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twocorvids · 2 years ago

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Ring of Fire - 4

oh my GOD, sorry for the delay. life has just been chewing me up and spitting me out lately and i had a vision for this chapter that i had to execute.

anyway, idk if it's my best work. i've been in a weird brain fog lately, so i might rewrite this one at some point bc it's my blog and i can do what i want >:(

anywayyyyy...

drugs, alcohol, brief mentions of suicide, etc.

-4081 words

Synopsis:

The boys get ready to move on, but Birdperson has an idea...

You got me feeling like James Dean High on your honey suckle day dream Climb on the back of my iron steed The night is an open road Dumpster fire sky line Leave all of that pain behind Your arms wrapped around mine How fast do you want to go? Sad Cowboys and Rock and Roll

-Sad Cowboys and Rock and Roll by Van Andrew

-----

The desert morning hung closely to Birdperson’s burly form as he lay capsized in the sand at Rick’s feet.

Rick grumbled something incomprehensible even to himself as he teetered on the heels of his toughened boots, his spurs jingling slightly as he pressed them further down into the earth. He might have felt himself sway with something other than the warming undertow of the liquor he pulled greedily from his flask at the sight, but he shook away the thought– his pale cobalt hair falling leisurely to frame his face and play with his lashes.

His stubble was rough in a way that rivaled his seasoned fingers as they came up to scratch along his jaw.

There was a misunderstanding, Rick thought, about why people drink. Sure, he occasionally chased that dull ache for the promise of relief, but Rick was under the assumption that the most common misconception about why people succumbed to that inherent need to numb themselves was that it was done in the search of something better.

Maybe some people drank to feel better, but Rick drank to feel worse. It numbed what he felt— his lips, his fingers, his nose— but only served to amplify his innermost aching. He found that he could read his thoughts far more clearly when he was too drunk to focus on everything else that life saddled his senses with— and horrible thoughts, they were.

He thought about three nights before– what he’d done; what a selfish fucking monstrosity he could never seem to stop himself from blossoming into– and tenderly brought that same unsteady hand to press against a potent knot of yellowing violet along his ribcage. He relished in the wince it drew from him.

The bad part? He couldn’t even say he felt worse about killing that Gromflomite than he did anything else he’d done.

Being fucked up may not have been a justification for the bitter poison that was who he was, but he hoped it could one day serve as a precursor to some semblance of redemption.

Rick just prayed that he’d eventually be able to see a reason for pointing that gun at others instead of pulling the trigger on himself.

Blood and gore seemed to flow in every divet his boots carved along the ground– no matter the planet, or solar system, or universe– and Rick was so tired of feeling like someone he couldn’t trust himself with. He was broken in a way that demanded company– shattered in a way that wrecked others.

He hoped those rivers of scarlet painted a picture of peace.

At some point.

It was probably something to do with his incessant compulsion to destroy that had taught him to appreciate the serenity that found its way to him in that moment. It was probably something akin to that sting along his tired bones that let his eyes hemorrhage such fondness over the man below him now.

Birdperson was curled up on his side, facing away from Rick– wings wrapped tightly around himself and his nose poking out from the mess of plume ever so slightly. He faced both of the men’s hats where they lay in the dirt, his snores light as they danced out to brush along the felt.

Rick cracked a smile– partly at the thought of how soft the most jagged man he knew was in that moment; partly at the fact that he could still appreciate such softness.

It’s a funny thing, that burning deep inside of you that begs you to right your wrongs– that implores you to bend down, reach out, and run one scarred hand along the downy, blood-caked exterior of your friend’s healing wing.

Rick knew there was no reason for staying here anymore. There was nothing they could do here.

He had a feeling that Birdperson knew that, too— and that was part of the reason he’d spent the last three days drunk and high; complicit in Rick’s downward spiral.

Or maybe he was spiraling, too.

Maybe they spiraled together.

It was time to go, and Rick cursed himself for ruining a damn good thing.

He knew that if he’d had a chance like that, he’d… Well, he would’ve killed the man who got between himself and justice.

So, it was with gentle chagrin that he closed one hand around his resting companion’s taught shoulder and shook.

The sand that stirred up in the wake of Birdperson’s sluggish movement cascaded down in quaint little formations, skimming along the pathways of morning sunlight that slipped through the cracks of Rick’s rising hand.

Rick took another swig from his flask, the drink no longer carrying the same painful spark as it coated his leaden, swollen tongue and sunk down into the heat of his tumultuous belly.

Birdperson muttered something quiet and demure as his dusty lids made way for life, melting a bit of Rick that had been frozen beneath the icy blanket of intoxication that swaddled him in familiar comfort.

A breath passed, and Rick observed as his friend slowly gained that speckle of sentience that flitted away during deep sleep after a good cry.

Rick listened to the sounds Birdperson made as he rustled along the floor, stretching on wobbly legs and fixing the buttons of his blue shirt.

Rick didn’t bother to put on his leather vest, but simply bent over and let his hand find purchase along his cattleman.

“Sanchez?” Rick heard his friend croak out behind him, turning to find him standing in the orange cast of the sun, his own belongings thrown over one forearm.

“Hmmm?” Rick replied, pressing one filthy palm to the center of his forehead.

“Are we leaving?”

Something about that question– perhaps the way the other man’s voice wavered with that sort of disappointment one swallows when they’re forced to forfeit their efforts in exchange for spit and dirt– pulled Rick’s heart down to the soles of his feet, where it sat heavily and begged to anchor him to the planet.

Rick wriggled against those invisible ties, wound tighter by his friend’s sorrowful eyes, and forced himself to give a brief nod– a minute expression that anyone could have missed if they’d blinked.

His partner made a strange sort of gurgling sound before clearing his throat, and though hurt flashed along his features, Rick couldn’t help but think that there was a kindness there that he didn’t deserve.

A willingness to forgive, or maybe something already rooted in the tender touch of understanding, that went against everything Rick thought he could stomach.

He took another drink.

“Are you… drunk?” Birdperson inquired meekly, something in his tone teetering along a line of hope that Rick knew his friend was too smart to place much purchase on.

Without answering, Rick shoved his flask into the burlap tote laying against one of the logs, and picked up his withered guitar.

It had once been painted blue, too, but was now a pallid sort of brown, and the grain of the wood prickled the pads of his fingers as the cool strings kissed his palm.

“Just…” Rick began with a sigh, trailing off for a moment with another swoon. He couldn’t wait to shower. “Just get the ship, man…”

“Your nose looks… better.” An anchor sunk the words— heavy and thick. Rick could tell from the weight of it that Birdperson was sober now, but he’d known that already.

He’d learned the other man always managed to pull himself together more quickly, like he was either less broken or more accustomed to the art of lying to himself.

BP extended a hand slowly, almost as if he were going to caress the injury, but Rick pulled back from the touch.

He didn’t deserve pity.

Or comfort.

Or a friend.

The look that flashed across Birdperson’s features was one Rick knew the emotion behind well, and it curdled something in his gut to know that anyone would dare to feel guilty for beating the shit out of someone as deserving of it as himself.

“Very well.”

Rick took the few moments spent by his partner retrieving the pocket ship from his own saddle bag to press his palms into his eyes.

For three days, it had felt like the world was ending. The sky had burned a deep coral, even in the evening— as if the world was on fire everywhere except for their little shelter. The air around them twisted and bent to the ebb of distant music, and they flowed into one another without touching…

Much.

Without touching much.

Rick could still feel Birdperson’s muscular hands lighting sparks along his arms as he held him steady. He could still sense the silky feathers of his friend’s head grazing his stomach as he curled into a heap on his lap. The heat of another being seeped past his sinewed skin and warmed his tired bones.

“Rick?”

BP’s delicate voice startled him from his thoughts, and Rick jumped a bit before turning towards the sound.

“Yeah?” It came out quieter than he would have liked, but he tried to shake off that sickening feeling of falling into himself.

“I want to take you somewhere,” Birdperson said flatly in a way that was difficult for Rick to read. “Tonight. Before we go.”

Rick would have followed him anywhere— so, of course, he agreed to follow him to dusk.

…..

The sun was barely flush with the horizon from Rick’s perch on the edge of the stream.

He felt clean.

For the first time in forever, he genuinely felt clean.

He’d convinced BP to let him make a quick trip into town to snag some soap— it was a deep aquamarine bar that carried a musky floral scent— while his counterpart found a suitable alcove to open the pocket ship for a moment and retrieve some clean clothes.

Rick thought he looked rather silly in Birdperson’s garments— they were too baggy on his twig-like frame, and they weren’t… nice clothes, by any means.

Rick was nervous about whatever event Birdperson had planned. If there were to be people, he would be severely underdressed during a Festival event.

And eaten alive for being a gendered organism, but that was a rant for a different time.

Rick still couldn’t figure out how his friend had managed to grab two sets of his own clothes, but he didn’t want to be rude by insisting he risk detection again just for a pair of his own.

Now, Rick’s bare toes kissed the cool babbling water as he slouched forward— finally sobering up. His hair was still slightly wet and clinging to his cheekbones, and he was freshly shaven and hidden in the tent of a white tee. Rick was thankful he’d had his own belt handy, as it held up BP’s large jeans, even though he’d had to roll them up about five times at his ankles.

It was… comfortable.

The clothes smelled like his friend— like freshly baked bread and cinnamon sugar with a sharp undertone of sweat— and the slits along the back let the warm breeze brush along his bruised skin.

Rick closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the desert air. It was surprisingly crisp and lightening in its trip through his body– something he was still getting used to feeling in any sense.

Placing his hands behind him flat along the ground, he leaned back onto them at an angle as if to ask the sun to light him up on stage.

Gather ‘round, all! Rick Sanchez has a moment of peace.

A born performer.

The gentle smack of his hat onto his face roused him from his thoughts– the roars of the crowd withering back into the recesses of his mind.

“Do I look alright?” His partner implored, and Rick let out a small giggle as he pushed the brim of his hat up to set properly on his head, turning his cheek to face the other man at his right.

It’s a strange thing, that moment you realize you’re coming down from a lengthy buzz and you really see someone again for the first time.

That sensation all men experience when they look at their friend, freshly shaven and glowing; when their heart catches in their throat and threatens to pull them under on its plummet back down.

Rick thought he’d never be able to gather the air to speak.

Birdperson stood in the gentle ochre of the setting sun, the edges of his plume burning a deep auburn– the bandage around his wing the only indication of his tumble from heaven. For a moment, Rick questioned if the wings along his lower back truly were a divine depiction, as he’d initially thought.

Just like an angel to be so humble.

His partner wore a long-sleeved blue thermal, nearly identical in shade to Rick’s hair while wet, tucked into a pair of faded denim jeans. His belt buckle glistened in the beam of light and he wore his usual tan armitas over it all. His boots were already on, spurs barely touching the dirt, and his hands were tucked deep into his front pockets– his shoulders pushed forward as if he were nervous.

“Well?” he prompted once again, shaking Rick from his study.

He was a man of science, afterall. It was only natural for him to record variables.

“Mhmm,” Rick hummed more timidly than he’d expected, lowering his gaze to where his own fingers played in the sand at his side. Why did his cheeks burn? He wasn’t blushing, was he? “Ya look good.”

“You’re just saying that,” Birdperson replied, a jouncy tone to his voice as he extended one hand down in front of Rick’s face– an offer.

Rick hesitated, only for a moment, before bringing his hand up to lay in his companion's palm. BP’s warm fingers closed around his own, sending a bolt of electricity up Rick’s arm as he was pulled up to his feet.

“How many times do we have to go over this?” Rick chuckled, pulling his hand back and shoving it into his back pocket. “Nunca te mentiría, baby.” He winked, trying to gather some semblance of the usual charm he carried when flirting playfully with his partner.

Like all men do.

It was Rick’s turn to notice the blush that rose to Birdperson’s cheeks as he tucked his chin back in a bashful grin, twisting the toe of his boot into the earth.

“Put your boots on, Sanchez. I’ve got somewhere to take you.”

......

The ride into the sunset was something Rick thought only existed in those old western romance films. The wind bristled past both of the men, and Rick let out a howl– a breathing, living thing on its own– into that great expanse of the unknown.

They rode side-by-side on their equore, and Rick couldn’t resist throwing his arms out at his sides as he called out to the heavens above.

Or beyond. Wherever they were. He wasn’t sure– but something about this moment had him believing they existed.

The drag of the air pulled on the tips of his fingers and he smiled, closing his eyes and trusting that the growing night would eat him alive.

It was nights like these that had him hoping he'd die young.

He felt the warmth of a calloused hand brushing against the outstretched fingers at his left, and he knew who it was. Birdperson let out a hearty laugh– probably the first time either of them had laughed so sincerely since the events three days prior– and Rick couldn’t calm that little spirit within him that beckoned him to do the same.

Red dust rose in dramatic clouds all around them as a purple cast fell over the cooling landscape– the huffing and puffing of the two animals carrying them and the smack of their clawed talons upon the ground the epic backdrop to the ballad they wrote together in that moment.

“Rick! Stand with me!” Birdperson yelled, and Rick looked over at his friend. Birdperson was wide-eyed with a cheshire grin. Rick smiled back, an unhinged frenzied thing, but a flash of hesitance engulfed him. Something about his expression must have betrayed his fear, or maybe it was the way his grip tightened around BP’s fingers, because his companion called out again. “Trust me!”

Rick nodded.

Rick followed BP’s lead, his friend’s stare warm and assuring. His feet weighed down the stirrups, and then…

They were standing. Rick shrieked in impish delight– the world whirring by him like a deafening roar– and Birdperson stared back at him, something soft and tender in his gaze.

Something that qualmed Rick’s laughter and made such a raucous moment feel like the most serene thing he’d ever experienced.

“We’re almost there!” Birdperson declared, looking forward and jutting his chin towards the horizon pointedly.

Rick followed his gaze, drunk on something more bubbly than whisky and more heady than scotch, and his heart nearly careened outward.

A haze of neon mulberry light swathed a watery skyline. Distant music– a slow, chilling thrum– now meandered its way to Rick’s ears. The silhouette of hundreds of small stilt buildings hovered over the water– a city. If he squinted, Rick could have sworn he saw swarms of bodies milling about.

“Pile dwellings?” Rick called out in inquiry.

“The City of the Lost!” Birdperson said in answer. “They’re everyone the Blessed rejects! It’s Festival of the Lost! We’re free here!”

Rick’s heart fluttered.

….

It had been an endless night, and Rick lost Birdperson somewhere amongst the writhing crowd of tentacles and scales.

He’d lost his hat, too.

Most of the aliens around him were Warekin– short in stature and boney scaled things. He shivered in the range of their glittering, three-eyed gazes as he gyrated along with them to the shrill bass of the music. Some of the other species he didn’t recognize, but it hardly mattered.

He was sweaty and high– on what, he didn’t know– and the neon buzz engulfed everyone who dared to wander out onto the dance floor of the hovering square.

It was freeing, being surrounded by so many creatures who showered love and devotion over whatever other moving things teetered within their path. Rick lost count of how many mouths he’d discovered; how many bodies he’d felt; how many drugs he’d taken– but he knew he would never stop.

Until he did.

There, about twenty paces ahead, somewhere within the fog of smoke and inebriating essence of sex, was his bird.

God, had he always been this beautiful? Had he always been such a slave to the moonlight– to the undercurrent of music?

Where had his shirt gone?

Did his muscles always glisten so enticingly?

All Rick knew was where he had to be– who he wanted to feel next to him– and so he pushed through the mess of wriggling bodies until he could close one hand around Birdperson’s own.

“Dance with me?” Rick sighed into the other man’s ear– his breath hot and tense along BP's neck.

Rick could smell him, and he drank it in. They were but one more prop in a sea of bodies, and Rick reveled in it.

“Rick!” Birdperson slurred, pulling Rick into his chest a little too-hard by the joining of their hands. “Where’ve you been? You look good in my clothes!”

BP let out a trifling little hiccup sound, giggling and bringing both of his hands up to rest on Rick’s shoulders.

The music slowed– or maybe it didn’t. Maybe it was just something about the look the two men shared that slowed everything.

Rick didn’t care.

He settled both of his arms around Birdperson’s waist and pulled them flush together, splaying his hands out along his companion's center back.

Never had bare skin felt more alive to Rick than in that moment.

Rick looked up at Birdperson, at how the amethyst brilliance grazed his features so lovingly, and he thought he could explode. His heart thundered– not just in his ears, but in every part of him– and his skin was vibrating, like a magnet begging to be pulled even closer.

Maybe he’d make a home in his friend’s ribs.

“Here,” Birdperson panted, bringing one hand up and tucking Rick’s head beneath his own chin. Rick closed his eyes as BP’s other arm engulfed his shoulders.

He was so strong. So much stronger.

Rick let himself be lulled along with Birdperson’s swaying, slow and ingratiating, drinking in his scent.

Birdperson didn’t move his hand from the back of Rick’s head, instead opting to run his fingers through his hair mindlessly.

It felt neverending and like no time had passed at all. Rick thought he could stay here forever– nothing but an extension of a loner who wasn’t so lonely anymore.

Where some people drank to feel better, Rick drank to feel worse.

Now, though... Birdperson was the sweetest drink he'd ever tasted, and he thought that maybe it could be okay to feel better.

Just once.

“Do… D’ya think I’m like… cursed or so–some shit?” Rick drawled out, nearly drooling along the exposed flesh of Birdperson’s collarbone.

“Cursed?” Birdperson asked, resting his cheek atop Rick’s mop of tangled hair.

“Yeah,” Rick answered, dragging his hands up BP’s back slowly to find a home just beneath the juncture of his wings and his shoulders. He could hear the other man’s breath hitch, his heart pulsing back to life beneath his ribs. “‘Cause everyone I love k-keeps fuckin’ dying.”

Rick said it with a laugh– something bubbly in him twisting his mind enough to appreciate the absurdity of it all.

“No,” Birdperson replied after a moment. “I think maybe you’re just… easy to fall into.” Rick snickered a bit, nuzzling further into the crook of BP’s shoulder. His lips grazed over the flesh as he spoke again.

“So, I’m like a hole?”

“You’re more like… like your bottles, I guess,” Birdperson swung. “Here, put your feet on mine.”

Rick did as he was told, collapsing fully onto the muscular form before him and allowing his partner to move for the two of them now.

He felt like he could drift off here, soaking in the warmth that seeped into him where they touched.

“What the fuck’s that s’posed to mean?” Rick breathed out, barely audible over the music.

“You don’t let people stop before they reach the bottom.”

“Hmmm…” Rick was starting to feel a little nauseous, the darkness behind his lids twisting into a weird sensation. “It– It’s not about making it to the bottom… It’s about drowning on the way down, I think.”

Birdperson laughed this time, the deep rumble running through Rick’s frame.

He felt like jelly. Like a cup of gelatin.

“I like to swim,” Birdperson whispered along Rick’s hair.

Rick shivered.

“I hope I die soon.” Rick said it sweetly– thick and dripping with honey– as he smiled into Birdperson’s shoulder.

“Why?”

BP pulled Rick back a bit by his shoulders, and Rick whined, cracking open his eyes to meet his friend’s gaze. He looked serious.

“Why’d ya do that?” Rick fretted sluggishly against the restraint.

“Answer me.”

“I’d just hate to wonder what would’ve happened if…if–” Rick looked at his friend’s lips before trailing off, trying to clamber his way back into the warmth of BP’s chest with little success.

“If what?” Birdperson asked, a bit of his hardened expression faltering– probably at realizing just how out of it Rick really was.

“If… If I had…” Rick trailed off again, flitting a quick glance back up at Birdperson’s gaze before making a decision.

Rick threw himself forward– closing his eyes and pushing himself upward on his toes.

Suddenly, Birdperson’s lips were on his own.

His lips were more plush than Rick had expected. He could feel his own chapped equivalents scratching their velvety surface.

It was chaste and innocent.

Shy.

Tender.

Rick waited for the moment Birdperson pulled away– pushed him off; called him ‘disgusting’ and told him he’d fucked everything up, but–

But then…

Those rough hands left his shoulders and found their way to his cheeks. BP cupped his face gently for hands so worn, and tilted forward into the touch, pulling at his jaw.

It hurt Rick’s purpled nose a bit, but he didn’t care.

He could smell the alcohol and cinnamon on his counterpart’s breath– could taste the whiskey on his lips– and Rick relaxed as he bled into him.

The music didn’t stop, and neither did they.

------

#*cheers and whooping*#*fireworks*#*the audience claps*#*god resigning from his position bc even he could never make something so beautiful*#OKAY BUT—#AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!#HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO GIVE A INTELLIGIBLE SPIEL????#Rick comparing BP to an angel bc of his wings literally never gets old—#I eat it up every time #the way bp is taking for Rick for a metaphorical carpet ride—#(the magic one from Aladdin in case I wasn’t clear enough abwkdndien)#always glad to see purple in birdrick fics it’s just literally their color #they’ve just got that bruised yet passionate vibe about them— whimsical yet downtrodden all in one….#anyways— onto making more sense—#Ik I already told u but— the whole convo about Rick being ‘easy to fall into’???#*chefs kiss*#and then the kiss— god bless #I just— AH! AH! AHHH! AH! A—#so good as always <3!!!!!#rick and morty #birdrick #rick sanchez #birdperson #rick and morty fanfiction #others fics

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