Recap

Jerry, unsurprisingly, doesn't love his new job... so he's stuck on an asteroid with just his

inferiority complex to keep him company. That is, until Rick and Morty show up.

Everything is going fiiiine, just fine, until Morty starts puking up liquified guts due to what

appears to be a parasitic infection. Way to go, Jerry.

Summary

Jerry tries to figure out if Morty is, y'know, still alive and then accidentally

makes a friend out of his scary co-worker. Oh, and Rick

pretty much drags Jerry from work so Jerry can help Rick retrieve a very a special vehicle.

.

CHAPTER 4: RICK UP THE PHONE!

.

Riiiiing.

Riiiiing.

Riiii–

There was a fuzzy click and an exhausted breath from the other end of the line. "H-hullo?"

Jerry frowned. "Beth, is that you? You sound horri–… um, tired."

"Ugh, Jerry," Beth sighed heavily, but it only translated as prickling static over the lightyears between them. Which was still pretty good, considering the distance. "Shoulda known it was you…"

Jerry let out an awkward laugh. "Don't sound too happy to hear from me."

Beth just sighed again. "What d'you want?"

Jerry tried to maintain the uncomfortable smile on his face before he remembered he was alone outside the Flim-Flameria, with Beth so many galactic hours away in the comfort of what used to be their home. No need for fake smiles.

He sighed. "Listen, I just want to talk to Morty. I wanna see if he's okay."

"Okay?" Beth let out an unusually boisterous laugh. "Okay? Are you– are you kidding? He's bedridden! Dad hadda–he hadda grow him some new– you're lucky he grew some organs for 'im, or Morty'd be…" Beth broke off again into something that was either a laugh or a sob.

"Beth," began Jerry. He shouldn't ask, he really shouldn't ask, but, "Are you drun–?"

"WHAT ARE YOU, MY MOTHER?" Beth hiccuped and even from the asteroid, Jerry knew her blink was uneven, one eye sliding shut before the other. He'd seen her drunk face more than he cared to remember.

Jerry felt unusually calm when he said, "Beth, I'd like to talk to Morty."

"Morty's asleeeep," slurred Beth. "He's healing from those… the damn worms. From your neglig… neglect."

"Hey, it wasn't my fault!" Jerry's voice went up an octave. "He picked up what he thought was a stick. It was larvae or-or something, I dunno. Rick told you, right?"

Beth was silent. And then quietly, she said, "Dormant larvae."

"Ah, that."

Beth made another choked sound and Jerry listened as the wave of it broke again and again into the phone. One sob right after another.

"Um… you…" He cleared his throat, "You okay over there?"

"No, 'm not uurhh-okay, you insensitive ass!"

"Okay, jeez," Jerry clamped his mouth shut, listening to her drunk despair. She was in stage one of Wine Drunkenness—in which all her weird issues bobbed to the surface. All she had to do was drink more to get past that, to where her brain was soaked in alcohol and she didn't feel anything bad anymore. At least that's how she had put it once, years and years ago—after Summer and before Morty, although Jerry couldn't really pinpoint an exact time. He just remembered she was, unsurprisingly, drunk when she said it. "Maybe you should go to sleep, Beth."

"J-jerry," she sobbed, ignoring his advice completely, as per usual. "My son almost died out there."

Jerry tried not to think about that so much. He kind of wished she hadn't said it, actually, and he tried to bury the comment under some more strained laughter. "Yeah, well. Space, huh? It's a fickle thing, a real… a real scary place, a real big place." He paused. "Lucky he had Rick, though, right?"

Jerry felt his guts twist up a bit. He had only been trying to make Beth feel better, but his own words reminded him of how useless he'd been in that moment, with Morty's insides pouring out through his mouth and onto the pavement, his eyes green and glowing and unfocused, tongue blackening under the toxic weight of his own vomit.

Lucky he had Rick.

For once, it was Jerry who wanted to hang up the phone. But he didn't. He held on, listening to Beth cry.

"Dad–my dad," Beth sobbed. "He couldn't… what if he didn't… oh, god–" Beth's words crumbled after that, sloshing into a jumbled mess further encrypted by the fluctuating waves of static interference.

Jerry found himself wondering exactly where all that static came from. He wasn't even sure how these space phones worked, actually… Like, what, did they run on a series of satellites or–

"I can't, I can't let him.." Beth's voice surfaced, coherent for a moment, before sinking once again into space.

"Beth?" Jerry clutched the phone to his ear. "Beth, I think you should really get some sleep."

The interference cleared up long enough for him to hear her babbling, and then she paused for such a length of time that Jerry knew well enough meant she was gulping down another half-box of Safeway wine.

"Hey, slow–"

"MooooOOoooooooorty," Beth whined, "My son… I let him go and he…"

"Oh-okay, Beth, just… just calm down a bit, okay? It's fine, Morty's fine. I mean, I think, I don't really know, you weren't… too clear on that. Is Morty okay? Is my son okay?" Jerry laughed again. "Hah… is, uh… My son's alive, right? Morty's alive?"

Beth keened some more.

"Jeez," breathed Jerry.

On the other end of the line, there was a clattering. Beth's voice was distanced from the receiver. Jerry could hear her calling, "Dad–hey, daddyyy, daaaadddyyyy…"

Moments later, he heard another voice stabbing it's way into his ears—something rough as torn pavement to Beth's cold-syrup-spilled-on-the-countertop voice.

The rough voice said, "Beth, sweetie–what's, who's that you're talking to, huh? W-who's that?"

Beth ignored Rick, instead crying some more about Morty and daddy and other things Jerry chose to ignore, for his own fragile sanity's sake.

There was more clambering and a second later, Rick's toxic breath forced its way into the speakers. See, Jerry could tell it was him 'cause be exhaled a lot, heavily, and it did not help the already crappy signal. Leave it to Rick to inconvenience a phone signal.

"Who-whoURRRp–who is this?" burped Rick, "What are you doin', calling at… at midnight, what are you, crazy? This is–we're in suburbia here, everyone's asleep at ten and if they're not that's their business, so just. So just, please refrain from calling again at… at this god-awful hour of the night, o-o-o-o-o-o-kay? Do you got–do you understan–"

"Rick," interrupted Jerry. "Can you please just tell me if Morty's all right or not?"

"Oh, it's you." Jerry was surprised at the lack of disgust in Rick's voice. In fact, he could only hear boredom, really, as opposed to the fiery rant about suburbia he'd listened to just a minute ago.

"Yeah, it's me. Anyway, is my son–"

"Morty's– uruUURp–fine," said Rick, "He'll be up and around by the weekend, good as new."

Jerry let out a relieved breath. "Oh, thank god. Well, can I talk–?"

"AuUuurand," burped Rick, "And thanks to you, Beth's all… she's all hysterical again! Y'know how long it took me to, to calm her down? This-this-this… you got another thing comin' to you, Jerry, if you keep callin' and-and makin' my daughter cry and.."

"Okay!" frowned Jerry, "I get it, I'm sorry. But you can't blame me for wanting to see if my son's alive."

"He's fine, don't be such a drama queen."

"And you know what, Rick?" Jerry felt the anger in his gut, seemingly dormant for weeks now, rearing its head. "You could try not putting my son in dangerous situations like that!"

"Yeah, like you were doing anything to help…"

"And keeping an eye on Beth, that'd be nice too! I don't want her to end up an alcoholic like you."

There was a short silence on the other end. Jerry tensed, expecting a tongue lashing from his father-in-law.

But Rick just exhaled sharply again. "I'll put her to bed. Goodnight, Jerry."

"But–"

"Goodnight."

The line went dead.

...

When Jerry re-entered the restaurant, Scallion was at the counter reading something on a tablet, as he often was after-hours. He peered up at Jerry, his vertical eyelids narrowing as he tried to discern Jerry's expression.

"Is sad?" he asked.

Jerry shook his head before he even thought about whether or not he was sad. "Just… y'know, talked to the wife. Or soon to be ex, I guess…" Jerry sighed and collapsed onto a nearby barstool, letting his head rest on the counter.

"Female troubles," Scallion nodded sagely. Jerry noticed some alien blood caked under Scallion's long, long nails… "I know the feel. Females, always be wanting one thing, then they ask you for the other thing, and then the other."

Jerry nodded sleepily.

"And then they want sex with the patriarch!" Scallion shook his head.

Jerry just kept nodding even though he had no idea what the guy was talking about at this point.

"It okay, flesh-o-pod." Scallions heavy, cold hand landed on Jerry's shoulder. "Females are not forever."

Jerry closed his eyes, pressing his hot face more closely to the cool linoleum countertop (where did they even get linoleum in space? was his passing thought), "Thanks, Scallion."

"No problem," Scallion went back to his tablet and Jerry fell asleep face-down on the bleach-scented counter.

He didn't wake up until opening hours the next day, when Renchin so kindly jabbed his side hard enough that Jerry collapsed onto the floor in surprise.

While that moment in itself was not very unusual (he knew the aliens didn't like him too much, or at least didn't understand the delicacy of the human body), Jerry couldn't help but feel comforted by a new softness from the direction of Scallion. Shortly after he rose from the floor, he saw a plate with some mysterious-looking noodles on it. Scallion stood with his arms crossed behind the counter.

"It good for you. Eat."

Jerry thought about declining the offer and then imagined the rest of his life as a delivery worker, friendless in space. He decided possible death-by-poisoning was worth accepting the food. So he smiled a thank you and ate while Scallion went about his business.

From then on, Jerry would find saved plates of food on the counter every 'morning' before his first delivery. And that, Jerry thought, was something he didn't realized he needed until it was there.

...

There was a metallic scraping sound from the direction of the parking lot. Jerry and Renchin looked up from where they sat at a table in a backroom off the kitchen.

"It's Rick," said Renchin, shaking his head in such a way that Jerry had learned was amusement. He went back to sorting through the monthly restaurant receipts as Jerry did the same with his delivery slips.

Seconds later, Rick came bursting through the kitchen's saloon-style doors, stumbling to the table. He slammed his hands down.

"Jerry, come with me!"

Jerry blinked, startled. "Uh, what?"

"Do you need hearing aids, Jerry?! I said come with me! No time, just–" Rick groaned exasperatedly and reached his freakishly long arms across the table, tugging at Jerry's wrist.

"W-wait, I need to–" Rick pulled him over the table, scattering his meticulously organized delivery slips… "Aw, c'mon!"

Renchin just chortled. And also hissed. This was also amusement. "You're excused, Jerry. See you later, Rick."

Rick mumbled something incoherent and then pulled on Jerry again. Jerry was helpless to it all—he trailed behind Rick like a comet's tail, barely able to think as he was led back through the kitchen and the counter and the open seating area and the lot before being flung into the passenger seat of Rick's spaceship.

"No time!" cried Rick, zooming into the blackness above. Jerry felt an unfamiliar swoop in his stomach. He supposed he was satisfied by the ease with which Rick's ship shot into the sky. It was still a rickety sort of thing, but it was way better than the delivery van.

Rick continued mumbling maniacally to himself before drifting into silence, his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel gradually loosening into something resembling a normal driving stance. As normal as you could get with Rick, at least.

Jerry cleared his throat. "Is Morty okay?"

"What?" Rick glanced at Jerry. "Morty's fine."

"Well," Jerry frowned, "Then what's the emergency?"

Rick snorted, flicking on the radio. It initially burst to life, the sound of alien music filling the small space car, but he quickly twisted the volume back to a normal level. "There's no emergency, Jerry."

"Well, then why–"

"'Cause then you'd ask too many questions," Rick rolled his eyes. "Kind of like you're doing now. Boy, you and Morty only share the shitty traits, huh?"

Jerry huffed. "Great. So I get snatched up by you just so you can crap on my personality the whole time."

Rick snorted. "Don't be so sensitive. I-I-I-I-I-I need help with something, Jerry."

Jerry raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, as he eyed the streaks of light zooming past the windows, the warped image of stars a million miles past, smeared like wet paint.

"Why didn't you just ask Morty," he muttered.

"Because, dumb ass," Rick smacked the back of Jerry's head and ignored the subsequent cry of pain. "You-you got him grounded with that whole, whole parasite thing!" Rick paused, seemingly fuming. But then he laughed. "See, you-you're not good for much, Jerry, but I gotta admit, Beth's gone a little off the rails since you… you… She's all, she's all worried about Morty now. Now. Not last year when he got molested, not–"

"Wait, what? Molested?"

"–when he missed Thanksgiving so he could hang out in a dead guy…"

"What?!"

"Neither of you… But now that they're all you got, and well," Rick laughed again and then punched the steering wheel. They jerked forward and then slowed again.

"Rick," began Jerry, "Are you… okay?"

"You mean sober," Rick's voice was sharp and winding. "To which I must say, no, but I'm a genius, Jerry, and being sober is, is–uuURRRp–overrated anyway."

"Jesus," Jerry massaged at his temples. This is what he had years ago dubbed a back-the-fuck-out-of-the-garage moment—in other words, he didn't want to know what was about to happen and should probably just leave. Only now, he was kind of stuck careening forwards into what would probably be an insane plot driven by Rick's alcohol-fueled madness. Jerry sighed in defeat. He wondered if this was how Morty felt all the time. "Okay, Rick. So what're we doing today? Tonight? What time is it?"

Rick ignored Jerry's side questions. "We're gettin' my spacecar back, Jerry!" Rick grinned at Jerry, a manic energy in his wide, shining eyes. Jerry couldn't help thinking that, for the first time, Rick looked less like a crotchety old man and more like an ecstatic child.

Maybe this is what Morty always saw in Rick.

Then Jerry frowned. No, Rick is a dick. That's something you just can't look past. At least he couldn't.

"My spacecar, Jerry!"

"Aren't we in your spacecar?" Jerry muttered.

As expected, Rick was exasperated. "My original spacecar, Jerry. This- didn't you notice this isn't–this one has a fuckin', a fuckin' opaque metal roof Jerry."

"Well, I'm sorry I don't keep tabs on your apparently ever-changing catalogue of vehicles…"

"Shut-shut up, Jerry, just. Shut the fuck up."

Jerry sighed. "Listen, Rick, I… normally, I can sort of put up with you, but I've had a long week. You think we could just get ice cream or something? I mean, what do you need your space car for anyway.."

It took awhile for Rick's frustrated babbling to become coherent. "I-I-I-I-I-I-I don't need to explain myself to you, Jerry, okay? There are things–there's technology in that ship that should not be in the hands of the feds, you hear me? Y-y-y-you got that?"

Jerry just laughed. "What feds? You tore down the feds!"

"Yes, thank you for recapitulating all that, Jerry," Rick took a particularly violent swig from his flask. "I don't expect you to understand, but I only tore down the core government. The really–the rotten thing about the Galactic assholes is they're like, they're like an infestation. There's more out there, little broken up clusters." Rick glared over the steering wheel, one hand swirling the liquid remaining in his flask. "And one of them has my ship."

Jerry stared pensively out of the windshield for a moment, barely noticing when a mini planet crashed into the window and was swept away by the wipers.

"Hey," he said finally, "Do you, uh. Do you think there's a possibility that the Galactic Federation will resurface? 'Cause I really liked my old job, and I–"

"Are you, do you–" Rick burps, "Are you fuckin' serious, Jerry?"

"Well, yeah, I mean, what did they really do? Kill your best friend and arrest you for all the terrible crimes you've committed?" Jerry laughed, "Seems pretty justified for–"

"You know less than nothing about the subject." For once, Rick actually looked… furious. A kind of furious Jerry had never seen. He'd never admit it, but he was terrified and quickly moved to the defensive.

"Hey!" he said, "You had all this time to get your ship back, so don't be–"

"You-you-you can't just go guns ablazin' into the fucking federation, Jerry, you need a gameplan."

"Well!" Jerry threw up his hands and then folded his arms, shifting towards the window. "You know, if you're so annoyed with me, you shoulda just left me on that asteroid and taken Summer or something."

Rick was silent for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, Jerry watched him take an especially deep swig. All the emotion drained from his eyes and his regular, apathetic expression resurfaced, looking simultaneously soft and rigid like a leather-hard clay sculpture of a man.

"I needed someone like you," he muttered, jaw clenched.

Jerry froze, staring at Rick's profile, but the older man didn't look back. His spidery arm simply crawled deftly back to the radio dials, cranking up some arabic-sounding rap backed by a foreign instrument of some sort.

Jerry swallowed and resumed staring out the window, at the barely-real void of space. He thought it kind of funny how there was a massive, deadly vacuum just outside the half-an-inch of glass and metal that made up the space-car's shell, and yet Jerry could not find it in himself to fear this vastness.

Probably because he couldn't understand it. He sighed and glanced sidelong at an impassive Rick.

No, he didn't understand it all. He didn't think he ever would.

.

A/N:

Up next—Rick may or may not use Jerry as bait...