Hey y'all, I'm Back with a *BRAND NEW* "Rick and Morty" adventure! This one takes place earlier on in the series, post-season 3 but somewhere before season 4.

It's gonna be a wild ride, people! Hold onto your seats!

Have a blast, yo! :D

Everything was fine, until everything wasn't.

The Space Cruiser was out of control. Something had slammed into it, and the ship had caught fire—and they were spinning dangerously through space at warped speed.

"What the hell was THAT!?" Morty shrieked at once, terrified.

"Gotta be an asteroid!" Rick shouted over the din. He had to shout now, because everything was too loud and too fast. The emergency alarm had been activated and was blaring in their ears.

Holy shit, this is it, this is how we're going to die—

"I-I can't level her, Morty!" Rick was hollering, and Morty's eyes popped open with shock.

If he's admitting defeat—Morty thought, That means we're dead—

"ONE of these controls have to work!" Morty cried out, "Just—just try ALL of them—!"

"What the fuck do you think I'm doing, MORTY!?" Rick's voice was unusually high pitched as well. He was panicking, Morty realized. Rick NEVER panicked—

"D-don't you have a backup plan!?" Morty shrieked over the blaring alarm that was searing his eardrums as they continued to freefall.

"Do I LOOK like I have a backup plan, MORTY!?" his grandfather snapped as he continued to struggle with the controls.

"RICK—" Morty wheezed as the ship swerved to and fro, "I—I think I see something up ahead—"

"SHIT!" Rick swore. "B-better brace yourself for this one, Morty! C-cuz this one's gonna hurt—!"

Holy Shit , holy shit, this is it, this is how you're gonna die—-!

The smell of smoke was overwhelming.

Morty put himself into brace position, grimaced and shut his eyes.

This is it, Morty—Someone was screaming over the alarm (maybe it was him), THIS IS IT! Oh Shiiiiiii—-

They connected almost immediately with solid ground. The ejector seats activated, flinging them both through human-sized holes in the roof, seconds before the ship itself burst into flames.

When he came to, he was lying on his back on the cold hard ground. Bitterly cold—it might as well be Antarctica.

However, this was definitely not Antarctica. All he saw was dark blood-red….dirt that was redder than Mars—and the air was thick with smoke from burning flames.

"R-r-r—" Morty could barely speak through the thick ash-choked air. "Riiiick!" His voice broke through hollering into the night air like a terrified child.

"M-Morty…." Rick was calling for him.. "Where—where are fuck you—MORTY!?"

Rick was calling for him. He sounded panicked—which was strange. In his near-delirious state, it gave Morty pause, and he listened (was this a trick of his mind?). "M-M-MORTY…!." Rick was bellowing, almost pleading now. It almost didn't sound like Rick, except it was unmistakably his: the voice of a man in pain.

"I'm r-r-r-right h-h-h-here, Rick!"

His own voice didn't even sound like his—it sounded young, and scared. He blinked rapidly, trying to see where he was, despite the sharp sting in his eyes. Everything was dark except the glowing of fire and crimson smoke. With a grunt, he managed to flip himself over like an acrobat and, even while his bones felt like they were breaking in two, he began to pull himself along the frozen ground towards the direction of the voice.

The smell of blood scorched his nostrils and Morty gagged. He almost screamed at the sight of Rick, who was laying not far away, yet far too still. Was he—-Morty began to shake slightly, shivering almost uncontrollably. No—it couldn't be—

No—Morty let out a breath of relief—Rick was still breathing—he was still alive—they were still alive—his grandfather wasn't dead.

It didn't surprise Morty, who had wondered sometimes if Rick was even capable of dying. Sometimes he wondered if he was even human—but then, Oh, God—then, he saw the blood.

His grandfather's blood. It was all over Rick's front, and he did not look good. His face looked ashen, and his eyelids fluttered as he struggled to come to.

"RICK!" Morty found his voice again. Somehow, he scrambled over to his grandfather, who was still struggling to regain consciousness. Even as weak as Morty felt, he started to fumble at Rick's shirt, tugging on fabric every which way in order to find the source of blood.

"Get—get the hell off me!" Rick rasped, and Morty stumbled backwards as his grandfather pushed himself upwards.

"B-b-b-but you're bleeding!" Morty was getting desperate.

Rick scowled in protest. "NO I'm not, Morty!"

"YES you are—"

"STOP ARGUING!" Rick bellowed and Morty fell silent. Rick's eyes leveled with Morty's front, and his eyes grew wide, and Morty began to shiver—because he'd never seen an expression on Rick's face like that before. He was looking as though he'd seen a ghost.

"It's YOUR blood, Morty." Rick's voice was unusually quiet, almost subdued, and it scared Morty so much he nearly screamed, and then he did when he looked down at himself.

"OH—oh my GOD!"

Rick was right—he could see the blood pooling on his front as it continued to seep through his shirt. He'd never seen so much blood, and Morty wobbled a little; he started to feel faint. "R-Rick…" he gasped. "I—I think I'm gonna—gonna faint, Rick—"

"Don't panic Morty," Rick instructed calmly—much too calmly. "It will only make things worse. Just—lie down—don't close your eyes, I need you to stay awake for me, okay? Let–let me get a good look at you." Morty didn't have to protest, as he was already suddenly too weak to move. He lay down directly where he was, and tried to stay awake; the need to sleep was overwhelming, and suddenly he was shivering as though he were in a freezer.

"Jesus, Morty…" Rick groaned as he examined the damage, and pinched his nose. "Not gonna lie, kid. This—this looks pretty bad…"

"Am—" Morty was struggling to maintain consciousness. "Am I going to—to die, Rick—?"

"How the hell should I know?" Rick snapped irritably, "Do—Do I look like a goddamn fortune teller, Morty? Well, do I?"

"N-No…." Morty felt sick. "I—I don't think I can stay awake much longer, Rick…"

"DAMMIT!" Even with his own weak limbs bruised and battered, Rick forced himself to get up and began to pace feverishly. "I—I think the damn ship's busted, kid," he muttered as he continued to pace. "I-I think we're going to have to—" And then he turned to his left, and saw it: his portal gun. It was smashed to bits, lying on the ground, smeared with blood and alien dirt. "NO!" Rick bellowed in rage and Morty began to quake with fear. "GODAMMIT!" Rick gnashed his teeth. "I can't believe this! We are SO screwed, Morty, we are SO FUCKING SCREWED—!" He sank to the ground on his knees, suddenly too tired to keep moving.

"Wh-what is it?" Morty managed to squeak, his voice barely a whisper.

"The—the portal gun—"

In his peripheral vision, Morty could just make out the huddled form of his grandfather. Rick was visibly shivering—and that was never a good sign.

"What is it….?" Morty could barely keep his eyes open now. He was tired….oh so tired….

"This might be game over, kiddo." Rick wouldn't look at him; he stared at the ground. "If we don't have the portal gun, I—" He stopped. "I don't know what planet we're on, Morty." Rick's teeth began to chatter as he spoke, leaving Morty feeling colder. "We could be—we could be anywhere Morty, and…" His voice broke. "I have no way of getting us home."

Morty blinked. His grandfather was admitting defeat, just like that? The "smartest man in the universe" was just going to give up? Morty could hardly believe what he was hearing. He was beginning to wonder if this was some kind of fever dream. His vision was blurring and he couldn't feel his legs. He didn't want to tell Rick, because then Rick would worry, and what good would that do? All Morty had to do was sleep. Just sleep, and everything would be better in the morning.

Then suddenly a pain ripped through him, stronger than any kind of pain he'd ever felt before—and Morty shot up straight with shock. "R-R-RICK….!" he croaked. "It—it HURTS! OH, GOD! MAKE IT STOP!"

"Jesus Christ, stop SCREAMING, you'll alert what—whatever the fuck lives out there!" Rick was hovering over him. "WHAT hurts!?"

Morty couldn't answer. His entire body felt like it was on fire, and he could barely breathe. Rick did the only thing he could think of to do; he laid Morty down, then took off his lab coat and placed it under Morty's head to elevate him. During it all Morty was shaking uncontrollably, but there was nothing Rick could do beside try to make him comfortable. It would be a miracle, he knew, if Morty even made it through the night in his current state, and it took Rick all he could do to keep himself from screaming—but he knew noise was dangerous and he had to keep the boy quiet as possible, or their lives would be even more in danger than they already were.

"Talk to me Morty." Rick took Morty's hand in his and began to rub it, slightly patting it to keep Morty awake. "Don't go to sleep."

"C-c-can't…" Morty's eyes were closing. "Sooo….tired…."

"Stay awake, dammit!" Rick forced a growl from his throat and Morty flinched; Rick cursed himself silently as he rubbed the boy's arms, trying to make friction to keep him warm. "Stay with me Morty!"

"S-s-s-sorry…" Morty's eyes were nearly closed. "can't…Tired."

"Dammit Morty!" Rick snapped, but his voice was softer this time, he was too exhausted himself to yell. Beyond the ember glow from the smoldering ship, it was dark in this world. They seemed stranded on a desert island of dark red sand, and he couldn't see anything for miles.

Rick knew he'd have to stop the bleeding somehow. The First Aid kit was still in the burning ship, but it was all he had to keep Morty alive. Rick pushed himself to his feet once again, running as fast as his rubber legs could take him. The Space Cruiser—(or rather, what was left of it)-his pride and joy—It was completely destroyed. The dome window on the top was shattered in several places. The dark-matter engine processors were damaged beyond repair. The message receiver and both attached speakers were busted. The flaming vehicle was creating a strange dome of billowing smoke that covered the entire ship, like an extension of itself. There was absolutely no way to penetrate it. "NO!" Rick fell to the ground, unable to stop the howl of despair rising from his throat, burning all the way through like bile.

They were both so unbelievably, impossibly, irretrievably screwed.

"HEY!" A voice made his breath catch. "YOU THERE!"

There was a shadow moving in the darkness—and it was coming towards him—-

Rick tensed. All his weapons were destroyed; his body was far too weak to defend itself. Regardless he prepared for battle, bracing himself for attack. "Don't—" he rasped, "DON'T—-" he warned, "I'm warning you! Don't, don't come any closer, or, or I-I'll—" His white knuckles curled into fists, ready to act.

The shadow stopped moving in the darkness. It seemed tall, but distance could lie. "WHO ARE YOU?" the voice called out again—a distinctively male voice—and the voice spoke English. Rick tensed even further—far too aware they were on an alien planet. Was this some sort of a trick? His mind began to race, and his skin began to crawl with nervous sweat. Why would anyone even be OUT here, in a place like this….

"RICK SANCHEZ," he returned, in as much of a dangerous-sounding and vengeful voice as he could possibly muster in his present state. "WHO are YOU!?"

Rick didn't respond. He was trying to keep an eye on Morty, who was now unusually quiet and even more unsettling, still.

The shadow began to move closer. Squinting into the darkness, Rick stepped backwards, prepared to face a monster of epic proportions. What he was greeted with was a short mole-like creature, who was wearing human-like clothes. The mole-man had whiskers but an almost humanlike face. Rick had seen far more jarring creatures, and in comparison this one looked harmless. He could never be sure.

"I'm sorry, did you not say you call yourself Rick Sanchez?"

Rick cringed, because he was not expecting such an introduction—he hated formalities.

"Yes." Rick narrowed his eyes. "And you are?"

"In my mother tongue it is 'Qj;alsij;easijf;lejqs;lfjeas;kefjas'," the mole-man announced, "but in your mother tongue—which I presume to be Earth language, is: "Q"."

"The fuck kind of name is that?" Rick muttered. "It—it doesn't even translate—"

"What kind of name is Rick Sanchez'?" Q asked, in that same strange calm tone that was beginning to make the tips of his spiked hair bristle.

"None of your fucking business!" Rick snarled, backing up further as the mole-person began to advance towards him.

"You seem to be in peril," he intoned, "and it appears you have a youngling that is severely in need of assistance?"

"A youngling?" Rick's eyes darkened, only for his eyes to flick again towards Morty. "Oh, you mean my grandson…Morty?"

" 'Grand-son'?" Q frowned. " 'More-ty'?"

"Look—"

"Q."

"Right. Q," Rick echoed dryly. "Do—do your people have a doctor or something? The kid is—he's in really bad shape (possibly dying) and—maybe, you've got a radio so—(Or parts so I can build one)-so I can contact someone (Birdperson) so—so we can get the hell outta here—"

"Rick, is it?" Q moved closer, and Rick cringed, because he could smell something sweetly sour, and he hoped it was only this one creature, because if everyone smelled that way….

"Look—I'm not in great shape myself—" Rick bristled.

"We have what your people might call 'mage'," Q informed. "You might also refer to them as 'shaman' or 'witch doctor' in your native tongue—"

"Great," Rick muttered. "So—the best of the freak show?"

"I do not know what you mean by 'freak show'," Q returned. "But our shaman will be able to help your youngling—"

"Morty!" Rick was beginning to lose patience. "His name is MORTY! And he's the best thing that ever happened to me except for my wife and daughter and—" He paused, startled by his own outburst. Where had that come from? He never said that to anybody…He was especially guarded among strangers. Weird.

"Yes," Q nodded, "Morty. I can guide you to our shaman, so you can introduce yourself and then, he can bring the necessary healing herbs and—"

"What? NO! I-I'm not leaving him here by himself in an alien—whatever the fuck this is—forgotten wasteland?" Rick gestured with disgust to the vast endless amounts of space that surrounded them. "And what—what even IS this planet called anyway!? You know what? It doesn't—my portal gun is dust. Never—Nevermind—" He pinched his nose with a deep frustration that was only growing stronger. "Just—just take me to him if—" He sighed with resignation. "If that's what's going to save Morty, then…." He kept his eyes on the boy in his peripheral vision. He was chillingly quiet and still, looking painfully small and helpless. Rick swallowed hard and faced the stranger to his right. "...so be it."

"Are you injured as well yourself, Rick Sanchez?" Q questioned, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Just Rick is fine," Rick muttered quietly. "And yeah…I've got a headache to beat the band, and—and my arms feel like they're about to fall off—but…no, definitely not anywhere near as bad off as him, and I—" Rick stopped mid-sentence and all but huddered, realizing he'd done again. He'd just revealed his weaknesses to a complete stranger. What the hell was wrong with him? And now, he was about to follow this alien being to God-knows-where in total darkness? "You know what?" Rick crossed his arms. "Bring the Shaman to me," he growled. "And if he actually saves Morty's life, you'll be grateful that I won't have to kill you."

"K-k-kill?" Q almost squeaked, leaving Rick almost smirking with half-bemusement and half-disgust.
"Killing is not allowed amongst our people!" Q declared solemnly.

"I'm not your people, pal," Rick snapped. "I'm Rick from Earth dimension C137. I'm an intergalactic terrorist who's committed dozens, if not thousands, of crimes both on and off world, putting not just myself but my own family at risk! And if you don't watch your back I can become your own worst nightmare! And WHY am I telling you all of this—!" he bellowed finally, at his complete wit's end.

Without missing a beat, he raced over to his grandson's side, knelt down beside him and, as the stranger watched, completely silent, took Morty's hand in his own. It was chillingly cold, indicating Morty's body temperature had dropped, no doubt dangerously. Morty's eyes were closed, but he was still breathing (Thank God, thank God thank God thank God)—and Rick felt something shift inside, a sharp pang of—it wasn't pain. It was something else—something threatening to overcome him. Fear. It wasn't something he felt often. It was like he'd been put under a spell. He whirled around and turned a challenging glare in the stranger's direction. "I'm not leaving his side," Rick hissed. "Bring your 'shaman' or whatever the hell he is to me. Then," he huffed, "I guess we'll have something to discuss…AFTER he saves my grandson's life," he added darkly.

"Rick Sanchez—"

"OH for crying out loud—" Rick shook his head in disgust, "It's RICK, okay? Just—plain—RICK!"

"You are anything but plain," Q replied with a small smile, giving Rick pause (was he humoring him?). "My Shaman is already aware of your presence," Q continued, shifting his feet as though he were nervous (He's scared—good). "He will be here shortly. I must relay his message to you before he arrives."

"Whatever," Rick snorted. "Just—don't expect me to go anywhere until—until I know Morty's okay—" (What the hell? Since when did he say things like THAT?)

(Morty was ALWAYS okay in the end….)

(...Wasn't he…?)

In fact, now that Rick thought about it, he couldn't believe how much Morty had grown….

How much…

….dare he admit it….Morty was becoming more and more….

….(like him)...