Chapter Text
Stan’s feet ached. The back of his neck was sunburned and his lower back felt like a knife had been driven into it. He’d walked almost six miles in the blistering Texas heat, empty gas can in his hand. He wasn’t sure if he’d even have enough money to fill the can, or the energy to hike all the way back to his car.
He sighed. He’d thought the Stanley-Mobile would have enough gas to get to Austin, but apparently not. His mouth was parched, he was dying for a drink of any kind. Cheap beer would be ideal, but he’d be willing to settle for water.
He heard the rattling of an old engine behind him. A very familiar rattling.
“What the-” He whirled and stopped dead. The Stanley-Mobile was up and running again, coughing out fumes. It zoomed right past him, and he heard loud, obnoxious laughter. He caught a glimpse of wild black hair as the car passed.
“HEY!” Stan took a few running steps after the car as it sped toward Austin. “THAT’S MY CAR!”
How the guy had gotten the car moving again was a mystery. Stan set his jaw. He would find his car, again. Hell, it had everything he owned in it. He had to.
It was a brutal week in Austin. The sun baked him during the day, and he was lucky if he could find a quiet back street to sleep in at night. He picked a few pockets to get himself enough to eat, but it wasn’t sustainable and he knew it.
He wandered the streets, asking around about his car. He checked the dump, the car lots, the impound, and every back street he could find, but no dice.
Just when he was ready to give up hope, luck turned the tide.
He was in a bar. It was a shitty one, with shitty booze and shittier music. He was there to get good and drunk, then maybe pass out under the counter in the bathroom. Who knows? He slammed back a tequila shot and wiped his mouth on his wrist.
He heard laughter from up on stage. It sounded familiar. He turned his head.
Wild black hair. The same head of hair he saw in his car as it zoomed by. It was attached to a tall, skinny guy wearing biker boots with spikes, a very low cut tank top, and a collar necklace. He was holding a guitar and was playing a lazy song with two other guys who looked like some kind of bird person and a scruffy cat. He had to admit, they were good costumes.
The guy had an obnoxious smirk on his face. He made eye contact with Stan from across the bar and stuck his tongue out.
Stan seethed. He pushed away from the bar and slowly walked through the crowd, his fists clenched.
The song grew more upbeat and energetic as he moved closer to the stage. The lyrics were practically screamed into the microphone.
Stan was right by the stage, now. The guitarist looked down at him and winked.
Asshole!
Stanley snapped. He climbed up on stage and swung a punch.
He caught the guitarist right in the cheek. He might as well have lit off a firecracker. A bar fight broke out, and next thing he knew everybody was punching, swiping, and kicking at anyone within reach.
Stan wrenched the guitar from the guy’s grip, tossed it to the side and swung another punch at the guitarist, catching him on the other cheek. He tackled him to the floor and raised a fist to pummel him, but the guitarist spat up at him.
“ Yech! ” It had caught him right in the eye and he flinched.
The guitarist got one bony knee up into his ribs, but it didn’t do him much good. Stan got his fist into his hair and screamed into his face over the din, “ Where the fuck is my car? ”
The guitarist looked surprised. He didn’t flinch when Stan’s spittle hit him in on the cheek. His lip was bloody and his eye was swollen. “W-w-what car?”
Stanley was still seething with rage. “ My car! The Stanley-Mobile! Dark red, white hood, “EL DIABLO” written on the side! My car! ”
“Th-that’s your car? I-I-I thought it was a piece of junk somebody left on the side of the road!”
“It’s not junk! It’s my home! ”
“Yeesh, no wonder it smelled like somebody lived in it.”
Stanley gripped the front of his shirt and raised his fist to deliver another punch, but he heard a few shouts from the front of the bar.
“ Cops! ”
Stan immediately dropped the guitarist and started to look through the crowd for an escape route, but found none.
“Rick,” said the bird person in a monotone voice. “It would not be good for Squanchy and I to be caught by your earth police.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said the guitarist, Rick. He burped. “I-I know a shortcut.” He leapt to his feet and dashed back behind stage, his two band mates hot on his tail.
Stan really didn’t want to be banned from Texas too, so he followed them, even though he didn’t understand half of what they just said. What the Hell is a “Squanchy”?”
They burst out into the back alley, and before his eyes, his car materialized out of thin air. Rick fiddled with his watch while it did this, and he opened up the door.
“Pile in!” he said to his cohort.
“What about the instruments?” asked Squanchy, and Stan was wondering if it was really a costume. “Can we really leave ‘em here until next squanch?”
“Fu-fuck ‘em! W-we’ll steal new ones!” They climbed into the car and revved the engine.
“HEY!” Stan ran up and planted his hands on the hood. “GET OUT OF MY CAR!”
“Shit, this guy?” Rick stuck his head out the window. “Go away, asshole! Finders keepers!”
“It’s my car! ”
Stan whirled when he heard a voice shout from the front of the alley. “Hey, who’s down there?”
“Shit! Cops!” Rick growled. “ G-get your hands off the car! ”
“NO!” Stan wasn’t gonna let this asshole drive away in his ride. He would rather make a fuss and get them all arrested.
Rick snarled at him, glanced back down the alleyway, and shook his head. “Shu-shut up and get in!”
“But-”
“ Do you want us to get arrested? G-get in!”
Stan climbed into the back seat with Squanchy, and Rick slammed his foot on the gas and pealed out of the alleyway, slamming into a few garbage cans in the process.
“I-I think we’re good,” said Rick as the police sirens faded behind them. “Well, what’s your deal, m-mullet man? Sweet ride.”
“Thanks,” said Stan gruffly. “I’d like it back soon, car thief. ”
“Oh, boo-hoo. Maybe don’t leave the keys in it next time, d-dumbass. Th-the name’s Rick Sanchez. This is Birdperson and that’s Squanchy. We’re The Flesh Curtains.”
“The what?”
“We’re a band,” said Birdperson. Stan really wanted to touch his feathers, they looked so fluffy. But that was probably pretty rude.
“I’m Stanley,” he said simply.
“Hi, Lee,” said Rick. “N-nice left hook.”
Nobody called him Lee. “Uh. Thanks. Sorry I beat you up?”
“Nah, we’re cool. I-I thought you were pounding on me ‘cause I winked at you, not ‘cause of the car. Hell, I would have pounded me, too! Hah!” He slapped the steering wheel. “Where to, Birdperson?”
“Squanchy and I will get out here,” said Birdperson. “I will see you again when the beacon is lit, Rick.”
“Squanch ya later, Rick!”
“Squanch ya later!” said Rick as his two friends hopped out onto the sidewalk and ran down the alley. There was a strange flash of green out of the corner of Stan’s eye.
“So… um…” Stanley climbed into the front seat. “Any chance that I can have my car back?”
“H-how about I buy you dinner, first,” said Rick. He smiled flirtatiously. “Y’know, to apologize for being a car thief.”
Dinner sounded great, so Stan’s first inclination was to say yes. Then he noticed the flirty smile that Rick was wearing.
“Are you a queer?” he blurted.
“Y-you can’t be straight in outer space.”
That didn’t really answer Stan’s question, but Rick’s tone told him to leave it. “Hmm.”
Rick rolled his eyes. “Look, asswipe, d-do you want some fu-fuckin’ pancakes or not?”
“Pancakes?”
“I-I play music, Lee, do I look like I have a steady income?”
“Pancakes sounds good.” Stan was never one to turn down free food, no matter who it came from.
They were surprisingly good pancakes. Stan shovelled them in like the starving man he was.
“So, what’s your story?” asked Rick. “W-with a horrible mullet like that, it’s gotta be a good and tragic one. Wha-what is it? Did your girl kick you out? Oh, did you have to sell your ass on the street in order to get by?”
Stan frowned at him. “Can it, asshole.”
“W-well? Was I right?”
Stan poked at his food. “Kicked outta the house when I was seventeen after wrecking my genius brother’s science project that could’a got him into a good school and made us rich.”
“Ooh, ouch. H-how long ago was this?”
“Four years. Alright, what about you?”
“Y-you really wanna know?” asked Rick.
“Uh, sure.”
“Y-you might not believe me,” he said in a taunting voice. Stan noticed he had a tongue piercing.
“Try me.”
“W-well, I am wanted by the intergalactic government for terrorism acts and possession of illegal artifacts relating to crossing dimensions, so I-I’m currently hiding out on my home planet for a bit while making a few bucks on the side with scams, concerts, and weird inventions.”
“Huh.” Well, this guy was nuts. He barely understood a word of that mumbo-jumbo. “Fascinating.”
“You d-don’t believe me,” said Rick. He let out a loud burp that turned the heads of a few other late-night customers. “Fine.”
Stan scraped the last bit of syrup around on his plate. “Your eye looks pretty bad.”
“Ham-fists.”
Stan snickered. “I gotcha good, huh?”
“Sorta. I-I was about this close to turning the tables, though.” Rick indicated the tiny distance with his long, thin fingers.
“Pssh, no way. I had you pinned good, you skinny twerp. No way you could have flipped me.”
“I could have!”
Stan waved him off. “No way. If I’d wanted to, you’d be in the ER right now.”
“Prove it, you b-big dumb moron!”
Rick was trying to get under his skin and he knew it. “You want me to beat you up?”
“ I’ll beat you up!” Rick stood and planted his hands on the table. “L-let’s go, mullet-boy! Hit me with your best shot! I bet you ain’t man enough, you quivering pussy!”
Stan was itching to punch something. It was super tempting to slug his knuckles right into Rick’s stupid pointy jaw.
Rick grabbed the front of Stan’s shirt and yanked him close. Stan could smell the whisky and coffee on his breath.
“W-what? Are you a chicken?”
Stan reeled back and slammed his fist into his pointed nose. Blood spurted from under his knuckles. Rick slumped back into the booth, looking comically shocked.
“I-I didn’t think you were gonna-”
Stan didn’t like Rick’s attitude. “Let’s take this outside, punk!”
Rick’s expression hardened. “You’re on!”
They sprinted from the diner, ignoring the calls of the staff who wanted them to pay their cheque.
Stan grabbed Rick’s shoulders and shoved him into the alleyway. He slammed him against a brick wall and pinned him there with one solid, meaty hand.
“Want me to kick the shit outta ya?” shouted Stan. “That’s what I’ll do!”
“I’d l-like to see you try!” Rick’s fingers shot out and poked him in both eyes.
“ Augh! Cheap shot!”
Rick spun them around and slammed Stan against the wall. His knee came up and struck him right between the legs.
Stan got his thick fingers into Rick’s hair. Before he could pull back and punch him, Rick smashed their mouths together.
Uh.
What?
It was a hard and bruising kiss. Teeth clacked together painfully, and Stan could taste blood that wasn’t his. He could smell Rick all around him, whisky, coffee, and some kind of cologne.
Rick pulled away, panting.
Stan frowned and shoved him away. “What the fuck? ”
Rick frowned. “D-did I misread the situation?”
“Um, yeah! I thought we were fighting?” He really didn’t like how his voice sounded so strange to him, or how much he liked that kiss.
“Yeah, w-we were... but you’re so hot! A-and when you grabbed my hair like that… damn.”
“What?”
“What?”
Stan chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Nobody’s said that to me, before.”
“Well, then everyone else is an idiot.” Rick stepped close enough that Stan could feel his breath. “Lee, you have a nice car, a good punch, and you’re hot. Wanna hang for a bit?”
Stan blinked. “I have no money.”
“Neither do I!” he laughed. “Why do you think we pulled a dine-and-dash?”
“I’m confused. I met you an hour ago, you took me for pancakes, picked a fight with me, kissed me, now you wanna hang out?”
“Yep.”
Stan’s mind was reeling. “You know I’m straight, right?”
“And I’m the Queen of England,” said Rick, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Or did I just imagine that you kissed me back?”
“Maybe?”
“Listen, Lee. D-do you wanna make some money?”
Stan’s eyes widened at that. “Do I!”
“I-I have a few plans cooking, but I can’t make ‘em work on my own. We can make some fast cash, and I have plenty of brains but I need muscle. ” He patted Stan’s bicep affectionately. “Which you have plenty of.” Stan tried to ignore the way he purred when he said that. “Y-you seem like a morally flexible kinda guy, Lee. Whaddaya say?”
“I say that I got nothin’ to lose.”
Rick’s grin was borderline manic. “W-with my genius and your muscles, we can conquer the world!” He seized him and put him in a headlock, drawing him close. “I-It’ll be us against the world! Rick and Lee! A hundred years Rick and Lee! We’ll get drunk, stoned, and fight anyone who crosses us!”
“You’re crazy!” gasped out Stan, but he had to admit one thing… it was a good kind of crazy. Maybe this Rick guy would be fun to hang around.
Fuck it. He threw the rest of his common sense out the window and put his arm around the stranger he’d just met, who had become his partner in crime in one short hour.
“Rick and Lee forever!” they cheered.
Only the crickets replied.