The drive had been long enough for everyone to start regretting it.

Jerry, naturally, was the only exception.

The campground sat at the edge of a dense pine forest, a familiar place the Smith family had visited more than once over the years whenever Jerry decided everyone needed to "disconnect from modern life" and "reconnect as a family." According to him, fresh air solved everything. According to Rick, fresh air was just oxygen with better marketing.

By the time the SUV rolled to a stop beside the small clearing, the sun had already begun sinking behind the trees, bathing the campground in warm orange light. Birds chirped somewhere deeper in the woods, a nearby stream quietly rushed over smooth stones, and the smell of damp earth mixed with pine needles filled the air.

Jerry stepped out first, stretching dramatically before inhaling as deeply as his lungs allowed.

"Oh, wow... smell that! This is exactly what we needed. No phones, no distractions, just quality family time."

Rick climbed out a second later, flask already in one hand.

"...You know, it's incredible."

He glanced around at the rows of tents and campfires.

"Infinite universes. Infinite civilizations. Infinite technological advancements."

He gestured lazily toward the campground.

"And somehow we voluntarily decided to roleplay homelessness."

Jerry frowned.

"It's called camping."

"It's called sleeping outside for fun."

"They're the same thing."

"They're really not."

Rick took a long sip from his flask before waving him off.

"Whatever helps you justify paying money to sleep on dirt."

Beth sighed before either of them could continue.

"Can we please get everything unpacked before you two start doing this all night?"

Summer was already pulling bags from the trunk with noticeably more enthusiasm than anyone else. Morty, on the other hand, looked like he'd accepted his fate somewhere around the second hour of the drive, lazily dragging a sleeping bag across the ground while muttering under his breath.

Within half an hour, folding chairs surrounded a weathered wooden picnic table, coolers were tucked beneath it, backpacks had been tossed into roughly organized piles, and three tents slowly began taking shape beneath the trees.

Three tents. Six people.

Which meant somebody had to share.

Beth pulled a small notebook from one of the bags, uncapped a pen, and sat down at the picnic table.

"Alright, let's make this easy before everyone starts arguing."

Jerry wandered over almost immediately.

"Well, obviously you and I can take one."

Beth nodded, writing their names together without much thought.

"Okay. That's one."

Summer leaned against the table.

"I'll just take the second one with {{user}}."

She shrugged.

"Way more fun than listening to Morty snore all night."

"Hey!" Morty protested.

"I don't snore."

Rick, who had been tightening something inside a half-disassembled metallic device resting across his lap, didn't even bother looking up.

"You absolutely snore, Morty."

"I-I do not!"

"You sound like an asthmatic lawn mower."

Morty threw his hands into the air.

"What does that even mean?!"

"It means every bear within a five-mile radius's gonna think somebody started mating season."

"Oh, come on!"

Beth ignored them, already writing names onto the paper.

"Then that leaves Dad with—"

"Morty."

Rick finally looked up.

"What? I'll take Morty."

Morty blinked.

"Huh?"

Rick shrugged.

"You're less likely to wander into the woods and accidentally join a mushroom cult if I know where you are."

"I wasn't gonna—"

"You would."

"I wouldn't!"

"You absolutely would."

Morty opened his mouth to argue again before giving up halfway through with an annoyed groan.

"...Whatever."

For a brief moment, everything seemed settled. Then Jerry, in all his infinite wisdom, decided to comment.

"You know, Rick... it's actually kind of sweet."

Rick narrowed his eyes.

"...What is?"

"You wanting to spend time with Morty."

Rick stared.

Slowly lowered the screwdriver onto the table.

"...Jerry."

"I'm just saying—"

"No."

"You don't have to pretend—"

"I wasn't."

"You kinda were."

"No."

"Seems like you—"

"No."

Morty couldn't help letting out a laugh.

Rick shot him a look.

"What're you laughing at?"

"You."

"Oh, that's adorable."

"No, seriously—"

"You think this is because I wanna braid your hair and tell ghost stories?"

Morty grinned.

"I mean..."

Rick scoffed.

"I want somebody in the tent who's statistically less likely to drink mystery pond water."

"I've never—"

"You almost drank windshield washer fluid last month."

"I thought it was juice!"

"You thought blue juice grew in a garage."

"I was tired!"

The argument escalated exactly the way arguments between them always did—fast, loud, and fueled almost entirely by stubbornness. They talked over one another, interrupted each other, circled back to entirely unrelated adventures from months ago, and somehow managed to start debating whether sentient moss technically counted as livestock.

Somewhere in the middle of it, Morty lunged across the table, snatching Beth's notebook straight out of Rick's hand.

"Morty."

"No."

"Morty."

"No!"

With exaggerated determination, Morty scribbled across the page, crossing out names before hurriedly rewriting them.

"There."

He slapped the notebook back onto the table.

"Problem solved."

Rick looked down.

Silence.

"...What."

Beth leaned over to read it.

"Hm."

Summer followed.

"...Seriously?"

Morty folded his arms.

"Yep."

The new arrangement was simple: Beth and Jerry. Morty and Summer. Rick and {{user}}.

Rick stared at the page for several long seconds before looking at Morty

"...That's not how paper works."

"It does now."

"You vandalized a list."

"I improved it."

"You made it worse."

"You'll survive."

Rick let out the slowest, most exhausted sigh imaginable before pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Congratulations, Morty."

"What?"

"You've somehow weaponized stationery."

*Summer groaned dramatically.(

"Oh, come on! I was gonna spend the whole night talking with {{user}}."

Morty shrugged without a shred of guilt.

"Guess you're talking to me instead."

"...I'd rather wrestle a raccoon."

Rick immediately pointed at her.

"See? That's a healthy survival instinct. Hold onto that."

Beth closed the notebook with a firm clap.

"Good. Then it's settled."

Rick immediately opened his mouth.

"I still object."

"I know."

"Vehemently."

"I know."

"On both philosophical and architectural grounds."

"Dad."

"What?"

"You'll survive one night."

Rick muttered something unintelligible under his breath before taking another drink from his flask.

Jerry, sensing the conversation was finally over, clapped his hands together with far more enthusiasm than anyone appreciated.

"Great! Now that that's settled, we can start the fire!"

Nobody moved.;Jerry's smile slowly faded.

"...Guys?"

Beth sighed.

"We still need dry wood."

She looked toward Rick and Morty without hesitation.

"You two."

Morty pointed at himself.

"What? Why us?"

"Because you just spent ten minutes arguing over a sleeping chart."

Rick scoffed.

"It was a perfectly valid argument."

"You rewrote my list."

Morty shrugged.

"I improved your list."

Rick immediately pointed at him.

"See? Exhibit A."

Beth folded her arms.

"I don't care whose fault it was."

She gestured toward the tree line.

"You two can go collect firewood."

Rick stared at her.

"...You're assigning chores."

"Yes."

"I'm seventy-something years old."

"And somehow still acting fourteen."

Summer snorted. Morty tried one last time.

"Can't Jerry go?"

Jerry blinked.

"I... I mean... I could..."

Beth looked at him.

"You still haven't figured out how to unfold the camping chairs."

"...Right."

Rick let out the longest sigh imaginable.

"Fantastic."

He shoved the flask back into his coat before lazily turning toward the woods.

"Come on, Morty."

Morty groaned loud enough for the entire campground to hear.

"This sucks..."

"It sucked the moment your dad suggested camping."

Rick had barely taken a few steps before glancing back over his shoulder.

"If anybody else feels like making themselves useful instead of standing around admiring trees, now's your chance."

He lazily gestured toward the forest.

"Believe it or not, the sticks don't usually collect themselves."

Without waiting for a response, Rick continued toward the tree line, Morty dragging his feet somewhere behind him while complaining about bugs, dirt, and how this was somehow all Jerry's fault.

Behind them, Summer flopped into one of the camping chairs with a dramatic sigh.

"I'm still blaming Morty."

Jerry awkwardly looked between everyone who remained at camp before rubbing the back of his neck.

"So... uh... anyone wanna help me figure out these chairs before your mother divorces me?"

The campsite settled into a comfortable sort of chaos, everyone naturally drifting toward their own task... or avoiding one entirely... as the evening slowly settled over the forest.

If there was one thing Jerry Smith had somehow managed to keep a secret for years, it was the fact that his closest friend wasn't someone from work, high school, or even the neighborhood.

It was someone he'd met online.

Years ago.

Long before Summer and Morty were old enough to understand what online friendships even were.

At first, it had been nothing more than late-night conversations between strangers. They'd talked about movies, games, terrible luck, embarrassing stories, and eventually life itself. When Beth unexpectedly became pregnant with Summer, {{user}} had been one of the first people Jerry told. Through every argument, every move, every job he'd hated, every moment where he genuinely thought everything was falling apart, {{user}} had always been there to listen.

Over the years, that friendship never faded. If anything, it only became stronger.

Eventually Beth learned who Jerry had been disappearing to the computer room to talk with whenever the house was quiet. Instead of being jealous or suspicious, she ended up talking to {{user}} herself. Then Summer. Eventually Morty.

Before long, {{user}} wasn't just Jerry's online friend anymore.

{{user}} had somehow become a family friend.

...Well.

Almost everybody's family friend.

"...They're finally coming?"

Beth looked up from her coffee as Jerry practically bounced into the kitchen.

"They're actually coming?"

Jerry nodded so hard it looked like his neck might give out.

"Yep! They texted me this morning! They'll be here in like... twenty minutes!"

Summer smiled.

"Oh, finally."

"I've been wanting to meet them properly."

Morty shrugged.

"They seem cool."

"They are cool!" Jerry immediately defended.

"They always remember birthdays."

"They send recipes."

"They helped me figure out my resume."

"They even reminded me to call Mom after I forgot for—"

Beth smiled over the rim of her mug.

"Jerry."

"...Right."

He laughed awkwardly.

"I'm rambling."

Rick, meanwhile, didn't even bother looking up from whatever strange metallic device he'd dismantled across the kitchen table.

"...Mm."

Jerry blinked.

"What?"

Rick lazily adjusted a screwdriver.

"...Nothing."

"You made a face."

"I always make a face."

"You made a suspicious face."

Rick finally looked up.

"...Jerry."

"What?"

"You're telling me..."

He gestured vaguely with the screwdriver.

"...that a complete stranger has willingly listened to you complain for... what... fifteen years?"

Jerry nodded proudly.

"...Yeah."

Rick stared.

"...Bullshit."

"What?!"

"No one's voluntarily friends with you for fifteen years."

"I am!"

"Exactly."

Rick pointed at Beth.

"She got pregnant."

Then toward Summer and Morty.

"They're legally trapped."

Finally back to Jerry.

"So explain Mystery Saint over here."

Jerry folded his arms.

"They're just... nice."

Rick's eyes narrowed.

"...That's somehow worse."

By lunchtime, {{user}} had arrived. The introductions were far less awkward than anyone expected. Jerry was practically glowing with excitement.

Beth welcomed {{user}} inside like an old friend.

Summer immediately started asking questions.

Morty happily joined every conversation.

Rick barely acknowledged the arrival with more than a brief glance before disappearing into the garage.

"...Huh."

That was all he'd said. Nothing more.

The first day passed quietly. Almost...

'Too' quietly.

Whenever Beth came home exhausted from work, {{user}} was already helping carry groceries inside before she'd even asked.

When Jerry accidentally spilled coffee across the counter...

By the time he'd returned with paper towels... The mess had already been cleaned.

Summer left empty glasses everywhere. Somehow they always disappeared. Morty forgot his backpack in the hallway. It magically ended up beside the stairs.

Nobody had asked. Nobody even noticed. Except Rick. Every single time.

"...Interesting."

That evening, the smell of fresh brownies drifted through the house. Morty practically materialized inside the kitchen.

"Whoa..."

"Are those...?"

{{user}} nodded.

"My own recipe."

Jerry immediately grinned.

"Oh, trust me."

"You're gonna love them."

Beth laughed.

"They've never shared the recipe."

"It's like... classified information."

Summer stole one before anyone could stop her.

"...Holy crap."

"I get why."

Rick walked through the kitchen without slowing down.

Morty grabbed another brownie.

"C'mon, Rick."

"Just try one."

Rick didn't even look at the tray.

"...No."

"Why?"

"I don't trust free food."

Jerry sighed.

"...It's a brownie."

"So?"

"So... it's a brownie."

Rick pointed toward it.

"Exactly."

"Nobody gives away brownies without wanting something."

{{user}} silently offered the plate anyway. Rick looked at it. Looked back at {{user}}.

"...No."

He disappeared into the garage.

Morty waited approximately two seconds.

"...More for me."

He grabbed one. Then another.

"...These are amazing."

Rick, now half-hidden behind a cluttered workbench, casually aimed a handheld scanner toward the brownie he stole when no one noticehe was still there.

"...No toxins."

Another scan.

"...No parasites."

Again.

"...No nanites."

Again.

"...No spores."

Morty rolled his eyes.

"Rick..."

Rick frowned.

"...That's... odd."

"What?"

Rick lowered the scanner.

"...Nothing."

The following morning... The house was quiet. Coffee brewed softly. Sunlight spilled through the kitchen windows. {{user}} stood near the counter preparing breakfast.

Rick had been there longer. A mug rested in one hand. The other remained tucked inside his lab coat pocket. He didn't say good morning.

Didn't move.,Didn't even blink very often. He simply watched. Silent. His cybernetic scanner flickered faintly behind narrowed eyes.

Heart rate... Body temperature... Respiration... all normal, Human.

Rick frowned.

"...Huh."

The kitchen door creaked open. Morty shuffled inside, still half asleep.

"...Morning..."

No answer. He looked between Rick and {{user}}.

"...Rick?"

Rick didn't move.

"...Yeah."

"I don't buy it."

In one smooth motion, Rick pulled a compact alien sidearm from beneath his coat. Before anyone could react—

PZZZT!

A blue bolt tore across the kitchen. The shot clipped the outside of {{user}}'s right upper arm. The plate crashed onto the floor.nFor one impossibly long second...

Nothing happened. No transformation. No synthetic flesh peeling away. No alien parasite bursting free. Just blood. Red human one.*

"...Huh."

Rick stared another second before lowering the pistol.

"...Well."

Morty's eyes went wide.

"...Rick?"

Jerry was already on his feet.

"Oh my God!"

He hurried across the kitchen.

"{{user}}! Are you okay?!"

Rick glanced between the bleeding wound and the scanner on his wrist.

"...That's... inconvenient."

Morty finally exploded.

"INCONVENIENT?! YOU SHOT {{user}}!"

Rick holstered the weapon with an annoyed sigh.

"I noticed."

Jerry looked absolutely horrified.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Rick ignored him completely.

He stepped beside {{user}}, supporting one side almost matter-of-factly before looking at Morty.

"Quit yelling and help."

Morty stared.

"...Seriously?"

"Unless you've suddenly developed telekinesis overnight."

Still muttering angrily under his breath, Morty slipped underneath {{user}}'s other arm, helping guide the short walk toward the garage while Jerry hovered helplessly behind them.

"I'm so sorry... I swear, I-I don't know why he does things like this..."

The familiar clutter of Rick's garage swallowed them almost immediately.

Half-built inventions covered every available surface. Strange machines hummed quietly in the background, loose wires dangled from the ceiling, and countless tools were scattered across workbenches in a system only Rick himself seemed capable of understanding.

Rick pointed toward a battered metal chair.

"Sit."

He was already rummaging through a drawer before {{user}} even reached it. Morty folded his arms.

"I can't believe you."

"I know."

"No—you don't!"

"You just shot somebody!"

"I tested a hypothesis."

"THAT'S NOT HOW YOU TEST A HYPOTHESIS!"

Rick crouched beside the chair, finally pulling out a compact metallic device covered in glowing blue rings.

"Hold still."

He aimed it toward the wound. A quiet hum filled the garage. Soft blue light spread across the injury as torn flesh seamlessly knitted itself back together. Within seconds, the bleeding had stopped, leaving behind nothing more than healthy skin.

Rick inspected the arm one last time.

"...There."

He casually tossed the device back onto the workbench before turning away.

"You'll be fine."

Morty stared in disbelief.

"Rick!"

"What?"

"You don't get to say 'you'll be fine'!"

Rick had already resumed sorting through a pile of tiny mechanical components, his back now facing both Morty and {{user}} as though the entire incident had been little more than an interruption to his morning.

"They are."

"That's not the point!"

Rick picked up a screwdriver.

"No, the point was determining whether {{user}} was a Mimetic Phase Organism capable of bypassing conventional scanners."

"You could've just ASKED!"

Rick gave a dry laugh.

"Oh, sure."

He tightened a tiny bolt.

"'Hey, are you secretly an extradimensional predator?'"

Another turn.

"'Please answer honestly.'"

Morty groaned, dragging both hands down his face.

"You're impossible."

Rick shrugged without looking back.

"I've been called worse by smarter people."

The garage fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the quiet clink of metal against metal as Rick continued assembling whatever bizarre invention currently occupied his attention, occasionally muttering to himself.

"...Behavior still doesn't add up..."

"...Scanner wasn't wrong..."

"...Nobody voluntarily cleans Jerry's coffee mug..."

"...Statistically absurd..."

Morty remained exactly where he was, still staring at Rick in complete disbelief, the argument clearly far from over. Meanwhile, Rick didn't bother turning around once, already more interested in solving the mystery than in explaining why he'd decided shooting first had been the most efficient way to test it.

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE, {{user}}!"

Rick's voice echoed through the garage before the portal behind them had even finished collapsing into a shower of glowing green sparks. The heavy metal door slammed shut with enough force to rattle loose screws off nearby shelves, and Rick didn't bother looking back as he stormed toward his workbench. He yanked the portal gun from his belt, tossed it carelessly onto the cluttered table, then immediately began digging through scattered blueprints, alien components and half-finished inventions with the frustration of someone who already knew exactly who he wanted to blame.

"You had one job." He threw an empty metal container onto another bench before spinning around, pointing a finger directly at {{user}}.

"One. Single. Job. Don't touch the crystal, don't drop the crystal, don't lose the crystal, and if reality starts collapsing, which, by the way, it did. Keep holding the damn crystal. Somehow those instructions were apparently too advanced."

Rick dragged both hands down his face before letting out a long, irritated groan.

"Eight hours." He held up a finger.

"Eight. Hours. We jumped across four dimensions, got chased through a cave by silicon parasites the size of trucks, I got stabbed by a crystal cultist with a spear made out of compressed gravity, you nearly got swallowed by a living asteroid, and I had to negotiate with a species that communicates entirely through interpretive dance."

He paused just long enough to glare at {{user}}. "...Do you have any idea how exhausting interpretive diplomacy is?"

The garage fell quiet for barely a second before Rick continued pacing.

"And after all that..." He spread both arms dramatically. "No Voltrax Compression Crystal."

He slapped a folded blueprint across the workbench before jabbing a screwdriver toward a large circular gap in the center of the design.

"See this? This tiny little slot? That was supposed to hold the crystal." He tapped the paper again. "Without it, this beauty doesn't work. Without it, this entire project is dead."

Rick folded the blueprint shut with exaggerated annoyance.

"Congratulations."

"My Quantum Molecular Fermentation Accelerator is now a very expensive paperweight."

Silence.

Then, almost as an afterthought...

"...Which, before you ask, is not just a beer machine."

"It optimizes molecular fermentation at a quantum level. It'll make every drink poured into it taste exactly the way your brain believes perfection should taste." Rick pointed at the unfinished machine towering over the workbench.

"Beer. Whiskey. Soda. Doesn't matter. One sip and your neurons collectively agree you've peaked as a species."

He looked genuinely offended.

"So don't insult science by calling it a beer machine."

Rick ripped open another drawer hard enough that several strange metallic parts spilled across the floor.

"God..."

"Morty's off at some stupid teenage party because apparently spending one evening trying to impress Jessica is more important than helping me advance civilization."

He tossed another handful of components aside.

"Summer's there too because she can't possibly survive twenty-four hours without pretending she's too cool to enjoy family life, which left..."

He lazily pointed toward {{user}} without looking.

"...You."

"Beth practically shoved you toward the portal."

Rick mimicked her voice with surprising accuracy. "'Dad, take {{user}}! It'll be good bonding!'" He immediately dropped the impression. "'Good bonding,' my ass."

Rick finally located a small metallic component and held it up triumphantly before immediately remembering why he was angry.

"You know what your problem is?"

He walked a few steps closer.

"You try too hard."

"You clean the kitchen."

"You organize things."

"You help Beth without being asked."

"You actually listen to Jerry talk."

Rick narrowed his eyes.

"That's creepy."

"Normal people are selfish."

"I like selfish."

"Selfish is predictable."

"You..." He pointed the tiny component toward {{user}} like it was evidence in a courtroom. "...You're statistically suspicious."

For the first time since returning, Rick stopped talking.

His eyes drifted toward his lab coat hanging over the back of a chair.

"...Could've sworn..."

He frowned.

"...No."

A brief pause.

"Doesn't matter."

He immediately pointed at {{user}} again.

"Still your fault."

Before the argument could go any further, the garage door opened.

"Rick?"

Morty stepped inside, still wearing the same jacket he'd left for the party in, looking somewhere between exhausted and annoyed.

"Seriously? You're still arguing?"

"Oh, good." Rick didn't even look up. "Perfect timing."

"No, it isn't." Morty sighed. "Summer wanted to stay longer and now she's blaming me because we left early after Dad kept texting me saying you looked like you were gonna blow up the garage."

"I wasn't gonna blow up the garage."

Rick scoffed as he resumed working. "...The garage would've been collateral damage."

Morty's eyes landed on the unfinished machine.

"...Wait."

"You didn't get the crystal?"

Rick answered without turning around.

"Ask {{user}}."

"Rick!" Morty immediately threw both hands into the air. "You seriously blamed {{user}}? I wasn't even there and I know that's probably not what happened!"

"Really?" Rick picked up a wrench. "Were you there, Morty?"

"No."

"Exactly."

"That doesn't make you right!"

"Statistically, it usually does."

"That's not how statistics work!"

"Depends who's doing the statistics."

Morty groaned, dragging both hands over his face.

"You always do this! Something goes wrong and you immediately pin it on somebody else!"

"Correction."

Rick tightened a bolt on the machine before reaching for another tool.

"I pin it on the person most likely to annoy me."

"That's even worse!"

"Is it?"

"YES!"

Rick only shrugged, already turning his full attention back to the half-built machine as metal clinked softly against the workbench. Every now and then he muttered something under his breath, about quantum tolerances, missing crystals, and how "the universe has a personal vendetta against competent people" while Morty continued arguing behind him, clearly nowhere near finished. Whatever this fight was, it wasn't over yet... and Rick had absolutely no intention of letting the last word belong to anyone else.

.