the smart one, Morty only let out an extremely intelligent "I am?"

Too caught up in her own excitement to lower her voice, Morticia rambled on. "You're the Morty that defeated the evil Rick, right? Everyone tells stories about it; about how they were too scared to fight back until you came along, and then you lead the group of us to fight! Dude, you're a living legend! The one true Morty! People still talk about it!"

A small murmur of agreement rumbled through the café. Out of the corner of his eye, Morty swore he saw someone take a picture.

"I'm n-not that…I-I mean, I just kinda s-spoke up," Morty stammered, feeling his face go red. Morticia and several other Mortys stared at him, clearly hanging onto his every word, "it wasn't really t-that cool or anything."

By now, Morty was really wishing Morticia would put a sock in it. "That cool? All the Mortys I spoke to who were there said you were like Mel Gibson or something. Except, you know, without the armies and horses, and it's not like you're Scottish or something, but you get the picture…"

She finally finished after some time, leaving Morty with a face so hot he was positive steam was pouring out of his ears. The four of them slowly gathered up their cards as the commotion started to die down. "We're playing crazy eights," Morticia told him, eying him in either awe or fear or both. "Loser subs out."

The next thirty minutes or so whizzed by, maybe because he was being given a celebrity treatment inside of a dingy resturaunt. Morty only played four rounds and in that time, people had bought him food, taken selfies with him, asked to meet their Ricks, and offered to give him tours around the citadel. One even asked him for an autograph, something that positively baffled Morty. "Aren't we kinda the same person?" he'd asked offhandedly, causing the Morty to go scarlet and mutter some vague excuse. Morty signed it anyway, just to humor him, and the other Morty ran back into the throng of their alternate selves. He felt like he was stuck in a dome, whispers surrounding him on all sides and pressing up against him, making his hair stand on end and his skin prickle. He tried to focus on his cards and failed as the tide of voices would rock up and down with each new thing that he did, no matter how dull it was.

When the door slammed open, about forty heads snapped towards the door to find a Rick standing there, looking tired and irked. The crowd fell blissfully silent for the first time in a half hour as the Rick leaned on the doorframe. "Uh…F-38-, aw f-fuck, I m—urrp—mean 838. M-Morticia?"

Morticia shot her hand up. F-838 Rick grumbled something and waded through the café patrons until he came to stand at her side, eyes sharp yet lazy as he observed Morty, Greaser Morty, and Cyclops Morty. "Ready to go, Rick?" Morticia asked cheerfully.

"Uh, yeah, sure," F-838 Rick was rubbing his temples like he was falling victim to a bad hangover, to which Morticia looked on sympathetically and gave Morty an apologetic shrug. Rick muttered something fierce under his breath and sighed, "God, jury duty fuc—urrp—fucking sucks. Let's just go home and work on the dexes, okay?"

"Um, h-hey, Morticia?" Morty seized his opportunity and cut across their conversation, "I sorta n-need to get to the council t-too. Do y-you know where i-it is?"

Morticia's eyes went wide with surprise. "What for?"

"It's, er, k-kinda a secret?"

Suddenly, and before Morty could get a word in edgewise, Morticia was tugging on the sleeve of her grandfather, looking ecstatic. "Hey, hey Rick! Before we go, can we please take Morty to the council? Come on, please? It'll just take a minute."

"No," F-838 Rick said firmly.

Morticia's face dropped into a pout, and she spoke in a hushed undertone as she continued to argue. "But that's C-137 Morty, Rick."

Rick snorted. "So? I-I don't care if he's the k—urrp—ing of England. Punk can find his own way."

"It's n-not really necessary. I j-just want d-directions." Morty tried to interject, praying that their agreement wouldn't cause another rush of unwanted onlookers. However, F-838 Rick and Morticia were far too engrossed in their debate to pay him much attention.

"Come on, Rick! Can you stop being a dick for once and show him where the council is?"

"And tell me, M-Morticia, why in the fuck sh—urrp—hould I do that?"

Morticia pulled a face, looking sour. "If you don't, I'll tell mom about that one time you made me and Summer perform dentistry on a Heliophliac and how I nearly got my arms ripped off. Remember that, Rick?"

"You little shit. Ugh, fine." with a jerk of the head, F-838 Rick motioned to the two of them. Morticia, unperturbed despite the quarrel, sprang up right away as F-838 Rick glared at Morty. "Come on, C-137. The council d-doesn't like –urrp—late appointments and long talkers."

Without waiting, the two of them walked out, leaving Morty to sprint out of the café and try to catch up with them.

Along they went, F-838 Rick a half-step ahead of them while Morty and Morticia brought up the rear. Morticia seemed to have no limit in her excitement, pointing out various places and people that completely flew over his head. Morty would listen with one ear open; the other he saved for himself. While his alternate self prattled on about this and that, Morty quietly took in the golden statues and the cars zooming over his head.

Without warning, F-838 Rick took a sharp turn in between some pillars, leaving the two of them to scramble on over to him. As F-838 Rick led the way through what seemed like endless amounts of golden columns, he finally glanced back to Morty. "You ever been to the council, M—urrp—Morty?"

In handcuffs, not that it mattered. "Once," he said, keeping it as brief as he could.

F-838 Rick grunted. "Well, a piece of a-advice, since C—C-137's not here—urrp—to bail you out if you fuck up. They'll ask you why you're here, and you'll have about fifteen seconds to plead your case. Then, they'll decide w—urrp—what to do with ya. Three things y-you should k—urrp—know. One: don't in-interrupt them. Two: don't b—urrp—backtalk them. Three: accept whatever their answer is and don't dispute it. The councils all got rods up their asses, b-but they know best."

"B-but what if I-I don't like w-what they decide f-for me?" Morty dared to ask.

F-838 Rick let out a harsh laugh. "Then joi—urrp—join the club, bitch."

The three of them came upon a large set of golden doors after walking for what felt like an eternity. F-838 Rick gave Morty a jerk of the head, signaling that it was time for him to enter. Hesitantly, Morty stepped forward and put his hands on the large handles to enter the council chambers. He chanced one more look back; F-838 Rick's face was a mask of understandable irritation but also a sobering pity, like he knew something he wasn't sharing. Morticia looked far more concerned, but quickly put on a brave face as he looked her way. She smiled and gave him a thumbs up, mouthing "good luck" to him as he stood there. Turning back, Morty steeled up his courage and threw the doors open, entering the chamber.

He hadn't realized how late it had gotten, because sunset streamed through the large windows and nearly blinded him. The chamber was a massive circular room, with a large six-man podium at it's head. On both sides of it were Ricks and Mortys that Morty supposed were serving on jury. They seemed to be on break or getting ready to leave, as the Ricks were split into small conversational groups and a bunch of Mortys had gathered under the lone tree in the chamber to share news. All heads snapped in his direction, including those at the podium. There was a fumbling and a grumbling as flasks were stowed and hair was straightened and places were reclaimed. Six plaques shone in the dying light with their names: Rick Prime, Quantum Rick, Maximus Rickimus, Zeta Alpha Rick, Ricktiminus Sancheziminus, and Riq VI.

The one named Rick Prime was the first to speak. "Jesus, another late appointment. You ask for one eight-hour work day and people waltz in like they're the fucking wedding crashers." The other council members nodded in agreement. "Alright, lets get this over with. State your name and dimension number for the council."

Again, seemed kinda illogical, but F-838 Rick's words were still lodged in the back of his head. "M-my name is Morty Smith, f-from dimension C-137."

At the mention of C-137, a bunch of Mortys perked up and gave him excited looks. Even some of the Ricks looked impressed.

"Where's your Rick, C-137?" Zeta Alpha Rick demanded.

"That's kinda w-what I'm here for," it was hard to tell how formal he should be. They were Ricks, after all. "I'd like…I m-mean, I need to plead to the council for help."

The council put their heads together for a moment before returning their attention back to him. "Very well," said Ricktiminus Sancheziminus, "what say you, C-137?"

Fifteen seconds, Morty thought. "I-I, um, m-my Rick was captured by the G-Galactic Federation about eight m-months ago," that at least elicited some mildly perturbed expressions from the jury, though the council kept their stony silence, "and I've been o-off-planet, trying to break h-him out. My si-sister and I, well…w-we would like t-to ask for your help."

To his relief, the council seemed to accept his statement. They turned to look at each other thoughtfully, and the Rick and Morty jury below whispered their own thoughts to each other in hushed undertones. Morty stood placidly, waiting for their decision.

At last, the council turned back to him. "And what of your dimension? Of C-137?" asked Quantum Rick.

For a moment, Morty was confused. "I, um, I-I don't understand, r-really."

"Your dimension," Rick Prime pressed him. "Is it safe? Or is it totally fucked? Give us an answer, or-"

"I-I still do-."

"Don't interrupt us," Riq VI snapped, causing Morty to jump. The other Ricks glowered at him, and sweat ran down his back and made the ski jacket stick uncomfortably to his back. Strike one, he thought to himself. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Morty continued on, trying his best to make it seem like nothing had happened.

"I, um, I-I think that t-the…my dimension's going to be in a-a lot of d-danger if something d-doesn't happen," he managed to stammer out, his mouth dry.

Again, the council of Ricks pressed their heads together and talked amongst themselves. The jury, as if connected on the same lifeline, babbled between each other as they awaited the verdict. After some time, the Ricks drew away from each other, and the room felt heavier under the weight of all the tension in the air.

"Morty Smith of Earth dimension C-137," Rick Prime stated, standing up. The other council members followed suit. "We have decided to quarantine your dimension. No Rick may enter, and no R—urrp—Rick may leave. This will ensure that your dimension stays safe under the circumstances you have described. Are we all in agreement?"

The council members all nodded, and the jury joined their voices into the fray to signal their agreement. There was a general atmosphere of satisfaction and accomplishment, except for Morty, who was still utterly perplexed as he stood there and rolled the verdict over and over in his head. "Wait," he spoke through the throng of felicitations being given, drawing a few heads, "what a-about my R-Rick? What are we g-going to do?"

And then the council did something Morty didn't expect, yet they also did something he should have expected all the same. They laughed. It started small, but then it swelled. One, two three, four, five, and then all six council Ricks were guffawing from atop their golden thrones at him. Quite a few jury Ricks laughed as well, as if following the lead of their superiors. Only the Mortys kept quiet, most only eying him benevolently, like they knew what was about to happen.

"Oh, oh, this is rich," Riq Vi was the one to answer him, a scathing laugh escaping his lips. "Jesus, C-137," he sneered, "you don't think that we're actually going to help your Rick, do you?"

It was like the world had split under Morty's feet. His stomach flipped inside out and his intestines coiled. In his shocked state, he could only manage to muster up a single, horrified "what?"

It was Quantum Rick who answered him this time, still rubbing tears out of his eyes. "Look, C-137, you got a n—urrp—a nice sob story and all, but fact of the matter is, your Rick ain't part of the council. Better yet, he's been a pain in our ass for the last thirty years. He passed all this up a long time ago, so why should we be obliged to give a shit?"

Morty couldn't believe what he was hearing. "B-b-but he's a R-Rick," he spat, his fury running away from him, "and i-if the Federation gets what they what with him, t-then they're g-going to come for you next!"

Riq VI smirked. "That doesn't sound l—urrp—like our problem."

"But it will be!" Morty snarled. "That's not f-fair!"

"Watch it, C-137," Prime Rick spat back at him. "You think you can come in and tell us how to do our fucking jobs?"

Morty was outraged enough to be forced back into compliance, his mouth snapping back shut. Strike two; the thought rang through his head.

"Are we all in agreement?" Rick Prime asked again.

Six heads bobbed up and down. A smaller and more discouraged murmur of agreement rose from the crowd of Ricks and Mortys gathered below. Morty stood, rooted to the spot, more furious than he'd ever felt in his life.

Maximus Rickimus spoke up next, gathering a paper from his podium. "Well, if that's in order, then bring in the Rick Replacement Taskforce."

Upon hearing those words, Morty was snapped out of his stupor. "W-wait, what's t-the R-Rick Replacement Taskforce?"

A part of him didn't want to know the answer.

"Well, you've j—urrp—just admitted that you lost your Rick" Riq VI informed him. "That makes you a Rick-less M-Morty. There are tons of Ricks who lost their Mortys on some sort of adventure. You're going to be assigned a new one"

Realization dawned on Morty with the speed of a freight train. When he spoke again, his voice was meek and listless. "Y-you…you're giving me away? What about my family? My sister? My grandfather?"

"Your Rick is a lost cause," Ricktiminus Sancheziminus told him as a side door opened and several armed Rick guards marched out. "Why bother getting him, anyway? You be assi—urrp—assigned a new Rick and it'll be like it never happened."

In that moment, something struck Morty. Standing there, in front of hundreds of alternate versions of himself and his grandfather, he felt something harden inside his chest. His mind was miraculously clear, with only one thought running through it—he was about to strike out.

"My R-Rick would care. And h-he'd get m-me," Morty snarled. "So fuck you g-guys, and peace the fuck o-out."

Six hard pairs of eyes bore into him. "What?" Three of them spoke at the same time, the other three appeared to be too astonished to talk back.

Before Morty could say something, and before the council could react, he bolted. He just ran as fast as his legs could carry him, barreling towards the side door that had just opened. He managed to duck under the outstretched arms of the Rick guards and glance back, catching one glance back to see six scandalized faces staring at his back. His moment of catharsis had, Morty sprinted out the door and ran as fast as he could, turning down the first turn his could find and just going. Behind him, he could hear one of the council Ricks recover, barking orders to chase him down.

As he sprinted through the maze of columns, it came upon Morty that despite how much he relished the decision he made, he had absolutely no plan thereafter. He had no way to get back, and now he was a fugitive inside a giant citadel filled with people trying to capture him. Anger and adrenaline melted into terror and uncertainty in the blink of an eye. He was so distracted with the circumstances of his own misfortunes that he wasn't looking where he was going, so it was no surprise when Morty turned a corner and charged straight into another body. A Rick, most likely. Morty crashed into the ground hard, where a shadow fell upon him. Blinking stars out of his eyes, Morty forced himself to look up.

He was looking at a Rick, alright, but it looked like a Rick that had been created in a universe drawn by Jim Davis. His eyes were almost comically unaligned, appearing to be looking in two directions at once. There was a gap in his teeth so big Morty was certain his could have slipped a quarter through it. The real kicker was the hair, however; instead of being unkempt and sticking out at odd angles, it was neatly combed into a bowl shape. In place of his signature frown, this Rick wore a toothy smile. When he spoke, air rushed through the gap in his teeth and made the words whistle. "Well hey there, Morty. Are you lost?"

Even his tone of voice was off. All nice and comforting, and in a trusting sort of manner. That was probably what unnerved Morty the most. This Rick was much too kind to be an actual Rick, right?

Before Morty could contemplate any longer, the sounds of several approaching footsteps resonated with him. Shit, there must've been ten of them on his tail and he'd been stopped like a dumbass in his tracks by a dopier looking version of his grandfather. There was no hope of outrunning the pack of Ricks on his trail now. He needed somewhere to hide.

Fighting down his impending sense of doom, Morty turned tail away the goofy-looking Rick and pressed himself against one of the thick pillars. The Rick let out a gasp, looking at him in surprise and confusion. Morty forced himself to calm down and quickly put a finger to his lips in the hopes that the goofy Rick would get the message. He would be safe as long as none of the Ricks chasing him turned around.

Morty held his breath as the patrol of Ricks sent to capture him ran right past his hiding spot. They sprinted right past him without a second glance, missing him out in the open. Relieved, Morty was about to leave the safety of the pillar and return back the way he came when he noticed that they'd all stopped in front of the Rick he'd barreled into. They circled him like sharks, guns in their hands. Horror flooded through him, and Morty pressed himself further against his hiding spot.

"Yo, Doofus Rick," one of the Rick guards snapped at the goofy-looking Rick, who'd in the meantime turned his head away from Morty and looked at the alternate versions of himself, "have yo—urrp—you seen a rogue Morty anywhere? Did he co-come down the hall?"

Doofus Rick opened his mouth, and a rush of fear flew up Morty's spine. Desperately, he shook his head from behind the pillar, hoping against hope that the goofy-looking Rick was watching out of the corner of his eye. Fortunately, it seemed that luck, for once, was on his side.

"I…uh, no, I haven't," Doofus Rick lied, stealing a quick sideways glance at his hiding spot. "I was just on my way to pick up my Morty from the clinic. Is something wrong?"

"None of your b-business, shitface," one of the Ricks jeered. "Have fun p—urrp—icking up your loser Morty. I heard he was great in When Zachary Beaver Came to Town."

A few other voices laughed, and then, mercifully, there was the sound of footsteps again as the platoon of Ricks marched away. Trembling, Morty peeled himself off the pillar and allowed himself a moment to breathe.

Doofus Rick, meanwhile, approached him with a prideful expression on his face. "Well, that was fun! The most fun I've had in a while! So thrilling!" his face fell slightly, maybe due to the supposed seriousness of the situation finally catching up with him. "So, why were they trying to catch you, Morty?"

Another bright flash of panic shot through Morty, who bolted upright, feeling like he'd been electrocuted. "Um, I, they…" well, time to see just how much of a doofus Doofus Rick really was, "they w-weren't coming after m-me."

Doofus Rick's expression tightened with concentration. Morty could feel sweat pouring down the sides of his face. "Then why'd you shake your head and stuff?" he asked, not harshly, but certainly not unknowingly.

"I was trying to f-find the M-Morty first, y-you know?" was the first thing that popped into his head. "I just d-didn't want the other R-Ricks to see m-me, right? Me running a-around without a R-Rick and all. I didn't w-want to get in trouble."

Finally, Doofus Rick broke back into his wide smile. "Well yeah, that makes sense! They're pretty hard on Mortys who don't have a Rick. Say, where is your Rick anyway?"

"Back in my d-dimension," at this point, Morty was just trying to keep himself afloat through this deathtrap of a conversation. He was feeling bad for lying so much, but there wasn't really much he could do anymore to stop the ball from rolling. "Probably, I-I mean. We sort o-of got separated in the c-citadel. Hey, y-you don't think y-you ca-can get me back home, d-do you?"

Morty thought he saw Doofus Rick's eyes glisten with happiness, hands wild and awry as he fumbled through the folds of his lab coat. "Well sure, Morty! I hope you find your Rick. What dimension are you from?"

"C-137."

"Oh hey, you're from C-137?" seemed like everyone in this damn place knew about dimension C-137. "Hey, your dad was the coolest. How is Jer-Bear these days? You know, you're one lucky Mor-."

In an effort to speed things along, Morty seized the portal gun from one of Doofus Rick's pockets and thrust it into the hands of the scientist himself. "Yeah, he-he's fine. Just send m-me back to planet FR-0284, p-please. T-there's a bunker there, so please j-just send me there, okay?"

Doofus Rick's face fell again. "Well, isn't it easier to go back to your house?"

Christ, did anyone in this damn place ever stop talking? Morty rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, rattling off excuses as fast as possible. "R-Rick and I-I were there l-last. He'll kn-know where t-to find m-me. J-just please do i-it!"

At long last, Doofus Rick entered the coordinates into the gun and fired, presenting Morty with a perfect portal back into his dimension. Without the slightest bit of hesitation, Morty charged past him and practically threw himself into the portal. The last things he heard was Doofus Rick shouting "say hi to Jerry for me!" before Morty was plunged back into the icy holes of his own reality.

-X-

Just his luck, Morty totally forgot about the catch in the portal.

He came crashing back into FR-0284 face first, his nose smashing hard into the ice as he sprawled over the ground. Groaning, Morty turned himself over just in time to see the portal disappear with a green pop, leaving him alone. High ceilings and hanging chains greeted him as they dangled above his head. At least Doofus Rick was accurate with the portal gun, because he'd sent him straight back into the hanger of the bunker that he and Summer had explored a while ago.

Morty grumbled and flipped himself back over just in time to hear the footsteps coming back down the hall. A moment later, the door slammed open and Summer charged in, her pistol clutched in her hand. She lowered it after a brief moment of hesitation, her face relaxing. "Oh Jesus, it's just you," she breathed in relief, holstering her pistol and approaching him. "How'd it go?"

Morty couldn't resist a sarcastic remark. "P-pretty well, all t-things considered."

"No luck, I take it?" Morty loathed the sympathy in his sister's voice. He ignored her stretched out hand and pushed himself off the ice. Only now was he feeling the sheer exhaustion of the day's events. Between C-132 Rick and the council, the only thing Morty wanted to do was to curl up in his bed and sleep for a year.

"Does it look l-like it?" Morty couldn't help but snap, his tiredness making him lose control of his temperament. At least, he thought that was the case. Maybe the council's apathy was still getting to him. He could still hear their laughter ringing in his ears like church bells, a nagging itch in the back of his head that he just couldn't scratch.

Summer opened her mouth but then closed it after taking a look at her brother's face, instead offering him her shoulder. Morty collapsed onto it gratefully and allowed his sister to guide him back through the hallways of the bunker. After a moment or two, he felt rejuvenated enough to walk on his own, and Summer did so but not without some complaining. "You're exhausted. Let me help you," she would say, but Morty stubbornly shook his head. He wasn't exactly keeping up with her, but he was done with her kindness, at least until he could get some rest.

At long last, the two of them found themselves back in the conference room, where Yhlari stood staring at the hologram of the galaxy with her back to them. Summer cleared her throat, and their trainer turned around, purple eyes alight with worry. "Oh, thank goodness you found your way back. How'd it go, Morty?"

"I-it wasn't fun," Morty grumbled as Summer helped him into a seat.

Yhlari eyed him sympathetically. "No luck?"

"They sorta s-said that no R-Rick was allowed b-back in this d-dimension until we s-sorted out o-our own pr-problems."

The alien groaned and returned her attention back to the galaxy hologram. "Well, let's face it; it was a long shot and we knew it," Yhlari said matter-of-factly. "Looks like we're on our own for the time being. Fortunately, while you've been gone, Summer and I put our heads together and came up with some good news."

Morty perked up his head. Good news? At this point? "What i-is it?"

"C-132 Rick gave us a bit of an idea when he was talking to you," Yhlari began, "he said that we don't exactly have a ship to get us around the galaxy. And he's right; we're more or less trapped here on FR-0284 and hitchhiking through nebula after nebula is a surefire way to land us in the wrong hands."

Summer cut across Yhlari now, green eyes burning with the prospect of something wild and dangerous. "Yhlari and I have been talking for hours, Morty, and get this. She knows where Grandpa's spaceship is, and we're going to steal it back."

Some things about this chapter:

1) In case you couldn't tell, I took a LOT of inspiration from Pocket Mortys. Right down to some of my team members (such as Reverse-Mermaid Morty) making cameos in the chapter. I probably started writing this chapter in bits and snippets around the time the game came out in January, making an effort to cram in as many easter eggs as I could.

2) In case you couldn't tell, I love Morticia. I sort of imagined her as a more mature, yet more excitable version of Morty, kinda like how I imagine 14-year-olds going through puberty are like, or at least how I was. She originally was just going to be another Morty until I decided to make him a her. Her Rick, on the other hand, was originally going to be female until I changed it back to male because I didn't want both of them to be female in this scene. (I originally wanted to include other Ricks like Zero and Junkyard from the game but decided against it for time).

3) This is the longest thing I've ever written. Authors notes and all, this is going to clock in at about 7.2k words. It took A LONG ASS TIME to write.

Thanks for reading and please follow, fav, or review if you enjoyed!